Category: English

The topping-out ceremony for the commercial high-rise was just around the corner, when I suddenly realized the blueprint dimensions were all wrong. Demolishing and rebuilding would cost a cool ten billion. I clung to the rooftop railing, contemplating which spot on the ground would offer the least pain. But then, Manager Walter, flanked by his engineering team, kicked my door open: “At this critical juncture of the project, you, the chief designer, have been skipping out every day to fool around with escorts!” “And those blueprints? They’re just stolen copies of mine!” “You’re fired! I’m the new head of this project, and all design patents are now mine!” My eyes widened, and the despair in my heart instantly morphed into wild joy. Oh, right, I was totally busy with dates all this time. The wrong dimensions? Not my problem in the slightest! 1 The twenty-story commercial high-rise was almost topped out, and I was giving the blueprints one final check. My hand trembled, spilling coffee all over the desk. Because I’d just discovered that the dimensions for every single load-bearing wall were wrong! My heart pounded in my chest. I wiped my eyes, checked it twenty more times, and then, with a sigh, surrendered to the truth. Yep, definitely wrong! This twenty-story commercial building, from design to construction, and even the future investment and leasing, had cost a staggering ten billion dollars. If we had to tear it down and rebuild, I wouldn’t be able to pay it back if I sold myself eight hundred times over. I squatted on my chair, clutching my head, wanting to cry but no tears came. Wanting to scream but no sound escaped. As a celebrated architectural designer in the country, My work had won numerous international awards, earned investors billions, and left iconic landmarks in this city. But what did that matter now? I had failed, defeated by a load-bearing wall with an error of just a few inches. My parents were counting on me for their retirement, and my sister was about to take her college entrance exams. She always said her big brother was her pride. But this one mistake, my blunder, would bring devastating consequences down on them. I truly deserved to die! I was a sinner, having squandered everyone’s hard work, and condemned myself to eternal damnation. After much thought, I finally stood up, pushed open the door to the rooftop, and walked to the railing. Twenty stories. High enough. The people below looked like tiny ants. I pondered which side to jump from, to avoid scaring anyone while suffering as little as possible. Suddenly, the door behind me burst open with a loud bang. My arch-rival, Walter Stone, marched in with a whole team of people. “Arthur Lynn! You’ve really outdone yourself!” He stormed up to me, his voice a furious torrent. I froze, thinking he’d discovered the design flaw. Just as I was about to explain, he slapped a stack of photos right into my face. “Have you no shame? At this critical stage of the project, you, the chief designer, have been sneaking off every day to cavort with those cheap massage parlor girls!” I was confused, picking up a few photos from the floor. They showed a man and a woman, in various suggestive poses. The man was me, but I didn’t recognize the woman. Still, I instantly knew these images were all AI-generated. Because these past few months, desperate to finish the project, I hadn’t slept for days, having no time to go anywhere. I frowned and tried to reason with him. “Walter Stone, you must have the wrong person. Don’t make such baseless accusations!” But he sneered: “Don’t play innocent!” “Your design blueprints are just stolen copies of mine!” “You’re fired! And all design patents for this project are now mine!” He pulled out a draft blueprint, identical to mine, even down to the exact dimensions of the load-bearing walls. But in the designer’s section, his name was written. I looked and looked, thought and thought. Suddenly, in that hopeless abyss, I caught a faint scent of hope. 2 Walter smiled, looking at me: “Arthur Lynn, you’re a fraud! A scumbag like you doesn’t deserve to lead this project!” “I’ve already spoken to the investors. They want you out immediately!” I was silent for a moment, then slowly spoke: “I poured my heart and soul into this project. What right do you have to kick me out?” Walter’s grin widened. He deliberately patted my face, his voice dripping with condescension: “The right of your plagiarism, your dereliction of duty, and the fact that I am now the overall head of this project!” As he finished, his phone buzzed. It was an internal company email, copied to all employees. It stated: Project Lead for “Skyline Pinnacle” Commercial High-Rise changed to Walter Stone. Arthur Lynn is terminated for unprofessional conduct and plagiarism of core designs. Arthur Lynn will have no further association with the “Skyline Pinnacle” project. Normally, a project nearing completion wouldn’t change its lead. It was like tending a field for a year, only for the land to change owners just before harvest. No one would be happy about that. But I was different. I desperately wanted to sever all ties with this project. I called Chairman Goodwin, but he didn’t pick up. Then I called President Foster. The moment he answered, I heard him erupt in a furious shout: “Arthur Lynn, you’re fired! You have nothing to do with this commercial high-rise project anymore!” He hung up. When I tried to call back, he had already blocked my number. Walter watched me, relishing my misfortune: “See? Does anyone still care about you?” He pulled out a document: “Arthur, be smart. Sign this and get lost.” “Otherwise, I’ll not only ruin your reputation, but I’ll also expose your dirty little secrets to your sister. Let her see what kind of a lowlife her ‘good brother’ really is.” My hands trembled as I picked up the document, my eyes instantly welling up. Not with sadness, but with exhilaration. Because that document contained a joint statement. Arthur Lynn has no connection whatsoever to the “Skyline Pinnacle” Commercial High-Rise project. All architectural design patents and construction advice are unrelated to him. My heart was bursting with joy, but I dared not show it on my face. 3 “Slander! This is pure slander! Walter, you say I’ve been fooling around with escorts every day, do you have any proof?” My eyes were bloodshot, my whole body shaking. Walter glanced at his phone, a smug smile playing on his lips: “Proof? It’s right there in your office.” A whole crew of them marched back to my office. Pushing open the door, I froze. A young woman in a revealing outfit was sitting in my chair. Seeing me, she immediately pounced and clung to my arm. “Mr. Lynn! You have to take responsibility for me!” I yanked my arm away from her: “Who are you? I don’t even know you!” The woman’s eyes reddened, and she latched back onto me: “How can you be like this? For the past six months, you’ve been coming to me every day, saying you couldn’t live without me. Now that the project is almost finished, you’re just going to turn your back on me?” Many colleagues started pointing and whispering about me. “Mr. Lynn always seemed so proper. Can’t believe he’s into that kind of thing.” “I knew that design wasn’t his style. Turns out it was Walter’s all along.” “They called him a genius designer? I say he’s nothing but a wolf in sheep’s clothing!” I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down: “I’ve been working overtime in this office for the past six months. There are cameras everywhere. How could I possibly be going out to see you every day?” Walter laughed, slowly pulling out his phone: “Didn’t you know? The surveillance on this floor has been broken for ages.” I blurted out, “Impossible!” “I checked the surveillance footage last week to find some files. It was working perfectly.” Walter shrugged: “Don’t believe me? Call and ask right now.” I immediately dialed the security office. “Hey, Old Brown, are the surveillance videos from the last three months still available?” “Oh, Mr. Lynn, all the videos have been deleted, and the hard drives formatted.” My hand trembled slightly: “Even if they’re deleted, what about the logs? They can still be recovered within seven days, right?” The sound of furious typing came from the other end of the line. After a moment of silence, the voice returned: “No, Mr. Lynn. The system shows the logs were completely overwritten. Even the past seven days can’t be recovered.” I hung up, and Walter’s laughter grew even more unrestrained: “Hear that? You haven’t shown up for work for the past six months. There’s no record of you in the surveillance footage.” I stared at him, saying each word deliberately: “Even without surveillance, the documents I signed can’t be faked. Every design change order, every material confirmation sheet—aren’t they all signed by me?” Walter clapped his hands: “Right, you mentioned it, and I almost forgot.” He turned and walked to the file cabinet in the corner, pulling open the bottom drawer. A murky mess of black stuff floated in water, completely unrecognizable. “Tsk, tsk. What a coincidence, wouldn’t you say? The water pipe burst last week, and all the files in that cabinet got soaked.” Walter shook his head regretfully. All the drawers in my office had keys, yet Walter had opened them with ease. I glanced at Michael, my secretary, who immediately looked away, guilty. I clenched my fists, my nails almost digging into my flesh. It was too damn coincidental. So coincidental that every step was planned, so coincidental that even the water damage was precisely placed. They had plotted this all along, but alas, they were too clever for their own good. The strange woman leaned in again, reaching for me: “Mr. Lynn, you can’t just disown me now. My belly might be carrying…” “Get out!” I roared, and the entire floor fell silent. The woman recoiled two steps, startled, and Walter’s expression shifted. 4 I looked at a familiar figure in the crowd. “Michael, come here.” Michael Lee had been with me since his first day at the company. Back then, he couldn’t even read blueprints. I taught him CAD firsthand, and I stayed up late guiding him through design revisions. He was careless and once lost client files, and it was me who cleaned up his mess. He slowly walked to my side, but wouldn’t look up at me. Walter recovered, putting on his usual smirking face: “Perfect, Michael. Tell everyone, has Mr. Lynn been doing his job these past six months?” Michael kept his head down: “Mr. Lynn wasn’t often in the office.” I stared at him, incredulous: “What did you say?” He glanced at me, then continued: “There were a few times I went to find him for a signature, and he wasn’t there. Later, I saw one of Walter’s blueprints on his desk.” “I even asked him about it at the time, and he said he was just ‘referencing’ it. I never thought he was outright plagiarizing.” A murmur of shock rippled through the crowd. I laughed, tears streaming down my face. “Michael Lee, I taught you for three years. Is this how you repay me?” He finally looked up, his eyes red. But his words were sharper than ever: “Arthur, I can’t lie against my conscience.” “That design was completely copied from Walter. I saw it with my own eyes.” “And for this entire period, you weren’t in the office. All the company’s work was held up by Walter alone.” Walter patted his shoulder, a show of false concern: “Alright, Michael, you’re just speaking the truth. No need to feel guilty.” I looked at the two of them, a bitter laugh escaping me: “Fine, excellent! You’re really good at throwing people under the bus!” “You, and you, all of you, remember this moment!” No one took my words seriously. Michael even seemed relieved, thinking I was just making empty threats. Walter once again slammed the agreement in front of me. “Sign it, quickly.” I picked up the agreement and publicly read out the most crucial line: “Arthur Lynn has no connection whatsoever to the ‘Skyline Pinnacle’ Commercial High-Rise project. All architectural design and construction advice are completely unrelated to him.” “Walter, think carefully about the consequences. If this project has problems in the future, you’ll be solely responsible. Are you sure you want me to sign this?” Walter’s eyes flickered, as if in thought. Michael, beside him, urged him on: “Manager Walter, he’s just trying to provoke you. Besides, the project’s almost done. What could possibly go wrong?” Walter nodded in agreement, then looked at me: “Stop talking nonsense, sign it!” With red eyes and a heavy heart, I scrawled my name. Two copies. I pocketed my copy, my face grim. Then I turned and walked away. Behind me, I heard Walter’s triumphant voice: “Arthur Lynn, you’re nothing special, are you?” I stopped, turned back, and looked at him: “Don’t celebrate too soon!” “When the good times end, the bad times begin. Don’t come crying to me then!”

