Category: English

At 11:59 PM, a new post suddenly appeared on the Instagram of Ham Mellark, the celebrated Oscar-winning actor. “Happy New Year, and ‘Hazel’ new year.” It was a seemingly ordinary New Year’s greeting. Yet, the comment section was filled with a sense of lingering heartache. “He put ‘Hazel’ in quotation marks. Even in the new year, are you still thinking of her?” “My ‘Jazel’ ship broke up two years ago. Is there still a chance for them to get back together?” “If you two can just reunite, I’ll do anything!” The post’s popularity soared, instantly hitting the trending topics. #JazelHeartbreak became the top trending hashtag. More and more shipping fans were reawakened, some even flooding my comment section with messages. “Hazel, please look back at Ham Mellark!” “Hazel, your relationship was so strong back then, you even had a joint couple’s account. I don’t believe you two are truly over!” “Can you respond to this trending topic?” I ignored them all, simply folding the advanced stage stomach cancer diagnosis report. A draft obituary, set to auto-post two months from now, sat in my account’s draft box. Let that be the response they’re looking for. 1. My young assistant clutched her phone, casting a cautious glance at me. “Ms. Miller, should we respond to this trending topic?” I let the makeup artist continue patting thick foundation onto my face. “Don’t bother.” After all, in two months, there would naturally be a response. The assistant stood her ground, unmoving. I knew she had more to say. Sure enough, after a moment’s hesitation, she spoke: “Ms. Miller, actually… I was a huge fan of you two as a couple. I still remember your wedding like it was yesterday…” Realizing she had said too much, she quickly stopped herself. “I just wanted to ask, do you truly feel nothing for Mr. Mellark anymore? Not even a tiny bit?” The makeup artist’s movements slowed slightly, as if waiting for my answer too. Scenes from the past flashed before my eyes: from our first meeting on set to the monumental wedding that shocked the entire entertainment industry. I smiled, my voice soft but firm. “No.” “Not a single bit.” The assistant looked somewhat disappointed. The makeup artist said nothing, simply exhaling a quiet sigh. My agent, Serena, pushed open the door and entered then. After a brief chat, she suddenly spoke with a complex tone: “Ham Mellark will also be at tonight’s script reading.” I hummed in acknowledgment. Serena paused, then continued: “If you need some time, I can speak with the director. We can skip tonight’s reading first…” “No need.” I cut her off, patting her hand reassuringly. “I’ll be there on time tonight.” Serena said nothing, and silence filled the room. I looked at everyone’s expressions, feeling a little helpless. Aside from the fact that I was dying, so many years had passed, and I had long moved on. Yet, everyone around me seemed more heartbroken than I was. I smiled, changing the subject. “Alright, for now, I just want to focus on this project.” After finishing my makeup, I went to the restroom and reached up to remove my wig. The woman in the mirror stared back, her head completely bald. The makeup, thick as a mask, was meant to conceal the mottled patches on my face from my illness, making me look like a ghost. But thankfully, I’d always worn heavy makeup since my debut, so no one would notice anything amiss. The only time my makeup was natural was at my wedding to Ham Mellark. Thanks to him, after that grand wedding, my long-maligned public image actually improved significantly. Back then, I thought I had finally overcome rock bottom and ushered in a new beginning. I never imagined it was merely stepping from one abyss into another. 2. At 7 PM, I arrived at the hotel precisely on time. My assistant suddenly rushed over to tell me that the supporting actress with whom I had scenes had been replaced by Iris Lane. Iris Lane, the actress I never got along with. “Wasn’t the casting decided a long time ago?” My assistant looked confused. “Serena asked, and they said… it was the investor’s decision.” She paused, then lowered her voice. “They also hinted that it might be because we’ve been ignoring Mr. Mellark on social media, making him angry…” Hearing that, I twitched the corner of my mouth. All these years, Ham Mellark hadn’t changed one bit. To make me compromise, he’d pull out all the stops, even if it meant hurting me. I took a deep breath. As I pushed the door open, everyone’s gaze instinctively turned in one direction. The man sat in the corner, thick script in his finely boned hands. The atmosphere hung heavy for a moment, then, with unspoken understanding, everyone averted their eyes. In the latter half of the script reading, I went to the balcony for some air. As I walked out, I saw Ham Mellark standing there. Seeing me, he nonchalantly put out the cigarette in his hand. I politely apologized. “Excuse me, I didn’t realize anyone was here. I’ll leave immediately.” Just as I turned, my arm was grabbed. “Been avoiding me for two years, still not enough?” Without thinking, I shook off his hand. Ham Mellark frowned, his tone chilling. “Hazel Miller, I told you, my patience is limited.” “If you keep this up, I’ll make you disappear from Hollywood for good!” I certainly believed he had that power. Hadn’t he almost succeeded back then? Endless scandals, trending topics that couldn’t be suppressed. I didn’t look at him, walking off the balcony without a backward glance. Just as I entered the restroom, a sudden metallic taste filled my throat. I vomited a large mouthful of fresh blood, my crimson lips making me look even more like a hanged ghost. A tissue was handed to me. I turned, meeting my assistant’s red-rimmed eyes. “Ms. Miller, let’s not do the reading, okay?” “Let’s go back and rest…” I was about to refuse when my assistant suddenly choked out, “I saw Mr. Mellark yelling at you. You’re already like this, and you still have to put up with this outside. Didn’t he love you the most back then? Why is he treating you like this too?” “Ms. Miller, why did you two break up back then?” I looked at her. After a long moment, I reached out and gently ruffled her hair. It wasn’t surprising she felt so heartbroken. Ham Mellark’s love for me back then had indeed been passionate and extravagant. He showered me with countless resources, elevating me from an unknown talent to a hugely popular star. Then, at the peak of my fame, he married me, openly declaring to the entire industry that he was my rock. Everyone said I was lucky, that Ham Mellark was my good fortune. If Ham Mellark hadn’t fallen for another girl, perhaps we would have been very happy. No arguments, no divorce. We might have had a beautiful baby, and my illness would still have been treatable. Alas, there are no ‘ifs.’ 3. My memory of Clara Belle isn’t very vivid anymore. I only recall first hearing her name when Ham Mellark complained, brows furrowed. He said this young actress had no talent and was stubborn, probably a troublesome signing. Gradually, he started saying Clara’s progress was slow but she was diligent enough. “Her parents passed away early; she’s been struggling on her own until now, she’s a pitiful soul.” I paused mid-bite, instinctively looking up at him. I remembered how Ham Mellark’s affection for me had begun—he pitied my struggles. He started pouring massive resources into Clara Belle. I casually asked if he was giving Clara too much attention. Ham Mellark smiled, pinching my cheek. “Hazel, I just think she’s like you in your early years, that’s why I want to help her.” The affection in his eyes was so genuine, I believed him. Until he gave a role I had worked so hard to get to Clara Belle. I confronted him, asking Ham Mellark why. He, however, looked at the papers in his hand, not even raising his head. “It’s just one role, don’t be so petty.” I wanted to say it wasn’t about being petty; this role was one I had immersed myself in over several sleepless nights. But Ham Mellark cut me off. His tone was cold, his eyes showing impatience. “You’ve already achieved so much. What’s wrong with giving some opportunities to younger people?” “Your journey wasn’t easy either. Why can’t you empathize with others?” The very empathy he once felt for my struggles now became a blade he used against me. My body trembled, fighting back tears, as I argued fiercely with Ham Mellark. Until I pulled out my phone, intending to delete the couple’s account we had managed together for five years. Ham Mellark, his face dark, stopped me. He called the director, telling him to give my original role back. After a moment of polite conversation, he suddenly changed his tone. “Isn’t the supporting role in this series still open?” “Give it to Clara Belle. She’s more suited for a resilient and strong character like that.” With that, he didn’t look at me again, turned, and stormed out of the office, slamming the door so hard it echoed. For the next week, we worked as usual, maintaining appearances. We continued to hold hands, attending various galas together. But the moment we were out of public view, Ham Mellark would immediately let go of my hand, as if I were something unclean. His schedule also became a secret from me; sometimes, I couldn’t reach him for a whole week. I updated our couple’s account every week. Fans commented below: “Why are all these photos from last month? Haven’t you taken any new ones recently?” I didn’t know how to reply. Because I hadn’t seen him in a month. That day, I went to Ham Mellark’s agent for the first time, begging him for half a day to disclose Ham Mellark’s itinerary. I immediately rushed over by car. All the way there, my heart pounded inexplicably fast. When I got out of the car, the strap of my high heel suddenly snapped, and my ankle immediately swelled up. I endured the pain, limping as I opened the door to Ham Mellark’s hotel room, where he was supposedly resting. In the dim, ambiguous light, Ham Mellark and Clara Belle were tangled on the bed, their clothes disheveled. The sounds rose and fell, crawling into my ears like insects. But in that instant, my love, my future, the fans who deeply loved the ‘Jazel’ pairing—all of this overshadowed my heartbreak and fury at being betrayed. I backed out of the door, separating myself and the paparazzi who had secretly followed me from their space of pleasure.

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To help her assistant, who was evading taxes, my boss’s wife deliberately perjured herself, shifting the blame onto me. I was left speechless, punished by law, and detained for two months. After my release, I was ostracized by outraged colleagues, and my prospects for promotion were ruined. Seeing my quiet acceptance, my wife thought I had finally become compliant and announced a grand wedding to make it up to me. However, during the wedding vows, the assistant, consumed by jealousy, ran to the company rooftop, threatening suicide if my wife didn’t cancel the wedding. My wife, who had always indulged his every whim, panicked. She abandoned everyone at the wedding, publicly fleeing to comfort her assistant all night. Afterward, she calmly explained to me. “Bob is young and impulsive; I was just afraid something might happen to him.” “Besides, he helped a lot with your early release. Strictly speaking, he’s your savior, and I couldn’t just abandon him.” I looked at the couple’s rings, newly placed on her finger, and simply hummed, saying nothing. My wife, believing I had accepted her excuse, was quite pleased and, for the first time ever, promised to take me on a honeymoon trip once she had appeased her assistant. But she seemed to forget. She had already signed the divorce papers, and I had filed a lawsuit with the court for a case review. From then on, we were no longer husband and wife. Just plaintiff and defendant. 1. The day after my wife, Scarlett Willow, fled our wedding, the company chat group was still buzzing with discussions about the events. Even at work, I received numerous pitying glances from colleagues. “What do you think? After such a huge shock, how will Nathan Stone retaliate this time? Will he cause a scene at the company with Scarlett? Or will he put up banners cursing Bob Barclay?” “Probably not, I saw he was pretty calm even after Scarlett ran away from the wedding yesterday.” “Maybe he was in there for three months and is afraid Scarlett will divorce him, so he doesn’t dare to stop her anymore.” As I walked into the office, several colleagues were roaring with laughter. They fell silent when I entered. In the past, I would have been angry, but now, I said nothing, pretending not to hear, and in the midst of their intense stares, I sat down at my desk. They were right; three months in prison had smoothed out my rough edges. Moreover, I had mentally prepared for their mockery. Everyone in the company knew about the scandalous relationship between Scarlett, her assistant Bob Barclay, and me. Scarlett and I had been together since college, our relationship always strong. After graduation, I excelled and was offered a high-paying job at the company, while Scarlett, with her mediocre qualifications, struggled to find work. It was I who pulled strings to get her hired. I stayed up until dawn helping her with tasks she couldn’t do, and I went out of my way to fix her mistakes. Later, during an internal promotion, I even voluntarily gave up my spot for her. No matter how tired or exhausted I was, seeing her happy made everything feel worthwhile. But two years ago, Scarlett risked being fired to exceptionally hire Bob Barclay, who didn’t even qualify for an interview. Her excuse to me back then was that seeing him reminded her of her past self. Even though I was annoyed, to help her, I personally and diligently trained Bob until he could work independently. I didn’t expect Bob to be grateful, but I never imagined I’d overhear him complaining to Scarlett, accusing me of constantly suppressing and insulting him. I couldn’t help but confront him, but Scarlett said I was guilty and, without any investigation, demoted me. After that, she targeted me everywhere for Bob. She’d dump Bob’s responsibilities on me; she’d put Bob’s name on designs I had painstakingly created; she even asked me to drive two hours in winter to buy Bob’s favorite breakfast. I thought she was just confused for a while. But who knew, during this tax audit, Scarlett, to protect him, colluded with other colleagues to report me, pinning the blame on me. She even used her status as my wife to plant false evidence in my room beforehand. Faced with this sudden betrayal, I was utterly speechless. During my three months of detention, she only visited me once. She said she would never divorce me. I thought she still had feelings for me, but who knew it was just to make me give up and not involve Bob. I scoffed at the thought. My phone chimed with a message; I opened it to find it was from the lawyer I had contacted earlier. “The picture you sent last night is crucial evidence, but the file is too fragmented. The agency says it will take three days to restore it to its original state.” “However, other evidence is already conclusive. If you’re in a hurry, we can file the lawsuit now.” It was just an ordinary message, yet I gripped my phone tightly, my knuckles turning white. After my release, I stayed by Scarlett’s side, putting aside our past grievances. She thought I was too scared to divorce her, that I had learned my place. But she didn’t know that every single day and night, I was searching for evidence to prove my innocence. Now, finally… I exhaled deeply, my voice firm. “No hurry, set the lawsuit date for three days from now.” “No matter the cost, no matter the price, this lawsuit must be won.” The lawyer was momentarily stunned, then stated solemnly: “Upholding justice is our mission. The law will not let any innocent person suffer injustice, nor will it let any criminal go unpunished.” After hanging up, I was about to turn off the screen when Bob Barclay sent a message. I opened it and saw a picture. He and Scarlett were in the kitchen. Scarlett wore an apron around her waist, her head bent as she cooked. Bob playfully pressed his cheek against hers, an intimate pose. Scarlett’s lips curved slightly, seemingly enjoying his closeness. But before, if I even lightly touched her, she would push me away with extreme disgust, saying she hated physical closeness with men. Now it seems she didn’t hate men, just me. “With one call from me, Sister Scarlett abandoned the wedding and stayed with me all night. Brother Nathan, you’ve been married to Sister Scarlett for five years, and she’s never been that attentive to you, has she?” His tone was as proud and provocative as ever. I knew he was doing it on purpose. Before, I had complained to Scarlett about him, but she wouldn’t even look at it. Instead, she’d impatiently ask if I had provoked Bob, otherwise, why would he pick on me and not others? She said she wouldn’t interfere in our “men’s disputes,” but after I angrily retaliated against Bob, what followed was Scarlett’s reprimand. She’d blame me for making a big deal out of nothing, accusing me of being petty and easily provoked by a single sentence. I scoffed, intending to ignore it, but then I noticed that if I didn’t reply, Bob would keep sending more photos. I saved each one and forwarded them to the lawyer as supplementary evidence. Then I blocked and deleted him. Less than two minutes later, Scarlett’s call came through. “Nathan, did you unfriend Bob?” As soon as I answered, Scarlett questioned me with a tone of disgust. “What’s gotten into you? Don’t you know this kind of behavior is childish? Don’t forget, you and Bob still have to work together in the future. You unfriended him, are you not going to handle work anymore?” I said nothing. Whatever I said was wrong, whatever I did was wrong. Scarlett, however, took my silence as guilt, and her tone became even more aggressive: “Apologize to Bob, add him back, and I can let this go.” “Sister Scarlett, no matter what, Brother Nathan is your boyfriend. It’s not right for him to apologize to me. I’ve already forgiven him, so let’s just drop it.” Before I could speak, Bob said, his voice tinged with grievance. He seemed to be speaking up for me, but I knew he was trying to provoke. Indeed, Scarlett scoffed. “So what if he’s my boyfriend? I’m always fair; I don’t play favorites. I’m just afraid some people use the excuse of being a boyfriend to act recklessly.” “Nathan, I’m asking you one more time, do you know you were wrong?” I smiled: “Yes, I know I was wrong.” Wrong for not seeing through her sooner, for not returning her to Bob Barclay sooner. But before I could speak, Scarlett hummed in satisfaction: “Knowing you’re wrong is enough. Considering you’ve just been released from prison and might still be a bit disoriented, Bob and I won’t pursue this.” “Bob also helped a lot with your release this time. No matter how you look at it, you owe him an apology.” “No need to be so polite, Sister Scarlett, it’s what I should do.” “You’re just too kind. But, I’ve made up my mind on this, don’t refuse again.” “…” The two of them went back and forth, giving me no room to interject, and then Scarlett hung up. And I quickly realized Scarlett’s decision. It was her taking twenty thousand from my card and transferring it to Bob Barclay without my authorization. 