Category: English

The night before my father’s final appeal, Elias Vance didn’t show up to deliver the key evidence as agreed. Instead, he sent someone to deliver a sexy, lace prisoner costume. He was leaning back on his sofa, casually swirling a glass of red wine when I confronted him over video call. “Wear it. Beg me,” he drawled. “Maybe if I’m in a good mood, I can get your dad’s sentence reduced by a few years.” I knew he was humiliating me. He was doing this because his childhood sweetheart had sobbed in court, claiming my father had sexually harassed her. He believed her. He wanted to get revenge for his precious first love. When Elias crushed the USB drive containing the security footage that could have proven my father’s innocence beneath his heel, I just quietly picked up the fragments. A flicker of astonishment crossed his eyes, followed by a light chuckle. “That’s right. Learn to be obedient, and your father might actually have a chance to survive.” I forced the corners of my mouth into a stiff, mocking smile. “No need.” What he didn’t know was that during those hours he was busy administering ‘justice’ for his childhood sweetheart… My father, unable to bear the humiliation, had already bitten off his own tongue and committed suicide in the detention center. The dead do not need settlements. Chapter 1 “Harper, don’t be stupid.” “Submitting a video that is so obviously forged will only get you thrown in prison too.” “I’m trying to protect you. I’ve already smoothed things over with Sophia.” “As long as your father confesses, I can pull strings to get him probation.” I didn’t fight him for the drive. I just bent down and scooped the crushed plastic fragments into my palm. The jagged edges cut deep into my skin, blood beading up, but I just stared blankly at the floor. Elias pulled a document from his briefcase and tossed it onto the coffee table. The bold words Application for Psychiatric Evaluation glared back at me. “Sign it. This is the best solution right now.” “I’ll convince the judge that your father has severe dementia, that the harassment was just a pathological response to his illness.” “Once the evaluation is out, Sophia will issue a letter of forgiveness, and this whole thing will blow over.” I dumped the sharp debris into the trash bin and pushed the application form back across the table. “No need, Elias. The dead don’t need psychiatric evaluations.” Elias frowned, his patience wearing thin. “Why are you still throwing a tantrum at a time like this?” “Do you know how many favors I called in for this evaluation?” “With your father’s stubborn temper… if I hadn’t been managing things on the inside, they would have broken his legs by now.” I looked at the expensive pen on the table. He once told me it represented justice. My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out. On the screen was a notification from the county jail. [Ms. Stone, the autopsy report for the deceased, Robert Stone, is complete. Please come immediately to sign the confirmation to waive further autopsy.] Elias’s phone rang at the exact same time. He glanced at the screen, and his harsh expression instantly softened. He picked up the call, and a woman’s soft sobbing echoed through the receiver. “Sophia, don’t be scared. I’m here.” “I’ve already destroyed that so-called ‘evidence’ video. No one can throw mud at you anymore.” “Okay, I won’t hang up. I’m coming over right now to be with you. Don’t do anything stupid.” He hung up, grabbed his jacket, and walked toward the door. “Don’t leave tonight,” I said, my voice hoarse. Elias stopped in his tracks. The look he gave me over his shoulder was full of raw disgust. “Harper, do you even have a soul?” “Sophia’s depression has relapsed because your father harassed her. She almost cut her wrists just now.” “When you were screaming at her outside the courtroom, calling her shameless, why didn’t you think about where that would lead?” “Her psychological defenses have completely collapsed. If anything happens to her, your father deserves the death penalty.” He adjusted his tie, his voice cold and commanding. “Stay home and reflect on yourself tonight.” “Before the appeal hearing tomorrow morning, I want to see that signed confession.” The front door slammed shut with a deafening thud. I looked around the empty room, slowly sank to the floor, and buried my face in my knees. Elias, there’s no need to wait for tomorrow. The man who needed to confess has already closed his eyes forever. Chapter 2 Outside the window, a torrential storm was raging. Elias had taken the only car. I stood in the freezing rain for twenty minutes. The rideshare app showed a queue of over a hundred people. Rain poured down my collar, making me shiver uncontrollably. I scanned a rental city bike and began pedaling toward the detention center on the outskirts of town. Mud and rainwater splashed across my entire body. Halfway there, a speeding truck sent a tidal wave of dirty water over me. I crashed, tumbling into the flooded gutter, bike and all. My knee slammed against the asphalt. Blood seeped through my jeans and down into my sock. I crawled back up, righted the bike, and kept riding. At 2 AM, I arrived at the detention center morgue. The medical examiner on duty pulled back the white sheet, revealing my father’s face. I covered my mouth, my legs giving way as I sank to my knees on the cold floor. My father’s mouth was half-open. His tongue was severed. His prisoner uniform was soaked in dried blood. The examiner handed me a file and a pen. “The deceased committed suicide by biting off his tongue. He died of shock due to excessive blood loss. If you confirm there are no issues, sign here and you can claim the body.” My hand trembled violently as I signed my name. A guard handed me an evidence bag. It contained his cracked reading glasses, a broken watch that had stopped ticking, and a confession letter soaked in his blood. I knew that confession was his final plea of innocence, written with his life. My phone vibrated. It was a call from Elias. I answered, and the audio was filled with Sophia’s crying and Elias’s furious interrogation. “Harper, log onto your social media account immediately and make a public statement.” “Admit the facts of your father’s sexual harassment and apologize publicly to Sophia. Now. Right now!” I held my father’s cold hand and said calmly: “I’m outside. It’s not convenient right now.” “What could possibly be ‘inconvenient’? Don’t think running away will let you escape responsibility!” “Sophia’s relatives are already blocking the law firm door. This is blowing up, and it won’t be good for anyone.” “Sophia’s reputation is ruined because of this. How is she supposed to live? Can you please just show a shred of decency?” I looked into my father’s lifeless eyes. “Then what do you want?” “If you don’t want your father to be beaten to death in prison, if you don’t want the final appeal to be a prison sentence without parole, do as I say.” “If you don’t make the statement, I will file a plea of temporary insanity at the appeal. I’ll prove your father is a severe mental patient and have him locked up in a closed asylum.” “Okay. I’ll post it.” I looked at my father’s corpse, my expression completely blank. After hanging up, I hugged his final belongings and walked out of the morgue. The rain was still falling. When I got home at dawn, the living room lights were on. Sophia was sitting on the sofa, wearing Elias’s oversized white dress shirt. Elias was holding a glass of water, gently feeding her medicine. As I walked in, Elias frowned and pulled Sophia protectively behind him. “You smell like death. Stay away from Sophia. Don’t bring your bad luck near her.” Chapter 3 Elias’s mother was sitting in the main hall, her fingers working a rosary. When she saw me come in, she slammed a newspaper directly into my face. “Look at the ‘good work’ your father did! The daughter of an old lecher is, unsurprisingly, a disrespectful piece of trash!” The edge of the paper sliced across my cheek, leaving a stinging red line. Printed on the front page was my father’s photo and a glaring headline: UNIVERSITY PROFESSOR’S GRACELESS FALL: ACCUSED OF HARASSING OLD FRIEND’S DAUGHTER. WHEN WILL THE BEAST FACE JUSTICE? Elias handed me a tablet. “Read off of this. Record a video and post it.” “I’ve already calmed Sophia’s family down. As long as you apologize, they won’t pursue criminal charges.” “This is the best outcome for your father; it saves him from suffering in that place.” I didn’t take the tablet. I just looked at Sophia. Sophia shrieked and burrowed into Elias’s embrace, trembling like a leaf. “Elias… I’m so scared… I really didn’t seduce Uncle Stone. I was just taking him some fruit.” “It was him, he suddenly grabbed my hand… I shouldn’t have worn a skirt. It’s all my fault.” Elias stroked her back, then turned a cold glare on me. “Hurry up. Are you really going to force Sophia to her breaking point before you’re satisfied?” He stepped forward, grabbed my wrist, and tried to force my thumb onto the tablet screen to unlock it. I fought back, struggling wildly, and Elias shoved me away. I stumbled back and slammed against the antique curio cabinet. The cello case resting on the top shelf tumbled down. That was the cello my father had bought me as a dowry, paid for by selling our old family home. The case snapped open, and the cello crashed onto the hardwood floor. The neck snapped. The wooden body cracked open. The strings burst with a harsh twang. Elias’s mother let out a cold snort. “This is God’s will. Instruments bought with dirty money bring bad luck. Good riddance that it’s broken.” Elias looked at the shattered cello on the floor and frowned slightly. “It’s just a cello. Don’t use this pathetic acting to get sympathy.” “As long as you apologize obediently, I’ll buy you ten new ones.” “Mom is right, this marriage is untenable. Once this lawsuit is wrapped up, let’s just get divorced and be done with it.” I hugged the broken cello as I slowly stood up. I nodded. “Okay.” “Divorce.” Elias froze, then his expression shifted to pure rage. He leaned down, his face pressing close to mine, his eyes full of threats. “You want a divorce? Fine. Make the statement first.” “Otherwise, without my help, your father will be beaten to death in jail.” “You know the rules in there—the inmates have plenty of special ‘methods’ for rapists and harassers.” I looked into Elias Vance’s face. “Do whatever you want.” I hugged my broken cello, turned, and walked upstairs. Behind me, I could hear Elias shouting and Sophia’s soft, soothing voice. I went into my room and locked the door. I took out some wood glue, trying to repair the cello. The glue covered my hands, making a sticky mess, but the wooden shards wouldn’t fit back together. A splinter pierced my finger, and a drop of bright red blood fell onto the cracked wood. My phone lit up. It was a message from the prison guard. [Only an immediate family member with a closed police statement issued by the police department can reclaim the ashes.] Without a closed statement, my father could not rest in peace. I put down the glue and began to laugh. A horrific, hollow laugh. Elias, you win. Chapter 4 I sprinted down the stairs. Elias was standing in the entryway, adjusting his cuffs. Sophia was sitting in a wheelchair, looking pale and fragile. Elias cast a sideways glance at me. “Have you come to your senses?” “If you have, come with me. The press conference is starting soon.” I took a deep breath, my fingernails digging so hard into my palms they almost drew blood. “Give me the closing police statement.” “I want that statement. As long as you give it to me, I’ll do anything.” Elias let out a contemptuous laugh. “As long as you cooperate obediently, never mind a closing statement—I can even get your father medical parole.” “Let’s go. Don’t keep the reporters waiting.” At the press conference, camera flashes strobed endlessly, and all lenses were focused on the stage. Sophia sat in her wheelchair, weeping softly into a tissue. The reporters below began to fire sharp, accusatory questions. “Ms. Stone, as the daughter of a rapist, do you feel any shame?” “We heard your father utilized his position to harass female students for years. Were you aware of this?” “Ms. Vance is the victim, yet your family tried to throw mud at her. Is this the behavior of a highly educated family?” Elias took the microphone and looked at me, his eyes commanding. “This is your last chance for atonement, Harper.” He pulled the script from his briefcase and tossed it at my feet. “As long as you read this, and kneel publicly to apologize, Sophia’s family will sign the letter of forgiveness.” “Once the case is closed, I will give you the closing statement, and your father can come home.” I stared at the paper. The script was full of phrases slandering my father. Sophia pulled on Elias’s sleeve, her voice echoing through the microphone to the entire hall. “Elias, as long as Harper kneels and apologizes, I won’t pursue this further. After all, she is Uncle Stone’s only daughter.” Elias nodded approvingly, and the bodyguards nearby took a step toward me, forcing me forward. In front of the blinding cameras, I slowly sank to my knees. My knees slammed onto the hardwood floor, and the noisy hall instantly fell dead silent. I picked up the script, faced the cameras, and spoke, enunciating every word clearly. “I am Robert Stone’s daughter.” “I admit, my father is guilty…” Elias let out a sigh of relief, a triumphant smile curving the corners of his mouth. I raised my head, staring directly into the lenses, tears sliding down my cheeks. “His greatest guilt was giving birth to me, and ever meeting all of you.” Chapter 5 The blinding flashes at the press conference finally died down. I pressed my hands against the floor, attempting to stand. My knees had been kneeling on the hard floor for too long and had completely lost all feeling. Not a single person stepped forward to help me. The surrounding reporters were looking down, reviewing the footage they had just shot. Sophia was still sitting there, weeping softly, soaking up Elias’s comforting embrace. I gritted my teeth, hands pushing against my knees, and little by little, pulled myself up from the ground. Elias, probably thinking my appearance was too disgraceful, walked over with a frown. In his hand, he pinched two thin sheets of paper. One was the Closing Police Statement, stamped with a bright red official seal. The other was an Application for Bail Pending Trial, the signature line blank. He held the two papers out in front of me. “Harper, you can’t blame me for being ruthless.” “If I hadn’t done this, Sophia’s family would never have let this go.” “Your father would have had to spend the rest of his life in prison with this stain.” “With this closing statement, plus this bail application…” “As long as you go to the hospital and get a dementia certificate, you can bring him home next week to celebrate the holidays.” He spoke so lightly. As if the person who had just forced me to kneel, who had forced me to nail my father to a pillar of shame, wasn’t him. I raised my hand, but I only took the Closing Police Statement. As for the Application for Bail Pending Trial that he had gone to so much trouble to obtain, I didn’t even cast a glance at it. Riiiiip— The sound of paper tearing was exceptionally clear in the quiet backstage area. With a blank expression, I tore the application form in half, then stacked the halves and tore them again, into tiny shreds. With a toss of my hand, the paper fragments fluttered into the nearby trash bin like snow. Elias’s face turned livid, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Harper Stone! What are you going crazy for now?” “This is a special authorization I had to beg the Director for days to get!” “You tore it up. Do you actually want your father to die in there?” I brushed the paper dust off my hands, carefully folded that precious closing statement, and put it into my inner pocket. I looked up at him, my eyes completely hollow. “No need, Counselor Vance.” “Since the case is closed, you and I are officially even.” Having said that, I turned on my heel and walked away. Seeing this, Sophia hurriedly pushed her wheelchair over, her face wearing that nauseating look of cowardice and fake concern. “Harper, please don’t be angry with Elias.” “He’s doing this for Uncle Stone’s own good.” She reached out, wanting to grab the hem of my jacket. I stepped sideways, avoiding her completely. I didn’t even brush against a single thread of her clothing. “Ah!” Sophia let out a dramatic cry of surprise, and she tumbled out of the wheelchair as it tipped over onto the floor. She covered her ankle, tears instantly flooding out, looking at me with wide, terrified eyes. “Harper, I know you hate me, but I really just wanted to help.” Elias shoved me aside and rushed over to gather Sophia in his arms. “Harper Stone! That is enough!” “I already gave you the statement, and you’ve already apologized!” “Why did you still have to lay hands on Sophia?!” “The way you act right now is truly repulsive!” I was pushed back a few steps, my lower back slamming hard into a metal door handle. A piercing pain shot through my spine. But I simply straightened my body, lacking even the desire to explain. “Repulsive?” I twitched the corners of my mouth, my smile stiff and cold. “Once you never have to see me again, you won’t have to be repulsed anymore.” “And, Elias Vance, hear this clearly: even if you kneel before me in the future and beg…” “I will never give you a single glance ever again.” Elias let out a cold scoff, holding Sophia as he stood up, his eyes full of absolute contempt. “Beg you? Harper, are you dreaming?” “I, Elias Vance, will only bow my head for justice in this life.” “I will never lower my head to a bottomless shrew like you!” “Get the hell home! Tell the housekeeper to make a good meal tonight and take it to your father.” “Stop embarrassing me out here!” I didn’t say another word, turning and walking out of the press hall. The sunlight outside was blinding, but hitting my skin, it offered absolutely no warmth. I hailed a taxi and went straight to the county jail. My hand gripped that closing statement tightly in my pocket. Only this piece of paper could bring my dad home.

