Category: English

When they found her, her body was covered in scars, and a camera mounted across from her had recorded ten solid hours of torture. Yet, the three trust-fund kids who destroyed her were walking free, arrogant as ever. I watched the news with a completely blank expression. That night, I scaled the wall and broke out of the state psychiatric hospital. 01 Nurse #18 didn’t come to deliver a sunflower today. No one to bother me. Logically, I should be happy. But for some inexplicable reason, the irritation grew stronger and stronger, so loud it drove me to the edge of losing control. My eyes went bloodshot. I violently smashed a glass against the wall. In an aggressive stance, I scrutinized every living thing in the room. Finally, with steady, ruthless precision, I caught a rat. The little nurse had said that human life isn’t something to be trampled on. Not just other people’s lives, but my own life, too. Both are equally precious, she claimed. She was always saying these baffling things, trying to “redeem” me. She even said she wanted to be my friend, calling me Chloe the very first time we met. What a ridiculous, stupid girl. My hands didn’t stop moving. I easily disposed of the rat. The crimson staining my palms was warm, seemingly trying to soothe my nerves. But the suffocating irritation didn’t lessen; it multiplied. Whispers from the hallway suddenly drifted in: “She just graduated… how could something like this happen?” “Ugh, I don’t even have the stomach to open that video. After those three animals ruined her, they actually recorded it.” “The worst part is, I heard those scumbags got released without a scratch.” I walked toward them, cutting off their conversation. “Is #18 on vacation today?” In the three years I’ve been locked up here, this was the first time I willingly initiated a conversation with anyone. I tried to soften my features, even forcing out what could loosely be considered a smile. But they still scattered in terror, dropping a phone on the linoleum floor. I twitched my lips. Figures. They claim they don’t discriminate against patients, but once they heard I had blood on my hands, the entire staff treated me like a plague. I didn’t have to deal with their hypocritical faces, which usually gave me some peace and quiet. But this year, that fresh-out-of-college Nurse #18 showed up. Every single day, she shoved a sunflower into my hands, smiling brightly as she declared we were going to be friends. She was so annoying. I threw away all those ugly flowers. I hated her. I hated the carefree dimples on her cheeks when she smiled. But where did she go now? It’s not that I cared about her. I just needed to confirm she’d never come back to bother me again. My gaze fell on the dropped phone. The footage playing on the screen made my pupils violently contract. The victim on the screen was #18. The camera was zoomed in perfectly on her face. Her eyes were trembling, her pupils dilated to the extreme. I was all too familiar with that look. It meant the person was in a state of absolute, paralyzing terror. The young girl was dragged into an obscenely expensive black SUV. The sunflower in her hand was swatted away impatiently by a man, its yellow petals scattering across the concrete. The camera locked onto her face, documenting the most agonizing, vile things a human could endure in this world. At first, she was screaming and crying her heart out. Later, the three men got annoyed that she was too loud. With a swift slice of a knife, they made sure she’d never speak again. At the very end, a man’s frustrated voice cursed from off-camera: “Damn it! How is she this fragile? She’s dead already?” She was tossed out of the car like a broken, blood-soaked ragdoll. “According to our investigation, the victim, Sunny Davis, walked this route every day to visit a local flower shop…” “The suspects mapped out her daily routine, ambushed her on this road, and subjected the victim to ten hours of torture…” So #18’s name was Sunny. Such a stupid name. It fit her perfectly. If she hadn’t gone out of her way to buy me those stupid flowers, wouldn’t she be fine? I watched the entire video with a deadpan expression, my hands continuing to dissect the rat. But the paring knife suddenly felt incredibly heavy. No matter what I did, I couldn’t make a clean cut. I even accidentally nicked my own fingers. Hurting myself while using a blade was something I never tolerated, something that never happened to me before. But now, it happened just like that. Why? Was it because of Sunny? It felt like a blunt knife had been violently shoved into my chest. It wasn’t a sharp pain, just impossibly heavy, crushing the breath out of my lungs. Even more uncontrollably, this heavy grief started from my heart and spread out through my limbs. It hurt so much. I didn’t understand why I was feeling this. I threw the mangled meat onto the floor, grabbed my head, and screamed. The birds in the trees outside scattered in a panic. Panting heavily, I slowly raised my head. In a row of identical, sterile cubicle-like rooms, my room stood out like a sore thumb. In this dreary, gray-and-white asylum, only my room was bursting with massive splashes of bright yellow. I had told a tiny lie. Those sunflowers I supposedly threw away? I actually sneaked out and picked them all back up. Like a thief who had stolen her whole life, I finally had a treasure to call my own. After the initial disbelief came the cowardly fear; I wanted to hide them all away so no one could take them. But now, someone had plundered and destroyed even this tiny sliver of bright yellow. How dare they? 02 “Police alert: A patient has escaped from the state psychiatric facility.” “According to records, it is Chloe Miller, the violent offender who strangled her biological father to death three years ago…” Listening to the radio in the cab, the corners of my mouth curled into a mocking smile beneath my mask. My eyes dropped back to the files in my hand. Out of the three animals, Hunter Vance was the first to strike. He was the one who dragged Sunny into the car. A silver-spoon brat who had grown bored of his endlessly smooth, privileged life. He would pay any price chasing cheap thrills and morbid curiosities. My smile deepened. This kind of brainless brute was the lowest tier of trash in our circle of psychos. Dragging a massive suitcase, I walked right into the VIP club where Hunter was partying. I found his private booth and heard the noise inside. “I want a thrill! A real thrill, do you get it?! Not cheap trash like you who just shake it for a few bucks!” I kicked the door open and walked in under the stares of the entire room. Hunter froze for a second, then grabbed a glass bottle and hurled it at my head. “Who the hell are you? You dare crash my booth?” I sidestepped it easily and spoke with a half-smile. “Mr. Vance doesn’t need to know who I am.” “You just need to know I have a thrilling game. Guaranteed to satisfy you.” Flushed with alcohol, Hunter pushed the bottle girl off his lap, eyeing me with sudden interest. “Oh? What kind of fun do you have?” I opened the suitcase, pulled out a packet of powder, and dumped it right into his glass of liquor. “Drink this, and you’ll fall into a deep sleep for one hour.” “I’ll pack you into this suitcase and take you to a one-hour trip to paradise.” “I just wonder if Mr. Vance has the guts to take a gamble?” Hunter stared at the spiked drink, narrowing his eyes, seeming to hesitate. I took a step forward, locking eyes with him. “Don’t tell me you’re scared?” “The Vance family owns half this city, and with a dozen witnesses right here, do you really think I could kidnap and sell you?” “I wouldn’t be scared even if the Grim Reaper himself showed up!” Hunter sneered, grabbed the glass, and downed it in one gulp. I laughed along with him. Laughing at his stupidity. Laughing at his ego. I thought I would have to waste a lot of breath, or even physically force it down his throat. I never expected that, in his pursuit of a “thrill,” he would hand his life over to me so easily. Right in front of his wealthy frat-boy friends, I folded Hunter into the suitcase. I easily lost his bodyguards in the alleyways. Now, he couldn’t fly away even if he grew wings. 03 When Hunter woke up, I was boiling down pork rinds and animal bones. He realized his clothes had been stripped off, leaving him in nothing but his boxers, strapped tightly to a metal chair. He immediately flew into a panicked rage: “Where the f*ck did you take me, you crazy bitch?!” “Hey! Are you deaf? I’m talking to you!” “How many lives do you think you have to dare tie me up?!” I paused my stirring, turning around in annoyance. “You’re so loud.” I grabbed a meat cleaver, casually sharpened it twice against a stone, and walked toward him. Hunter glared at me mockingly and spat on the floor. “Who are you trying to scare? Come on! Let’s see if you actually have the guts to do it…” Before he could finish, the blade flashed. “Mmph… mmmph!” He stared at me in absolute horror, realizing he could no longer make a sound. I spat back at him, turning around with a deadpan face. If I hadn’t promised Sunny, I would have just ended him right here. Hunter let out muffled, agonizing wails from his throat. True terror finally broke across his face, and the sharp stench of urine pooled beneath his chair. “Not enough.” I shook my head, playing with the cleaver in my hand. I severed the tendons in his arms and legs, ensuring he would never walk or fight back again. The timer on the stove chimed perfectly. I smiled. The collagen was finally ready. Using massive amounts of boiled gelatin and silicone polymers, I crafted a meticulously detailed, hyper-realistic silicone mask exclusively for Hunter. Even his closest friends wouldn’t be able to recognize him. I knocked out the newly-faced Hunter and dressed him in fresh clothes. Then, I took him to find the second animal: Silas Montgomery. 04 In the video, Silas was the elegant psychopath. He used the most brutal, calculated methods to leave those horrific wounds all over Sunny’s body. He had a very handsome face. Even though he was a disgusting monster on the inside, that good-looking exterior made him incredibly popular. According to the files, Silas played the field, but the truth was, he was completely impotent. He could only find release through torture. He would bring his dates back to a secluded mansion, where he would subject them to an array of medieval torture devices. He seemed like he had a brain, but not much of one. Which played right into my hands. I dumped Hunter right on Silas’s doorstep. When Silas opened the door and saw the incapacitated stranger, he froze for a long time. He looked around, hesitated, but ultimately couldn’t resist the temptation and dragged Hunter inside. I smiled from the shadows. Such a beautiful, unconscious, physically helpless plaything. It was a fatal temptation for Silas. It was criminal psychology; it was baked into his DNA. Not to mention the Montgomery family spoiled him rotten. Even if he caused a disaster, his family would always wipe his ass for him. He couldn’t turn this down. Checking the time, Hunter would be waking up very soon. When he opened his eyes, he would find his role completely reversed—from the abuser to the meat on the chopping block. And his partner in crime, his twisted best friend, would be standing over him with tools, just like they did to Sunny. He would try to scream and explain, only to realize the organ for speech was missing. He would try to fight back or run, only to find his limbs were dead weight. In that moment, his helplessness and terror would be magnified to the absolute limit. The violence he inflicted on Sunny would be returned a thousandfold upon his own flesh and mind. Wasn’t this the ultimate thrill he was chasing? Thinking about this, I only felt he was getting exactly what he deserved. I had promised Sunny I wouldn’t get innocent blood on my hands again. But I never promised I wouldn’t borrow someone else’s knife to do the killing. Underneath the silicone mask, I had embedded a micro-camera. Right now, it was live-streaming the interior of the mansion to the entire internet. Just as I imagined, Silas was meticulously picking out his tools. Exactly like they did to Sunny. Silas used them, one by one, on Hunter. He had absolutely no idea the lamb on his slaughtering table was his best friend. Hunter’s body was rapidly covered in brutal wounds, but he had nowhere to run. Backed into a corner with no escape, Hunter let out terrified, whimpering sobs from his throat. He watched helplessly as everything he had done to others was visited upon him. Comments flew across the live stream. [I can’t even watch, is this legal to broadcast?] [Wait, isn’t that Silas Montgomery? The rich kid from the nurse torture case on the news?] [Am I seeing things? Is Silas pressing a branding iron to that guy’s face?] Under the intense heat, the adhesive on the silicone mask melted, and the fake face sloughed off. The entire internet was stunned. Silas’s hand froze in mid-air. He stood there, completely paralyzed, as if struck by lightning. By the time the Vance family arrived, Hunter was already dead. The wounds on his body were unimaginably cruel. Hunter was the sole male heir of the Vance family, destined to inherit their empire. The look the Vance patriarch gave Silas was like looking at a dead man. But just when everyone thought the Vance family would tear Silas to pieces in court, Silas was once again released without charge. Rumor had it the Vance family proactively signed a letter of forgiveness. The internet was completely baffled. Until three days later, when Silas’s remains were found in the wilderness. He had been eaten alive by wild dogs, stripped clean down to the skeleton. Watching the news broadcast of the Vance family offering their “condolences” to the Montgomery family, I scoffed. The Vance family was sloppy. If anyone bothered to dig a little deeper… They’d find out that those “wild dogs”… Came directly from the Vance family’s private breeding kennels. 05 The only one left who hurt Sunny was the last man: Adrian Pierce. His file was completely blank. In Sunny’s video, Adrian never lifted a finger. He just sat in the center seat, high and mighty, coldly watching those two rabid dogs tear Sunny apart. Clearly, he wasn’t interested in Sunny, nor did he care if she lived or died. So why did he instigate those two to attack her? What was his ultimate goal? I stared at the photo of those cold, detached eyes. He looked as if he cared about nothing, yet simultaneously obsessed over something. He was infinitely more terrifying than trash like Hunter and Silas. But I wasn’t in a rush to make my move. Someone as smart as Adrian—with Hunter and Silas dying back-to-back, he would easily guess someone was pulling the strings from the shadows. With the instinct of a fellow predator, I simply waited in my apartment for him to come to me. One day, two days. On the third day— The doorbell rang. I opened the door to find a face even more vividly melancholic and handsome than the photo. Adrian’s eyes were brimming with a smile. Like an old friend he hadn’t seen in years, he casually strolled into my home. He said, “Chloe, long time no see.” I smiled back and poured him a glass of water. “Long time no see.” 06 Adrian and I were old acquaintances. The first time we met was in his father’s basement. Back then, a tiny version of me was pinned against a wooden table, enduring the absolute worst malice a grown man could offer. I didn’t know what I had done wrong. All I knew was that my biological father had wagged his tail like a dog, begging the Pierce family for favors. He packaged me like a gift and delivered me straight to the Pierce family’s basement. Adrian hid by the doorway, watching his father abuse me. The look in his eyes shifted from initial curiosity. To utter fascination. Finally, one day, he stood behind his father, raising a heavy blade high in the air. Without hesitation, he drove it straight through his father’s back, piercing his heart perfectly. He didn’t do it to save me, of course. He did it because he wanted to possess me exclusively. He traced my face, obsessively whispering that I looked exactly like his late older sister. He wanted to lock me up and keep me forever. I docilely leaned my cheek into his palm and whispered my poison. “Little master, true control doesn’t come from ropes. It comes from taming.” “If you let me go, and I willingly come back to find you, only then will I truly belong to you.” He agreed. I will forever remember what my biological father said when I walked through the front door. “Why are you back? It’s a massive blessing that we could latch onto the Pierce family, stop throwing tantrums.” I smiled and told him not to worry. I said I just came back to celebrate his birthday. I gifted him a ridiculously expensive leather belt. Then I cooked dinner myself and served him a bowl of soup. “Happy birthday.” My dearest father. While the paralytic in the soup kept him from moving a single muscle, I used the belt I gifted him to take his life in the most agonizing way possible. I demanded the cops perform an autopsy. I wanted to see if his heart was black, or made of ice. Ironically, for a man who took pride in selling his own daughter, his heart was still warm and red. Adrian never got to see me return. Because I was diagnosed with severe schizophrenia and the cops locked me away in the asylum.

