My father-in-law Paul was killed by my wife’s male assistant who ran a red light, but the verdict ruled that my father-in-law was committing fraud by staging an accident.
I filed lawsuits three times, and lost all three times.
Just as I was preparing for my fourth appeal, I discovered that my father-in-law’s body had been stolen.
I was about to call the police when my wife Corinna, a lawyer, suddenly came to me and threw twenty thousand dollars at me:
“You should know I’ve never lost a case. No matter how much evidence you have, you’ll never win this lawsuit. You keep appealing just to squeeze out more compensation money. I already had someone sell your dad’s body to the black market. Got twenty thousand total—at least his life was used to its fullest potential.”
“Stop harassing Anthony endlessly. He’s being merciful by not making you pay for the car repairs.”
I finally understood why Corinna had been defending the perpetrator all along—she thought the person who was killed was my dad.
I pushed the money back to her:
“You’d better keep this money. I have no right to take it.”
Corinna thought I was refusing. Her voice shot up:
“Twenty thousand isn’t enough for you?”
“James, get it through your head—your dad was just an unemployed bum. Being able to earn twenty thousand with his life is already a great deal. Don’t push your luck!”
I shook my head:
“You’ve got it wrong. What I mean is, this is money you earned from your family member. Only you have the right to take it.”
Corinna frowned deeply, her face full of disgust:
“This is money from selling your dad’s body. What does that have to do with me?”
“You think I’m like you, needing this kind of blood money?”
Corinna came from a single-parent family.
Her mother died early, and Paul raised her from infancy, feeding and caring for her through everything.
To fulfill her dream of becoming a lawyer, Paul worked multiple jobs a day, wearing his body down with all kinds of ailments.
Corinna saw it all and had always been extremely devoted to Paul.
At first, I didn’t understand why Corinna stopped coming home the moment Paul died, focusing all her energy on being the defense lawyer for Anthony, the perpetrator.
Turns out it was because she thought the person who died was my dad.
I looked at Corinna with complete seriousness:
“Corinna, I advise you to return this twenty thousand dollars and get your dad’s body back. He worked so hard to raise you.”
I thought I’d been obvious enough, but Corinna still didn’t understand. She said angrily:
“Are you out of your mind? When did your dad ever raise me?”
“And you think the black market is some kind of place where you can just redeem things you sold?”
“By now your dad’s body has definitely been chopped into pieces. How could you possibly get it back? Just take the money and stop making a scene!”
Paul wasn’t my biological father.
But he was a perfectly good person who was killed for no reason, forced to bear the label of fraud, and even had his body sold to the black market by his own daughter to be dismembered.
Thinking of his tragic fate, my eyes reddened.
“Corinna, you know how the black market handles bodies, yet you had the heart to sell Dad’s body there to be desecrated? Are you even human?”
Corinna smirked: “It’s your dad, not mine. Why wouldn’t I have the heart?”
“Besides, dead people can’t feel pain. Being able to sell to the black market for money at least gave your dad some value.”
“Who told him not to watch where he was walking? Getting hit was bad enough, but he also gave Anthony nightmares for days!”
Looking at Corinna’s self-righteous attitude, I found it hard to imagine what her reaction would be if she knew the dead person was her father.
Seeing I hadn’t responded, Corinna continued:
“Honestly, I always thought your dad had the face of someone who’d die young. Even if he hadn’t been hit, he wouldn’t have lived long anyway.”
“Getting twenty thousand now—you should be satisfied!”
“Take the money and go to the office tomorrow with some gifts to apologize to Anthony. Then we can put this behind us.”
With that, Corinna left the money and turned to leave.
Watching Corinna’s resolute departing figure.
I suddenly realized that the great lawyer who once fought for justice had now rotted through completely.
This marriage should end too.
The next day, I drafted divorce papers and went to her law firm.
As soon as I entered the office, I saw Corinna, who had severe germophobia, kneeling on one knee, gently massaging Anthony’s feet with tender movements.
In her eyes was a tenderness I’d never seen before.
The moment Anthony saw me, he immediately acted panicked:
“James, don’t misunderstand. I, I twisted my ankle, and Corinna was kind enough to massage it for me.”
As he spoke, he pulled his foot back and tugged at Corinna, his tone urgent:
“Corinna, explain quickly! I don’t want to lose my job…”
Corinna affectionately patted his back, softly reassuring him:
“Don’t worry, he’s here to apologize to you.”
Then she looked at me with disgust, her tone cold:
“Didn’t I tell you to bring some gifts? Why are you empty-handed?”
“At your age, you don’t even know how to apologize properly?”
Too lazy to argue with her, I coldly pulled out the divorce agreement from my bag and handed it to Corinna:
“Sign it. We’re getting divorced.”
Corinna looked at the divorce agreement and froze for a moment.
Then she frowned in anger: “What are you up to now?”
“You know my dad only recognizes you as his son-in-law. He’d never agree to us divorcing.”
“You’re pulling this stunt just to get my dad to scold me, aren’t you?”
So she still had her father in her heart after all.
I pulled a bitter smile and said coldly: “Your dad will never scold you again.”
Corinna’s expression changed slightly. She asked: “What do you mean?”
I looked grave: “Go home and see for yourself.”
Corinna glared at me impatiently: “Stop being so cryptic with me.”
“So what if your dad died? Why are you still going on about it?”
“Get lost. Don’t embarrass yourself at my office. I’m not divorcing you!”
Seeing this, Anthony, who had been watching the whole time, suddenly wiped away non-existent tears and sobbed theatrically:
“James, even though I bought my license and I’m not a good driver, that day really wasn’t my fault!”
“Are you bringing up divorce now to threaten Corinna into sending me to prison?!”
Anthony spoke as if he were the real victim who’d suffered the greatest injustice.
That tearful appearance broke Corinna’s heart.
She pulled Anthony into her arms:
“Anthony, don’t cry. As long as I’m here, you’ll never go to prison.”
Then she glared at me furiously:
“James, Anthony is still a kid. Do you have to target him like this?”
“You think threatening me with divorce will make me stop defending Anthony? Dream on!”
“Let me tell you, your dad died for nothing, and you won’t get a penny in compensation, let alone harm a single hair on Anthony’s head!”
Watching Corinna stand against me to protect the perpetrator who killed her own father.
I couldn’t help but feel sad for my father-in-law again.
Forget it. Since even his own daughter had taken this stance, what was there for me, an outsider, to say?
I took a deep breath and said word by word:
“I’m getting this divorce no matter what.”
Corinna angrily tore up the divorce agreement on the spot, threw the pieces in the air, and said through gritted teeth:
“You want a divorce that badly?”
“Fine! I’ll grant your wish!”
“But let me tell you, even if we divorce, I’ll be the one drafting the agreement. I’ll make you lose all reputation and leave with nothing!”
“And I’ll make my dad see clearly that the son-in-law he liked is nothing but a vicious man who uses his own father’s death to scam money and sue for profit!”
Through the fluttering paper scraps, I saw Corinna’s ruthless, determined eyes.
And the barely noticeable triumphant smile at the corner of Anthony’s mouth.
In the end, I said nothing and turned to leave the law firm.
After returning home, I silently began packing my belongings.
Just as I was dragging my suitcase downstairs to the apartment complex.
A large group of people suddenly swarmed toward me.
They each held cameras or phones, frantically filming me:
“Look, it’s him! He taught his elderly father to commit fraud by staging accidents!”
“After his dad was killed committing fraud, he used his father’s death to greedily extort money. When extortion failed, he filed lawsuits to scam money! He drove a college graduate to depression, and the poor guy nearly committed suicide several times!”
“Fortunately his wife is a righteous lawyer who helps the right side regardless of family ties, always fighting for justice and defending the innocent victim. Otherwise who knows what would have happened to that young man!”
“Now he blames his wife for not going along with his schemes, so he’s threatening her with divorce. He’s even packed his bags and is about to leave!”
Sharp accusations rang out endlessly.
Through the crowd, I saw Anthony and Corinna’s gloating faces behind them.
So this live broadcast was Corinna’s method to destroy my reputation?
The response was indeed massive. The on-site hosts hurled accusations non-stop, and various live streaming channels were filled with constant abuse:
“This man is truly despicable! For money, he’d even sacrifice his own father’s life?”
“What parent could live long with such garbage for a son?”
“Like father, like son. His dad getting hit was divine justice!”
“Right, why wasn’t anyone else hit, but specifically his dad? That proves his dad must not have been a good person either!”
Public opinion fermented quickly. In moments, my photo topped trending searches across the internet.
Labels like “scumbag” and “trash” all became synonyms for my identity.
As these hosts fanned the flames.
The onlookers who gathered at the scene couldn’t help but start throwing eggs and rotten vegetables at me.
I walked through the garbage on the ground, passed through the crowd, and approached Corinna:
“Corinna, do you really have to be this ruthless?”
Corinna frowned slightly. Before she could speak, Anthony tearfully jumped in:
“James, even though your father died, I haven’t had it easy either!”
“I’m begging you to let me go. Stop going after me!”
A flash of heartache crossed Corinna’s eyes, then she looked at me resolutely:
“James, you brought all this on yourself.”
“Your dad getting hit by a car was entirely because he was trying to commit fraud. You shouldn’t have kept suing and harassing Anthony over this.”
“Anthony’s new car was damaged by your dad. He didn’t make you pay for repairs because he’s kind, yet you keep going on and on. With such a malicious son like you, no wonder your dad died young!”
As soon as she finished speaking.
My dad suddenly emerged from the crowd, looking at Corinna:
“Who died?”
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My ex-husband Johnson, who I’d been divorced from for five years, sent me a message saying our child missed me and wouldn’t stop crying.
In a moment of weakness, I bought a plane ticket and came back. The moment I walked through the door, I found Johnson holding his wife, grinning smugly.
“Marta knows I have an ex-wife. She got jealous and insisted I call you back here to punish you.”
Johnson knew full well I was allergic to seafood, yet he had someone place a basin of shrimp in front of me and told me to peel all of it.
My son, whom I hadn’t seen in five years, chimed in,
“You may have given birth to me, but Marta is my mom. You’re nothing but a nanny.”
What the hell were these idiots thinking?
Couldn’t they see I was already married?
Seeing me standing there motionless, Marta slammed her knife and fork heavily onto the table.
“Why isn’t she moving? Didn’t you say your ex-wife was obedient? That she wouldn’t dare go west if you told her to go east?”
“Don’t be angry, Marta. She’s just slow to react, hasn’t processed it yet.”
Johnson said softly before turning to me.
“Peel the shrimp.”
Just like he’d ordered me around five years ago.
The child beside him—my son, whom I’d carried for ten months and struggled to bring into this world—stood on his chair and spoke to me in the same commanding tone as his father.
“Didn’t you hear my mom wants to eat shrimp? Hurry up and peel them!”
I couldn’t help but find it laughable.
“I never should have come back to see you people. You disgust me so much I want to throw up.”
After saying that, I took out my phone to make a call, but a bodyguard nearby snatched it away and threw it on the floor.
In an instant, my phone shattered into pieces.
“What are you doing?!”
I frowned, stunned by this operation.
“Marta said you’re staying here for three days to be properly punished until she calms down. Don’t contact the outside world for these three days. We’ll send you away when the time comes.”
Johnson’s voice was calm as he placed a peeled shrimp into Marta’s mouth.
When it came to matters concerning me, he never asked for my consent—not five years ago, and not now.
“I’m already married, Johnson.”
I looked at him, raising my hand to show them the ring on my ring finger.