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After serving my sick mother-in-law in the hospital for half a year, I finally returned home. Before I could even warm the sofa, my husband suddenly opened the door and walked in with another woman. The woman cradled a clearly pregnant belly and shyly lowered her head. “This is Mia. I… made a mistake five months ago, and now she’s pregnant. I’m worried about her living alone outside, so I have no choice but to entrust her to your care.” “It’ll be a bit tough on you for this period, just half a year. Once the baby is born, I’ll send her away.” I frowned: “You want me to serve your mistress through her pregnancy and postpartum? Did your brain get slammed in a door?” Mark exploded on the spot, smashing a glass. “I only brought Mia home because I thought you were kind-hearted. Don’t be ungrateful!” “If you don’t agree, we get a divorce right now. I have plenty of ways to make sure you don’t get a single dime!” My mother-in-law, recently discharged from the hospital, glared at me coldly: “A hen that can’t lay eggs herself, and won’t let anyone else lay them either. Is my Miller family going to end with you?” “My son gives you face, and you are Mrs. Miller. If he doesn’t give you face, you’re just a used, worn-out rag! What right do you have to throw an attitude at my son!” I looked at my self-righteous husband, then at my disdainful mother-in-law, and smiled. It’s not that I wouldn’t agree to take care of the mistress. It’s just that I secretly sterilized my husband a long time ago. Whose seed is growing in Mia’s belly? 1 I stood up from the sofa, my fingertips trembling slightly from anger. “So, for the half-year I was running around the hospital taking care of your mother for you, you were busy taking care of another woman outside, and even had a child with her? Not only did she get pregnant, but now you want me to take care of her? Is that what you’re saying?” Before Mark could speak, my mother-in-law chimed in anxiously. “What kind of attitude is that? Can’t you hear an elder speaking to you? Do you have any manners?” “You are the daughter-in-law; taking care of me is your duty! My son hasn’t left you short of food or clothes, who are you pulling this face for?” I turned to look at my mother-in-law, a mocking arc curving at the corner of my mouth. “Mom, in your heart, am I really the Miller family’s daughter-in-law?” Before I finished speaking, Mark immediately agreed: “Mom is right.” “Chloe, don’t forget, the house you live in now, the car you drive, which of them didn’t I give you? Without me, you’re nothing!” “Married for five years and your belly hasn’t shown any movement. It’s good enough our Miller family hasn’t blamed you.” My mother-in-law sneered: “Now Mia is carrying Mark’s seed, this is the hope of the Miller family. You must take good care of her!” Mark chimed in to support her: “Exactly.” “You can’t give birth yourself, so you want to stop others from doing it? Chloe, can you not be so vicious?” Watching this mother and son sing the same tune, I only felt it was absurd and hilarious. Five years of marriage. I accompanied Mark from setting up a street stall to taking his company public. During the early days of his startup, when he stayed up late guarding the shop, I brought him late-night snacks. When his capital turnover was tight, I mortgaged the apartment my parents gave me for the wedding. His mother was hospitalized three times, and I served her, handling her bedpans and urinals. Even half a year ago, when she was hospitalized for a stroke, I guarded her side day and night for six months. And now, I’ve become a used rag that is nothing. Just because I can’t have a child, I am the sinner of their entire family! “I didn’t say I disagreed.” I interrupted them, my tone as calm as stagnant water. Both Mark and my mother-in-law were stunned, clearly not expecting me to agree. “Glad you know what’s good for you.” My mother-in-law curled her lip: “Hurry up and tidy up a south-facing bedroom for Mia; pregnant women need sunlight.” “The fridge in the kitchen is empty. Go buy groceries now; Mia is hungry.” Mark ordered immediately, as if I were really the family’s nanny. I didn’t speak, turning and walking into the guest room. I watched as they crowded around Mia, walking into the master bedroom. That was the room Mark and I had shared for five years. Mia sat on the bed I had slept in for five years and said timidly to Mark: “Mark, won’t this be too much trouble for Sister Chloe?” “What trouble? She’s supposed to do these things anyway.” Mark stroked her hair, his tone soft enough to drip water: “You’re carrying my child; just rest well.” I closed the door, my back against the panel, my fingertips icy cold. Images from four years ago suddenly flooded my mind. At that time, Mark’s company had just started to pick up, and he hired a young, beautiful secretary named Willow. The first time I saw them at the company, Willow was standing on her tiptoes tying Mark’s tie. They smiled intimately, and the large expanse of exposed skin on the woman’s chest was pressed right against him. I confronted Mark, but he said I was being unreasonable: “It’s just a secretary helping her boss tie his tie, and those clothes are the company’s standard uniform. What are you thinking? Chloe, can you be a bit more generous?” Later, I received a photo from Willow. She was lying on a hotel bed, covered with Mark’s suit jacket. The caption: “Mr. Miller says I know how to be romantic much better than you.” I took the photo to the company to confront Mark. But he kicked me out in front of all the company employees. “Chloe! Stop making a fool of yourself here! Make a scene again and we’re getting a divorce!” That day I stood outside the company building. Looking at the man I had loved in that high-rise, my heart completely died. I accompanied him in building his business from scratch, but after striking it rich, he wanted to kick me to the curb. But I wasn’t willing to let it go. Half of this company is my blood and sweat; I couldn’t just hand it over to someone else. I began to plan quietly. I asked a friend to buy sterilization drugs and mixed them into Mark’s coffee. He never suspected me, drinking it with absolute peace of mind. I thought, since I can’t keep his heart, at least I must protect my assets. I would make sure he could never have someone else’s child inherit everything. But I never expected that today, five years later, he would actually bring a pregnant woman home. 2 The first day Mia moved in, she treated me like a nanny. At seven in the morning, she banged loudly on my door: “Sister Chloe, I’m hungry. I want to eat soy milk and fried dough sticks from that old shop downstairs. Go buy them.” I had just finished washing up and hadn’t even had time for breakfast before she bossed me around. When I bought the soy milk and fried dough sticks back, she frowned again and said: “Oh my, I can’t eat fried food right now, it’s bad for the baby.” “Sister Chloe, please go boil some bird’s nest for me, the kind that needs to be stewed for over three hours.” I didn’t say a word, turning and walking into the kitchen. My mother-in-law was sitting in the living room watching TV. Seeing me busy running around, not only did she not help, but she also commanded: “Put a few more red dates in the bird’s nest; Mia is anemic.” In the afternoon, I made four dishes and a soup. Mia only took one bite of a dish and put down her chopsticks: “Sister Chloe, the dishes you made are too salty, the baby can’t handle it.” “And I want to eat sour things right now. Go buy me a bottle of aged vinegar, the sourest kind.” I dug my nails into my palms: “It’s so cold out, you want me to run out and buy vinegar? There’s some in the kitchen; you can drink it like water if you want.” “Sister Chloe, how can you speak like that?” Mia’s eyes immediately reddened, and she looked at Mark, who had just returned home from work: “Mark, I didn’t mean to make things difficult for Sister Chloe, it’s just that the baby wants to eat…” Mark immediately glared at me: “Chloe! What’s wrong with you?” “Mia is pregnant, what’s wrong with wanting something to eat? Go buy it right now!” I gripped the chopsticks in my hand tightly, my knuckles turning white. “Fine, I’ll buy it.” From then on, Mia’s demands became increasingly outrageous. She made me wash her underwear, by hand, saying the washing machine didn’t clean well enough. She made me give her a sponge bath every day, saying it was inconvenient for her to bend over. She even made me clip her toenails, and complained that I didn’t clip them round enough. While making me massage her legs, she stroked her smooth skin: “Sister Chloe, look at your hands, as rough as old tree bark. No wonder Mark doesn’t like you.” “Women need to take good care of themselves, otherwise, you’ll lose your looks at a young age, and who will cherish you then?” I ignored her, continuing to massage. She spoke again: “Sister Chloe, you’ve been with Mark for so many years, have you never given him any surprises? Men all like women who know how to be romantic. You’re like a piece of wood, how could Mark care about you?” When Mark returned, she immediately changed her tune, nestling in his arms: “Mark, you’re back? Sister Chloe massaged me for a long time today. It must have been hard work for her.” Mark touched her face, looking at me with a mocking gaze: “Look at how sensible Mia is. You should learn from her.” I gave a cold laugh and turned into the kitchen. Later, Mia asked me to help her buy maternity and baby supplies, and I immediately agreed. Anyway, it was Mark’s money being spent; why not spend it? Opportunities to openly transfer assets are rare. But I didn’t expect her to push her luck. That night, she handed me a shopping list. The last item was boldly written: “Lingerie.” She blushed, lowering her head shyly: “Sister Chloe, please help me buy this.” “Mark seems a bit tired lately. I want to give him a surprise and make him happy.” I looked at the list, feeling nothing but disgust: “If you want to buy it, go buy it yourself.” “Sister Chloe, why are you like this?” Her tears fell instantly: “I’m a pregnant woman, it’s so inconvenient to go out. And this kind of thing, how could a young girl like me have the nerve to go buy it?” My face went completely cold: “What does that have to do with me?” “You’re already a pregnant woman, what are you pretending to be a young girl for?” Mia cried beautifully: “Sister Chloe, do you dislike me?” “I know I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be carrying Mark’s child. If you really can’t stand the sight of me, I’ll just leave with the child, so I won’t be an eyesore here.” Mark happened to come back from outside. Hearing the crying, he immediately ran over: “What happened? Why is Mia crying?” 3 “Mark!” Mia threw herself into Mark’s arms, complaining tearfully: “I just wanted Sister Chloe to help me buy something to make you happy. I didn’t expect Sister Chloe to be unwilling, and she even said I shouldn’t be here… How about I just live outside?” Mark glared at me angrily: “Chloe! What are you throwing a fit about again?” “Mia asked you to buy something, so what? Do you have to make things so difficult for her?” I said flatly: “She asked me to buy lingerie.” “Then buy it!” Mark was unconcerned, adopting a high-and-mighty posture: “Mia wants to make me happy, what’s wrong with that? As the older sister, what’s wrong with helping her buy something? You’re just narrow-minded, jealous that Mia is carrying my child!” I finally couldn’t hold it back anymore, abruptly raising my volume: “Mark, have you no shame?” “She’s a mistress! You want me to buy lingerie for your mistress? Are you crazy?” “Shut your mouth!” Mark was livid with anger: “Chloe, I’m warning you, you are not allowed to speak of Mia like that! She is carrying my child, she is a meritorious contributor to the Miller family!” Mia pulled on Mark’s arm, hypocritically advising: “Mark, don’t be angry, it’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have asked Sister Chloe to help me buy this kind of thing.” As she spoke, she deliberately leaned towards me. Then her foot slipped, and she fell directly onto the floor. She clutched her stomach, her face deathly pale. “Mia!” Mark was scared out of his wits, hurriedly picking her up: “How are you? Are you okay?” “I… my stomach hurts a bit…” Mia bit her lip, tears streaming down her face. When she looked at me, there was a trace of imperceptible smugness in her eyes: “Sister Chloe, I know you don’t like me, but you shouldn’t have pushed me…” I was stunned. “I didn’t push you!” “If it wasn’t you, who was it?” Mark’s eyes widened in fury, pointing at my nose and cursing: “Chloe, you venomous woman! Mia is pregnant, and you actually dared to push her? I’m telling you, if anything happens to her, I won’t let you off!” I looked at him, my heart sinking little by little. “Mark, are you blind?” “Get back to your room! Without my permission, you are not allowed to come out!” Mark held Mia, shouting sternly: “If there’s any problem with Mia and the baby, I’m not done with you!” I watched as he nervously carried Mia to the hospital, watching my mother-in-law follow behind, cursing. Suddenly, I felt an immense sense of irony. I stood rooted to the spot, speaking coldly: “Since this family doesn’t welcome me, I’ll just leave.” I packed my bags and left the house I had lived in for five years. As soon as I checked into a hotel, my phone rang. It was a WeChat message from Mia. She sent a photo of a designer bag Mark had bought her: “Mark bought this for me, said it’s a gift to make it up to me. By the way, this money seems to be your and Mark’s joint property.” Then, she sent a screenshot of a money transfer. Mark had transferred fifty thousand dollars to her. “Mark told me to spend it however I want, and said once the baby is born, he’ll divorce you. By then you’ll get nothing. Sister Chloe, don’t you think your five years were wasted for nothing?” “Instead of losing all your face then, it’s better to initiate a divorce now and leave with nothing.” I deleted the message and ignored it. In the following days, she escalated her behavior, sending me all kinds of show-off messages every day. Mark took her to buy jewelry. Mark accompanied her to prenatal checkups. Mark hired a top-tier postpartum nanny for her… Every message reminded me of how heartless Mark was, and how smug she was. I looked at those messages and only found them amusing. I was waiting. Waiting for the day she gave birth, waiting for the moment the truth was revealed. In the blink of an eye, three months passed, and Mia gave birth to a son. Mark was overjoyed, throwing a grand banquet, and specifically sent me a message: “We’ve been giving each other the silent treatment for so long, it’s time to let go of your anger. After all, you are the child’s mother in name. It’s inappropriate if you don’t show up.” I looked at the invitation and sneered. Host it, the more lively the better. Such a wonderful play, how could it lack an audience?

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I was slacking off in the office pantry when I stumbled upon a cry-for-help post. The OP claimed I was trying to seduce him every single day. [How far will a female subordinate go to climb the corporate ladder? When presenting proposals, her eyes practically spin sugar threads.] Looking at the blurry photo attached, showing the corner of a desk, I almost spit out my hot coffee. The scratch on that desk, and that chipped mug—no matter how you looked at it, it was my workstation. This blogger went by the handle “Structural Mechanics Fanatic.” In his post, he complained that when his female subordinate presented proposals, she used the blueprints to hide half her face while smiling, calling it pure workplace seduction. I thought to myself, this guy is really overthinking it. I only hid behind the blueprints because I wasn’t confident in my proposal and was afraid of breathing in the boss’s face. Who the hell was trying to seduce him? To test this guy, I deliberately changed my outfit the next day. I wore a black pencil skirt with an edge cut so straight it looked like it was done with a scalpel. I also tied my long hair into a high ponytail, completely exposing the back of my neck. I knew the designers in our company all had OCD when it came to “precision lines.” Sure enough, before my coffee even finished brewing, the post updated. 1 [This woman is playing a high-level game. She knows I have a thing for precision lines, so she deliberately dressed like this today and exposed her neck. Is she trying to challenge my self-control?] The blogger even attached a photo, taken from a high angle, capturing my shadow as I bent over by the printer. I stared at my phone, stunned. That shadow was definitely mine. The angle of the skirt in the light was indeed sharp, but I genuinely wasn’t trying to challenge anyone’s self-control. I clicked into his profile, intending to dig up who this guy actually was. His profile used to be entirely about architectural mechanics and material textures—all specialized jargon I couldn’t understand. But from a certain day onward, the tone completely changed to complaints about a “female subordinate.” [There’s a girl in the company, her eyes sparkle, and she greets me with a smile, while other colleagues hide when they see me. What’s going on?] A netizen replied: [She likes you, obviously.] He replied: [Our company forbids office romances.] He added: [In an architect’s eyes, there are only precise proportions. This kind of seduction is useless against me.] Yet, yesterday’s post had over five thousand likes. [The female subordinate keeps seducing me, affecting my drafting. What should I do?] He wrote a long paragraph underneath, claiming that the frequency with which my fingertips brushed over the matte blueprints during presentations perfectly replicated his habitual points of force application, and that I was inflicting “aesthetic poisoning” on him. Reading this, my suspicion immediately zeroed in on Arthur. His photos frequently featured a custom-made German fountain pen and a specific angle of a building spire outside the window. I had only ever seen that pen on the desk of Arthur, the founder. And that specific angle outside the window could only be captured from the two adjacent top-floor offices belonging to Arthur and Mr. Sinclair, the big boss. They even shared the same assistant team. Could it be that Arthur, the handsome boss who was usually as cold as ice and always kept a straight face, was secretly such a narcissistic drama king behind our backs? To thoroughly verify this, I planned to introduce another “experimental variable.” The next day, I didn’t wear that sharp black skirt, switching back to the most ordinary white button-down and blue skirt. This basic outfit couldn’t possibly be misconstrued as seduction, right? That day, Arthur happened to call a brief meeting. Not long after the meeting ended, the OP blew up again. [This woman’s methods are incredible! Dressing with such visual deception!] I replied to him using my burner account: [How is this basic NPC outfit deceptive? Post a picture.] To slap the netizens’ faces, the OP immediately dropped a photo of my back. It was me, white shirt tucked into the skirt, the lines so flat there wasn’t a single wrinkle. The OP typed frantically below: [You guys don’t understand this aesthetic of alignment! Today, to see me, she even calibrated the seams of her shirt to the millimeter! And the curve of her updo perfectly matches the dome curve from my award-winning project last year. It’s explosively sexy!] This time, it was basically confirmed. That comment about the curve of the back of the neck was indeed the copy from Arthur’s award-winning project last year. Thinking about Arthur’s usual aloof and ascetic demeanor in the office, and then looking at these overly-imaginative essays on my phone, gave me goosebumps. I sat at my workstation, looking at Arthur’s all-glass office not far away. He was wearing gold-rimmed glasses, staring intently at his computer, looking incredibly rigorous. I thought to myself, Boss Arthur, since you think I’m baiting you, if I don’t actually do something real, I’d be doing a disservice to all these posts you’ve made. I took a deep breath, grabbed an inconsequential draft, and prepared to go to his office for a final confirmation. If he really was the OP, the moment I walked in, the post would definitely update instantly. Netizens were still causing a ruckus in the comment section. [OP, you’re being a bit too full of yourself.] [Get back to work, stop staring at your female subordinate all day.] The OP seemed anxious, posting several replies in a row. [Forget it, I can’t explain it to you guys. You don’t understand the attraction of mechanics.] [I reiterate, I have no interest in her. My sole focus is architecture.] Netizens mocked him even harder: [Lmao, OP could be cremated and only his mouth would be left unburned because it’s so hard.] I looked at the screen. Even though the evidence lined up, it was still hard to connect the aloof ice block in front of me with the over-imaginative weirdo online. Arthur was a partner in our company. Single, undeniably handsome, but with a personality as cold as ice. He rarely even cracked a smile in the office—the standard, emotionless capitalist. Rumor had it he only loved architecture and money, keeping women at arm’s length. This guy’s contrast with the “over-imaginative” blogger in my mind was simply too jarring. To find definitive evidence, I decided to take the initiative. Hiding in the company’s transparent pantry, I sent a private message to “Structural Mechanics Fanatic.” [Boss, are you at that top-tier architecture firm?] He replied at lightning speed: [How do you know?] My palms got a little sweaty, and I continued typing: [Can the center of mass distribution on your limited-edition German fountain pen really create mechanical resonance?] This time, he went silent. I looked inside through the bright floor-to-ceiling windows. Arthur was sitting in that all-glass office, and surprisingly, the big boss, Julian Sinclair, was there too. The two were discussing something in low voices. The setting sun poured through the blinds, gilding their sharp silhouettes. Arthur, wearing his gold-rimmed glasses, was focused on his computer screen. That rigorous, ascetic look was indeed quite intimidating. My gaze shifted to the desk. Next to the neat stack of documents, the custom German fountain pen rested steadily on its holder. But what made my heart skip a beat was that between Julian’s long, elegant fingers, he was also twirling an identical pen. My heart pounded. Could there really be more than one of these in the entire company? For the final experiment, I grabbed an inconsequential draft, steeled my resolve, and knocked on the office door. The room was covered in thick gray carpet; stepping on it made no sound. A faint, cold cedar scent floated in the air, creating a strong sense of pressure. When I entered, Arthur looked up at me, while Julian beside him coldly turned sideways, his eyes as deep and temperatureless as a dark pool. “What is it?” Arthur’s voice was deep and weighty. Forcing a smile, I walked over, spread the draft out in front of Arthur, and deliberately leaned in a little closer to them. “Mr. Vance, I’m a bit unsure about the load-bearing structure on this draft.” My fingertips lightly brushed the edge of the matte blueprint, making a faint scratching sound. Immediately after, I deliberately lowered my head. A lock of long hair slid down my shoulder, but due to a miscalculated angle, it accidentally swept across the back of Julian’s hand, which was resting on the desk. I felt Julian stiffen completely, his hand visibly tensing. But he maintained his expression flawlessly, his eyes still icy cold, unmoving. “Leave it here. I’ll look at it later.” Arthur’s tone was stiff, clearly rushing me out. I quickly gathered the blueprints, turned, and left the office. As soon as I was out the door, my legs felt a bit weak. Arthur looked so aloof, and Mr. Sinclair