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After moving into my new place, I was added to a strange group chat. The people in the chat loved to roleplay as animals to communicate. Every day, I lurked in the chat, reading their conversations with intense amusement, but I never spoke. Until one day, a mouse got into my apartment. I posted in the group: “Does anyone know a reliable exterminator or pest control service nearby?” A few moments later, someone named AAA_Orange_Cat_Exterminator tagged me. [Two cans of wet food. Non-negotiable.] [The cat is at your door. Open up.] Outside my door, there actually stood an orange tabby cat. 01 On the very first day I moved into my new apartment, I was dragged into a bizarre group chat. The group was named Maplewood HOA Community Chat. Every member’s profile picture was a cute, random animal. At first, I didn’t think much of it. I just assumed the property manager added me to make sending community announcements easier. Until one day, I accidentally glanced at the chat log. Evil_Fleece_Monster: [Damn it! I got caught sneaking snacks, and my mom smacked my butt. I’m going to chew up her slippers tonight.] British_Gentleman: [Useless! How can you let the pooper-scooper assert dominance over you?] [Image: “I am the Emperor” Meme] Golden_Chubby: [I have a question. When you guys drink water, does the water ever feel… spicy?] British_Gentleman: [Idiot! Your water fountain probably has a short circuit! Kick it over immediately.] Sweet_Little_Cheese: [My mom wants to clip my nails! 911! Someone call 911 for cats!] I watched the chat with intense fascination for a long time. I figured this was just a bunch of the neighborhood kids being highly active online. Roleplaying as their pets to chat. Honestly, watching their adorable, dramatic conversations was pretty therapeutic. Suddenly, a new message popped up. [I think a stranger got into my house.] [Image: Dog secretly observing from a corner] The profile picture was a husky puppy. Judging by his previous messages, I always assumed he was a four- or five-year-old kid. My heart tightened. I was just about to ask if he was home alone. When the other group members started questioning his intelligence. [Are you SURE it’s a stranger?] [Another stranger? The last ‘stranger’ that broke into your house was just your dad wearing a different jacket.] [911! I’ll call 911 for you!] I hesitated and decided not to tag the property manager just yet. A second later, the little husky replied: [Hehe, never mind! It was just my dad wearing a medical mask. As a reward, I’m going to pee in his room tonight.] False alarm. I thought it was hilarious, but at the same time, a faint, lingering feeling told me something was… slightly off. 02 One evening, I got home late from a job interview. The moment I flicked on the living room lights, a black shadow darted across the floorboards. My heart skipped a beat. I was just about to crouch down and check under the coffee table. When a massive rat charged directly at my foot. I screamed and jumped onto the coffee table. Terrified, I immediately typed a frantic message in the group chat. [A rat got into my apartment! Does anyone know a reliable exterminator nearby who can come immediately?! Online waiting! Urgent! Urgent!] [Meow? Rat? What’s a rat?] [A rat is a fast little toy that squeaks when you bite it. My dad doesn’t let me play with them.] [Are you new here? I haven’t seen you before. Why is your profile picture a human? What species is your family?] Can’t a profile picture be a human? What do you mean, ‘what species is your family’? I didn’t have time to overthink it. The squeaking sounds were making every hair on my body stand up. I quickly opened Yelp to search for an emergency pest control service. Right then, someone tagged me in the group chat. AAA_Orange_Cat_Exterminator: [Two cans of wet food. Non-negotiable. Arriving immediately.] [The cat is at your door. Open up. Meow.] That fast?! I opened the front door. The hallway was completely empty. Just as I was about to close it, a sharp meow caught my attention. An incredibly polite orange tabby was sitting on my welcome mat, its front paws neatly tucked together. As we made eye contact, a completely unbelievable thought surfaced in my mind. “Are you… AAA_Orange_Cat_Exterminator?” The orange cat meowed twice. A message popped up in the group chat. [It is the cat.] [Two cans. Starting work immediately.] I found it so absurdly funny that I reached out to pat its head. The orange cat tilted its head, dodging my hand. [Meow meow meow. That costs extra. Head pats are half a sausage.] 03 I didn’t own any pets, so naturally, I didn’t have any cat food. I negotiated with Mr. Orange to use four sausages as payment. He licked his paws and agreed. But he demanded an installment payment plan. Deal struck. The incredibly agile Mr. Orange tracked the target from the living room straight into the kitchen. Aside from accidentally knocking over a glass of water I had left on the counter… The extermination service was successfully completed. Worried I’d be scared, Mr. Orange placed the dead rat out in the hallway. [Human. The cat accidentally broke your cup. The cat will deduct one sausage from the fee.] I shook my head. [A deal is a deal. Four sausages, not one less. But… can I get one free head pat?] Mr. Orange let out a soft, sweet meow. He lowered his head and rubbed it affectionately against the palm of my hand. Before leaving, he told me that if I ever needed him again, I could just call him in the group chat. It wasn’t until the apartment was completely quiet that I finally snapped back to reality. It felt like I was dreaming. The animals in the Maplewood HOA Community Chat were actually real animals. Those profile pictures… were their actual faces. 04 No matter how magical and surreal last night’s experience was… When the sun rose the next day, I still had to hustle across this unfamiliar city for job interviews. I lived on the 12th floor. When the elevator stopped on the 10th floor, a guy walked in holding a husky on a leash. He looked familiar. To clarify, I mean the husky looked familiar. I stared at the dog unblinking. Sensing my gaze, the dog stared right back at me unblinking. The guy noticed us having a staring contest. “Do you two… know each other?” I frantically waved my hands. How was I supposed to explain that I thought his husky was the one from the group chat? I couldn’t exactly ask him, Hey, did he pee in your room last night? Just then, a notification popped up from the Maplewood HOA Community Chat. My_Dad_Calls_Me_Einstein: [I just saw a lady in the elevator. She looks familiar, like I’ve seen her somewhere before. Hehe, she smells so good. I want to be petted.] Evil_Fleece_Monster: [Stupid dog!] British_Gentleman: [Stupid dog!] I tentatively reached my hand out, and sure enough, the husky eagerly nudged his head into my palm. The guy gave me a look that clearly said, And you claim you don’t know each other? While petting the dog, I asked gently, “What’s his name?” “Max.” I crouched down and gently squeezed his paw. “Hi there, Max.” The guy: “…” “My name is Max!” I looked up, mortified. “I am so sorry! I wasn’t thinking.” Max’s face turned slightly red. “It’s my fault for not realizing. His name is… Meatball.” My_Dad_Calls_Me_Einstein: [Einstein! Lady, my name is Einstein! My stupid dad forgot my name again! Hit him! Hit him! Hit him!] Einstein immediately stood up on his hind legs and started throwing paws at Max right there in the elevator. Max cursed at the “stupid dog” while trying to block the hits. I stood to the side, laughing while trying to break up the fight. 05 After running around all morning, I interviewed at three different companies. The results weren’t looking great. I decided to head home first to grab a bite to eat. While walking back along the street, I noticed a pet supply store with a “For Lease” sign in the window. Thinking about the Maplewood HOA Community Chat, a bold idea flashed through my mind. Wasn’t this the ultimate, direct line to consumer demand? If I could be my own boss, why would I want to be a corporate wage slave? I quickly calculated my savings, contacted the current owner on the spot, and took over the lease. Then, I started dropping promotional messages in the group chat. [Does anyone like this new little toy?] [We just restocked new biscuits, freeze-dried snacks, and treats! Tell your pooper-scoopers to bring you to the store for free samples!] The moment those promos dropped, the group chat exploded. No dog or cat had ever posted video advertisements in the chat before. They instantly realized I was different. British_Gentleman: [It’s a human! It’s a human! It’s a real human! A human infiltrated the chat!] [Image: “The Emperor Has Fallen” Meme] AAA_Orange_Cat_Exterminator: [The cat already told you guys last time…] Sweet_Little_Cheese: [Human, can you tell my mom that I don’t like getting my nails clipped?] At first, the pets in the group were stunned by my human identity. But once they realized I meant no harm, they quickly got used to it. They even started frequently asking me to pass messages along to their owners. So, I launched a special promotion. Any customer who spent over $100 in a single transaction would receive one free “Pet Consultation” session. 06 My very first customer was Max. He bought a 20-pound bag of dog food and a few chew toys for Einstein. “Can you actually communicate with them?” I gave a non-committal smile. He raised an eyebrow, smirking playfully. “Alright, then ask him this: He eats way too much, and his dad can’t afford him anymore. Ask him if he can go out and get a job to support himself.” I waved Einstein over, taking the opportunity to grab my phone. A moment later, I suppressed a laugh and said, “Ein… Meatball says that if you’re out of money, it’s okay. He can go out and eat poop. And he can take you with him. He said he’ll eat the base of the poop, and you can eat the pointy top.” Max looked down with an utterly indescribable expression. Einstein stared back up at him with eyes full of absolute, earnest devotion. “You stupid dog! After all the blood, sweat, and tears I sacrificed to raise you, this is how you repay your old man?!” Max violently ruffled the dog’s head. My_Dad_Calls_Me_Einstein: [???] [I gave Dad the best pointy part of the poop, and he’s STILL not happy! He’s bullying a poor dog! Hit him! Hit him! Hit him!] Einstein stood up on his hind legs, wildly swinging his front paws, and started brawling with Max right in the middle of my store. I have no idea how a dog learned to throw hands like a boxer.

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I glared at the five-year-old munchkin at my feet and viciously swapped his glass of milk for a cup of pure, unsweetened kale juice. From then on, he wasn’t allowed to be a picky eater. If he wanted a pet, he was on litter box duty. Later, when he applied for college, I even secretly altered his applications. Years later, the villain achieved massive success. I thought my doom had finally arrived. Instead, he stood before the media and said, “The person I want to thank the most is my mom. Her love accompanied me as I grew up, and she guided the direction of my life.” Wait a minute, did something go wrong here? 01 After I died of an illness, the System let me transmigrate as a villain’s wicked stepmother so I could continue living. But the catch was: I couldn’t break character. This was a gritty urban thriller novel. The five-year-old standing before me, Oliver Vance, was destined to become the ultimate villain who would one day ruin the male lead’s family. And the primary cause of his twisted psychology was me. His wicked stepmother. I thought about it for a moment. I really didn’t have any experience being evil. I simply interpreted it as: Don’t let him have it too easy. So, I looked at the little guy sitting properly in his chair, quietly drinking his milk. I snatched the cup away from him and handed it to the nanny. “Swap this for pure kale and wheatgrass juice. The more bitter, the better.” The little guy was stunned for a second, a white milk mustache still clinging to his upper lip. He glared at me furiously, but didn’t dare speak. When I transmigrated, this body had already been married into the Vance family for over half a year. According to the original plot, after I realized that Arthur Vance—the villain’s father—rarely came home, I gradually tore off my gentle mask. I started tormenting and framing little Oliver in every way possible. At first, he fought back, but how could a kid win against an adult? Every time he complained, I’d double down, falsely accusing him and twisting his words. After long-term emotional abuse, he had learned to swallow his anger and stay silent. Now, all I had to do was carry on this legacy. With a little bit of my own flair added in. Oliver had probably never tasted pure kale juice in his life. His little face scrunched up into a tight ball, and he instinctively stuck his tongue out in disgust. My heart melted at how cute he was, but I forced a cold tone. “Drink it all!” Making a kid drink gross health juice is basically cruel and unusual punishment. How is this not a form of abuse? I was doing a phenomenal job as an evil stepmother. Thinking of this, I couldn’t help but let out a sinister laugh. 02 After breakfast, the nanny was getting ready to take Oliver to preschool. I frowned when I saw him dressed in cheap, worn-out clothes. “Why are you dressing him like that on purpose?” “Didn’t you say before that we shouldn’t feed a child’s vanity, and that it’s better to keep him low-profile?” Tsk, tsk. The original owner of this body was truly wicked and manipulative. She actually wanted to use this method to crush Oliver’s self-esteem. But she completely miscalculated. What do kids in preschool know about being rich or poor? At this age, a kid’s biggest fear is being isolated and left out. Thinking of this, I immediately ordered the nanny to change Oliver into a tailored baby Armani suit. I even added an adorable little bow tie. Then, I had the driver pull out the most expensive, flashy Rolls-Royce from the garage. I had to make absolutely sure he became the most extra, stand-out kid in the entire preschool. Hate the rich! Let them all hate the rich! I suppose my behavior was a bit too different from my usual self. Right before leaving, little Oliver anxiously pursed his lips and asked softly, “Why are you doing this?” I crouched down and let out a villainous cackle. “Because I’m evil!” Oliver was so scared he took a step back. I lunged forward and planted a massive kiss right on his chubby little cheek. He covered his face in horror. I took the opportunity to threaten him. “Hurry up and say goodbye to Mommy, or else when you get out of school this afternoon, I’ll personally come block the preschool gates.” After living with the original owner for half a year, he probably hated my guts. Kissing him and forcing him to call me Mom was basically tap-dancing on his last nerve. But he had no choice but to submit. Watching Oliver clamp his mouth shut and run out the door, I felt I was being villainous beyond measure. 03 After Oliver went to school, I started wandering aimlessly around the massive mansion. The novel stated that Arthur Vance was always busy with business, often disappearing for weeks at a time. I was purely a wife he married just to have someone look after Oliver. He deposited a $500,000 allowance into my account every single month. He probably thought a massive allowance would make a stepmother treat his kid well. He didn’t realize it only fueled her greed instead. Thinking of this, I sighed and asked the System, How long do I have to keep up this evil persona? The System replied: The wicked stepmother has a crucial scene where she secretly alters Oliver’s college applications, forcing him to go abroad where he experiences even darker things. So, your persona must be maintained at least until Oliver takes his SATs and applies for college. A rough calculation meant I had at least thirteen years left. Although living as a billionaire’s wife meant every day was a blessing, having to maintain an evil persona every single day was exhausting. So, I decided to go on a crazy shopping spree to comfort myself. 04 As the sky began to dim, the driver pulled up right on time at the gates of the private preschool. Oliver hadn’t said goodbye to me when he left this morning. If I said I was going to pick him up, I had to follow through. I needed to establish my absolute authority. Let him know the true terror of his wicked stepmother. I have to say, this elite private preschool looked like a literal castle. Not long after, a teacher led a group of munchkins out the doors. They waddled around, finding their respective parents. I decided to sit quietly in the car for a moment. I planned to pop out and give Oliver a jump-scare right when he started panicking that his parents forgot to pick him up. But to my surprise, the moment the teacher walked away, several kids surrounded Oliver. I could vaguely hear them teasing him about “Mommy… picking you up.” Oliver kept his head down in silence. Those kids started jumping around him, clapping their hands and laughing. Me: ??? Hold on, are we bullying now? As a certified evil stepmother, I immediately swooped in to ruin their fun. “Hey, why aren’t you brats going home? Did your parents abandon you? Is that it? Are you unwanted?” I pulled the surrounded Oliver behind me and glared viciously at the group of kids. Yes, exactly like this. I’m going to alienate all of his little friends. “Who are you? Are you the liar’s big sister?” Being called a big sister made my heart flutter a little. But I immediately snapped back, “Who’s a liar? Didn’t your teacher teach you manners? I am Oliver’s mother! Our Oliver doesn’t like you, and you’re not allowed to play with him anymore.” “Oliver’s mom? His mom is the nanny, I’ve seen her! She doesn’t look like you. He lied and said she wasn’t his mom. He’s just a vain liar, we don’t want to play with him anyway!” What kind of messy preschool drama was this? “I am Oliver’s mother!” I angrily raised my fist, and the group of bratty kids immediately scattered, giggling as they ran off. At that moment, Oliver, who had been standing behind me, tugged at the hem of my shirt. He looked up at me, his big eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Thank you for coming to pick me up today.” Wait, is something wrong here? Why is he thanking me? 05 I guess my tactic of establishing authority actually worked. Once we got home, Oliver was unusually obedient. Not only did he trot behind me like a little duckling, but during dinner, he actively helped me peel my shrimp. He carefully placed the peeled shrimp into my bowl. Seeing I hadn’t moved to eat it, he made sure to emphasize, “I washed my hands.” I picked up my fork. Delicious. “Good peeling. Your reward is to peel a few more for me.” Little Oliver pursed his lips to hide a small smile, lowered his head, and earnestly went back to peeling shrimp. Eventually, I was too full to eat anymore, and the rest of the shrimp ended up in his tummy. Having eaten too much for dinner, it was time for some physical activity. Considering my evil persona, what better exercise than tormenting a child? I dragged my eighteen shopping bags into his room. I waved at Oliver, who was currently playing with a Rubik’s Cube. “Come here. Try on some clothes.” Oliver’s clothes were usually custom-tailored and delivered directly. He had probably never done a fitting session before, so at first, he was super excited. He even smiled, showing his cute little canine teeth. Until later. He choked back a sob, “Please… I can’t try on any more…” “But we haven’t even tried the bumblebee, the penguin, the little duckling, or the monster onesies yet.” Oliver went silent. Wearing a green dinosaur onesie, he just stood there, looking at me with teary eyes. Me: … Fine. Evil plan continued, switching to the next project. 06 When it was time for bed, I decided to inflict my final torment of the day on Oliver. I forced him to stay in my room to sleep with me. After he changed into his pajamas, I handed him a storybook. “Read a story to Mommy. Coax Mommy to sleep.” Oliver stared blankly, as if unable to comprehend how an adult could be this shameless. But he still took the book. “Once upon a time… a queen sat at an… o-pen win-dow, doing needlework for her daugh-ter.” Me: … I forgot the kid was only five and didn’t know many words yet. But this gave me an inspiration. Most kids love playing and absolutely despise studying. A lightbulb went off in my head. A truly sinister plan began to form. Beside me, Oliver was still stumbling through the book. He obviously knew he was struggling with the words, and seeing me staring at him, his little face flushed bright red, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I… I… I can read it to you tomorrow, okay?” I let out my villainous cackle and snatched the book away. “Lie down. Now it’s Mommy’s turn to read you a story. Tonight’s story is called Snow White and Her Seven Stepmothers.” An absolutely terrifying horror story. In the end, I have no idea if Oliver fell asleep, but I managed to put myself to sleep telling it. In my hazy state, I felt something soft press gently against my cheek. A tiny voice whispered, “Mommy.” 07 The next morning, while Oliver was at school, I put my “Tiger Mom” plan into motion. Advanced phonics, Kumon math, French, piano—I scheduled it all. I hired the strictest tutors and bought the thickest workbooks. I fully expected that when Oliver got home and found out, he would feel like the sky was falling. To my surprise, he adapted perfectly. He put extra, intense effort into learning to read. A few days later, as I was walking past the study, he poked his little head out and read aloud, loudly and fluently: “Once upon a time, a queen sat at an open window, doing needlework for her daughter.” After reading it, he looked at me with a face full of expectation. To encourage him, I decided to reward him by letting him read me bedtime stories every night to put me to sleep.