Under the lights, it sparkled brilliantly—a diamond the size of a pigeon’s egg, glittering endlessly.
Johnson stared at my face for a moment, then sneered.
“Don’t try to fool me with such a clumsy lie. Everyone knows you’re damaged goods that I, Johnson, threw away. Who would want you?”
Marta laughed too.
“Listen, stop trying to fool people with a fake ring, okay? There’s only one pink diamond ring this big that I know of, and it was bought by some mysterious tycoon. Are you telling me that mysterious tycoon is you?”
“Not me. My husband.”
Marta laughed even louder, pointing at my nose.
“You? Someone would want you? A second marriage? Please, do you even think before you speak? Besides, that mysterious tycoon isn’t even in Minnesota.”
“Come peel the shrimp. Don’t make me say it twice.”
Johnson grabbed my wrist and pressed me down into the chair in front of the dining table.
“What if I don’t peel them?”
“If you don’t make Marta happy, I’ll dig up your mother’s grave and scatter her ashes.”
Johnson looked into my eyes, as if trying to see into my heart.
We hadn’t seen each other in five years, yet in those contemptuous eyes, I surprisingly saw a trace of longing.
That longing was as disgusting as he was.
“You’re forcing me.”
“As a daughter, you didn’t fulfill your filial duties while she was alive. Do you want to disturb her peace in death too?”
Johnson asked me, pointing at the basin of shrimp in front of me.
“Peel.”
I took a deep breath.
Alex had some business to attend to for the next couple of days, but he’d arrive in Minnesota in two days to take me home.
I just needed to hold on for two days.
“Fine, I’ll peel them.”
“No gloves!”
Marta threw the gloves into the trash can and folded her arms.
“What kind of punishment is it if you wear gloves?”
I suppressed my anger and began peeling with my bare hands.
In an instant, red bumps appeared all over my hands and arms. It was itchy and unbearable.
After finally finishing the basin of shrimp, Marta looked at them with disgust.
“These shrimp don’t have your contagious disease, do they? I feel dirty just looking at them.”
Fortunately, there weren’t too many shrimp, or I definitely would have ended up in the hospital.
“Is Marta brain-dead? Who told you allergies are contagious diseases?”
“How dare you insult my mom!”
George got worked up and shoved a shrimp into my mouth. I felt my breathing become rapid.
Seeing my reaction, Johnson panicked a little.
“Alice, what are you pretending?”
“She’s acting so convincingly. It’s just one shrimp, but you’d think she ate poison. Feed half the shrimp to her and half to the dog. I don’t want to eat any of it.”
Marta snorted and went upstairs.
I curled up in discomfort.
I heard Johnson say,
“Do as the lady says. Get the family doctor here. If anything happens to Alice, treat her immediately.”
Before leaving, Johnson also removed the diamond ring from my ring finger.
“What are you doing?!”
I shouted at him.
“Even though you lied, hearing you say another man gave you this ring disgusts me. After all, you were once my woman.”
Johnson threw the ring into the trash can.
“Alice, you’ve gotten bolder after five years.”
“But I haven’t forgotten how you used to beg me to spend more time with you.”
After Johnson said this, he went upstairs.
Because of the allergic reaction, I didn’t sleep well all night. The family doctor only gave me some allergy medication.
In my daze, I thought about the past.
I’d married Johnson initially just to get money from him. My mother was seriously ill in bed, and I needed money for her medical expenses.
I didn’t care who he was sleeping with. Johnson’s mother told me that as long as he stayed at my place for one more day and I gave birth to a child sooner, she’d give me money to leave.
“All the women Johnson finds are too dirty—they don’t even know whose child they’re carrying. I need a Johnson family child. Once you give birth to this child, you can leave.”
Johnson played around a lot. He would drug me and make me please him.
He even posted photos of my private parts—with pixels covering them—to his friend group. I was utterly humiliated.
My mother was literally angered to death after those photos were exposed.
After Mom died, money didn’t mean much to me anymore, but I was pregnant then. In a moment of weakness, I kept the baby.
After giving birth, I left without looking back.
That day at the hospital, the doctor even called him.
“Mr. Johnson, congratulations on your son.”
Johnson just mumbled something vague and hung up.
I left. Although the doctor strongly urged me to rest in the hospital for a while, I didn’t want to stay there at all.
I didn’t want to see Johnson ever again.
I went to Johnson’s mother, and she tried to persuade me.
“Johnson knows you gave birth today. He specifically went to buy supplements for you and is hosting a banquet. He hung up because he was really busy.”
“Alice, without Johnson’s consent for you to carry this child to term, do you think you could have had such a smooth pregnancy?”
“Stay. Johnson may not say it, but I can tell he really likes you.”
“But all I feel for him is hatred.”
My face was full of disgust.
Hearing the word “like” made me sick.
“You can’t go back on what you said. Please let me leave.”
From that day I left until now, five years had passed.
I was sleeping groggily when I was awakened by being drenched.
When I woke up, I saw George standing to the side holding an empty basin, with Marta clapping.
“well done.”
My allergic reaction had just subsided, but this basin of cold water made me shiver violently, and my head throbbed painfully.
“What are you doing?”
“Are you here on vacation? Sleeping so soundly.”
Marta said with her arms folded, then looked at George.
“George, tell her what we’re doing today.”
“Racing!”
George threw the basin on the floor and clapped his hands.
“What fun is racing without some entertainment?”
Marta said with a smile, then ordered me in a commanding tone,
“You, come with us.”
That’s how they brought me to the racetrack.
It was a vast, empty space with several luxury racing cars parked there. Johnson was standing there too.
Seeing them bring me over, he frowned.
“Why did you bring her?”
“What, do you feel sorry for her?”
Marta pouted.
“How could I? You’re my wife.”
Johnson patted Marta’s head and squatted down to put a helmet on George.
I’d already been drenched with a basin of cold water, and now with the cold wind blowing, I was shivering even more.
“Since I’m your wife, what if I want to drag her behind the car? Would you say yes?”
Marta tilted her head, shaking Johnson’s arm. My eyes widened.
“What did you say?”
Dragging someone behind a car—how dare they?
“That might kill someone, Marta.”
Johnson looked troubled and glanced at me.
“Her life is worthless. If this gets trending and you get criticized for it, it wouldn’t be worth it.”
A flash of jealousy crossed Marta’s eyes, then she pushed George forward.
“George wants to do this too. Besides, we’ll give her protective gear and won’t drive too fast. What’s wrong with that?”
“Didn’t you say I’m your wife? Are you going to side with an outsider over your wife?”
George also tugged at Johnson’s arm.
“Dad, Dad, I want to do this.”
“Didn’t you also say? This woman once knelt for three days and nights and was whipped a hundred times without dying. This is just playing racing with her. What could happen?”
I never imagined the child I’d carried for ten months and struggled to bring into this world could be so cold-blooded and heartless.
“George, I should never have given birth to you.”
“If I’d known you’d turn out like Johnson, I never should have brought you into this world.”
I started coughing. The allergic reaction hadn’t completely subsided, and now I felt cold all over. When I touched myself, I was burning hot.
I had a fever.
“Enough, Alice. You were the one who shamelessly married me back then. I didn’t want to marry you.”
“You’re also the one who ran away right after giving birth to George at the hospital. What right do you have to say such things?”
Johnson’s eyes looked like they were about to shoot fire.
“Do you know how much I wanted to kill you when I came back with all those supplements and couldn’t find you?”
Following his gaze, I surprisingly saw a hint of grievance in his eyes.
“That’s because I never loved you, Johnson.”
“I only got together with you for money. I told you that five years ago.”
“Fine, fine.”
Johnson nodded, grabbed me, and pushed me forward.
I hit the car’s side mirror, making my head even dizzier.
“Tie her to the back of the car. Don’t give her protective gear. Just drag her for five laps.”
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My husband, Vincent Smith, has fallen in love.
Only this time, his girlfriend is rather disobedient—she actually came before me to provoke:
“Miss Harper, you and Vincent are just an arranged marriage. I’m his true love.”
I smiled faintly, extended my slender fingers, and forcefully yanked the Bulgari necklace from her neck.
Vincent witnessed this scene, his lips pressing into a thin line.
Joanna bit her lip coyly: “Vincent, Miss Harper took the gift you gave me.”
Vincent glanced at the necklace in my hand and tossed it into the trash without hesitation.
Then he scolded his girlfriend: “Joanna, who gave you the audacity to disturb my wife?”
Joanna stared at him in shock, tears streaming down her face.
I watched coldly, finding it rather amusing.
When Joanna was led away by Vincent’s assistant, she seemed full of grievances and questions.
She probably couldn’t understand why the man who had whispered sweet nothings to her in bed yesterday became cold and heartless today.
Vincent’s attentiveness toward me wasn’t just for show.
When he took my hand, he immediately noticed the faint marks on my fingertips, kissing them tenderly over and over.
“Harper, you’re hurt.”
I didn’t look at Vincent.
He and I had grown up together, childhood sweethearts.
He wasn’t a gentle gentleman by nature, yet with me he was tender and restrained.
In families like ours, couples who play around separately are common, but I was the one he pursued relentlessly.
When the Harper and Smith families arranged our marriage, my cousin Vivian couldn’t hide her envy.
Vivian said that in wealthy families, there’s no such thing as true love.
But Vivian had seen Vincent hold an umbrella for me, seen him so nervous his hands trembled when he proposed, seen him choke up with emotion as he took his vows at our wedding.
Yet, I wasn’t his only woman.
Vincent made dinner.
For such a successful businessman to cook personally was truly rare.
Even my demanding parents praised him repeatedly.
The young ladies in our social circle seemed quite envious that I could possess Vincent’s eternal favor.
Just because I’m allergic to willow and poplar catkins, Vincent could ensure the entire city would never see another willow or poplar tree.
He carefully tossed the salad for me, then placed it before me.
I thanked him politely.
During dinner, his phone screen kept vibrating. I glanced at it unconsciously.
When he realized I was looking at his phone, he handed it to me without hesitation.
“Harper, you’re actually taking an interest in me.”
Vincent never hid his kept mistresses from me.
Perhaps because no husband around us was more responsible than him.
Even my parents were no exception—they each played around, and my father’s illegitimate sons could form a soccer team.
My mother had her uterus removed due to an accident and couldn’t give my father a son.
The two of them selected an illegitimate son to inherit the company.
That illegitimate son was very respectful toward my mother and quite caring toward me.
I took the phone. Sure enough, Joanna was already deleted from his Instagram.
After all, having offended me, she would probably never return to the capital in this lifetime.
Scrolling further down, I saw Amanda Brown.
A female celebrity, also the only mistress who had stayed by Vincent’s side for over three years.
I’d met her before—indeed, she was obedient and humble.
When she encountered me, she was always careful, never overstepping.
Vincent was very satisfied with her discretion and would give her resources from time to time.
Her career was developing smoothly now. I’d even seen her at a fashion show last weekend.
I had attended with Vincent, in my capacity as Mrs. Smith.
Amanda walked the red carpet gracefully in the brand’s haute couture.
She nodded to me gently in acknowledgment.
She was very tactful, didn’t linger, and didn’t exchange any words with Vincent in my presence.
That evening, Vincent seemed to notice the displeasure in my eyes and leaned close to my ear, whispering:
“You don’t like her? Then I won’t see her anymore.”
The sincerity in his words was unmistakable. What I disliked, he never pursued.
I shook my head and laughed: “Vincent, I’m not that unreasonable.”
Vincent pulled me close by the waist. Despite the noise around us, his voice was tender: “Harper, let’s have a child.”