2. When Scarlett Willow agreed to marry me, I gave her my bank card PIN to show my sincerity. I silently approved of her using my card, thinking we were a family, and besides, as a man, I should contribute more to our home. Initially, she only bought our daily necessities, but later, seeing my indifference, she started buying herself designer clothes, luxury bags, and cosmetics costing hundreds, even thousands. My monthly salary was thirty thousand, but by mid-month, my bank card would only have a few cents left, not even enough for a meal. I couldn’t help but mention it to her twice, and Scarlett, in a fit of pique, accused me of being stingy with money, declaring she would no longer rely on me and would become a “strong independent woman.” Later, she did stop extravagant spending, but I noticed that she still had fixed expenses of twenty thousand every month. It wasn’t until recently that I discovered it was for gifts for Bob Barclay. Scarlett told me to save money diligently, not even allowing me to buy underwear that cost ten dollars for three pairs, yet a pair of socks she bought for Bob cost three hundred. She preached frugality, while I patched up a pair of cheap market shoes for two years, she bought Bob two pairs of thousand-dollar sneakers within a month. She also insisted on meticulous planning; she’d even meticulously plan the exact grammage of ingredients for a meal for me, yet she and Bob would spend over ten thousand dollars on a single meal celebrating his birthday. … Thinking about it now, I felt increasingly ridiculous. However, large transfers require personal verification. Soon, Scarlett sent me a message as usual: “Verification code.” I glanced at our past chats. I didn’t know when it started, but the only messages Scarlett actively sent me were these three words. She had even complained that verification codes were bothersome and wanted me to link a sub-card for her use. But I, who had always been compliant with her every wish, for some unknown reason at that moment, was inexplicably prompted to refuse. Thinking back now, perhaps my subconscious self was already trying to save myself. I scoffed, ignored it, and after leaving the company, I first drafted divorce papers, then took the property deed to the nearest real estate agent. The house was purchased outright by my parents as our matrimonial home when we got married, specifically choosing a location Scarlett liked. During the transfer of ownership, to put her mind at ease, my parents even specifically arranged for me to add her name. However, over the years, whenever my parents wanted to stay for a couple of days, Scarlett would still complain, making me tell them I was busy with work. Thinking back now, I really was unfilial. Upon learning I wanted to sell the house, the agent informed me that Scarlett’s signature was still required. I told them I had proof of full payment, and after reviewing it, the agent explained: “This can be used as evidence in court, but if you follow the normal process, both signatures are still needed.” I understood. I couldn’t reveal my intentions to Scarlett just yet. Before going to court, I had to completely sever ties with her. After thanking the agent, I asked for a template of a power of attorney agreement and returned home. I had expected Scarlett to return late tonight, but upon opening the door, I saw her sitting on the sofa, her face grim. Seeing me enter, she cast a cold glance at me. She stood up and walked into the bedroom, slamming the door shut with a deafening bang. This was a ritual after every cold war, and I understood it meant she wanted me to apologize and appease her. Despite my reluctance, I sighed as I looked at the agreement in my hand, and walked to the door. Anyway, I’d apologized so many times; one more wouldn’t hurt. Moreover, this apology would allow me to reclaim the entire house. Thinking this, I pushed open the bedroom door. Before I could even step inside, her usual eyebrow razor was thrown at me. I instinctively dodged, but it still grazed my face, causing a sharp sting. Seeing that she had actually injured me, Scarlett froze for a moment, a complex expression flashing in her eyes. Then, she returned to her usual self. I expected her to make me kneel and apologize again, or transfer some money to appease her, as she used to do. To my surprise, she spoke earnestly for the first time ever. “Nathan, I know you’re still bothered by the wedding, but I explained to you yesterday, Bob is young and impulsive, he really could have done something reckless.” “My going to him was also for your sake. If something truly happened to him, would you really be able to live the rest of your life in peace?” I found it amusing: “Why wouldn’t I be able to?” Scarlett sounded exasperated: “Not to mention he’s still a human life, he’s also our colleague. We’ve been together for so many years, how can we just watch him die?” “Besides, he helped a lot with your release this time. If it weren’t for his connections, do you think you’d have gotten out so quickly?” I found it amusing, like listening to a fantasy. Why didn’t she consider that if it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have gone to prison in the first place? Moreover, my lawyer had told me that under normal investigation, my situation wouldn’t have led to three months of detention. Whether his “connections” were to help me or harm me, no one truly knew. I didn’t tell Scarlett any of this; she wouldn’t believe it anyway. Seeing my silence, Scarlett thought she had convinced me and chuckled. “This time I used your card also to earn some good karma for you. Your imprisonment this time might be because you were too stingy usually, so God couldn’t stand it anymore and made you bleed heavily.” “Do you really think I care about your petty few dollars?” After speaking dismissively, Scarlett noticed the documents in my hand. “What’s that in your hand?” “I’m going to sell this house.” “Sell the house?” Scarlett raised an eyebrow. I was deliberating what excuse to use to persuade her, but then I heard Scarlett cover her mouth and laugh: “So you’ve finally decided to listen to me and sell this one for a bigger house?” “I told you long ago, this house has bad feng shui, and the new development next door isn’t bad. I had someone look at it…” Scarlett chattered on. I realized that before my imprisonment, Scarlett had constantly urged me to sell this house and move to the newly developed property next door. To get me to agree, she’d praise it to high heaven, but I knew she was only doing all this because Bob Barclay was planning to buy a house there, and she wanted to move closer to him. I didn’t correct her; I nodded: “You’re right, I’ll go take care of the paperwork tomorrow.” Before, whenever there was some troublesome paperwork, I was always the one to handle it. So, Scarlett didn’t think much of it and signed the proxy agreement without hesitation. After she signed, I naturally flipped to the last page of the divorce agreement. “Why is this different from the first two documents?” Scarlett noticed the discrepancy and was about to look at the cover. Just then, her phone suddenly rang. She merely glanced at it, and her brows softened into a smile. She lost all interest in looking at the agreement, hastily signing the last page. “Alright, you can go now, I have things to do.” Scarlett waved me away. Even without her saying it, I knew the call was from Bob Barclay. Every night, they would talk for nearly half an hour before bed. I don’t know what they had planned this time, but for the next two days, Scarlett left early and returned late. I no longer kindly inquired, only to be chastised by her for being meddlesome, as I had in the past. This time, I focused on my own affairs. The next day, I went to the real estate agency and submitted the power of attorney agreement. To sell the house as quickly as possible, I listed the price very low. In less than half a day, a buyer viewed the house and closed the deal directly. On the third day, my lawyer informed me that the evidence had been successfully restored, and the court had already begun hearing the case. Everything was set in stone. As soon as the case reopened, all the injustices I had suffered would be returned twofold.

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Working late, pulling an all-nighter for a project, a message suddenly popped up in the “Future Millionairesses Club” chat. “Girls, I snagged four tickets to a ‘Mystery Bachelor Speed Dating’ party! Let’s go!” No sooner had Scarlett sent the message than Melody and Audrey quickly responded: “Count us in! Scarlett’s picks are always top-tier – handsome, rich CEOs, lives of luxury, here we come!” The group chat erupted in cheers. I sighed, glancing at the half-finished project. “My client needs this proposal by noon tomorrow. I’m only halfway done…” The chat fell silent for a moment, then, with unspoken agreement, they changed the subject. By the time I finished the proposal, it was 3:30 AM. I grabbed a quick bite downstairs and collapsed into bed, falling into a deep sleep. My next conscious moment was being jolted awake by a banging on my door. It was the police. “Ms. Huxley, you’re suspected of murder. Please come with us.” 1 My phone vibrated incessantly. I’d set it to do not disturb, then went back to revising the proposal. A few minutes later, Scarlett messaged me privately: “Hazel, the guys at tonight’s party are all incredibly handsome, young, and loaded – absolute bachelors. This is our one shot at a life of luxury! I worked so hard to get these tickets, are you really not coming?” I looked at the proposal, then at the message my boss had sent minutes earlier: “If I don’t get a satisfactory proposal by noon tomorrow, you’re fired.” Sighing, I replied to Scarlett: “I really can’t make it. I can’t gamble my job on something so uncertain.” I finished with two pleading, sad emojis. A life of luxury sounded nice, but I didn’t think I was cut out for it. I was meant to be a diligent worker bee, pouring my sweat and blood into my job, shining for the company. Scarlett’s chat bubble showed “typing…” for a while. Three minutes later, she finally sent just one word: “Okay.” I finally finished the proposal at 3:30 AM. Their last messages in the group chat were from 2:30 AM. I scrolled up through the 99+ notifications, seeing them, clad in their party outfits, getting into taxis headed for a “private luxury yacht” at the harbor. I bought some bread and milk from the convenience store downstairs. After eating, I passed out completely. I was in a deep, dreamless sleep when a loud banging on my door roused me. “What’s going on? An earthquake?” I scrambled out of bed, my mind still foggy, when a stern voice from outside the door spoke. “Is Ms. Huxley home? This is the Elm Street Precinct. We need your cooperation with an investigation.” I slipped on my slippers, my hair a mess, and opened the door to find three or four officers standing outside my apartment. The lead officer was a lean, middle-aged man. Seeing me, he held up his badge. “Ms. Huxley, good morning. I’m from the Elm Street Precinct. My name is Detective Prescott. You are suspected of homicide. Please come with us.” Other residents in the hallway, alerted by the commotion, opened their doors and peered out. “Can you believe it? Ms. Huxley, who looks so harmless, is a murderer?” “Right? You never know! Good thing the police caught her. Living next to a killer, that’s terrifying.” “…” Listening to my neighbors, my brows furrowed deeply. My sleep, interrupted after an all-nighter, left me inexplicably irritable. “Detective Prescott, even the police need evidence to make an arrest, don’t they? Without proof, how can you say I’ve committed murder?” Hearing my words, Detective Prescott gestured to a younger officer behind him. The officer immediately pulled out his phone and displayed several photos. My lingering irritation from being woken up vanished the moment I saw those pictures. A sharp ringing erupted in my ears. The officers kept talking, but I couldn’t hear a word, my gaze fixed on the screen, my eyes welling up with tears. In the photos, Scarlett lay naked, her body covered in countless shattered mirror fragments, amidst a pool of blood. Each fragment reflected her distorted, painful, and despairing face. 2 “Hazel Huxley, please come with us.” Detective Prescott’ expression was grim as he stared at me. The officers behind him watched me warily, as if I might try to flee. But I was fixated on that photograph, tears silently streaming down my face. She was alive and well last night. Why was she a cold corpse today? At the precinct, Detective Prescott sat across from me, his face impassive. “According to our investigation, the deceased’s last phone call was to you. Her last transaction was a transfer to you. And the button clutched in her hand? We found your fingerprints on it. All the evidence at the scene points to you, Hazel Huxley. Do you have anything to explain? For instance, where were you, and what were you doing, between 3 AM and 6 AM?” This was the eighth time Detective Prescott had asked me. I placed my phone on the table, displaying my chat history in the “Future Millionairesses” group. “Detective Prescott, I’ve already told you. Last night, they invited me to a ‘Mystery Bachelor Speed Dating’ party. I declined because I had to finish a proposal at home. Look, at 3:30 AM, I even sent the proposal to my boss.” I switched my phone to my conversation with my boss. The timestamp showed I had indeed sent a version of the proposal at 3:30 AM. “As for after 3:30 AM, once I finished the proposal, I felt a bit hungry, so I went downstairs to the convenience store to grab something to eat. After eating, I was so tired I just went to sleep. I must have fallen asleep around 4 AM. If you don’t believe me, the convenience store downstairs should have surveillance footage. Failing that, you can ask the store owner to testify.” Detective Prescott glanced at my phone. “Half an hour ago, we already checked. The store owner did see you, but he can’t remember what time he saw you last night. And most importantly, the store owner’s surveillance equipment is quite old. The timestamp on his footage from last night shows November 28th, 3:31 PM, but today is only November 23rd. In other words, his equipment can’t prove anything for you.” My only alibi was useless due to incorrect timestamps. A wave of despair washed over me, and I simply gave up. “Since you’ve already decided I’m the killer, why ask so many questions? Just arrest me.” A tense silence fell over the interrogation room. Just as I expected Detective Prescott to make the arrest, he sighed. “It’s precisely because the evidence at the scene is so overwhelmingly conclusive that we don’t believe you’re the killer.” “Then why am I here…?” I didn’t finish my sentence as Detective Prescott’ phone rang urgently. He answered, and whatever he heard caused his face to change dramatically. He suddenly stood up. His chair scraped back, clattering to the floor. “What… what happened?” Seeing Detective Prescott’ uncharacteristic agitation, a premonition of dread settled in my stomach. After hanging up, Detective Prescott looked at me with a complex expression. “Hazel Huxley, I hear you publish a novel on a certain writing website? Are you the author?” “Yes,” I nodded, feeling a pang of anxiety. How could this case be connected to my novel? Just as that thought crossed my mind, Detective Prescott spoke slowly. “Scarlett Price’s autopsy report is back. She died around 4 AM on the 23rd, from massive blood loss and emotional collapse. The wounds on her body were peculiar – shattered glass fragments meticulously embedded in a radial pattern. Doesn’t that passage sound familiar?” He spoke the last sentence softly. As his words hung in the air, he placed his phone in front of me. “Countless shattered mirror fragments embedded in her skin like diamonds, transforming her into a walking kaleidoscope, a vanity dying by her own reflection.” I stared blankly at the line of text, suddenly realizing it was a sentence from my ongoing mystery novel, serialized on that website. The chapter was published at 3 AM on the 23rd. While the content was newly released, I had designed this particular scene three months ago. “Hazel Huxley, think again. Is there anything you’ve overlooked? While we believe you, all current evidence points to you as the killer.” “Right now, only you can save yourself.” 3 Anything I’d overlooked? I stared blankly at the content on Detective Prescott’ phone. I used to be so proud of such a brilliant idea… But now, a single sentence from my novel had seemingly led to the death of my best friend. Slumping in the chair, feeling utterly lost, Scarlett’s horrific death played over and over in my mind, along with her message from last night: “Hazel, the guys at this party are all incredible – handsome, rich, absolute bachelors…” She was still thinking of me, even in her last moments, and yet I had, in some way, caused her death. Guilt and self-reproach washed over me, a dull ache in my chest. I clutched my head with both hands, but nothing came to mind. After finishing work last night, I’d seen them, dressed in their party outfits, heading to the luxury yacht… Right, the luxury yacht… With that thought, I abruptly looked up at Detective Prescott. “They said last night they were going to a luxurious private yacht at the harbor. Maybe that yacht is the key. We should…” “We’ve checked all the surveillance footage around the harbor. There’s no sign of any luxury yacht, nor did we see your friends going to the harbor.” Before I could finish, Detective Prescott poured cold water on my idea. So they were tricked? If they were lured out, it must be murder, premeditated by the killer. Using my novel content was merely a tactic to find a scapegoat. If that’s the case, then… the killer must have read my novel! After I relayed my thoughts to Detective Prescott, he was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, there was a hint of resignation in his tone. “We’ve already had people investigate what you’re suggesting. As you said, your content was set to auto-publish at 3 AM, and Scarlett Price’s time of death was around 4 AM. That means the killer is hiding among the readers who purchased that chapter between 3 AM and 4 AM.” “But after our technical team checked, we didn’t find any unusual accounts.” The lead went cold again. I anxiously picked up and put down my phone several times, then carefully said, “I have a theory. Don’t you think the killer might be murdering people according to the scenarios I publish? If so, then the next two chapters…” “What are the next chapters?” Detective Prescott gave me a peculiar look, as if surprised that a young woman like me could devise such twisted scenarios. I cleared my throat, opened my author dashboard, and showed him the two unpublished chapters. The next two chapters were “The Performer Dies by the Audience” and “The Collector Dies by Their Collection.” Detective Prescott stared at them for a long time, then suddenly stepped out to make a call. Three minutes later, he returned. Detective Prescott wearily massaged his temples, staring at my novel’s content. “If that’s the case, then at 3 AM on the 24th, the killer might strike again.” I nodded. Then I heard him continue, “Since you’re the author, imagine yourself as the victim. How would you escape? Or, think about the loopholes in the scenarios you designed. Perhaps we can use those loopholes to track the killer.” Loopholes? I crossed my arms, leaned back in the chair, my brows deeply furrowed. Loopholes… When I designed this part, it was to grab readers’ attention, creating a twisted serial killer case. This serial killer specifically targeted single women, but each time before striking, he would find an excuse, saying that modern women were hypocritical, materialistic, and greedy… For example, the girl in the story, beautiful and capable, was chosen because the killer had once been rejected by a pretty girl, so he hated pretty girls. Thus, he chose “Death Kaleidoscope” as her method of death, embedding shattered glass into her body, scarring her face, leaving her to die in despair. But this design had a huge loophole. The loophole was… 4 Just as a faint idea formed in my mind, I heard urgent footsteps outside. Immediately, the young officer who followed Detective Prescott knocked on the door. “Chief, new intel.” Detective Prescott pushed the door open and stepped out. Through the door, I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but I saw the young officer’s expression was grim, and upon hearing his words, Detective Prescott’ face completely changed. A few minutes later, Detective Prescott pushed the door open