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Kristen’s funeral wasn’t even over yet. The scent of white roses and burning wax still hung heavy in the chapel. But I simply reached out, took her best friend Sarah’s hand, and walked right to the front of the grieving crowd. “I am going to marry Sarah,” I announced. I pulled out the diamond ring I had originally bought for Kristen years ago and slid it onto Sarah’s finger. Kristen’s older brother, Carter, charged at me with bloodshot eyes. “Doug Blake! Are you even human?!” My bodyguards immediately intercepted him, pinning him back. He thrashed against them, his voice tearing through the chapel. “My sister is lying right there in that casket!” “You are proposing to this slut right in front of her?!” “Have you two been sleeping together this whole time?!” I calmly shifted my gaze to Kristen’s black-and-white portrait resting on the altar. “This was Kristen’s dying wish.” “She wanted the two people she loved most to support each other and walk the rest of this life together.” The crowd erupted. The entire chapel was filled with gasps, curses, and people calling me a twisted liar. But nobody understood what I really meant. 1 “Doug, you have lost your damn mind!” Kristen’s mother clutched her chest, gasping for air before collapsing straight toward the floor. Relatives rushed to catch her, chaotic shouts echoing as they fanned her and rubbed her back. Her cloudy, tear-filled eyes locked onto me with pure venom. “My daughter just passed away! Her body isn’t even cold yet!” “And you couldn’t wait to parade this woman in front of everyone? You want to give everything my daughter owned to this homewrecker?!” “How can you face Kristen in the afterlife?!” Sarah’s hand was trembling violently inside my grip. I just squeezed it tighter, raising my eyes to scan the room full of furious faces. “Like I said, the wedding will be scheduled soon.” “Everything under Kristen’s name, the mansion in the East End, her company shares, and all the cash in her personal accounts, will go entirely to Sarah.” “You animal! You are a literal animal!” Carter broke free from the bodyguards for a split second, the veins bulging on his forehead. His eyes were so red they looked ready to bleed. “Do you remember how my sister treated you?!” “When your first startup failed, she pawned her wedding jewelry to help you pay off your debts.” “When you were hospitalized, she sat by your bed for three days and three nights without closing her eyes!” “Now that she is gone, this is how you repay her?!” “Stealing her inheritance, marrying her best friend… do you even have a heart?!” He lunged forward again, but the guards quickly wrapped their arms around his waist, dragging him back. Carter thrashed wildly. His roars were so loud they made the white floral arrangements shudder. “Sarah! You filthy bitch!” “My sister treated you like her own flesh and blood! She shared everything with you, and this is how you pay her back?!” “Stealing her man and swallowing her fortune the second she is gone? Aren’t you afraid of going to hell?!” Sarah’s face drained of all color. Her lips parted as she tried to say something, but her voice was instantly drowned out by the tidal wave of insults. “You ungrateful piece of trash!” An elderly uncle, shaking with rage, pointed his cane right at my nose. “If Kristen is watching from heaven, she will crawl back down just to rip the faces off you two!” “They definitely hooked up ages ago!” Someone whispered the accusation loudly. It wasn’t a scream, but it acted like gasoline on an open fire. “Exactly! They probably killed Kristen so they could be together!” “Otherwise, why would they be so brazen about it?!” Someone accidentally knocked over the memorial candle stand. Hot wax and ashes spilled across the floor, mixing with scattered funeral programs, making the scene look incredibly pathetic. A relative grabbed a handful of white carnations from the altar and hurled them violently at us. The petals shattered, landing in Sarah’s hair and on the shoulders of my tailored black suit, like a silent, mocking judgment. And in that moment, the absolute chaos of the chapel was already being recorded. Several people had their phones up, lenses zoomed in perfectly. They captured Carter’s roars, the elders’ curses, and the cold silence of Sarah and me. Within minutes, those clips were edited, slapped with the title “Trashing the Dead: Husband Marries Mistress at Wife’s Funeral,” and uploaded across every major social media platform. It took less than half an hour. #FuneralProposal #DougBlakeGivesMillionsToMistress #JusticeForKristen The three hashtags skyrocketed like rockets, dominating the top trending spots on Twitter and TikTok, glowing with that blinding red “Viral” tag. 2 The comment sections were a total warzone. The sheer volume of rage practically melted the servers. [What kind of absolute garbage human being is Doug Blake?] [His wife is literally lying in a casket in the same room, and he couldn’t wait to marry her bestie and split her money? He is a psychopath!] [Sarah is disgusting. Stealing your best friend’s man and her money? This had to be premeditated.] [My heart breaks for Kristen. She loved the wrong man and trusted the wrong friend.] [Hold on… is it possible Kristen didn’t die of natural causes?] [They are way too eager. It’s almost like they couldn’t wait for her to die!] [The police need to investigate! Scum like this deserves to be ruined and locked up forever!] My phone buzzed relentlessly against my chest. Texts, calls, and emails flooded in, packed with curses and interrogations. Random unknown numbers started ringing, and the second I answered, people would just scream death threats into my ear. My company’s PR department was having a collective meltdown. They sent me dozens of urgent messages begging for a crisis management strategy. Our stock price had already started to plummet off a cliff. But I ignored all of it. I casually turned off my phone and slipped it back into my suit’s breast pocket. I looked down and gently brushed a crushed white petal out of Sarah’s hair. My fingertips brushed against her ice-cold skin. She looked up at me, her eyes brimming with panic and dread. “Doug, maybe we should just leave?” I shook my head and reached out to smooth her wrinkled collar. “Don’t be afraid.” Then I turned back to face the crowd, meeting their furious, murderous glares. My voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the deafening noise. “I have said what I needed to say.” “The wedding will be held when the time is right.” “I have already decided where the inheritance goes.” “My lawyers will expedite the legal paperwork.” “Whether you believe me, or how much you want to curse me, that is entirely up to you.” My eyes drifted to Kristen’s black-and-white portrait. She was smiling so gently in that picture. “When the time comes, I will give everyone, including Kristen, a complete explanation.” “An explanation?! What kind of sick explanation could you possibly give?!” Carter was trembling with rage, still pinned down by the security team. “You murdered her! I am calling the cops! I am going to make you and this bitch pay!” I let out a relaxed, easy smile. “Call the cops?” “Go ahead. I am more than happy to cooperate.” The second the circus at the funeral ended, I booked the earliest flight out. I took Sarah straight to a luxury tropical island. Sunshine, white sandy beaches, crystal clear water. I held Sarah’s hand, posing for a picture under a palm tree. She was wearing a flowing white sundress, smiling softly, with Kristen’s diamond ring sparkling on her finger. The caption read: “To the rest of our lives. Please take care of me.” I posted it directly to my personal accounts. No privacy settings, entirely public. The internet exploded all over again. The backlash was ten times more violent than the day of the funeral. [Doug Blake, are you even a human being?!] [Going on a honeymoon right after your wife’s funeral? And you have the nerve to post pictures showing off?!] [Looking at Sarah’s face makes me sick. Wearing a dead woman’s ring.] [Living in a dead woman’s house and she can still smile like that?] [Do these two even have a conscience?!] [The grass hasn’t even grown over Kristen’s grave yet!] [Cancel his company! Society needs to permanently blacklist this piece of trash!] My direct messages were flooded with the most vile threats imaginable. People photoshopped my face onto crime scene photos. Internet sleuths tracked down our resort location, threatening to fly out and “teach us a lesson.” But I didn’t care. In fact, I kept posting daily updates. A photo of Sarah’s silhouette by the ocean. A close-up of us sharing an expensive gelato. Our hands intertwined under a golden sunset. Every single post was like pouring aviation fuel straight onto the internet’s raging fire. 3 Ten days later, the honeymoon was over. I brought Sarah back to the corporate headquarters. When I pushed open the double doors to my executive office suite, it looked like a disaster zone. More than half the cubicles were completely empty. Files were scattered across the floor. Several department heads were actively leading their teams in packing up their desks. “Mr. Blake, we are resigning.” The Marketing Director spoke first, his tone dripping with absolute disgust. “We fundamentally disagree with the kind of person you are, and we refuse to work for you a second longer.” “Exactly, we are walking out too!” “Protecting a mistress and stealing your dead wife’s money? We don’t serve bosses like that!” “Either you step down, or we walk. We choose the latter!” The employees chimed in one after another, their eyes filled with a mix of contempt and bitter disappointment. The massive office was practically hollowed out. Only a few veteran employees stood awkwardly in the corners, hesitating. I leaned casually against my mahogany desk, drumming my fingers lightly against the surface. I kept my voice perfectly level. “That is perfectly fine. Anyone who wants to leave is free to go.” I turned to my secretary and told her to bring out the severance packages I had drafted beforehand. “For those who have been here for over three years, you will receive an extra three months of severance pay. For those over five years, six months.” “All unused PTO and sick days will be cashed out fully and added to your final check.” The second those words left my mouth, the entire floor went dead silent. Even the people who were carrying their cardboard boxes toward the elevators froze in their tracks. The news of my massive payout leaked to the internet almost instantly. The netizens lost their minds even more. [Is Doug Blake actually insane?] [He betrays his wife, gives her parents a heart attack, but acts like a saint to his employees?!] [This is wild. Doing the most villainous things in his personal life, but throwing around cash to buy loyalty at work? Terrifying!] [Is he trying to use money to shut everyone up?] [Too bad we aren’t buying it!] [Treating his staff so well but being so ruthless to his dead wife. What is this guy’s brain made of?] [Hypocrite!] [Fake saint!] [He is a psychopath!] Negative labels washed over me like a tsunami. I scrolled through the brutal comments on my phone, then looked up at the employees slowly filtering out of the office with their generous checks. A faint, subtle smile curled the corner of my mouth. Sarah stood next to me, her face deathly pale. “Doug, if this keeps up, the entire company is going to collapse…” I reached out and patted her shoulder, my voice smooth and unbothered. “If it collapses, I will just build another one.” They didn’t understand. I never cared about saving this company, nor did I care about public approval. What I wanted was to make the rats hiding in the dark panic. And this entire circus? It was only just the beginning. The heavy glass doors to my office were suddenly shoved open. I was in the middle of signing the very last severance agreement. A squad of federal financial investigators walked in wearing dark suits, their expressions stone-cold. “Doug Blake, we received a highly detailed anonymous tip. Your company is suspected of massive financial fraud and severe tax evasion. We are here to conduct an official investigation.” Stacks of ledgers and banking documents were slapped onto my desk. Every single highlighted number was shocking. When they presented the final calculation, even I was genuinely taken aback for a second. “The back taxes and federal penalties owed total exactly fifteen million dollars.” The news grew wings and flew across the internet in seconds. #DougBlakeCompanyRaided #FifteenMillionDollarFine The hashtags hit number one instantly. The internet threw a massive party. The comment sections were filled with people cheering and popping digital champagne. [Karma never misses! The trash finally got what he deserved!] [This is what you get for betraying your wife! The money is gone, the company is dead. Serves him right!] [Just throw him in a federal prison already. Let him rot in a cell for the rest of his life!] Hearing the blood in the water, Kristen’s family rushed over. 4 Carter showed up at the corporate lobby leading a pack of angry relatives. He wore a twisted smile of pure vindication, his voice echoing off the marble walls. “Doug Blake, this is exactly what you deserve!” “But before the government seizes your assets, you are going to spit out my sister’s inheritance! And you are going to pay the Collins family extra for emotional damages!” “Otherwise, Kristen will never rest in peace down there!” The netizens watching the live streams enthusiastically backed him up. [He is absolutely right! The family should squeeze every penny out of him. Don’t let this scumbag off easy!] [The money was Kristen’s to begin with. He needs to use it to pay for his sins!] [Support the Collins family! Drain Doug Blake until he has absolutely nothing left!] Right at that moment, the wail of police sirens approached the building. Two uniformed detectives walked straight into my office and flashed their badges. “Mr. Blake, the sheer amount of money involved in your company’s fraud elevates this to a major criminal offense. Please come with us to the precinct.” Carter and his relatives immediately started cheering. The live chat on the streams scrolled so fast it was just a blur of text. But I calmly raised my hand, stopping the detectives in their tracks. My face didn’t show a hint of panic. “Hold on.” “This fraud is not my responsibility.” Carter let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Not your responsibility? What, did a ghost do it?!” “Doug, have some damn shame! You are backed into a corner and you are still trying to pass the buck?!” I ignored his taunts. My gaze swept slowly across the room, making eye contact with everyone present. “It is my wife, Kristen’s responsibility.” “She knows the details of this fraud much better than I do.” The whispers in the room and the raging comments online erupted simultaneously. “He is insane! He has officially lost his mind!” “Blaming a dead woman?! This man truly has no bottom line!” “Throwing dirty water on Kristen when she is already in the ground… Doug Blake is going to burn in hell!” The lead detective frowned deeply. “Mr. Blake, please cooperate with the investigation. Do not spout nonsense.” I didn’t argue. I pulled out my phone and dialed a heavily encrypted international number. I tapped the call button and put the phone on speaker, resting it on my mahogany desk. Carter’s voice was dripping with pure disdain. The millions of people watching the live streams were practically eating popcorn, waiting for my final, pathetic joke to play out. “Is he actually dialing a number? Who is he calling? A ghost?!” “What a clown! Let’s see how he tries to spin this lie!” The ringing tone echoed through the speaker. One ring. Two rings. Three rings… Just when everyone was convinced it would go to voicemail. A clear, female voice suddenly came through the speaker. It even carried a hint of lazy, husky arrogance. “Hello? Who is this?”