I said nothing, just quietly looked at myself reflected in his pupils.
That evening, Vincent didn’t come home as usual.
He said he had business.
I nodded calmly and watched his Maybach drive into the distance.
Half an hour later, Vivian sent a voice message:
“I think I saw your husband with mine at a nightclub. I saw several girls with them, but don’t worry—your husband has a cleanliness obsession, he usually only plays with virgins.”
I removed my wedding ring and asked slowly: “Which boyfriend are you drinking with?”
Vivian laughed cheerfully: “What boyfriend? Just a male model. Harper, you should learn from me. It’s better when couples each do their own thing. I’ve invited you to come play before, but you always refuse. Let me be real with you—when only one person in a marriage cheats, things will go wrong.”
I didn’t respond.
She continued laughing and persuading me: “Harper, I know what you really want. But you need to understand, as long as men have money, women swarm to them. With fresh young girls all around, wanting them to stay faithful is impossible.”
“I haven’t stayed faithful either,” I said gently.
Vivian’s mouth dropped open in surprise, asking with great interest: “Damn, look at you! You’ve been sleeping with someone behind my back! Who is it? Do I know him? Does your husband know? Tell me quick.”
Just as I was about to answer, I heard knocking at the door.
I smiled and hung up decisively.
I sat on the living room sofa, looking toward the entrance.
Adrian Martin opened the shoe cabinet familiarly, removed his coat, and walked toward the kitchen.
He curved his lips and raised the lunch box in his hand, nodding at me.
I met Adrian on a snowy winter night—the first time I learned of Vincent’s infidelity.
I stood under the streetlamp as snowflakes mixed with tears fell continuously.
When in love, I had invested all my emotions, full of expectations for marriage.
Suddenly learning of his affair, I was both disappointed and furious.
But I’d seen plenty of similar situations. Friends, family, including my parents, all provided less than ideal examples.
For a long time, I wondered if I was the one out of step.
Even my cousin Vivian, who understood me best, saw my dejected state and showed incomprehension in her eyes:
“Harper, the Smith family enterprise is worth hundreds of billions. Vincent isn’t just the Smith family leader, he’s also an outstanding talent among his peers. With such background and status, it would be strange if he didn’t keep a few women.”
Men’s infidelity seemed trivial in their eyes.
But I was angry and tormented, yet couldn’t vent, because I’d seen Vivian’s heartbroken expression.
Later she often sought thrills outside too—at first to vent, later becoming addicted.
That evening, Adrian held an umbrella in the snow, slowly walking toward me.
He was tall and well-built, his eyes sparkling like stars when he smiled.
I lowered my head, telling him to leave.
But he acted as if he hadn’t heard, simply wanting to hand me the umbrella.
I directed all my fury at him, yet Adrian just gazed at me tenderly.
I suddenly fell silent.
After a long while, he finally chuckled softly:
“Today is Christmas Eve. I wish you peace and joy.”
I felt very ashamed that I had vented at such a stranger.
I saw him again the following spring.
I was attending as a sponsor of a film festival. During the awards ceremony, I saw him.
He won the Best Newcomer award at that festival and took photos with me.
Later this photo trended on social media, and people started shipping us as a couple.
When my assistant asked if we should handle the public opinion, looking at his aloof expression in the photo, somehow I chose not to.
In the end, I even had someone send him some film and television resources.
The third time we met, he was filming a commercial.
After it ended, Adrian walked over to greet me.
He smiled: “Hello, I’m Adrian Martin. Nice to meet you again.”
He looked at me calmly, and in that instant, I suddenly realized—he didn’t know who I was.
He had forgotten I was that woman who lost control in the snow that night.
After that, I often appeared around Adrian.
At first, I was just curious about him, perhaps because I rarely encountered such pure people.
It might also be that when wealth accumulates to a certain degree, life becomes empty and one needs to find some interest.
At that time, Vincent had met a new girlfriend, a straightforward and sincere girl, passionate as fire.
He seemed quite infatuated with that girl then, somewhat addicted, and I rarely saw him.
He even occasionally let things slip in front of me.
I suppressed my anger, controlled my emotions, quietly playing the role of Mrs. Smith.
Vincent put his arm around my shoulder: “Harper, they’re different from you. To me, you’re irreplaceable.”
Of course, I understood what that meant, and I believed he was telling the truth.
I never doubted anything he said to me.
Because our backgrounds were similar, our interests aligned, and we had once been in love.
Adrian was shy by nature, following rules and conventions.
Before I even realized it, he had already fallen for me.
Because every time he saw me, his eyes seemed filled with clear springs.
Later I went to visit him on set, and we played together in a nearby town.
It happened to be summer.
We walked shoulder to shoulder through a small alley. At the end of the alley, close to a small river, boats passed by.
That day, under the setting sun, sunlight danced on his hair, and the sound of flowing water filled my ears.
Adrian reached out and supported my shoulder, his palm warm.
In the moment I was lost in thought, he lowered his head and softly said something.
When I came back to my senses and asked what he’d just said, Adrian just shook his head gently.
Later, when I returned home and stood on the balcony watering flowers, I suddenly smiled.
Actually, I had heard what he said that day.
If I hadn’t misheard, his words should have been:
“I like you.”
But I felt ashamed.
Because he didn’t know I was already married.
After we became familiar, Adrian learned about my chronic insomnia and would come to the villa to tell me stories whenever he was free.
We never had excessive intimacy.
I hadn’t erased Vincent’s traces in this home.
Interestingly enough, Vincent actually didn’t leave many traces in this house.
Probably because he was always busy outside.
After dinner, Adrian and I watched a movie on the sofa. I kissed the corner of his lips.
His voice trembled: “Harper…”
An impulse surged in my heart: “Adrian, do you like me?”
In an instant.
Even his ears turned red.
I didn’t expect Vincent to suddenly come home. At that moment, I was wearing a soft shawl, reading the script Adrian had left behind by the window.
He knocked on the door first, and only after confirming I was alone did he walk in quietly.
He casually loosened the tie around his neck, his tone gentle: “Sorry, Harper, I didn’t tell you in advance. Actually, I was with Maxwell today.”
Maxwell was Vivian’s husband.
I had no fondness for him.
I put down the script and smiled faintly: “It’s fine.”
Vincent reached out to hug me, but he probably realized he carried another woman’s scent, so ultimately he just gently held my hand:
“I’ll go take a shower. You should rest early too.”
As he turned, he saw the lilies in the bedroom, then asked:
“Harper, I remember there were no lilies in the house when I left. Did you have someone buy them?”
Although he knew I didn’t like having fresh flowers in the bedroom, there had never been any before.
So who had bought and arranged flowers after he left?
He still considerately gave me an excuse. I only needed to go along with it, and perhaps on the surface, we could return to our previous life.
“Vincent, when my cousin called me, you heard it from nearby, didn’t you?”
I curved my lips and looked directly into his eyes:
“That’s why you rushed back in such a hurry.”
Hearing my words, Vincent’s pupils darkened like an abyss.
He threw the flowers into the trash.
I stood up and took out the shawl, draping it over my shoulders.
Wind howled, rain beat against the window.
Making both our faces appear somewhat pale.
After a long while, Vincent raised his eyes to look at me again.
He had already reined in all his emotions and turned to get a glass from the wine cabinet.
He filled it and drank it all in one gulp, only then slightly calming the irritation in his heart.
He asked me when I’d gotten a boyfriend.
I answered honestly.
Vincent’s brows furrowed tightly.
For a long time, he slowly exhaled: “Harper, I thought you were different.”
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Marcus wanted to go to headquarters for advanced training and asked me to temporarily take over his work.
When I refused, he started making things difficult for me.
For five straight months, I worked overtime without a single day off. It drained all my energy and even ruined my relationship.
I finally snapped and texted my best friend during a meeting:
“I honestly don’t know how he can pretend so well.”
The moment I realized I’d accidentally sent it to the wrong person, I looked up at his increasingly dark expression. My mind short-circuited, and before I could stop myself, I added another message:
“But somehow, you still can’t pretend to keep me in your heart.”
I woke up in the infirmary.
The smell of disinfectant mixed with Marcus’s crisp sandalwood scent, flooding my nostrils together.
I snapped my eyes open to meet his unfathomably deep gaze.
He was sitting by the bed, his suit jacket perfectly pressed, though the look behind his glasses carried a hint of scrutiny.
“Awake?” His voice was low, emotionless.
Those two death-wish messages from the meeting room instantly came flooding back.
I remembered how he’d stared at me in shock, while the surrounding colleagues all turned to gawk at me with their gossip-hungry faces.
In my panic, I’d shot up suddenly, which triggered my low blood sugar. My vision went black and I fainted.
I jolted upright, my brain racing.
“Mr. Marcus, I… that was…” That was because I got my head caught in a door, got my brain zapped by lightning!
“Your true feelings?” He cut me off, his tone flat but sending a chill down my spine.
True feelings? Truly calling him pretentious, or truly wanting him to pretend his way into my heart?
Either one was a death sentence.
Could I really tell him the truth—that my stupid mouth was just used to trading cheesy lines with my best friend?
I opened my mouth but couldn’t squeeze out a single word. Finally, I just buried my head in my knees and played dead.
“Susanna.” He called my name. The volume wasn’t loud, but the pressure was overwhelming. “Don’t you have anything you want to say to me?”
I jerked my head up and forced out a smile uglier than crying:
“Mr. Marcus, I just admire you so much that I got overexcited and started talking nonsense. Please don’t take it seriously!”
He said nothing, just looked at me quietly.
That gaze seemed to pierce through my skull and see every thought in my head.
Just as I was about to faint again from his staring, he finally spoke.
“Rest well.”
With that, he stood up, straightened his already wrinkle-free cuffs, and left the infirmary.
I let out a long breath and collapsed back onto the bed.
I survived.
I thought this incident would blow over like a passing breeze.
But I underestimated the speed and power of workplace gossip.
The next day, when I walked into the office with dark circles under my eyes, I was greeted by knowing looks from all directions.
“Susanna, wow! You’ve been hiding your talents!”
“Right? You always seem so quiet, but you’re brave enough to go after King Marcus!”
“Tell us, what happened? Did he accept?”
My colleagues surrounded my desk, every face screaming “Spill the tea!”
I was speechless, could only laugh awkwardly: “It’s a misunderstanding, all a misunderstanding.”
No one believed me.
My best friend Lily sent me a message:
“You’re famous. I heard you confessed to Marcus in front of everyone and he didn’t reject you?”
I was near tears: “I sent the message to the wrong person! I meant to send it to you.”
Lily: “Then how do you explain the second message? Can’t pretend to keep you in his heart? Susanna, did overtime scramble your brain?”
Me: “…My fingers moved faster than my brain!”
No one believed me, including myself.
What was more terrifying was Marcus’s attitude.
He never asked me to work overtime again.
Not even once.
In fact, one time near the end of work hours, he deliberately walked over to my desk and tapped on it.
“If there’s nothing urgent, leave on time.”
Everyone in the office instantly gave me looks that screamed “shipping it.”
I froze in place, watching him walk away.
This was unbearable.
For a whole week, I enjoyed the divine treatment of nine-to-five hours with full weekends off.
The price? I became the focus of the entire company.
Everyone looked at me like they were looking at the future boss’s wife.
Even the tea room lady, when making my coffee, would add an extra spoonful of sugar and say with a smile:
“Susanna dear, get some extra sugar. Dating takes brain power.”
I was going crazy.