and came back in, his face terrifyingly dark. “Melody Chen is dead.” “What?” I shot up from my chair, looking at Detective Prescott in disbelief. “How is that possible? My next two chapters haven’t even been published yet, how could Melody die? How did she die? Is it like the plot I designed in my novel?” Detective Prescott gravely nodded at me. “Ten minutes ago, our team detected Melody Chen’s account going online. Immediately after, she started a livestream, but by the time the camera focused on her, she had already stopped breathing.” “We dispatched officers to the scene, Melody Chen’s home, but the killer had already escaped. We investigated all surveillance footage in the surrounding area but found nothing. The killer seems intimately familiar with her home’s layout, cleverly evading all cameras.” “And there’s something else peculiar…” Here, Detective Prescott gave me a strange look. “Our team found that all the fill lights at the scene were set to maximum brightness and couldn’t be turned off. And the victim’s phone, computer, backup phone, and four other devices were simultaneously looping a compilation of her past livestream ‘disasters.’” He paused after saying that, then continued, “I recall a line in your novel, where the serial killer, after murdering an internet streamer, said something like this:” “Let the performer be killed by incessant scrutiny in the replay of their own failures.” Seven devices simultaneously playing Melody’s past livestream ‘disaster moments’ exactly matched the content of my novel – letting her die in the replay of her own failures… A chill ran down my spine. It was as if an unseen hand had been laying out this plan long before any of us realized. “Detective Prescott, speaking of loopholes, something just occurred to me…” “What is it?” “I’ve written many mystery novels and designed many killers, but they all share a common trait. All serial killers take photos as mementos of their ‘masterpieces,’ and sometimes even return to the scene. The photos of Scarlett you showed me today, are you certain all of them were taken by your team?” Detective Prescott froze at my words. The person who called 911 this morning was an elderly cleaning woman, wearing a brightly colored cap. Because it was raining, she was also wearing a thick raincoat. When the officers arrived, the cleaning woman was waiting by the entrance, and upon seeing them, she even sent them a photo of the scene: “Young man, you wouldn’t believe it, that young lady bled so much, it was horrifying, take a look…” After sending them the photo, when they tried to find the cleaning woman again, she had vanished without a trace. Now that I thought about it, the cleaning woman’s height and build didn’t seem like a woman’s at all; it was more like… a man’s! So, the person who called 911 this morning could very well be the killer themselves?! Realizing this possibility, Detective Prescott quickly found the photo sent by the “cleaning woman.” He zoomed in frame by frame, and suddenly noticed something in a shattered mirror fragment on the victim’s neck. In that mirror fragment, vaguely reflected was an eye, with a mole at the corner of it. Upon discovering the clue, Detective Prescott immediately called the young officer, but when the call connected, the other party spoke urgently: “Chief, our team found Audrey Stone! She’s alive!”

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At the welcome back dinner, my boyfriend peeled a shrimp for me. His childhood friend pouted beside him: “Brother, why don’t you peel one for me? You’re playing favorites~” My boyfriend’s usually cool face instantly flushed crimson. To ease the awkwardness, I raised my hands and said, “My nails are too long, you see. I’ll let your brother peel one for you in a bit.” At my words, the friend shot me a hysterical glance. “I’m so jealous of Sister Anya for having such long nails. “Unlike me, I have to do housework every day, and I’ve never had a manicure…” 1 The dinner table instantly fell silent. Only the faint clinking of cutlery against porcelain broke the quiet. My male best friend, Chris Donovan, sat opposite me, his brow deeply furrowed. He slammed down the wine glass he had just raised. I, too, let my smile fade, offering no response. Willow’s words were venomous. With Frank Hayes’ intelligence, he could surely discern the hidden meaning in Willow’s statement. After all, when I was abroad, he often shared posts about “green tea” girls in our country. Back then, he’d often tell me that those “green tea” girls were so amateur, he could spot them a mile away. Yet now, after hearing Willow’s words, he merely turned to her and asked: “Why are you still doing housework? Didn’t you say your new job was very busy?” Willow bit her lower lip, her eyes instantly reddening. She lowered her head and said, in a wronged tone: “Frank, you know my family’s situation right now… Mom’s not well, so no matter how busy I am, I have to share the household chores.” She looked up, but avoided my gaze, timidly saying: “Not everyone can enjoy life like Sister Anya. I also want to get a manicure, but circumstances don’t allow it…” The two of them carried on, oblivious to anyone else, enacting a scene of deep childhood friendship. Chris finally couldn’t hold back. He crossed his arms and let out a cold laugh: “Willow, right? If you want to talk about your own misery, just talk about yourself. Why drag Anya into it? “What, Anya’s family is wealthy and she’s pampered? That’s her good fortune. Who are you being passive-aggressive for?” Frank seemed to just realize this was my welcome-back dinner. He turned, his gaze sharply sweeping over Chris. Then he looked at me, finally saying in a low voice to Willow, “Let’s eat first; we’ll talk afterward.” Willow’s tears instantly welled up and fell. “Frank, I didn’t mean it… Do you think I’m being annoying?” “Today was supposed to be Sister Anya’s welcome-back dinner, and you insisted on bringing me along, but I ended up spoiling it for everyone… “I’ll just leave now…” She said, making to stand up. Frank grabbed her wrist, stopping her. Every word she spoke revealed the depth of her relationship with Frank – that he had “insisted” on bringing her. The other girls at the table, all my university classmates, exchanged glances, cautiously observing my reaction. Chris gritted his teeth, ready to stand up and confront them. I reached out and gently pressed his arm. Frank keenly noticed my physical contact with Chris. His gaze instantly turned cold, fixated on Chris’s arm, which my hand was resting on, and he asked me in an unfriendly tone: “Mr. Donovan seems to have a strong opinion about Willow?” I still held Chris’s arm, not letting go. I simply turned to Willow, forcing a smile that held no warmth in my eyes: “How could that be? I think Willow is quite popular.” I paused, then slowly continued: “Yesterday, Frank’s cousin, Aaron, told me he sent you a large bouquet of 99 red roses the day before, and you accepted them.” I watched Willow’s face instantly stiffen, my smile deepening: “You have feelings for him too, don’t you?” 2 I did indeed have Aaron Hayes’ WhatsApp. As a distant branch of the Hayes family, that kid often asked me for favors back in the day. Yesterday, when he asked me about my return date, he casually mentioned that he was aggressively pursuing Frank Hayes’ “pitiful” childhood friend, Willow. Willow’s family and the Hayes family used to be neighbors and were very close. However, after Willow’s father succumbed to gambling, losing all their assets, they moved from the villa district to a resettlement area, and the two families gradually drifted apart. But I never expected that Willow’s connection with the Hayes brothers, Frank and Aaron, had never been severed. It was even this close. I just didn’t know if Frank knew about the bouquet of roses. After speaking, I took a sip of red wine, my gaze over the rim of the glass, glancing at Frank opposite me. He remained calm and unperturbed, as if he hadn’t heard. But his fingers gripping the wine glass were slightly white at the knuckles. My friends beside me reacted quickly, immediately starting to chatter and tease Willow: “Oh my god, 99 red roses? That definitely means he’s pursuing you!” “You accepted the flowers, so something good must be happening soon, right?” “Willow, why didn’t you bring that guy with you today? Did you not invite him?” “Aaron might be a cousin, but he’s quite accomplished in the Hayes family. Willow, you’re so lucky.” They spoke one after another, though their faces held smiles, their words implicitly confirmed Willow’s suspicion of “two-timing.” Willow, being roasted alive like this, finally couldn’t maintain her delicate, pitiful facade. She waved her hands frantically, explaining urgently: “No… no! Those flowers… I thought Aaron had no use for them anymore… “Sister Anya, you’ve misunderstood Aaron. He’s not pursuing me; we’re just like siblings…” She instinctively turned to look at Frank, her eyes full of pleading, but then shifted her attack to me: “I’m so jealous that Sister Anya and Aaron are so close; she’s only just returned and already knows so much about Aaron’s private life.” This tactic of deflecting blame was skillfully executed. Frank, predictably, shifted his scrutiny from her to me. He narrowed his eyes, his gaze holding a mix of inquiry and displeasure: “You and Aaron talk a lot? You were chatting with him before you even landed yesterday?” I put down my wine glass, the glass base clinking sharply on the table. “Are you asking this because you’re jealous of Aaron? Or are you worried I found out something I shouldn’t have?” 3 I majored in psychology abroad. Willow’s previous statement was meant to lure me into a self-incrimination trap. If I explained, “it was just casually mentioned,” or “I don’t contact him often,” then I would become the weak party under interrogation, and by default, I would be agreeing that I needed to report my contacts with other men to Frank. I had to address his motive, not prove my innocence. The moment I asked, Frank was speechless. He probably never expected that I, usually gentle and magnanimous, would be so sharp. Frank and I were introduced by our families, a typical business arrangement. Well-matched in social status, bound by mutual interests. Over the two years we’d been together, though there were no dramatic passions, our relationship was stable and respectful. We were both sensible and polite individuals; our conversations had never been this tense or filled with hostility before tonight. Even when I went abroad to study and he was so busy in the country that he didn’t reply to my messages for three consecutive days, I had never questioned him so boldly. His face kept changing. It was shock, the anger of having his thoughts exposed, and perhaps even a touch of panic at the situation spiraling out of control. Since this fire had already started, I would let it burn brighter. Before anyone could react, I took out my phone and dialed Aaron Hayes directly. The phone rang twice before connecting. “Hello? Sister Anya? What’s up?” Aaron’s nonchalant voice came from the other end. I put it on speaker, and my voice echoed clearly through the private dining room: “Aaron, I’m having dinner at the Pavilion. Your brother and Willow are here too. Since everyone’s here, why don’t you come over?” With that, without waiting for a reply, I hung up. Willow’s face instantly turned ashen, and she looked at Frank in terror. Frank abruptly stood up, his chair scraping against the floor with a harsh sound. He suppressed his anger, growling: “Anya Shen, do you have to do this?! “Do you think things aren’t chaotic enough?!” I leaned back in my chair, arms crossed, watching him calmly: “Since it’s a misunderstanding, calling the person here to clarify face-to-face, how does that make it chaotic? “Or are you afraid that if Aaron comes, some of your little act won’t be able to continue?” 4 Willow finally broke down, covering her face and sobbing softly, as if she had suffered an immense wrong. “Sister Anya… why are you making things so difficult for me… “Can’t I just leave…” Chris scoffed from the side, speaking for me: “It’s just calling Aaron over, how is that making things difficult for you? “Weren’t you happy when you received the flowers? Is it a misunderstanding or not, the person will be here soon to clear your name, why are you crying?” Frank sharply interrupted Chris, pointing at me with a stern tone: “Anya Shen, you’re being overly dramatic! Willow is sensitive; with so many people here, why do you have to make such a scene to embarrass her? “She’s my little sister, whom I’ve grown up with since childhood!” As he spoke, he pulled out his phone, about to call Aaron to tell him not to come. Watching his impatient eagerness to protect Willow, the last trace of warmth in my heart completely froze. “Don’t want to face the situation after he arrives? “Afraid that your self-proclaimed unique position in her heart will be shaken? Or afraid that you’ll discover your deep affection was misplaced?” Frank’s movements stiffened. He narrowed his eyes and looked at me, his gaze icy cold: “What do you mean?” My best friend, Lisa, who had been silent by my side, finally couldn’t hold back. She muttered softly, her voice not loud, yet clear enough for everyone present to hear: “What’s with the act… Six months ago, I accidentally guessed Frank’s social media password, and he had posted private messages there only visible to one person… “Things like ‘waiting for you to grow up,’ ‘my forever knight,’ and so many photos of Willow… terribly ambiguous.” Silence once again fell over the private room. Willow suddenly looked up, denying vehemently: “That’s just because we’re close, Brother has always treated me like a sister!” Frank’s face completely darkened. He stared intensely at me, his eyes filled with disappointment and disgust: “Anya Shen, I never realized how manipulative you are. “You usually act so composed, yet secretly you pry into others’ privacy? And even go through old social media posts?” Lisa stood up, fuming, to explain: “I was just curious and tried it myself; I only mentioned it to Anya. “Anya even spoke up for you then, saying those were things of the past and she didn’t care about your history. How can you be so ungrateful?!” Yes, I really didn’t care about his past. Who hasn’t been young and foolish? Who doesn’t have a childhood friend? I also have my purely platonic best friend, Chris; our relationship is transparent and honest. Moreover, I went to study abroad after Frank and I officially started dating. Before I left the country, Frank had solemnly promised our parents that we were headed for marriage. He said we were well-matched, similar in personality, and the most suitable partners for marriage. Even after I went abroad, despite the time difference, he tried his best to accommodate my schedule. Last Christmas, he even turned down contracts worth tens of millions to fly to London to spend Christmas with me. We held hands and watched fireworks by the Thames. All these good things, I saw and kept in my heart. So I thought I could overlook his past, and I could even tolerate his “sibling affection.” But tonight’s welcome-back dinner completely opened my eyes. If I married him, it would mean constantly having to tolerate Willow, this “sister,” coming between us. Always having to give in to her, always watching her perform, always being held hostage by Frank’s logic of “she’s weak, so she’s right.” The thought of such a life was suffocating. 5 Aaron Hayes arrived even faster than expected. Everyone held their breath, waiting for the show. But the moment the door was pushed open, Frank, as if startled, grabbed Willow’s hand and made to leave. “Let’s go, this meal is impossible to eat.” His face was cold, and he didn’t even spare Aaron a glance as he entered. I remained in my seat, unmoving. Just as he was about to step out of the private room, I spoke coldly: “Frank Hayes. If you take her out that door right now, our engagement can be considered over.” Frank’s footsteps halted. He turned, his gaze icy cold, looking at me as if I were an unreasonable shrew: “Anya Shen, there’s no need to be so aggressive. It’s just a meal, why do you have to make it a life-and-death struggle?” I stood up, walking towards him step by step, my high heels clicking decisively on the floor. It wasn’t until I stood before him that I retorted: “Who am I forcing? Did I make her cry at my welcome-back dinner? Did I make her publicly shame me for not doing housework? Did I make her accept another man’s flowers and then act innocent here?” Perhaps my presence was too intimidating; as I passed the doorway, I accidentally bumped into a waiter who was cautiously entering with a wine cooler. The waiter’s hand trembled, and the red wine bottle tilted. The dark red wine instantly spilled out, landing squarely on Willow’s pristine white dress. “Ah—!” Willow shrieked, shrinking into Frank’s arms. Aaron pushed open the door just in time to see this scene. From his perspective, he only saw me aggressively approaching, and then Willow was splashed with wine. His face instantly turned extremely grim, and he rushed over, asking: “Willow! What happened?!” Willow trembled all over, her voice tearful, yet she didn’t forget to “exonerate” me: “It’s okay… Aaron… Sister Anya didn’t mean it… “Don’t get angry with Sister Anya because of me… It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have come…” With that, she covered her face and made to cry and leave. Frank grabbed her hand, then forcefully pushed me. The force was so great that I stumbled back two steps, nearly hitting the corner of the table. Chris quickly steadied me, roaring, “Frank Hayes, what are you doing?!” Frank pointed at my nose, his eyes filled with disappointment and fury: “Anya Shen, I used to think you were cultured, generous, and gentle. I never imagined you’d resort to such petty tricks! “Publicly splashing someone with wine? Is this the upbringing of your Shen family? I truly misjudged you.” Looking at his righteous, protective demeanor, I suddenly felt utterly nauseated. My stomach churned. I took a deep breath, broke free from Chris’s support, and strode forward. I raised my hand. “Splat—!” A sharp slap echoed through the private room, even overpowering the background music. Frank’s face snapped to the side, a clear imprint of five fingers instantly appearing on his cheek. The entire room was silent. I shook my tingling palm, a cold sneer on my lips: “Misjudged me? Fine, Frank Hayes, that slap was for myself. “Since we’re settling scores, let’s settle them properly.” I stared into his shocked eyes, enunciating each word: “I recall your family’s new energy business in Europe was expanded through my family’s connections, wasn’t it? “It was I who braved a blizzard to run to a factory for you to negotiate when I was studying in the UK, and it was I who helped you connect with several key parliament members. “Since you say you misjudged me, and you think I lack proper upbringing, fine. Since those connections were established by me, I also know how to retract them.” The moment I finished speaking, before Frank could say anything, Aaron beside him got annoyed. He scoffed, his face full of disdain: “Sister Anya, you really think too highly of yourself, don’t you? “Stop using your family’s connections to pressure my brother. If our Hayes family truly had no capabilities, your Shen family’s connections wouldn’t do any good. “Business dealings are mutually beneficial, you think it’s your charity?” No effect? I looked at these arrogant and blind brothers, finding them utterly ridiculous. They must have been in good times for too long, forgetting what true resource barriers were. To actually choose to oppose an engagement, and their own interests, for the sake of this woman, Willow. I smoothed my slightly disheveled skirt, regaining my usual elegance and composure. “No effect, you say?” I scoffed, my gaze sweeping over Frank’s still-stunned face, finally settling on Aaron: “Then let’s test it out.”