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My downstairs neighbor keeps ranting in the group chat about me dancing in the middle of the night, even called the cops. I rolled up my pants, revealing my prosthetic legs. The neighbor scoffed, “So prosthetics mean you can’t dance?” Left with no choice, the police installed a sound monitor. That very night, as I slept soundly, the device suddenly spiked off the charts! The neighbor brought people to smash my door, claiming I was causing a severe disturbance. But the noise, it was clearly coming from the empty apartment directly above me, unit 401! To clear my name, I led everyone upstairs. We only found a dog in 401. The police said the sound came from the dog scratching its cage. In the end, the dog was taken away by the police. But the next night, those eerie dance steps started again… 1 Patrick, from 201, was @-ing me in the group chat again. My phone vibrated on the coffee table, its screen a harsh, cold glow in the dim living room. I hadn’t bothered turning on the lights; only the streetlamp outside offered a sliver of illumination. I reached for the phone, unlocking it, the sudden brightness making me squint. It was him, alright. “Patrick from 201.” The building’s community chat had already scrolled through a dozen messages. “@Kevin from 301, are you ever going to stop? Every single night, two or three AM, thump-thump-thump! How’s anyone supposed to sleep?” “Is the HOA doing anything? Taking our money and doing nothing? Are you just going to let this guy torment the whole building?” “I’ve told you a hundred times, have some decency! What kind of dancing? Can’t you dance during the day? Do you have to be a maniac in the middle of the night?” “I’m calling the police tomorrow! See if that doesn’t shut you up!” A few other neighbors chimed in, either agreeing or trying to smooth things over. “Calm down, Patrick,” “Kevin probably doesn’t mean it,” “Just talk it out.” My fingers felt stiff, typing slowly: “Patrick, I’m telling you again, it’s not me. I’m asleep by ten.” Send. Almost instantly, Patrick’s reply popped up: “Bullshit! If it’s not you, who is it? You’re the only one above and below! My ceiling’s vibrating! Want to hear the recording? Have you no shame?” I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. That familiar spark of anger flared in my chest, making my throat dry. An explanation, the hundred-and-first explanation. “Patrick, I have a disability. How could I possibly be dancing? Are you sure you’re not mistaken? Or maybe it’s something else…” “Don’t give me that!” He cut me off, every word seething with malice. “Playing the pity card, huh? Can’t move your legs? You seem pretty agile to me! Prosthetics? Can’t you dance with prosthetics? You probably jump even higher!” That last sentence pierced me like an ice-cold needle. I clutched my phone. The living room was stifling without AC, but a cold sweat trickled down my back. My prosthetic legs, propped silently beside me, their cool metal shells usually comforting, now felt like searing brands against my skin. The next afternoon, the police actually showed up. Two officers, one older, one younger, their faces etched with routine weariness as they knocked on my door. Officer Ramirez, the older one, eyed me, then glanced at my wheelchair, a slight frown creasing his brow. “You’re Kevin Ellis? Your downstairs neighbor, unit 201, reported you for creating excessive noise late at night, a severe disturbance.” I stepped aside, inviting them in. My apartment was small, a one-bedroom, one-bath, almost too clean, lacking any real warmth. I rolled my wheelchair to the center of the living room. “Officer Ramirez, it wasn’t me. I go to bed very early.” The younger officer scanned the room, his gaze sweeping over the bare floors, simple furniture, finally settling on me. Patrick had followed them up, squeezing into the doorway, his face flushed and furious. He pointed at me, practically shouting, “Officers, it’s him! He’s always making trouble late at night! A compulsive liar! Look at him, he puts on a good show!” Officer Ramirez waved a hand, silencing him. “Mr. Ellis, we’ve received multiple complaints, and they’re all pointing to you. You mentioned a leg disability – could you elaborate?” I said nothing, gripping the armrests of my wheelchair, taking a shallow breath, and slowly, deliberately, rolled up the right leg of my jeans. The air thickened. Rolled up past my knee, it revealed the connecting structure of metal and composite materials, with a distinct scar around the skin interface. I paused, then, under Patrick’s suddenly wide-eyed stare, rolled up my left pant leg too. The same structure: the mechanical parts connecting to the severed flesh. 2 Only the faint hum of the air conditioner filled the living room. Patrick’s mouth hung open, his anger frozen on his face, slowly morphing into an expression of disbelieving shock. But quickly, something else began to churn beneath that shock. “This…” Officer Ramirez also seemed taken aback, his tone softening. “Mr. Ellis, is this…” “An accident, a few years ago.” I pulled my pant legs back down, the fabric falling to conceal the cold interfaces. “So, Officer Ramirez, I truly can’t be dancing in the middle of the night. My prosthetics are off at night; they’re over there.” I gestured towards the bedroom. Officer Ramirez nodded, then turned to Patrick. “Mr. Jenkins, you see, isn’t there some misunderstanding here? Perhaps the sound is coming from somewhere else?” “Misunderstanding?” Patrick’s voice climbed to a shriek. He darted past the officers, practically lunging at me, his finger almost poking my face. “Officers, don’t let him fool you! Prosthetics! What about prosthetics? Can’t you move with prosthetics? He’s probably even better at faking it! Bouncing around with his prosthetics at night, then playing the victim during the day!” “I heard it with my own ears, right above me, thump-thump-thump, like drumming! If it’s not him, who is it? Is it a ghost?” His spittle nearly sprayed my face, his eyes bloodshot, fixated with a mad certainty that wouldn’t back down. I caught a whiff of stale smoke and liquor on him. Officer Ramirez and the younger officer exchanged a look, both appearing resigned. The younger officer spoke up, “Mr. Jenkins, please calm down. Look, Mr. Ellis certainly has a special situation. But since we’re here, we can’t just take one side.” “We brought a decibel meter. We’ll leave it in Mr. Ellis’s living room for now. We’ll set a threshold, and if there’s genuinely excessive noise tonight, it will record it.” “We’ll also leave you our contact information. If anything happens again, you can call us directly, and we’ll come check the recordings. That’s fair to everyone, don’t you think?” Patrick’s chest heaved, glaring at me, then let out a heavy snort from his nose. “Fine, let’s see how long you can keep up the act! Officers, you better be fair, don’t play favorites with the disabled!” He bit down hard on the word “disabled.” Officer Ramirez didn’t engage with that comment. He had the younger officer retrieve a palm-sized white device, placing it on my living room’s TV stand. After a few adjustments, a green indicator light glowed. He gave me some instructions, mainly about living normally at night but being mindful of truly loud noises. They left, taking the still-grumbling Patrick with them. The door clicked shut, and the world abruptly fell silent, save for the faint power light of the decibel meter. I leaned back in my wheelchair, staring at that tiny light. Patrick’s last glare, that line, “Can’t you move with prosthetics?” He knew, he clearly saw, yet he chose a more absurd, more malicious interpretation. This wasn’t a misunderstanding; it was a twisted animosity. That night, I went to bed early. My prosthetics were off, resting on the specially made stand by my bed. I took a sleeping pill and quickly sank into a deep, dreamless darkness. I slept soundly. I don’t know how long passed, but violent banging on the door suddenly yanked me from the darkness. “Open up! Kevin! Open the door! Police!” I bolted upright, my heart hammering against my ribs. The bedroom was pitch black, only a sliver of hallway light visible under the door. The banging was urgent and heavy, mixed with Patrick’s hoarse shouts and another stern male voice. “Kevin! This is the precinct! Open the door and cooperate with the inspection!” It was Officer Ramirez. 3 I fumbled for my phone on the nightstand. The screen flared, stinging my eyes—3:17 AM. I steadied myself, trying to keep my voice even: “Coming!” I threw off the covers, instinctively found my wheelchair, pulled myself into it, and rolled towards the living room. Opening the door, the stark white hallway light flooded in. Outside stood Officer Ramirez, the younger officer, and a flushed, wide-eyed, almost gleeful Patrick. Patrick was holding up his phone, screen facing me, displaying what looked like some kind of graph. “Officers, see? It’s him, concrete evidence!” Patrick shouted, his voice distorted by excitement. Officer Ramirez’s face was grim. He stepped in front of Patrick, addressing me: “Mr. Ellis, apologies for the disturbance. We received a call from Mr. Jenkins, reporting that your decibel meter readings spiked severely, over one hundred, which is a major disturbance. We need to come in and check the device’s records.” My mind was still fuzzy. I stepped aside, letting them enter. “Officer Ramirez, I’ve been asleep this whole time, I just woke up. How could there be any noise?” The younger officer walked directly to the TV stand, picked up the white decibel meter, and pressed a few buttons. The screen lit up, displaying a string of data and a fluctuating curve. He studied it, a deep frown on his face, then handed the device to Officer Ramirez. Officer Ramirez stared at the screen, his expression growing even grimmer. He looked up at me, his gaze sharp. “Mr. Ellis, the meter’s record shows that from 1:40 AM until around 2:20 AM, the noise level at this location peaked at 105, with an average of over 95.” “Those are indeed very high readings, equivalent to a construction site. How do you explain this?” “I can’t explain it.” My voice was a little dry. “Because I genuinely was asleep. Could the device be faulty? Or perhaps…” I suddenly remembered Patrick’s accusation, and a bizarre, chilling thought surfaced. “Or the sound wasn’t coming from my apartment at all?” “You’re full of it!” Patrick jumped up, pointing at the ceiling. “It was coming from here! I heard it clearly! Dancing, it was dancing, thump, thump, thump!” The moment he finished speaking, as if to confirm his madness, or perhaps to mock my defense, there it was. Thump. A dull thud, distinctly from above. Not beneath my feet, but directly over my head. The sound wasn’t loud, but it was heavy, with a certain rhythm… then two more. Thump, thump. Evenly spaced, truly sounding like footsteps, or something bouncing on the floor. All four of us froze. Patrick’s excitement vanished, his face slowly turning towards the ceiling, mouth agape. Officer Ramirez and the younger officer also snapped their heads up. The living room was utterly silent. Only the decibel meter glowed, its curve seemingly flat. But a few seconds later. Thump, thump, thump, thump… A series of sounds rolled across the ceiling, from far to near, then near to far, truly like someone pacing back and forth, or bouncing, in the room. The sound was clearer than before, more rhythmic, even carrying a certain light cadence. “Upstairs…” the younger officer murmured, his face looking as if he’d seen a ghost. Officer Ramirez reacted fastest. He gave me a deep, complex look, then barked, “Let’s go! Upstairs!” We surged out the door. 4 My wheelchair was a bit cumbersome in the narrow stairwell; Officer Ramirez and the younger officer practically ran up. Patrick trailed behind them, his face ashen, muttering under his breath, “Upstairs? 401? How could that be… it was clearly…” Unit 401’s door was tightly shut, perfectly silent inside, as if the eerie footsteps had been a collective hallucination. Officer Ramirez pounded on the door. “Open up! Police!” No response. Only the knocking echoed in the empty stairwell. After another round of knocking, Officer Ramirez gestured for the younger officer to contact the building management. During the wait, we stood outside 401, nobody speaking. Patrick leaned against the opposite wall, his gaze fixed, alternating between 401’s door and me. His previous arrogance was gone, replaced by confusion and a subtle, unshakeable fear. The building’s night manager, still groggy from sleep, arrived with a ring of keys and found the spare for 401. The lock turned with a click, and the door opened. Officer Ramirez pushed it open first, flipping on the light switch by the door. Light banished the darkness. The entryway was empty, the living room empty. A thin layer of dust covered the simple furniture. No signs of anyone living there. The air held a faint scent of dust mixed with something else, strange. “Anyone here? Police!” Officer Ramirez moved further inside. The younger officer followed, cautiously checking each room. Bedroom, empty. Kitchen, empty. Bathroom, empty. Patrick squeezed into the doorway, peering in, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief. “This… no one? Then what was that…?” My wheelchair was parked outside the door, offering a view of most of the living room. Indeed, no one. But… “Officers!” the younger officer’s voice came from inside, tinged with surprise. “Come see!” We followed the sound to a small balcony. On the balcony sat a rather large pet cage. Inside, a yellow-and-white mutt eyed us timidly, its tail tucked between its legs. Hearing the commotion, it shifted nervously, its paws tapping on the metal bottom of the cage, making faint “tap-tap” sounds. A dog? Just a dog? Officer Ramirez squatted to examine the food and water bowls beside the cage. The water was nearly gone, but a bit of kibble remained. He stood up, clapping his hands. “Contact the landlord. This apartment seems to have been vacant for a while. The dog might have been left by the owner, or someone temporarily boarding it?” The building manager quickly flipped through a registry, then made a call. The owner, an elderly lady, answered, stating she was staying with her son, the apartment had been empty for over six months, and she certainly didn’t own a dog, nor did she know where it came from. The situation grew bizarre. A dog, source unknown, confined to the balcony of an empty apartment, 401. Those “dancing” sounds… Officer Ramirez watched the dog, which, made more anxious by the crowd, began to pace nervously within its cage, its paws clicking against the metal, tap, tap, tap… The sound, amplified in the quiet, empty room, transmitted through the floor… A plausible explanation seemed to emerge. A dog, active in the middle of the night, its paws hitting the cage bottom or the floor, the sound traveling through the floorboards, distorted and amplified in the dead of night, sounding like footsteps, even dancing. Patrick’s face cycled through shades of red and white. He opened his mouth to speak, but ultimately said nothing, avoiding my gaze and looking down. Officer Ramirez instructed the younger officer to take the dog away, to contact an animal shelter or find someone to temporarily foster it, while continuing to investigate its origin. He then turned to me. “Mr. Ellis, it seems this was a misunderstanding. The source of the noise was likely this dog. We’ll handle it. Apologies for disturbing your rest.” I nodded, too tired to say anything. Watching them leave with the whimpering dog, the door of 401 clicked shut and locked once more.