That night, I tossed and turned in bed, my mind full of Marcus’s expressionless face and my colleagues’ knowing smiles.
I couldn’t just sit here and wait for death.
The grudge from five months of overtime had to be settled.
The resentment from my breakup had to be vented.
I sprang up from bed and opened a delivery app.
In the search box, I viciously typed two words: beat someone up.
The page loaded, showing a bunch of merchants offering “sparring practice” and “boxing experience.”
I randomly clicked on one. The avatar was a delivery guy wearing a helmet.
I got straight to the point: “Hi, I want to hire someone to beat up my boss. Male, about six foot one, looks pretty built.”
The other side replied instantly: “…”
I added: “Money is no object.”
After a few seconds, they sent a long voice message.
I clicked it open. A voice full of positive energy came through:
“Hiring someone to hurt people is illegal! You’ll go to jail! It’s not worth throwing yourself away over some boss.”
“Listen to my advice—there are plenty of fish in the sea. Why fixate on one? Change jobs, start a new life! Look on the bright side!”
Me: “…”
A kind-hearted delivery driver.
I silently closed the app. Beating him up was out.
But his words gave me an idea.
Since Marcus was afraid of romantic scandals, I might as well make this scandal a reality!
He wanted a promotion to headquarters, right? At this critical juncture, the last thing he’d want was unclear relations with a subordinate.
As long as I made my “pursuit” obvious and foolish enough that everyone knew about it, he’d definitely avoid me to prevent suspicion.
When that happened, forget making things difficult for me—he probably wouldn’t even want to see me.
I’m a genius!
A perfect revenge plan rose up in my mind.
Step one of the plan was to make my “crush” even more widely known.
I needed a platform.
So I posted on the company’s internal forum, in the anonymous section.
Title: “Help! How do I pursue that handsome, aloof boss in our department?”
I wrote the main post with heartfelt sincerity, tears in every word, portraying myself as a humble little employee madly in love and recklessly brave.
To add authenticity, I subtly mentioned a few of Marcus’s habits that only our department would know, like how he only drank pour-over black coffee and liked to tap his knuckles on the table during meetings.
As soon as I posted it, it exploded.
“Is the OP Susanna from the Planning Department? Front row for the gossip!”
“Wow, is this the warrior who confessed publicly? I salute you!”
“Mr. Marcus is such an iceberg—probably hard to melt. Good luck, OP!”
Watching the replies grow rapidly, I smiled with satisfaction.
The buzz was there. Next came the actual action.
Netizens flooded me with advice.
The top comment said: “If you want to capture a man’s heart, first capture his stomach! Send him a love bento!”
Good idea.
The next day, I got up early and spent two hours in the kitchen, producing a bento box with… extremely abstract presentation.
I tried hard to shape the rice into a heart but ended up with an unnameable blob.
The broccoli was overcooked, yellow like autumn grass.
The only meat dish was pan-seared chicken breast, black as charcoal.
I looked at my masterpiece and fell silent.
Whatever. It’s the thought that counts. Besides, I was afraid if I made it too good, it might actually reach his heart.
After all, I just wanted to disgust him.
I packed up the bento and brought it to the company.
At noon, while Marcus was in a meeting, I snuck the bento onto his desk and stuck on a note with a giant heart.
After doing all this, I slunk back to my seat like a thief.
I waited for him to come back, see this “love” bento, and throw it in the trash with a disgusted look.
However, when he returned, he just calmly glanced at the bento box, picked it up, and walked into his private office.
All afternoon, there was no movement.
I sat restlessly, frequently glancing at that closed door.
Did he eat it?
No way. Even a dog would shake its head at that thing.
Near the end of work, Marcus’s office door finally opened.
He walked out holding the now-empty bento box.
He walked straight to my desk and placed the freshly washed container on my table.
“Thank you.” He looked at me, his tone still flat. “It tasted good, just a bit salty.”
I was completely stunned.
He not only ate it but washed the box and even gave me feedback on the taste?
This wasn’t the script! Didn’t he hate stupid people the most?
Before, when I made even the tiniest mistake at work, he’d publicly criticize me, looking at me like I was an idiot—I could still picture that expression.
Shouldn’t he be avoiding me like the plague?
The surrounding colleagues started whispering again, their eyes burning with gossip fire.
“Oh my God, Mr. Marcus actually ate the lunch she made!”
“And washed the box! What kind of plot twist is this!”
“Locked in! I’m shipping this couple to death!”
I felt my face burning. Not from embarrassment—from anger.
Marcus! What are you trying to do!
Step one of the plan: total failure.
I refused to give up. That night at home, I kept scrolling through the forum.
The second top comment: “Create coincidental meetings! Make him think you’re destined!”
Okay, coincidental meetings.
I found out from a colleague that Marcus had a habit of night running, usually at 8 PM, at Riverside Park near the company.
The next evening at 7:50, I changed into full workout gear and showed up at the park entrance right on time.
I pretended to stretch while looking around.
At 8:10, a tall figure came running from the distance.
It was him!
I immediately adjusted my breathing, struck my most graceful running pose, and ran toward him.
When I was about three meters away, I deliberately “twisted” my ankle and weakly fell toward him.
According to my plan, he’d instinctively dodge, and I’d spectacularly fall in front of him, staging a bit of self-inflicted suffering to make him think I was a clumsy troublemaker.
But I didn’t expect that not only would he not dodge, he’d steadily extend his arm and catch me in his embrace.
My face slammed solidly into his hard chest. My nose bridge nearly broke on the spot.
A strong masculine scent mixed with the smell of sweat surrounded me.
“Are you okay?” His voice came from above my head, carrying a hint of post-exercise breathlessness that sounded… kind of sexy.
I shoved him away hard and backed up two steps, covering my nose.
“I-I’m fine, thank you, Mr.—”
“Call me Marcus.” He interrupted me.
I froze.
He looked at me. In the darkness, his eyes shone brighter than starlight.
“Outside the company, you don’t need to be so formal.”
My heartbeat skipped.
The plan failed again.
Not only did I fail to make him dislike me, I actually made him tell me to use his first name.
I trudged home dejectedly and buried my face in the couch.
Lily called:
“How’d it go, my hero? What scene did you perform today?”
I told her about the park “coincidence.” She laughed so hard she couldn’t sit straight.
“Susanna, oh Susanna, are you sure you’re taking revenge on him and not pursuing him with rom-com tactics?”
“First the lunch delivery, then fake falling—what’s next, standing in the rain to get sick so he’ll take you to the hospital?”
I was speechless at her roast.
“I’m telling you, guys like Marcus are secretly passionate. The more proactive you are, the more interesting he finds you. You’re basically playing with fire.”
“Then what should I do?” I asked desperately.
“Deal with it.” Lily gloated. “Unless you rush to him right now and tell him you’ve been acting this whole time and you actually can’t stand him.”
I fell silent.
I didn’t dare.
I was afraid that the moment I said it, he’d make me re-experience the joy of five straight months of overtime.
After hanging up, I opened that help thread again.
The post had over a thousand replies now. The netizens’ enthusiasm exceeded my imagination.
The latest top comment offered me a new tactic, with stratospheric popularity.
I perked up, but after reading it, I fell completely silent.
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My wife and her lover lured me into a school overrun with zombies, planning to use me as food for them.
Just as the zombies were about to tear me to pieces, I awakened the “Eternal Homeroom Teacher” System!
As long as I played the role of a strict homeroom teacher and scolded the zombies, it would trigger the fear they once felt toward their elementary school teachers.
They would obediently turn into well-behaved “students,” following every command I gave.
When I finally returned with the entire school full of zombies and confronted my wife and her lover, they were completely stunned.
The blood moon descended, and the zombie outbreak erupted without warning.
Risking being devoured by zombies, I ventured out to search for my wife, Emma Snow.
But she and her lover, Felix Stone, lured me with a single text message to the very heart of the zombie outbreak—the school.
Now I’m trapped in an abandoned classroom, cornered by an entire class of zombies.
They were all students here when they were alive.
Now only tattered school uniforms hang from their rotting bodies.
Their cloudy eyes fix on me, teeth bared, guttural groans rasping from deep in their throats.
My back is pressed against the blackboard.
My only weapon is half a broken mop handle.
Watching the zombie horde closing in, despair soaks through me like ice water.
“Emma Snow! Felix Stone! If I get out of here alive, I swear I’ll tear you both to pieces!”
Bitter hatred floods my heart, but the mass of zombies pressing closer fills me with despair.
Am I really going to die here like this, humiliated, devoured by zombies?
【Ding! Detecting host in desperate situation.】
【Eternal Homeroom Teacher System successfully activated!】
【This system aims to reform lost lambs through strictness and purify the world’s filth with discipline.】
【Please remember your teacher’s ethics and restore classroom order!】
What the hell?
My mind is in chaos.
It’s the apocalypse, and I get an education system?
What use is that!
Just then, a female zombie in a school uniform lunges at me, her reeking mouth wide open, about to bite my throat!
In this critical moment, inspiration strikes.
I think of the system.
With nothing to lose, I sternly scold the female zombie:
“Which class are you from?”
“Didn’t you hear the class bell ring?”
“How dare you act so unruly!”
“Get back to your seat right now!”
Time seems to freeze in that moment.
The female zombie’s movements suddenly stop.
Her gaping mouth slowly closes.
In her cloudy eyes, a flash of something human appears—panic and confusion carved deep into her soul.
Then… she actually lowers her head, drags her feet, and slowly shuffles back to an empty seat.
She sits down obediently, even unconsciously placing her hands on the desk.
【Ding! Successfully intimidated lost student x1.】
【Teacher authority +1!】
【Rewarding beginner’s gift: Authority Pointer and Chalk of Discipline!】
The next second, a sleek black pointer materializes in my hand, heavy and solid.
A full box of chalk appears on the podium.
I’m shocked.
This actually works?
I take a deep breath, suppress my churning emotions, straighten my back, and slam the pointer hard on the podium!
“Bang!”
The sharp sound echoes through the dead-silent classroom.
All the zombies tremble in unison, fear appearing on their faces in an almost human way.
I scan the room like a real teacher examining undisciplined students:
“Don’t you know it’s class time!”
“Our class is the loudest in the entire building.”
“Can you be quiet!”
“Well? Why’d you stop talking!”
“I’m holding a meeting up here while you hold little meetings down there, is that it?”
“Where’s the class monitor?”
“Stand up!”
“And you few peeking in from the doorway—which class are you from?”
“Wandering the hallways during class.”
“What does that look like!”
“All of you get in here and stand while you listen!”
“Look at me!”
“Why are you looking at them?”
“Listen to me!”
These words strike directly at their souls!
The zombies all show fear, then begin shuffling their feet, swaying as they enter the classroom, jostling each other to find their seats.
The few zombies caught peeking shrink their necks and obediently squeeze to the back of the classroom, not daring to sit, automatically standing as punishment.
【Ding! Successfully intimidated lost students x12.】
【Teacher authority +12!】
I look at this group of increasingly docile students, then glance out the window at the ruined apocalyptic wasteland.
An uncontrollable smile, tinged with madness, curves my lips.
Emma Snow, Felix Stone… you never expected this, did you?
Not only did I survive, but I now have a class full of zombie students.
Just wait.
I’ll bring my students to settle this score with you properly!
Burning for revenge, I want to lead this zombie class to find that cheating couple right now.
However, just as I step out of the classroom, the system suddenly issues a warning.
Beep!