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Three years into my cancer battle, I finally couldn’t hold on anymore. Before I found my release, I wanted one last look at the old apartment complex where I’d lived with my parents. I had intended to come quietly, leave silently. But unexpectedly, as soon as I reached the complex gates, I ran into my ex-husband, dressed in a sharp suit. Years had passed, and we had both changed. He had removed the woven bracelet I made for him, now wearing an expensive gold watch. I had shaved off the long hair he loved most, now wearing a hat to hide my bald head. We looked at each other for a moment before exchanging greetings. As we brushed past, Aaron Hayes suddenly called out to me. “Fiona Thorne, are you still angry with me?” I subtly curled my lips, shaking my head. There’s only anger where there’s love. And my love had long since been eroded. I didn’t look back, striding into the apartment complex. The last moments of my life, I wanted to keep for myself. For the once infinitely happy little home I had. 1 In the South, there is no autumn. Mid-October had just arrived, and the wind was already quite cold. I slowly walked to my doorstep. This was the apartment my parents were allocated before they got married. I was born and grew up here. Later, when Dad became the factory manager, we still didn’t move. Only because Aaron lived next door. I knelt down, reaching for the bottom of the flowerpot, but felt nothing. My heart jolted. The next second, strong hands lifted me, my back instantly pressed against a solid chest. Turning my head, Aaron’s face was already close to mine. “Why are your hands so cold?” I abruptly pulled my hand back, stepping away. Aaron stared at me, then pulled a pair of wool gloves from his own pocket. A leaf was embroidered near the cuff of the gloves, the stitching a familiar habit of Olivia’s needlework. I shoved my hands into my pockets, politely declining: “No trouble, I’m not cold.” “You’re usually so afraid of cold hands and chilblains…” Mid-sentence, he saw the embroidery on the gloves and paused. He silently put the gloves away, asking if I had forgotten my keys again. I nodded. Aaron offered to accompany me to the factory office to get a spare key, just like in high school. But we were no longer high school students, nor did we have any reason to go together. Aaron and I should have been strangers. Seeing an old man riding a bicycle in the same direction, I asked for a ride. The uncle readily agreed. After a few pedal strokes, he looked back. He smiled and asked: “Having a lovers’ spat?” “I often see that young man waiting by the door. Look how anxious he is when you get on the bike. Just scare him a bit, okay?” I swallowed the metallic taste of blood in my throat, pulling my coat tighter. “He’s not my boyfriend. We’ve been divorced for eight years.” “He lives there anyway. He’s not waiting for me.” The uncle chuckled awkwardly, then changed the subject. “Young lady, you used to live here too, right?” “Why choose to come back in October? It’s much warmer earlier in the year, you could’ve played by the river, it’s so refreshing then!” I looked back; Aaron had become a blurry little dot. In a blink, he was out of sight. I rubbed the hem of my coat, smiling bitterly: “I had intended to come back sooner.” “But August was for my mother’s funeral, September I was tethered to IV drips… and so it slowly dragged to October.” The uncle apologized, shutting his mouth, his face full of regret. I smiled, patting the uncle’s shoulder, “It’s alright, uncle.” “People are meant to die. I’ve come to terms with it.” After my diagnosis, many people pitied my youth, my lonely, ghost-like existence. But who cared? The day I divorced Aaron, I chewed up and swallowed the word ‘care’. The uncle listened quietly, dropping me off smoothly at my destination. As I thanked him and was about to enter the factory office, the uncle called out to me. His expression was conflicted, and he asked in a low voice. “Miss, why did you and your ex-husband divorce?” “I thought he seemed quite concerned about you. Given your current health, it would be good to have someone caring for you.” I listened calmly, then replied indifferently. “Divorce is usually for the same few reasons, isn’t it?” “I caught him in bed with my best friend.” 2 Aaron and I had known each other for seventeen years. Seventeen years. The red brick apartment complex remained, but the people were unrecognizable. I still remember that year in high school, I forgot my house keys. It was Aaron, who had just moved in that day, who accompanied me to the factory office to get them. The walk, which usually took forever, flew by in a few conversations thanks to Aaron’s company. We went to school together, came home together, spent winter breaks and summer holidays together. The day after our final exams, we held hands. We occupied the most youthful times of each other’s lives. Later, Aaron, whose parents had died young, wanted to ease his grandfather’s burden. During the summer break of his sophomore year, as he was braiding my long hair, he said he was dropping out of college to work. The thought of being separated from him made me run home, heartbroken. For the first time, I begged my father. I told him, I wanted to be with Aaron. Dad finished his tea from the thermos. He stared at me for a long time before asking. “You really can’t live without him?” Wiping my tears, I nodded emphatically. From the first time Aaron accompanied me to the factory office to get the keys. From when he stroked my long hair and said I was beautiful. I was certain that in this life, no matter what happened, I couldn’t be separated from him. Dad sighed deeply, and he and Mom discussed it for a long time. That afternoon, Dad went to the bank, came back with a bag of cash, and knocked on the neighbor’s door. Dad handed the money to Aaron and said, “Getting into college isn’t easy. Don’t worry about the money.” “Just focus on your studies. When you graduate and succeed, you’ll be able to take better care of your grandfather.” Aaron stared at the money in his arms for a long time, until tears streamed from his eyes, and he finally knelt down. He raised three fingers, swearing that he would work hard and repay this kindness by being a loyal servant in the future. Dad pressed down his swearing hand, helping him up. “I don’t need you to be a loyal servant.” “If you and Fiona are truly in love, then treat her well in the future.” Aaron nodded through his tears, promising to treat me well for all eternity. From that day on, we officially became a couple. He was diligent, passing his bar exam in his junior year and interning at the largest law firm in the country in his senior year. After graduation, he won his first difficult case, becoming famous overnight. Suddenly, he was a rising star in the legal world. He also kept his promise. Throughout our relationship, he cherished me, treating me like royalty. The day before our wedding, he looked at me, making a woven bracelet, and asked. “Could you put a strand of your hair in it?” “I want to have you with me wherever I go.” He ran his fingers through my long hair, his eyes shining as he said. “Fiona, I can’t live without you.” I smiled, my heart as sweet as honey. Everyone envied me for having a loving husband. No matter how busy he was, he would take a train from the provincial capital every week to see me. To spend more time with me, he would always buy the earliest ticket for the next day. Even if it meant getting up at four in the morning. Once, I had acute gastroenteritis. I was too weak to get out of bed, and my parents took me to the hospital. When I opened my eyes in the middle of the night, I saw Aaron, who had a court case the next day, sitting by my bedside. The moonlight spilled over him; for a moment, I thought it was a dream. Until Aaron’s crystalline tear fell, landing on the back of my hand. “Darling, I’m not going to the provincial capital. I’ll stay by your side, alright?” I didn’t know how he had managed to come back so late at night without any transportation. I reached out to him, filled with tenderness, and he hugged me tightly. In that moment, I believed wholeheartedly. We would be happy like this forever. So, I quit my job and moved to the city where he worked. But what I didn’t expect was this. My surprise would turn into heartbreak. I saw him and Olivia, naked, lying on a bed. 3 Seeing the uncle’s shocked and worried gaze. I twisted my lips, speaking calmly. “He was in a deep sleep that day; he didn’t realize I had come.” “So, there was no argument between us that day.” “However, Olivia did open her eyes and see me.” In that moment, a pain as if my chest was bursting made it almost impossible for me to breathe. Like a sand painting washed away by a wave, no matter how beautiful, it vanished instantly. That night, Olivia carried a tin box and led me to the rooftop. “In elementary school, after my parents ran a pyramid scheme, swindled money, and fled the factory town, all the other kids hated me. Only you were willing to play with me.” “I still remember everyone saying we were like sisters, like ‘Bonnie and Clyde’.” “If it weren’t for you, I might still be trapped in that abusive marriage.” Olivia turned to look at me, opening the tin box in her hands. “So, I believe you have the right to know all of this.” Inside the tin box were stacks of letters. I opened one; it was Aaron’s handwriting. “You are still my pure white moonlight. You have the right to pursue happiness; let me help you.” “It’s my honor to fight for you. I will do my utmost to give you happiness.” “Fiona can’t live without me, but I can’t live without you.” The date on the letter was the day I asked Aaron to go check on Olivia, who was hospitalized due to domestic abuse. It turned out Aaron had been writing to Olivia all these years. The date of the first letter was even the day after our high school exams ended. “If I were stronger, you wouldn’t have to go work by the coast. I truly despise my own incompetence.” So in our sophomore year, when Aaron said he was going to work far away, was it to find Olivia? Those details I overlooked, Those trivial matters I had forgotten, At this moment, they clearly resurfaced. No wonder Aaron was willing to accompany me to see Olivia every summer break. No wonder after Olivia knitted me a sweater, she used the leftover yarn to knit a scarf for Aaron. No wonder a prominent lawyer like Aaron would unhesitatingly agree to help Olivia with her divorce case. It turned out, from the very beginning, I was the one who disrupted his plan to pursue true love. The summer night wind was now even more chilling than winter. “Fiona, all these years you sent me money, helped me find work. Without you, I wouldn’t be alive.” “I truly didn’t want to hurt you, but Aaron and I are genuinely in love. Please, let us be together.” Saying this, Olivia knelt before me. Back when Olivia’s parents fled, seeing her alone, I took her to my house for meals every day. I even begged my parents to adopt her as their goddaughter. She, and he… treated me like this? In an instant, mountains crumbled, the world overturned. Before Olivia could react, I rushed downstairs like a madwoman. I burst through the bedroom door and dragged Aaron out of bed. Aaron was first shocked when he saw me, then hung his head in silence. I threw the letters at his face, hitting him and questioning him. Why, if he didn’t love me, did he accompany me to the factory office for the keys? Why, if he didn’t love me, did he let me braid my hair into a bracelet for him to wear? Why… the day after we held hands, did he write a letter to my best friend? Seeing my uncontrollable sobbing, Aaron’s eyes also reddened. He held me with trembling hands. “Fiona, I didn’t not love you.” “I just… met Olivia earlier.” Almost ten years together… All the sweetness instantly turned into bitter poison. Was I truly the clown who stole their love? I didn’t believe it, and I wouldn’t accept it! I vented hysterically. Aaron just stood silently, letting my fists rain down on him. Until Olivia tried to intervene and I pushed her down. Only then did Aaron rush to her, panicked. I missed my hit, stumbling against the wardrobe. My hands hurt, my face hurt, but my heart hurt the most. “Aaron, I really can’t go on like this anymore.” Olivia clung to Aaron, looking pitiful. She was crying too. “If you can’t let go of Fiona because of gratitude, then let me leave alone.” “Anyway, I’ve never been as lucky as Fiona. I’m used to being alone.” “Don’t worry about me anymore.” Saying this, Olivia stood up and ran out. Aaron, who had been silent, screamed, his voice breaking. This was the first time I had ever seen him so distraught. Not even during his poorest days had I witnessed it. And his distress was for Olivia. I’m so tired. Was he with me only out of gratitude then… he truly didn’t love me. I leaned against the wardrobe, speaking weakly. “Aaron Hayes, if you dare to go after her.” “Between us, it’s completely over.” Aaron looked back at me with a complex expression. He still strode out after her. Hearing this, the uncle frowned, silently lighting a cigarette. But seeing my pale face, he extinguished it without a word. His face was filled with helplessness, and he murmured: “You never truly know what’s in a person’s heart.” Yes, you never know a person’s true intentions. If the story had ended there. It would have just been the dissolution of a relationship. A wound, a pain for a while, but eventually, it would slowly pass. But the next day, fate once again showed me its cruelty.