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The Bennets offered 100 million for their biological daughter. I was that daughter, swapped at birth. But I was already dead. A mad scientist dug me up for the money. He warned me: my body was patched together, and even with blood, I’d last 30 days at most. “Don’t blow your cover until we get the cash!” So I played the part. When the fake heiress mocked me as a fool, I nodded eagerly. When my brother sped to scare me, I clutched my face to keep my eyes from popping out. At school, I even “adopted” a human to eat the lunches I couldn’t touch. I lasted until the scientist got the final payment. Then my mother found me, demanding I donate a kidney to my father. I shook my head. She screamed I’d do it whether I wanted to or not. But I had no kidneys left. No liver either. They’d been sold for cash before I died. The intestines, the uterus—rats had eaten those in the sewer. Now, all that remained was a heart that no longer beat. And it felt like that, too, was breaking. 1 “Now listen up, my little revenant, you are Aspen Bennet, Aspen Bennet.” “No skipping, no biting your nails, and for the love of Lucifer, do not detach your head to chase mice, got it?!” “God help me, just let me get this money in peace…” I nodded dutifully at the eccentric scientist before me. He claimed he’d patched me together, resurrected me, and that I was the long-lost Bennet heiress. To secure the hundred-million-dollar reward the Bennets had put out, I absolutely couldn’t reveal I was dead. The problem was, after my resurrection, I was a bit short on brain matter. All my memories from before were gone, and sometimes even the scientist’s words took a while to sink in. Right before we went inside, he clutched my shoulders, doing one last check: “What’s your name?” “Aspen Bennet.” “Alright. Besides not blowing your cover, what else were you supposed to do?” I stared blankly at his face, my shriveled brain slowly whirring. Seconds ticked by. Seeing his growing despair, I lowered my head, a little embarrassed. The scientist sighed in resignation, tapping my skull. “Remember, you must tell your father you want to go to school.” I nodded. “Look, your body can only survive on blood now. There aren’t enough people in the Bennet household, and draining them will get you caught,” he whispered, leaning closer. “At school, pick out young guys. They’re full of vitality, a little loss won’t be noticed. I’ll also sneak around to check on you until I get paid.” Under the scientist’s guidance, I met my “family” without a hitch. He bowed low, his tongue like a silver serpent, engaging them in rapid-fire conversation. His words were too fast for my brain to process, so I settled for observing the three people on the sofa. My brother, Ethan Bennet, scowled, his face etched with disgust, unwilling to even glance my way. My mother’s eyes were sharp, scrutinizing, like a vulture eyeing carrion. My sister, Maya Bennet, however, smiled sweetly at me. To return the gesture, I tried to pull my stiff facial muscles into a smile. But her face instantly went white, her eyes wide as if she’d seen a ghost. I didn’t understand. Was my smile that terrifying? The scientist had even given me special training on facial muscle movements. I tried a few more smiles, but she only cringed closer to Mother. Just as I pondered whether I should stitch my lips shut, the scientist got his first installment and left. He gave me one last look, then abandoned me in this opulent cage. 2 As everyone’s gaze swiveled to me, I nervously fiddled with the hem of my dress. “My name is Aspen Bennet. Hello.” Silence hung heavy for a few seconds. My father was the first to speak. He sat upright at the head of the table, sizing me up. “Good to have you back. How have you been these past years out there?” I paused, looking down at my crisscrossing suture lines and gray skin. By human standards, it definitely wasn’t “good.” So I looked up, answering earnestly, “Can’t you tell? I feel very unwell.” Father choked on his words. Mother quickly smoothed things over. “It’s nothing. Now that you’re back, you’ll recover just fine.” Father remained silent, clearly displeased with my blunt words. Finally, Maya broke the awkwardness. She smiled, leaning closer, her tone innocent. “Aspen, did you… not finish your makeup today? It looks like it’s flaking off. Did you buy some cheap makeup from a street vendor just to come home?” At her words, everyone’s eyes fixated on my face. Only then did they notice the thick, wall-paint-like layer of foundation – applied by the scientist to cover my cadaveric spots. As they stared, my brain stuttered. “This… this is my… my…” From sheer nerves, my jaw joint felt a bit loose. My brother scoffed, slowly enunciating four words: “Attention-seeking trash.” Seeing me silent with my head down, Maya continued her attack in a sweet voice. “Don’t panic, Aspen. It’s normal not to have experience with makeup at first. Oh, and seeing how you’re dressed, have you ever been to school? What did you do at home? You didn’t get married in some hick town, did you?” Her questions came too fast. I hadn’t even processed the last one before the next wave hit. What do normal humans do at home? I’d only climbed out of the dirt two days ago; I’d been sleeping in a coffin! Seeing my blank stare, Maya’s smile widened. She covered her mouth, whispering to Mother, “Mom, do you think Aspen is… well, a bit slow? She doesn’t seem to understand anything.” At that, my eyes lit up. I looked at Maya, genuinely grateful. “You’re so smart! How did you know?” I stepped closer, praising her sincerely. “I really don’t understand anything. You’re amazing, you can say so much all by yourself. Your tongue is so nimble!” Even though I was praising her, her lips twisted downward, her eyes narrowing as if she wanted to devour me. I felt a pang of confusion. “Maya, are you upset? Then I apologize. I’m sorry.” Maya’s face was ashen. “Aspen, stop playing games!” “Enough!” Father finally spoke, his voice laced with annoyance and impatience. “What’s all this racket? Aspen, go with the butler to the room on the second floor and settle in.” 3 Watching Father turn to leave, something suddenly flickered in my mind. Right, the scientist’s instructions! I quickly tapped my head and declared loudly, “I want to go to school.” Seeing no reaction, I repeated, “I need to go to school. Can I?” Maya scoffed, and Ethan stared at me as if I were refuse. “You, a simpleton who barely knows her ABCs, want to go make a fool of yourself?” Father frowned. “The money the Bennet family gives you will last you a lifetime. Don’t go out there and embarrass me.” I shook my head, my stiff neck unwavering. “No, I have to go.” Father suppressed his anger. “Why?” I faltered, racking my brain for the reason the scientist had given me, then answered precisely, “Because I need to find men.” The moment the words left my mouth, the living room fell into a deathly silence. Ethan clicked his tongue, his face full of scorn. “Looks dumb, but deep down she knows how to reel in a rich kid.” Father took a deep breath, his gaze on me like I was some incurable, filthy thing. But he couldn’t be bothered to argue further, waving his hand in agreement. Mission accomplished! I happily followed the butler upstairs. The room was small, shaded, damp, and gloomy – absolutely perfect! This environment would perfectly slow down the decay of my flesh. I excitedly spun around. No flies, no carrion beetles. Excellent, no worries about being nibbled on. The butler entered, carrying my dinner. Seeing me staring blankly at a corner, he said coldly, “Miss Bennet, Madam has instructed that since you’ve just returned and haven’t learned your manners, you needn’t come downstairs for meals. Dinner will be brought to your room.” “How thoughtful!” I exclaimed sincerely. But looking at the elegant stir-fry on the plate, I looked up at the butler. “The food is lovely, but I don’t eat at night. You can take this away, and you don’t need to send it up anymore. I’ve brought my own.” The butler’s face darkened. “Miss Bennet, you should know your place. You are not like Miss Maya. Why resort to a hunger strike to spite yourself?” I stared at his face, utterly bewildered. Why was he angry? I genuinely didn’t need to eat. If I put it in my stomach, it wouldn’t digest and would just start to rot. After much thought, I realized I’d forgotten to make an expression. The scientist said, a smile always works. So I forced my lips into a wide, unnatural grin, then chirped, “Thank you for your concern, but I know my body best. You can take it away~” My frozen smile was met with the butler recoiling slightly, then gritting his teeth. “Fine. If Miss Bennet doesn’t need it, we won’t send it up again. Don’t you dare regret it!” Watching his hasty retreat, I let my stretched smile drop, rubbing my aching facial muscles. Humans are so hard to understand. Never mind, I thought. No need for internal conflict for a corpse. 4 The next day, the chauffeur dropped me off at the gates of the elite high school. Maya had given me a sugary reminder before she left, telling me to “remember my place.” I understood perfectly – my place was to be a pseudo-human blending into school to feed. So in class, I mimicked everything: my desk-mate napped during breaks, so did I; he sighed during exams, so did I. My desk-mate got 28 on the math test; I got 23. Our homeroom teacher called my desk-mate (his name was Darcy) and me out into the hallway. I nervously rubbed my ashen fingers. Such low scores – would they find out I had no brainwaves? The teacher’s finger tapped the test papers with a loud thwack, spittle flying. “Aspen Bennet, Darcy Vance! Are you even human?! Can normal people score this low with their eyes closed?!” My heart lurched. They’ve seen through me! Darcy scratched his head, looking utterly unbothered. “Sir, if I don’t know it, I don’t know it. Worst case, I’ll go home and learn auto repair with my dad.” The teacher clutched his chest, furious, then glared at me. “What about you?! If you don’t work hard now, are you going to live on thin air later?!” Under his furious gaze, I opened my mouth, answering honestly, “Sir, I can indeed live on thin air.” The teacher nearly fainted, pointing at Darcy. “Get out of here! Aspen, you stay!” Darcy winked at me as he slipped away, as if to say, “You’re toast.” The teacher berated me for an entire break. By the time I returned to my seat, I felt like what little vitality this corpse possessed had been completely drained. To regain some energy, I poked Darcy, who was slumped on his desk. “Desk-mate, can I… take a little sip?” Darcy’s eyes were closed, half his face buried in his arms. “What do you want?” I leaned my head close to his neck, inhaling the fresh, pulsating scent of blood, and swallowed. “Blood.” Darcy scoffed, “Creep,” then dramatically turned his head away and went back to sleep. I looked at his unguarded nape and carefully leaned in. The scientist had modified my canines for easier feeding. While Darcy slept soundly, I gently pierced his skin and took a small sip. Sweet, warm blood flowed into my parched throat, but I still felt so hungry. A tiny bit of blood wasn’t enough to sustain a whole day’s expenditure. At noon, I had no choice but to go to the cafeteria.

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When Dino once again refused to heal me, I went to the black market and bought a cheap, comfort-type Beastkin. The next second, a few lines of comments flashed across my vision. [The manipulative male lead #2 is here! The female lead absolutely must not bring him home!] [The male lead is just tsundere, tough on the outside, soft on the inside. If the female lead just lowers her pride and begs him again, he’ll comfort her.] [Actually, Dino already likes the female lead now, but if she brings this manipulative snake home, the misunderstandings between her and Dino will only grow, leading to heartbreak and suffering.] I instinctively pulled back my hand from making the payment. But a cold, scaled tail had already wrapped around my ankle. Inside the cage, the Beastkin’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Please, don’t leave me.” 1 The black market owner cracked a whip across Silas. He barked harshly: “Pull back your disgusting tail!” The cold sensation on my ankle vanished instantly. Silas recoiled into a corner of the cage, no longer daring to meet my gaze. His clothes were torn, revealing bloodied scratches on his pale skin. The comments continued to scroll. [Male lead #2 is manipulative, but so beautiful.] [No wonder the female lead feels sympathy, he really is pitiful.] [It’s all an act! Silas looks harmless, but he’s a White Serpent Beastkin, cold and treacherous to the core. The black market owner’s horrific death later? Probably his doing!] I looked at the owner; a jagged scar marred his face. Silas flinched, raising his eyes, but the owner was already poised to whip him again. He muttered curses: “How many times have I taught you?!” Most Beastkin in the black market were either abandoned or captured after being injured. Their ownership belonged to their master. As the whip was about to fall on Silas again, he dared not dodge, only cowering in fearful anticipation. But the pain never came. He opened his eyes, looking up in confusion. I had caught the whip. “Him, I’ll take him.” Silas’s eyes brightened. The owner grinned obsequiously: “Alrighty.” Perhaps sensing my earlier hesitation, the owner continued to push his wares. “Care to look at other stock? Their comfort abilities are far superior to Silas’s.” And far more expensive. I earned my money hard, going on dangerous missions daily. If not for Dino’s refusal to heal me, and the rising prices of healing serums, I wouldn’t be here in the black market, looking for a comfort-type Beastkin. The owner’s eyes darted around. He chuckled apologetically: “Ms. Dexter, don’t say I didn’t warn you. You get what you pay for. This Beastkin was injured, his psychic energy damaged. His comfort abilities are indeed lacking, and it also depends on your compatibility. Once sold, no returns.” I shook my head: “It’s fine.” I’ve always been able to endure pain. Normally, Dino wouldn’t let me near him, only offering me some clothes carrying his scent. “This works too. Don’t try to find an excuse to touch me.” An excuse? Even if he couldn’t see my exhaustion, he could see the horrifying scars on my body. I was too weary to argue with him. I simply held the clothes and lay on the bed. Highly compatible Beastkin partners could use their psychic energy to rapidly heal wounds, but Dino disliked me. The scent on his clothes could provide pain relief, but the effect would certainly be greatly diminished. Sometimes, even broken bones meant a trip to the clinic for healing injections. I looked at Silas. His eyes were hopeful, his smile shy. Besides, even if his comfort abilities were lacking, it was still better than a pile of cold clothes. I made the payment. The owner kicked the cage. Mocking Silas. “You lucky bastard.” Then he placed the whip in my hand. “Ms. Dexter, he’s been trained very obediently, and, to compensate for his shortcomings…” The owner winked, a lewd grin spreading across his face. “I taught him other things. You can enjoy yourself…” The comments went wild. [Manipulative snake, don’t you dare touch our female lead!] [Don’t worry, all that strength and cunning will find no place here. The female lead belongs to Dino.] [But later, when Silas kidnaps the female lead, and Dino finds her, the female lead’s face is flushed, but that part is glossed over!] [No, no, no! Filthy snake, retreat! Retreat! Retreat!] 