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By the hospital window, I stared down at the street below with a single, liberating thought: If I just jumped, it would all be over. This was my 28th hospital stay in three years, all thanks to him. The evidence was written across my body—three cracked ribs, a patchwork of angry burns, and a constellation of deep bruises—a brutal testament to a nightmare that had no end. It wasn’t that I hadn’t fought back. He’d torn up my divorce filings. Every escape attempt ended with me being dragged back to a beating more savage than the last. Hope had been beaten out of me, leaving only a hollow, desolate ache. Then, just as I was about to give in, a package arrived from a friend overseas. Inside were two dolls, one crafted to look like me, the other like him. Tucked beside them was a thin sheet of paper titled, “Instructions for the Shared Pain Dolls.” 1 That single sheet of paper held just a few simple rules. “Pathetic,” I muttered to myself. “Thinking a couple of dolls could save me.” I tossed them aside and started for the door, my mind set on the hospital roof. Then my phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number. [You’ll never know if you don’t try.] [Besides, things can’t get any worse, can they?] It was from my friend, the one who sent the package. We hadn’t spoken in years. I’d changed my number a dozen times since then. Yet, she knew exactly which hospital, which room I was in. A flicker of something I hadn’t felt in a long time—hope—ignited in my chest. “Maybe,” I whispered, “maybe this could actually work.” I snatched the instructions and read them again. 1. The dolls require a binding of blood, hair, and nail clippings from the intended subjects. 2. The first doll bound becomes the Primary. The second becomes the Secondary. 3. Once bound, the Secondary will experience all pain inflicted upon the Primary. The dolls require a binding. My hands moved with a sudden urgency. I plucked a strand of hair from my head and clipped a sliver from my fingernail. For the blood, I just had to press my thumb against a wound that hadn’t quite healed. The moment the three items touched the doll that looked like me, they vanished, absorbed into the fabric. The doll’s posture seemed to shift, its vacant expression mirroring my own exhaustion. I could feel it—a faint, thrumming connection between us. It was real. It actually worked. My mind, once a barren wasteland of despair, was now racing with possibilities. But first things first: I had to bind my husband, Victor, to the other doll. Ignoring the doctor’s protests, I checked myself out and went home. The house was just as I’d left it—a sprawling, modern mansion decorated entirely to Victor’s taste. A cold, sterile palette of black, white, and grey that suffocated the air and pressed down on my soul. Victor’s family was obscenely wealthy. It was their money and influence that made divorce impossible, escape a fantasy. I was a prisoner in a gilded cage. But now, I had the dolls. I had a chance to tear this cage apart. Victor was already home from work. He looked up, a flicker of surprise in his eyes when he saw me. “I thought you’d stay in the hospital until you were fully recovered.” A cruel smirk played on his lips. “You know, I love it when you’re broken. It’s so beautiful.” At thirty-five, he was the picture of a successful executive, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit. But beneath that polished veneer was a monster. A sadist. “Come here,” he purred. “Be a good girl.” I fought the tremor that ran through me, a Pavlovian response to his voice, and walked toward him. His fingers were like ice as they traced the line of my jaw, raising a carpet of goosebumps on my skin. I didn’t dare move. “See? If you were always this obedient, why would I ever have to hurt you?” His grip tightened, his fingers digging into my cheeks, squeezing my face. A phantom pain, a memory of a thousand other moments just like this, shot through my entire body. “Honey, would you like some fruit?” I blinked, forcing tears to well in my eyes and spill down my cheeks, dripping onto his hand. My tears always pleased him. He released me and sat on the sofa, a silent assent. I went to the kitchen, my movements stiff and sore. The fruit was already washed and sliced, just the way he liked it. My barely-healed injuries screamed in protest, but I pushed through, carrying the platter to him. “Your nails are getting long. Should I trim them for you?” “Hm,” he grunted, spearing a piece of watermelon with a fork. He popped it into his mouth, the bright red flesh a stark contrast to his pale skin. It looked like a piece of my own heart. Fighting the urge to shrink away, I knelt at his feet and gently took his hand, the nail clippers cold in my other palm. “Ava, why are you so tense?” His voice was a low murmur, laced with amusement. “Look at you, sweating already.” He leaned in closer. “Are you hiding something from me?” His voice was a snake coiling around my neck. My breath hitched. I froze. 2 I struggled to keep my voice even. “I’m just… not fully recovered yet.” It was his favorite game, a relentless campaign of questions and accusations designed to break me down, to make me so terrified of him that my body betrayed me with shakes and stutters. It didn’t matter if I’d done anything or not; his suspicion was its own conviction. “Are you blaming me, then? Did I hit you too hard?” he asked, his voice deceptively soft. “It was just a little punishment for your disobedience.” A little punishment? Three cracked ribs were the mark of his foot. The tapestry of bruises was the art of his fists and open palms. The burns covering my back were the answer to his question of whether I was faking unconsciousness, tested with a full kettle of boiling water. I wanted to scream. To fight back. To make him feel every ounce of the agony he’d inflicted on me. Instead, I let my trembling hand guide the clippers, intentionally cutting a fraction too deep, drawing a speck of blood from under his nail. “I’m so sorry, I…” I started to apologize, instinctively clenching the nail clipping in my fist. The slap came so fast I didn’t see it. The force of it sent me sprawling to the floor. Before I could recover, he grabbed a fistful of my hair and hauled me up, his other hand striking my face again and again. The warm, metallic tang of blood filled my mouth, a taste I knew better than any other. He dragged me closer by my hair, forcing me to look at him, a predator admiring his broken prey. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” he hissed, his face inches from mine. “This is your pathetic little revenge, isn’t it?” I squeezed my hand tighter, protecting the precious clipping. Does he know about the dolls? How could he? How do I get out of this? Do I have another chance? Should I run? A storm of panic raged in my mind. He stared into my wide, terrified eyes, and then a horrible, slow smile spread across his face. “This is your grand rebellion? Nicking my finger with a nail clipper?” He let out a sharp, ugly laugh. “You’re like a kitten, Ava. So adorable.” He tugged on my hair, sending a fresh spike of pain through my scalp. “This is what I love. This is what makes it fun.” He straightened up, releasing me. I crumpled to the floor in a heap. “The more you fight, the more interesting it gets,” he said, his voice a low growl. “So go on. Run. Fight back. Let’s have some fun, Kitten.” He turned and strolled out of the room, humming a cheerful tune, completely unconcerned by the blood welling on his fingertip. This was my chance. After a particularly bad beating, he always gave me time to recover. He wouldn’t kill me outright; he preferred the game of cat and mouse, of breaking me, letting me heal, and then breaking me all over again. The slaps were the end of it, for now. I scrambled back to the bedroom, half-crawling, and slammed the door shut. I pulled the dolls from my bag. I found one of his hairs on the bedsheet. Then, with shaking hands, I placed the hair and the bloodied nail clipping onto the second doll. A crimson light flashed, and a new connection sparked to life, linking me to this second doll, to him. Finally. The binding is complete. I sagged against the floor, my body limp with relief. Knock. Knock. Knock. The sound made me jump. It was Victor. “Ava, I seem to recall telling you not to lock your door.” His voice was dangerously calm. “Are you being disobedient again?” 3 My hands fumbled, trying to hide the dolls behind my back. But before I could, I heard the click of a key in the lock. The door swung open. Victor stepped inside, his eyes immediately landing on the dolls I was so clumsily trying to conceal. He strode over and snatched the one that looked like me. He held it up, examining it with a critical eye. “Not bad. The resemblance is uncanny.” His gaze flicked to me. “What are you up to? Why so jumpy? Don’t tell me you’re playing with voodoo dolls.” He roared with laughter, carelessly swinging my doll by its leg. “I have to admit, it even captures your current, broken-down state. Who knew you had such a talent for crafts?” His fingers tightened around the doll, twisting its limbs, crushing its fabric body. A jolt of pain, faint but real, shot through me from the doll. An idea, brilliant and terrifying, sparked in my mind. If I feel what happens to the doll… does that mean the damage works both ways? I glanced at the doll in my hand—his doll. It was already beginning to reflect the state of the Primary. It would work. I flicked the switch. Instruction #4: The Primary can turn the pain-sharing connection on or off at will. A strangled scream ripped through the room. Victor collapsed, his body hitting the floor with a heavy thud. The sudden, alien agony that flooded his system was so overwhelming he couldn’t even process it. “Call an ambulance! Call a damn ambulance!” he shrieked. The intense pain forced his hand open, and my doll dropped to the carpet. He curled into a tight ball, his towering 6’2” frame crumpled in a desperate attempt to lessen the torment. “So this is what you look like when you’re in pain,” I murmured, a strange sense of calm washing over me. For the first time, he didn’t seem like an invincible monster. I ignored his pleas and picked up my doll, the Primary. I needed to know: was the pain he felt just a reflection of my own injuries, or could I inflict new pain through the doll itself? The doll was mangled from his abuse. I looked at its face, so much like my own, and without a shred of pity, I bent its leg backward until it snapped. A sickening crack echoed in the quiet room. “Aaargh!” Victor clutched his knee, letting out another piercing, agonized howl. “It works,” I whispered. “What works? What the hell are you talking about?” he gasped between screams. “Ava, I told you to call an ambulance! Did you hear me? Do you want another beating?” His voice, usually a tool of terror, was now music to my ears. No wonder he loved to hear me scream and beg. It was a beautiful sound. “You want me to call an ambulance?” I stepped closer, looking down at him. “Then beg me, Victor. Beg me, and maybe I’ll make the call.” My face was still swollen, the burn dressing on my back a constant, throbbing reminder of his cruelty. But in this moment, I held all the power. I held his pain in the palm of my hand. “You bitch! You’re dead—AGHH!” He didn’t finish his threat. I pressed down hard on the doll’s chest, and Victor immediately began to choke, his breath catching in his throat. “Ava… please,” he wheezed, his voice cracking. “Call an ambulance. I’m begging you.” The pain had broken him. Tears and snot streamed down his face, painting a pathetic picture. I pulled out my phone and dialed for an ambulance. Just like Victor said, the game is only fun when there’s resistance. Besides, I needed to know if a hospital could find any physical cause for his injuries. The paramedics arrived quickly, loading the still-screaming Victor onto a stretcher. The staff at the local hospital knew me by sight; they must have assumed I was the patient again. They were in for a surprise. From now on, the ambulance would only be for Victor. 4 After they wheeled Victor away, I slept. For the first time in three years, I slept through the entire night without waking up in a cold sweat. The wounds on my body still ached, but for once, my mind was at peace. I woke the next morning to a strange sensation. The connection to the dolls felt stronger. They had leveled up. Instruction #5: When the Secondary’s pain reaches a certain threshold, the Primary may upgrade. An upgraded Primary can amplify the pain felt by the Secondary. The sustained agony from the night before must have triggered it. My control over the dolls felt sharper, more intuitive. The hospital, predictably, had found nothing wrong with Victor. Painkillers hadn’t touched the phantom agony. He came home that afternoon. The moment he walked through the door, he roared my name. He sounded unhinged. I stood at the top of the stairs, looking down on him. “Was this you?” he snarled, his face contorted with rage. “Some kind of trick? It’s those dolls, isn’t it?” “They ran every test imaginable and found nothing. Nothing! The doctors think I’m having a psychotic break.” He pointed a shaking finger at me. “Ava, I underestimated you.” I said nothing, letting him burn himself out with his impotent fury. Constant, unexplained pain can shatter a man’s composure. He was already losing his mind. But this was the pain I had lived with for three years. “Does it hurt?” My voice was as cold as the marble beneath his feet. “Good. So do I.” “And the painkillers don’t work, do they?” Instruction #6: The shared pain cannot be mitigated by external means, such as medication. “So it was you,” he seethed, his teeth grinding together. “Fine. If it hurts, it hurts. But now, I’m not just going to make you hurt. I’m going to kill you.” The calm, controlled mask he always wore was gone, replaced by a terrifying, wild-eyed madness. I activated the upgrade. A 130% pain amplification surged through the connection. He gasped, his strength instantly draining away, and staggered against the wall. But even through the agony, he lunged for me, his hand closing around my wrist like a vice. A corresponding jolt of pain shot through his own wrist. “What the hell did you do?” he growled through gritted teeth. I just stared back at him, my silence a wall he couldn’t break. “Go on then,” I challenged him. “Kill me. Let’s see who dies first. You from the pain, or me from the beating.” He let go, his mind racing. Then, a look of realization. “The dolls! It’s the dolls. Where did you hide them?” he yelled, tearing the house apart. “You tried to hide them yesterday, I knew it!” I tried to stop him, but even in agony, he was stronger than my injured body. My attempts to create new pain by digging my nails into my own skin only seemed to fuel his desperation. He was willing to endure anything to find the source. Finally, he found them, tucked away in my closet. He snatched up his doll, the Secondary, and a triumphant, cruel smile returned to his face. “I have to admit, Ava, that was a clever little trick. You taught me a lesson.” He held the doll up. “But now that I have this, let’s see how you fight back!” He stormed into the kitchen, turned on the gas stove, and without a moment’s hesitation, tossed the doll into the open flame. The fire roared to life, engulfing the small figure. Victor turned to me, a look of pure, malevolent victory on his face. He cracked his knuckles, already planning his retribution. But in the next instant, his triumphant expression twisted into a mask of pure horror. The searing, blistering agony of being burned alive consumed him. The doll, made of what looked like simple cloth, was completely unharmed by the flames. He collapsed, screaming, his face turning a blotchy red as the phantom burns spread across his body. I started to laugh. It was a beautiful thing, wasn’t it? To give someone a flicker of hope, only to snatch it away and plunge them into absolute despair. It was the exact same feeling I had every time I thought I’d escaped, only to see his car pull up in front of me. Instruction #7: The bond can only be broken by death.

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1 I knew my family was struggling financially from a very young age. Being sick cost money. So, I was never allowed to get sick. When I was four years old and running a terrible fever, my mother picked me up by the collar and shoved me into the refrigerator. I was still conscious when she finally dragged me out. I just stared at her, blinking slowly. My face was freezing. My tears had frozen into tiny, icy rivers on my cheeks. I couldn’t even cry anymore. Mom glared at me, her voice dripping with annoyance. “I know you are just faking it to skip school. Look at you, you are not dead, are you?” After that day, I kept every single ache and pain completely to myself. I figured Mom was right. I must be faking it. If I wasn’t, how could my body naturally recover without a single pill or shot every time I felt unwell? That was until the mandatory health screening before middle school. I ran all the way home, clutching the official cancer diagnosis in my hand, my heart soaring with a strange, nervous joy. “Mom! I have cancer!” This time, with a real doctor’s note, Mom would definitely not think I was faking it. Mom, I am not lying to you this time. … I ran home with the medical paper, my heart pounding with a mix of excitement and anxiety. The doctor told me I only had three months left to live. Even though I didn’t want to die yet, I couldn’t help but look forward to the next three months. I was finally going to get some care and attention from my parents. Whenever my little brother got sick, the entire family would hover over him, waiting on him hand and foot. I wasn’t greedy. I would be completely satisfied if someone just held my hand and took me to the hospital. Pushing the front door open, I held the white diagnostic report high in the air, terrified my parents might miss it. “Mom! Dad! I got cancer!” The air went dead silent for two seconds. Then, hurried footsteps approached, accompanied by the familiar scent of Mom’s vanilla perfume. I lowered the paper and opened my arms wide, fully prepared to be swept into my mother’s warm embrace. Riiiip! With a sharp tear, the diagnosis was snatched from my hand and ripped to shreds. Before my brain could even process what had just happened, a burning pain exploded across my cheek. “Did you forget your brother is sleeping?! How dare you make up such a ridiculous lie!” Dad put down his newspaper and walked over. “Maite, you are a big girl now. You need to start acting your age. Everyone knows you have the constitution of an ox.” “You haven’t even caught a cold since you were a toddler. If you are going to lie, at least make it believable.” Cupping my stinging cheek, I pointed a trembling finger at the trash can. “But the doctor said it…” My parents had already turned their backs on me. They were busy discussing Noah’s premium meal plan. “Noah has lost a little weight recently. It seems the two-thousand-dollar monthly catering plan still isn’t nutritious enough for him.” Dad sighed, his face etched with deep worry. “But upgrading to the premium tier costs four thousand a month. We simply cannot afford that.” Mom suddenly shifted her gaze back to me. “My hospital is recruiting volunteers for a new clinical drug trial. They specifically need healthy individuals. The payout is fifteen thousand dollars per person.” “I was going to do it myself, but we are both way too busy with work.” Hearing the underlying meaning in her words, a spark of hope reignited in my chest. If volunteering required a clean bill of health, then the medical checkup would prove to my parents that I wasn’t lying. “Mom, let me be the volunteer.” Dad immediately scooped me up into his arms. “Our big girl is finally looking out for her baby brother. You know Noah has been frail since he was born. As his older sister, you need to be more understanding.” Mom let out a cold scoff. “Trying to take credit now that you know you messed up, huh? Fine, I will give you this chance.” She pulled a round, dark red pill out of her pocket and gestured for me to swallow it. “Good thing I am on the hospital staff. I bypassed all that tedious paperwork.” I didn’t take it. I stared at the pill nervously. “Mom… aren’t I supposed to get a physical exam first?” Mom’s eyebrows knitted together in sheer frustration. “What physical exam? You just want to waste our money! If your body isn’t healthy, then there isn’t a single healthy person left on this planet.” Hearing my sturdy little brother let out a soft cough from the living room, Dad grabbed the pill from Mom’s hand. He snatched a glass of water from the table. Ignoring my panicked struggles, he forced the pill directly down my throat. “Stop wasting time arguing with a kid. Noah just coughed. Go check if he is catching a cold.” I choked violently, unable to formulate a single word. Mom grabbed me by the arm, dragged me into my bedroom, and locked the door from the outside. “I already disinfected your room. You stay in there and behave.” “The observation period is three days. Once you pass, I will take you to the hospital to get the money. If you show a good attitude, Mom will treat you to McDonald’s.” My head began to throb violently. I wanted to tell Mom I felt incredibly sick, but my vocal cords refused to make a sound. 