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I’ve been transported into a novel, playing the role of the male lead in a “stand-in” romance. It was the third year of my marriage to Scarlett Zinberg, and her “white moonlight” finally returned. “You know, I’ve never loved you. This is your compensation.” Scarlett said coldly, handing over a black card. I accepted it without hesitation. “Alright, let’s get divorced tomorrow. I wish you both a lifetime of happiness!” Because I knew that in two months, she would suffer a fire, be disfigured, and lose both her legs. Scarlett Zinberg, at this moment, was dressed in a white haute couture suit and skirt, with long wavy hair and exquisite makeup. Tsk, indeed a domineering female CEO, but unfortunately, she’s about to become crippled. Seeing me take the card and stare at her with a look of regret, Scarlett thought I was having second thoughts. “You’ve taken the card, now you want to go back on it?” Her tone was cold, and her expression held undisguised contempt. I picked up the contract and flipped through it, then said seriously: “My three years of youth are only worth thirty million? Scarlett, you’re the CEO of Zinberg Group, people would laugh if they heard that.” “You need to pay more!” Scarlett’s face instantly darkened. “Jackson Avery, you really only agreed to marry me for my money.” If the original character had heard that, he would have been heartbroken. Before, whenever Scarlett mentioned the name Vincent Sterling, he would be inconsolably sad. In the original story, this scene was even more chaotic. The original character would not only knock her card away but also cry and ask her what those years of companionship meant. Later, when the female lead was secretly meeting her “white moonlight,” he even attempted suicide by slitting his wrists in the bathroom. He loved Scarlett with all his heart, even willing to give up his budding acting career for her. Only because Scarlett said that after marriage, she had to quit the entertainment industry, he willingly became a househusband for her. If it weren’t for the three years of marriage, I believe the original character would have achieved greater things. “You can’t say that. I gave up my beloved job for you back then, shouldn’t you compensate me?” “I’m not like your ‘white moonlight’ Vincent Sterling; he’s now an international A-list star. If everyone knew you betrayed me for him, it wouldn’t be good for his reputation, would it?” My eyes held provocation and threat. “So what do you want?” Scarlett’s teeth gritted audibly. I glanced around the villa and smiled, saying: “This villa goes to me, and another twenty million. One villa, fifty million, to buy Vincent’s reputation—that’s a steal.” Scarlett’s face was grim, as if she had swallowed a fly, and she stared at me intensely. Just as my patience was running out, her red lips parted: “Fine.” “Then Scarlett, please leave my house now. I’m not used to sharing a roof with others.” I smiled as I asked Scarlett to leave, instructing the housekeeper to pack all her belongings. She slammed the door in a rage; no doubt she went straight to Vincent. In the original story, the movie star Vincent Sterling had been inseparable from Scarlett Zinberg since his return to the country. Even when the media caught them, they’d simply claim it was old friends catching up. Because the original character refused to sign the divorce papers, Scarlett and Vincent maintained a secret affair. Until Scarlett’s accident, Vincent distanced himself, but the original character remained by her side, caring for her devotedly. But I’m not a cuckold. I don’t want a woman who doesn’t love me. Scarlett Zinberg, this time I’m eager to see if your “white moonlight” will truly stay by your side and care for you, disfigured and disabled. Lying comfortably in the bathtub, I scrolled through the news. The trending topic of Scarlett picking up Vincent from the airport a week ago was still in the top ten. The hashtag #ScarlettVincentPerfectMatch# remained popular. Netizens commented on the topic: [Can’t you see it yet? That Jackson Avery is just a cheap version of Vincent, a stand-in!] [The real deal is back, the stand-in should be dismissed.] [Serves him right, I never liked him, he doesn’t work hard at all, can’t compare to Emperor Vincent.] … As I faced these comments, a memory suddenly surged into my mind. Three years ago, it was also in this villa. Scarlett was completely drunk, and I helped her to the sofa. She grabbed my hand tightly, her eyes blurry with tears: “Vincent, don’t leave me…” I frowned, gently reminding her that I was Jackson Avery. But she ignored me, pulled my head down, and kissed me. Her soft, hot lips made my head buzz, and I lost all reason. The velvet rug under the sofa was soft; we embraced and tumbled around on it. It wasn’t until she sobered up the next day that she found me holding hangover soup. Seemingly realizing what had happened, she clutched the blanket and frowned, asking me: “Why is it you?” Before I could reply, she said to herself, never mind. Five parts like him, that’s rare enough. Then, she asked me if I would be willing to be with her. My heart skipped a beat, and I said, but I’m just a small artist under your company, how could I be worthy? She reached out and caressed my cheek, smiling. “Do you know why I suddenly called you to drink with me?” “Because the first time I saw you, I thought it was him.” “Who?” I wanted to ask, but ultimately dared not, because a hint of sadness appeared between her brows. It was this striking sadness that captivated me. The absurdity and passion of last night also deeply fascinated me. Just like that, I suddenly went from a third-tier celebrity to the husband of a domineering CEO. There was no wedding, no reception, just a cold social media update from Scarlett. The entire internet exploded, in a frenzy, but the original character was deeply moved, because he was a love-struck fool. Too bad, I hate love-struck fools the most; idiots should die! I texted Scarlett: [What time should we meet at the city hall tomorrow?] She quickly replied: [You, really agree to divorce me?] I impatiently replied, otherwise? Watching you trend with Vincent every day—I don’t have a cuckold fetish. She seemed very angry, replying only two words: [Ten o’clock.] Wrapped in my bathrobe, I began to revel in the spacious villa. After tomorrow, I’ll be a multi-millionaire! Too excited to sleep, I went to the city hall with dark circles under my eyes. Scarlett and Vincent arrived together. Thinking about the paparazzi photos of their candlelight dinner last night, I looked at them with disdain. Truly despicable, spending the night together before the divorce was even final. Seeing my dark circles, Scarlett’s brows furrowed slightly, and her gaze held a hint of mockery. “I suppose you spent the whole night plotting how to get more money, didn’t you?” Vincent also chuckled, “Mr. Avery, do you really think fifty million isn’t enough?” I nodded earnestly, “Hmm, just because of your movie star status, another twenty million.” Only a fool wouldn’t take free money. Scarlett’s face turned ashen, but Vincent stopped her. He pulled out a card from his pocket and handed it to me, “I knew you wouldn’t let go that easily. Here’s fifty million, from me personally. But you must sign an agreement never to interfere with us again.” I took the card, my heart thrumming with excitement. “Don’t worry, I’ll sign all your agreements!” After swiftly signing the papers, I received my divorce certificate. Seeing the undisguised happiness on my face, Scarlett’s expression turned grim, and she asked me: “Aren’t you sad?” I immediately shook my head, “Congratulations, Ms. Zinberg, on being with the person you truly love. I consider my mission accomplished!” Seeing her speechless, I explained using popular internet slang: “The one who isn’t loved is the third wheel, so I know my place.” Vincent, standing by, applauded my clear-headedness, then put an arm around Scarlett’s shoulders, a smug look on his face. “Scarlett, when are we getting married?” My heart blossomed with joy. The thought of Scarlett being disfigured and amputated in two months made me eager for them to marry sooner. Apparently annoyed by my reaction, Scarlett muttered “another day” and stomped off angrily. I felt a little disappointed, but also relieved. After all, I had no ties to her anymore. Whatever happened to her in the future was none of my concern. In the original story, after Scarlett became disabled, the original character, in an attempt to prove his true love for her, eagerly rushed to care for her. When Vincent abandoned Scarlett, she finally realized that only the original character truly loved her, and she confessed her regret. The original character was moved by her and spent the rest of his life with her, disabled as she was. Tsk, the thought of having avoided that fate made me incredibly pleased. In the original story, Vincent had initially broken up with Scarlett because her father’s company was in trouble. Her father suffered a heart attack from stress, and Vincent fled abroad with his money. Later, with the help of Scarlett’s uncle and business partners, the company was saved, but her father passed away not long after. Scarlett took over as CEO and immediately contacted Vincent, confronting him about why he couldn’t stand by her in difficult times. Vincent blamed her deceased father, claiming the chairman had paid him to stay away from her. Hearing this, Scarlett begged him to return, promising that no one would ever stand in their way again, and then forced the original character to divorce. Despicable! Both of them were equally despicable! I suddenly thought of a way to permanently shackle this conniving duo together. 2 Back at the villa, I called my former agent, Agent Rose. She was shocked by my idea of returning to the entertainment industry. “Don’t be ridiculous, didn’t Scarlett dislike you being in showbiz?” I poured her a drink and placed the divorce certificate in front of her. Her eyes widened in shock, and she mumbled, no wonder the news about Vincent and Scarlett has been trending so high recently, and Scarlett hasn’t had anyone take down the hot search. Seeing that I was now free, Agent Rose promised to try and find some opportunities for me. I specified that I wanted to be in the same film crew as Vincent, even if it was just a small role. She said she’d figure something out, albeit with some difficulty. After seeing her off, I switched to enjoyment mode: buying a sports car, pampering myself, and even enrolling in fitness classes. During their three years of marriage, the original character hadn’t bothered much with his fitness or appearance, as he no longer worried about work. In just one month, I regained my broad shoulders, narrow waist, and six-pack abs; my face also became fair and handsome. With the stylist’s efforts, I looked exactly like the handsome young “puppy” I was three years ago. Agent Rose called, saying she had secured me the role of the third male lead; the original actor’s schedule had unexpectedly opened up. I gladly accepted, thanked her, and rushed to sign the contract. Over the past month, news of Scarlett and my divorce had spread. She and Vincent were constantly seen together, practically making their relationship official. Seeing me, a hint of surprise flashed in Scarlett’s eyes. Vincent looked me over and chuckled, “No wonder Scarlett chose to marry you back then. Looking at you now, you do bear some resemblance to me.” Then, he leaned in and whispered in my ear, “A stand-in should know their place. How dare you show up here?” I smiled and said, “Why shouldn’t I? You two aren’t married yet, so you can’t stop me from signing a contract.” Scarlett ultimately didn’t stop me. The movie was about to wrap up, and they couldn’t afford any delays. I was indeed a suitable candidate. Once filming began, Vincent and I often acted opposite each other. He was truly an A-list actor, his performance excellent. I, on the other hand, frequently messed up scenes due to not having acted for three years. Scarlett would often visit the set to bring Vincent snacks and fruit, then turn around and pretend to criticize me, though her gaze was complex. Outtakes of my NG shots were uploaded online, and netizens started criticizing me again. [This pretty boy was dumped by the CEO and still has the nerve to work at her company?] [Such terrible acting, no wonder the CEO chose the movie star over him.] … Faced with these negative comments, I decided to fan the flames. I hired someone to anonymously leak videos of Scarlett wiping Vincent’s sweat and Vincent feeding her fruit on set. The crowd went wild, calling it “so sweet” and wondering if good news was on the horizon. Fandom culture, as it always is, they always want to force their favorite ships together, completely disregarding others. Scarlett and Vincent were being pushed into marriage by the entire internet. Some fan-shippers even staked out their homes and caught intimate footage of the two kissing in a luxury van after work, heading back to the villa together. Thus, at the wrap-up party at the end of the month, Vincent couldn’t resist orchestrating a proposal. In front of all the staff, he knelt on one knee with a large bouquet of roses and placed a diamond ring on Scarlett’s ring finger. “Scarlett, we’ve missed three years. I don’t want to miss you again. Please let me take care of you for the rest of your life, okay?” Scarlett was incredibly moved, took the flowers, nodded, her eyes welling up with tears. I watched from the sidelines, nobody knew I was barely holding back laughter. In ten days, Scarlett was going to suffer a terrible fate. Vincent, you are so selfish, will you really take care of her, disabled, for the rest of your life? Soon, I would find out the answer. Vincent, seeing my inscrutable expression, took her hand and led her to me. “Mr. Avery, thank you for taking care of Scarlett these past three years. From now on, I hope you can keep your distance. After all, you once loved Scarlett so deeply, and the way you look at her makes me uncomfortable.” Scarlett looked at me, a hint of apology and evasion in her eyes. Her gaze towards me had been complex recently, seemingly appreciating my progress and my indifferent attitude towards her. Ultimately, it’s just human nature to want what you can’t have, to be drawn to what remains indifferent. Vincent couldn’t help but notice her attention towards me, which is why he rushed the proposal. I smiled faintly, completely composed: “Alright, this show is wrapped, and my contract with your company is almost up. Don’t worry.” With that, ignoring the disappointment in Scarlett’s eyes, I turned and left. As if unwilling to give up, that night I received a text message from Scarlett. [Don’t you have anything to say to me?] I cursed her inwardly for being such a pain and replied: [Me keeping my distance, isn’t that exactly what you wanted? Congratulations on finding true love.] She didn’t reply again; she seemed quite angry. That night, I saw the trending news: Scarlett announced her wedding to Vincent would be held in Jeju Island a week later, broadcast live online. I was so happy I popped open a bottle of champagne and laughed out loud. Before, I was a little disappointed, as it was just a proposal. Even if Scarlett had an accident, Vincent wouldn’t be obligated to stay with her. But after holding the wedding, it would be different. They would exchange vows, witnessed by the entire internet. Even if Vincent wanted to shirk his responsibilities like in the original story, it would be difficult. Soon, their wedding took place as scheduled. Scarlett posted a set of photos of them happily kissing on the island. I hired some online trolls to question and sing a different tune. Vincent, predictably, couldn’t hold back and posted their marriage certificate. [From today, we are legally married, and I will take care of you for the rest of my life.] I applauded, even giving the post a like. The next day, they both canceled all work and left for their honeymoon. On the third night of their honeymoon, I scrolled past a piece of news. [Zinberg Group CEO suffers severe burns and falls into a coma during hotel fire on honeymoon.] In the comments section, everyone was shocked, leaving messages for Vincent, encouraging him to stay by her side. Vincent, however, wished he could smash his phone: “F**k! The doctor says she’s not only disfigured but also needs amputations. How can I spend my entire life with a cripple?!” The couple’s fans, however, didn’t see it that way. After Scarlett fell into a coma, the comments section was flooded with fans praying for her, even tagging Vincent, lamenting: [Fortunately, big brother is with big sister, no matter how difficult it is, they won’t be afraid!] Vincent’s comments section was also inundated with messages, with fans praising him for being responsible and a true man. Vincent, rendered speechless by the praise, could only grip his phone tightly and curse: “If I’d known this would happen, I wouldn’t have come back! Why did I have to fight that brat for this useless position?!” My account was also flooded with messages from fans, urging me to visit Scarlett in the hospital. After all, we were married for three years, and she didn’t have any deep grudge against me; I just switched companies. These people are always so fantastical, their words like farts. Some fans spoke up for me: [She dumped our Jackson, insisted on being with Vincent, provoked him right to his face, and forced him to switch companies—and that’s not a deep grudge?] [It’s just changing companies, not forcing him out of the entertainment industry. Not going means holding a grudge, your idol has such a small mind!] [No wonder he’s a flop, too petty!] I was amused by these people’s values, but I did decide to go see Scarlett. For no other reason than to see her miserable state.