was even more intimidating. Neither of them looked like the type to post narcissistic rants online. But the moment I sat back down in the pantry and refreshed my phone… the post had updated three seconds ago. [She’s back! Tapping her fingertips all over the blueprints, her hair even flirting with the back of my hand. Bringing inconsequential drafts just to report to me… this woman has too many tricks. I’m having a hard time holding back from exposing her.] I stared at the phone screen, my brain crashing for three seconds. This description, this timing… wasn’t this exactly what just happened? But just now… the hair brushed against Mr. Sinclair’s hand! I was losing it. Could it be that the big boss Julian Sinclair, who was so sharp-tongued in meetings he could make people doubt their existence, was actually such an over-imaginative weirdo in private? During the day, he pretends to be an ascetic god in the office, but behind our backs, he frantically records how I’m “strategizing” to win him over? This world is truly insane. I used to think the over-imaginative weirdo online had to be Arthur. After all, that custom pen had indeed appeared on his desk. Just to be completely safe, I decided to give Arthur one final test to thoroughly eliminate him as a suspect. Early the next morning, I bought him a sandwich and brewed a cup of black coffee on my way in. “Morning, Mr. Vance. You look busy lately, brought you some food for a quick energy boost.” I tried to smile appropriately, like a diligent subordinate. Arthur looked up, pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses, and took it with a look of mild surprise: “Thanks, Chloe. Just leave it there.” His tone remained cold as he turned his attention back to the construction detail drawings on his computer, frowning, too busy to even look up. His phone lay at the corner of the desk, the screen never lighting up. I observed him from the doorway of his office for the entire morning. He was either in video conferences with top-level clients or rapidly typing on his keyboard reviewing bidding contracts. Both of his hands were in my line of sight the entire time; he had absolutely no opportunity to touch his phone and post. I took the chance to check the post. “Structural Mechanics Fanatic” had updated again. Sure enough, Arthur was ruled out. I finally confirmed that although Arthur was also a founder, the big boss next door—Julian, who appeared less often and was more unfathomable—was the real mastermind. The two shared an assistant team, and many office supplies were even custom-made in pairs, which caused my previous misjudgment. So, the over-imaginative weirdo who spent every day online fantasizing that I was secretly in love with him and trying to seduce him was actually the most aloof, quiet, top-level core of the company—Julian. The moment this thought crystallized, a chill ran down my spine. Mr. Sinclair was the true paranoiac obsessed with structural aesthetics. The core logic of Arthur’s usual proposals actually mostly came from Julian’s hand. But then, an uncontrollable excitement bubbled up within me. Who would have thought that Mr. Sinclair, usually as cold as a block of ice, could have such an active imagination in private? Since he thought I was scheming to bait him, wouldn’t it be a disservice to all the posts he’d made if I didn’t actually do something real? I made up my mind. I was going to be the hunter for once and force him out of hiding. I began implementing my “Reverse Baiting” plan. Step one: Cater to the symptom. Since he liked precision lines and minimalist aesthetics, I changed up my outfits every day to match. I used to dress more casually, but now I had to iron my clothes until there wasn’t a single wrinkle before leaving the house. Especially that black pencil skirt; the tailoring was very stiff, and the curve of the neckline perfectly hit his architectural aesthetic sweet spot. Sure enough, the post updated more frequently. [She wore that outfit again. The line of the neckline is exactly the same as the dome I designed.] [This woman is definitely doing it on purpose. She knows this texture distracts me the most, so she deliberately struts around in front of me.] [Today, she even adjusted the curl of her hair to match my aesthetic. This is a precision strike.] The netizens below were dying of laughter. [Boss, you’re in too deep. She might just be a neat freak.] [This guy is hopeless. Dating purely through imagination? She hasn’t even spoken and you’ve already surrendered?] [Daily check-in: Has the boss been conquered by the female subordinate today?] I held back my laughter at my desk so hard my stomach hurt, my hands shaking as I typed. Step two: Create coincidences. I figured out Julian had an unshakeable habit. Every day at 3 PM sharp, he would go to the convenience store downstairs and buy a bottle of iced black coffee from the very back row of the fridge. So, timing it perfectly, I followed him down two minutes after he left. The fluorescent lights in the convenience store were a bit glaring. I strode over to the chilly glass doors of the fridge. Just in time, Julian also arrived there. His incredibly handsome hand was just about to touch the last bottle of iced Americano. I moved faster, snatching the bottle away right before his fingers touched it. I turned my head, raised an eyebrow at him, and deliberately let a few strands of hair brush against the back of his hand. “Mr. Sinclair, I’m so sorry, but this last bottle is mine.” I gave him a sweet smile. Julian froze completely, his hand suspended in mid-air, unsure whether to retract it or grab something else. He stared at me for a few seconds, his Adam’s apple bobbed, and he forced out two words: “You drink.” With that, he turned and left, walking so fast he almost bumped into a shelf. Carrying the iced coffee, I went back to my desk and started frantically refreshing the webpage. Less than five minutes later, the post exploded. [Help! She just fought me for coffee at the convenience store! It was the last bottle!] [She not only stole my coffee but also copied me by drinking the most bitter black coffee. Is this a display of dominance, or does she want me to remember her taste?] [And the look she gave me just now… the hook in that smile was pulled to the max! I’m about to lose it!] The comments below flooded in: [Boss, it’s a shame you aren’t writing novels with that imagination.] [She clearly just wanted coffee, and you’re insisting she wants to spend her life with you? You really dare to dream.] I looked at my phone, laughing so hard in my seat that my hands shook. Netizen: [Oh boy, the boss got his coffee stolen and his soul hooked. So weak!] The next day, I lined up in front of him and ordered the exact same iced Americano he always got. Julian stood right behind me, staring at the dark liquid with complex eyes. I turned around and gave him a sweet smile: “Mr. Sinclair, what a coincidence. You also like it without milk?” He didn’t speak, just nodded with a cold face, but I saw the tips of his ears, hidden in his hair, quietly turn red. The post updated again. [She’s copying me by drinking iced Americanos! She wants to have the same sensory perception of taste as me! She wants to seep into my life through the same frequency of bitterness! Her love is too aggressive!] Netizens: [Help, I’m dying of secondhand embarrassment from the boss’s imagination. What kind of new workplace literature is this?] [Say no more, lock it down! I’m bringing the civil affairs bureau over right now!] My plan was proceeding very smoothly. Julian’s posts literally became my daily source of joy. But when you play with fire too much, you’re bound to get burned eventually.

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David took me out for steaks and whiskey. It felt off. David has a sensitive stomach; he’s always adhered to a bland diet. He won’t touch anything spicy, even when I cook it. Since when did he crave heavy, greasy restaurant food? Seeing my hesitation, he gave a soft chuckle. “Occasionally, it’s good to change things up.” … 1 “Welcome, right this way, please.” The hostess was young, clean-cut, with a voice like honey. David recognized her instantly. “Amber? What are you doing working here?” The moment Amber Hartley saw David Sterling, a flash of surprise rushed through her eyes. Then she looked down, fidgeting nervously with the hem of her apron. “I needed a part-time job to help with tuition.” “Dr. Sterling, what a coincidence. You still love the ribeyes here, I see.” Amber, the new intern at David’s hospital, spoke casually as she deftly set the table. “Since you brought Mrs. Sterling today, I’ll have the kitchen send out a few complimentary appetizers. On me.” My heart sank. David didn’t love ribeyes. In fact, he despised restaurant food, viewing it all as unhealthy garbage. I managed every aspect of his diet and daily life. As the Chief of Cardiac Surgery, he suffered from ulcers and maintained almost obsessive eating habits. Low sodium, low fat, zero soda—even red meat was restricted to less than twice a week. But now, he just gave a curt nod. “That’s very kind of you.” Amber insisted on staying to serve us personally. She held the tongs, expertly flipping the steaks on the sizzling grill. The grease popped. Amber carved the ribeye and NY strip, placing the best pieces onto David’s plate, one by one. “Dr. Sterling, you work so hard in surgery every day, you need the protein. These cuts are the finest on the animal.” Then she glanced at me, a hint of disdain flashing in her eyes. David set down his fork, naturally swapping my empty plate with his full one. He looked at me with an indulgent smile. “Eat up, honey. You look like you’ve lost weight recently.” 2 “Alright, you can go now. We’d like some privacy.” When Amber withdrew, her eyes were practically screaming. But every one of David’s subtle movements felt like he was overcompensating, trying to hide something. If they didn’t eat here privately all the time, how would Amber know what he “loved” to eat? If they didn’t spend a lot of time together, how would she dare to act so relaxed and flirty in front of the Chief? Halfway through the meal, the lights in the booth suddenly dimmed. A waiter wheeled in a massive, three-tiered strawberry mousse cake, followed by another waiter holding 999 deep-red roses. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Clara.” David stood behind the massive bouquet, the candlelight reflecting off his handsome face. “Thank you for everything this past year. I know taking care of Leo is exhausting. Once this busy season at the hospital is over, I’ll take a long vacation so we can go to the Maldives.” The surrounding diners turned to look, gasping in envy. Amber stood in the shadows of the hallway nearby, staring deathly at the roses, her grip on her serving tray so tight it was bending. I accepted the flowers, smiling gracefully. “Thank you, David.” As soon as the waiters left, Amber rushed back over. “Mrs. Sterling is so lucky. A man like Dr. Sterling is one in a million. But I suppose it makes sense—Mrs. Sterling only needs to arrange flowers and raise the child at home, while Dr. Sterling is out there killing himself to support the family. It must be nice; some of us are just born to toil, not rely on a man.” I set down my fork, slowly wiped my mouth with a napkin, and looked at her. “Miss Hartley, I recorded what you just said.” She froze, her face turning pale. “First, as a server here, making offensive remarks to guests is a serious issue of professionalism. Second, as David Sterling’s student, commenting on your mentor’s family matters is an issue of breeding.” I looked toward the front desk. “Please call your manager over. I want to file a complaint.” Amber panicked, instinctively grabbing David’s sleeve. “Dr. Sterling, I didn’t mean it like that… I was just… just worried that you were pushing yourself too hard…” David looked at her, and a flicker of internal struggle flashed through his otherwise stern eyes. He finally sighed in resignation, turned to me, and said, “Clara, she’s still young, she hasn’t been out in the real world yet. She doesn’t know how to measure her words. I’ll discipline her back at the hospital.” “You are her mentor’s wife, after all. Be the bigger person. Don’t bicker with a young girl, okay?” “Her family is poor; that’s why she’s working part-time here.” I almost laughed in frustration. Because her family is poor, she has to become a homewrecking brat? Because she is poor, I’m supposed to endure her? But David didn’t care. He cut me off before I could speak: “It’s a holiday. My wife isn’t that petty. Let it go.” David practically dragged me away to leave. In the shadows, Amber quietly reached out her hand and quickly brushed it against the back of his hand. And David did not flinch. He not only didn’t flinch, but he also took advantage of the darkness to briefly hold her hand in return. My stomach churned. He was wrong. I am that petty. A man is like a toothbrush—I do not share. 3 From that day on, David never brought up Amber Hartley again. He performed the role of the model husband perfectly: coming home on time, helping our son with homework, handing over his paycheck, and even letting me scroll through his phone whenever I wanted. Three months later, David pushed open the bedroom door looking utterly exhausted. He sat on the edge of the bed, hesitating. “What’s wrong?” I asked, closing my book. “Clara… there’s something I need to discuss with you.” He rubbed his temples. “Amber Hartley was fired from the hospital.” I raised an eyebrow. “Why?” “They claim… she violated operating procedures, leading to a minor medical malpractice issue. But I know it’s because people in the department are pushing her out. She’s too blunt and offended the wrong person.” David sighed heavily. “Her family is buried in debt, and her landlord just kicked her out. A young girl wandering the streets in the middle of the night… I almost hit her driving back just now. I can’t just leave her out there.” My heart sank, bit by bit. “So?” “I was thinking, isn’t our guest room empty? Let her stay for a little while, just until she finds a new job or saves enough for a deposit. Do this as a favor to me, okay?” David walked over, took my hand, his eyes full of pleading. “She was my student, after all. If something really happened to her, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.” Live with himself? More like he was heartbroken for her. I sighed helplessly. “Since you’ve already put it that way, what can I say? But I have one condition: we must set ground rules. This cannot affect Leo.” “Absolutely! Clara, you are the best.” David hugged me, visibly relieved. That night, Amber Hartley walked through the door dragging a battered suitcase. She acted very industrious, scrambling to do chores, bowing and scraping before me. But I had already installed the most hidden pinhole cameras in the living room, dining room, and even on the bookshelf in our bedroom. After installing the cameras, I made an excuse to take our son Leo to stay at my mother’s place for a few days. Before I left, David kissed my forehead tenderly, telling me to drive carefully. Sitting on the sofa at my mother’s house, I opened the real-time monitoring app on my phone. David came home from work. Amber was wearing a silk nightgown that barely covered her thighs, with no bra underneath. She paced around the living room, holding a glass of red wine. The moment David walked in the door, Amber wrapped herself around him. “Dr. Sterling, you’re finally back. Mrs. Sterling isn’t home, and this house is terrifyingly cold.” David pushed her slightly. “Amber, don’t be like this.” Amber’s voice came through the speaker. “Dr. Sterling, you’ve eaten so many steaks with me. I don’t believe you’ve never felt anything. You clearly love me. Why stay with that woman who only knows how to stay home and raise a child?” “She does it for this family…” David’s defense was pathetic and weak. “She does it for the money!” Amber ripped off David’s tie, lifting her face to kiss his neck. “If you didn’t have your current status, would she willingly stay at home? Only I… I truly admire you, Professor… Take me…” David’s hand ultimately settled on her waist. They engaged in intimacy all the way from the sofa to our master bedroom bed. On the silk sheets I had meticulously selected, they freely vented their desires. David’s voice panted, with a wildness I had never heard before: “Amber… you are so much more flavorful…” I shut off my phone, my fingertips ice cold. David Sterling, since you’ve chosen this path, prepare to leave this marriage with nothing. 4 Upon my return, I acted as if everything were normal, cooking for David and allowing Amber to continue living in the house. Amber grew increasingly arrogant. While doing laundry, she even deliberately washed her underwear mixed together with David’s shirts. I turned a blind eye to all of it. I started visiting financial planners and law firms. Using the excuse of establishing an education fund for our son, I leveraged David’s trust in me to coax him into signing complex English contracts and power-of-attorney forms, one after another. He was so immersed in the illusory pleasure Amber provided that he didn’t even glance at the contents. “Honey, these are a few dividend agreements from our insurance company. Signing them will double next year’s returns.” “Honey, I want to transfer this property to my mother’s name. Just in case the hospital faces any lawsuits, we’ll have a backup.” David was texting Amber on WhatsApp while carelessly scribbling his signature. “Sure, I trust you to handle it.” He smiled and kissed me. “Clara, you really are my capable right hand.” Yes, of course I am your capable right hand. I am going to help unload all of your money. I uncovered all of David’s private accounts. Through gift deeds, the assets under my name were quietly expanding. While the numbers in David’s accounts outwardly remained unchanged, in reality, the usage rights to that money had already quietly shifted to my control through the various trust guarantees he had signed. It was Valentine’s Day again. David had a massive headache recently. Amber Hartley was no longer satisfied with just providing emotional connection. She was demanding a Hermes Birkin as a Valentine’s gift. David could only agree. He slipped away into his study to call the sales associate: “Yes, I’ll be over on Valentine’s Day to pick it up. Charge my private card.” What he didn’t know was that without my consent, not a single penny could be withdrawn from that card. 5 Valentine’s Day. David woke up even earlier than usual. He stood before the mirror meticulously styling his hair and even put on cologne. “There’s an important academic conference today. I might be back late tonight.” He said to me while tying his tie, his eyes shifting slightly. I was peeling a boiled egg for our son Leo, not lifting my head. “What about tonight? Didn’t we agree to have dinner together?” “Of course! I will definitely be back to spend the holiday with you.” He walked over, placing a light kiss on my forehead. “I booked a table at that French restaurant you love. 7:00 PM, sharp. I’ll be there.” Lies. All lies. I glanced at the corner of the living room, where Amber Hartley was pretending to wipe down a table, but her ears were perked up high. “Okay. I’ll wait for you.” After David left, I opened my mobile banking app, entered the password, and clicked to freeze his accounts. You didn’t seriously think I would allow you to use marital assets to curry favor with your mistress? I called my son room: “Leo, how would you like to go play at Grandma’s house today?” “Yay!” My seven-year-old son jumped up in excitement. “Will Grandma make me a cake?” “Yes, and she’ll take you to the playground.” After arranging everything, I took my son and went out. In the car, I dialed a number: “Counselor, you may begin.” “Are you certain, Mrs. Sterling? Once this starts, there is no turning back.” “I am certain.” Meanwhile, David and Amber walked side-by-side into the Hermes boutique. Amber wore a white dress today, with meticulous makeup, looking pure and enchanting. “Dr. Sterling, I really, really love that bag.” She clung to David’s arm, her voice sticky. “My colleague’s boyfriend got her one, and she flaunts it in front of me every single day.” David patted her hand. “Buying it for you today. You won’t need to envy anyone else after this.” The sales associate greeted them warmly: “Mr. Sterling, the bag you ordered is ready. Please come this way.” Amber’s eyes lit up, practically gluing themselves to the expensive leather goods in the display cases. The associate retrieved a gift box, carefully opening it. The silver hardware sparkled under the lights. “That’s it!” Amber excitedly grabbed David’s arm. David pulled out his wallet, took out his black credit card, and handed it to the associate. The associate ran the card, her brows furrowing slightly: “Mr. Sterling, this card is not processing. It says transaction restricted.” “How is that possible?” David froze for a moment. “Is something wrong with the machine? Try again.” The associate tried again, with the same result. Other customers nearby were already casting glances their way. Amber’s face began to flush red. “Use this one.” David produced a debit card. Same result. A third card, a fourth… David tried every card in his wallet; none of them worked. The associate’s expression shifted from warm to awkward. “Mr. Sterling, perhaps there’s some issue with your accounts. I suggest you contact your bank.” Amber released David’s arm, taking a step back: “Dr. Sterling, what is this supposed to mean? You promised me!” “Amber, don’t worry. There must be some misunderstanding.” Beads of sweat began to appear on David’s forehead. He pulled out his phone. “We’re sorry, the line you are calling is busy…” It was a busy signal, several times in a row. David attempted to log into his mobile banking, but it displayed an incorrect password. Only then did he remember that I set all the bank card passwords; he usually never concerned himself with these details. Amber’s expression grew uglier by the second. She looked around, feeling like everyone was laughing at her. A young girl passed by her, tossing out a quiet remark: “If you can’t afford it, don’t come in acting high-class.” “David Sterling!” she shouted his full name. “Are you playing me? Saying you love me, that you want to give me the best, yet you can’t even produce twenty thousand dollars? Do you know how much I bragged to my friends? How am I supposed to face anyone now?” “Amber, let me explain…” “Explain what? Explain how your wife controls you so completely you can’t even use a card?” Amber’s voice grew louder. “I thought you were a successful man. Turns out you’re just a kept man!” A crowd was gathering, pointing and whispering. David’s face flushed bright red. He grabbed Amber’s arm: “Let’s take this outside.” “Let go of me!” Amber violently shook him off. “I must have been blind. I was fired from the hospital for you, I gave up everything for you, and for what? You’re just a liar!” She turned and rushed out of the store. David hurriedly chased after her, leaving the associate and a group of spectating customers staring at each other. Outside the mall, Amber had already hailed a taxi. David ran over and grabbed the car door: “Amber, don’t be like this. I swear I will solve this. I will absolutely buy you the bag tomorrow!” “Don’t touch me!” Amber’s eyes were filled with resentment. “David Sterling, let me tell you, this isn’t over!” The taxi sped away. David stood in place, his suit in disarray, his tie crooked. The house was empty. On the dining table was a note: “Took Leo to my mom’s house. See you at the restaurant at 7:00 PM.” He breathed a sigh of relief, took a shower, changed into a clean suit, and practiced smiling in the mirror. At exactly 7:00 PM, David appeared sharply at the French restaurant. I was already waiting for him at a window table. “Honey, you look beautiful today.” I looked up at him with a faint smile: “Is the money in your cards still usable?”