【Warning! As an ordinary teacher, host’s authority is below 100.】
【After taking students out of the classroom, you will be unable to control their behavior!】
【When host’s authority reaches 100, ordinary teacher will be promoted to homeroom teacher.】
【Host can freely take direct students out of the classroom.】
【When authority reaches 500, “Homeroom Teacher Intimidation Field” can be deployed.】
【Within a 500-meter radius, all zombies can feel the homeroom teacher’s authority and will be suppressed!】
I see!
So that’s how authority works!
I was too impulsive just now!
I must quickly raise my authority to 100—no, to be safe, straight to 500.
Otherwise, with countless zombies outside the school, relying only on my homeroom teacher status and the zombie students in this school won’t be enough to guarantee my safety.
I need the intimidation field for critical moments!
Just then, a giant zombie nearly two meters tall charges toward me.
It’s incredibly fast, sending student zombies flying as they block its path!
In the blink of an eye, the giant zombie reaches me and lunges!
My anger has nowhere to vent.
I stride back into the classroom and whip the pointer down on the podium with all my strength!
“Crack!”
I glare, pointing at the giant zombie and roaring:
“Who gave you permission to run around outside during class time!”
“Which class are you from?”
“Are the school hallways meant for students to run and roughhouse?”
“Charging around recklessly—this is completely unacceptable!!”
The giant zombie’s body shudders violently.
Deep, bone-level panic and fear—the kind students feel facing a stern teacher—appears on its face.
Its crimson eyes don’t even dare meet mine.
It lowers its head, at a loss.
I fix my gaze on the giant zombie.
With its large build, it shouldn’t be a student.
Could it be a parent?
“Even after graduating, you still give me this much trouble!”
“Is this how I taught you?”
“Respecting teachers, caring for the young—where did all your basic manners go?”
“Look what you’ve done!”
I point to the student zombies with mangled limbs from being knocked aside.
“Hold out your hand!”
The giant zombie’s body trembles violently.
Shaking, it extends its huge, rotting palm—the size of a fan—before me.
Without mercy, I raise the pointer and strike down hard on its palm!
“Ahhh—!”
The giant zombie releases an inhuman howl of pain.
Its massive body shakes violently, and a clear scorch mark appears on its palm!
It seems this pointer not only increases authority but can also inflict real harm and pain on zombies!
After five consecutive strikes, the giant zombie has collapsed to its knees, clutching its palm covered in black scorch marks, whimpering.
All its previous ferocity is gone.
I snort coldly, withdraw the pointer, and glare viciously at the trembling student zombies around me: “And you lot!”
“Urgh!”
The zombies all jolt at once.
Their hunched bodies immediately straighten.
They even suppress the gurgling sounds in their throats, terrified they’ll be next.
I coldly survey this cowed group of zombies:
“You are the worst class I’ve ever taught!”
“Not listening during class is one thing, but you dare gang up to chase your teacher?”
“Lawless!”
“Believe me, I’ll call your parents right now!”
“All of you face the wall and reflect!”
“Think hard about your mistakes!”
My pointer indicates the blank classroom wall.
The zombies, as if granted amnesty, quickly line up in rows against the wall, facing it, not daring any movement.
【Ding! Successfully intimidated lost student x1.】
【Teacher authority +1!】
Still too slow!
I’ve extracted most of this classroom’s potential.
I need to take the initiative.
I take a deep breath and stride out of the classroom with purpose.
Target—the first floor with the densest zombie concentration!
The first floor has at least a hundred zombies gathered.
Unlike the upper floors dominated by student zombies, the zombies here wear various clothing and mostly appear to be adults—clearly parents who once came to pick up children or handle school business.
Their crimson eyes lock onto me.
They release more frenzied roars, swarming toward me with bared teeth and claws, far more intimidating than the student zombies!
I remain calm, quickly retreating into the nearest empty classroom, raising my pointer and shouting outside:
“Don’t you know it’s class time?”
“Your children are studying peacefully inside, and you parents are making a racket outside, baring your teeth and claws—what does that look like!”
“Do you still want your kids to get into college or not?”
These words hit like precision mental strikes.
The effect is immediate!
The parent zombies in front screech to a halt.
The violent expressions on their faces freeze instantly, then transform into a mixture of terror, confusion, and the bone-deep anxiety parents feel about their children’s education.
In their crimson eyes, they actually squeeze out a hint of human-like servility and flattery.
“Urgh…”
A middle-aged male zombie even instinctively performs a clumsy, almost fawning bow toward me.
The other parent zombies follow suit!
Seeing the moment is right, I soften my tone slightly but maintain an unquestionable commanding manner:
“If you want your children to continue their education and make something of themselves in the future, then get in here, sit down properly, and I’ll hold a parent meeting for you shortly!”
Before I finish speaking, this group of parent zombies—so savage just moments ago—eagerly swarm into the classroom, carefully searching for seats, then sitting down properly.
【Ding! Successfully intimidated lost students x83.】
【Teacher authority +83!】
The pleasant system notification sounds.
Success!
Having tasted victory, I don’t linger.
Using the same method, I move between different floors and classrooms of the teaching building, recruiting the wandering and hiding zombies of all types one by one.
【Ding! Successfully intimidated lost students x38.】
【Teacher authority +38!】
【Ding! Successfully intimidated lost students x144.】
【Teacher authority +144!】
…
【Ding! Congratulations, host’s authority has reached 500!】
【Successfully unlocked Homeroom Teacher Intimidation Field!】
Yes!
Finally!
Emma Snow, Felix Stone…
I’m bringing my zombies to find you now!
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During the year my social anxiety was at its worst, I decided to keep a rugged construction worker.
Every time I asked him to stay the night, I was a nervous wreck.
“E-excuse me, are you free tonight to… do that?”
He leaned down and took a bite of my burning red cheek.
“That? That’ll cost extra.”
“N-no problem.”
I nodded eagerly.
Until I unexpectedly went bankrupt and decided to let him go with a heavy heart.
The rugged man, smoking his post-coital cigarette, listened to me, then casually handed me a Centurion Black Card.
“Take it. Keep paying for me.”
“Who said you could let me go?”
1
I had been watching the handsome, rugged guy on the construction site across from my coffee shop for a long time.
He arrived a week ago.
His name was Arthur.
The older workers seemed to think he was young and kept bullying him.
They always ignored him, didn’t give him work to earn money, and marginalized him in every way.
Arthur didn’t look too happy every day.
I held back and held back, but finally couldn’t anymore.
On his eighth day at the site, I summoned my courage and walked out of my coffee shop.
Braving the roar of machines, the flying dust, and the curious stares of other workers, I walked up to Arthur, who was leaning in a corner, lost in thought.
The man was tall, his profile sharply defined, exuding testosterone.
My face was flushed, and I hesitated to speak.
The man snapped out of it, paused for a moment when he saw me, and then grumbled:
“Hey, coming onto a construction site without a hard hat, do you have a death wish?”
He had a cigarette dangling from his mouth, making his voice a bit muffled.
Then, he took the hard hat off his own head and plopped it onto mine.
I nervously adjusted the hard hat.
“Hello, I-I have something to ask you.”
“Me?”
I nodded.
Under the man’s indifferent gaze, I carefully said:
“C-can I keep you as my sugar baby?”
Arthur paused.
“What did you say?”
I was so nervous I kept swallowing, my eyes darting around, completely unable to meet his gaze.
“I-I want to keep you.”
“Um, my name is Chloe. I-I opened the coffee shop right across from the site. I’m not a bad person.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll treat you well. I absolutely won’t insult you.”
“And I’ll give you money every month. Three thousand dollars. That way you won’t have to suffer at the construction site, and you won’t be bullied by the older workers.”
“Is that okay?”
…….
Arthur didn’t say a word; he just slowly exhaled a puff of smoke.
Through the swirling smoke, I acutely sensed him looking me up and down.
His gaze swept frankly over my face, my neck…
Just when I thought I was going to be rejected, he raised an eyebrow.
“Sure.”
2
When the coffee shop closed for the night, Arthur also finished his shift.
He stood behind me, watching me lock the door, and then followed me to a nearby hotel.
I have social anxiety.
Severe social anxiety.
For a moment, I didn’t know what to say to this towering “kept man,” so I just kept my head down and walked.
The more I walked, the more awkward I felt.
The more awkward I felt, the less I knew how to walk.
It was a vicious cycle of clumsy movements.
Arthur didn’t seem to notice my awkward gait. As we passed a convenience store, he suddenly asked lazily:
“Don’t we need to buy some tools for the crime, sugar mama?”
My ears burned.
“Um… the hotel nightstands should have them, right?”
“I’m worried about the size not fitting.”
“…Then please go buy some. I’ll transfer you the money.”
My voice was as small as a mosquito’s.
Arthur didn’t move, looking at me somewhat wickedly.
“It’s only fun if we buy this kind of stuff together, right?”
“!”
My face felt like it was going to catch fire instantly.
I hurriedly waved my hands.
“N-no, I’ll wait for you up ahead.”
After saying that, without waiting for him to speak, I kept my head down and scuttled away, arms and legs swinging awkwardly in tandem.
Leaving behind only Arthur’s barely audible chuckle.
Fortunately, I only waited a short while before he caught up with me, carrying a bag.
We entered the hotel, got a room, and went upstairs.
Because this was the most rebellious thing I had ever done in my life.
It went without saying what would happen today.
So my heart was racing like a trapped rabbit.
Pounding wildly.
It’s not that I hadn’t thought about bringing him home, but the soundproofing there was terrible. If the neighbors heard anything, it would be social death; I’d never be able to show my face again.
So a hotel was the safest and most suitable place for our relationship.
I secretly told myself to stay calm, but when I swiped the keycard to open the door, my hand shook a little, and it wouldn’t open.
At that moment, a tall, solid body pressed up behind me.
Arthur encircled me, wrapped his hand over mine, and swiped the card again.
Beep.
It opened.
He asked in my ear: “You’re the sugar mama, what are you so nervous about?”
3
Arthur had a great body.
An eight-pack and a V-taper.
His muscles were knotted but not unappealing. Just standing there, the sexual tension was off the charts.
Even the most naturally aloof woman would unconsciously look at him.
I yield.
This was the conclusion I had reached after secretly observing him from the coffee shop for a week.
I just didn’t expect it to be this good.
When he pressed against me, my entire spine almost melted.
After Arthur gently pushed me into the room, my whole brain was buzzing.
Whatever he told me to do, I did.
Shower.
Lie down.
Very obedient.
Arthur, who had showered right after me, stood by my bed and suddenly reached out, lightly poking my cheek.
“Chloe, I’ll ask you one last time. Are you sure you want to keep me?”
“Hold on. You do know what keeping me means, right?”
I slowly pulled out my phone.
And transferred three thousand dollars to him on the spot.
My voice trembled slightly.
“I know, and I’m sure.”
“……”
Arthur stared at me expressionlessly for a few seconds, then reached out and grabbed the convenience store shopping bag.
He pulled out…
A pile of snacks.
Not a single NSFW item.
?
??
What about the promised fun?!
Just as I was about to anxiously ask, a strawberry-flavored lollipop was suddenly stuffed into my mouth.
It was sickly sweet.
Arthur grumbled:
“What do you know. Let’s just eat some snacks and watch a movie today.”
4
Arthur lay down next to me and actually started picking a paid movie on the TV.
This bland turn of events really disappointed me a bit.
I sucked on the lollipop, staring at him eagerly.
“Arthur, you’re already kept by me, and you took the money. You can’t back out.”
The man clicked the remote control loudly.
“I didn’t say I was backing out.”