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1 Under the live stream’s gaze. My philanthropic father and influencer mother were staging a custody battle. Mom, an influencer, was crying crocodile tears to millions of viewers. “I haven’t been able to be there for Autumn these past years. I’m willing to spend the rest of my life making it up to her.” But just ten minutes ago, backstage, she’d shoved 19 potent cold pills into my mouth. “Be a good girl, Autumn. Don’t look sickly on camera and ruin my reputation.” My eyes streamed with tears from choking, but I nestled into her arms. “Mom, you’re so thoughtful. You even calculated the exact dosage.” My father, not to be outdone, publicly announced he would set up a billion-dollar educational fund for me. “Dad will give you the best of everything in the world.” He leaned close to my ear, his voice chilling. “Be obedient, or I can’t guarantee your grandmother’s oxygen tube will stay connected.” I hunched my shoulders. “Dad, a billion is too far away. I’m quite short-sighted when it comes to money.” I held up a QR code for payments. “Five hundred thousand.” “Whoever transfers the money first, I’ll go with them.” They scrambled to send the transfers. “PayPal: Five hundred thousand dollars received.” I whispered in my mind. “System, the money is enough to pay off Grandma’s medical bills.” … “After I’m gone, will she truly live a long and healthy life?” System: “Host, the contract is complete. Countdown initiated.” I saw the live stream’s comments explode. “OMG, is this kid only seeing dollar signs?” “Her parents love her so much, and she only cares about money? Ungrateful brat!” “If I had parents like that, I’d wake up laughing every day. She’s publicly asking for money, it’s disgusting.” My mother, Joanna Reed, quick as a flash, pulled me into a hug, her tears turning into a broken smile for the camera. “See, everyone, Autumn is still closest to her mom.” She held me very tight, but her fingertips sharply pinched the soft flesh on my waist. Leaning close to my ear, her voice was sickly sweet. “Autumn, how could you publicly ask Mom for money?” The overdose of cold medicine surged through me in waves, my stomach churning violently. I didn’t answer her. I opened the hospital payment page. Five hundred thousand, transferred to the hospital account. Then, I slumped further into her embrace. “Mom, I’m so sleepy…” “Sleep if you’re sleepy.” She held me even tighter, her lips curving into a loving smile for the camera. “Mommy’s got you.” My father, Marcus Black, his face ashen, still maintained that fake, suave smile. “Since Autumn chose you, let her stay with you for a few days.” “However, she must attend the charity gala.” He walked over to adjust my collar, lowering his voice: “Don’t forget your grandmother is still in my hospital.” “Dare to say anything out of line, and I’ll have them cut off her oxygen.” When Grandma was awake, she would write in my palm, over and over, with her fingertip. “Don’t beg them.” I nodded, and she finally released my hand. I lifted my face, looking obedient. “Don’t worry, Dad.” Marcus patted my face with satisfaction, then turned and waved goodbye to the camera. As soon as the live stream ended, the loving expression on Joanna’s face vanished. She pushed me away as if I were trash. I lost my footing, my temple hitting the sharp edge of the dressing table. Warm blood trickled down my eyebrow. “Give me your phone!” She lunged to snatch my phone, her eyes red. “That was my budget for traffic, you cheap life! You think you’re worthy of five hundred thousand?” I slumped to the floor, blood blurring my left eye. “Mom,” I gasped, my voice weak. “You said in the live stream… this was to compensate me.” “Compensate your mother’s head!” She kicked me in the ribs, and I doubled over in pain. A lazy, mocking laugh echoed from the doorway. “Joanna, don’t break her.” A young man with dyed blonde hair and smelling of cigarette smoke strolled in. It was Mom’s boyfriend, Jason. He pulled out his phone and casually started a live stream on a burner account. The camera zoomed into my face. “Families, did you see clearly?” “This is Joanna’s poor daughter she brought home.” His gaze slowly slid from the blood on my forehead to my neckline. Joanna’s eyes lit up, and she immediately played along. “Families, don’t scold Autumn. She’s just been mistreated by the old woman…” Jason pushed the camera even closer. “Come on, Autumn. Say to the camera… how your grandmother mistreated you?” My brow involuntarily furrowed. As soon as I looked up, he had already squatted down, pretending to fix my bangs. His fingertip brushed my temple, pausing for half a second. “Don’t be nervous,” he whispered, laughing. “I just want to see how obedient you can be.” I lowered my head, my voice trembling faintly. “I… I don’t remember.” Jason clicked his tongue impatiently, reaching out to lift my chin. I turned my face away, letting his fingers miss. Joanna leaned close to my ear, her voice low and biting. “Just say that the old woman mistreated you, and we’ll get the traffic.” I swallowed the sour bile, timidly saying. “I… I’m afraid it will affect Dad.” Jason smiled at the live stream. “Families, how about we give her some time?” Saying that, he ended the live stream. Joanna rolled her eyes, pointing to the end of the hallway. “There’s a folding bed in the utility room.” “You can sleep there.” I nodded, accepting. Walking to the end of the hallway, I asked in my mind. “System, is the countdown still on?” The light screen lit up: “Host, 7 days, 19 hours, 59 minutes remaining.” 2 I curled up on the creaking folding bed. The side effects of the medicine made the ceiling spin. The door was kicked open with a bang. “Autumn Black, are you dead? If not, get up now!” Joanna stood at the doorway, her makeup flawless. I slowly stood straight, leaning on the wall, blood matted in my bangs on my forehead. “Mom, is this… enough to get some camera traffic?” She scanned me with disdain. “Don’t call me Mom. Only on camera.” She turned and yelled towards the living room. “Jason, get the white dress. Leave half the wound exposed, don’t cover it all.” “A little blood, and the viewers will be more willing to send gifts.” Jason walked over, carrying the white dress, grinning. “Joanna, how about I use my account? Your account handles sales, and my account handles the emotional drama.” He said, propping up his phone, the camera aimed at me, not even using a beauty filter. “Come on, Autumn, let’s practice a line first.” He held up a cue card in front of my eyes. “I never had a single full meal at Grandma’s house.” I stared at the line, my throat tightening. Joanna leisurely lit a cigarette nearby. “Read it.” Jason took a step closer, helping me adjust the microphone on my collar. His fingertip brushed lightly above my collarbone, with a deliberate pause. He chuckled softly: “Be a good girl. It’s good for you.” I took half a step back. “I… Grandma…” “Too fake.” Jason impatiently interrupted, reaching out to cup my chin. “You need to cry, your eyes need to show hatred, understand?” I turned my head to dodge, clutching the hem of my dress. “No need, I’ll do it myself.” He snorted, then gave my hand a sharp pinch before leaving. “Hurry up, don’t waste the traffic.” I walked into the live stream room. Dozens of ring lights illuminated me, making me look pale. Joanna’s lines were well-practiced. “Families, Autumn is such a poor child; her grandmother never took good care of her…” She pulled me close, pushing the wound on my forehead towards the camera. “See, she’s even unsteady on her feet.” “This is from falling yesterday. My heart just aches for her.” Gift effects instantly exploded across the screen. Jason, off-camera, held up a cue card, silently mouthing with exaggerated lips: Say it now! I saw private messages scrolling on his phone screen. Someone asked: “Did the old woman really mistreat her?” He replied with an emoji, then sent another message. “Of course, there’s more explosive stuff coming. Stay tuned.” I leaned against Joanna’s embrace, my voice weak. “Mom, don’t worry… it doesn’t hurt.” Joanna seized the moment to start selling products. “Today, bird’s nest is at a rock-bottom price. Everyone, help me raise medical funds for Autumn, okay?” She brought a spoon to my lips, smiling affectionately. “Come, darling, tell everyone, is it delicious?” I swallowed the sickeningly sweet syrup, my stomach cramping. “Delicious… Thank you, Mom. Mom is the best to me.” The second the live stream ended, Joanna slapped me across the face. “Your eyes weren’t grateful enough when you looked at the camera just now.” “Do you still think I owe you something?” I turned my head, and blood seeped from my forehead wound again. “Mom, I’m sorry.” I swallowed the bitterness on my tongue, my voice faltering. “I’ll be a better girl next time.” She wanted to hit me again. Jason hugged her from behind. “Alright, Joanna, don’t hurt her. Her face is valuable now.” Joanna snorted, taking a cigarette. “Autumn Black, get back to your room.” I returned to the utility room. The moment I closed the door, I knelt on the floor and dry-heaved violently. Only sour bile and the taste of medicine came up. My phone vibrated. The head nurse replied to me, “Received, medication renewed.” I read that line twice before I dared to swallow my tears. Grandma had lived another day. 3 Marcus Black’s mansion was a hundred times more luxurious than Joanna’s apartment. Seraphina Willow sat on the sofa, wearing a silk robe. She was Marcus’s personal assistant, and also the mistress of this house. Seeing me enter, she didn’t even lift an eyelid. “Oh, the young lady is back? Martha, go clean up the guest room.” “No need.” Marcus walked out of the study, impeccably dressed in a suit. “Autumn will stay in the room converted from the basement’s media room. It’s quiet.” I looked at my shadow on the floor, nodding obediently. “Thank you, Dad.” He pointed to the clothes on the sofa. A deep V that plunged to the navel, an almost entirely open back, and a skirt so short that every step would reveal too much. “Wear this tonight. Go try it on.” I picked up the fabric, thin as a cicada’s wing. “Dad, this dress… isn’t it too revealing?” “What? Disgusted?” He frowned. “Your grandmother’s medical bills are thousands a day. This is all I can afford.” He glanced at me again. “Besides, Mr. Davis loves this style. Who are you dressing modestly for?” Seraphina immediately stepped forward, seemingly speaking on my behalf. “Mr. Black, how about we change it? Autumn is still young, I’m afraid she won’t be comfortable.” But the next second, she added. “However… if it’s for Grandma, then Autumn should be a sensible child for once, alright?” Before I could answer, she had already taken the dress from my hand. “Come, I’ll help you.” Seraphina helped me put on the gown, her fingertip gently tugging down at the neckline. I instinctively raised my hand to cover myself. She gripped my wrist. “Don’t block it. Blocking it will make you look guilty.” “If you’re not guilty, no one will think anything.” After changing, I was called to the living room. Marcus was seated at the head, next to a balding man with an oily face. “Go, pour Mr. Lee a drink.” Marcus lifted his chin towards me. Wearing that gown that barely covered any private parts, every step I took was precarious. Mr. Lee’s sticky gaze scanned back and forth between my chest and legs. As I picked up the glass, Mr. Lee deliberately wobbled it, splashing an entire glass of whiskey onto my exposed shoulder and neck. “Oh dear, my hand is so slippery. Autumn, quickly help Uncle wipe it off.” He grabbed my hand, pressing it onto his greasy thigh. I trembled all over, looking at Marcus. He merely calmly glanced at his watch. “Be quick about it. If you can’t even serve Mr. Lee properly, how will you handle Mr. Davis tonight?” Seraphina took a bucket of ice and poured it directly down my neckline. “This will wake you up, see how cold and clear your skin looks. Men absolutely fall for this.” The ice cubes pressed against the bruises on my chest, the chill instantly piercing my bones. I knelt on the floor, picking up the fallen ice cubes one by one, smiling subserviently. Marcus found it boring and waved his hand, dismissing me. I returned to the basement, wearing the soaked gown. The giant screen in the basement silently played Marcus’s past charity records. I rummaged through my worn backpack and found a voice recorder; Grandma had given it to me. Next to the recorder was a substantial accidental death insurance policy. I carefully tucked the policy into the inner lining of my bra. Then I tucked the voice recorder into the most concealed seam of the gown’s lining. The System displayed a prompt in my mind: “Emergency mode activated. If the host’s freedom is forcibly deprived, the System will automatically send evidence to major media outlets’ inboxes.” I stared at the red text, my throat tightening, and softly said: “Thank you, System.” Seraphina’s shrill voice came from outside the door. “Autumn, Mr. Davis’s luxury car is at the door. Come out quickly.” I lifted the hem of my gown, stepped into those ill-fitting high heels, and ascended the stairs one step at a time. System: Countdown 5 days, 48 hours, 32 minutes. The door opened, and the white light outside blinded me.

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1 Valerie dropped to her knees on the cold hardwood floor, tears spilling over her lashes. “Arthur, my company is bankrupt. I owe five hundred thousand dollars. We have to break up.” She looked up at me, her eyes brimming with a heartbreaking reluctance. Right as the words left her mouth, glowing lines of text began to materialize in the air between us, hovering like neon ghosts. It was the Chat. [The female lead is so pitiful. She gets framed, goes bankrupt, and now has to leave the man she loves.] [My poor baby hasn’t eaten in three days! The second male lead shouldn’t be so cruel. Just help her pay it off!] [This guy is so slow. If my girl wanted to break up just to keep me from suffering, I’d empty my bank account for her right now!] In my past life, I saw these exact floating comments. Believing Valerie was a tragic victim of circumstance, and blinded by my love for her, I foolishly took on her massive debt. I didn’t know it was a bottomless pit. The moment I paid off the first batch, another wave of debt crashed down on us. When the collectors went after my father, the shock caused him to collapse, coughing up blood. He was rushed to the ICU. I ran to the bank to pay for his life-saving surgery, only to find my accounts completely drained. Valerie had taken every last cent. The Chat kept telling me she was forced into it, that she had no choice. So, swallowing my panic, I went looking for her to beg for the surgery money back. I found her. She was lounging in a luxurious backyard, nestled comfortably in another man’s arms, cooing at a young boy playing on the grass. While I stood there paralyzed by betrayal, a speeding car slammed into me from behind. It was only after my soul left my crushed body that the truth was revealed. The Chat, the floating text that guided my every ruined decision, was an illusion she controlled. And that man holding her? That was her legal husband of ten years. I was nothing but a side piece. A walking wallet to fund their perfect family. Now, breathing the air of a second chance, I looked down at Valerie. “Is that so?” I kept my voice deadpan. “Because I heard Sinclair Corp is doing better than ever. Not exactly the picture of bankruptcy.” Valerie’s face froze. Before she could stumble through an excuse, the glowing text flared again. [She just can’t bear to drag you down with her. She hid the company’s crisis from you!] [Exactly! Remember when she said she was working late? She was out hustling for contracts, drinking with clients until she got a stomach ulcer. The male lead needs to show some compassion!] Valerie bit her lip, looking utterly defeated. “It’s true, Arthur. Sinclair Corp is finished. I just didn’t want you to suffer with me. I know how much you love me, but I can’t let you drown in my mess.” A bitter laugh scraped my throat. In my previous life, she had indeed spent night after night coming home late, smelling of alcohol and expensive perfume. I had believed the Chat. I thought she was grinding for her startup. I found out later she was spending those evenings dining at Michelin-star restaurants and taking luxury vacations with her husband, Dominic, and their kid. I locked eyes with her. “I’ll help you pay the debt, Valerie. But first, I want to see the company’s financial ledgers.” The tragic, brave smile on her face shattered. “Arthur, no. I really don’t need you to ruin your life for this. The ledgers aren’t even with me right now. I… I should just go. I don’t want the collectors tracking me here and hurting you.” She pushed herself off the floor and turned toward the door, her steps agonizingly slow. She was waiting for me to call her back. In my past life, before the Chat even had to prompt me again, my heart had bled for her. I had pulled out my life savings and handed it over, moved to tears by her selflessness. She had wept, throwing her arms around my neck, promising we would be together forever. The very next day, she brought a new wave of collectors to my door. Remembering the agonizing pain of my crushed ribs on the asphalt, I stood perfectly still and watched her back. The glowing text panicked. [Why isn’t he giving her the money? She spent so much on him! Those designer watches, those custom suits, they cost a fortune!] [Right? Even his dad benefited from her generosity. Asking him to pitch in now is the bare minimum. When she bounces back, she’ll treat him like a king!] Reading those words, a wide, humorless grin stretched across my face. “Valerie, wait. Don’t leave. I’ll get some money to help you.” She spun around, her eyes lighting up with barely concealed greed. “Arthur, you are too good to me. I swear, when I get back on my feet, I will never forget what you did for me.” “Give me a second,” I said, turning and walking into the bedroom. I grabbed a large duffel bag and started throwing things into it. The Rolex. The Armani jackets. The limited-edition sneakers. I hauled the heavy bag back into the living room and dumped it at her feet. “Look. These are all the luxury gifts you bought me over the years. I kept them in perfect condition. You can pawn them. They should cover a huge chunk of the debt.” Valerie stared at the pile of clothes and watches, her face draining of color. I smiled, feeling a cold satisfaction. In my past life, I had cherished those gifts. I wore them with pride and spent my own hard-earned money buying her equally expensive jewelry in return. It wasn’t until Dominic was standing over my dying body that I learned the truth. She had bragged to him, laughing about how she used cheap knockoffs to keep her stupid side-guy blindly loyal, tricking him into buying her real diamonds in exchange. I was giving her garbage back to her. “What’s wrong?” I asked, feigning innocent concern. “There’s easily a few hundred thousand dollars worth of stuff here. Add that to whatever savings you have left, and you’re clear.” Valerie’s mouth opened and closed. She couldn’t force a smile. She couldn’t exactly confess that her “generous gifts” were worthless fakes bought from back-alley vendors, not when she was playing the desperate victim. The Chat flared with urgency. [If I could only warn the male lead! She was scammed when she bought those! They’re all counterfeit!] [If she takes that junk to the loan sharks, they’ll beat her to death!] [They’re on their way right now! If he doesn’t just hand over the cash, they’ll break her legs. She’ll never be able to rebuild her company!] Right on cue, a violent pounding shook my front door. A flash of relief washed over Valerie’s pale face. “Open up! Kick the door down! You owe us money, and nobody hides from us!” A harsh, arrogant voice boomed through the wood. “If you don’t open this door in three seconds, we’re coming in, and we’re breaking bones!” I knew that voice. It was the debt collector she had hired to play the villain. It was Dominic. 