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When we went to the impoverished mountain area to sponsor a child, my best friend, Chloe, couldn’t wait to choose the autistic boy. “This kid looks so pitiful. Mia, you have a weak constitution, you should sponsor that genius boy. You’ll enjoy a good life with him later!” Everyone praised my best friend’s loyalty, but only I knew she had been reborn. In our previous life, two children in the mountain area stood out. One was an exceptionally intelligent genius, and the other was a silent, autistic child. Chloe rushed to take the genius boy. But the boy turned out to be an ungrateful wretch. After getting into an Ivy League university, he completely ignored her. When he eventually became a billionaire doctor, he even played the victim, accusing her of molesting and abusing him. My best friend was cyberbullied, lost her job, went bankrupt from lawsuits, and her parents died of anger because of her. Meanwhile, the autistic child I sponsored later became a renowned designer, winning countless international awards. When Chloe had nothing left, seeing the respectful and loving way the boy treated me drove her mad with jealousy. She hit me with her car and killed me. Opening her eyes again, she definitely wouldn’t repeat her past mistakes. But looking at her smug face, I couldn’t help but laugh. Doesn’t she know that autism, when it reaches a certain level, can turn into psychopathy? 1 “Liam has had autism since he was little. It’s not just that he doesn’t speak; his emotions are highly unstable. He hits people over the slightest displeasure. The teachers at the orphanage have been beaten by him several times.” “He also suddenly screams and cries at night, staying awake all night. You really need to think this through.” As she spoke, the orphanage director pushed the straight-A student, Arthur, forward. “This child has been incredibly smart since he was little. Not only are his grades top-notch, but he also knows how to handle things and is very sensible!” Arthur, wearing a white shirt and jeans, smiled brightly at Chloe, looking exactly like the male lead in a campus romance novel. But Chloe backed away repeatedly as if she had seen a ghost. “No!!” “Arthur is so excellent, he should go to Mia. Taking care of Liam is too exhausting, I couldn’t bear to see her suffer.” I rolled my eyes hard inwardly at her hypocritical display. In our previous life, Chloe wasn’t like this at all. Back then, she couldn’t wait to pull Arthur to her side, terrified I would fight her for him. Arthur indeed lived up to expectations: he got into an Ivy League, earned his Ph.D., started a business after graduation, and became a billionaire doctor at a young age. During that time, Chloe showed off to me every chance she got. “Mia, what can the kid you’re raising do besides hit people and scream?” “I guess this is it for you in this life—serving an idiot, with no hope of ever getting ahead.” “Unlike me. Arthur is worth hundreds of millions now. I won’t have to do anything from now on, just lie back and enjoy life.” But no one expected that the glamorous Arthur was actually an ungrateful wretch. He accused Chloe on camera of molesting and abusing him since childhood, and later forcing him to marry her. Overnight, Chloe became a pariah. Netizens photoshopped her pictures into funeral portraits and splashed paint all over her front door. Her company couldn’t withstand the pressure and had to fire her. On her way home, she saw her own parents killed in a hit-and-run. Finally, Arthur sued her for a massive sum in compensation. She emptied her savings but still couldn’t fill the hole, eventually ending up on the streets, begging to survive. Meanwhile, the Liam I sponsored not only stepped out of the shadow of autism but also became a famous designer, eventually gifting all his assets to me. Chloe went mad with jealousy and drove her car straight into me, killing me. Reborn into this life, she naturally couldn’t wait to get rid of Arthur. I looked at Chloe in front of me and asked softly: “If you choose him, aren’t you afraid you’ll regret it?” Chloe immediately waved her hand dismissively, her face full of contempt. “What do you know! Liam looks quiet, but he’s definitely a genius in his bones. Don’t fight me for him!” “Only certain people look like decent human beings but are actually ungrateful, backstabbing wolves. I wouldn’t want that.” I sneered inwardly at her determined look. Fight her for him? I couldn’t wait for her to take him away quickly. No one knew that behind Liam’s glamorous facade was an endless nightmare I endured. After he recovered from his autism, he developed a severe, paranoid possessiveness. He would secretly delete all male contacts from my phone while I was asleep, calling it “afraid you’ll get scammed.” He installed bars on all the windows in the house under the guise of safety, keeping me trapped like a bird in a gilded cage. When I was sick, he stayed by my side constantly. But then he turned around and fired a male doctor who had just handed me a cup of water. He always said: “Only I can protect you.” Yet, when I tried to contact my family, he smashed my phone and roared with red eyes: “You have me, that’s enough! You don’t need anyone else!” The suffocating feeling wrapped in that “gentleness” made me despair even more than his fists did when he was a child. Even if Chloe hadn’t run me over with her car, I wouldn’t have lasted much longer in that kind of life. Since Chloe wanted a paranoid psychopath in this life, I’d let her have him. I absolutely didn’t want to suffer the pain of being imprisoned and abused again! As soon as we got home, Arthur put down his luggage and started studying. But when I woke up from my nap, I found that dinner, with meat and vegetables, was already laid out on the dining table. Looking at the cautious and eager-to-please Arthur in front of me, I felt incredibly comfortable. In my previous life, when I first brought Liam through the door, he suddenly went crazy. He not only smashed everything in the house to pieces but also strangled me tightly. If I hadn’t prepared a sedative in advance, I wouldn’t have survived that day. Now, having an obedient, sensible, and good-looking Arthur, how could I not be happy? Seeing me staring at the food without moving, Arthur lowered his voice even more. “Is it not to your taste? Should I go make something else?” I quickly shook my head, picked up my chopsticks, took a bite, and nodded, saying: “It’s very good, no need to change it.” “If you need anything in the future, just ask me. I will help you with whatever I can satisfy.” Hearing this, Arthur’s eyes lit up. He hesitated for a few seconds before saying, “I want to participate in the National Physics Olympiad…” I instantly remembered that in my previous life, Arthur won the gold medal in this very competition, earning him an exceptional admission to a top Ivy League school. From then on, his reputation as a physics genius spread nationwide, and he only had coldness and disgust for Chloe. I hesitated for a moment, but then thought that sponsoring a child was a good deed to begin with. Cultivating a talent is a good thing; I never expected him to repay me with anything. I nodded immediately. “Of course you can. I’ll help you prepare, and I’ll handle whatever you need.” A bright smile immediately bloomed on Arthur’s face. He turned and headed back to the kitchen: “Then I’ll get you another bowl of soup, drink more to nourish your body.” Looking at his joyful back, I really couldn’t figure out how he turned into the ungrateful wretch he became later. Just after I finished eating, a video call from Chloe popped up on my phone. When connected, the screen showed Liam sitting at a desk, holding a paintbrush. On the paper was a crude drawing, messy lines showing absolutely no talent. Chloe leaned into the camera and said triumphantly: “Mia, look how good Liam is! He can even draw!” “What’s the use of a physics genius? He might just turn out to be an ungrateful wretch. You’ll regret it sooner or later.” “Liam is a true genius. I’ll stick with him from now on and enjoy endless good days.” I rolled my eyes at her incessant chatter. Even though she deliberately angled the camera away from the smashed-up house, the bright red slap mark on her face was still clearly visible. I truly couldn’t endure the “blessing” of being tortured by a psychopath. Besides, she probably didn’t know yet that Liam’s later talent in painting was all thanks to my father, a master of traditional painting, guiding and teaching him bit by bit. Without the guidance of a professional teacher in this life, given his condition, he probably wouldn’t even be able to speak complete sentences, let alone become a famous designer. I couldn’t be bothered to waste my breath on her, just gave a few perfunctory responses, and hung up the phone. In the following days, I used my family’s resources to find many physics experts to tutor Arthur every week, and even managed to get him exclusive competition exercise books. Arthur studied exceptionally hard and became increasingly considerate of me in daily life. He would prepare meals in advance morning and night, remembering I don’t eat cilantro, and even rushed to do chores, never letting me worry too much. Watching him handle everything so thoughtfully, I became even more confused: how could someone so sensible suddenly turn into a backstabbing wretch in the previous life? Before I could sort out my thoughts, my phone suddenly rang. When I answered, Chloe’s heart-wrenching crying instantly came through. “Mia, come quickly to the police station! Save me!” When I rushed to the police station and asked around, I found out that Chloe had insisted on sending Liam to learn painting. The result? On his very first day, Liam went berserk, grabbed an inkstone, and broke two of the teacher’s fingers! The other party demanded a ten-thousand-dollar compensation. Chloe couldn’t come up with the money, which was why she frantically called me for help. I didn’t hesitate much, fronted the medical expenses for her, and told her to take Liam away first. Before she left, I couldn’t help but remind her: “His emotions are completely unstable right now. He’s not suited to interact with the outside world. You need to find a professional for intervention first.” Unexpectedly, Chloe flew into a rage out of humiliation, pointing at my nose and cursing: “Mind your own business! You just can’t stand that Liam is a genius!” “What do you have to be so smug about? That ungrateful wretch Arthur will turn on you sooner or later, and then you’ll taste what it’s like to have your family destroyed!” As soon as she finished speaking, Liam, who had been silent all along, suddenly stepped forward and hugged her waist, rubbing his fuzzy head against her neck. Chloe immediately beamed with joy. “See? Look how clingy he is with me now. His autism is much better.” I shivered, terrified by the fleeting look of resentment I caught in Liam’s eyes. This wasn’t an improvement; it was clearly the onset of twisted paranoia! I was afraid of getting burned, so I didn’t say another word, turned around, and headed home. From then on, every time I heard news of Chloe, it was either her being beaten into the hospital by Liam, or Liam smashing up another art class. I felt she was a total jinx and even avoided walking near her. But I never expected that during Arthur’s first summer break after getting into an Ivy League, Chloe would actually show up at my house uninvited. As soon as she walked in, she raised her chin, her tone full of mockery. “Mia, what did I tell you?” “That ungrateful wretch Arthur stopped contacting you after he started college, didn’t he? He doesn’t even come home; he doesn’t care about you at all!” I froze for a moment, and thinking carefully, it really was as she said. After Arthur reported he had arrived safely at school, there had been no news from him. All the messages I sent were left on read with no reply. Seeing that I didn’t refute her, Chloe grew even more smug. “Liam is much better than him. He sticks to me every day and is completely obedient to me.” “You better watch out. When Arthur needs startup capital in the future, who knows how badly he’ll scam you!” “When the time comes, you’ll become a rat everyone wants to beat. Don’t regret choosing the wrong person when your family is destroyed.” After she finished, she smiled even more triumphantly. Although I never asked for anything in return when I sponsored Arthur, Chloe’s words were like a thorn, making me feel extremely uncomfortable. I took out my phone, wanting to call Arthur to ask about the situation, only to find out when I dialed that he had already blocked me. Clicking on his social media, it was full of photos from college activities. He was smiling brightly, living a very exciting life. And his latest post prominently read: [Getting ready to start a business with my best friend. Let’s go!] I suddenly remembered my previous life. When he first started his business and was short on cash, he smoothly borrowed money from Chloe. But once the money was in his hands, he immediately blocked her. For five years after that, he completely ignored Chloe. And the next time he came looking for her, it was when he had become one of the top, wealthiest doctors in the country. To expand his hospital’s reputation, he wildly proclaimed online that he had been abused and molested by his sponsor. Chloe tried to find him to clear her name, but was blocked in the hospital by reporters he had hired, thoroughly cementing the narrative that she was an abuser. Before I could recover from my shock, my phone suddenly vibrated. Arthur had sent a message. “Sister, I want to start a business, but I’m still a bit short on startup capital. Can you lend me some money?” Chloe leaned over, saw the message on the screen, and instantly burst into uncontrollable laughter. “I told you he was an ungrateful wretch! Asking for money as soon as he starts college; he’s a bottomless pit!” “Who knows what he’ll do to you for money in the future!” I stared at the screen, hesitating for a few seconds, but still replied: “How much do you need?” The smile on Chloe’s face froze instantly, and she stared at me as if I were an idiot. “Are you crazy? You actually believe the nonsense this little animal says?” “He just treats you like a sucker, a walking ATM!” I ignored Chloe’s words. Since I sponsored him, I should fulfill my responsibility. Without saying much, I directly transferred ten thousand dollars. Chloe was stomping her feet in anger beside me. Just as she was about to speak, her phone suddenly rang. When she answered, the art teacher’s voice was loud enough to hear even without speakerphone. “Come pick up Liam immediately! This kid can’t be a genius; he’s a piece of trash!” “He can’t even distinguish basic colors, and he’s always throwing tantrums! No one can teach him!” Chloe’s face instantly turned green. She hung up the phone, glared at me fiercely, grabbed her bag, slammed the door, and left. That same day, I saw on the news that Chloe caused a huge scene at the art institute for Liam, resulting in her being taken to the police station again. Only this time, she couldn’t find me to rescue her. It wasn’t until half a month later that the two were released, looking disheveled. By that time, Arthur’s company was already somewhat famous, and major newspapers were rushing to report on it. That evening, I had just finished washing up when I heard my front door being violently banged on by Chloe. “What are you doing?” She smiled sinisterly, and I backed away in fear. “Why? Why does everything go smoothly for you no matter what you choose?” “I can’t wait to see that ungrateful wretch Arthur trample you under his feet and ruin your reputation! I want you dead right now!” As soon as she finished speaking, she grabbed my neck like a madwoman. Just as I was about to struggle, she sprayed something blindly in my face, and my vision went black as I fainted. When I woke up again, the living room was packed with people. Camera shutters clicked continuously, and the flashes blinded me. “Are you a psychopath? Did you sponsor a genius boy just to satisfy your own desire for control?” “I heard you forced Arthur to work like a slave, and even beat and scolded him. Is it true?” “Does a woman like you deserve to be called human? You sponsored a child just to vent your dark thoughts!” My mind was completely blank. Before I could even react, my phone started vibrating like crazy. My mom’s panicked voice rang in my ear. “Mia, what is going on? So many people came to the house.” “They are smashing and looting… Honey, what’s wrong with you…” Before my mom could finish, the call disconnected. I turned my head stiffly and looked at Chloe, who was standing among the reporters. She triumphantly waved her phone at me. Only then did I realize that Chloe had used my account to post a long article. In it, she not only detailed fabricated accounts of me abusing Arthur but also wrote about many perverse fantasies I supposedly had about him. The comments underneath were already unbearable. [Trash like this should be arrested and shot!] [A demon cloaked in kindness. That poor child!] [I’ve already doxxed her address. I’m going to go ask her parents how they raised such an animal!] I felt a chill all over and practically roared: “These are all lies! Where is Arthur? He knows the truth!” Chloe smiled even more triumphantly, leaned close to my ear, and said in a voice only we could hear: “Where do you think those fake injury photos came from?” “As long as Arthur sues you, he’ll have all the money he needs for his startup. Do you think he’ll help you?” Hearing this, my heart sank heavily. Does it really mean that even if I poured my heart out for Arthur, it was all for nothing? Right at that moment, a voice suddenly rang out from the crowd. “Everything she said is true.” Chloe and I turned our heads at the same time. When we saw who it was, Chloe and I both widened our eyes, faces full of disbelief. Seeing this, the reporters all swarmed forward, almost shoving their microphones into Arthur’s mouth. The clamor of overlapping questions instantly drowned out the surrounding noise. “Mr. Vance, regarding Ms. Chloe’s previous statement that you suffered long-term suppression and mistreatment from Ms. Mia, is that true?” “Are you wearing a lab coat because you just came from the lab? Did Ms. Mia interfere even with your work?” “Ms. Chloe said you once asked her for help, accusing Ms. Mia of atrocities. Now that you’ve suddenly appeared, were you coerced by Ms. Mia?” “Ms. Mia has been silent this whole time. Does that mean she admits to all the allegations? As the person involved, can you detail the specific things Ms. Mia has done to you?”