2 I pounded on the bedroom door with all my might, forcing a tiny whimper through my clenched teeth. “Mom… Dad… please come save me.” Bang! The door violently shuddered as Dad kicked it from the outside, his last shred of patience entirely gone. “The only reason your brother is so weak is because you absorbed all the nutrients in your mother’s womb! And you still have the nerve to complain? You clearly haven’t learned your lesson!” Mom suddenly let out a sharp gasp. For a fleeting second, I thought they had fished my diagnosis out of the trash and realized it was real. “Honey! Noah’s temperature is 99 degrees! He is almost running a fever!” “Hurry, get him to the ER!” Dad didn’t even bother listening to the muffled, agonizing sounds I was making against the wood. A cluster of keys jingled frantically. I heard the heavy thud of the front door slamming shut. Reaching up to touch my face, I realized two trails of thick blood were leaking out of my eye sockets. Mom. Dad. It hurts so much. My consciousness slowly faded into the dark, and the piercing, bone-deep agony eventually melted away. When I woke up again, I was floating mid-air. I easily drifted right through the solid bedroom door. That was wonderful. Mom and Dad had finally let me out. I sat down politely at the dining table. I promised myself I would apologize to them and explain everything properly the moment they returned. I didn’t know how much time had passed before the front door clicked open. Mom and Dad walked in holding a pink Hello Kitty cake. It smelled amazing. I couldn’t help but swallow hard. Usually, I only ever got to taste cake on Noah’s birthday. I didn’t expect that getting cancer meant I would get my very own cake today. Mom stared impatiently at my closed bedroom door. “Maite! Come out and eat your cake!” “You are lucky your little stunt didn’t scare your brother into a worse sickness. Otherwise, you would be getting the belt.” I looked at them in complete bewilderment. “Mom, Dad, I am right in front of you. I am sitting right here on the chair.” I stood up and walked over, wanting to hug them, but my arms passed straight through their bodies. They kept staring at the door. Ten seconds later, Mom banged her fist against the wood. “Throwing a tantrum and giving us the silent treatment now? I didn’t even punish you for putting your brother in the hospital, and you dare throw a fit?!” I was completely stunned. I phased back and forth around them, shouting directly into their ears. “Mom! Dad! I am right here! I am not throwing a tantrum!” But neither of them reacted. Dad took my beautiful cake and dumped it straight into the garbage can. “This is what happens when you spoil her too much. Let this be a lesson. Starving for three days won’t kill her.” A horrifying realization dawned on me. I drifted back through my bedroom door. A shriveled, grotesque figure was curled up tightly against the base of the door. Deep, bloody scratch marks from my fingernails scarred the wood. I looked so ugly. No wonder Mom and Dad never liked me. I was already dead. I couldn’t quite describe the feeling in my chest. Was I sad? I didn’t actually feel that heartbroken. It was just a shame. I thought I was going to get three months of love and care, but I didn’t even get a single day. But maybe this was for the best. At least now I could stay by my parents’ side forever without worrying about being a burden. Mom noticed the torn diagnosis paper in the trash, now smeared with frosting. Frowning, she pinched it with two fingers and picked it up. “Honey, this medical report actually looks real…” Dad glanced at it and scoffed loudly. “Susan, you work at a hospital. How can you fall for this?” “AI is incredibly advanced these days. It can easily fake a document like this. Watch, I will ask her right now.” He marched up to my bedroom door and delivered a few heavy kicks. “You forged this, didn’t you? Tell the truth, and I will let you eat tomorrow.” Floating in the air, fighting the stinging sensation in my ghostly eyes, I shook my head over and over again. Dad, I didn’t forge it. That is a real paper from a real doctor. The only response he got was the dramatic groaning coming from Noah’s bedroom. “See? She is too scared to answer. That means she admits it.” “I can’t believe this little brat learned to be a pathological liar at such a young age. If only she was half as sensible as her brother.” I wasn’t scared to answer. I simply couldn’t. I rushed back into the room and tightly hugged my stiff, decaying corpse. It was so cold. Maybe it was because I had never once ignored my parents in my entire life. After tending to Noah for a while, they returned to my door. “Maite, it is time to log your physical condition for the trial. Stop playing dead!” I am not playing dead, Mom. I am actually dead. Dad took a deep, angry breath. “You are really pushing your luck.” I watched him march out toward the balcony where the cat bed was. A dreadful premonition seized my heart. “Dad, no, please…” The tall man roughly grabbed Snowball out of the little cardboard house I had built for her. He carried the struggling cat straight to my door. “If you don’t make a sound right now, I am going to teach your cat a lesson!” I lunged forward, desperately trying to snatch my kitten back. Snowball was the only one in this house who ever listened to me. But my ghostly hands passed right through her fur. Dad! I am talking! Please put Snowball down! I don’t have cancer! I was lying! I made it all up! 3 Mom was growing impatient. She pinched the back of Snowball’s neck hard. The usually gentle kitten puffed up instantly, letting out a series of frantic, bloodcurdling screeches. I opened my mouth as wide as I could. Souls couldn’t shed tears, so I could only tremble violently. I screamed until my invisible throat felt like it was tearing apart. “No!” But it was utterly useless. Seeing the cat scratching so fiercely, Dad lost his temper and hurled it away. But he had forgotten that my bedroom door opened right next to the balcony. My mind went entirely blank. A heavy thud echoed from the street below. Mom tried to reach out and stop him, but it was too late. Seeing the neighbors gathering downstairs, she clicked her tongue in annoyance. “Someone is definitely going to ask us how the cat died. We can’t let this ruin our family’s reputation.” “We will just say Maite accidentally dropped it. We will make her go down and apologize.” The moment the words left her mouth, Dad snapped out of his shock. He grabbed my doorknob and rattled it furiously. “This is all your fault for throwing a tantrum! You got your own cat killed! You brought this upon yourself!” Staring down at Snowball’s lifeless body, I was so numb I couldn’t even form a thought. But heaven seemed to take pity on me. Snowball’s little soul floated up and rubbed against my leg. Only then did I pull myself together enough to keep my spirit from completely shattering. Her fluffy ghostly fur felt exactly the same. I carried her back into the apartment. Were Mom and Dad finally going to check on me? What would their reaction be? Ring! Ring! Ring! Dad’s phone suddenly blared. It was a police officer on the other end of the line. “We caught Marcus! Are you coming down to the station to press charges?” Hearing that name, my sorrow was instantly swallowed by sheer terror. That man hiding in the alley had asked me for directions to the bus stop. When I wasn’t looking, he dragged me into the shadows. He pinned me against the cold brick wall, his filthy hands grabbing at my clothes, whispering the most sickening, terrifying threats into my ear as I struggled. When I finally escaped and ran home, I scrubbed my skin in the shower until it bled. When Mom found out, she took me to the police station that very night to file a report. Since then, she had been walking me to and from school. But predators were hard to catch. It took them until today to finally arrest him. Dad and Mom exchanged a loaded look, before a look of absolute resolve settled over their faces. “Did you know? That boy’s wealthy father tracked me down. He said he would give us fifty thousand dollars if we just let this go.” Mom glanced at my tightly shut bedroom door. “That money could cover Noah’s premium meal plan for the whole year. The damage done to Maite cannot be undone anyway. As long as that boy knows he was wrong…” “Besides, look at the terrible attitude Maite is giving us right now. A little harsh reality might be exactly the lesson she needs.” Holding my kitten, I sat in the backseat of their car as they drove to the police station. The face that haunted my darkest nightmares was sitting in the lobby, casually crossing his legs. He looked at my parents with absolute disdain. His overweight father grabbed my dad’s hand warmly. “My good friend, let’s step outside and have a little chat.” I listened to my dad eagerly agreeing to the fifty-thousand-dollar hush money. Every syllable sounded exactly like the sound of my heart shattering into pieces. The monster swaggered out of the police station a free man. I wanted to lunge at him, tear his flesh, and drink his blood. But my own parents had just sold me out. I could never get my justice now. The car ride back was suffocatingly silent. What were they thinking about? “Robert, I still feel like taking this money is wrong…” Dad’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, as if he was terrified he might change his mind. “I know you are worried it will break Maite’s heart. So we just won’t tell her.” “Maite has been perfectly healthy her whole life. Noah is so sickly it breaks my heart. Let’s just consider this the ultimate sacrifice Maite is making for her little brother.” “When we get home, we will let her out and take her somewhere fun to relax. We won’t make her do the drug trial anymore.” Sitting in the backseat, my soul was reduced to ashes. Dad, you don’t have to bother. I am already dead. I can’t go anywhere fun. Mom’s phone suddenly rang. It was my homeroom teacher, Mrs. Bennett. “Mrs. Bennett, how can I help you? We already called in sick for Maite for the past few days.” “I know this must be an incredibly agonizing time for you as parents. But you have to stay strong and not show your despair in front of the child…” Mom cut her off, thoroughly confused. “Mrs. Bennett, what do you mean? Agonizing time?” “Wait. Didn’t Maite show you her cancer diagnosis? Haven’t you been taking her to the hospital for tests these past few days?”

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1 My husband was keeping a mistress behind my back. And this mistress happened to be a somewhat famous food influencer on the internet. Every day, she showed off on her social media, flaunting the lovingly prepared lunches she had made for her boyfriend. Those exquisite meals packed in delicate wooden boxes earned her countless gasps of admiration from her followers. But those crazy fans hitting the like button had no idea about the truth. Every single bite of that food was meticulously chosen and prepared by me. I dragged myself out of bed at five in the morning, standing in the kitchen until my eyes were completely bloodshot. I sacrificed everything for my husband. And this betrayal was my only reward. … A few weeks later, right during her most popular live stream, I put on a delivery uniform and knocked on the door of her luxury apartment. In front of hundreds of thousands of viewers, I held up a long delivery receipt directly to the camera. “Miss, this is the twenty-third premium private chef meal you ordered from our store this month. If you are satisfied with the taste, please leave a five-star review on the app.” The live chat, which had been flooded with hearts and praises just a second ago, was instantly drowned in a massive wave of question marks. She had no idea this was only the first step of dragging them straight to hell. The whole thing started on a perfectly normal afternoon. I was leaning against the couch scrolling through short videos when the algorithm pushed a food influencer’s update to my feed. The cover of the video showed a young girl with immaculate makeup wearing a silk slip dress. Sitting right in front of her was a very familiar handmade walnut wood bento box. Immediately after, a sickly sweet and overly rehearsed voice drifted out of my phone speaker. “Hello babies! Today I am sharing a brand new recipe I developed called Black Truffle Angel Hair Pasta. This dish requires extremely strict knife skills and temperature control. But for him, all the hard work is totally worth it.” The camera cut to a close-up of the dish. The hand-kneaded pasta was sliced as thin as strands of hair, topped with expensive caviar and micro-herbs. I frowned. My heart skipped a heavy beat. Everything from the plating to the ingredients was exactly identical to the lunch I had packed for my husband early this morning. But the thing that truly made my scalp tingle was that walnut wood box. It was an exact replica of the one my husband used. There was a very faint scratch right next to the brass latch. That was a flaw I accidentally left behind with my carving knife when I polished the wood myself years ago. I held my breath and clicked into the profile named “LexiBites.” Six hundred thousand followers. The influencer’s real name was Lexi. I scrolled through her posts from the past month. There were fifteen heavily edited lunch videos, and every single one felt like a heavy hammer smashing against my nerves. French butter-baked lobster. I had stayed up for several nights researching Michelin recipes just to recreate that dish for our fifth wedding anniversary. Twelve-hour slow-simmered Wagyu consomme. Just last week, my husband Henry complained about feeling under the weather. I stood by the stove for half a day and night just to nourish his body. Every single dish was infused with my blood, sweat, and tears. They were the result of me standing in a freezing kitchen at five in the morning, fighting off exhaustion just to provide for my husband. And now, all my love and devotion had been framed as Lexi’s proud masterpieces. They became the stepping stones for her perfect girlfriend persona. They became the chips she used to flaunt her fake romance to hundreds of thousands of strangers. My trembling fingers opened the comment section. It was entirely filled with overwhelming envy. “Oh my god, she is the absolute perfect girlfriend! I am so jealous. Guys, I want to marry her!” “Her knife skills are insane. This is literally Michelin level!” The phone screen went dark, reflecting my pale and haggard face. The light in my eyes slowly died out, but a fire deep within started burning brighter than ever. For the past five years, I completely abandoned my dream of opening a high-end private restaurant just to be the woman behind Henry. I willingly trapped myself between the grease and the stove. In the end, my sacrifices became nothing but a massive joke in someone else’s eyes. I did not know how long I sat frozen on that couch. By the time I snapped out of it, I had already dialed my former assistant Sarah. “Sarah, look someone up for me right now. An influencer named LexiBites. Real name Lexi. I want a deep dive into her entire background. Most importantly, I need to know exactly what kind of dirty business is going on between her and my husband Henry.” Less than half an hour later, an encrypted file quietly landed in my inbox. Lexi was twenty-five years old. She was a micro-influencer recently signed to the exact marketing agency where Henry worked. And Henry, coincidentally enough, was her direct talent manager. Attached at the bottom of the email were several high-resolution candid photos taken in a dimly lit underground parking garage. In the photos, Henry and Lexi were standing incredibly close to each other. His hand was naturally raised, affectionately tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. Looking at that gesture full of possessiveness and tenderness, I felt a suffocating pang in my chest. Good. This was just perfect. Henry and Lexi. One was the thief, the other fenced the stolen goods. They were truly a match made in heaven. Since they loved acting in front of the camera so much, I did not mind getting my hands dirty to build them a world-class stage. I was going to let the entire internet enjoy a front-row seat to their sickening, picture-perfect romance. 2 The next evening, Henry came home from work right on time. At the dinner table, I served him a bowl of soup as usual and spoke in a very casual tone. “Honey, my old private chef studio just landed a groundbreaking catering gig. A massive tech company in Silicon Valley specifically requested me to be the executive chef for their annual gala.” He paused his steak knife, his eyes lighting up immediately. “Really? That is amazing, baby! This is an opportunity of a lifetime.” I pursed my lips, offering a perfectly timed, guilty smile. “It is a great opportunity. But for the next entire month, I will probably be buried in the studio developing the new menu. I doubt I will even have time to sleep.” I paused for a second, looking straight into his eyes. “So I really won’t have the time to prep your lunch boxes every morning.” Just as I expected, the smile on his face froze instantly. A brief flash of panic crossed his eyes. But his cover-up was flawless. He simply took a sip of red wine without changing his expression. “That is totally fine. Work comes first. I can just order some delivery or eat at the restaurant downstairs. Please do not stress over it.” I sneered in my heart. Totally fine? If his lunch supply was cut off, Lexi’s daily video content would dry up completely. How could he not be panicking? I could bet my life that within three days, he would be beating around the bush begging me for help. When that time came, I would personally hand this cheating couple a gift they would never forget. Over the next two days, I set my plan into motion with ruthless efficiency. The first step was registering a private kitchen on an elite delivery app designed specifically for wealthy neighborhoods. I spent an entire afternoon perfecting the visual aesthetics of the storefront. The shop was named “Velvet Spoon.” The avatar was a minimalist black and gold logo. The bio consisted of a single, cold line: Providing only the ultimate customized private dining experience. Every meal is an unrepeatable piece of art. Serious inquiries only. Everything was ready. I just needed to wait for the rats to walk into the trap. Sure enough, on the third night, Henry furiously poked at the salad on his plate and let out a very deliberate, heavy sigh. “Man, eating those mass-produced diet meals at work for the past few days has completely ruined my appetite. I am so used to your god-tier cooking. Outside food is basically inedible.” I put down my fork. Frowning, I put on a highly distressed act. “Henry, it is not that I want to be cruel and ignore you. This project is at its most critical stage right now. I am working around the clock.” Seeing the growing frustration in his eyes, I quickly pivoted. “However…” I pulled out my phone and pushed the screen toward him. It was the ordering page for Velvet Spoon. “A friend in the catering circle recommended this place to me. They specialize in ultra-luxury private meals and only take a limited number of orders every day. I reviewed their menu with a very critical eye. Their ingredients and techniques are honestly even more meticulous than mine. You can order from them for now to treat your stomach.” Henry stared at the exquisite food photos on the screen, raising his eyebrows in disbelief. “Are you serious? Can it really be as good as your cooking?” “Absolutely.” My tone was firm, carrying the authority of a professional. “The head chef has incredible skills, and many of their rare ingredients are flown in daily. You can trust me on this. It will definitely hit the spot.” His eyes darted around. He probably figured that a place recommended by an executive chef like me could not possibly be bad. Passing it off to Lexi for her videos would definitely work. He immediately put on a grateful smile. “Alright. As long as you recommend it, I will place an order tomorrow.” 