2 “Arthur, they’re here for me,” Valerie whispered, her voice trembling beautifully. “Let me face them alone. I won’t let them touch you.” She stepped forward, looking like a martyr stepping up to the gallows. But I saw the subtle gleam of anticipation in her eyes. Before I could reply, the front door splintered inward with a deafening crack. Half a dozen men shoved their way into my living room. They were big, tattooed, and carried themselves with practiced menace. Leading them was Dominic. Seeing Valerie and me standing by the sofa, Dominic offered a theatrical, predatory grin. “Well, well. Miss Sinclair. Thought you could skip town with our half a million dollars?” Valerie looked at me with wide, helpless eyes. When I didn’t move a muscle, she bit her lip, reached down, and shoved the duffel bag of “luxury” goods toward Dominic. The floating text went wild. [Arthur, stop her! Don’t be stingy with your money. If they cripple her, your future is ruined!] [He has that life insurance payout from his dead mother! Plus his savings! He has more than enough to cover this!] [If he hesitates now, the childhood best friend is going to swoop in and save her. Then she’ll fall for him out of gratitude, they’ll get rich together, and Arthur will be left with nothing!] I watched the text scroll by. I didn’t feel a shred of pity. The “childhood best friend” the Chat kept hyping up was Dominic himself. The whole thing was a perfectly choreographed play to bleed me dry. Dominic yanked the Rolex out of the bag, inspected it for half a second, and then backhanded Valerie across the face. The slap echoed through the room. “Do I look like a moron to you?!” Dominic roared. “You try to pay off half a mil with Canal Street knockoffs? I’ll shatter your kneecaps right now!” He grabbed her by the hair, his eyes darting toward me, waiting for me to play the hero. Valerie clutched her stinging cheek, tears streaming down her face. She looked at me, a pathetic whimper escaping her lips. I stood there, my hands resting comfortably in my pockets. Seeing my absolute indifference, Valerie dropped the act. Panic flashed in her eyes. “Arthur! You told me about the money your mother left you! Please, just advance me the cash. I swear on my life I’ll pay you back double when the company recovers. We’ve been together for years. Can you really stand there and watch them maim me?” She was openly begging now. I narrowed my eyes. Dominic, realizing I wasn’t taking the bait, tightened his grip on Valerie’s hair. “If you don’t cough up the cash right now, I’m snapping her wrist.” The Chat chimed in again, flashing bright red. [Pay the debt! She has a massive investment coming in a few days! Once it hits, the company is saved. Give her the money now and you’ll be set for life!] [It’s a multi-million dollar contract! Arthur, don’t throw away this golden ticket!] They had planned this down to the last detail. But I wasn’t stepping into their trap this time. “Take it outside,” I said, my voice cold and flat. “I’m not paying a dime of her debt. Those bags of clothes are the only things she left here. Take them and get out of my house.” Valerie’s face twisted in genuine horror. She wrenched herself out of Dominic’s grip and lunged toward me, trying to wrap her arms around my waist. I stepped back and shoved her hard by the shoulder, sending her stumbling into the coffee table. Seeing that I was completely unshakable, Valerie’s mask of the tragic lover finally slipped. A deep, ugly scowl marred her face. She shot a sharp, meaningful look at Dominic. Dominic caught the signal. The playacting was over. “I hate cowards like you,” Dominic sneered. “Your woman owes money, which means you owe money. If she can’t pay, I’ll take it out of your hide.” He gestured to his men. In a heartbeat, they swarmed me, tackling me to the hardwood floor. Valerie stood up, smoothing her skirt. She didn’t look scared anymore. She pointed a manicured finger toward my bedroom, signaling Dominic to go find the money himself. Dominic nodded, stepping over me as his men pinned my arms and legs. He sauntered into my bedroom. A minute later, he walked back out holding a small metal lockbox. He smashed it open against the edge of the kitchen counter. Out spilled a bank card and a velvet jewelry box. He popped the box open, revealing a heavy gold necklace, thick bracelets, and a vintage diamond ring. It was my mother’s heirloom jewelry. The pieces she had saved for her future daughter-in-law. Rage burned in my throat. I thrashed against the men holding me, but a heavy boot pressed down on the back of my neck. Dominic let out a harsh bark of laughter. “Thought you were broke. Look at this stash. You had the money the whole time and you still let her beg. You really are a piece of trash.” My phone suddenly buzzed in my pocket. Dominic raised an eyebrow, reached into my pants, and pulled it out. He answered it on speakerphone. “Is this Arthur?” a frantic voice echoed from the speaker. “Your father collapsed. He’s bleeding internally and we’re rushing him to the emergency room. You need to get here with the deposit for surgery right now, or he won’t make it!” Click. Dominic hung up the phone. The blood drained from my face. I stared up at Dominic, realizing exactly what had happened. “You sent people to my father.” “Maybe I did,” Dominic said, crouching down to look me in the eye. “Consider it interest. You sleep with another man’s wife, you pay the toll.” He grabbed me by the collar and slapped me hard, twice. The metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth. He grabbed a handful of my hair and slammed my face into the floorboards. “Did you really think you were her boyfriend? I’m her legal husband. We’ve been married for ten years. The only reason she tolerates a pathetic loser like you is because you have a fat bank account. If it weren’t for the payout, I would have killed you a long time ago.” I wrenched my head to the side and glared at Valerie. She stood by the window, her arms crossed, looking away. She didn’t say a word. The floating text was dead silent. Dominic grabbed a piece of nylon cord from one of his men. He wrapped it around my wrists, pulling it tight enough to cut off the circulation, and looped the excess around my neck. With a vicious yank, he pulled the cord taut. My airway crushed shut. Black spots danced in my vision as I gagged, kicking my legs against the floor. Right as the darkness started to pull me under, Valerie stepped forward and touched Dominic’s arm. “That’s enough. We don’t have the PIN for the bank card yet. Don’t kill him in his own living room.” Dominic loosened the cord just enough for me to suck in a ragged, burning breath. He squatted next to me and shoved the screen of my phone into my face. “Unlock it.” I gathered the saliva in my mouth and spat a bloody glob right into his eye. Dominic roared, wiping his face, and delivered a brutal kick to my ribs. A sickening crack echoed through the room. My phone started ringing again. The hospital. My father was running out of time. I squeezed my eyes shut, refusing to look at the screen, refusing to give them access. “Unlock the damn phone, or I’ll break your neck right now!” Dominic screamed, his face purple with rage. Valerie let out an exasperated sigh. “His passcode is my birthday.” Dominic tapped the numbers in. A soft chime confirmed the phone was unlocked. He threw his head back and laughed, a cruel, triumphant sound. I bit down on the inside of my cheek until I tasted fresh blood, using the pain to keep myself from passing out. The moment he looked down at the banking app to transfer the funds, I planted my boots on the floor and threw my entire body weight upward, ramming my shoulder directly into his chest. Dominic stumbled backward, dropping the phone. “Hold him down! Pin him!” His thugs slammed me back onto the floor, driving their knees into my spine. “Valerie, get the papers,” Dominic ordered, breathless and furious. Valerie reached into her designer bag and pulled out a manila folder, setting it on the coffee table. Dominic grabbed me by the hair and dragged my face close to the document. “You’re such a good son, right? Well, Valerie is under a lot of financial pressure right now. I think it’s time you made a real contribution.” He grabbed a pen and forced it into my bound, trembling hand. “I think your old man has lived long enough. Sign the Do Not Resuscitate order. Once he kicks the bucket, we’ll take his house and his pension, too.” He pressed his heavy hand over mine, forcing the pen toward the signature line on the medical proxy form.

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After the New Year, I unexpectedly noticed that the compact car I’d bought before marriage was being driven out every afternoon. During dinner, I casually asked my husband: “Ian, darling, who have you lent my car to? I thought you said that model was too small, only women liked it.” His chopsticks paused mid-air. He quickly pulled out a receipt from the dealership and handed it to me: “I was worried the car would deteriorate from sitting too long, so I sent it for maintenance.” He spoke, then picked up a piece of braised fish and placed it in my bowl, smiling considerately: “What’s wrong? Didn’t you say I wasn’t allowed to sell that car because it held our memories? I just wanted to surprise you.” His explanation was flawless. I lowered my head and continued eating, but an uneasy feeling grew within me. The next day, I passed by that dealership and showed them the receipt: “Hello, my husband brought the car here for maintenance; I’d like to pick it up now.” The manager nodded, about to retrieve the car for me. Just then, a girl walked in through the front door, approached the counter, and said, “I’m here to pick up Mr. Vance’s car.” But what she held in her hand was clearly my car key. 1 The moment our eyes met, a flicker of panic crossed the girl’s face. Although she quickly composed herself, she changed the subject as if she didn’t know me: “I just remembered I have something to do this afternoon. I’ll leave the key here. You can just deliver the car to garage 801 at the Oceanview Estate.” Her voice was trembling. She didn’t dare to linger for another moment after speaking, turning to leave. I watched her retreating back. The young woman was quick-witted, trying to pretend she was just an intern running an errand to lessen my suspicion about her holding my car key. But she didn’t know that Ian Vance was a germaphobe; he never let outsiders touch his belongings. Especially not this compact car, which held such significant meaning for us. I glanced at the key she’d placed on the counter, my heart sinking little by little. I lifted my foot and followed her. Sensing my presence, her steps quickened. After failing to hail a cab for a long time by the roadside, I stood beside her. She timidly looked up: “Are, are you also waiting for a cab?” I didn’t answer her. My gaze first fell on the bag she was carrying. The latest luxury brand, more expensive than her entire outfit. Just two days ago, Ian had given me an identical one. On her wrist, she wore an icy jade bangle, which, by coincidence, clearly matched the one on my wrist. I couldn’t help but recall my birthday, when Ian kissed my cheek and whispered in my ear: “Aurora, I told you I’d give you a unique gift every year. This bangle I carved myself. I’ll love you forever.” A sneer played on my lips. It seemed Mr. Vance, the acclaimed actor, was addicted to acting, no longer distinguishing between reality and a billionaire CEO drama. The girl noticed my gaze and awkwardly hid her bag behind her back: “If you’re in a hurry, I can let you go first.” Her eyes were filled with defensiveness and fear. I smiled, continuing to walk closer to her, then extended my hand: “See, I have a bangle exactly like yours, but my husband said he carved it himself. So I just wanted to ask you, where did you buy it wholesale?” “Once I find the evidence, I’ll divorce him. We’ve only been married ten years, and he’s already getting complacent with me. I’m afraid he’s… seeing someone else.” Hearing that last sentence, her face instantly went pale, and she became even more flustered: “I, I can’t remember which street vendor I bought it from.” “Never mind then. But we’re still quite fated. My name is Aurora Xu, what’s yours?” “Skylar Lynn.” Oh. Even the last initial of her name was ‘L’. Just then, a public bus arrived, and Skylar fled onto it, leaving. I, too, turned around, my face instantly hardening. I returned to the dealership, retrieved my car, and opened the door. Then I noticed something else was wrong. The good luck charm hanging in front of the car had been replaced with a plush toy. I suppressed my emotions, pulled out my phone, and called my best friend: “Can you help me find out if Ian Vance has truly been filming on set every day recently? Also, what’s his relationship with a girl named Skylar Lynn!” My best friend was an investor in his new show. Hearing this, she asked, puzzled: “Aurora, what happened?” “I suspect Ian is cheating…” Before I even got home, my best friend had sent over the information. She still seemed a bit incredulous. The data showed that while Skylar Lynn and Ian Vance had indeed acted together in one project, other than that, Ian had only visited her school for movie promotions. The two had not met privately since. One could say they were strangers. My best friend called back: “You’re overthinking it, aren’t you? Back then, Ian announced his marriage to you at the peak of his career, Aurora… you two are the entertainment industry’s model couple.” I held my phone, but smiled: “You said ‘back then.’ If it’s really that clean, why do you think Skylar Lynn had my car key?” This car was the first one we bought on installment with the money we earned when he was still an extra. Even after he became an acclaimed actor and we owned many luxury cars, this humble compact car had always quietly remained in the garage. “How about we make a bet? Let’s completely blacklist Skylar Lynn and see Ian Vance’s reaction?” After hanging up, I sat in the car, touching the dashboard. Ian, it’s been ten years. I accompanied you from living in the poorest basement all the way to where you are now. If you truly betrayed me. Don’t blame me for making you lose everything and ruining your reputation, just like the vow you made back then! 2 When I got home, I found that Ian had surprisingly returned from the set again. He was even wearing the hoodie I bought him. I recalled fan comments: “[Married, yet no hint of a husband, just pure youthful charm. Ian Vance is a divine being!]” “[Aurora Xu must have saved the world in her past life to marry Ian Vance.]” I used to think I was very lucky too. He pulled me into his arms. “Who dared to make my wife come home so late? Did Old Man Sterling torture you again, making you revise the script repeatedly? Should I go for the casting instead?” I pressed my lips together, suddenly wanting to ask him directly who Skylar Lynn was. Just to give him a chance. However, he took my hand, played with it, and continued: “I heard Old Man Sterling invested three hundred million in this show and plans to use new faces. You went to the Academy of Dance and Arts today, right? Did you find anyone suitable?” His probing words instantly choked me up, and a chill shot from my spine to the top of my head: “How did you know I went to the Academy of Dance and Arts?” Ian’s hand stiffened, but he quickly grabbed my hand again, laughing: “Aren’t newcomers always chosen from those few schools? Aurora, I just care about you.” “This script is your mother’s unfinished work before she passed away. She was suspected of unfair casting and suffered online bullying, leading to depression. I’m afraid you’ll fall into those bad things again.” He seemed genuinely worried about me, no longer pressing the issue, and carried me back to the room. But in the middle of the night, I feigned sleep. He, however, picked up his phone and messaged someone. And for the next few days, every time I finished a conversation with Old Man Sterling, he would “coincidentally” return from the set, either cooking for me or buying me gifts. Yet, each time, he would subtly probe about the new show’s casting. The smile on my face grew increasingly rare. Until a week later, Skylar Lynn’s scandal of hooking up with a sugar daddy suddenly hit the trending topics, also mixed with ambiguous videos of her bribing teachers at school. Although she wasn’t very famous, her social impact was negative. Her acting career was clearly about to be blocked. My best friend called, her voice excited: “It took me a week to find enough scandals to blacklist her, Aurora. Someone is really helping her behind the scenes.” I immediately arranged for someone to keep a close eye on Ian’s movements. Sure enough, he took leave from the set that afternoon, first went to Skylar Lynn’s school, and then met with the media company that released the video. What he didn’t know was that as soon as he left, the people there called me, their tone playful: “Aurora Xu, he said he’d exchange a dinner with you for taking down the trending topic. What do you say, should I agree to him or agree to him?” I clenched my hands, laughing bitterly with anger: “Of course, agree to him!” But as I laughed, tears couldn’t help but fall. I had thought he was cheating, but I never expected him to use me as a bargaining chip. Since that’s the case. I abruptly hung up the phone, grabbed my bag, and rushed home, originally intending to prepare to discuss divorce with Ian. Who knew that as soon as I reached the garage, I suddenly found two handprints on the window of that compact car parked in the corner. I stared intently at the fresh-looking prints, my steps faltering, leaning against the wall to barely keep myself from falling. I didn’t open the car door, only feeling a surge of nausea. He actually brought that woman home, and might even be hiding in the car with her right now. Ian Vance, you truly disgust me! 3 I stumbled upstairs in a daze that day. Ian, clever as ever, didn’t follow me back, not even a call. Sleepless all night, at dawn I asked my best friend to find me a lawyer. I sent all the evidence I had gathered to the lawyer. The lawyer said that while I could ruin Ian Vance’s reputation, without concrete evidence, I would only get half the assets. I immediately went to check the surveillance footage, but last night’s video had been silently deleted. Indeed, not a single trace left behind. Two more days passed. Then Old Man Sterling’s assistant suddenly called me: “Ms. Xu, Mr. Vance visited Old Man Sterling alone yesterday, saying you entrusted him with the casting? He wants to start casting early. Old Man Sterling asked me to confirm with you.” I paused, then sneered. It seemed Ian, seeing that my script was ready but I was unwilling to let him handle the casting, was getting anxious from that little vixen’s pestering? He knew Old Man Sterling would definitely notify me. I wanted to see how he’d explain himself. That evening, Ian called: “Darling, today I passed by Old Man Sterling’s place after a dinner party, and went up to ask him to allow me to handle the casting for you.” “You haven’t appeared in public for years, and I don’t want you to be affected by public opinion again. If anything happens… just let me bear it, alright?” Listening to his affectionate and concerned tone, my nails were almost digging into my flesh. But I still agreed with a smile. Not long after, my best friend sent me a photo. Her people had finally caught Ian meeting Skylar Lynn alone, a worthwhile expense given how much I paid several media outlets. After that, to help Skylar Lynn meet Old Man Sterling’s requirements, Ian began to expose himself frequently. First, he stole my revised script. During the day, he filmed, and in the evenings, he dined and socialized with me. Late at night, he still had to go and explain the script to Skylar Lynn. My best friend couldn’t help but exclaim in anger: “He’s truly a master of time management! And that Skylar Lynn, she’s not even that pretty, but Ian Vance insists on promoting her.” “Aurora, half the entertainment industry now knows he’s problematic… everyone’s waiting to laugh at you.” After hearing her, I just told her to collect more evidence. Even people I had feuded with came by, making veiled remarks, mocking me, saying what good was my arrogance now if I couldn’t even control my own man. The day before casting, Ian specially came home and cooked me a meal himself. The dining table was filled with all my favorite dishes: Longjing shrimp, lotus root and pork rib soup. “Darling, I heard from Old Man Sterling that you’re going directly to the set tomorrow, not the casting audition?” He asked, probing. I took a bite of shrimp; it used to taste incredibly fresh and fragrant, but now I felt a little nauseous. Lowering my head, I hid a sneer in my eyes: “Yeah, Old Man Sterling asked me to set up the venue first. Besides, don’t I have you for the casting?” I clearly saw a flicker of triumph in his eyes. Someone who once loved me so much, yet insisted on destroying something I had poured all my heart and soul into, and betrayed me. He held my hand: “Darling, don’t worry. I know how important this show is to you. After filming… I’ll go with you to visit your mother.” He still had the nerve to see my mother. I silently withdrew my hand. For the sake of the past ten years, I decided to give him one last chance, staring into his eyes and saying: “Ian Vance, do you still remember why my mother wrote this script?” “That year, my father cheated, bringing his mistress and their son to my mother’s face. My parents were childhood sweethearts. She wrote this script during her most painful time.” He seemed to suddenly remember this as well, and his expression started to change: “Of course I remember, Aurora. Have you heard anything recently?” “It’s all just gossip cooked up by the company for publicity. You know, I’d give my life for you.” Saying this, he leaned in, trying to kiss my lips, his hand beginning to wander over my body. I was already physically repulsed by him, and I pushed him away. Using the excuse of needing to pack, I returned to my room first. He didn’t know that as soon as I entered the bathroom, I brushed my teeth and rinsed my mouth over a dozen times. My phone chimed twice; it was a message from my best friend: [Aurora, you guessed it! That scumbag Ian Vance really cheated!] [Damn it, he often drove your compact car to deserted outskirts, and the two of them were in the car in the middle of the night… so disgusting.] [Now we have the evidence. Should we send the lawyer’s letter immediately?] I looked at my somewhat disheveled self in the mirror. [No, send the evidence to the lawyer first. I still want to give him a grand gift!] Ian Vance wants Skylar Lynn to step on me to climb to the top, paving her way to become an award-winning actress through me… Now that the evidence was conclusive, I tidied my hair and smiled at myself in the mirror. This time, I won’t hold back!