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After a night of intimacy, my battalion commander husband pulled up his pants and vanished for three days. The next time I heard news of him, it was a celebratory announcement from military command. Arthur Vance had been awarded a first-class merit. Only then did I learn that his disappearance over the past few days was to rescue his childhood sweetheart. Rumor had it that when he returned, he was covered in injuries and had nearly died. The following day, Private Chen, a communications orderly, hurriedly pushed open the door to our base housing: “Dr. Miller! The Commander is refusing to let us treat his wounds at the medical tent. The pain is unbearable, but he says he only wants the soothing tea you make.” For Arthur, this was a rare display of weakness. I huddled on my cot, flipping through a combat trauma care manual, and didn’t even look up: “I don’t know how to make it.” Private Chen paced anxiously: “The Commander got hurt providing cover for a comrade!” “Cover for whom? Emily Davis?” I cut him off. “She was there, wasn’t she? Tell her to do it.” Over the next few days, Arthur’s subordinates took turns trying to persuade me. “Ma’am, there’s no such thing as an overnight grudge between husband and wife.” “The Commander has been thinking of you constantly.” My answer remained the same: “I don’t have time. Go find Emily.” … When Arthur finally returned, it was the evening of the third day. He stood in the doorway, his face pale, suppressing a storm of anger and confusion in his eyes: “Chloe, are you really this cold-hearted?” I turned to meet his gaze, my tone flat and icy: “Isn’t Emily taking care of you? Why should I go make a mess of things and be an eyesore?” Arthur’s chest heaved violently: “Are you still holding a grudge about last time?” Holding a grudge? I was in emergency surgery for four days. The shrapnel in my abdomen was two millimeters away from my kidney. And in his mouth, it had become “holding a grudge.” At the time, a sudden firefight broke out at the border. As the unit’s embedded medical officer, I was treating the wounded on the front lines. A stray bullet hit nearby, and the blast wave threw me to the ground. Blood poured from my abdomen. The comms channel was filled with the hoarse shouts of my comrades, but Arthur, who was at the command post barely a hundred yards away, never moved. I found out later that Emily had suffered an asthma attack at the rear camp. He abandoned the defensive line during an intense firefight, scooped her up, and rushed her to the medical tent. A week later, I was transferred to a regular ward. Arthur pushed the door open in his combat uniform, impatience knitting his brows: “Chloe, are you done playing the martyr?” He threw a bag of cold steamed buns onto the nightstand, his tone rigid. “The doctor said it missed your vitals, so stop hogging a bed. The camp is swamped; no one has the free time to orbit around you all day.” I looked down at the blood-soaked bandages on my abdomen. Every breath pulled at my nerves with a sharp ache. Seeing me silent, Arthur’s frown deepened: “Will you only be satisfied when the whole battalion thinks I’m mistreating my wife?” “Emily has a weak constitution; she can’t handle shocks.” “You’re a combat medic. You see life and death all the time. Is it really necessary to cling to a minor injury like this?” My heart felt like it had been thrown into an ice cellar, the chill piercing my bones. I looked up at him, my eyes as still as stagnant water. Arthur froze. Suddenly, the two-way radio on his belt crackled to life, and Emily’s tearful voice came through: “Arthur, I think I hear movement outside the camp… I’m so scared…” Arthur’s tone instantly softened enough to wring water from it: “Don’t be afraid. Lock the door. I’ll be right there.” Cutting the comms, his gaze returned to its cold, hard state when he looked at me. “Process your own discharge. Emily needs someone with her.” I lowered my eyes, staring at the bruised puncture marks on the back of my hand from the IV lines: “Go ahead.” Arthur was enraged by my indifferent demeanor. But ultimately, his concern for Emily won out. He turned and strode away, leaving the hospital room in dead silence. I pulled out my IV needle and dialed the recruitment office for the International Rescue Corps. The voice on the other end was filled with joy: “Dr. Miller, you’ve finally decided! The final roster for the rescue medical team hasn’t been submitted yet, so there’s plenty of time for you to join. But this deployment is for at least five years, stationed in active conflict zones. It’s incredibly dangerous. What about your family…” I looked out the window at the dark, oppressive clouds, a storm brewing: “I accept. This is a personal decision and has nothing to do with my family.” After a pause, I added, “He and I will soon have no relationship anyway.” My lawyer was extremely efficient. Half an hour later, the digital copy of the divorce agreement arrived in my inbox. Years ago, to reassure me about following him on deployments, Arthur had signed a blank agreement, giving me the freedom to leave at any time. I twitched my lips into a cynical smile. I hadn’t expected this day to come so soon. Chapter 2 The next day, military command held a victory banquet at the guest house. Amidst the clinking of glasses, no one noticed that I, the wife of the honored commander, was as pale as paper. Emily, as a special guest, sat beside Arthur, obediently pouring drinks for the high-ranking officers, looking very much like the lady of the house. Suddenly, Emily let out a low gasp, drawing everyone’s attention. She was holding a fountain pen; the nib was bent, and ink had stained the hem of her uniform skirt. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Emily’s eyes reddened as she looked at me timidly. “I saw this pen drop on the floor and wanted to pick it up, but I accidentally stepped on it… Chloe, please don’t be mad at me?” It was my father’s memento. He had been a peacekeeping medical officer. After he died in the line of duty, this was the only thing he left me. I valued it more than my life and never allowed anyone else to touch it. I abruptly stood up, walked over quickly, and with trembling hands, picked up the deformed pen. “It’s just an old pen.” Seeing my face change drastically, Arthur instinctively shielded Emily behind him. “I’ll buy you a new one later.” My usually gentle eyes were now bloodshot: “This is what my father left me. Arthur, you know that.” Arthur was momentarily stunned by my glare, a trace of panic flashing in his heart, Which was immediately covered by the annoyance of losing face in public: “Emily didn’t do it on purpose. Why are you being so aggressive and ruining the mood for everyone?” I clenched the fountain pen tightly, the broken nib piercing my palm. Blood dripped through my fingers: “Fine, I won’t hold a grudge. Have her drink this glass of alcohol, and we’ll call it even.” I pointed to a full glass of high-proof liquor on the table. Emily’s face went white, and she clutched her chest: “Arthur, my heart isn’t good, I can’t drink…” Arthur’s eyes completely iced over: “Chloe, you know her body can’t handle it!” He slammed the glass down heavily in front of me, “You want someone to drink it? You drink it for her. Drink it, and we turn the page.” The entire room fell dead silent. Everyone knew my stomach had been severely injured. During the last mission, just a drop of alcohol had triggered massive internal bleeding, and I had barely survived after emergency resuscitation. The doctor’s orders were explicit: absolute prohibition of alcohol. Arthur glared at me: “Are you going to drink or not? If not, get out, and don’t ever come back.” He was certain I wouldn’t leave, certain I couldn’t bear to give up these five years of life as a military spouse. But I smiled. A smile that made Arthur’s heart skip a beat for no reason. “Alright. I’ll drink it.” I picked up the glass and downed it in one gulp. The strong liquor burned my esophagus and stomach lining. All color drained from my face, and cold sweat broke out. I put the blood-stained fountain pen into my pocket, my voice so light it seemed it would dissipate: “Arthur, this is the last time.” “Not just for forgiveness, but also the last time in these five years that I will degrade myself.” Violent cramps made my vision go dark. I gritted my teeth, not letting out a single groan. My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was the approval notification from the Rescue Corps: “Comrade Chloe Miller, your application has been approved. Please report to the airport for assembly at 9:00 AM this Friday.” Chapter 3 I turned off the screen and, under Arthur’s complex gaze, turned and walked out of the banquet hall. Severe stomach pain hit me. I leaned against the revolving door and collapsed to my knees. When I woke up again, I was in the IV room of the military hospital. The door pushed open, and Arthur walked in carrying an insulated lunchbox. His eyes were heavily bloodshot, looking as if he hadn’t slept all night. “You’re awake? I brought you some soup.” He sat on the edge of the bed and tried to take my hand, but I silently pulled away. Arthur’s hand froze in mid-air, then slowly retracted: “The doctor said you need bed rest. I’ve handed over camp duties to the deputy commander. I’ll stay with you.” “I was speaking in anger last night. I didn’t know you were hurt this badly. Why didn’t you say anything?” I looked at him with the unfamiliarity of a stranger. Arthur began to panic, desperately wanting to grasp onto something: “Chloe, when you’re better, let’s have a child.” “Didn’t you always want one before?” “I asked the doctor. Emily can’t have children. We’ll have one, and let her be the godmother.” I froze, then laughed out loud, the vibration pulling at the cramps in my stomach: “Arthur, forget about the child. I don’t want my child calling someone else ‘mother’.” A familiar frustration surged in Arthur’s heart. He felt he had already bowed his head and compromised, yet I was still being unforgiving: “Chloe, do you have to be so prickly with every word? I’m willing to make it up to you. What more do you want?” I didn’t answer, my gaze falling on the calendar by the bed. Three more days. On the day of my discharge, Arthur specially drove a military vehicle to pick me up: “There’s an academic military commendation ceremony today. Command specifically asked for you to attend.” “Your previous ‘Modified Protocol for Emergency Treatment of Battlefield Trauma’ is highly regarded by the higher-ups.” A ripple finally appeared in my dead eyes. That paper was the result of my blood, sweat, and tears, born from eight months of analyzing thousands of field medical records. Arriving at the auditorium, Arthur left me backstage: “Wait here a moment. I’m going to the front to make arrangements.” I stood behind the curtain, listening to the thunderous applause from the front as the host’s enthusiastic voice echoed: “Now, please welcome the winner of this year’s ‘Strong Army Cup’ academic gold medal, Comrade Emily Davis, to the stage to share her award-winning paper, ‘Modified Protocol for Emergency Treatment of Battlefield Trauma’!” My mind went completely blank. On the large screen’s presentation, every chart, every data annotation, even the rough sketches in the margins of the manuscript, were exactly the same as my paper. That was my life’s work, but the author was listed as Emily. I don’t know how I walked onto the stage, but I snatched the microphone: “This paper is mine! The raw data is on my computer, and the experimental logs are in my filing cabinet. Emily, you can’t even pronounce the basic terminology correctly, and you dare to accept this award?” Chapter 4 Emily’s eyes instantly turned red, tears falling: “Chloe, I know you’re jealous that I get to stay at headquarters, but I stayed up all night researching and writing this paper. How can you lie just to frame me?” “Whether it’s a lie can be easily verified.” I looked toward the commanders’ seats. “I request a thorough investigation by military command!” “Enough!” Arthur snatched the microphone, shouting sternly. He stood in front of Emily, facing the audience, his tone pained but firm: “Commanders, comrades, I am deeply sorry.” “My wife, Chloe, was injured in a recent border skirmish. The massive blood loss caused severe PTSD, making her mental state unstable. She frequently experiences memory confusion and persecution delusions. The doctors have recommended involuntary psychiatric treatment.” A wave of realization washed over the audience. Looks of suspicion turned to sympathy and pity. I stood rooted to the spot, looking at Arthur’s righteous face, feeling the blood in my veins turn ice cold. “Arthur, to pave the way for her, you would crush my reputation and my career?” “This is what you owe her.” Arthur turned off the microphone, his voice low enough that only I could hear. “Chloe, Emily has a weak constitution. This staff position will give her the best medical coverage. You’re already a key medical officer; this award is just icing on the cake for you, but it’s a lifeline for her. Learn to be accommodating, don’t you understand?” He raised his hand, and two guards rushed forward, grabbing me by each arm. Arthur ordered: “Take Dr. Miller to the break room and contact the specialists at the mental health center.” I didn’t struggle, letting the guards escort me off the stage. Arthur, since you say I’m sick, then I’ll give you exactly what you want. The public relations department moved swiftly. To protect the reputation of Emily, the rising star of military command, a bulletin with blue text on a white background swept the internet half an hour later. [Statement regarding the inappropriate words and actions of military medical officer Chloe M. at the commendation ceremony: Comrade Chloe M. was recently injured in the line of duty and has been diagnosed with severe PTSD, resulting in cognitive bias and emotional loss of control. Our department has decided to suspend her duties for treatment. We deeply apologize to Comrade Emily Davis, who was affected by this incident.] Overnight, I went from being the youngest key medical officer at command to a universally condemned lunatic and jealous woman. My personal social media accounts were overrun, my direct messages filled with filthy insults. Outside the military command building, angry netizens and supporters of Emily blocked the gates. Arthur shielded Emily as they walked toward a military vehicle, surrounded by an anti-riot squad. I carried a cardboard box containing my personal belongings, following alone behind them. Someone recognized me. A shout triggered a commotion. A plastic water bottle struck my forehead hard, followed by a shower of rotten cabbage leaves and eggs. In the shoving, I fell on the steps, my palm pressing into shattered glass. It was a broken picture frame. These hands of mine, used to holding a scalpel, were instantly covered in blood. Sitting inside the armored vehicle, Arthur saw this scene through the dark tinted windows, his heart suddenly feeling like it was tightly squeezed. “Arthur, I’m scared.” Emily trembled, shrinking into his embrace. “Those people are terrifying. Will Chloe be okay?” Arthur withdrew his gaze, suppressing the inexplicable twinge of pain in his heart, and said coldly: “Drive. It’s good for her to learn a lesson, so she knows her place in the future.” The car sped away, leaving a cloud of dust. I watched the familiar olive-green SUV disappear around the corner, feeling no anger, not even pain. I slowly stood up, brushing the dirt from my clothes. The blood from my forehead ran into my eye, bathing the world in a sea of red. I pulled out my phone, glanced at the issued e-ticket, and then looked at the divorce agreement in my hand, already signed and finalized. I flagged down a taxi, my voice hoarse but calm: “Driver, to the airport.” Chapter 5 It wasn’t until late the next afternoon that Arthur realized Chloe was missing. The aftermath of the victory banquet had escalated far beyond his expectations. Although public opinion online was controlled, an internal military investigation had been launched. He used his connections to suppress the initial inquiry into Emily’s paper, the price being a promise that Chloe would “quietly recuperate” and cause no further trouble. He thought this was just another cold war, that Chloe would eventually digest her grievances in silence and return to him, just like before. He drove to the guest house. The room was excessively tidy. Her military uniform lay flat on the bed, the arm patch placed squarely on top, like a silent farewell. No note, no text message. He called her phone; it was turned off. An unfamiliar panic gripped him. He drove to the military hospital; the nurses told him Dr. Miller had discharged herself at noon yesterday. He contacted her possible comrades and friends; no one had any news. Finally, he had no choice but to use his clearance to check transportation records. He found a record of a taxi ride from the city to the airport yesterday evening, along with blurry security footage from the airport. She was wearing an unfamiliar jacket, a wound on her forehead, her back resolute as she walked toward the international departures channel. “Investigate! Find out where she went! Which flight she took!” He roared into the phone, his temples throbbing. The results arrived in the evening: Chloe had taken Turkish Airlines Flight TK21, transferring through Istanbul, with her final destination being a war-torn border city in northern Syria. Travel records showed she had left the country as a “member of a Doctors Without Borders medical rescue organization.” Arthur gripped the thin sheet of printer paper, his knuckles turning white. He remembered vaguely hearing that she was contacting international rescue teams, but at the time, he thought she was just acting out of spite. He never imagined she would actually leave, let alone go to a place like that. “Arthur, don’t worry too much.” Emily had appeared in his office at some point, holding a cup of hot tea, her voice soft. “Chloe is probably just in a bad mood and went out to clear her head. With that kind of rescue team, she’ll probably suffer for a few days and come back on her own.” Arthur didn’t take the tea. Staring at those distant, dangerous coordinates on the paper, his heart felt like it was being squeezed tightly by an invisible hand, a dull ache making it impossible to breathe. Clear her head? Going to a place ripped apart by artillery fire to clear her head? That was absolutely not something Chloe would do, unless… she truly had no intention of coming back. “About the paper, the investigation team…” Emily probed, a hint of unease in her eyes. “It’s been suppressed for now.” Arthur’s voice was hoarse, carrying an exhaustion he didn’t even realize. “Keep a low profile for the next few days. Don’t provoke her anymore… don’t draw any attention.” Emily nodded obediently, placing the teacup on the desk, her fingers seemingly accidentally brushing against the back of his hand: “I know. It’s all my fault for dragging you and Chloe down. When she comes back, I will definitely apologize to her properly…” Come back? Arthur jerked his hand away, a sudden surge of irritability making his tone harsh: “Go back. I have things to do.” Emily’s eyes reddened. She bit her lip aggrievedly, turned, and left. The office returned to silence. Arthur walked to the window. Outside was the familiar scenery of the camp—the sound of drills, marching footsteps, everything as usual. Yet he felt as if a massive void had opened up somewhere. That base housing apartment—the one that always had a small light on waiting for him, where even if he returned covered in the smell of gunpowder, she would silently hand him a cup of warm water—would there never be anyone there again? He thought of her pale face lying in the hospital bed, the resolute look in her eyes when she drank the strong liquor at the banquet, her indifferent expression when she was knocked to the ground… He used to think she was resilient, understanding, even a bit submissive. But now, stringing those images together pieced together a Chloe he had never truly known. A Chloe who, after her heart had died, quietly detached herself from everything, too lazy to even offer hatred. “Chloe…” he murmured the name, his Adam’s apple bobbing violently. A delayed, immense panic, mixed with sharp, piercing pain, finally penetrated the heart he had kept wrapped in discipline and duty for years, surging forth relentlessly.