2 When I opened the door, Dino was sitting on the orange sofa, watching a military channel. Hearing my return, he didn’t turn his head, but still scoffed coldly: “Hmph, so you do remember how to come home?” The comments section erupted in groans. [Dino, stop pretending! You’re dying of worry inside, yet you’re still putting on this act.] [Sigh, there’s a communication gap between the leads. Elara only knows Dino doesn’t like her, but she doesn’t know he secretly treated her while she slept, afraid she’d find out, so he never fully healed her.] [Dino is all action, no words.] Usually, If he refused to heal me, I would simply comply. But sometimes, I’d pass out from the pain, only to wake up with my wounds largely healed. I assumed Dino, unable to bear it, had used his psychic energy, but only enough to partially treat, a gesture of limited concern. These things, I truly didn’t know. So this time, after he refused me again, I simply went out in silence to buy a Beastkin. Comfort. If you won’t provide it, plenty others will. His very posture exuded annoyance. But I didn’t want to argue with him. So I just said softly to Silas: “My house is too small. You might have to share a room with someone else.” Silas hadn’t even had a chance to speak. Dino cut in: “Who is this guy?” I turned my head to Dino, his gaze cold. I patiently explained: “His name is Silas. He’s my comfort-type Beastkin. He’ll need to share a room with you from now on.” Dino, born into the Black Panther clan, had always been pampered, everything in his life going smoothly since childhood. Upon hearing this request, he exploded. “Elara, don’t you dare be ungrateful!” Silas, seeing Dino’s aggression, tugged at my sleeve and said gently: “I can sleep in the living room.” Dino scoffed. I took Silas’s wrist; his body temperature was lower than normal. “It’s okay, you’ll stay with him for now. The living room is too noisy, you won’t sleep well.” “Besides…” “Dino will be leaving soon.” Dino’s tongue pushed against his cheek when he heard that. His tone was lazy and mocking. “Since you care so much about him, why don’t the two of you just sleep together?” The comments couldn’t take it anymore. [Male lead, if you don’t want that mouth, donate it.] [Can’t you just say you’re jealous? You’re going to end up wifeless, you know that?] [Heh, if they actually slept together, you wouldn’t be happy. Who was it clutching her nightgown to his face when she wasn’t home, purring with satisfaction, tail and ears popping out?] [Dino poisons himself every time he licks his lips.] I was a little angry. Silas gently cupped my face, pressing his forehead against mine. The next second, The nerves throbbing from pain and frustration felt as if they were gently caressed. Silas, seeing his comfort had worked, his eyes lit up like stars, even happily revealing his vertical pupils. He said in a voice only we two could hear: “It’s alright. There’s no need to argue with Brother because of me.” But I wasn’t listening. I immediately retorted to Dino: “Don’t forget, you’re just a guest here too.” I had used all my savings to buy this small apartment in the ridiculously expensive capital. Not to live under anyone’s thumb. Dino trembled with rage: “You’re yelling at me because of him?” Yes, I am yelling at you. But… “It’s not because of him.” The favored always act with impunity. I just, my scales were tilting a little. Comments: [Tsk, quickly, take notes!] [How to Get a Woman to Fight Your Battles by Playing the Victim.] [Major male rivalry in progress, I love it.] [Silas is really well-trained; his tactics are too advanced. If it weren’t for the female lead’s affection, Dino might not have turned things around in the end.] [Keep it up, you’ll be crying when your wife runs away!] 3 Silas still sadly made a makeshift bed for himself on the floor. As I was making his bed, He smoothed the wrinkles with his serpent tail. I paused, surprised. When Dino first arrived, he complained the apartment was too small, the bed too hard—he found fault with everything. Because I loved him, I indulged his every whim, and he accepted my kindness as his due. Now, Silas held a glass of water, offering it to me: “Have some water, you must be tired today. I can manage by myself.” I said okay. Silas, however, looked at my waist. “Do you need me to massage it for you?” “Hmm?” “You’ve been holding your back a lot. Does it hurt a lot?” Ever since I became independent from my family… Few people had asked me if I was hurting or tired. Today, during a mission, I was slammed against a rock wall by a large lynx. “Can this heal wounds?” Silas nodded. His serpent tail wrapped around my waist, seeming to gauge my muscles. His movements were light. And very soothing. Silas’s eyes were closed, his lips pale. He didn’t even realize his slender tail tip was gliding over my ribs, resting just below my chest. I rarely had such intimacy with a male Beastkin. The only other time was when Dino lost control during his heat cycle. I instinctively wanted to move that white tail tip. But as soon as I touched it, Silas uncontrollably shivered, his ears turning red. The comments section went wild. [To increase Silas’s sensitivity, the black market owner specifically gave him drugs. The effects haven’t worn off yet.] [Female lead, I beg you! Don’t encourage him anymore!] [To be fair, Silas is very considerate.] [And snakes are naturally lustful. If Silas weren’t injured, he’d probably be trying to pounce on her right now!] Silas’s lips turned crimson, his eyes glistening with moisture. I felt a little embarrassed. “Thanks, I need to go out.” Silas turned his head. And softly hummed in acknowledgment. 4 At the clinic, Dr. Yu skillfully gave me an injection. “Oh, how come it’s not as bad today? Did your Dino finally come to his senses?” I pursed my lips, shaking my head: “No, I bought a comfort-type Beastkin from the black market.” Dr. Yu looked very pleased. “It’s about time! He, Dino, is so precious, thinking it’s beneath him to be with you. If he’s so high and mighty, why doesn’t he just move out?” I said softly: “He couldn’t help it.” She scoffed: “Dino always liked Lara. Why doesn’t he go to Lara for comfort?” Lara was Dino’s childhood friend. Their compatibility was also very high, at eighty-two percent. But when the great battle came, Dino, in an attempt to save Lara, fell into a cave with me. However, he was also going through his heat cycle. My compatibility with him was extremely high, and if a psychic link occurred during the heat cycle, it would lead to a deep-seated dependency. So, after he woke up, he resented my even higher compatibility, and even more, he resented that our connection upset Lara. But due to his injuries, his heat cycle was prolonged. After developing a deep dependency on me, instinct compelled him to stay near me. He hated this primal urge. Dr. Yu always called Dino a scummy jerk. I shook my head: “It’s okay. The Vance family will soon develop the separation agent, and then he’ll leave.” But the comments on screen revealed the truth again. [Laughing my head off! The separation agent was developed ages ago; the male lead, that stubborn tsundere, just refuses to use it.] [The male lead is in love and doesn’t even know it.] [Male lead: Don’t panic, I’m on my own timeline.] I was confused. Were these comments real or fake? Why did they keep saying Dino loved me? All I felt from him was sarcasm and coldness. When I asked for comfort, he always refused. They said he would secretly hug my nightgown to sleep. And that he worried about me every day when I went on missions. But… Unseen affection. What kind of love was that? 5 When I got home, I moved quietly, turning on the light to find Silas curled up on the living room floor, hugging a small bundle of blankets. Beastkin are generally large-bodied, but Silas, curled up like this, looked utterly pitiful. The light woke him. “Elara, you’re back?” As if he had been waiting for me. But he was clearly kicked out. It was my fault. I knew Dino had a bad temper, yet I made them share a room. “Did he kick you out?” I asked Silas, frowning. Silas’s face paled for a moment, but quickly returned to normal. He evaded the question: “I’ve cut up some fruit for you. I’ll go get it from the fridge now.” I stewed in silent anger as I watched Silas’s back. His smile, however, was warm. He placed a beautifully arranged fruit platter in front of me. As he reached forward, his long sleeve slid up to his forearm. I abruptly grasped his wrist. Silas’s skin was very pale, still bearing some unhealed whip marks, but what was more striking was a thin, long blood mark, with a tiny shard of glass embedded in it. “Did Dino do this?” Silas shook his head frantically: “It’s okay, it doesn’t hurt…” Which was as good as admitting it. Comments: [OMG, the super subtle wound reveal!] [The drama just landed!] [Manipulative snake’s cunning plan, Dino walks into a trap.] [Silas disturbed Dino when he rolled over, so Dino threw a glass at him, and the glass shards cut Silas’s arm.] [But the wound, is it really that deep?] [This definitely looks like Silas deepened it himself with the glass shard.] Perhaps it was the confluence of recent grievances and current anger. I directly pounded on Dino’s bedroom door. “Open the door!!” After a moment, the door opened. Dino stood there, wearing the cotton pajamas I had bought him, but they were unbuttoned, revealing a large expanse of his pale, muscular chest and abs. He leaned casually against the doorframe. His tone was utterly nonchalant: “Something wrong?” The comments section was full of knowing winks. [Tsk tsk tsk, I’m almost too embarrassed to say it, but who just deliberately unbuttoned his shirt?] [Showing off so much for whom? Couldn’t be for the female lead, could it?] [What pose is that? If he just pulled the female lead into his arms now, what would that manipulative snake even be doing?] Dino scoffed. “Late at night, waking me up. It couldn’t be about him, could it?” Silas interjected, trying to mediate. “It’s fine, Dino, go back to sleep. Elara just wanted to see you.” He then tried to pull me away. But I resisted, grabbing Silas’s wrist and accusing Dino. “You hurt him! Didn’t you see?!” Dino frowned impatiently, looking down at me mockingly. “Such a small scratch, what’s there to complain about? I broke a rib once and didn’t make a sound!” My voice was icy: “Apologize.” “What?” I enunciated each word: “A-po-lo-gize!” He unhappily pushed his tongue against his cheek, his tone a restrained fury. “You want me to apologize to this lowlife from the black market?” He laughed: “Don’t tell me you’d fall for someone like that.” I was deeply disappointed in Dino. “Someone like that? In my eyes, Silas is kind, gentle, and compassionate. It’s only natural to like him.” I took a step forward, my voice hardening, “And someone like you, cold, selfish, carelessly trampling on other people’s genuine feelings, that’s what truly disgusts me.” I took Silas’s hand and turned to leave. But behind me, Dino’s mocking voice rang out. His tone held a smile, yet it was like a rose embedded with thorns. “Is that so? I thought you actually liked someone cold, selfish, and carelessly trampling on other people’s genuine feelings like me.” He abruptly yanked my arm, pulling me towards him. His grip was strong, squeezing my bones painfully. “Didn’t you throw yourself at me? Did I beg you to comfort me during my heat cycle? You were practically gushing about how much you liked me when you had that fever a while ago. Do you think I don’t know about you secretly kissing me in the cave?” He let out a low chuckle. “Elara, what good is high compatibility? Even if you begged me to—I wouldn’t…” His voice was abruptly cut off by the crisp sound of a slap. My tears suddenly fell onto his palm. His throat bobbed, and he was about to speak. But Silas gently pulled me into his arms. His soft voice broke the awkward silence. “Elara, I’m a little hungry.” “Hmm?” Right. He probably hadn’t eaten all day. I also wanted to escape this suffocating atmosphere. “I’ll take you out to eat.” The comments section, after a brief silence, exploded. [Yes! My ship is finally sailing a little! (cries)] [Male lead, get ready for a wife-chasing inferno.] [The sharp-tongued tsundere male lead persona is still intact. But when your wife leaves, don’t you dare cry!] [I’m actually shipping Silas and Elara a bit. I’m such a sucker for gentle guys!] [Above comment, don’t break up the official pairing, okay? Besides, if it weren’t for Silas, the leads wouldn’t even be arguing.] [Silas probably didn’t expect it to work so well.] [Silas: I don’t know, he just stabbed himself.]