3 Early the next morning, my phone screen lit up with a crisp notification chime. Client Lexi placed a six-hundred-dollar order for a “Chef’s Exclusive Blind Box Meal.” The delivery address was a highly secured luxury apartment building downtown, a place I had never set foot in. I stared at the name on the order, a cold smirk curling on my lips. Turning around to enter the kitchen, I tied on my dark black apron and began prepping the ingredients methodically. It was the same premium Wagyu beef. The same tedious cooking process. But this time, to make the evidence completely airtight, I had set up high-definition cameras in every blind spot of the kitchen. From trimming the meat to julienning the vegetables, and all the way to the precise final plating, every single movement was recorded in crystal clarity. A red timestamp accurate to the second flashed in the bottom right corner of the footage. Not only that, but when adding the final garnishes to each dish, I used a special edible pigment that only glowed under UV light. I painted a tiny, exclusive watermark at the bottom of an inconspicuous side dish. At exactly seven-thirty in the morning, Lexi’s video went live on her social platforms. In the footage, she smiled at the camera like an innocent angel, carefully opening that terribly familiar walnut wood box. “Good morning babies! Look at how breathtaking today’s bento is! To get this perfect color, I was busy in the kitchen since five AM. Honestly, I am so exhausted. But whenever I think about the look of surprise on his face when he opens it for lunch, I feel like all the hard work is worth it.” She babbled on about her so-called cooking tips, completely omitting the fact that this was a six-hundred-dollar takeout order. Of course she couldn’t mention it. Her meticulously crafted label was the perfect girlfriend who cooked with love. If she admitted these art-like meals were bought with money, her fragile tower of lies would instantly collapse. Just like that, an absurd and sickening cycle was officially established. For every single delivery and pickup that followed, I hired private investigators to record the entire handoff process from start to finish. Every exorbitant meal payment was processed through corporate bank accounts, leaving behind undeniable transfer records in the banking system. A full month passed. Day after day. During this month, I acted like an emotionless machine, personally serving twenty-three exquisite meals to my own rival. And Lexi, feeding off my blood and sweat, crazily pumped out fifteen viral videos with millions of views. Her follower count skyrocketed from six hundred thousand to eight hundred thousand. Moreover, she signed five endorsement deals with high-end kitchenware and food brands in one breath. The total endorsement fees amounted to millions of dollars. The massive profit completely blinded her. She even started dropping bold hints in her core fan group, claiming that she and her mysterious, wealthy boyfriend were about to walk down the aisle. As for Henry, his status at the agency rose alongside his cash cow’s soaring popularity. His attitude toward me became unprecedentedly gentle and considerate. A few days ago, he even bought me a limited-edition Hermes bag, claiming it was a fat bonus he got for leading a highly successful project. I sat on the couch holding that expensive leather bag against my chest. Looking into his eyes full of deep affection and deceit, I felt a violent wave of nausea churn in my stomach. Using dirty money earned by draining my lifeblood to buy me a pacifying gift? This was truly the most vicious dark comedy in the world. Swallowing the disgust, I gently looped my arm through his, blooming with an incredibly gentle smile. “Thank you, honey. You are so good to me.” I was waiting. Like a hunter holding her breath in the dark, waiting for the exact moment the prey let its guard down completely. I wanted to wait until she climbed to the clouds, to the absolute peak where everyone was looking up at her. And then, I would personally and ruthlessly kick away the ladder I had built for her. I wanted to watch her fall from the sky, shattering into pieces, never to recover. And that perfect moment was fast approaching. 4 To permanently solidify Lexi’s genius chef title, her management agency poured massive funds into planning a huge live stream event to pamper her fans. They bombarded every social media platform with teaser ads. They claimed Lexi would flawlessly recreate her hardest signature dish live in front of hundreds of thousands of fans this Saturday at eight PM. It was meant to be a vicious slap in the face to all the haters who accused her of using a ghost chef. The moment this bombshell dropped, her eight hundred thousand followers completely lost their minds. They flooded the comments, swearing to camp in the live stream to witness their goddess’s moment of glory. I stared at the provocative promo poster on my phone screen. The blood in my veins began to boil. I knew the time to close the net had finally arrived. At seven PM on Saturday, I pushed open my walk-in closet and pulled out a grey delivery uniform I had prepared long ago. I put on a black baseball cap and a thick medical mask, hiding my features flawlessly. Finally, I personally packed the freshly cooked, steaming ultimate love bento into a massive black thermal delivery bag. At seven fifty-five PM, my car parked precisely outside Lexi’s luxury apartment building. At eight PM sharp, Lexi’s live stream kicked off amidst a frenzy of comments. On screen, she was wearing a pure white silk French dress that hugged her curves perfectly. The open kitchen behind her glowed with warm ambient lighting. The marble countertops were spotless, looking as if they had never seen a drop of real grease. “Hello babies, I am right on time! Seeing the chat going so crazy makes me want to cry! To thank you all for your love, tonight I will show you step by step how to make the highly requested French butter-baked lobster right here on camera!” The screen was instantly buried in colorful comments screaming about how beautiful she looked and how perfect she was. She turned around and began pretending to prep the lobster on the cutting board. Her knife skills were incredibly clumsy. Even her grip on the handle was wrong. Anyone with eyes could tell she was an absolute amateur who never cooked. But she was very cunning. She knew exactly how to use camera angles to hide her guilt. Most of the time, she just let the camera zoom in on her innocent, makeup-perfected face. Whenever she needed to show precise knife work, the producer would instantly cut to a pre-recorded close-up video. Halfway through the stream, she put down her knife and picked up tweezers to prepare for plating. She elegantly wiped her fingers with a paper towel while giving the camera her signature sweet smile. “Actually, the ultimate secret to making top-tier food isn’t having master-level skills. It is about whether you cook with love. As long as your heart is full of that special someone, every bite of food you make will have the power to conquer the world.” Standing outside the door of her apartment, I looked at her hypocritical face on my phone screen. A cruel smirk curled on my lips. Now was the time. I took a deep breath and pressed the doorbell hard. Inside the live stream, Lexi, who was just about to brush butter on the lobster, clearly got spooked. Her hand froze in mid-air. But she quickly adjusted her expression, winking playfully at the camera. “Give me half a minute, babies. It might be my clumsy assistant who forgot her keys again, dropping something off for me.” To maintain the illusion of an unscripted, natural vibe, she did not mute her microphone or turn off the camera as she walked out of the frame. Along with the sound of the deadbolt turning, the heavy door swung open. When she saw a person dressed in a baggy delivery uniform, completely bundled up from head to toe, her delicate face instantly dropped. Her eyebrows twisted in pure disgust. “I didn’t order any takeout. You are on the wrong floor. Get lost!” I completely ignored her demands. Lowering my voice on purpose, I used the exhausted, robotic tone of a delivery driver and asked loudly, “Good evening, are you Miss Lexi?” “Yes, what exactly do you want…” I did not give her a chance to finish her sentence. Capitalizing on her moment of confusion, I forced my shoulder forward and aggressively squeezed into the entryway. My half-body, clad in the shabby uniform, was fully exposed to the high-definition camera pointing right at the door. I lifted the massive delivery box with both hands. My voice was not overly loud, but thanks to the highly sensitive microphone clipped to her collar, every single word exploded clearly across the entire live stream. “Miss Lexi, this is your twenty-fourth premium Velvet Spoon meal this month. Please open the box to verify your items. If the quality is to your liking, the platform requires a five-star review.” The chat, which had been scrolling at lightning speed a second ago, suddenly froze as if someone hit the pause button. A bizarre, three-second dead silence followed. Immediately after, the entire screen was devoured by a dense swarm of massive question marks that nearly crashed the servers. “Wait, am I blind? What delivery?” “Hold up! Did I hear that right? Isn’t the streamer cooking this herself? Why is food being delivered right now?!” “Velvet Spoon? Isn’t that the most expensive private delivery kitchen in the city? The one that costs hundreds of dollars a meal?!” Within a fraction of a second, all the color drained from Lexi’s face. She looked paler than the white dress she was wearing. Like a cat getting its tail stepped on, she spun around in sheer terror. Flailing her arms, she lunged forward, trying to cover my mouth and push me out the door. But my legs were planted to the ground like lead weights. No matter how hard she shoved, I did not budge an inch. Ignoring her hysterical panic, I continued in the same dead, emotionless tone, delivering the fatal blow. “Also, our head chef found out that you have been using our restaurant’s meals to shoot your fifteen viral videos, gaining two hundred thousand followers in the process. To thank you for your incredibly dedicated free promotion, the chef specifically instructed that VIP clients like you will get a ten percent discount on all future orders.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I cleanly flipped open the lid of the black thermal bag right in front of hundreds of thousands of watching eyes. I respectfully pulled out that walnut wood bento box she knew so well. With a soft click, I popped open the brass latch. Resting quietly inside the box was a French butter-baked lobster. It was exactly identical to the half-finished mess sitting on the kitchen island behind me, but infinitely more perfect. The rich color of the sauce, the artistic plating, and the top-tier aroma radiating from the ingredients completely destroyed her pathetic, half-baked attempt. “Miss Lexi, your food has arrived. Please enjoy.” The live chat detonated like a nuclear bomb. “Holy shit! The biggest tea of the year! All her viral meals were bought with money!” “Ordering takeout twenty-three times a month? Girl, you don’t even turn on your stove once a year!” “Lmao she is so busted! One second she is preaching about cooking with love, and the next second the delivery guy drops off the original dish! The second-hand embarrassment is killing me!” Lexi let out a bloodcurdling scream. She scrambled toward the kitchen counter like a madwoman, trying to rip the power cord out of the broadcasting equipment. But it was way too late. 5 The five-minute screen recording of the live stream spread like a winged plague across all social platforms at an unbelievable speed. #LexiBitesFake #DeliveryChef #FakePersonaDestroyed These three explosive hashtags acted like sharp knives, pinning themselves firmly to the top three spots on the trending charts. The internet’s rage and thirst for gossip were fully ignited. Netizens turned into microscopic detectives, comparing every single frame of my dramatic entrance with all of Lexi’s past videos. Eventually, the entire internet reached one united, ironclad conclusion: Not a single stunning dish on the LexiBites account was actually cooked by her. Lexi’s follower count suffered an avalanche. She lost two hundred thousand followers overnight, and the red downward curve was still plunging at a terrifying speed. Terrified, she frantically disabled comments across all her platforms. But the fans who felt lied to and manipulated flooded her direct messages with vicious, vulgar insults. A much more lethal blow followed closely behind. Out of the five brands that had just signed massive contracts with her, three reacted with ruthless speed. They teamed up with PR firms to issue severe termination statements. They mercilessly accused Lexi of malicious false advertising and fraudulent behavior, stating she severely violated their brand values and committed a fundamental breach of contract. The statements clearly warned that if Lexi failed to clarify the truth and restore their brand reputation within twenty-four hours, they would not hesitate to take legal action. They would demand a full refund of the endorsement fees, plus a penalty three times that amount. The total damages demanded by the three brands reached a number that would bankrupt her completely: 2.8 million dollars. Meanwhile, the other mastermind behind this storm, my dear husband Henry, was currently standing in his boss’s spacious corner office, getting chewed out like a stray dog with its tail between its legs. How did I know the details so clearly? Because half a month ago, while he was taking a shower, I had planted an ultra-micro listening device inside the Montblanc pen he always carried with him. “Henry! Open your damn eyes and look at the massive mess you created! You were the one who pushed so hard to make Lexi our cash cow. Now she has caused this apocalyptic scandal, and the entire agency’s reputation is being dragged through the mud! I am giving you until the end of the day to bury this, no matter the cost! If you can’t, pack your bags and get the hell out!” “Boss, please let me explain… I am already contacting the crisis PR team. I will handle it immediately!” “Get out! I want a mitigation plan on my desk in five minutes!” Following a loud slam, the phone call was brutally disconnected. Through the bug, I heard Henry angrily kicking a trash can, followed by a vicious curse. A few seconds later, he dialed Lexi’s number. “Lexi, is your brain full of water?! Who the hell was that delivery driver? Who did you piss off to make them want to destroy you like this?!” Lexi’s mental breakdown immediately echoed through the phone, accompanied by violent sobbing. “How am I supposed to know who that lunatic is! Henry, I am completely finished. The brands’ lawyers already sent the letters to my email. 2.8 million dollars in damages! Even if you sold my organs, I couldn’t pay that! You have to help me, I am begging you, please help me!” “How am I supposed to help you? I can barely keep my own job right now!” There was not a single trace of pity in Henry’s voice, only the explosive irritability and disgust of a man backed into a corner. “I warned you from the very beginning to actually learn some basic knife skills so you could fake it properly for the camera! But you insisted it would ruin your manicure! Now you got caught red-handed. Are you happy now?!” “What is the point of saying all this in hindsight?! Henry, stop acting like the good guy! You were the one who personally suggested it! You said using the meals your ugly wife made for you would be free and foolproof! What, now that everything blew up, you want to throw me under the bus and make me take the fall?!” Oh? Sitting on the couch, I raised an eyebrow. So the root of all this evil, this utterly shameless scheme, was actually proposed by my gentle, sophisticated husband. I let out an incredibly delighted sneer. With a flick of my finger, I packed this brilliant audio recording, along with all the surveillance footage, bank statements, and photos I had gathered over the past month, into a hidden encrypted folder. Henry, since you love playing with fire so much, your time is finally up.

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I’ve always been the sensitive, suspicious type, so after finally getting together with the guy I grew up with, a knot of anxiety was always coiled in my stomach. One day, I happened to see his phone screen light up. A new message notification popped onto the screen: “I’m not trying to be the other woman. I just want to be your puppy.” Beneath the message was a photo. In it, a girl was wearing a very distinctive collar around her neck. Coincidentally, not long after, I found the exact same collar in the trash can of my rich, “it-girl” roommate. I immediately snapped a picture and found the contact info for her mega-wealthy fiancé. I sent him the photo with a simple message: “We’re both being played.” He replied almost instantly, with just one sentence: “Yeah, today’s definitely green.” He then sent a screenshot from a stock trading app. I looked closer and saw the total profit figure was followed by eight zeros. A comment scrolled across my vision, visible only to me: Look at this shady side character, thinking the main female lead wants to steal her boyfriend. Her fiancé is a freaking billionaire, okay? Another one popped up: The male lead is into that bad-girl vibe. The side character running to tattle is just embarrassing herself. Pathetic and poor, and it’ll never change! I completely lost it. I furiously typed back at him: “Are you blind?! I’m telling you your fiancée is cheating with my boyfriend! Why are you flexing your money at me?!” He was silent for a long moment before he replied: “…How about I offer myself as compensation?” The comments section in my head exploded with question marks. 1. My roommate, Julia, was a trust-fund princess. She once offered me a thousand dollars a month to be her personal gofer. I turned her down. But my childhood sweetheart, Liam, took the job. Julia sent me a text: [Hey babe, I’m going on a trip. Borrowing your bf to carry my bags for me.] [Don’t worry, I know your birthday is in three days. I’ll have him back before then, promise.] So disgusting. She called everyone “babe.” Including my boyfriend. On the first day of school, she asked me to carry her bags for fifty bucks. Then, under the pretense of paying me, she got Liam’s number instead. I turned to Liam and couldn’t stop myself from kicking his shin. “You’re my boyfriend now. Can you please stop being her errand boy?” I tried to keep my voice steady. “I’m making enough from my part-time jobs now.” Liam’s explanation was infuriatingly calm. “Julia has a fiancé. She’s not interested in me.” “Sienna, don’t be so selfish. The little money you make barely covers your mom’s medical bills each month. She can’t afford to wait.” He kissed my cheek, a placating gesture. “We’re going to get married and have kids one day. Julia will have her own life. Don’t make a scene.” A comment flickered to life: [Poor people are always so paranoid. Always imagining the rich girl wants to steal their boyfriend. So obsessed with romance.] [Poor Liam. He doesn’t even like the side character. He’s only with her out of a sense of obligation.] I stared coldly at the comments. Of course, I knew Liam didn’t love me. But I was born selfish, and just seeing his face made me happy. He was handsome, he’d always been good to me, and my mom had raised him like her own son. After his parents died young, our family was all he had. Therefore, he could only be with me. After our argument, I went back to my dorm. I opened up my social media and started stalking Julia’s account. She loved to show off. She’d just posted a new update: [So happy! Getting engaged to the love of my life soon! @AX] The comments were flooded with congratulations. At that moment, the darkness in my heart reached its peak. Why did she get to be so happy? She was such a fake. A comment appeared: [Ugh, stop lurking in the shadows, side character. No amount of stalking will make the male lead yours.] [The female lead has strong… appetites. She and the male lead are a perfect match. She doesn’t need to go looking for service from a side piece.] I latched onto two pieces of information. The female lead was cheating. And the male lead didn’t know yet. My eyes lit up. I casually followed the male lead’s account. Time to throw a wrench in the main characters’ perfect love story. [LMAO, did the dumb side character not realize his account is private? He has to approve follows.] [That’s why the female lead is so confident tagging her fiancé on social media. In this world, there are plenty of girls willing to be the other woman for money.] [Alexander Segel only follows the female lead. Give it up, side character.] 