I didn’t understand, and asked softly:
“Then why aren’t you doing that with me? You know, that.”
“Too fast. I’m afraid I’ll scare you.”
“I’m not scared.”
Arthur shot me a mocking glance.
“Then why have you been shaking all night, not even daring to lift your head, scared like a rabbit?”
“…….”
Being seen through made me very embarrassed.
“Not really.”
“Really not? How come I feel like you’re very afraid of making eye contact with people? Is this what the internet calls social anxiety?”
“Mm…”
“You really have social anxiety. Then how do you run a shop?”
“Customers order online themselves, then I make it behind the counter, and they pick it up themselves. As little communication as possible.”
“What if a customer insists on getting close to talk to you? Like this.”
Saying that, Arthur deliberately leaned in close to tease me.
Only…
Being so close, our eyes naturally met.
Suddenly, no one spoke.
I licked my lollipop. My social anxiety instinctively made me want to look away to avoid awkwardness.
Suddenly, Arthur’s Adam’s apple bobbed, and he said:
“Hey, we can’t do that, but we can do other things. Wanna try first?”
…….
I noticed his gaze landing on my mouth.
Mustering my courage, I tilted my chin up at him.
“Y-yes.”
Then, the lollipop was pulled from my mouth.
The candy hit my front teeth. Just as I was about to make a sound of pain, a shadow covered my vision.
The sound of pain was blocked back down.
5
At first, Arthur’s kissing technique was surprisingly inexperienced.
Of course, I didn’t notice.
Because I was even more inexperienced.
But Arthur quickly grasped the essentials. He supported the back of my head with one hand, our lips and teeth grinding together.
We both used the hotel’s body wash, so we smelled exactly the same.
Baked by his overly high body temperature.
It was simply dizzying.
After the lollipop was stuffed back into my mouth, I was still a bit dazed.
Arthur didn’t bother me. His large hand roughly wiped the saliva from my mouth, and he continued looking for a suitable movie.
After I came back to my senses, I gently tugged the hem of his shirt.
“Arthur, I want to kiss some more.”
“…….”
The man, who was already trying hard to pretend to be calm, instantly lost his composure.
He cursed under his breath.
Threw the remote control aside and turned back.
His gaze was intense.
Like it was mixed with fire.
So that night, we didn’t end up watching the movie. I still don’t know if my lollipop was thrown in the trash can or some random corner.
No one cared at all.
I only remember Arthur muttering hoarsely as he wiped the moisture from the corner of my mouth one last time.
“Strawberry flavor really is sweet.”
Although we ended up just chatting purely under the covers in the end, this development made me very satisfied and shy.
Sitting in my coffee shop, I touched my still slightly swollen lips, happily looking at the construction site across the street.
Dust filled the air.
I couldn’t see Arthur.
I didn’t care either.
I just sat there fantasizing about the shape of Arthur’s muscles bulging when he worked.
Suddenly, my phone, which was always on silent, showed an incoming call.
Seeing the caller ID, my mood instantly plummeted.
I stared at the phone in panic until the other party lost patience and hung up.
I don’t know how long passed.
Thump thump.
The glass of the coffee shop was casually knocked on a few times.
I looked up and met the eyes of my rugged “kept man.”
🌟 Continue the story here
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The company canceled our annual gala and distributed the budget to each department for a private dinner.
I was stuck in traffic and arrived late, only to overhear our new male intern talking trash about me through the door:
“Clara Hayes? She’s what, thirty-three? An old hag who hovers around my desk every day. It’s pathetic.”
“It’s hilarious. She wants to date me? She wishes. I’m not gonna indulge her delusions!”
“In a minute, I’m ordering ten portions of the most expensive items on the menu. Don’t worry, she’s paying—what’s she gonna do, not show up?”
Everyone inside cheered, praising him for being the ultimate “Gen Z boss-buster” who was finally taking down toxic corporate culture.
I quietly released the door handle and stood outside, listening until he finished ordering a $15,000 feast.
Once he was done, I walked away and sent a message to the department group chat:
“Family emergency came up, I won’t be able to make it tonight.”
“Here is the $800 dinner budget the company provided. Eat well and have a great time.”
On the ride home, I leaned against the car window, a slow smile curving my lips.
Taking down toxic corporate culture?
Sure.
With this $15,000 bill, I’m going to teach you exactly how the real world works.
1.
I sat in the back of my Uber, watching the notifications explode on my phone screen.
The “Marketing Dept Family” group chat was practically on fire.
Three minutes ago, right after sending those two messages and Venmo-ing the $800 budget into the group pool, I left the chat entirely.
But I forgot about the unofficial, “no-managers-allowed” group chat.
Right now, messages in that chat were refreshing at a rate of a dozen per second.
Tyler Vance, the intern, had tagged me dozens of times: “Clara, what the hell is this? You made it to the door and then left?”
“Are you a sore loser? You’re the department manager, you’re supposed to pay for this!”
“Who is $800 supposed to feed? Are you tipping a homeless guy?”
“Get back here and pay the tab! Don’t make me lose respect for you!”
Following his messages were a flurry of photos.
Maine lobster sashimi, one for every single person.
Three bottles of wine that cost over three grand each, already uncorked.
And a table overflowing with premium seafood.
Just minutes ago, standing outside the private dining room, I had heard everything clearly. Tyler’s voice was loud and obnoxious as he ordered:
“This, this, and this—give us the most expensive ones! Ten orders of each!”
“Waiter, pop all those bottles and let them breathe!”
“What are you guys scared of? Someone’s footing the bill tonight. Our Manager Clara is loaded. If she wants to date me, she’s gotta bleed a little cash, right?”
The room had erupted into hoots and hollers.
Someone tried to reason with him, “Tyler, can we even finish all this? Clara isn’t even here yet.”
Tyler’s voice pitched up, “If we can’t finish it, I’ll box it up and feed it to my dog! We need to teach this touchy-feely female boss a lesson, let her know I’m not to be messed with!”
“Yeah, Tyler’s right! Gen Z doesn’t hold back!”
“Clara is always so stingy anyway, she deserves to bleed a little.”
I let go of the door handle.
Originally, I was going to walk in. Even though I was late, I would have just bought a round of drinks as an apology and moved on.
But this dinner? I had lost my appetite.
My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.
Dave, one of the older guys in the office, texted me privately: “Clara, did you really leave? The food is already served, the bill is nearly $15,000. If you’re not here, who’s going to pay?”
I replied, “Whoever ordered it pays. The company budget is $800. I transferred all of it.”
Dave: “Stop messing around. Tyler is just a clueless kid, why stoop to his level? Hurry back, the waiter is hovering with the tab and everyone is getting really embarrassed.”
Me: “I’m not embarrassed.”
Dave: “You’re leaving everyone high and dry! The wine is opened, we can’t return it!”
Me: “Tyler said he wanted to teach corporate a lesson. I’m giving him the opportunity.”
I put my phone on silent and shoved it in my pocket.
The Uber driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Where to, ma’am?”
“Home.”
The car merged into the night traffic.
I closed my eyes, my head filled with Tyler’s arrogant voice.
I am thirty-two this year. I’ve ground it out at this company for eight years to finally climb to the position of department manager.
Tyler was an intern who started last month. He was decent-looking, but his work ethic was an absolute disaster.
He messed up basic print jobs and lost data when making simple spreadsheets.
Seeing that he was new, I gave him extra guidance and occasionally took him along to client meetings so he could learn the ropes.
To him, this translated to me wanting to date him, making me a “creepy boss.”
It even became his justification for burning through fifteen grand.
Fifteen thousand dollars.
I have savings, but I’m not a human ATM.
My phone screen lit up again. It was an audio call from Tyler.
I declined it.
He called again.
I blocked his number.
A moment later, Marcus, the deputy manager, called.
Marcus and I had always been at odds; he had been gunning for my job for years.
I answered.
Marcus couldn’t hide the smirk in his voice. “Clara, you really played dirty this time. Everyone was waiting for you, and you just bailed, leaving a room full of people hanging?”
2.
“I had a family emergency.”
“What emergency is more important than the department dinner? Tyler is practically crying his eyes out, saying you’re bullying the new guy.”
“I gave you guys the $800 budget.”
“$800? The tab is fifteen grand! Who’s going to cover the rest? We all split it? That’s going to ruin everyone’s holiday!”
“Whoever ordered it pays.”
“Clara, you’re the leader, you need to take responsibility. Tyler is new, he doesn’t know the rules. You’re a veteran, do you not know the rules either?”
“I know the rules perfectly. The company rule is an $800 budget for the dinner. For anything over that, the person who ordered it is responsible.”
“Are you really not coming?”
“No.”
“Fine, Clara. You’ve got some nerve. This isn’t over.”
Marcus hung up.
I stared at the neon lights flashing past the window.
In the past, I was too responsible. I took the blame for everything and cleaned up everyone’s messes, which only spoiled them into thinking I was a pushover.
When I got home, I took a hot shower and fell right asleep.
I slept like a rock.
The next morning, I arrived at the office right on time.
As soon as I walked in, I felt the heavy atmosphere.
Everyone was staring at me, their eyes filled with disdain, anger, and the gloating anticipation of a good show.
Tyler was sitting at his desk. His eyes were red and puffy, the bags under them prominent, his face sagging like a miserable, deflated balloon. It was obvious he had been crying.
Seeing me, he shot up from his chair and slammed a folder hard onto his desk.
“Clara! Are you even human?”
The office instantly went dead silent.
Everyone stopped what they were doing, their eyes locking onto us.
I walked to my desk, set down my briefcase, and looked at him. “It’s working hours. What are you screaming about?”
Tyler stormed over, pointing a finger right in my face. “Drop the act! You did that on purpose last night, didn’t you? You said you were treating us, and then you ran! You made every single one of us shell out over two grand just to leave that restaurant!”
The other coworkers gathered around.
Dave looked grim. “Clara, you really went too far this time. We’re all just working stiffs. How much do we make a month? Dropping half a month’s salary on one dinner, how are we supposed to survive the holidays?”
Another female colleague chimed in sarcastically, “Exactly. Manager Clara makes six figures, so of course she doesn’t care about this kind of money. We aren’t like you; we have families to feed.”
Marcus leaned against a cubicle partition, arms crossed, sneering. “Clara, when we were pooling our cash last night, everyone cursed your entire family tree. Tyler is just an intern, he had zero cash on him. He had to max out his credit card. You’re a real piece of work as a manager.”
I looked at their angry faces.
When they were scarfing down Maine lobster last night, they didn’t have these expressions.
Back then, they were cheering, telling Tyler what a great job he did, waiting for me, the rich sucker, to foot the bill.
I turned to Tyler. “When did I ever say I was paying?”
Tyler’s eyes went wide. “You didn’t? When a department dinner is announced, isn’t it an unwritten rule that the manager pays? Besides, when I was ordering, you never said I couldn’t!”
“I was stuck in traffic.”
“That’s just an excuse! You just wanted to see me humiliate myself! This is retaliation because I rejected your advances!”
Tyler raised his voice, “Everyone, be the judge here! Does a woman who maliciously retaliates against her employees deserve to be a manager?”
“Advances?” I fired back. “When did I ever make advances on you?”
“Don’t even try to deny it! You’re always calling me into your office, insisting on taking me to client meetings. Isn’t that just because you have an ulterior motive? I didn’t give in, so you held a grudge and set a trap to screw me over!”
Tyler was getting more and more agitated. A grown man, crying on cue, putting on a sickeningly theatrical performance as the victim.
3.
The whispers around the office grew louder.