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1 The custom-made gown, a masterpiece crafted over six months and valued at a million dollars, now adorned the rising star, Kaden. The store was thick with perfume, but all I could smell was humiliation. The store manager, seeing Cora lounging on the sofa, was drenched in a cold sweat. Cora rose, her red-soled heels clicking on the floor, and personally straightened Kaden’s bowtie. “Kaden’s walking the red carpet at Cannes next week, and he needs a show-stopping outfit. What’s the big deal about him borrowing yours?” Her tone was dismissive, as if shooing away a fly. “Just pick out something off-the-rack, don’t make a scene.” Under the glare of flashing lights, Kaden preened in the perfectly tailored suit, a smile playing on his lips, and a defiant glint in his eyes darting towards me. I looked at my own reflection in the mirror, clad in a worn, pilling old shirt, clutching a takeout bag with her favorite congee—a stark contrast to the opulence around me. This wedding, a year in the making, was nothing but a cruel joke. I didn’t explode. Instead, I calmly placed the insulated container down and slipped the engagement ring from my finger, setting it gently on the coffee table. “Cora’s right, off-the-rack can be pretty good.” I lifted my gaze, all warmth gone from my eyes. “So, I’ll find a bride who’s willing to wear off-the-rack with me.” … The bridal boutique fell silent. Cora’s hand, poised to adjust Kaden’s tie, froze mid-air. She slowly turned, her shrewd eyes narrowing slightly as she scrutinized me. “Lucas, what did you just say?” Her voice carried an icy edge. Looking at the face I’d spent five years building into a star, a wave of nausea washed over me. “I said, there won’t be a wedding.” My voice was unnervingly calm. “Pfft.” Kaden, still by the mirror, suddenly covered his mouth to stifle a laugh. He walked toward me, still wearing the suit that should have been mine. “Come on, Lucas,” Kaden said, batting his eyeliner-enhanced lashes, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Cora just feels bad I don’t have something killer for the red carpet next week. This custom piece, on me, that’s how you make headlines, how you get commercial value. You’re so good at cooking and cleaning at home, why are you suddenly so clueless when it comes to Cora’s business?” He purred “Cora” like a lover, sickeningly sweet. I stared at him, my gaze a cold blade. “Take it off.” Kaden flinched, shrinking behind Cora, his eyes welling up instantly. “Cora, Lucas is being so mean! I’m scared.” Cora shoved Kaden behind her, her eyebrows fiercely knitted together. She strode toward me, her eyes blazing with disgust. “Lucas, have you had enough of this tantrum?” Her voice was condescending, her words sharp as daggers: “Kaden is the company’s cash cow. I give him resources for the sake of the Crawford Group, for our future. You, a jobless freeloader who only knows how to hover over a stove at home, who are you showing off this expensive gown to? Do you even deserve to wear it?” Five years of devotion, and all it earned me in her eyes was “freeloader” and “do you deserve it?” I took a deep breath, hands shoved into my pockets. “Cora, this is a custom suit I waited six months for. You just ‘borrowed’ it? Did you even ask me?” Cora scoffed as if I’d told a hilarious joke, then stepped closer, her perfume enveloping me. “Ask you? This suit cost a million dollars, charged to my credit card. What you wear, what you use—what isn’t paid for by me, Cora? And now you’re talking about having an opinion?” She extended a finger adorned with a diamond ring and jabbed it forcefully into my chest. “Lucas, you need to learn gratitude. Don’t think that just because I’ve been taking care of you, you can throw your weight around in front of me.” I looked at the arrogant woman before me, my heart turning to stone. She genuinely saw no wrong in snatching her fiancé’s wedding attire for another man. In her eyes, I was merely hired help. I was done wasting breath on her and turned to leave. “Stop!” Cora shrieked. She lunged forward, grabbing my wrist with a death grip, her nails digging into my flesh. “Lucas, don’t be ungrateful. Go pick out an off-the-rack suit, the wedding is still on next week. If you’re obedient today, after Kaden walks the red carpet, I’ll get you a three-hundred-thousand-dollar car.” She paused, her eyes turning cold and menacing. “But if you dare walk out of here today, I promise you, no company in all of New York will dare to hire you. No one will lend you a single cent.” I let out a cold laugh, forcefully pulling my hand free. “Cora, you sicken me.” I didn’t spare her another glance, striding out. Behind me, I heard Cora’s mocking laughter and the click of the glass door locking. 2 “Click.” The glass door locked behind me. I turned back. Cora stood inside, tossing an electronic key in her hand. She stared at me through the glass, a cold smirk playing on her lips. “Lucas, I told you, you’re not going anywhere without my say-so.” I pounded on the glass door. “Open up! You’re truly ruthless.” “Ruthless? I’m merely teaching you to face reality.” Cora walked back to the sofa and sat down, elegantly crossing her legs. Kaden leaned in, resting his head on Cora’s shoulder, and flashed me a provocative smile. “Come on, Lucas. Don’t bother. It’s about to rain, and I bet you don’t even have money for a cab.” Cora pulled out her phone and, right in front of me, dialed her assistant. “Cancel all subsidiary cards under Lucas’s name. Revoke his apartment access. Inform all car services and ride-sharing platforms in New York City: anyone who dares pick up Lucas will be going against the Crawford Group.” She hung up and tapped the glass with her knuckle. “Lucas, a man’s pride means nothing compared to money. Without me, you won’t even find a place to sleep in this city. I’m giving you two hours to reflect. When you’ve thought it through, you can kneel outside and beg me.” Night fell quickly, followed by a torrential downpour. The rain soaked me to the bone. I pulled out my phone, and a dozen messages popped up on the screen. [Dear customer, your subsidiary card has been frozen by the primary cardholder…] [Apologies, Mr. Lucas, your ride-share order has been forcibly canceled by the system…] Cora wasn’t kidding. She was using her financial power to block my every move. She wanted to drive me to despair, to make me crawl back and beg her like a dog. I wiped the rain from my face and called David, an old friend who was now a director at the Crawford Group. “David, can you pick me up? I’m on Champs-Élysées Avenue…” On the other end, David’s voice was awkward. “Lucas… I’m so sorry. Cora just announced in the company group chat that anyone who helps you will be fired tomorrow. My mortgage and car payments are huge… Lucas, you’re just a kept man, why not just humble yourself to Cora? What’s the point?” “Beep, beep, beep…” The call ended. My heart sank, then a flicker of bitter amusement sparked within me. For Cora, I had hidden my identity for five years. I had built a shell company into a multi-billion-dollar empire; I had placed mediocre people like David into executive positions. And now, they had all betrayed me. Through the rain-blurred glass, I saw Cora, wine glass in hand, comfortably enjoying my misery in the downpour. Kaden knelt at her feet, massaging her legs. I took a deep breath, shoved my numb hands into my pockets, and turned to walk into the rain. Even if I had to walk, I would return to my own world on foot. “Bang!” Before I’d taken two steps, a black Mercedes G-Wagen screeched to a halt in front of me, its tires splashing muddy water all over my trousers. The window rolled down, and Cora’s male assistant stepped out from under an umbrella, tossing a garment bag directly at my feet. 3 Through the half-open zipper, I saw a cheap, black security uniform. The assistant looked at me, drenched to the bone, and spoke with a condescending tone. “Mr. Lucas, Ms. Cora is being merciful. Mr. Kaden needs someone to hold an umbrella and carry his shoes tonight for the red carpet. Ms. Cora said, if you put on this uniform and act as Mr. Kaden’s assistant tonight, your cards will be unfrozen tomorrow, and the wedding will proceed as planned.” Me, holding an umbrella and carrying shoes for the man who stole my wedding suit—a cheap uniform at that? This was a blatant insult. I stared at the garment bag on the ground, my body rigid in the cold wind, my eyes like ice. “Go back and tell Cora…” “To go to hell.” The assistant’s face twisted in anger. He pointed a finger at my nose. “Lucas, don’t push your luck. Do you think you’re still the future CEO’s husband? You’re nothing now. Without Ms. Cora, you wouldn’t even have food to eat.” He waved his hand, and two bodyguards emerged from the back of the G-Wagen, gripping my shoulders from either side. “Get lost.” My gaze turned colder. The assistant picked up the mud-splashed uniform and forcibly shoved it into my arms. “Ms. Cora ordered that if you won’t cooperate, we drag you there.” I was roughly shoved into the car. Half an hour later, the car stopped backstage at the film festival red carpet. I was pushed out. In a nearby lounge, Kaden, wearing the million-dollar custom suit that should have been mine, was posing for photographers. Cora stood beside him, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, her eyes full of adoration. Seeing me, covered in mud, being escorted, Cora gave the reporters a polite nod and strode towards me. She looked at the muddy uniform in my hands, her brow slightly furrowed, and spoke with a feigned concern, “How did you get into such a mess?” She took off her own suit jacket, as if to drape it over me. “Lucas, you’re just too stubborn. If only you’d be obedient and just humble yourself a little, why would I ever let you suffer?” I turned my head, avoiding her touch. Cora’s face instantly darkened, her eyes turning vicious. “Lucas, my patience has limits.” She grabbed my collar, forcing me to look at her. “Now, go immediately and change into that outfit. When Kaden goes on stage, you’ll be there to hold his umbrella. If you dare mess this up…” She let out a cold laugh, then pulled a smooth, ancient jade pendant from her pocket. It was carved with a dragon, and its surface gleamed with a faint, reddish hue. It was my late grandfather’s memento, a family heirloom. I had entrusted it to her to show my faith, and now it was her tool for blackmail. “Cora. Give me back my jade.” Fire flashed in my eyes as I reached for it. She held the ancient jade high, a cruel glint in her eyes. “Go hold the umbrella, and I’ll give it back. Otherwise, I’ll smash it right now.” 4 This ancient jade pendant was the last tangible link I had to my past, to my family. Cora’s fingertips, clutching the jade, hovered in mid-air above the hard marble floor. One slip, and it would be gone. “I’ll count to three,” Cora said, looking at me as if I were an ant she could crush. “Three.” “Two.” My muscles tensed, nails digging deep into my palms, blood dripping between my fingers. “Cora, if you dare let go, I promise you, you will regret it.” My voice was hoarse, deadly serious. Cora paused, then burst into laughter as if I’d told a ridiculous joke. “Threaten me? With nothing but your measly freeloader self? Fine, let’s see how you’ll make me regret it.” A flicker of madness danced in her eyes. “One.” As the word left her lips, her fingers released their grip. The blood-red jade, carrying centuries of my family’s legacy and my grandfather’s final memory, arced through the air. Shatter! The ancient jade hit the marble floor, breaking into several pieces. “Oops, butterfingers,” Cora said, clapping her hands, her smile twisted. “Lucas, this is what happens when you don’t listen. Guards, get him out of here! Don’t let him dirty Kaden’s red carpet.” Two bodyguards rushed forward, kicking me behind the knees. I instinctively fell to one knee, my knee slamming hard onto the shattered jade, blood staining the ground. Surrounding staff and reporters raised their cameras, snapping photos. Cora turned, her arm around Kaden’s waist, and walked towards the red carpet, leaving me with only her haughty back. I lowered my head, letting the blood from my knee flow, a slow, grim smile spreading across my lips. “Good… Very good.” I slowly stood, ignoring the stares of disgust from those around me. From a pocket in my soaked undershirt, I pulled out an encrypted phone. This was a top-tier Wall Street secure line. Five years. It had been five years since I last dialed that specific number. The phone rang only once before being answered. It was Evelyn Nicol’s private line, the financial empress of New York. She was my only partner from the early days when I founded “Abyss Capital,” my multi-billion-dollar venture empire. “Hello, it’s me.” My voice was devoid of all emotion, only coldness remained. On the other end, the woman’s breathing hitched, her voice trembling. “Lucas… you finally called me.” “The game is over.” I closed my eyes, and when I reopened them, a fierce glint shone within. “I want the Crawford Group bankrupt by dawn. And… ” I looked at the shattered jade on the ground. “Pick me up backstage at the red carpet. Bring a knife.” “Three minutes. Anyone who hurts you, their entire family will pay.” Evelyn’s furious roar erupted from the phone. I hung up, standing silently in place. Outside, Cora was still basking in the flashbulbs and applause on the red carpet, while Kaden grandly displayed his suit to the cameras. One minute, two minutes, three minutes. The countdown ended. “Rumble.”

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The entire Federation knew that High Executor Hawke once owned a cat. For that cat, he’d sheathed his fangs, donned a collar, and willingly became a dog. Later, when he was on the brink of death, that cat threw him into the notorious Dead Man’s Tower, a place synonymous with brutality. Five years later, Hawke drenched District D in blood, all to find the cat who had betrayed him. And I, the cat himself, was currently cowering in a pile of garbage, playing hide-and-seek with him. From the alley entrance came the man’s low voice. “Teacher, have you hidden well?” “If I catch you, your neck will be bitten through, you know.” 1 “District D is under full lockdown. Once signs of subject S-09 are detected, report immediately.” “Those harboring him will be punished collectively.” “Informants will be rewarded thirty million credits.” “Those who capture him alive will receive ten times that amount.” A familiar voice echoed from the broadcast. I looked down at the half-eaten, expired ration bar in my hand. Ten times. Tsk. Hawke, that dog, I really did raise him to be expensive. To think, when I picked him out of a pile of corpses, he was fighting even wild dogs for bones. Now, to catch me, he’s blown the Federation’s annual military budget. If I’d known, I would’ve added some rat poison to that suppressor injection five years ago. And ended it all. 2 If cats have nine lives. I probably only had half of my last one left. That high-dose injection five years ago not only crippled half of Hawke’s powers but also drained all my mental energy. I was now just an ordinary, slightly anti-reconnaissance, useless cat. Aside from being a bit faster and jumping a little higher, I had no great talents. I had just ducked into an abandoned cardboard box. A dirty little hand reached in, tugging at my sleeve. “Brother, spare some food.” It was a partially mechanized child, an artificial eye blinking with a red glow. Seemingly another refugee caught in this “purge.” I sighed. Handed over my half-eaten cracker. “Eat it and get lost. Stay away from me.” The child took the cracker, wolfing it down: “Thank you, brother! Thank you, brother! You’re so kind. But brother, you smell so good, like… like expensive mint candy.” My face changed. Dammit. The suppressor patch had failed. Feline shapeshifters, under extreme stress, emit a unique scent. For canine shapeshifters, it was a walking GPS. What’s more, Hawke’s nose was an SSS-grade anomaly. “Go now!” I pushed the child away. Just as I thought of moving. A low howl suddenly echoed from a distance. It was a mechanical hound. Hawke’s personal guard, the ‘Black Fangs.’ I disregarded hiding my figure, my toes pushing off the box, propelling me forward. I had to get to the sewers. That was the only place that could block scents. I couldn’t help but recall the last time I saw Hawke. He lay on the ground, covered in blood, yet stubbornly clutched my trouser leg. His eyes were dark, his tone chilling. “Teacher, if you’re going to run, remember to run fast. Don’t let me catch you, otherwise…” Otherwise what, I hadn’t taken it seriously. I even patted his head, smiling: “Good dog, let go.” Thinking back now, I was truly reckless, relying on the fact that I had saved him. 3 The sewer entrance in my memory was just ahead. I slid down the wall, rushing towards the iron grate. My steps suddenly froze. The grate was gone. In its place was a ten-centimeter-thick blast-proof steel plate, fortified with a high-voltage electric fence. Not only that, all underground passages in District D were sealed. He had anticipated my plan. Hawke wasn’t hunting mice; he was trapping a turtle in a jar. The mint scent grew stronger. Without the suppression of my mental energy, that pheromone, unique to feline shapeshifters, was rapidly spreading. The mechanical hounds’ barks in the distance had changed pitch, from searching whines to the fierce howls of discovering prey. They’d caught my scent. Too late. I looked around. The alley was a dead end. The only cover was a few man-high garbage bins in the corner. They were filled with District D’s rotting, foul-smelling household waste. For a cat with a clean freak tendency, it was hell. But I wasn’t in a position to be picky. I gritted my teeth, propped myself on the rim of a bin with one hand, flipped over and jumped inside, then pulled the lid shut. The stench immediately invaded my nostrils. I clamped my hands over my mouth and nose, trying to squeeze myself as deep as possible. Tap. Tap. Footsteps, unhurried. The absolute dominance of an SSS-grade canine shapeshifter instantly enveloped the entire dark alley. The primal instinct in my bones made me tremble uncontrollably. Hawke was here. The man’s low voice slowly entered my ears. “Teacher, have you hidden well?” A few words, carrying a long-absent sweetness and madness, crawled up my spine like a venomous snake. Silence outside for three seconds. His voice suddenly dropped, with a hint of cruel amusement. “If I catch you, your neck will be bitten through, you know…” 4 My throat tightened; I didn’t even dare to swallow. He knew I was here. He could smell me. The footsteps resumed. This time, they were heading straight for the garbage bins. Thud. Something heavy hit the garbage bin next to mine. Trash spilled everywhere, and the mechanical hounds let out low whimpers. “Not this one.” He chuckled softly. The footsteps shifted, stopping in front of the bin where I was hiding. I could even hear his slightly ragged breathing. He was excited. “Teacher, do you know?” “Back in Dead Man’s Tower, every day I thought, when I claw my way out, the first thing I’ll do is find you.” “Find you… then pull out all your claws.” “And then, chain you to the bed with gold chains, so you can only ever look at me…” Creak. The lid was pried open slightly. Hawke’s eyes, half-smiling, locked onto mine. “Teacher.” “Long time no see.” My pupils instantly contracted into a vertical slit due to the sudden bright light. My back arched uncontrollably. Instinct was screaming. Run. You’ll die. Hawke tilted his head: “Aren’t you going to say hello?” I gritted my teeth. “…Executor, you’ve mistaken me for someone else.” The words had barely left my mouth when Hawke chuckled. The surrounding mechanical hounds immediately fell silent, not even daring to whimper. “Mistaken?” He leaned down slightly, propping one hand on the bin’s rim. “Teacher, do you know the scent you’re giving off right now…” He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, his Adam’s apple bobbing hard, “How much it attracts dogs?” Hawke opened his eyes, undisguised greed churning in his dark golden vertical pupils. He extended his black-gloved hand, reaching for me. “Come out. Don’t make me come in and get you.” Five years ago, this hand would have awkwardly tugged at my clothes, wagging his tail, begging me for another glance. Now, it commanded with the absolute dominance of an SSS-grade shapeshifter, approaching with unyielding force. The moment his fingers were about to touch me. I moved. A useless cat was still a cat. I sprang from the garbage pile, my claws instantly hardening and extending, slashing fiercely at the back of his hand. If I could just rip his glove, even if only for half a second— “Rip!” Hawke didn’t dodge at all. He flipped his hand, seizing my throat. “Ugh!” My breath was instantly cut off. All struggles ceased. Hawke lifted me with one hand. My feet dangled in the air. “You’re weaker, Teacher.” He looked up at me, a strange satisfaction in his eyes. “You were much fiercer five years ago when you disciplined me with that ruler.” My hands desperately clawed at his wrist. Just as I thought I was about to be choked to death, Hawke let go. I collapsed onto the ground uncontrollably. “Five years. Do you know how I lived?” Hawke squatted down, almost pressing his face against mine. Suddenly, his gaze fell on my neck, and his eyes darkened. “Very clean, Teacher.” His thumb dangerously caressed my carotid artery. “Tell me, should I bite here again, or…” His fingers slid back, stopping at the nape of my neck. “Or should I just turn you into a useless thing that can’t live without me?” My body stiffened. “Hawke… you wouldn’t dare…” “What wouldn’t I dare to do?” “You’re no longer some high-and-mighty instructor. You’re just a refugee in District D, a… wanted criminal for whom I’ve offered a three-hundred-million-credit bounty.” He stood up, pulling a silver collar from his waist. Click. The clasp locked. A heavy weight pressed against my neck. This was an electronic collar used by the military to restrain the most dangerous war criminals. “Take him away.” Hawke commanded coldly. Two Black Fangs guards immediately shifted into human form and stepped forward. They seized my arms, one on each side. Dragging me out of the dark alley. 5 I was taken back to the “White Tower,” the center of the Federation’s highest authority. There was no interrogation room, no water dungeon. Even the electronic collar on my neck had been removed. I was thrown into Hawke’s bedroom. And in the center of the bedroom, sat a giant golden cage. A cat cage? I walked over and looked. The cage was lined with soft cushions and even had a ball of yarn inside. When Hawke pushed open the door, I was staring blankly at the ball of yarn. I wanted to paw at it. He had changed into civilian clothes. In his hand, he carried a tray. “Are you hungry?” He placed the tray on the table. It was a steamed fish. Its fish eyes stared dead at me. “I don’t eat fish.” When I was a cat, I did indeed love fish. But ever since I picked him up, to leave the good stuff for this growing pup, I forced myself to change my taste to nutrient paste. Hawke raised an eyebrow. “True. Your taste has changed.” “You don’t like fish. You like hardship now.” I was forced back against the wall. No retreat. “Teacher, five years ago, in the depths of Dead Man’s Tower, do you know how much hardship I endured?” “It was full of failed test subjects. They had no sanity, only tearing and biting. To survive, I drank dirty water, ate decaying flesh, and even had to guard against rats biting my flesh while I slept.” I lowered my eyes. Of course, I knew what that place was like. Because I had personally chosen it. “But every time I was close to death, I thought of you.” Hawke’s fingers wrapped around my hair, tugging hard, forcing me to look up. “I thought, what is Teacher doing now? Is he enjoying himself in some warm embrace? Has he long forgotten that there’s a dog waiting for him?” “There was no warm embrace.” I wasn’t taking the blame for something I didn’t do. “I was scavenging.” After my mental energy was depleted, I couldn’t even complete basic tasks; if I didn’t scavenge, I’d starve. Hawke froze for a moment. Then, as if he’d heard a joke, he laughed, his shoulders shaking. “Scavenging? You? The pampered Instructor You, who usually can’t even be bothered to put on his own shoes, went scavenging?” “Believe it or not.” “Of course, I don’t believe it.” Hawke’s laughter abruptly ceased, his eyes instantly turning ruthless. He seized my wrist and dragged me towards the golden cage. “Get in.” I struggled desperately. “Hawke! Are you crazy? I’m human!” “You’re a cat.” Hawke’s strength was astonishing, allowing no resistance. He pushed me into the cage, then followed. With a click, it was locked. I gripped the golden bars, trembling with fury. “Hawke, if you have the guts, kill me.” Hawke watched me silently, then pulled out something. It was a white pill. “Killing you would be too boring.” He shook the pill between his fingers. “Teacher, don’t you like raising dogs? Now, let’s switch places.” “Eat it.” I stared at the pill. “What is it?” “Don’t be scared, it’s not poison.” Hawke’s lips curved into a wicked smile. “It’s a high-concentration gene inducer.” My pupils contracted violently. Gene inducer. That was a forbidden drug specifically used to accelerate shapeshifter traits. The side effect was that it would make a person lose their sanity within a short time, completely submitting to instinct. That meant, if I ate it… I would completely become a… a cat in heat, entirely dependent on him. “I won’t eat it.” Hawke wasn’t annoyed. “You don’t have to.” He looked at the watch on his wrist. “The purge of District D isn’t over yet. I heard there’s still a child there? Something like… Ah-Ji? And a partial cyborg?” My heart violently skipped a beat. It was the child I had pushed away. How did Hawke know? “What do you want?” Hawke shrugged. “Nothing. It’s just that the mechanical hounds have been hungry lately, and they’re very interested in the taste of semi-metal.” Despicable. Shameless. Vile. I cursed Hawke’s ancestors eighteen generations back in my mind. But I knew he would do it. “Give it to me.” Hawke smiled. He placed the pill in my palm. His fingertips brushed mine, almost imperceptibly. “Good.” “Now that’s my good cat.” 6 The drug took effect faster than I’d imagined. In just five minutes, my body temperature began to soar. Even as Hawke pinned me beneath him, I couldn’t believe it. That Hawke would go to such lengths for revenge. How much did he hate me? “Teacher, focus.” Hawke whispered in my ear. I was flipped over, forced to my knees. The bell Hawke had forced onto my collar jingled against my collarbone with every movement, a mockery, a constant reminder of my current identity. “It rings so beautifully.” Hawke hooked the collar, yanking it back. I was forced to tilt my head up. “Five years ago, when I knelt at your feet wearing this, Teacher, were you listening like this?” I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t even control myself from sticking out my tongue, licking the fingers he clamped on my chin, begging for a tiny bit of mercy, or a tiny bit of touch. Hawke’s eyes darkened. “So good.” He leaned down, his teeth biting into the nape of my neck. It hurt, but it also felt good. “Haw… Hawke…” I pleaded incoherently. “Don’t bite there… it will… it will mark…” In the shapeshifter world, the nape of the neck was the most private gland. Once bitten through and injected with another’s pheromone, it meant a month-long period of absolute submission. That was my last line of dignity as an ‘instructor.’ Hawke paused. “Mark?” He scoffed, his laughter full of vengeful satisfaction. “Teacher, don’t you understand? I, I want to mark you.” The next second, his canine teeth fiercely pierced the soft flesh. “Ugh—!” My scream was muffled back into my throat by his hand. My vision completely darkened. In the second before I passed out, I heard Hawke whisper in my ear, almost obsessively: “Jenny Crawley, Teacher, you’re mine.” “This time, you’re mine forever…” “Don’t ever think of escaping again.”

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My colleague, Sarah, shoved her phone in my face. The company group chat was open, and someone had tagged me. “Autumn, did your ex move into your complex?” “I saw him walking his dog below your unit building this morning.” A string of ellipses followed, along with several knowing emojis. I stared at the message for five seconds. Mark? The Mark I dumped three months ago? The Mark who told everyone, “She hasn’t gotten over me, and I’m just so helpless”? Moved in downstairs from me? Sarah lowered her voice: “You didn’t really call him, did you?” I handed her back the phone. “Sarah, I’m the one who broke up with him.” Her expression clearly showed disbelief. Right. The whole company had heard one version of the story: Autumn was relentlessly chasing Mark, who was utterly miserable. But now, tables turned. The one supposedly doing the chasing had moved into the other person’s apartment complex. I suddenly found it amusing. And then, a chill ran down my spine. 01 After work, I circled the perimeter of my apartment complex. In front of Unit 3, Building C, a black BMW 3 Series was parked, license plate ending in 762. It was Mark’s car. A notice for new residents was posted on the property management’s bulletin board, dated the twelfth of last month. I stood there, calculating. We broke up on March 1st. He moved in on April 12th. Only forty-two days separated those dates. I had moved into this complex two years ago. When I signed the lease for this apartment two years ago, Mark complained it was too far out of the way, said the commute was too long, and never once visited. Now, his car was parked downstairs from my building. I stood for a few minutes, then turned and went upstairs. Once inside, I double-locked the door. My phone lit up with a message from my friend, Lena. “Autumn, do you know Mark moved into your complex?” “Just found out.” “…Did you tell him where you live?” “No. After we broke up, I changed my phone number and deleted all his contact info.” Lena sent a long voice message. I tapped to listen. Her tone was hesitant. “Um… Alex told me Mark’s been in really bad shape lately, lost a lot of weight. He said Mark never intended to move there, it’s just that an apartment happened to become available in that complex. Don’t overthink it.” Alex was Mark’s college roommate. The word “happened” made my teeth clench. “Lena, how did he know where I live?” A few seconds of silence on the other end. “…Maybe he visited when you two were together?” “He never came here. I moved in eight months before we broke up.” “Then I don’t know.” Her voice held a wary retreat. I didn’t press further. I hung up, opened the window, and looked down. The lights were on in Unit 3, Building C. Separated by a flower bed, it was my building. The direct distance was less than fifty feet. I pulled the curtains shut. The next morning at 7:15, I went out to take out the trash. The elevator door opened, and Mark was standing in the lobby downstairs. He was holding a corgi on a leash. Seeing me, he froze, then quickly averted his gaze. His expression cycled through “surprise” to “awkwardness” to a full “helplessness” in half a second. “Autumn? You live here too?” The emphasis in his question was on “too.” I didn’t answer, walking past him towards the trash can. His voice came from behind me, very soft, like a murmur to himself. “This is quite a coincidence.” Coincidence. I dropped the trash bag into the bin with a dull thud. His corgi wagged its tail at me. Brown and white fur, a plump little rear. In our two years together, I’d said countless times I wanted a corgi, but Mark always said they were too messy. “Dog hair flying everywhere, can you handle cleaning that?” “Why get a dog? Isn’t my company enough?” Now he stood below my building, holding a corgi. I got back in the elevator and pressed the door-close button. Before the doors completely shut, I saw his eyes in the gap. Still fixed on me. 02 The first week, I ran into him three times. Tuesday morning at the bun shop near the complex entrance, he was behind me in line and said, “What a coincidence.” Thursday evening in the underground parking garage, his car was parked in the empty spot right next to mine. Sunday afternoon at the complex supermarket, I turned with a carton of milk, and he was standing at the other end of the aisle. Each time, he wore that reluctant expression, as if to say, “I didn’t want to run into you either.” Each time, there were other people present—an elderly man out for a stroll, a neighbor parking their car, the cashier. The second week, people in our mutual friends’ group chat started piping up. “Autumn, did you know Mark moved there and that’s why you won’t move out?” “I think you should move to a different complex, it would be better for both of you.” “Mark says he’s in a difficult position, just give him a break.” I read through each message. Not one asked, “Why did Mark move into her complex?” Everyone assumed one premise: Autumn was the one who couldn’t let go. I set the group chat to mute notifications. Wednesday noon, Sarah sat across from me, holding her lunchbox. “Autumn, don’t get mad, but I need to tell you something.” “Go ahead.” “Liam from sales said your ex-boyfriend contacted him last week and added him on social media. When they chatted, he asked about you, and his tone… how should I put it, it was that really heartbroken, helpless kind of feeling. He said you still hadn’t moved on and had even moved near his apartment complex.” I put down my chopsticks. “Sarah, he moved into my complex. I’ve lived here for two years.” “I know, I know.” Sarah nodded, but her next words betrayed her, “But still, you could consider moving somewhere else. Out of sight, out of mind, right?” Out of sight, out of mind. I was living perfectly fine. He moved in. And then everyone told me to move out. I closed my lunchbox, suddenly losing my appetite. At 4 PM, I received a text from an unknown number. “Autumn, it’s Alex. Mark’s really not doing well lately, can you please stop this? Just pity him a little.” This. Stop what? Me living in my own home, going out for breakfast, shopping at the supermarket, was “this”? I didn’t reply to the text. I opened my phone’s notepad and created a new file. The title was two words: “Record.” The first line I wrote was: April 12th, Mark moved into Harmony Garden complex, Unit 3, Building C. The second line: Starting April 23rd, “coincidentally” met three times in the complex within a week. The third line: Late April, at least five people in the mutual friends’ group chat advised me to “let go.” The fourth line: May 1st, Alex texted me to “stop this.” After writing, I placed my phone face down on the table. The sun was bright outside. I took a deep breath. 