2. A private account? I stared at the screen. A wicked idea took root. I scrolled back to one of Julia’s earliest posts bragging about her relationship. Alexander Segel rarely replied to her. His one and only comment had been upvoted by their couple-shippers to the top spot. AX: [It’s a business arrangement.] He had posted a picture of the engagement rings. The comments said the woman’s ring cost over thirty thousand dollars. This male lead had never shown his face. Julia had never shown us a picture, either. For someone who loved to show off as much as she did, the lack of photos was suspicious. Maybe he looked like a toad! My dark speculation began. Julia had replied to a fan in the comments: [Guys, please don’t follow my fiancé. He made his account private because he’s afraid of girls trying to add him.] [He’s just so handsome, you know? A lot of girls in our circle were after him, but I was the one who won his heart.] [His grandfather even gave me an heirloom bracelet.] The comment section filled with envy: [That sounds like a serious family heirloom, probably worth enough to buy a house.] [She’s the officially approved daughter-in-law of the Segel family.] [A match made in heaven!] I scrolled to the bottom and gleefully started typing: [Hey cuckold, your fiancée’s running around on you, you know that?] [Get a leash on your girl. Stop her from calling other people’s boyfriends “babe”!] [A cuckold and a cheater. Perfect for each other!] [F***ing losers, both of you!] After my tirade, I immediately blocked Julia. That way, she wouldn’t see my replies to Alexander. My only regret was that my most creative insults were censored by the platform’s filter, so the male lead wouldn’t be able to see exactly what I’d called him. Alexander hadn’t paid much attention to the notification bubble that popped up. His account was usually dead quiet. Since he’d gone private, he might get a few follow requests a month, at most. So, when a rapid-fire series of notifications appeared, he was a little confused. After reading the messages, his face turned livid. In his entire life, he had never been insulted like this. 3. Alexander Segel approved my follow request. His upper-class upbringing prevented him from firing back with profanities. So, he simply asked: [I think you have the wrong person.] I replied instantly: [Nope. I’m talking to you, Alexander Segel. And about Julia.] The comments were merciless: [This side character has zero class! No manners at all!] [The male lead must have been furious to actually follow her back.] [The female lead has always maintained this prim and proper rich-girl image. Without proof, the male lead will never believe she’s a cheater.] [And even if he did know, so what? He’s rich and powerful. He likes a bad girl. He’ll just marry her and tame her.] Alexander sent me a message, demanding I send him proof of Julia’s cheating. He added that if I couldn’t produce it within a month, he’d sue me for slander. I shot back: [That’s not fair. What if I can prove you’re a cuckold? I can’t sue you.] Alexander: […] I scowled: [What’s with the ellipses? So pretentious.] Alexander stared at the ID: [CottonCandy]. A sweet name. Her profile was full of dance videos. She was a small-time streamer who never showed her face, but her replies to her fans were always polite. He clicked through the videos, one by one. From her clothes, he could tell her family wasn’t well-off. But she had a great figure and, based on one post, was a student at a good university, so she had a small but dedicated fanbase. Her pinned video was a screenshot of her university admission, followed by a long, profane rant against people who had doubted her. Alexander watched it, a strange expression on his face. In his world, he rarely encountered people with… such a split personality. The background of CottonCandy’s dance videos was a college dorm room. He paused the video. Julia had sent him pictures of her dorm before. This streamer’s bed curtains, and the cute cartoon cotton candy charm hanging from them, were identical to the ones in Julia’s photo. At the time, he’d assumed they were Julia’s and had casually complimented them. Julia had then launched into a long complaint about her roommate. She said one of her roommates was incredibly jealous of her. And that this roommate was always spreading rumors that Julia was trying to steal her boyfriend. It seemed Julia’s roommate was this “CottonCandy.” “CottonCandy” appeared to be desperate for money. Alexander didn’t want those insulting comments seen by anyone else, where they might spread and cause a PR problem. So he replied: [Delete the comments you just posted. If you can prove you’re right, I’ll give you fifteen thousand dollars.] I laughed out loud. [Nice try. Anyone can make empty promises.] [When school started, your fiancée asked me to carry her bags and said she’d pay me fifty bucks.] [And guess what? The money went straight to my boyfriend’s account!] [F***ing losers!] I immediately sent him a screenshot of the chat log. To make sure he didn’t think I’d faked it, I even took a screen recording and sent it again. Alexander watched in weary fascination as CottonCandy sent another string of furious, censored curses. A moment later, the text was replaced by a sixty-second voice memo. A comment drifted by, exasperated: [This girl is something else. When her curses get censored, she just sends a voice memo.] Alexander: [Send me your account number.] My tirade paused. My guard went up instantly. But when I saw the comments warning me not to give him my info… My rebellious streak took over. I sent him my bank account number. Ping! A transfer of $1,500. Whoa, he was a real-life money fountain! [Gold digger! You really lucked out!] Alexander: [Stop swearing. I’ll add another fifteen hundred.] Alexander stared at his phone. He just wanted the barrage of filth polluting his ears to stop. This was the easiest way to solve the problem. CottonCandy sent a new voice memo. He opened it. Unlike the sharp, grating insults from before, this time her voice was soft, with a hint of hesitation. [Really?] If he didn’t know her true nature, he might have thought “CottonCandy” was a shy, sweet girl. He replied with a single, concise word: [Yes.] CottonCandy: [Thank you.] This time, my thanks were genuine. The first-line treatment for my mother wasn’t working. The second-line treatment cost several thousand dollars a day. The three thousand from Alexander, combined with my savings, was just enough to cover the immediate need. I quickly transferred the money to my mom. [Mom, I’m coming home for the holiday weekend. Tell the doctors to start the second-line treatment. Don’t wait any longer.] [Money isn’t an issue!] If it weren’t for my and Liam’s tuition, our family’s finances wouldn’t be this tight. I ignored the hateful comments and Alexander’s messages. I had to get ready for my live stream to earn more money. [She’s just obsessed with money. She’d do anything for it.] [So high-and-mighty, yet so desperate for cash. Doing suggestive dances but too scared to show her face. No wonder people say she must be ugly.] Alexander saw that CottonCandy’s profile picture now indicated she was live. He clicked on it. And then, his brow furrowed. The chat was filled with vile comments. Most of them were from men. They would curse at her, then send a gift worth a few cents and demand she make a heart gesture with her hands. He expected “CottonCandy” to lash out. But he watched as the person on screen did exactly as they asked, even saying in a sweet voice, “Thank you for the gift, boss.” Was she really that desperate for money? She would debase herself for such a tiny amount? 4. DragonSlayer_Bro: [Shake that ass a little more. Put on the tail from yesterday and do it. I’ll send you ten hearts.] I stared at the shared screen on my stream, suppressing the nausea rising in my throat. I was about to put on my usual high-pitched voice to reply when I saw Alexander’s username pop up in the viewer list. My face fell. Damn it! I forgot to block him before I went live! There was nothing worse than your enemy seeing you at your most pathetic. Alexander hadn’t planned on getting involved. But the vulgar “DragonSlayer” and his own name, Alexander, both contained a “dragon” sound in their original language. He felt a strange sense of injustice. Why was he the only one getting insulted today? [AX: Tell him off.] [DragonSlayer_Bro: Who the hell are you? A private account with a level-one badge acting tough? sends 10x Hearts] [Anonymous_User: Dragon Bro is the best!] [AX: sends 10x Rockets] I stared at the gift animation taking over my screen, a bizarre expression on my face. For the first time in my life, a jackpot had fallen from the sky. Five thousand dollars, just like that. The male lead was so rich. I was so jealous. A comment cursed: [Is she trying to play the victim? Don’t let her find out the male lead has a bit of a white knight complex. He loves saving damsels in distress.] [Otherwise, he wouldn’t still feel sorry for the female lead later, even after finding out she’s messing around with someone else.] [On the surface, she’s a pampered princess, but deep down, the female lead is starved for love.] I blinked, processing the new information. No wonder the male lead could tolerate being cheated on. The guy had issues. I rolled my eyes. The female lead was “starved for love”? What about me, starved for both money and love? Julia had two loving, wealthy parents. She was always bragging to me about how amazing they were. How was she starved for love? Being around people like her for too long… I felt like my whole body was sprouting dark, envious mushrooms. Alexander watched the stream, satisfied as he listened to a new string of curses erupt from my end. DragonSlayer_Bro, thoroughly humiliated, left the stream. Thanks to the huge gifts, my stream’s popularity had skyrocketed. Before I signed off, I saw that Alexander was still there. Remembering his “white knight complex,” an idea sparked. I spoke into the mic, my voice deliberately soft. “Thank you all for the gifts tonight. I have to go to work now, bye-bye!” The comments: [??? Side character, what’s with the sob story? You’ve never mentioned working at night before.] Alexander glanced at the time. It was ten p.m. Alexander: [You’re that short on cash?] His question hit a nerve. I glared at the screen, my fingers flying across the keyboard: [Super short, you evil capitalist pig!] [Next time you want me to curse someone out, just transfer me the money directly. Don’t send gifts on the stream. The platform takes a huge cut.] [Someone reported my stream. It’s banned for seven days.] I then sent him a meme I had just made: [I’m very pitiful. Give me money.] He sent another transfer for a thousand dollars. With the note: [Damages.] I replied: [I will find proof of your fiancée’s cheating ASAP and end your cuckold career!] Alexander chuckled and didn’t reply. It was just a cheating fiancée; he didn’t really care. After all, his own parents had separate lovers after they married. He was only concerned about the potential negative impact on his family’s reputation, which was why he’d paid “CottonCandy” to delete the comments. Now, he was simply finding it amusing to tease her. She had a bad temper, but she was easily placated with money. As for his arranged marriage, it didn’t matter who the person was. He just needed to perform the role of a dutiful husband. Alexander saw that Julia had sent him another flurry of video links. He found it incredibly boring but replied to each one. Then, he called his secretary. “Look into Julia’s recent activities. I want to know who she’s been with.”

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When I walked out of that so-called home for the last time, I left the lab report on the table. The one with the leukemia diagnosis. It all started when my sister had a check-up at the hospital where I work. They found something, and as it turned out, my bone marrow was a perfect match. On a dark impulse, I twisted the truth. I told my family I was the one who was sick. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but their reaction was unanimous—and brutal. They were dead set against my sister donating her marrow to me. “Donating is risky. How could we let your sister take that chance?” they said. “This is your battle to fight,” another voice added. “Don’t drag your sister down with you. We all have our fate. You have to accept yours.” Even my sister, Cobie, refused without a second thought, saying she was trying to get pregnant. In that single, shattering moment, I saw it all with perfect clarity. The fragile bonds of our family, already stretched to their breaking point, were nothing but a sham. They had ripped away the last shred of decency with their own hands. And just like that, a strange sense of peace washed over me. There was nothing left to hold on to. 1 When I got the news about the perfect match, I had just found out I was pregnant. My supervising doctor, a mentor to me, pulled me aside, his face grim. If I wanted to donate bone marrow to my sister, Cobie Warren, I would almost certainly have to terminate the pregnancy. He urged me to think it through, to talk it over carefully with my husband. And I did hesitate. We had been trying for this baby for so long, enduring rounds of fertility treatments and endless holistic remedies. When I told my husband, Mark, he was so ecstatic he practically wanted to rent a billboard to announce to the world that he was going to be a dad. How could I possibly give that up? But Cobie was only twenty-nine. She wasn’t like me. She was the golden child, the apple of our parents’ eye, raised in the warmth of their constant affection. If anything happened to her, it would destroy them. So, after a long afternoon of wrestling with my conscience, I decided to go to their house after my shift. 2 When I arrived, they were all gathered around the dinner table, a perfect picture of family harmony. Cobie and her husband were there, along with my younger brother, Terrence, and his girlfriend. The wine was flowing, and laughter filled the room. They were clearly celebrating something. My arrival shattered the idyllic scene. The conversation died. Smiles faded from their faces, and they awkwardly lowered their glasses. Only my mother managed a brittle laugh, feigning warmth as she pulled me toward the table. “We thought you were busy, so we didn’t call. Look at you, just in time for a feast! Sit, sit.” But she couldn’t hide the stiff, distant way she touched my arm. The gesture was all politeness, no love. A sudden, wicked impulse sparked within me. I broke from my usual timid self and turned, gently taking the hand that was hovering over my arm. “Mom,” I said softly. “I’m sick.” Her hand went rigid in mine, but she forced a smile. “Oh. Well, then you should eat up. A good meal cures anything.” She was already pulling away, not even bothering to ask what was wrong. As she moved a chair for me, she deftly slipped her hand from my grasp. Terrence scowled from across the table. “Sophie, did you come here just to ruin the mood? Every time we have something to celebrate, you show up and cast a shadow over everything.” “Cobie just got selected for an international performance tour. Don’t tell me you didn’t know.” I ignored him, sinking into the chair my mother had pulled out. “…I have leukemia.” Terrence’s mouth snapped shut. My mother’s hand trembled as she passed me a pair of chopsticks, and they clattered to the floor. The silence in the dining room was so absolute you could hear a pin drop. Her eyes welled up, and she started dabbing at them with a napkin. From the head of the table, my father, Richard, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. “You need to let your in-laws know,” he said, his voice flat. “They can certainly afford the treatment.” He shot me a disapproving look. “You need to handle these things with a clear head, not storm in here like this. The last thing we need is you scaring your mother into a stroke after you’re cured.” My mother wiped her face and started piling food onto my plate. “Your father’s right. No matter how big the problem is, we can talk about it after you’ve had a good meal.” Cobie chimed in, adding a piece of chicken to my plate with a bright, girlish smile. “Exactly. You get sick because you worry too much. Just eat more, smile more, and everything will be fine.” I didn’t touch my food. My gaze swept over each of them, one by one. “I didn’t come here to borrow money.” “I just came to ask… if Cobie would be willing to donate her bone marrow to me.” The room fell silent again. After a long, tense moment, my father slammed his chopsticks down on the table. “Don’t be ridiculous!” His brow furrowed into a deep, angry line. “Do you have any idea how risky that procedure is?” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “A small risk to save my life… isn’t that worth it?” He stubbornly turned his face away. “We will not let your sister take that risk. Even a one percent chance is a hundred percent if it happens to Cobie.” His answer didn’t surprise me. As the second child, the one who was sent away to be raised by relatives, I knew he’d never truly welcomed my birth, nor my return to the family years later. But my mother and sister… they had always been kinder. Or so I thought. I turned my hopeful gaze to my mother. She was already crying. I looked at her, clinging to a desperate hope that this crisis might finally break through the wall of formality between us. That she might, for once, pull me into an embrace like the ones she so freely gave Cobie. But the words that came from her, spoken through tears, were colder than any I had ever heard. “My child,” she whispered, her voice choked with a sorrow that felt utterly false. “We all have our fate. You have to accept it, no matter how unfair it seems.” She clutched at her chest, her voice thick with tragedy. “How can you be so selfish? Just because you’re sick, you want to drag your sister down with you? If I lose both of my daughters, how am I supposed to go on?” And in that moment, I understood. She wasn’t afraid of losing two daughters. She was only afraid of losing one. Cobie. My last flicker of hope died. I turned to Cobie herself. Ever since I had been brought back to this house, she had treated me with a certain detached kindness. Her words were often patronizing, but I’d always chalked it up to her sheltered, privileged upbringing. At least she would tell Terrence to back off when he was bullying me. So I held on to one final, foolish thread of expectation. But the Cobie I saw now was a stranger. Her usual gentle demeanor was gone, replaced by a face contorted with rage. “Sophie, you’re doing this on purpose!” She shot to her feet, her body trembling as if she had been holding back this venom for years. “I’ve wanted to say this for so long! You’ve always held it against Mom and Dad for sending you away. That’s why you’ve been this… this dark cloud ever since you came back, always finding a way to make everyone miserable.” “You walk around with that timid, wounded act, like you suffered so much. We all know what you’re doing! You’re just trying to make them feel guilty!” Her chest heaved with emotion, as if she were the one who had been deeply wronged. She took a shaky breath, forcing down a sob before she continued. “But there’s a limit to everything! We put up with your little dramas, but this? Asking for bone marrow like it’s nothing? You just want to put Mom and Dad in an impossible position!” “If they say no, you’ll paint them as heartless monsters. If they say yes, they risk losing both of us. How can you be so vicious? Why can’t you stand to see us happy?” As she spoke, she wrapped her arms around our mother, who finally broke down, weeping into Cobie’s shoulder. “Cobie, stop,” my mother cried. “It’s all your father’s fault… he was so obsessed with having a son and a daughter, otherwise we never would have…” She didn’t finish the sentence, but everyone knew what she meant. Otherwise we never would have had you. Terrence stood up too, flanking our mother’s other side. The three of them stood united, their eyes burning with the same shared resentment for me. Cobie lifted her chin, striking a pose of noble self-sacrifice. “Sophie, I won’t let you hurt them. I’m telling you right now, I will not donate my bone marrow.” She held our mother tighter, a proud protector. “This has nothing to do with them. So when the story gets out, don’t you dare say they’re cruel. It’s me. I’m the selfish one. I’m the one who’s afraid Mom will be heartbroken if she loses both of us.” “This is my decision. I refuse to donate. I’ll take all the blame!” She looked as if she were a martyr marching to her execution. My fingers tightened around the lab report in my pocket. I couldn’t help but let out a soft, humorless laugh. After a moment, I locked my eyes on her and asked, each word deliberate and sharp. “Are you sure? You won’t donate, no matter what?” Cobie gently wiped a tear from our mother’s cheek, her expression hardening with resolve. “Never,” she said. “If you want to blame someone, blame me. Don’t take it out on our parents. I’m trying to get pregnant. I can’t be expected to risk my baby’s life to save yours.” Tears of bitter amusement streamed down my face. I gave her a look filled with a strange kind of pity. “You’re right,” I said quietly. “You said it perfectly. You can’t kill your own child just to save someone else.” Cobie, oblivious, turned back to comfort our mother, who was now sobbing uncontrollably, gasping for breath as if she were the one with the death sentence. “It’s all your fault, Richard!” she wailed, collapsing against her children. “You and your obsession with having the perfect family!” My father, having had enough of her accusations, slammed his hand on the table and shot to his feet. He stalked over to me and pulled a thick, ornate envelope from his jacket pocket. He threw it on the table in front of me as if I were a beggar. “Whether you’re really sick or just faking it, take this money and get out.” “If you give your mother a heart attack, don’t blame me for what happens next!” The envelope was beautifully made, clearly prepared with care. I picked it up. On the front, in elegant handwriting, it read: To our dearest daughter, may your tour be a stunning success. Have a wonderful time. I let out a dry, self-mocking laugh and looked up at him. “Giving me this money to save my life… won’t that get in the way of your precious daughter’s little trip?” My father glared at me, his voice devoid of any warmth. “Don’t play games with me. You’re the one who can’t accept her place, always demanding fairness where there is none. Fine. If you want to burn this bridge, I’ll light the match.” “I never wanted another child, but you were born. I still paid to have you raised. You never went hungry, you always had clothes on your back. You should be grateful, not constantly showing up here looking for trouble.” He turned his face away, as if sealing his decision. “I’ve been patient with you for your mother’s sake, but you crossed a line tonight. Don’t be surprised when I no longer consider you my daughter.” The eviction notice had finally been served. The room fell silent once more. They parted, creating a path for me to leave. Every single one of them watched me, waiting for the filth to take the handout and disappear. In that instant, everything became clear. No matter how much I humbled myself, I would never be a part of this family. And frankly, I didn’t want to be. When I looked up again, the cautious, timid girl was gone. I casually tossed the envelope in my hand and slowly rose to my feet. In my heels, I was just as tall as him. I was no longer the little girl who waited anxiously all month for his brief visits. I met his eyes directly and asked quietly, “Since you keep saying you never wanted me, why was I born?” “…Did you lose control? Or am I some other man’s child?” My father’s pupils contracted. He was so stunned he couldn’t speak. His lips trembled for a moment before he raised his hand to strike me. I sidestepped, and he stumbled forward, off balance. I jutted my chin toward my mother. “And you.” “Stop with the crocodile tears. It’s a little late for regrets, isn’t it? If you didn’t want me, why weren’t you more determined back then?” “What, did my father force himself on you? Are you telling me your 180-pound self couldn’t fight him off?” Her sobbing stopped abruptly. The mask of the guilty, long-suffering mother finally cracked. Her finger trembled as she pointed at me, her face flushed with rage. “…You wretched creature! How could two children from the same womb be so different?” Seeing her beloved mother insulted, Cobie burst into dramatic sobs and threw herself into her arms. Terrence lunged at me, trying to grab my wrist. Their partners jumped in, trying to break up the chaos. The dining room erupted. In the scuffle, my father’s hand connected with my cheek. A sharp, stinging slap. My head snapped to the side, and I felt a warm trickle of blood from my nose. “Get out!” my father roared. “From this day on, we are done! The Warren family does not have a disgraceful child like you!” My hand flew instinctively to my stomach. The baby was safe. It was only then that I fully realized the profound, miraculous connection I already had with the tiny life inside me. This was what I wanted, and I would protect it at all costs. I lifted my head, my eyes locking onto his. “Fine,” I said, my voice steady. “You said it. I am no longer a Warren.” He shot me a look of pure disgust, his face a cold mask. “That’s right. I, Richard Warren, said it. My word is my bond.” I wiped my face with the back of my hand. “Good. From now on, we each face our own fate. Whoever comes begging to the other is a pathetic, spineless worm.” My father’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. It was Cobie who screamed back, her voice laced with tears and hatred. “That’s right! Whoever comes begging is a goddamn son of a bitch, and I hope they rot in hell!” “Now get out! Are you trying to kill my mother?” A slow, satisfied smile spread across my face. I pulled the lab report from my pocket and tossed it onto the envelope on the table. “Excellent, Cobie. Remember what you said today.” “And I don’t need this money. You, on the other hand, might find it useful.” 