“That’s so gross, using her position to harass a male subordinate.”
“She always looked so professional, I never thought she’d be so dirty behind closed doors.”
“Someone like her should be fired!”
Taking him to see clients was because he was new to marketing and needed to learn the business.
Calling him into my office was because his weekly reports lacked any logical structure, and I had to walk him through fixing them step by step.
To them, this translated to “ulterior motives.”
“Tyler, if you’re going to make accusations, you need proof,” I said coldly. “Last night, you ordered those dishes yourself. Ten portions of each, and only the most expensive ones. You’re the one who said you wanted to teach corporate a lesson and have everyone box up the leftovers. What, now that you can’t afford the bill, you’re throwing dirty water on me?”
“I did that to liven up the mood!” Tyler shrieked. “And I thought you were going to pay for it! Who knew you were such a cheapskate! If you couldn’t afford it, you should have said so! Stop acting like a big shot!”
“The company’s dinner budget is $800. I transferred the full amount to you all.”
“What is $800 going to do? It doesn’t even buy a single bottle of wine!”
Tyler pulled a stack of receipts from his bag and slammed them on my desk. “The total was $14,800! Minus your $800, that’s $14,000! You have to pay this! Pay everyone back their money!”
I didn’t even glance at the receipts. “Whoever ate, pays.”
“You!”
Tyler was shaking with rage. “You backstabber! You’re not even human!”
“Clara.”
Marcus walked over and patted my shoulder. “Don’t make this so ugly. We’re all in the same department, we see each other every day. Yeah, it’s a lot of money, but it’s not like you can’t afford it. Just treat it as a tax to avoid bad luck and squash this. Otherwise, if the CEO hears about this, it’s going to look really bad for you.”
He was threatening me.
Using my career to threaten me.
If it were the old me, for the sake of departmental harmony and the bigger picture, I might have just pinched my nose and paid it.
But now, looking at Marcus’s hypocritical smile, Tyler’s self-righteous greed, and the coworkers ganging up on me like an angry mob.
I suddenly realized that this job, being their manager, was utterly meaningless.
“Marcus, if you’re so generous, why don’t you pay for him?” I looked right at him.
Marcus’s smile stiffened. “Clara, that’s uncalled for. You caused this mess, why should I pay?”
“I caused this?” I laughed. “Tyler ordered the food. Tyler opened the wine. You guys are the ones who put it in your stomachs. I didn’t eat a single bite, didn’t drink a single drop, didn’t even step foot in the room. How did this become my mess?”
“Because you’re the manager!” Tyler yelled. “The manager has to take responsibility!”
“A manager is responsible for the work, not for footing the bill for your endless greed.”
I swept the receipts off my desk onto the floor.
“I am not paying a single cent of this.”
“Ah!” Tyler screamed, as if he had been dealt a fatal blow. “Clara! Just you wait! I’m going to report you! I’m going to let the whole company know what kind of person you are!”
He spun around and stormed toward the CEO’s office.
Marcus looked at me and shook his head. “Clara, you’re done. Tyler has connections high up, and you know how the media environment is these days. If this blows up, you won’t be able to handle the fallout.”
The other coworkers dispersed, retreating to their desks to whisper.
“This is gonna be a good show.”
“Manager Clara is definitely going down this time.”
“Serves her right for being so cheap.”
I sat down and opened my laptop.
Report me?
Great, I was just worrying about how to blow this up myself.
4.
I opened my phone and located the audio recordings I had saved last night.
I recorded them while standing outside the private dining room. I had originally intended to send them to the CEO to explain the situation, but they were going to be far more useful now.
In the recording, Tyler’s voice was crystal clear: “Hilarious, she wants to date me? She wishes. I’m not gonna indulge her delusions!”
“In a minute, I’m ordering ten portions of the most expensive items on the menu…”
“You guys box up the leftovers, I’m making Clara pay the tab!”
I transferred the audio files to my laptop to back them up, then started drafting an email.
Not a resignation letter. A work report.
A report regarding the marketing department’s recent budget overruns, the chaotic management of interns, and attempts by certain employees to commit corporate embezzlement via company dinners.
Half an hour later, the HR manager notified me to go to the conference room.
When I walked in, Tyler was sitting across from the CEO, Mr. Henderson, crying his eyes out.
Henderson was a balding man in his fifties who hated conflict and loved sweeping things under the rug.
Seeing me, Henderson frowned. “Clara, what is going on? A simple team dinner, how did it turn into this mess?”
Tyler jumped in, “Mr. Henderson, you have to help me! Manager Clara is bullying me! she intentionally set a trap to screw us over, making every single one of us lose a ton of money! And… and she even…”
He feigned embarrassment, biting his lip.
Henderson tapped the table impatiently. “And what?”
“She sexually harassed me!”
The conference room went dead silent.
Henderson’s face instantly darkened.
In the corporate world, financial disputes are one thing, but the moment the words “sexual harassment” are uttered, a hard line has been crossed.
“Clara, is this true?” Henderson stared at me.
I pulled out a chair, sat down, and looked him in the eye. “No.”
“You’re lying!”
Tyler pulled up a few screenshots on his phone and handed them to Henderson. “Look, Mr. Henderson, these are her daily chat logs! Texting me late at night, insisting on driving me home! When I refused, she started making my life miserable at work!”
Henderson took the phone. His frown deepened.
I could guess exactly what those texts were.
Just standard late-night overtime texts: “Did you make it home safe?” or “I need that proposal on my desk first thing tomorrow.”
But clipped out of context by someone with an agenda, these normal check-ins and work demands could easily be twisted.
“Clara, how do you explain this?” Henderson pushed the phone toward me.
I glanced at it.
Just as I thought.
It only showed the fragments of me asking “Where are you?” and “Do you want me to give you a ride?”, completely deleting the voice memos right before them where he whined, “Manager Clara, I can’t get an Uber and I’m so scared.”
“Out of context,” I said. “Mr. Henderson, you can check the full chat history.”
“I deleted it!” Tyler yelled. “Those gross messages, I felt dirty just keeping them! Thank god I had the presence of mind to take screenshots!”
“Playing the ‘dead men tell no tales’ card, huh?” I looked at Tyler.
Tyler avoided my gaze, shouting even louder at Henderson. “Mr. Henderson, even though I’m a guy, I still care about my reputation. If I wasn’t pushed to the brink, why would I expose this? Now the whole department knows what kind of person she is, how am I supposed to work here?”
Henderson sighed, taking off his glasses to clean them.
“Clara, regardless of what happened, you really handled last night’s dinner poorly. You’re the leader, you need to be forgiving. Tyler is new, he doesn’t know any better, you need to cut him some slack.”
Exactly as I expected. Sweeping it under the rug.
“So, what are you proposing, Mr. Henderson?”
5.
“How about this. You cover the bill for last night’s dinner. As for the harassment claims… since there’s no hard evidence, Tyler, don’t go spreading this around, it’s bad for everyone. Clara, you apologize to Tyler, and we’ll turn the page on this.”
I almost laughed out loud.
He wanted me to cough up $14,000 and apologize?
This was his idea of a resolution?
“Mr. Henderson, I am not paying that money. And an apology is completely out of the question.”
I looked Henderson dead in the eyes. “First, I didn’t order the food. Second, I never harassed him.”
“Clara!” Henderson slammed his hand on the table. “What kind of attitude is this? I am trying to protect you! If this blows up, the company will have to fire you to protect its reputation! With a reputation for harassing subordinates, how are you ever going to find a job in this industry again?”
“Exactly!” Emboldened by Henderson’s backing, Tyler grew even more arrogant. “If you don’t pay up and apologize, I’m going to expose you online! Let the internet judge you! Let’s see how you live with yourself after that!”
“Expose me?” I looked at Tyler. “How exactly do you plan to do that?”
“I’ll post it on TikTok, on Instagram! I’ve already got the title figured out: SHOCKING! Creepy Female Boss Fails to Seduce Gen Z Intern, Traps Him with $15,000 Dinner Bill!”
Tyler looked incredibly smug. “I’ve got a lot of followers, you know. The second I post it, you’re going to be canceled permanently!”
Henderson’s face changed. “Tyler, stop this nonsense! Do you not care about the company’s reputation?”
“That depends on how Manager Clara behaves.”
Tyler crossed his arms, looking like he had me backed into a corner. “Either you pay the $14,800, plus an extra $5,000 for my emotional distress, and we settle this privately. Or, I post the video, and we burn together!”
Looking at his face, the last shred of pity I had vanished.
This was extortion. Naked, blatant extortion.
“Mr. Henderson, you heard him.”
I pointed at Tyler. “He is extorting me.”
A flash of awkwardness crossed Henderson’s face, but it was quickly masked by impatience.
“Clara, just pay the money and be done with it. Twenty grand isn’t that much for you, don’t lose the forest for the trees.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then you are refusing to follow company orders!”
Henderson’s face darkened, his knuckles rapping against the table—thud, thud, thud—like a death knell.
“Clara, you need to think very carefully about the consequences.”
I stood up.
Buttoned my suit jacket, one button at a time.
“I have thought about it very carefully.”
I looked down, placing my phone face-up on the table.
The screen was on.
The voice memo recording app was open. 04:47, and still ticking.
Tyler’s face drained of color in an instant.
“Since he wants to expose things—” I picked up my phone, hitting “Save” right in front of his eyes. “Let’s expose it all.”
Henderson was stunned.
“Clara! You—”
I didn’t look back.
Behind me came the loud crash of a chair tipping over, and Henderson’s furious roar:
“If you walk out that door today, don’t bother coming in tomorrow!”
I didn’t stop walking.
“Whatever.”
The door closed behind me.
The hallway was long. The click of my heels on the tile echoed steadily, one step at a time.
Henderson said don’t bother coming in tomorrow?
Fine.
Because tomorrow, I might not be the one getting fired.
Back at my desk, I started packing my things into a box.
My coworkers whispered around me, looking at me like I was already a ghost.
Marcus walked over, feigning sympathy. “Clara, why do this? Why fight over money? Why fight with Mr. Henderson? You leave now, and all your hard work these past few years goes down the drain.”
“Marcus, you don’t have to play the good guy here.”
I placed a picture frame into the box. “You’ve been eyeing this position for a long time, haven’t you? It’s yours now.”
Marcus couldn’t hide the gleam in his eyes. “Oh, come on now. I actually wanted to help you, but your temper is just too stubborn. Keep in touch, alright?”
Tyler walked out of the CEO’s office, a victorious smirk plastered across his face.
He strolled over to me, looking down at me as I packed.
“If you had just paid up last night, none of this would have happened. Now look at you. Lost your job, ruined your reputation, and you still have to pay up! If you don’t, I’m going to make a scene at your front door every single day!”
He leaned in close and whispered, “Let me tell you something. My cousin runs with a rough crowd. If you don’t cough up the cash, I’ll have him pay your family a visit.”
6.
My hands stopped.
I looked up at him.
“Are you threatening my family?”
“So what if I am?” Tyler sneered. “Scared now? If you’re scared, hurry up and pay! And I don’t just want what I asked for in there. I’ve changed my mind. I want $25,000! Not a penny less!”
I looked at his face, twisted with greed.
Excellent.
Originally, I was going to leave him a way out.
Now, it seems there’s no need.
“Tyler, remember what you just said.”
I picked up my box and strode toward the elevator.
Behind me, Tyler laughed mockingly. “Stop acting so tough! You’re a stray dog!”
The elevator doors closed.
I pulled out my phone and dialed a number.