03 The second week of May, things started to get nasty. Monday, I came home from work and the parcel locker indicated I had a package. But after entering the pick-up code, the locker was empty. I called the delivery person, who said someone had already retrieved it using the code. “Sir, the pick-up code was only sent to my phone, no one else could possibly know it.” “Ma’am, the system shows it was indeed picked up. Did you ask anyone in your household?” I live alone. Wednesday, another one went missing. This time it was a bathroom shelf I bought online, a forty-seven-dollar item, not worth a trip to the delivery station. I stood by the parcel locker for a while. The entrance to Unit 3, Building C, was right to the left of the locker, less than ten steps away. The screen of the parcel locker’s keypad was highly reflective; from a side angle, one could clearly see the numbers being entered. I took a photo and saved it to my phone. Thursday evening, I ordered takeout, with a note to leave it at the door. After waiting forty minutes, the takeout hadn’t arrived. I called the delivery rider, who said, “Your friend already took it for you, a man, said he was your boyfriend.” My fingers went numb. “I don’t have a boyfriend.” The rider was silent for two seconds: “Then… the man said he lives downstairs from you and would bring it up. Wait a minute, he should be there soon.” Just as he finished speaking, the doorbell rang. I looked through the peephole. Mark stood outside, holding my takeout bag. His expression was natural, even a little concerned. “Autumn, your takeout. The rider delivered it to the wrong building. I brought it up for you.” I didn’t open the door. “Leave it at the door.” “It’s already cold, do you want me to warm it up for you…” “Leave it at the door. Thank you.” Silence for a few seconds outside the door. The sound of the takeout bag being placed on the ground. Then footsteps, gradually fading. I waited a full five minutes before opening the door. When I picked up the bag, I noticed the seal had been torn open and re-taped. Half of the spicy hot pot soup inside had spilled. I dumped the entire bag of takeout and cooked a bowl of plain noodles. While eating the noodles, I continued to write in my notepad. Seventh line: May 8th, May 10th, two packages claimed by someone else. Eighth line: May 11th, takeout intercepted by Mark and delivered to my door. Seal showed signs of being opened. After writing this line, I paused for a long time. I tried to analyze these events in the most rational way. If I removed the name “Mark” and replaced it with “a man you have clearly rejected,” what would these actions be called? Stalking. Surveillance. Boundary intrusion. But because his name was Mark, because he was my ex-boyfriend, because everyone believed I “couldn’t let go”—these things became “he still cares about you,” “you should be touched,” “don’t be ungrateful.” I washed the bowl and poured the noodle water down the drain. My phone rang again. Lena. “Autumn, Mark said he brought you takeout and you wouldn’t open the door? He’s really upset.” I held my phone, saying nothing. “Even if you don’t want to get back together, you don’t have to be so heartless, do you? He took care of you for two years after all…” “Lena.” “Hm?” “He broke the seal on my takeout.” “…Huh?” “Nothing. I’ve eaten, I’m hanging up now.” I put my phone on silent. That bowl of plain noodles was bitter from too much salt. No, I had put too much salt in it. 04 Starting the third week, I checked the door lock every time I left the house. It wasn’t paranoia. It was because twice when I came home, I noticed the shoes on my shoe rack had been moved. I have OCD; I always arrange my shoes with the toes pointing outwards when I leave. On Tuesday, when I returned, the gray sneakers were facing inwards. On Friday, when I returned, there was an extra shoe print by the door, size 43, covered in red mud from the flower bed downstairs. I wear a size 37. There are only two apartments on each floor of this building; next door lives a retired couple in their sixties. I crouched down and took a picture of the shoe print. After taking the picture, I wasn’t scared. I went downstairs to the property management office to check the surveillance footage. The property manager, a very friendly woman, pulled up the hallway footage from that afternoon. The video showed a man walking to my door at 2:17 PM. He stood for about thirty seconds. Then he left. The camera angle didn’t capture his face clearly, but the height, build, and the grey-blue jacket were all too familiar. I had bought that jacket for him at Decathlon last year for four hundred and sixty-nine dollars. “Do you know this person?” the property manager asked me. “Yes.” “Good, I thought it was a thief.” She smiled, dismissing it. I requested a copy of the footage and saved it to a USB drive. On my way home, I detoured to the hardware store next to the complex and spent three hundred and twenty dollars replacing my lock cylinder with a C-grade one. The locksmith asked me after installing it: “Miss, the previous lock showed signs of having keys duplicated, did you know that?” I paused. “What do you mean?” “Well, there were scratches around the keyhole, like someone had taken it to get a copy made. Not for certain, it could also be normal wear and tear.” I paid, saying nothing. I remembered. Last August, I kept a spare key in the second drawer of the entryway cabinet. One weekend, Mark came to my place to cook. I stepped out to pick up a package, gone for less than ten minutes total. I hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. Ten minutes. That was enough time to go downstairs, find a key duplicator, and make a copy. Three more lines appeared in my notepad. My records now filled two pages. Each line was short, specific, and included a date and time. Like knots on a rope, getting tighter and tighter. In the same week, something happened at work. During a team meeting for new topics, my team leader asked me to create a redesign proposal for an app. After three days of work, I submitted my design on Friday, only to find the file format had been altered, all the color values were wrong, and the layout was a mess. My team leader frowned at it, but said nothing. After the meeting, Sarah quietly told me: “Liam said your ex-boyfriend looked for him last week, and they had drinks. She doesn’t know what they talked about.” Liam was the technical person in our department, and he had access to my work drive. I didn’t want to think the worst. But I still changed my drive password. When I did, I noticed an unfamiliar IP address in the login history, with a login time of 2 AM on Thursday. I took a screenshot. Fifteenth line. 05 The last weekend of May, Lena invited me out for coffee. Her face didn’t look too good when we met. “Autumn, I need to tell you something. Listen calmly.” “Go ahead.” “Mark… he posted something on social media.” She handed me her phone. The post’s picture was of the complex’s flower bed, sunny, with his corgi lying on a bench. The caption read: “Moved to a new place, sun’s great. Hope everything slowly gets better. She lives close, but I choose to respect each other’s space. It’s hard to let someone go, but learning to let go is also growth.” This post had forty-seven likes and over twenty comments. All the comments were— “Mark, you’re too kind.” “That toxic ex doesn’t deserve someone as good as you.” “The more generous you are, the more she’ll walk all over you.” “She even moved into your complex, that’s terrifying, call the police!” I reread it twice. He said, “She lives close.” I had lived there for two years. He had moved in forty-two days ago. Yet the wording of that post made everyone believe I had moved to chase him. Lena stared at my face. “Autumn, shouldn’t you say something?” “Say what?” “Explain it! You moved in first, he moved in later. Post the property records.” “And then what?” “Then everyone will know the truth.” I took a sip of coffee; it was acridly bitter. “Lena, what do you think will happen if I post the property records?” She thought for a moment. “Everyone might think… you’re looking for evidence to prove you’re not chasing him?” “Exactly.” I put down my cup. “No matter what I post, the conclusion will always be ‘she still cares about him.’ Explaining itself is proof of entanglement.” This was Mark’s cleverness. He had seized control of the narrative. In the story he constructed, I had only two choices: silence, which equated to agreement; explanation, which equated to still caring. Either way, I lost. Lena chewed on her straw, silent. After a while, she asked, “So what are you going to do?” “Nothing for now.” “But…” “Wait for him to make a mistake.” My tone was so calm when I said this. Lena probably thought I was putting on a brave face. On the way home, she sent me a message. “Autumn, I believe you. But you need to take care of yourself.” I replied with “Okay.” On Monday at work, I distinctly felt my colleagues’ gazes change. Before, it was scrutiny; now, it was pity. Pity was harder to bear than suspicion. Because pity implied—they believed I truly was that pathetic, clinging person. During my lunch break, I stood on the rooftop for a long time. Cars flowed continuously below. The May breeze blew into my shirt collar, a little cool. I looked down at the records saved on my phone. Property move-in date proof. Hallway surveillance screenshots. Package receipt records. Takeout platform rider call recordings. The locksmith’s verbal testimony. Login screenshots of unfamiliar IP addresses on my work drive. Twenty-three entries. I put my phone back in my pocket and took a deep breath. Not yet. But soon.

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When I found out I was the evil ex-wife of the novel’s male lead, I was grilling Ashton about when he’d be back. He simply replied, coolly, “Soon.” I stared blankly at the scrolling comments on my screen. [Oh my God, the female side character is such a control freak. How can the male lead stand her?] [He wouldn’t have married her if she hadn’t blackmailed him with that favor.] [Exactly! He’ll realize he ‘repaid’ the wrong person soon, then it’s a full-blown chase for the wife.] [Hahahaha, let the female side character keep messing up. She’ll end up on the streets after the divorce.] I looked down, slowly typing: “It’s fine. No rush. It’s okay if you don’t come back.” 1 Ashton didn’t reply again. I took his silence as agreement and turned off the living room lights. Back in the bedroom, I prepared for sleep. I used to be so accustomed to Ashton’s presence that I couldn’t sleep without him. So every night, I’d wait for him to come home, then snuggle up with him. Even when he traveled for work, I insisted he return within three days. Otherwise, I’d demand to go with him. My reputation for being jealous was well-known. But those scrolling comments had just dropped some vital information. First, Ashton was the male lead, and he would eventually divorce me, the ‘evil ex-wife’. Second, our family would go bankrupt, and I’d end up on the streets. 2 If those comments were true, it was terrifying. I’d lived a privileged life for twenty-six years; poverty was absolutely out of the question. But our family business had always been stable. What could possibly cause its downfall? I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Lost in thought, I drifted off to sleep. In a haze, I heard faint rustling sounds. A warm chest pressed against my back. “The dinner was important, so I couldn’t leave early.” “I bought your favorite green bean cake. Don’t be mad, okay?” Having just fallen asleep only to be disturbed, I mumbled a few “Mhm, mhm”s and sank back into slumber. The person behind me suddenly fell silent. Then, a finger gently pried open my eyelid. He made sure I was truly asleep. The man behind me quietly teared up: “Didn’t you say you could only sleep well with me beside you?” 3 The next day, I slowly woke up. Ashton was already dressed and ready to leave. Perhaps the appearance of those comments had scared me so much it cured my insomnia. I didn’t even know when he’d come home last night. Ashton was fastening his tie in front of the mirror. He stood tall, his face as serene as jade, but his expression was as cool as ever. I used to think he was just cold on the outside but warm on the inside. Now, it seemed, he was probably just cold towards me. “Breakfast is ready. Remember to eat it while it’s hot.” Normally, if Ashton hadn’t come home early as I’d demanded, I would have given him the cold shoulder and thrown a fit. But this time, my attitude was unusually pleasant: “Got it. Be careful on your way out, and stay safe.” Ashton’s body stiffened. He said, “I’m going on a business trip. My flight is tonight.” He turned, staring at me, and added, “About a week.” I felt a pang of reluctance. But thinking of those comments, I forced a smile: “It’s okay, business trips are normal. Have you packed your things? If not, I can help you.” Ashton’s face completely darkened. He said coldly, “No need. It’s all packed.” With that, he pulled a small suitcase from the bedroom doorway. As he was about to leave, Ashton turned back, glancing behind him. I asked thoughtfully, “Did you forget something?” Ashton ignored me and left. 4 I was a bit bewildered. What was that sudden outburst about? My attitude was perfectly nice just now. At that moment, the comments reappeared. [The female side character’s passive aggressiveness successfully annoyed the male lead, lol.] [Hope their relationship breaks up quickly. I really don’t want to see the male lead’s romance with her.] [When will our female lead make her appearance?] I blinked. So, my politeness was interpreted as passive-aggressiveness by both the comments and Ashton? After breakfast, I was still bothered by the thought of bankruptcy. So, for the first time in ages, I went to the company. I actually had shares in the company and was officially listed as a manager. But since I wasn’t really interested in real estate, I’d only shown up a few times and never returned. I swiped my card and went straight to the CEO’s office. My brother, Julian, was engrossed in his work at his desk. Upon seeing me, he seemed surprised: “Well, well, well, a rare visitor. What brings Manager Sterling to the office for an inspection?” I rolled my eyes: “Can’t I just drop by when I’m bored?” My brother pushed up his slipping glasses: “What’s up? Arguing with Ashton?” “No, our relationship…” Thinking of the comments, I sheepishly added the latter half of the sentence, “is just fine.” “Oh, by the way, bro, how’s the company doing lately?” I still couldn’t resist asking. My brother shrugged: “Thriving under my leadership. Don’t worry, your year-end bonus won’t be small, so stop fretting.” I genuinely knew nothing about the company. I couldn’t just magically reverse things like in a TV show, even with foreknowledge of the future. So I could only subtly hint: “Then be careful when developing projects or negotiating partnerships. Always prioritize stability.” “Wealth comes from stability, understand?” 