3 Leaving the Warren house, I should have felt elated. The dilemma that had tormented me all afternoon was resolved. I could finally keep my baby without a shred of guilt. The family I had spent years trying to please was finally out of my life. But as I started to laugh, tears streamed down my face. I sat alone at a deserted bus stop. All around me, people were heading home. Only I had no home to return to. My phone buzzed with notifications from the family group chat, a group of over sixty relatives. I opened it to see a new announcement from my father. [Our disgraceful daughter, Sophie Warren, has verbally abused her parents and demonstrated a complete lack of moral character. We have officially severed all ties with her. From this day forward, any debts she incurs or donations she solicits in our family’s name are not our responsibility. Consider this a public notice!] Reading the message, I felt the blood turn to ice in my veins. I couldn’t imagine the sheer, soul-crushing despair I would feel if I were actually the one who was sick. Richard Warren was a ruthless man. But the person he was truly damning to a dead end was himself. The announcement ignited the usually quiet family chat. Everyone wanted to know the gossip. My aunt from my dad’s side probed, [A child not raised by your side is always hard to manage, huh? But the father is still responsible for the child’s failings. You can’t just wash your hands of it.] My other uncle tried to mediate, [Don’t be so rash, Richard. Blood is thicker than water. You’re family. This will all blow over once tempers cool.] Seeing that his announcement wasn’t being taken seriously, Terrence jumped in. [Sophie is sick, and she’s trying to drag Cobie down with her. She’s demanding that Cobie risk her life to donate bone marrow.] [She’s miserable, so she wants my sister to be miserable too. She’s trying to guilt-trip my parents into losing both of their children.] Terrence’s message threw the chat into an uproar. [I heard donating bone marrow isn’t that risky these days?] [If the risk is small, maybe she just wants to live? Maybe she’s not trying to hurt your sister or pressure your parents.] [The poor girl. If the risk really is minimal, maybe Cobie should just do it.] Seeing the tide of opinion turning, Cobie herself made an appearance. [To all my dear relatives, I know we shouldn’t air our dirty laundry in public, but my father posted that announcement because he’s worried you might be taken advantage of.] [Whether the risk of marrow donation is big or small is an unknown. But what is certain is that Sophie will be asking all of you to get tested.] [My father is just afraid that if one of you donates and something goes wrong, it will create a terrible situation. He’s just trying to give everyone a heads-up.] Terrence immediately added to her narrative. [If she comes to any of you, and something happens, our family takes absolutely no responsibility.] That did it. The few relatives who had spoken up for me went silent. No one wanted that kind of trouble at their doorstep. Cobie then added a few more lines, dripping with feigned wisdom and grace. [It’s only human to be afraid of risk. There’s no shame in not wanting to donate. We all have families to think of, parents and children to care for. Honestly, if it were me who was sick, I would never, ever ask this of my family.] To avoid being dragged into the mess, several people quickly chimed in to agree with Cobie. And just like that, my excommunication from the Warren family was sealed. I leaned back on the cold bench, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. Laughing and crying, I took screenshots of the entire conversation and then called Mark. “Honey,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “I’m keeping the baby. Please, come take me home.” 4 I’m sure no one ever looked at the lab report I left on the envelope. Cobie’s social media continued to be a curated stream of perfection. On Mother’s Day, she posted a photo of her and our mother at a spiritual retreat. The caption read: [Our bodies are a gift from our parents. Mom says the best gift I can give her is to take care of myself.] A few days later, I received a good-luck charm, sent by my mother through a third party. That was it. Just a small, impersonal token. Three days before her international tour, she posted a photo of the entire family seeing her off. [A true family only wants to lift each other up. They would never choose to drag you down.] Terrence liked it immediately and commented: [Exactly.] Two days before her tour, she posted a bold declaration. [Goodbye to all the drama and toxic people. This girl is taking flight tomorrow!] The comments were filled with a chorus of support and loving goodbyes from the family. The day before her tour, Cobie’s social media went silent. I wasn’t surprised. That would have been the day she received her own medical report. 5 Cobie’s dance troupe had come to our hospital for their pre-tour physicals. Thanks to my mentor, I knew her results ahead of time. And since he was a leading specialist in leukemia, and several of us in the department had recently joined the bone marrow registry, it was a very neat, very tidy coincidence that I was the first to know about the perfect match… Cobie found me just before the end of my shift. She and Terrence were waiting outside my mentor’s office. “Doctor, there must be a mistake with these results,” Cobie said, her voice tight with anxiety but still trying to sound reasonable and calm. “You see, my sister, Sophie, works in your department. We’ve had a bit of a falling out recently.” “She’s angry that I wouldn’t donate bone marrow to her, so I’m sure she tampered with my results.” At her words, everyone in the office turned to stare. This seemed to bolster her confidence. “So, Doctor, could you please just correct the report for me? My dance troupe needs the health certificate, and my flight leaves tonight.” My mentor pushed his glasses up his nose. “Well…” He chose his words carefully. “A hospital would never make a mistake on a test result this critical…” Before he could finish, Terrence exploded. “You’d never make a mistake? Then why did you let Sophie forge the results? You’d better give me a straight answer, or I’ll sue your entire department into the ground!” I walked in just in time to witness this scene. Terrence lunged at me, shoving me hard. My mentor shot up from his chair, his face like thunder. He grabbed Terrence by the arm and flung him aside. “Call security!” he roared. Cobie quickly plastered on a placating smile. “Doctor, please, my brother is just upset. If you could just change the results… we won’t even press charges against Sophie. I’m just in a hurry. My flight is at 11 p.m.” My mentor looked from her to me, his brow furrowed. “You didn’t tell her the results beforehand?” I crossed my arms. “I left the lab report for them. Apparently, they didn’t bother to look at it.” The smile on Cobie’s face froze. My colleagues quickly formed a protective circle around me, one of them gently touching my belly as they whispered. “I can’t believe you were even considering donating to them after how they treated you.” “You must be a saint. Why would you ever sacrifice your own baby for that ungrateful monster?” Cobie heard their words. She staggered back, collapsing into a nearby chair. Only Terrence was left, still raging blindly. “So, you’re all in on it together! Fine! You just wait, Sophie. Your department is finished! I’ll make sure every single one of you loses your job!” No one in the office paid him any attention. All eyes were on Cobie. A single drop of blood welled in her nostril. Then another. They fell, dark and stark, onto the pristine white fabric of her dress. Cobie’s composure shattered. Her eyes, wide with panic, filled with tears. She frantically pinched her nose shut and tried to cover the growing crimson stains on her dress. She looked up at me, her face a mask of terror and fury. “It was you! You did this!” No one responded. The faces around her were filled with a dawning, terrible pity. And then she broke completely, sobbing uncontrollably as security guards gently but firmly escorted her and her still-blustering brother out of the office. Cobie did not go on her international tour. The whole family scrambled, pulling strings to get her emergency appointments and second opinions all over the city. The results, of course, were all the same. And eventually, they found the lab report I had left behind. Only then did they begin to realize what they had done.

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I stumbled out of the Finance office, my head spinning, my face as white as a sheet. The woman in Finance said the year-end bonus for “Ava Ross” had already been claimed. The paperwork was signed half an hour ago. I tried to tell her that I was Ava Ross, but the look she gave me made it clear she thought I was a liar. I burst out of the office in a daze and ran straight into Mr. Henderson, the head of HR. He asked me what team I was on, then flatly stated that it was impossible for the company to have two employees named Ava Ross. I quickly explained that I was on Team 5, that I’d been with the company for six months, and that all of the team’s performance data was my work. But Henderson cut me off. He said the Ava Ross on Team 5 was the niece of Vice President Croft—a returning graduate with a master’s degree and a complete, verified file. He then warned me not to try and pull a fast one on the company, telling me to think carefully about the consequences. A fast one? I stood there, frozen, my mind a complete blank. Who was it? Who had stolen my name, my achievements, and my hundred-thousand-dollar bonus, and was now brazenly impersonating me? 1 The door to the Finance department clicked shut behind me. I stood in the hallway, clutching my employee ID badge. The plastic card was printed with my name—Ava Ross, Team 5, Operations Specialist. I took two steps back and pushed the door open again. “Brenda, could you please check one more time? Maybe there’s a system error?” Brenda didn’t even look up from her monitor. “Ava Ross, employee ID 20231017. Year-end bonus, one hundred and three thousand dollars, signed for at 10:12 AM this morning. It’s all here in black and white, the wire transfer is complete. What do you want me to check?” “But I was in the weekly meeting at 10:12! How could I have signed for it?” Brenda finally looked up, her eyes scanning me from head to toe. “Then go talk to your team lead. Talk to HR. Talk to anyone you want, just not me. The process on my end is finished. I can’t issue a duplicate payment.” I backed out of the room, my head buzzing. One hundred and three thousand dollars. I had spent six months building our account matrix from scratch, generating over one point two million in GMV. That bonus was mine. I had earned it. I pulled out my phone and checked my bank account. The balance was three hundred and forty dollars. No incoming transactions. So whose pocket did that money go into? I practically ran to the Human Resources department. Mr. Henderson was sipping tea. He set his cup down when he saw me. “Mr. Henderson, my bonus was picked up by someone else. Finance said someone forged my signature—” “Hold on.” Henderson held up a hand. “What’s your name?” “Ava Ross. From Team 5.” He swiveled his monitor around and clicked his mouse a few times. “Ava Ross, Operations Specialist, Team 5, ID 20231017, correct?” “Yes!” “That individual was already here this morning. She signed the bonus confirmation form and collected her payment.” Henderson stared at me. “You say you’re Ava Ross. Then who was she?” “How should I know who she is? I’m Ava Ross! My driver’s license, my bank cards, my—” Henderson pulled a folder from his drawer, opened it, and pushed it across the desk toward me. “See for yourself.” Inside was a complete employee file. The photo wasn’t me. It was a woman with glamorous waves in her hair, flawless makeup, and a designer suit. Name: Ava Ross. Education: University of Manchester, Master’s Degree. Emergency Contact: Jonathan Croft (Relationship: Uncle). Jonathan Croft. The company’s Vice President. “Mr. Henderson, this isn’t me. I was an internal referral from Mark. You guys simplified the onboarding process for me—” “A referral?” Henderson frowned. “There’s no record of a referral in our system. If you’re claiming to be Ava Ross, where are your hiring documents? Where’s your contract?” “I signed a contract! Two copies. One for me, one for the company—” “The only copy the company has is this one.” Henderson closed the folder. “It belongs to Mr. Croft’s niece.” My mouth fell open, but no sound came out. “Young lady, I don’t know what your situation is, but the company’s records are crystal clear. There is only one Ava Ross in Team 5. She has the degree, the connections, and Mr. Croft as her guarantor. If you have an issue with your identity, you can file a formal complaint. But if you’re planning to cause a scene here—” “I’m not causing a scene! I—” Henderson’s phone rang. He answered it. “Mr. Croft. Yes, someone just came in to complain… says her name is also Ava Ross… Yes, of course. I understand.” When he hung up, his face was a grim mask. “Mr. Croft says the company is cracking down on employment eligibility. If you can’t produce valid hiring documents, you should leave on your own. Don’t disrupt company operations.” My nails dug into my palms. “The presentation slides from this morning’s meeting are still on my computer. All the performance data, the dashboard screenshots—” “That’s enough. Go back to your desk for now. HR will investigate this.” Henderson looked down at his papers, dismissing me. I turned and almost walked into the doorframe. Two colleagues from the admin department walked by, shot me a look, whispered something to each other, and laughed. I hurried back to the Team 5 workspace and sat down at my desk, turning on my computer. A pop-up window appeared. “Your account permissions have been changed. Please contact the system administrator if you have any questions.” I tried to open the backend dashboard. My operator account, my data panels, my admin access—all of it was grayed out. I was locked out. I logged into the company’s internal messaging platform. My name was still on the Team 5 member list, but when I clicked on it, the profile picture had been changed. It was now a picture of the woman with the wavy hair. I stared at the screen, my fingers numb with cold. Three days ago, there had been a system-wide maintenance update. IT said they were reassigning backend permissions. It wasn’t an update. Someone had transferred my account, my achievements, all traces of my work, to another “Ava Ross.” My ID, my education, my employment file, my system access. On every possible level within this company, I had been replaced. And the person who replaced me was using my name to walk away with my money. 2 I sat motionless at my desk, replaying the events of the last three months in my head. Three months ago, the IT department sent out a company-wide email about a system data migration. I didn’t think much of it at the time, just reset my password and moved on. But now I remembered—after that “migration,” I’d had trouble logging into the dashboard a few times. Once, a notification popped up: “This account is already logged in on another device.” I reported it to IT. They said it was a system bug and told me to just log in again. I believed them. Even back then, someone was already using my employee ID to access my account. I opened the company directory and searched for “Ava Ross.” One result. The profile picture was the woman with the wavy hair. Department: Operations Team 5. Position: Operations Specialist. Direct Supervisor: David Chen. Start Date: Six months ago. Exactly the same as mine. I searched for my own name again. Nothing. There was only one Ava Ross in the directory. Her. I took a deep breath, stood up, and walked toward my team lead’s office. David was on the phone. He saw me and waved for me to wait. When he hung up, I spoke. “David, my backend access has been revoked, and my name is gone from the directory. Is there some kind of mistake?” David looked puzzled. “Revoked? When did this happen?” “I just found out. The system says my account permissions were changed, and all my data was transferred to someone else’s name.” “Someone else? Who?” “Someone who is also named Ava Ross. David, do you know this person?” He pushed his glasses up his nose and typed on his computer. “Oh… Mr. Croft assigned her here last month. Said she was on loan from the parent company and just needed a temporary placement on my team roster. I thought it was weird that her name was also Ava Ross, but it came from Croft, so I didn’t ask questions.” “A temporary placement? David, she’s using my placement. She’s using my employee ID.” The expression on his face changed. “What did you say?” “Check the system logs. The permission changes from three days ago. All of my performance data, my accounts, my backend access—it was all transferred to this person. She used my name and my work to claim the year-end bonus. One hundred and three thousand dollars.” David was silent for a full ten seconds. “Ava, this… have you spoken to Henderson in HR?” “I did. He said the system only has one Ava Ross, and she’s Mr. Croft’s niece. He told me to show him my employment contract.” “What about your contract?” “I was referred by Mark, so the process was simplified. The company should have my file—” “Let me check.” David picked up his phone and dialed HR. “Hey, Cindy? Can you look up the employee file for Ava Ross on Team 5 for me? Right, ID 20231017… yeah… what? There’s only one file? Okay, got it.” He hung up, his expression grim. “HR says there’s only one file for Ava Ross on Team 5. The one belonging to Mr. Croft’s niece. Yours… is gone.” “How is that possible? I signed a contract! Two copies, the day I started. The company stamped them—” “Ava, I believe you,” David said, lowering his voice. “But this involves Mr. Croft. I’m just a team lead… you understand, right?” I stood in front of his desk, speechless. “Don’t panic,” he added. “I’ll ask around quietly. But whatever you do, don’t confront Croft. He’s been here for years, he’s got deep roots. You won’t win.” I nodded and backed out of his office. When I got back to my desk, Greg—the resident old-timer from the team next to us—moseyed over with his mug. “Hey, Ava. Heard there was some trouble down in Finance? Didn’t get your bonus?” News traveled fast. “Yeah, there’s an issue.” A smirk played on his lips. “I knew it. A kid fresh out of college for less than two years pulling in over a million in sales? Sounded too good to be true. It’s good the company caught on.” “Greg, I did that work.” “Sure, sure. Whatever you say.” He took a sip of his tea and walked away. My hand tightened on my mouse, my knuckles turning white. At two o’clock, I received a message from Henderson’s assistant: “Mr. Croft wants to see you in the third-floor conference room at 3:00 PM sharp.” What did this mean? A confrontation? Or a resolution? I gathered what little proof I had: screenshots of conversations with clients, check-in posts on social media from the office, and a few screenshots from our team’s group chat. It wasn’t much, but it was something. It proved I had worked here. At 2:55, I arrived at the conference room. The door was open. Three people were sitting inside. Vice President Croft was at the head of the table, his hair perfectly combed. Henderson from HR sat beside him. The third person sat across from them. Wavy hair, a three-thousand-dollar coat, perfect makeup, and nails glittering with rhinestones. She turned her head and looked at me. This was the first time I had ever seen the “other Ava.”

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