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The IV bag was hanging, a clear pouch of life-saving fluid. As I adjusted the drip rate for the patient, I glanced over and saw her recording a TikTok. Her phone was pointed right at the drip. The caption read: “This little nurse is all dolled up. Guess she has a hot date tonight.” “So I just cranked the drip down to the slowest setting. I’m in no rush.” “LOL. Looks like that date’s not happening.” 1 It started when I was hanging her first bag of antibiotics. She suddenly spoke up. “Honey, how old are you?” I looked at her. She was maybe in her late thirties, early forties, with sallow skin stretched tight over high cheekbones. She wore a bright red dress, the lace trim at the hem frayed and worn. I managed a small, professional smile. “Twenty-three.” “So young,” she said, her eyes raking over me from head to toe. “Seeing anyone?” I was used to this. You deal with hundreds of patients, and the older ones often just want to chat. It’s part of the job. “Nope,” I replied, keeping it brief. A sly grin spread across her face. “Wow, you even wear makeup to work. You’re pretty good at it, too. All dressed up like this… you got a date later?” The truth was, a little makeup was the only thing that made me feel human on these grueling night shifts. It was for me, not for anyone else. But something in her tone, a weird, needling quality, set my teeth on edge. “No,” I said, not feeling the need to explain myself. I focused on gently inserting the needle into the back of her hand. “This is for your pneumonia, right? You have three bags. Just call me when one is finished.” I gave her my standard instructions, emphasizing the important parts. “Please don’t adjust the flow rate yourself. It’s normal to see a tiny bit of blood back up in the tube sometimes, so don’t panic. If you need anything at all, just press the call button.” “Oh, okay, okay, I got it. You go on, get back to your work,” she said, her smile plastered on her face. For a moment, I thought I’d imagined the strange look in her eyes. Night shifts in the infusion ward are pure chaos. I was immediately swallowed by a storm of beeping machines and patient requests, and I quickly forgot about her. After what felt like an eternity of running around, I finally got a moment to breathe. I found an empty stool and sank into it, rubbing the deep ache in my calves. The thought of my day off tomorrow brought a genuine smile to my face. I was just pulling out my phone, thinking about texting a friend to see if she was free, when the call button for that same patient lit up. “What’s wrong?” I asked, pushing myself back to my feet and walking over. “I don’t feel good,” she whined, clutching her chest. “Something’s wrong.” A jolt of alarm shot through me. I immediately checked her chart and the IV bag. “Are you absolutely sure you’re not allergic to penicillin?” She nodded. “I’m sure. I’ve had it before, plenty of times.” The medication was correct, and she had no known allergies. My training kicked in. “Okay, tell me what’s wrong. Where does it hurt? What does it feel like?” “I just… I just feel bad,” she said, her brow furrowed. “I can’t explain it. Wait… oh. I think it’s better now. It’s gone.” I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. As I turned to leave, my eyes caught the IV drip. A single drop of fluid hung suspended, taking forever to fall. Someone had turned the flow rate down to a crawl. My brow furrowed. “Did you touch the dial?” “Oh, that? Was I not supposed to? It felt like it was going too fast, it made me uncomfortable.” I looked down at her, trying to keep my voice even. “The drip rate is set by the doctor for a reason. You can’t just change it. If you’re feeling unwell, you need to tell me.” I reached out and adjusted the dial back to the standard rate. Then, remembering she’d felt sick, I slowed it down just a little, a compromise. “I’ve already slowed it down for you,” I said, my voice firm but polite. “Please, don’t touch it again. Call me if you need anything.” “Okay, okay. Sorry to be a bother.” Her apologies meant nothing. She was a constant, draining presence. Every time I managed to sit down for more than thirty seconds, her light would flash. “Excuse me, honey, do you have a portable charger? My phone’s about to die.” “I’m sorry, we don’t provide those, but there’s a charging station over by the wall,” I said, trying to be helpful. “If you need, I can take your phone over there for you.” “Oh, no thanks. Never mind.” A few minutes later, the light flashed again. I sighed, dragging myself over. “Yes?” “This stuff is so cold,” she complained, shivering dramatically. “It’s making me freeze.” I thought for a second. “I could get you a heat pack?” “No, no, that’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” “It’s no trouble,” I said, waving a hand. I had just gotten back to my seat when, like clockwork, the bell rang again. I was at the end of my rope. “Ma’am, what is it now?” She was smiling that same unsettling smile, pointing toward my little corner. “You must have a date later, right? I saw you smiling to yourself over there.” I had been running nonstop all night. The only time I’d smiled was for a fleeting second, thinking about my day off. A slow burn of anger started in my chest. I fought to keep my voice steady. “I do not have a date. Please, only press the button if you actually need something.” “Okay, okay, sorry. I was just curious,” she said, her smile never wavering. “I just figured, a pretty girl like you, how could you not have a boyfriend?” She looked me up and down again. “I bet you have guys lining up, don’t you? With that fair skin and those big eyes… and your makeup is just perfect.” She leaned in, scrutinizing my face. “You really took your time with this. Must’ve taken you an hour or two, right? What time do you have to wake up in the morning to get all that done?” I was completely fed up. But then I looked at her, alone in this sterile, impersonal room late at night, with no one by her side. A flicker of pity cut through my irritation. Maybe she was just lonely, desperate for someone to talk to. “It doesn’t take that long. Five, ten minutes, maybe,” I said, my tone softening slightly. I was about to gently ask her to stop pressing the button when a thought struck me. It had been over an hour. Her first bag of antibiotics should have been empty by now. I glanced up at the IV stand. The bag was still more than half full. The fluid was dripping at a glacial pace, one drop at a time. She’d slowed it down again. This time, I didn’t hide my frustration. “I told you not to touch the flow rate. You have three bags to get through. At this speed, you’ll be here all night.” “I already slowed it down for you once. Please, stop messing with it.” I reached for the dial, my movements sharp and angry. My only intention was to get her treatment done so she could go home and rest. The plastic chairs in the waiting area were cold and uncomfortable; no one wanted to spend the night in one. But she just sat there, wearing that same infuriatingly cheerful expression. “Oh, dear. Am I going too slow? Am I holding you up from your date? I’m so, so sorry.” My patience snapped. I didn’t say another word. I set the drip to the correct rate and stalked back to my station. At least this time, she didn’t press the button again. I let out a sigh of relief and did one last round through the ward before heading to the prep room to mix medications for the next wave of patients. I had just finished when my charge nurse, Mrs. Davis, came in for her nightly inspection. She did a quick walk-through. “Everything okay out here?” “All good,” I said, shaking my head. “Everyone’s hooked up, and I’ve double-checked all the meds.” “Good work.” Mrs. Davis glanced at my chart. “You’re the most meticulous of the new hires. Keep it up.” She was just turning to leave when the bell chimed again. I looked at the flashing light above the patient’s cubicle and my heart sank. It was her. Again. This time, she’d pushed other patients too far. The man in the next cubicle, who had been trying to sleep with a blanket over his head, threw it off in a rage. “Will you give it a rest?” he snapped. “How many times have you pressed that thing tonight? Can’t you just say what you need all at once? Some of us are trying to sleep here!” The woman flinched, her voice shrinking. “I don’t feel well. I’m not allowed to say so?” Mrs. Davis walked over. “What seems to be the problem? Where are you uncomfortable?” She checked the IV bag and the line. “The medication is fine… wait a minute. Why is this drip so slow?” “It hurts when it’s too fast,” the woman said, darting a look at me. “This young nurse keeps speeding it up. I think I’m keeping her from her date.” She let out a little chuckle. “Young people these days, always have plans, you know? A pretty girl like her, must have a lot of suitors. It’s understandable. I can just take it faster if it’s a problem. I don’t want to mess up her night.” I saw red. “I did not speed it up,” I said, my voice rising. “I set it to the standard rate. In fact, I already slowed it down for you. If you’re in pain, you need to tell me specifically what’s wrong. And for the last time, I don’t have a date. Stop making things up!” The man in the next cubicle chimed in again. “She’s right. The nurse has been over here half a dozen times. You say you’re uncomfortable, she adjusts it for you. What is your problem?” “I don’t have a problem!” the woman shot back, her voice thick with fake outrage. “I’m sick, and I’m not allowed to say so? And you,” she snarled, pointing at the man, “you’re only defending her because she’s pretty. You trying to get her number or something?” The man rolled his eyes. “You’re crazy.” Mrs. Davis took control, her voice calm but firm. “This flow rate is far too slow. You have two more bags after this. You’ll be here all night, and you won’t get any rest. Can you tell me exactly what’s bothering you? We can try a different medication if we need to.” “No, no, that’s okay,” the woman said, waving her hands dismissively. “It’s probably just the needle. I asked this nurse her age, and she’s only twenty-three. She must be a new graduate, right?” “A trainee, I bet. It’s normal for students to not have much experience. It’s okay, I’m not a picky person. I understand.” I felt a surge of fury. I knew, for a fact, that the IV placement was perfect. It was just a simple IV. I’d practiced at home until my hands were sore, and I’d done hundreds at the hospital without a single failure. I clenched my fists. “You said the placement is bad. What, exactly, is wrong with it?” “Oh, how would I know? I’m not the professional here. All I know is that it hurts. And look, there’s blood backing up.” She pointed to her hand. There wasn’t a speck of blood in the line. “Where?” I challenged. “Oh, well, it was there a second ago. It’s probably gone now.” She shrank back into her chair. “Don’t be mad, miss. I won’t say anything else. I’m just not an expert, and it scared me. I didn’t mean any harm.” Mrs. Davis examined her hand carefully. “The needle placement is fine. There’s no blood, and even if there were, a small amount of backflow is perfectly normal. There’s nothing to worry about.” “Oh,” the woman said with a sheepish little laugh. “Well, maybe I saw it wrong. I feel much better now. You can adjust it. It’s fine.” Mrs. Davis reset the flow rate. “Our nurses are all highly responsible professionals. They work their scheduled hours and not a minute less. You can rest assured that someone will always be here for you. If you have a problem, just tell the nurse.” “Heh, heh,” the woman replied with a hollow laugh. … The first bag finally emptied. I went over to change it, my face a mask of professional indifference. The woman’s apple cheeks bunched up in a smile. “I’m so sorry, nurse. This is my first time coming to the hospital by myself, so I was a little scared. Please don’t take it personally.” I took a deep breath. “If there is a problem, let me know, and I will take care of it. I am not leaving early to go on a date. And when my shift ends, another nurse will take my place. This department is staffed twenty-four hours a day. You have nothing to worry about.” “Right, right. You run along now. Sorry again. I’m fine.” I’d dealt with difficult people before; it was part of the job. It wasn’t worth the energy to stay angry. I had other patients to prep meds for. A while later, my work finally done, I walked back through the ward. As I passed the woman’s chair, I saw she was on her phone, her back to me. My eyes snagged on her screen, and I froze. She was posting another TikTok. On the screen was the freshly hung bag of IV fluid. The caption was what made my blood run cold. “This little nurse is all dolled up. Guess she has a hot date tonight.” “So I just cranked the drip down to the slowest setting. I’m in no rush.” “LOL. Looks like that date’s not happening.” My head snapped up, a roaring in my ears. I looked at her IV pole. She had turned the drip rate all the way down. Again.

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