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Marcus Cole forgot everything. He forgot me. His memory is frozen in the year he was most in love with his ex-wife, Tiffany. No matter how hard everyone around him tried to convince him otherwise, he truly believed I was the homewrecker who came between them. The doctors said there was a chance his memory could return, so I held onto that sliver of hope, refusing to let go. Over the course of three years, we divorced and remarried. We became the laughingstock of the entire elite circle in the city; people were even placing bets on us. Betting on when I would finally give up, betting on when Marcus would remember. Until the news of our eighth divorce went viral on social media. Reporters stormed into my law firm, cameras blazing. They shoved microphones in my face, their words dripping with provocation. “Ms. Harper, as a divorce lawyer yourself, having been divorced eight times now, how does it feel?” My professional reputation was shattered, my personal commendations trampled underfoot. Before I could even respond, my boss fired me on the spot for bringing disrepute to the profession. “Chloe, let me give you a piece of advice: have some self-respect. Stop throwing yourself at Mr. Cole.” I clenched my trembling hands, and suddenly, a profound weariness washed over me. They were right. This time, I really should give up. … It was pouring rain when I left the firm. Clutching the cardboard box filled with things from my desk, I arrived home in a daze. The front door wasn’t fully closed. Laughter—Marcus’s and Tiffany’s—drifted out from inside. I surveyed my surroundings. The place was a total disaster: clothes scattered everywhere, stained carpets… The television in the living room was looping the news about the scene at my law firm earlier today. Seeing me return, the smile on Marcus’s face faded noticeably. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, showing up here again.” His sarcastic words cut through the air, hitting my ears clearly. Tiffany smiled and planted a kiss on the corner of Marcus’s mouth. “Alright, honey. You two were together for seven years, after all. Show a little grace.” Then she looked up, raising an eyebrow at me with an intimate, suggestive smile. “Marcus missed me so much, so I came over. You don’t mind, do you?” Rainwater dripped from my hair onto the floor, drop by drop. A wave of exhaustion rolled through my heart. I didn’t spare another glance at the two of them on the sofa and turned toward the master bedroom. But when I pushed the door open, I froze mid-step. “Oh, right, I forgot to tell you.” “This house is also under my mom’s name. It has nothing to do with you. I threw all your stuff out.” “It should still be in the trash bins by the curb.” Arthur’s lips curled up as he leaned against the wall, watching me. It seemed that seeing me in a wretched state was the only thing that made him happy. A sharp pain shot through my chest. My soaked shirt made me shudder from the cold. “You bought the trending top story today, didn’t you?” “We’re already divorced. Why did you have to make me lose my job too?” Faced with my questioning, Arthur raised his hand and violently knocked the box out of my grip. Files and documents scattered all over the floor. That was nearly seven years of my life’s work. “Chasing after me for three years wasn’t enough? Even if something really did happen between us in the past, I have amnesia now.” “The fact that I forgot you proves you’re completely worthless to me!” These words undoubtedly stabbed right into my old wounds once again. Three years ago, his sudden amnesia caused him to forget everything about me. Just the day before the memory loss, he was enthusiastically helping me decorate the nursery, fantasizing about whether we would have a boy or a girl. But later, he forgot. He only remembered Tiffany. “You just forgot! You have no idea what Tiffany did back then…” Resentment and fury nearly drove me mad. Marcus’s face turned ashen as he forcefully grabbed my hand. He shoved me out the door. The pouring rain soaked me again. “I don’t care what Tiffany did. I only remember that I love her. That’s enough.” I opened my mouth, but all the questioning and resentment seemed utterly pointless. Irritated, Marcus avoided my gaze, reaching out to rip the wedding band off his ring finger. The edge of the diamond ring sliced his hand. He hurled the wedding ring to the ground by my feet. As he slammed the door shut, he threw one last line at me. “Don’t come crawling back, begging me to remarry you again.” I stood there for a long time. Finally, I crouched down and picked up that wedding ring. Marcus had personally designed this before our wedding. He wore it for seven years, never taking it off once. By the trash bins at the curb were our shattered wedding photos, the scarf he had hand-knitted for me. And all the photo albums filled with memories of us. My phone suddenly rang. I looked at the contact name and answered. Marcus’s mother’s excited voice came from the other end. “Chloe, I just got Marcus’s physical exam results. The doctor said his memories are starting to loosen.” “As long as he continues treatment, there’s an eighty percent chance he can be cured!” My knuckles turned white as I gripped the phone. The ‘okay’ that was on the tip of my tongue never came out. Finally, I softly said, “Mom, don’t proceed with the treatment. If he forgot, he forgot.” Chapter 2 The next day, I went to the Cole family estate. I placed those eight divorce certificates on the coffee table in front of Marcus’s mother. “Mom, Marcus and I are divorced again.” Marcus’s mother looked at me with pity and let out a long sigh. “I’m so sorry, Chloe. Arthur has wronged you. You two were so happy back then.” “But this time it really is different. I’ve contacted several doctors, and they all say the chances of a cure are high.” Marcus’s mother pushed a business card toward me, her eyes filled with anticipation. “I’m getting old. I just want you two to live a good life together.” “He’s been remembering quite a few things lately…” Before she could finish her plea, I interrupted. “But he has never remembered anything about me.” I lowered my head, avoiding her pitying gaze. The atmosphere grew silent until she suddenly spoke. “If you leave, and Marcus remembers you but can’t find you, he’ll go crazy.” For these past three years, every time we divorced, Marcus’s mother would say this sentence. And because of this sentence, my heart softened time and time again. We remarried time and time again. Before I could respond, there was a commotion in the entryway. Marcus walked in, his brow instantly furrowing when he saw me. “Chloe Harper, did you come to tattle on me to my mom again?” “I already kicked you out, and you’re still sticking around like a ghost. Can you seriously not survive without me?” Marcus’s mother was so furious her chest heaved violently. She abruptly stood up. Her hand shot out, delivering a resonant slap across Marcus’s face. “Have you caused enough trouble? Just how much further do you want to push Chloe?” “Without her, you would have died long ago.” Sitting on the sofa, my hands clenched into fists. I couldn’t help but think back to seven years ago. His marriage with Tiffany was painful. Tiffany enjoyed all his love, but she already had other men on the side. His wife was cheating; he became the laughingstock among the young elites overnight. When he took people to confront them. Tiffany also made off with ten million dollars, vanishing without a trace. After that, Marcus fell into depression. Just as he was preparing to commit suicide by jumping into the river. I was the one who saved him. “So what? Isn’t she just looking for money?” Marcus still stared stubbornly at his mother. “I don’t care what Tiffany did in the past. I just love her. It’s impossible for me to love anyone else.” “And I won’t regret it.” Marcus’s mother seemed to be drained of all her strength in an instant. She turned to look at me apologetically. Marcus rubbed his temples, finally raising his head as if in compromise. “Chloe, you can remarry me if you want. We’ll just end up divorced later anyway. The one losing face is you, not me.” “Since you seriously can’t leave me, then let’s go to City Hall right now.” “This must be your eighth divorce, isn’t it?” The corner of my mouth twitched. I couldn’t match the person in front of me with the Marcus in my memory. “This time, I came to make things clear to Mom.” “You’re free, Marcus.” Marcus froze. The hand hanging by his side trembled involuntarily. He looked at me in astonishment, then quickly regained his composure. “Playing hard to get, are we? Unfortunately, that doesn’t work on me.” “Fine. You said it. Don’t you dare come back begging me later.” Marcus spoke almost through gritted teeth. Ignoring his mother’s attempts to stop him, he threw his things on the floor. And stormed out. Marcus’s mother was so angry she nearly blacked out. She shouted at Marcus’s retreating back. “You are going to regret this!” Chapter 3 I no longer cared whether Marcus would regret it. After completely giving up on the treatment, my taut nerves relaxed a bit. After leaving the Cole estate, I was preparing to ask Marcus to return my passport and ID. All my identification documents had been with him these past few years. Just as I reached the street corner. A sudden, sharp pain struck my forehead. Hot blood gushed from the wound. Dizzy, I hadn’t even realized what was happening. Before I was aggressively pulled and kicked by a group of people. “It’s her! She’s the homewrecker!” “Marcus and Tiffany belong together. Why do you have to force yourself in as the other woman?” “Spit. You’re a disgrace to the legal profession. Specializing in other people’s divorce cases, but you can’t even get your own house in order.” The commotion instantly drew the attention of passersby. Instead of intervening, they pointed their phones at me, recording continuously. Due to excessive blood loss, I didn’t have the strength to fight back. Seeing that I had no energy to resist, the crowd eventually dispersed with disappointment. They spat on me. “We’re going to beat you up every time we see you!” As my vision blurred, I saw Marcus in the distance. He was holding hands with Tiffany, both smiling sweetly. They looked truly happy. When our eyes met, Marcus’s expression stiffened. His footsteps instinctively ran toward me. “Wh… What happened to you?” The blood flowed unstoppably, staining my clothes red. Marcus’s mind went blank. He seemed to panic. With a trembling hand, he pulled out his phone to call for an ambulance. But Tiffany stopped him. “Don’t get involved. Maybe she directed and acted this whole thing herself just to get your sympathy?” “It just looks scary, she’s fine.” “Didn’t you say you were taking me to pick out a birthday present?” Tiffany pulled him away. Marcus hesitated for a moment, then turned his phone off. He didn’t look at me again. I leaned against the wall, gasping for air. The blood still hadn’t stopped. In the end, I dialed for an ambulance myself. But before the ambulance could arrive, I completely lost consciousness. When I woke up again, it was already a week later.max The doctor said if I had been even a little later, I might have died from excessive blood loss. Upon hearing about this, Marcus’s mother specially came to the hospital to see me. She covered all the medical expenses. “Chloe, those people’s aggressive behavior… Mom has already handled it for you.” “Marcus, he…” “He just forgot that you have a blood clotting disorder.” Marcus’s mother tried to advise me again, but looking at my pale face. The words that were on the tip of her tongue were swallowed back down. I gave a faint smile. “Mrs. Cole, I’m divorced from him, and I won’t be staying in the city.” “I’m never coming back.” Hearing the change in address, Marcus’s mother’s eyes instantly turned red. Ultimately, she just nodded. “Chloe, whatever you want to do, I’ll help you.” Chapter 4 Over the course of a month, I tried to contact Marcus. After all, all my identification documents were with him. But he was busy preparing for Tiffany’s birthday and had zero time to attend to me. It wasn’t until the day before Tiffany’s birthday that he hurriedly returned. Marcus had forgotten about the incident a month ago. “Tiffany’s birthday is tomorrow. She likes things lively and invited you to go racing.” I paused, remembering that Tiffany was a professional racer before her retirement. Inviting me to play with them was clearly to establish her dominance over me. “I’m not going.” I calmly refused. Marcus seemed prepared for this. He pulled my identification documents from his bag, waving them in front of me. “Aren’t you looking for these? Be a good girl and listen, and I’ll give them back to you.” “Otherwise…” My gaze darkened. I knew Marcus meant what he said. I had no choice but to agree. The racing event Tiffany organized mostly included playboys from the elite circle. When they saw me, it was like they were looking at a monkey in a zoo. They giggled and made sarcastic remarks. “Marcus, why is your ex-wife still so persistent, chasing you all the way here?” Before Marcus could speak, Tiffany hooked her arm through his, her lips curled in a smile. “I invited Chloe. The more people, the livelier, right? Besides, she knows how to drive too, so I thought we could all race.” The fragmented taunts of the crowd fell unmistakably on my ears. “Just a disbarred divorce lawyer. Racing against her is beneath us.” “Who knew the eighth divorce drama would actually manifest in reality.” I sighed inwardly, thinking about those passports and ID cards. Finally, I closed my eyes. “How do you want to race? Say it.” The corner of Tiffany’s mouth turned up, and she bent down into the driver’s seat. “Very simple. Whoever reaches the finish line first wins.” “However… if something happens and you lose your life, you can only blame your own bad luck.” Tiffany spoke the last few words extremely softly. My heart skipped a beat, and I instinctively gripped the steering wheel. Everything went smoothly at the beginning of the race. Until halfway through a turn, Tiffany’s wheels suddenly slid. My brakes were unresponsive, and I slammed straight into her, flipping the entire car. The screams and cries for help from the crowd rose one after another. My legs were trapped in the driver’s seat. Shards of glass had pierced my thigh. I wasn’t sure if an artery had been severed. The blood flowed without ceasing. The racetrack had its own medical team. They rapidly provided emergency care to both me and Tiffany, sending us to the hospital. It wasn’t easy for the doctor to help me stop the bleeding. Marcus approached me, his eyes red. He violently slapped me across the face, gripping my collar as if he were tearing it apart. “Chloe Harper! You did it on purpose, didn’t you? Do you know Tiffany is still in emergency resuscitation right now? If anything happens to her, you and I are done!” But clearly, she was the one who crashed into me. My vision was still very blurry. I only saw several doctors suddenly walk out of the operating room. “The patient is hemorrhaging and needs a blood transfusion, but the blood bank resources are limited…” “Draw from her! Use her blood! Please, you must save my wife…” Marcus violently yanked my hand. The force was so great it nearly caused my wounds to rupture again. The doctor responsible for me immediately intervened. “She can’t. She has a blood clotting disorder. She nearly severed an artery just now; we barely got the bleeding stopped.” “If you insist on drawing blood, something might happen.” Marcus couldn’t hear a word. He continued to roar. “Just draw it! Who cares if she dies? I just want Tiffany to live.” I raised my head, looking at Marcus’s back. “Chloe, I only want you to live.” I vaguely heard Marcus’s voice from the past. Because of the blood clotting disorder, in Marcus’s eyes, I was like a porcelain doll. Once when we went mountain climbing, we encountered a mudslide. He had said that to me too. As long as I lived. With bloodshot eyes, Marcus ignored all interventions and directly drew my blood. Bag after bag of blood was sent into the operating room. Marcus threw the passport and documents by my hand. I struggled with all my might to keep from passing out. Ignoring the nurse’s attempts to stop me, I took my passport and left the hospital. This time, Marcus and I were completely and utterly finished.

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After my divorce, I washed off my ugly makeup and posted a bare-faced selfie online, jokingly asking for a date. The post broke the internet, hitting number one on trending. Countless people flooded my comment section. [Is this level of gorgeous even real? Not even AI could render a face this perfect.] [Look at me! 6’2″, college athlete. I’m not a creep, I just genuinely want to give this goddess a home.] [Oh my god, I wouldn’t even dare to dream of looking like this. You must have been sculpted by the gods themselves!] In a flash, the photo went incredibly viral. A-list actors, wealthy heirs, and Wall Street elites all started reaching out, trying to court me. Even my ex-husband, Connor Sterling, had his phone blown up by his buddies. One of his fellow officers complained, “Commander, if I’d known my sister-in-law was this breathtaking, you should have left her for one of your brothers in arms!” Connor violently crushed the whiskey glass in his hand, his eyes bloodshot, and sped all the way back to our house to find me. But in the home we once shared, there was no longer a single trace of me. I remembered what my mother told me on her deathbed three years ago: “For a girl without power, having only beauty is a disaster.” From that day on, I wore thick, black-rimmed glasses, applied dark, dull foundation, and intentionally made myself look as unattractive as possible. My father arranged countless blind dates for me, and every single man ran for the hills because of my looks. Only Connor Sterling never showed a hint of disgust. He ignored the strange, mocking looks from everyone around us and proposed to me. Everyone said I married completely out of my league. They said that with my hideous face, marrying into the prestigious Sterling family was a stroke of miraculous luck. I believed them. I thought he didn’t care about appearances. I thought he loved my soul. That was, until the joint tactical exercise on the border went wrong, and an out-of-control armored vehicle barreled toward me. Connor shoved me out of the way, taking the brunt of the explosive shockwave himself. He was critically injured and fell into a coma. I stumbled and crawled my way to the base hospital, only to freeze outside his room when I heard his mother’s furious voice through the cracked door: “Connor, you brought home a hideous wife and made us the laughingstock of the entire base! And now you dare to risk your life to protect her? How long are you going to keep up this rebellious phase?!” There was a moment of silence inside before Connor’s calm, steady voice replied: “Mom, you know exactly what I want.” “I know this is all for Serena!” Mrs. Sterling’s voice trembled. “She was just a performer in the military PR division, and her family is ruined! She could never marry into the Sterling family! Marrying Avery just to spite us won’t change a thing!” I leaned against the freezing hospital wall, my entire body going numb. Serena… who was Serena? With trembling hands, I pulled out my phone and texted a friend in military intelligence: [Run a background check on Connor Sterling and Serena Vance.] The file came through quickly. Serena Vance. Lead dancer for the military’s public relations and performance troupe. Connor’s first love. They were the golden couple in everyone’s eyes, childhood sweethearts, a match made in heaven. Three years ago, when they were discussing marriage, Serena’s father was investigated for severe financial fraud. Fearing the scandal would taint their reputation, the Sterling family vehemently opposed the marriage. Connor fought for her, so his family pulled strings to have Serena deployed to a remote, desolate base. The two ultimately broke up. After that, Connor went on a string of blind dates, brushing off every single woman. Until he met me—the intentionally ugly girl—at a military mixer. It turned out that he chose me simply to rebel against his family. To force them into accepting Serena. I looked down at the glowing screen and suddenly let out a broken laugh. My mother was terrified that I would be deceived because of my beauty. But as an ugly girl, I was deceived all the same. And the deception was even more absurd, even more thorough. For the past three years, he tied my shoelaces, stood guard with me in the cold, and remembered every casual remark I made… It was all just a show. A performance staged for the Sterling family. I wiped away my tears and dialed Mrs. Sterling’s number. “I want a divorce from Connor.” “What?” Mrs. Sterling sounded utterly shocked. “Avery, with that ghastly face of yours, who else would ever want you if you leave the Sterling family?” “What I look like is none of your concern. This divorce is happening.” “If the Sterling family refuses, I’ll file a formal complaint with the JAG and the base commander. If this blows up, it’ll look bad for everyone.” The line went dead silent for a long time. Finally, a cold, hard voice replied: “Fine. I will handle the divorce paperwork.” I hung up, immediately discharged myself from the hospital, and headed straight back to the officer’s estate. The moment I walked through the door, I started packing. The velvet box holding his commendation medals, the custom tactical watch he bought me, and even the simple silver band that symbolized our marriage… I threw all of it into the trash. Like throwing away a three-year-long fever dream. A few days later, Connor was discharged from the hospital and returned home. His voice still carried the raspy grit from his injuries, but his tone was as gentle as ever: “Tonight is your birthday. I booked a table at the Officer’s Club. It’s still early, so let me take you to pick out a formal dress first, alright?” “Alright,” I answered softly. He drove me to a high-end luxury boutique downtown. As soon as we walked in, his phone rang. “Look around first. I have to take this,” he said. I nodded and walked alone toward the racks of designer clothing. My eyes landed on a light khaki, belted dress. The style was minimalist, the fabric crisp and structured. “Could you grab this one for me?” I asked the sales associate. “I’ll take that one.” A clear, bright female voice rang out from behind me. I turned around and saw the face from the intelligence file. It was Serena. She was even more radiant in person. Even wearing casual clothes, her posture was impeccably straight and elegant. “Excuse me,” Serena stepped forward, her tone polite but yielding no ground. “I had my eye on this piece as well. Even though you were here first…” Her gaze swept over my thick black-rimmed glasses and my baggy, faded cargo pants. She smiled faintly. “I just feel it suits my vibe better. Would you mind letting me have it?” “I mind,” I said, turning back to the clerk. “Wrap it up for me.” Serena reached out and grabbed the hanger, holding it firmly. “Miss, clothes are all about who wears them. You usually wear tactical gear; buying a dress like this is a waste. Why not just let me have it?” We both held onto the dress, neither willing to let go. “What’s going on?” Connor’s voice drifted over from the staircase. He had finished his call and was walking up. Seeing the standoff, his brow twitched slightly. Serena’s eyes lit up instantly. Her hand still gripped the hanger. “Connor! What a coincidence.” Her gaze bounced between me and Connor, and then she put on a look of sudden realization. “Oh, so this is your wife. If you had just said you were the Commander’s family, I wouldn’t have fought you for it. Let Mrs. Sterling have the dress.” She let go. But in the very next second, Connor took the dress from my hands and handed it directly to Serena. “You don’t need to yield,” he told Serena, his voice noticeably softer. “It should fit you perfectly. Go try it on.” A flash of triumph crossed Serena’s eyes as she took the dress and walked into the fitting room. Connor finally turned to look at me. “Avery, that’s Serena. An old comrade from the PR division. She’s blunt, but she doesn’t mean any harm. It’s just a piece of clothing. There’s no need to fight over it. We’ll pick something else.” I swallowed the heavy lump in my throat, turned to another rack, and casually grabbed a plain, dark blue dress. Just then, the fitting room door opened, and Serena stepped out. The light khaki dress hugged her figure perfectly, complementing her pale skin. She looked sharp, elegant, and radiant. The sales associate whispered in awe, “Ms. Vance, you look absolutely stunning.” Connor’s eyes were fixed on her as well. “Connor, how does it look?” Serena asked with a smile, her gaze casually drifting over to where I stood. “Yeah. It looks great,” Connor nodded. Serena walked up to him and naturally adjusted his shirt cuff. “Oh, by the way, I heard tonight is Mrs. Sterling’s birthday.” “It is,” Connor replied. “I happen to have the night off from performances,” Serena said, looking at me with a flawless, polite smile. “If Mrs. Sterling doesn’t mind, I’d love to come and celebrate with you.” I didn’t say a word. Connor spoke for me: “We don’t mind. Come along.” Chapter 2 The banquet hall at the Officer’s Club was brilliantly lit. The birthday dinner Connor threw for me was incredibly high-profile. He had invited almost all the top brass from the base. I stood next to him in my plain, dark blue dress, looking like a dusty, out-of-place prop. As the banquet began, Connor publicly handed me a velvet box. Inside was a finely crafted, honorary military insignia pin. Gasps of envy echoed through the room. “Thank you,” I took it, my voice perfectly flat. Serena arrived a little late. The moment she walked in, she stole the room’s attention. The khaki dress highlighted her elegant posture, and her bright smile made it seem as though she was the true center of the evening. “Sorry, rehearsal ran late,” she said, walking up to me with effortless charm. “I didn’t bring a gift, so I’ll just play a song on the piano for Mrs. Sterling’s birthday.” With that, she looked at Connor. “Connor, it’s been a while since we played together. Duet?” Connor glanced at me—standing there in silence—and actually stood up and walked over to the grand piano. They sat side by side on the bench. A four-hand duet, the melody flowing seamlessly. One with authoritative military epaulets, the other with flying, graceful fingertips. The picture they painted was breathtakingly harmonious. The whispers of the crowd drifted into my ears: “Now that is a woman worthy of the Commander…” “If only the Vance family hadn’t fallen into disgrace…” “The current wife is just way too ugly. Seeing them stand next to each other makes me cringe…” Every word was like a tiny needle stabbing into my heart. I turned and walked out to the balcony. Footsteps followed behind me, and soon, a pair of hands gently wrapped around my shoulders. “Why did you come out here?” Connor’s voice murmured in my ear. “Don’t listen to what they’re saying.” Suddenly, the balcony doors were pushed open. Serena stood in the doorway, her face pale, a layer of tears glistening in her eyes. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. She turned and ran. Connor immediately dropped his arms from my shoulders. “I’ll go check on her.” He hurried after her. I didn’t want to stay in that building for another second. Just as I reached the driveway outside the club, a figure blocked my path—it was Serena. “Leaving so early, Mrs. Sterling? Is it because Connor chased after me?” I had no desire to engage. I turned sideways to walk past her. “Wait.” Serena blocked me again. “There are some things you need to know. Like the real reason Connor married you—” “Get out of my way!” She reached out and grabbed my wrist. “He doesn’t even—” We struggled. Suddenly, Serena’s foot slipped. With a shriek, she fell backward, dragging me down with her, causing us both to lose our balance. The screech of tires pierced the night. Agonizing pain exploded across my forehead and cheek. Warm blood instantly blurred my vision. In the chaos, all I could hear was Serena screaming. Right before I lost consciousness, I thought I saw Connor sprinting toward us. On that face that was always so irritatingly calm, I actually saw a flicker of raw panic. Then, I heard fragmented snippets of a conversation, sounding like they were coming from a million miles away. “Commander, both victims require immediate surgery, but the medevac pod only has room for one.” “Your wife has a severe facial laceration. If we don’t treat it now, it will permanently scar.” “Ms. Vance has sustained trauma to her hand. Delaying treatment will affect her ability to play the piano.” Then, I heard Connor’s voice. “Save Serena first. Her hands cannot be ruined.” “But your wife…” “Her looks don’t matter to her.” Don’t matter. Those three words crushed the very last shred of hope I had left. I sank completely into the darkness. When I woke up, I was in the base hospital. The door was pushed open, and Serena walked in, flanked by a few girls from the performance troupe. “Avery, I heard your face took quite a hit. I thought you were definitely going to be disfigured this time.” “The military surgeons the Sterling family brought in are top-tier. I can’t believe they managed to salvage it.” “Well, they saved it, but it’s still the same old ugly face.” A chorus of low giggles echoed from behind her. I closed my eyes. “Get out.” A girl in dance wear immediately snapped back, “What’s with the attitude? Serena came to check on you out of the goodness of her heart!” I opened my eyes and glared at Serena. “Take your dogs and get the hell out of my room.” “Who are you calling a dog?!” The dancer raised her hand, ready to slap me. “Brianna, don’t hit a patient. It looks bad.” A tall man stopped her. He turned, looked me up and down, and smirked. “Mrs. Sterling has quite the temper. But I specialize in fixing bad attitudes.” He took two steps forward, looming over my hospital bed. His gaze was sticky and violating. “I’ve seen plenty of women like you. Ugly, but full of venom. You just need a real man to put you in your place.” He suddenly reached out to rip the blankets off me. “Get away from me!” I struggled desperately. But the man pinned my shoulder down with one hand and used the other to violently tear the collar of my hospital gown, exposing my pale skin. “The face is trash, but the body ain’t half bad.” “Let go! Help!” I fought with everything I had, but the people around him just laughed. The dancer, Brianna, even pulled out her phone to record it. Pure desperation rushed to my head. I grabbed the heavy metal military canteen from my nightstand and smashed it as hard as I could against the man’s head. “Bang!” A scream of agony mixed with the sound of impact. At that exact moment, a nurse walked in carrying a tray of medications. She shrieked: “MPs! Call the Military Police!” Chapter 3 Inside the Military Police station, Serena’s group and I were separated for questioning. Serena’s crew all had the exact same story: they claimed I maliciously attacked him. I insisted it was self-defense, but no one believed me— Who would believe a man was trying to sexually assault a hideous woman? Soon, Connor arrived, accompanied by an officer from the JAG (Judge Advocate General) office. The MP Chief personally briefed him: “Commander, the statements conflict. According to protocol, we need to issue a resolution…” Connor was silent for a long moment. The interrogation room was suffocatingly quiet. Finally, he spoke, his voice steady and calm: “Derek’s actions were extreme, but an accusation of attempted sexual assault… Avery, Derek has a fiancée. He has no reason to target you…” He turned to the Chief, his tone flat but carrying undeniable authority: “Derek’s injuries are severe; send him to the hospital for a forensic medical evaluation.” “Avery is emotionally unstable and needs to calm down. Since a formal report was filed, process this as disturbing the peace. Put her in the holding cell for a few days to reflect.” My chest felt like it had been violently ripped open. It hurt more than the wounds on my face. The MP Chief immediately understood the subtext: “Yes, Sir. We will escort Officer Derek and Ms. Vance out.” Then, switching to a rigid, bureaucratic tone, he turned to me: “Avery, on the grounds of suspected battery and disturbing the peace, you are hereby placed in the brig.” I was dragged into the holding cell. Serena, of course, didn’t let me off the hook. The next seven days were absolute purgatory. A freezing, damp cell. Moldy bread. Cellmates who intentionally provoked and attacked me. Being splashed awake with freezing water in the middle of the night. My unhealed wounds being roughly handled. The torment was endless. On the day I was finally released, I received a phone call from Mrs. Sterling. “Avery, the divorce has been approved by the military command. From this day forward, you have absolutely nothing to do with Connor, or the Sterling family.” “Your father will receive a severance package. Do not contact us ever again.” I hung up the phone, hailed a cab, and rode back to the officer’s estate. Without alerting a single soul, I walked straight upstairs to my bedroom and did three things: First, I packed all of my personal belongings. Second, I washed my face, scrubbing away every trace of the dark, dull foundation. As the steam cleared from the mirror, it revealed a stunningly radiant, breathtaking face. Third, I used my phone to book a ticket on the earliest commercial flight out of the city. I took a cab to the airport, printed my boarding pass, and went through security. While waiting at the gate, I kept my head slightly lowered, but my bare, unmade-up face still drew countless stares. I ignored them completely. The plane soared into the clouds, leaving this city built on lies far, far behind me. But I didn’t know that shortly after I boarded, sneak-shots taken of me at the airport had rapidly surfaced on local social media networks and were spreading like wildfire. #AirportGoddessInCargoPants #IsThisFaceEvenReal #FindHerInfoIn5Mins #EvenSerenaVanceCantCompareToThis The photos went incredibly viral. The entire internet was trying to track down this stunning figure. And very quickly, my true identity was dug up, piece by piece… Chapter 4 Eventually, a shocking piece of news exploded across the military’s internal forums— “Is this… Commander Sterling’s ‘hideous’ ex-wife, Avery?!” The entire base was shaken to its core. Immediately following, media outlets with military ties dug up the history: Avery’s mother was once the most brilliant lead dancer in the base’s performance troupe. After marrying beneath her station, she suffered years of emotional abuse from her husband and eventually died of severe depression. On her deathbed, she gripped her daughter’s hand and repeatedly warned her: “Hide your face.” Connecting this to the fact that Avery had spent over a decade intentionally making herself look ugly, a viral feature article titled A Mother’s Fading Life, A Daughter Hiding Her Face for Over a Decade rapidly circulated online. The details were grounded in truth, the tone emotionally restrained, yet it triggered a massive public outcry. When the scandal reached its absolute peak, Connor was in the command center, leading the deployment for a major cross-regional tactical exercise. A tactical officer, looking deeply nervous, walked briskly into the room and gently placed an internal briefing on the desk in front of him. “Commander, you need to see this… It’s about Avery…” Connor frowned slightly, his eyes dropping to the briefing. He froze. On the document was the high-definition candid photo taken at the airport. No thick glasses. No dark, muddy skin. Her skin was flawless, her features sharp and picturesque. A straight nose, naturally pink lips. It was her. And yet, it was entirely not her. This was Avery. This was the wife he had brought home for three years, yet had never truly seen. Connor’s pupils contracted violently. He stared at the photo, then rapidly scanned the text below detailing her mother’s tragic history and the psychological analysis of why she had hidden her face for so many years. His heart felt like it was seized by an invisible, crushing hand. The command center was dead silent. Every officer held their breath, watching their usually unshakable, stoic commander display a look of near-blank, absolute shock for the very first time. “Pause the exercise.” He grabbed the briefing and strode out of the command center without looking back.

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When I found out my husband had been assigned to work out of state for another seven years, I made the long trek to visit him. Upon arriving at his job site, I was stopped by an older security guard. When he heard I was looking for Arthur, his face drastically changed: “What are you looking for my son-in-law for?” I felt like I had been struck by lightning. Maybe it was just someone with the same name. But a worker chatting nearby laughed: “Mr. Miller, what are you panicking for? Everyone for miles around knows Arthur is totally whipped by his wife.” “Anyone else might fool around, but not your son-in-law.” He jutted his chin toward me: “She’s probably just someone sent from corporate for work.” I feigned composure and pulled up a photo of Arthur on my phone: “I have some business to discuss with him. Is this the Arthur you’re talking about?” The security guard relaxed his guard: “Yep, that’s my son-in-law.” The blood froze in my veins. A short while later, a well-dressed woman approached me with a bright smile: “You’re here to talk business with my husband?” “Let’s go wait at the house. Our son has a fever, so he took him to the hospital in the city.” … It felt like a thunderbolt had struck me. I stared at the woman in front of me, feeling like I was suffocating. Seeing me frozen, the woman enthusiastically beckoned me: “I’m Arthur’s wife, Chloe Miller. Just call me Chloe.” She was very friendly, a constant smile on her face, waving for me to follow her: “It’s all rough guys out here, and every one of them is a creep. It’s not safe for a woman to be out here alone.” “Come wait at my house. He won’t be back for a while.” As she spoke, she familiarly grabbed my arm. As if possessed, I followed her footsteps. I quietly assessed this woman out of the corner of my eye. Her skin wasn’t great, and her makeup skills were poor, with foundation caking around the corners of her eyes. But I could still tell she was easily more than ten years younger than the 37-year-old Arthur. “Oh my, you city folks really are different. Your skin is so good, smooth like a peeled hard-boiled egg.” She stared openly at my face. Her eyes filled with envy: “My husband has skin just like yours, so soft and smooth.” She smiled warmly and casually: “Looks like the city water and environment really do nourish people.” I forced out a strained smile, pretending to be unbothered. She wasn’t wrong. Both Arthur and I had the kind of skin that was naturally clear and smooth. Even though I was significantly older than her, because I took good care of myself, I still looked like I was in my early twenties. I certainly didn’t look like a middle-aged woman who had been married for 12 years. But what did that matter? Even though I was pretty, had a good job, and took care of both the elderly parents and our child… My husband still stabbed me in the back by keeping a second family behind my back. She was very chatty, talking endlessly. A couple riding a motorcycle approached us and stopped when they passed. The woman on the back of the motorcycle handed Chloe a bag of roasted chestnuts: “Look how much your husband thinks about you. He took the kid to the doctor, but still remembered you like chestnuts and asked me to bring you a bag.” Chloe smiled, used to the attention: “He just worries too much.” I deliberately interjected: “Your husband treats you really well.” The woman on the motorcycle chimed in: “He doesn’t just treat her well, it’s beyond that. If she tells Arthur to go east, he wouldn’t dare go west.” “Arthur isn’t afraid of anything, except Chloe glaring at him or shedding a tear!” Chloe’s smile remained casual: “Oh stop teasing me, Mary.” A sour, bitter feeling surged in my heart. It felt like God was playing a massive, cruel joke on me. My highly educated husband, who demanded equality in every aspect of our marriage, was actually acting like a whipped husband for someone else. We arrived at Chloe’s house. Although it was in a rural area, it didn’t look like a typical rural house at all. It was a very chic, modern, country-style villa. “My husband built this. Nice, right? It’s the only one like it in our town. He’s also the first son-in-law to move into the wife’s family home here.” My heart skipped a beat, shocked by the concept of him “moving into the wife’s family home.” Entering the living room, I immediately saw a family portrait hanging on the wall. A family of six, everyone smiling brightly. There was a 5-year-old boy and a girl around 3 years old in the picture. We had a family portrait just like this in our living room back home. Except, we only had one 10-year-old son, no daughter. The year he was assigned out of state by his company, he confidently held my face and said: “Honey, trust me. Two years max, and I’ll find a way to transfer back.” “When I get back, if your health permits, we’ll have a second child. And our family will never be separated again.” But he ended up being gone for 7 years. Aside from coming home for a few days around the holidays, he was practically a ghost year-round. Last year when he visited, I even expressed my regret to him about not having a daughter. Uncharacteristically, he replied: “The economy is bad right now. Smart young people aren’t having kids anymore.” “We have one son, and that’s great. Why put ourselves through the hardship of having a second one?” It turned out his mindset hadn’t changed; he just already had a son and a daughter elsewhere. “We have Wi-Fi. You can connect to it so you don’t use up your data.” “The password is 110913. My husband specially set it as my birthday.” She said this with a smile as she brought me a cup of tea. My heart jolted again. Arthur had told me there was no internet or cell reception in this mountainous area. So every time, it was him finding a way to contact me; I could never reach him. I opened my phone and connected to Chloe’s Wi-Fi. Full signal. Lie after lie was unraveling before my eyes, each one a knife stabbing into my heart. I pretended to be calm and asked: “You guys seem to have a great relationship. I heard he’s an out-of-state transfer. Aren’t you worried he might be transferred back?” Chloe kept her smile: “Not worried. To be honest, my husband almost did get transferred back this time.” My heart tightened as I listened closely to her next words. “My husband called in a lot of favors just to stay here.” “He’ll probably be able to stay for another 7 years. Once all the projects here are finished, my husband said he’d rather quit than go back.” My heart felt like it had been violently thrown to the bottom of a cliff. So it wasn’t the company forcing him to take another out-of-state assignment; he had applied for it himself! Even though he knew his mother was hospitalized with a stroke and his father had broken his leg, and they needed their son by their side. Even though his son had cried time and time again, suffering because he rarely got to see his dad. Even though he knew I, his wife, was exhausted managing both work and the household, to the point of being hospitalized for fatigue several times. He still had the peace of mind to live a carefree life thousands of miles away with another woman. A chill washed over me, making my shoulders tremble slightly. Chloe thought I was cold and immediately turned on the AC: “It’ll warm up in a bit. The AC my husband bought me is a top brand.” Even while she was being accommodating, she always found a way to brag about Arthur’s love for her. “In our town, no one has AC, only my house does. Actually, AC costs a lot in electricity, and I didn’t want to install it, but my husband insisted. He said he was afraid I’d be cold in the winter.” I kept a forced smile on my face and asked indirectly: “I feel like he’s quite a bit older than you. Is this his second marriage?” “He’s 10 years older than me, but it’s not his second marriage. It’s just me scoring a huge catch.” The smile on Chloe’s face grew even more blissful: “God has been good to me, letting someone like me with only an elementary school education find a guy with a master’s degree.” “He’s the project manager sent here to develop the area, practically the boss’s right-hand man. I never dreamed I could be the wife of such a capable man.” “My husband also says the luckiest thing that ever happened to him was meeting me.” She kept chattering on: “Actually, having an age gap is nice. He knows how to take care of me. My husband isn’t just responsible at work; he’s responsible for the family too.” “He gives me every single penny of his salary every month. I only give him two hundred bucks back for cigarette money.” Bitterness churned in my stomach. All these years, Arthur would send exactly three thousand dollars back home every month. He said his room and board were covered here, and a hundred bucks was enough for his personal expenses. Their company’s accountant was my college roommate. I knew for a fact his monthly take-home pay was over thirty-one thousand dollars. I tested the waters: “With his high salary, he can definitely provide a good life for the family.” “Yeah, that’s why I say I found a treasure. Not only is he good to me, he’s even better to my parents.” “My mom has a bad back.” She pointed to the expensive massage chair next to the sofa: “That massage chair cost over two thousand dollars. He bought it without blinking an eye.” “My dad likes to drink. He buys cases of liquor that cost hundreds of dollars a bottle.” “He also gives me five thousand dollars every month to spend however I want.” Hearing this, I was certain Arthur was embezzling and taking bribes. The bitterness in my heart was like raw gall, and my heart ached for his parents. Three months ago, my mother-in-law was critically ill from a stroke. I cried outside the emergency room while calling him: “Arthur, you have to come back. Mom is in resuscitation. She keeps murmuring that she wants to see you.” But he lied to me, saying: “It’s been hard on you, honey. The project is at a critical stage; I really can’t get away.” “Mom will be fine. Heaven protects the good.” There were so many times when I was panicked, helpless, my legs so weak I could barely stand. His phone would either not connect, or he wouldn’t come back. He showed zero concern for his own family, completely ignoring his parents and child. Yet he played the role of a good husband, a good father, and a good son-in-law in another family. It was incredibly ironic and soul-crushing. Chloe’s phone rang. She didn’t try to hide it from me. The volume was loud enough that sitting next to her, I heard every word clearly. He called her: “Honey.” The gentle tone of his voice was exactly the same as when he called me. “Our son’s fever hasn’t gone down yet. The doctor says we need to stay overnight for observation.” “I don’t have enough money on me. Honey, can you transfer me some? Thirty bucks should be enough.” I sneered inwardly. He really is the picture of a dedicated family man. Chloe smiled and said: “Got it. I’ll transfer it to you in a bit.” On the other end, Arthur worriedly reminded her: “I won’t be able to hold you to sleep tonight. You have to be a good girl and go to sleep. Make sure you cover yourself with the blanket so you don’t catch a cold.” “Being away from you for even one day makes my whole body feel off.” These words were like sharp swords stabbing directly into my heart. In our 12 years of marriage, we only had this kind of intimate sweetness in the first few years. Now, he didn’t even show this much care for our own son. Time had turned us into an old married couple. And now it had turned us into the most familiar of strangers, drifting further and further apart. She hung up the phone. Chloe looked at me with a smile. Just as she was about to say something, she remembered: “Oh right, I forgot to ask your name.” “Stella Thorne.” “That’s a beautiful name. City folks really know how to pick names.” She maintained her chatty, enthusiastic demeanor. Up until this moment, I still believed it. That she was highly likely an innocent woman being kept in the dark, just like me. “By the way, my husband won’t be back today. Why don’t you stay over? When he gets back tomorrow, you guys can talk business.” I agreed. That evening, Chloe cooked a table full of delicious dishes, a good mix of meat and vegetables. I met their daughter, whose features strongly resembled Arthur’s. Chloe’s parents weren’t as enthusiastic toward me, just superficially polite. They even looked at me with a bit of wariness, acting slightly strange. At the dinner table, the person they brought up the most was Arthur. In their mouths, Arthur wasn’t a son-in-law; he was a biological son. Chloe was an only child. In this remote area where boys were heavily favored, the old couple had never been able to hold their heads high their entire lives. It was Arthur’s arrival, becoming the son-in-law who moved in with them, and treating them with the filial piety of a biological son. That finally allowed them to straighten the spines they had kept bent their whole lives. Chloe’s mother said: “Arthur is the pillar of our family. Our family couldn’t survive without him.” It felt like a thorn had been lodged in my throat, impossible to pull out. He didn’t support the roof of his own house, instead supporting someone else’s, year after year. When it was time for bed, Chloe put me in the guest room next to her parents’ room. After turning off the lights, I couldn’t fall asleep for a long time. I listened to Chloe’s parents whispering in the next room for a very long time. After much deliberation, I still sent a whistleblowing letter and video to the headquarters of Arthur’s company. I also sent a message to my brother, who was a police officer: “It’s going to be a hassle, but you need to come arrest Arthur. He broke the law.” These two decisions didn’t relieve my anger, but they were the only way to answer for my life. It was also the punishment he deserved. The next morning. Chloe brought me her clothes to wear, afraid I’d mind, she specifically added: “My husband just bought this for me. I only washed it once, haven’t even worn it.” “It’s pretty cold here, and you’re dressed a bit thin, you’ll freeze.” I looked at the down jacket she brought over. A long, pure white, fitted coat from a designer brand, costing nearly six hundred dollars. I had looked at it all winter but couldn’t bring myself to buy it, adding it to my cart and deleting it several times. It wasn’t that I couldn’t afford it, but I had elderly parents and a young child to support. I always had to budget my spending. In the past, I had also complained to Arthur: “Other husbands buy clothes for their wives. I’ve been with you for so many years, and I’ve never seen you buy me anything.” He always smiled warmly and said: “The money is all with you. You can buy whatever you want.” “I’m afraid you won’t like what I pick, and I don’t know how to pick women’s clothes anyway.” It turns out he didn’t lack the ability to pick; he just didn’t want to pick anything for me. “Thank you.” I took the coat and put it on. It was beautiful and warm. She paused, a second of surprise flashing in her eyes, unexpected that I hadn’t politely declined. During breakfast, I listened again to her endless chatter showing off their affection. She also asked me what life was like in the city. She even asked: “How’s your life?” I gave a faint smile and answered truthfully: “It’s alright, just that my man doesn’t know how to dote on his wife as well as yours does.” She grinned happily. Finally, noon arrived. The door was opened from the outside, and Arthur’s familiar voice came through: “Honey, I’m home.” Chloe and I stood up from the sofa at the same time and looked at him. “Which wife are you calling ‘honey’, husband?” I asked him, my face cold.