5 My brother, annoyed by my chatter, promptly kicked me out. “If you have nothing to do, just wander around the company. Don’t bother me while I’m working.” I slinked out of the CEO’s office. As I was heading to a spa appointment, I ran into a girl who was completely drenched. She was dressed in standard office attire: a white blouse and a black skirt. But because her blouse was soaked, it clung to her, revealing her undergarments and making her look quite disheveled. I frowned. It was a perfectly sunny day outside. Her being drenched like this clearly meant someone had thrown water on her. What era was this? Workplace bullying was still happening. And in our company, no less. No wonder we’d go bankrupt later; maybe this was the catalyst. Thinking of this, I immediately took off my coat and draped it over her. “Are you okay? You should change your clothes; you might catch a cold.” The girl looked startled and quickly shook her head: “I’m fine.” “I’ll just go to the restroom and dry off with paper towels, then put my jacket back on at my desk.” I disagreed: “No way, wearing wet clothes is so uncomfortable.” I suddenly remembered the company had always provided me with an office. There should be some of my clothes in the resting area. “I have spare clothes. Come with me.” I took the girl’s wrist and led her to my office. Luckily, we were about the same size. After changing and blow-drying her hair, the girl quietly thanked me. I reminded her: “The company has a zero-tolerance policy for workplace bullying. You can report it to HR, and they’ll handle it.” I didn’t plan to directly intervene; after all, standing up for oneself was important. Just as I was about to leave, someone tugged at my coat. “Elara, do you still remember me?” 6 The girl’s eyes were gentle, yet her gaze was resolute, holding a sharp edge of defiance. The face before me gradually merged with the one from my memory. “Amelia?” I asked, a little surprised, “You’ve changed so much, I barely recognized you.” Amelia had always been quiet and unnoticeable in high school. I remembered her for two reasons: we were in the same class, and her name was unusual, evoking the strength of steel. The other reason was that she consistently ranked first in our grade, even Ashton couldn’t surpass her. Amelia’s lips curved into a smile: “You’re still the same, but your aura is even stronger. I didn’t even dare to approach you. Thank you for helping me today.” The comments flashed onto the screen at just the right moment. [Wow wow wow, our female lead is here!] [What’s going on? The female lead and side character met early.] [The female side character is so annoying. Why meddle? Amelia was clearly collecting evidence of being bullied and was about to report it and resign.] [Exactly! Amelia reported it to no avail, then resigned and went to work at the male lead’s company. Then the male lead heard about her experience and stood up for her. What a satisfying plot!] [Yeah, and the female side character could have solved it with one sentence, yet she fake-ly advised Amelia to report it.] [I think the person above is being a bit much. Even though the female side character is annoying, she really did help the female lead this time.] [A gentleman judges by actions, not intentions. And help is help. Why complain about not helping all the way?] [This tells us not to casually help others, because you never know when you’ll be morally blackmailed.] The comments were in a furious debate. I felt a sudden realization. Indeed, strong protagonists, a long-awaited reunion, a broken mirror mended. Amelia and Ashton fit the bill perfectly. So this was the female lead the comments were talking about. Amelia tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s almost quitting time. To express my gratitude, let me treat you to dinner.” I quickly waved my hand: “It was nothing, really, no need.” “No, I insist. It’s important to show gratitude. Please give me a chance to thank you.” 7 In the end, Amelia and I had dinner together. We also exchanged contact information. Amelia said she’d lost her old phone, so she had a new social media account. When I got home, she kept messaging me, asking if I’d arrived and reminding me to get some rest. After our chat, I collapsed onto my bed, letting out a long sigh. Was the cool, distant top student from my memory actually a chatterbox? I was truly helpless against someone so naturally outgoing. I felt like all my energy had been drained. Ashton was away on a business trip for almost a week. In the past, I would have bombarded him with calls and texts, satisfied only when he answered and replied instantly. But this time, I decided not to bother him like before. After all, I couldn’t let my relationship with Ashton get too strained. If our family really did face bankruptcy, maybe he would extend a helping hand, considering I’d been well-behaved lately. Actually, I wasn’t always so dependent on Ashton. Ashton first came into our lives during our freshman year of high school. His father, our family’s driver, had lost the use of a leg saving my dad. My dad arranged for the best doctors to treat Ashton’s father and promised he wouldn’t have to work again, his salary paid as usual. He even brought Ashton to live with us, sending him to the same prestigious school as me, ensuring he received the best education. Initially, I was indifferent. After all, he was just a driver’s son; how would he affect me? Growing up, I was always the most pampered in our family. But after Ashton arrived, my dad’s attention shifted to him. Because of Ashton’s excellent grades, my dad often told me to learn from him. Over time, I started to resent him. I’d find ways to tease and order him around. But Ashton would just silently endure it, never complaining. The turning point happened during the summer of our sophomore year. I went shopping and made Ashton carry my bags. On the way back, we were kidnapped. It was my first time experiencing anything like that. I was terrified. In the darkness, Ashton squeezed my hand, whispering reassuringly, “Don’t be scared, I’m here.”

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1 We were in the middle of dinner when Mark suddenly set down his fork. He looked at me and asked, “Who is Walter Briggs?” My chopsticks froze in mid-air. My heart skipped a beat. Walter Briggs. It was a fake name, something Cecilia and I had invented one drunken night. We made a pact: if one of us ever got into trouble and couldn’t be reached, “Walter Briggs” would be the code. Besides me and her, no one else knew that name. And Cecilia… had been missing for a month. She said she was going on a trip to Thailand. And she never came back. I looked at Mark’s casual, untroubled face, and my heart sank. How could he possibly know that name? The name Walter Briggs was born the year Cecilia and I graduated from college. We’d finished a whole bottle of red wine and were lying on the rooftop, staring at the full moon. Cecilia had her arm slung around my neck, her words slurring. “Sophie, we need a code.” “A code for what?” “You know… if one of us ever gets into trouble, disappears, and the other one hears the name, they’ll know something is wrong.” I laughed, calling her dramatic. But we spent the next hour brainstorming until we landed on Walter Briggs. It sounded so old-fashioned and clunky that it couldn’t possibly be a real person’s name. Only two people in the world knew what those words meant. Me. And Cecilia. And Cecilia had been gone for thirty-one days. She said she was spending a few days in Chiang Mai, Thailand. She’d even video-called me from the airport, panning her phone across the duty-free shop. “Sophie! See anything you want? My treat!” That was the last time I saw her face. After that, my texts went unanswered. My calls wouldn’t go through. Her last social media post was a photo from a night market in Chiang Mai. I called the police. Her family called the police. The authorities in Thailand were investigating. But there was no trace of her. No body, no witness, nothing. It was as if Cecilia had simply vanished from the face of the earth. And now, my husband, Mark—a man who, in theory, had no connection to Cecilia, a man who never even liked her posts—had just casually uttered that name over dinner. “What’s wrong?” Mark asked, noticing my stunned silence. He smiled. “You look… strange.” “No, it’s nothing.” I lowered my head and put a bite of food in my mouth. It was tasteless. “I’ve just never heard that name before. Where did you hear it?” “Oh, a friend mentioned it,” he said, taking a sip of water. “Just curious.” He changed the subject, starting to talk about his day at work. I couldn’t hear a single word. My mind was stuck on one thought. How did he know that name? How? After dinner, Mark went to take a shower. I sat on the sofa, my palms slick with sweat. The sound of running water echoed from the bathroom. I glanced at the closed door, then stood and walked to his phone, which he’d left on the dining table. I knew the password. Our wedding anniversary. My fingers trembled as I unlocked it. I scrolled through his messages, his call logs, his notes. Nothing. It was too clean. Suspiciously clean. No one’s phone is that pristine. Next, I went for his laptop. It was in the study, and I knew that password too. He’d never tried to hide it from me. I checked his browser history, his files, his downloads, one by one. Then I opened the cached records of a booking app. And my hand froze. A month ago, Mark had told me he was going to Shanghai for a three-day business trip. I’d even helped him pack his suitcase. But the booking records told a different story. He hadn’t bought a ticket to Shanghai. He’d bought a ticket to Chiang Mai, Thailand. His departure date was one day before Cecilia’s. His return date was two days after she disappeared. The water in the bathroom shut off. I quickly closed the laptop, walked back to the living room, and sat on the sofa, pretending to scroll through videos on my phone. Mark came out, toweling his hair. He glanced at me. “Still up?” “Yeah, just for a bit longer,” I said with a smile. He went into the bedroom and turned off the light. I stared at the dark doorway, my fingers digging into the arm of the sofa. Mark. What did you do in Thailand? 2 The next morning, I told Mark that an urgent project had come up at work and I needed to go out of town for a few days. He was tying his tie, his back to me. “Where to?” “San Francisco.” “When will you be back?” “Not sure. Maybe three or four days.” He turned and gave me a smile. “Be safe.” I smiled back. I took a flight that afternoon. Not to San Francisco. To Chiang Mai, Thailand. I landed at four in the afternoon, local time. A wall of hot, humid air hit me as I stepped out of the airport, and for a moment, I felt a dizzying sense of disorientation. This was the city where Cecilia had taken her last photo. The night market, the lights, the crowds. She had been standing in front of a mango sticky rice stall, grinning like a little kid. I didn’t have time for grief. I went straight to the hotel where she had stayed. I knew the name; she’d sent me a screenshot of her booking at a place called the Lotus Courtyard, a boutique hotel near the old city. At the front desk, I showed the receptionist a photo of Cecilia. “Did you see this girl? She stayed here about a month ago.” The receptionist glanced at the photo and shook her head. “Her name is Cecilia Chen. She’s Chinese-American,” I added. The woman typed something into her computer, then nodded. “Yes, we have a record of her. She stayed for three nights. She never checked out or extended her stay. Her luggage is still in our storage room.” My heart seized. Her luggage is still here. But she was gone. I steadied myself and asked the question I dreaded most. “A month ago, was there a man from the U.S. staying here as well?” I handed her a photo of Mark. She looked at it, then checked the computer again. Her expression grew hesitant. “Yes. He stayed for five nights.” Five nights. Longer than Cecilia’s three. “Which room was he in?” “Room 312.” “And Cecilia?” “315.” The same floor. Two doors down. I stood at the front desk, a roaring in my ears. The first thought was the obvious one: they were having an affair. Cecilia and Mark, in adjacent rooms in Thailand. But another voice in my head immediately shut that down. Impossible. Cecilia hated Mark. It wasn’t a polite, behind-the-back dislike. It was a direct, in-your-face animosity. Whenever I brought Mark to a party, Cecilia would ignore him. One night, after a few drinks, she’d pointed at him and said, “Sophie has great taste in everything, except men.” Mark’s face had turned green. They hadn’t made eye contact since. How could two people like that be having a secret affair in Thailand? Then why was he staying next door to her? What was he doing? I took a deep breath. “I need to see the security footage from that week.” The receptionist looked uncomfortable. “I… I’ll have to ask my manager.” “Please do.” “And we might need the police to authorize it.” “My best friend is missing,” I cut her off, my voice calm but my hands shaking. “It’s been a month. No one has seen or heard from her. Your hotel may be one of the last places she was seen alive. Do you really think your manager won’t cooperate?” She stared at me, then picked up the phone. Twenty minutes later, the hotel’s head of security led me to a small surveillance room. Three walls were covered in monitors. He pulled up the recordings from a month ago, starting from the day Cecilia checked in. I sat down, my palms cold with sweat. Day one. Cecilia dragged her suitcase into the lobby and checked in at the front desk. She was wearing a white sundress, her hair in a ponytail, chatting happily with the receptionist. My eyes instantly burned with tears. Then, in the bottom right corner of the screen, a man walked in through the main entrance. A dark blue t-shirt, a baseball cap, a face mask. The way he walked, his posture… it was Mark. He didn’t go to the front desk. He sat down in the lobby’s lounge area, picking up a magazine and holding it in front of his face. But his eyes followed Cecilia. From the moment she checked in, to the moment she took her key card and stepped into the elevator. He watched her the entire time. A chill ran down my spine. “Fast-forward,” I said. The security chief sped up the playback. That afternoon, Cecilia left the hotel to go sightseeing. The camera angle switched to the entrance. Two minutes after she walked out, Mark followed. Same cap, same mask. He stayed about twenty yards behind her. That evening, Cecilia ate dinner at the hotel restaurant on the ground floor. Mark sat in a corner, nursing a cup of coffee. His seat gave him a perfect view of her table. Cecilia never noticed him. Day two. Cecilia visited a temple. Mark followed. Cecilia went to a night market. Mark followed. Cecilia bought a coconut from a street vendor and crouched down to pet a stray cat. Mark stood across the street, in front of a convenience store, pretending to look at his phone. Every frame, every shot. He was there. My hands started to tremble. This wasn’t an affair. People having an affair don’t act like this. They don’t wear masks and keep their distance. They walk side-by-side, they eat together, they touch. He never spoke a word to her. From start to finish, Cecilia had no idea he was there. This wasn’t a tryst. This was stalking. “What about the third day?” I asked, my voice hoarse. The security chief pulled up the footage. On the morning of the third day, Cecilia left the hotel. She had a backpack on and was holding a map, looking cheerful. The camera showed her walking out the front door and heading east down the street. Two minutes later, Mark emerged from a side exit and headed in the same direction. And then, the footage ended. The hotel’s cameras only covered a fifty-yard radius. I couldn’t see what happened beyond that. “Are there any other cameras?” I asked. The security chief shook his head. “That’s all we have. For the street cameras, you’d have to contact the local police.” I sat in silence for a long time. Then I stood up, thanked him, and walked out of the room. Standing in front of the hotel, I opened the map on my phone. Cecilia had been heading east. That road passed a few streets, a market, a gas station. And it ended at the coast. At a cliff. I stared at the pin on the map, my fingers numb. She went there. He followed her. And then she disappeared.

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

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