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The display shelf in my living room was empty. I stood in the living room dragging my suitcase, my hand still gripping the handle. I had been away on a business trip for seven days. When I left, the shelf held twelve Yixing clay teapots, six tea sets, and a pair of blue-and-white porcelain vases. Now—there was nothing. The dust was still there, but the items were gone. I put down my suitcase and walked towards the bedroom. The door to the walk-in closet was open. My row of designer bags—three Chanels, two Hermès, and a vintage leather handbag my mom left me—all gone. My phone chimed. A text message: Your package has been delivered. I hadn’t shipped any packages. I opened the shipping app and went to “Shipping History.” Fifty orders. Over the past seven days, fifty boxes had been shipped from this address. I scrolled down. Recipient: David Miller. My brother-in-law. The note section on the last order read just three words— “The rest of the books.” Our home office had over two thousand books. I put down my phone and walked to the doorway of the office. The bookshelves were empty. Only the nails remained. 1. I didn’t go into the office. I turned around and walked through every room in the house. The living room: The display shelf was empty, the speakers under the TV cabinet were gone, the floor lamp in the corner was gone, the clay teapots on the tea table were gone. The tea table was still there. The teapots were gone. Like a skeleton picked clean of its meat. The master bedroom: The walk-in closet was mostly cleared out. My bags, jewelry boxes, and that mink coat were all gone. Not a single thing belonging to my husband, Mark Miller, had been touched. The guest bedroom: The air conditioning unit had been uninstalled and taken away. The air conditioning unit. I stood at the doorway of the guest bedroom looking at the hole in the wall. The copper pipes had been cleanly severed, cut with professional tools. She had even called someone in to uninstall the AC. My daughter’s room. I pushed the door open. The piano was gone. That Yamaha grand piano cost $55,000. My daughter had been taking lessons for four years, practicing for two hours every day. The piano bench was still there, the music stand was still there, the metronome was still on the desk. The piano was gone. Four deep indentations on the hardwood floor, perfectly square. I squatted down and pressed my fingers against the indentations. Cold. I stood up and walked to the balcony. The plants on the balcony were also gone. Twelve pots of orchids. I had raised them for six years. The pots were still there. The soil was still there. The flowers were gone. Even the flowers. I walked back from the balcony to the living room and stood in front of the empty display shelf, and started counting. The items on the display shelf. The books in the office. The bags and jewelry in the closet. The AC in the guest room. My daughter’s piano. The orchids on the balcony. The speakers and lamp in the living room. This wasn’t “taking a few things.” This was moving out. Emptying my home. I took out my phone and reopened the shipping app. Fifty orders. Shipping times ranged from Monday to Sunday, six to eight orders every day. Monday: eight orders. Tuesday: seven orders. Wednesday: eight orders. Thursday: six orders. Friday: seven orders. Saturday: eight orders. Sunday: six orders. Shipping every single day. Every day. How did she manage it? The day I left for my business trip was an early Monday morning flight. She started on Monday. I called Mark. It rang five times before he picked up. “You’re back?” “Where are the things in the house?” “What things?” “The things on the display shelf. The books in the office. My bags. Our daughter’s piano. The speakers in the living room. The orchids on the balcony. The AC in the guest bedroom.” Silence. “Mark.” “…Mom said she wanted to declutter.” “Declutter? Fifty boxes shipped to your brother’s house is called decluttering?” More silence. A longer silence. “I didn’t know there was that much.” I hung up the phone. I stood in the middle of the living room and slowly turned in a circle. Where a painting used to hang on the wall, a nail was exposed. The hook was still there. The painting was gone. I had bought that painting at an art auction for $1,800. I took out a notebook and started writing. It wasn’t about staying calm. It was because I needed to confirm everything, item by item. To confirm exactly how much of my home had been gutted. With every item I wrote down, my grip tightened. By the time I reached the third page, I stopped. The tip of the pen pierced the paper, leaving a hole. Fifty boxes. Seven days. She treated this like a construction project. 2. Early the next morning, my mother-in-law, Helen Miller, called. “Chloe, you’re back? Are you tired? There are some ribs in the fridge, heat them up for yourself.” Her tone was exactly the same as usual. As if nothing had happened. “Mom, the things in the house—” “Oh, I did some tidying up. Keeping some old things around just takes up space, so I gave some to David.” Gave some. Fifty boxes is called “gave some.” “What about the piano? Mia’s piano.” “David’s son, Leo, wants to learn the piano too. Buying a new one is so expensive, and Mia is older now and doesn’t play as much—” “She practices for two hours every day.” “Kids, you know. She’ll stop practicing in a couple of years anyway.” I didn’t say anything. She continued: “We’re all family, don’t be so calculating. David’s financial situation isn’t great. As the older brother and sister-in-law, it’s only right that you help them out.” Only right. I’ve heard those two words for twelve years. The first year we were married, my mother-in-law asked us to provide the down payment for my brother-in-law’s house. “David’s financial situation isn’t great. It’s only right that you help him out.” Twenty thousand dollars. I didn’t say a word and gave it. The third year, my brother-in-law got married. My mother-in-law said the wedding funds weren’t enough and asked us to pitch in fifteen thousand dollars. “We’re all family, after all.” I gave it. The fifth year, my brother-in-law’s son was born. My mother-in-law stayed at his house to help with postpartum care for three months. When I gave birth to Mia, she came for a week, complained her back hurt, and left. The day my postpartum period ended, I got out of bed and heated up oatmeal for myself. The eighth year, Christmas. The gift my mother-in-law gave Leo was an iPad worth five hundred dollars. The gift she gave Mia was a twenty-dollar gift card. In front of the whole family. Mia looked at the gift card and didn’t say anything. On the way home, she asked me, “Mom, does Grandma not like me?” I said, “No, sweetie. It’s the thought that counts.” She said “Oh” and didn’t ask again. That night lying in bed, I told Mark about it. He said, “Mom probably just made a mistake, don’t overthink it.” I didn’t overthink it. The tenth year, I bought my mother-in-law a gold necklace for almost five hundred dollars. She accepted it and smiled very happily. “My eldest daughter-in-law is the most filial.” During Christmas, I saw that necklace around my sister-in-law Linda’s neck. I stared at that necklace for three seconds. Linda smiled and said, “Mom gave it to me, pretty isn’t it?” I said it was pretty. After returning home, I washed the dishes. I washed the dishes for four people. Then I washed the pots. Then I wiped the stove. Then I bagged the trash and took it to the door. Then I returned to the kitchen and dried my hands. There was a streak of dish soap foam on the back of my hand that I hadn’t wiped off. I stared at that streak of foam for a while. It’s fine. It’s not a big deal. Just a necklace. I turned on the faucet and rinsed the foam away. 3. I started looking into those fifty shipping orders. Not looking into the quantity—I already knew the quantity was fifty. I was looking into the weight. Every order on the shipping record had a weight. First order: 70 lbs. Shipping time: Monday morning, 9:17 AM. Second order: 61 lbs. Shipping time: Monday morning, 10:42 AM. Third order: 99 lbs. Note: Fragile items, reinforce packaging. This order was the porcelain. Fourth order: 112 lbs. Note: Oversized item. Fifth to eighth orders: Each order was over 65 lbs. On Monday alone, eight boxes, total weight: 632 lbs. A sixty-three-year-old woman moved 632 pounds of stuff in one day. She couldn’t have moved it alone. I checked the sender’s information. The sender was not Helen. It was David Miller. My brother-in-law came to move it himself. I scrolled down. Tuesday’s sender was also David. Wednesday—Linda. Thursday—David. Friday—Linda. Saturday—David. Sunday—David. The couple took turns coming. Coming to my house. Using my things to pack. Using packing materials bought with my money—yes, my storage room had leftover cardboard boxes and bubble wrap from my online shopping. And then shipping my things to their house. One week. Fifty boxes. A family of three—the mother-in-law directing, the brother-in-law hauling, the sister-in-law packing. Clear division of labor, extremely high efficiency. In my daughter’s room, the spot where the piano used to be was empty. I walked in. Four deep, perfectly square indentations on the floor. I stood next to the indentations for a while. What would Mia think when she came home from school and saw the piano was gone? The first thing she does every day after school is play the piano. She drops her backpack, sits on the bench, plays scales first, then the piece her teacher assigned. Lately, she’s been practicing Mozart’s K. 545. She practiced for two months and just got the first movement smooth. Just yesterday, she sent me a voice message saying, “Mom, I played exceptionally well today, my teacher praised me.” Now the piano is gone. I squatted down and covered one indentation with my palm. The indentation was larger than my palm. So deep that I couldn’t even scratch it smooth with my fingernail. That was pressed down by eight years of weight. Mia started learning the piano at three, now she’s eleven. Eight years. I stood up. I walked to the living room and opened my purchase history. This Yamaha grand piano, $55,000. Bought in 2017. Swiped on my card. I took a screenshot. Then I checked what my mother-in-law had bought for me. I thought about it for a long time. A pair of winter slippers. Last winter. “These slippers are too big for me, you can have them.” In twelve years, the only thing she gave me that I could remember was a pair of winter slippers that didn’t fit her. I bought her a gold necklace, she turned around and gave it to Linda. I bought her a cashmere sweater, the next time I visited she had put it on my brother-in-law. I transferred three hundred dollars to her every month for living expenses, she said “That’s enough, that’s enough,” but I saw she signed Leo up for three extracurricular classes. Mia only took one. Because “the eldest daughter-in-law’s family is well-off, they don’t lack this little bit of money.” I opened the memo app on my phone and started making a list. It wasn’t an impulse. It was because with every item I wrote down, it became clearer to me— In this family, there was never a “we’re all family.” There was only “mine” and “the Millers’.” And I wasn’t considered a Miller. 4. On the third day, I went to the HOA office. To check the security footage. The HOA employee, Jake, knew me. “Ms. Chloe, what are you looking for?” “The security footage at the entrance of my building from Monday to Sunday of last week.” Jake pulled it up. The footage was very clear. Monday morning, 8:50 AM, a white cargo van stopped at the entrance of the building. David got out of the van. Linda got out of the passenger side. My mother-in-law was waiting at the entrance and buzzed them in. 8:55 AM, the three of them went upstairs. 9:03 AM, David came out carrying the first box. 9:07 AM, Linda came out carrying the second. 9:11 AM, David came out hauling the third. One trip every four minutes. They were like professional movers, going back and forth. At noon, they stopped for an hour. Continued at 1:00 PM. Kept moving until 5:00 PM. Eight boxes, moved from morning till night. I watched all seven days of footage. Every day was exactly like this. The cargo van, the same one. David and Linda, the same couple. My mother-in-law directing upstairs, occasionally coming down to bring them water. Seven days. They didn’t rest for a single day. Like they were rushing to meet a deadline. I had Jake copy the footage onto a flash drive for me. Back home, I sat on the sofa in the living room. The sofa was still there. Probably because it was too heavy to move. I opened my laptop and continued recording. I had written three pages before; now I started doing something else—pricing every single item. The clay teapots on the display shelf, twelve of them. The most expensive one was made by a master’s apprentice, $3,800. The cheapest one was $180. I checked the purchase history for each one. Twelve teapots, total price: $12,600. Six tea sets. Two of them were Jian ware, $2,200 a set. The other four sets totaled over $1,500. Total price: $6,300. A pair of blue-and-white porcelain vases. Bought at an art auction, $4,600 for the pair. The books in the home office. Over two thousand of them. It’s hard to calculate a unit price for these, but I remember when we moved in, the moving company charged by weight, and the books alone cost $260 in moving fees. A conservative estimate: over two thousand books, average price $12, that’s $24,000. The bags in the walk-in closet. Three Chanels, two Hermès, one vintage leather handbag. I have the purchase history for the Chanels. A Classic Flap, $8,500. A 2.55 Reissue, $6,800. A Gabrielle hobo, $4,700. Hermès: A Birkin, $17,500. A Kelly, $14,200. That vintage leather handbag my mom left me— I paused. That bag was given to me by my mom before she passed away. She said it was the first genuine leather bag she bought when she was young by saving every penny. It actually wasn’t worth much; the leather was old, and the zipper was a bit stiff. But it was my mom’s. I kept it in the deepest cubby of the walk-in closet. It was also taken. I continued calculating. I couldn’t stop. If I stopped, I wouldn’t want to calculate anymore. AC unit, a 3-ton floor-standing unit, $1,100. Speakers, JBL floor-standing speakers, $2,200. Painting, from an art auction, $1,800. Floor lamp, Italian brand, $900. Twelve pots of orchids, including three premium orchids, one of which was over $800. Piano, $55,000. Mink coat, $6,000. Items in the jewelry box—I made a list: gold, jade, diamond pendants. Totaling over $16,000. This is only the documented part of these fifty boxes. There were also many small items: tableware, cups, ornaments, blankets, towels, kitchen supplies—I couldn’t look up the purchase history for these one by one. But just the part with verifiable receipts already exceeded $175,000. And I had a premonition— These fifty boxes weren’t everything. My mother-in-law had lived in my house for twelve years; there was no way to track how many little things she had taken. But the fifty boxes were out in the open. $175,000 was the minimum figure. And this didn’t even include the home renovations.

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