“Hello, Attorney Brooks? I have a few cases I want to retain you for. Yes, involving extortion, corporate embezzlement, and defamation. Evidence? I have plenty of evidence.”
After hanging up, I opened another group chat.
It was my college alumni group, filled with friends working in media and PR.
I sent a message: “Ladies, I’ve got some massive tea. Exclusive scoop, complete with audio and video. Unlimited material. Someone wants to take down toxic corporate culture, and I want to give him a hand.”
When I got home, I didn’t stay idle.
I organized the recordings from last night, the audio I secretly recorded in the conference room, and screenshots of Tyler cursing me in the group chat.
Especially his final threat regarding my family.
Even though I didn’t have audio for that specific moment, there was a security camera right outside the conference room. From that angle, it would easily capture his mouth movements. That alone would be enough of a headache for him in court.
3:00 PM.
Tyler made his move, exactly as expected.
He posted a video on TikTok.
In the video, he cried pitifully, alleging workplace bullying and sexual harassment.
The title was clickbait gold: [Gen Z Intern Tries to Fix Toxic Workplace, Gets Set Up by Creepy Female Boss With $15k Dinner Bill!]
The video was masterfully edited.
It only showed the massive receipt and the two messages I sent in the group chat.
Layered over it was his sobbing voiceover: “I’m just a recent grad, I only make three thousand a month… Manager Clara kept dropping hints, and when I rejected her, she purposefully bailed on our team dinner, forcing us into debt…”
“She even threatened me, saying if I didn’t listen to her, she’d make sure I could never work in this industry again…”
The video blew up fast.
In less than two hours, it had over 100,000 likes.
The comment section was a bloodbath directed at me.
“Why doesn’t this psycho old hag just go die?”
“Doxx her! Expose her info!”
“Feeling so bad for this guy, it’s too hard for Gen Z to fix corporate culture.”
“This is the reality of the workplace, funny how the feminists are quiet now.”
My phone was blown up by unknown numbers.
A barrage of abusive texts flooded in.
Some people even found my private social media accounts and spammed the comments.
Mr. Henderson sent me a message: “Clara, look at what you’ve done! The company phones are ringing off the hook! You need to issue a public apology immediately! Take full responsibility! Otherwise, the legal department will sue you for damaging the company’s reputation!”
I didn’t reply.
I was waiting.
Waiting for the heat to rise a bit more.
Waiting for Tyler to feel like he had completely won, lowering his guard entirely.
8:00 PM.
Tyler went live on TikTok.
I checked in; there were over 100,000 people watching.
He was playing the victim, thanking the internet for their support, and conveniently pinned his Venmo handle, claiming he needed to crowdfund to pay off the dinner tab.
“Thank you guys, I really have no other choice. I had to borrow from all my friends just to cover that $15,000, and now I have to pay off my credit cards…”
“That Clara woman has already been fired, but she still hasn’t paid us back, and she even threatened me…”
“If you guys send enough gifts, I’ll leak her home address!”
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The day I died, the only sound in the hospital room was the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor.
Stage four stomach cancer. I was down to 74 pounds.
The nurse checked my emergency contacts three times.
One number. Ethan. Relationship: Brother.
The call went through. It rang eight times.
“Sis, I’m in a meeting. Make it quick.”
I opened my mouth, but my throat felt like it was clogged with rust.
“Ethan, sis… I don’t think I’m going to make it.”
There was a two-second silence on the other end.
“Which hospital? I’ll have my assistant check on it.”
I’ll have my assistant check on it.
I raised him for 18 years.
From the time I was 16 until I was 34.
Paid for his college, paid for his grad school, paid for his tailored suits, his nice car, his wedding to his boss’s daughter.
He’ll have his assistant check on it.
The sound of the monitor grew fainter.
The last thought in my head before I closed my eyes was—
If I could do it all over again, I wouldn’t give him a single cent.
01
The beeping of the heart monitor turned into the chirping of cicadas.
Piercing, dense chirping.
My eyes snapped open.
The ceiling was pasted with yellowing newspaper. There was a long crack in the corner of the wall. Outside the window, the July sun was so bright it hurt my eyes.
I recognized this ceiling.
This was the Hayes family’s old house. Southcreek County, Riverside Town. The dirt-brick house I lived in for 16 years.
I looked down at my hands.
Slender, pale, knuckles distinct.
Not the rough, cracked, deformed hands of a 34-year-old.
On the nightstand sat a flip phone with a pink case, rhinestones glued around the edge, several of them already missing.
I bought this when I was 16 with two months’ worth of saved allowance.
The screen lit up with a text message:
[Chloe, your dad had an accident at the construction site. Get to the county hospital right now.]
Sent: July 14, 2006, 10:07 AM.
I stared at the date for a solid three minutes.
2006.
I was back.
In my past life, after receiving this text, I jumped out of bed, ran two miles to the main road in my flip-flops, and hitched a ride on a tractor to the county town.
By the time I got to the hospital, my dad was already gone.
A crane cable snapped at the site, and a steel pipe fell. He died instantly.
I remember clearly what happened next.
On the third day after the funeral, my mom called me into the living room.
She said, “Chloe, Ethan is only 8. With your dad gone, we have to rely on you.”
She said, “You’re the older sister.”
She said, “It’s useless for a girl to get so much education. It’s better to start making money early.”
That year, I ranked 11th in the whole county for the high school entrance exams. County High had sent me an acceptance letter.
I folded the letter into quarters and shoved it under my pillow.
I never took it out again.
This life.
I looked at the text message and took a deep breath.
I stood up, changed my clothes, and headed out.
I still had to go to the hospital.
Some things couldn’t be changed.
But some things could.
When I arrived at the hospital, there was a crowd of people kneeling in the hallway.
My mom, Mary Hayes, was leaning against the wall. Her eyes were swollen red, her lips pale. Next to her stood my Aunt Brenda and my Uncle Frank.
As soon as Aunt Brenda saw me, she grabbed my arm. “Chloe, your dad is gone. You have to be strong.”
I didn’t cry.
It wasn’t that I wasn’t sad.
It’s just that I had already lived through this funeral once.
The tears I was meant to cry had all dried up in my past life.
The funeral took three days.
On the morning of the fourth day, my mom told me to sit on the long bench in the living room.
Aunt Brenda was there, Uncle Frank was there, and Aunt Susan from next door was there too.
My brother, Ethan, was sitting on the doorstep eating a popsicle. Eight years old, a chubby little guy, not really understanding what had happened.
My mom started to speak.
The exact same script as my past life.
“Chloe, your dad is gone. It’s just the three of us now.”
“You know my health. My back is bad; I can’t do heavy labor.”
“Ethan is only in second grade. He still has middle school, high school, and college ahead of him.”
“You’re the older sister.”
She looked at me, waiting for my response.
In my past life, I said, “Mom, I understand.”
In this life, I said, “And then what?”
My mom was stunned for a moment.
Aunt Brenda took over. “What your mom means is, you should forget about that County High. Go work at your cousin’s factory first. You’ll make over a thousand a month.”
“Ethan’s tuition, the household expenses, we’re all counting on you.”
Aunt Susan chimed in from the side. “That’s right. A girl gets all that education, but she’s just going to marry someone else anyway.”
I looked at them one by one.
“I’m not dropping out.”
Four words.
The living room went quiet.
My mom’s face slowly darkened.
Aunt Brenda frowned. “Chloe, what kind of attitude is that? Your mom just lost her husband—”
“Aunt Brenda,” I cut her off. “Who paid for my dad’s funeral?”
Aunt Brenda opened her mouth.
“The construction site paid compensation, right?” I looked at my mom. “How much did they pay?”
In my past life, I never asked this question.
My mom kept the compensation money a tight secret. I thought the family truly didn’t have a single penny, so I willingly dropped out of school.
It wasn’t until I was 32 and got stomach problems and checked the bank statements that I discovered the truth.
This life, I wasn’t going to wait 16 years.
My mom’s eyes shifted for a second.
Very fast, just a fleeting moment.
But I saw it.
“They paid a little,” she said. “Not even enough to cover the funeral.”
I didn’t say anything, just stood up and went back to my room.
The moment the door closed, I heard Aunt Brenda outside saying:
“This girl is getting too big for her britches.”
02
I didn’t press her about the compensation money right away.
Living 34 years in my past life taught me one crucial lesson—
Don’t rush; let the bullets fly for a bit.
Early the next morning, while my mom was out in the vegetable garden, I went through her room.
The metal lockbox under the bed. The combination was still Ethan’s birthday: 0215.
Inside were the family registry, her marriage certificate, the land deed, and a bank book.
From the rural credit union.
Balance: 0.
But the last transaction in the withdrawal history—
July 16, 2006. Withdrawal: $60,000.
My dad passed away on July 14th.
Two days later, someone withdrew sixty thousand.
Where did that money go?
I put the bank book back and locked the box.
Three days later, my mom talked to me for the second time.
This time, she didn’t call Aunt Brenda and Uncle Frank. It was just the two of us, and Ethan.
She had Ethan sit across from me.
“Ethan, tell your sister, do you want to go to school?”
Ethan had a piece of candy in his mouth. He mumbled, “Yes.”
My mom looked at me. “You heard him.”
“Mom,” I said, “I want to go to school too.”
“If you go to school, what about Ethan?”
“Ethan is eight. He goes to the village elementary school. Tuition is 120 bucks a semester. Why wouldn’t he be able to go?”
“What about later? Middle school? High school? College? Your dad’s not here. Who’s going to pay?”
“We’ll worry about later when later comes. I’m 16 right now. The acceptance letter from County High is already here. School starts September 1st. I’m going.”
The corners of my mom’s mouth turned down.
I knew that expression.
It was the expression she made right before she was about to cry.
“Your dad has only been gone seven days, and you’re already disobeying me.”
The tears started falling.
Ethan was startled and burst into tears.
“Sister is mean! Sister made Mommy cry!”
In my past life, this trick worked every time.
My mom cried, Ethan threw a tantrum, and my heart softened.
This life, I sat on the stool and didn’t move an inch.
I waited for them to finish crying.
Five minutes.
When Ethan’s wailing turned into sniffles, and my mom’s tears slowed down, I finally spoke.
“Mom, crying doesn’t solve problems.”
“I’m going to County High. Tuition is 950 a semester. I’ll work in town during the summer to earn some of it, and I’ll apply for financial aid for the rest.”
“For you and Ethan’s living expenses, Dad’s compensation money is enough.”
I said the last sentence very softly.
But it hit like a bomb.
My mom’s tears stopped instantly.
“What compensation money?”
“From the construction site.”
“The site didn’t pay a damn thing!” She suddenly raised her voice. “Your dad was a temp. He didn’t sign a contract. The boss ran away. We didn’t get a single cent!”
She said it with absolute certainty.
I looked into her eyes.
In my past life, I believed her.
In this life, I knew there was a $60,000 withdrawal record in that bank book.
I didn’t expose her on the spot.
It wasn’t enough.
Sixty thousand was just the tip of the iceberg.
The number I found out when I was 32 in my past life was 480,000.
“Okay,” I said. “Then I’ll figure it out myself.”
I stood up.
As I walked to the door, I looked back at Ethan.
He was shrinking into my mom’s arms, tears still hanging on his cheeks.
Eight years old.
In my past life, I gave up everything for that face.
In this life, I will treat him well.
But I won’t trade my life for his future.
03
There were forty days left of summer vacation.
I went to the only small diner in town and told the owner I could wait tables, wash dishes, chop vegetables—do anything.
The owner looked me up and down. “How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
“Twenty bucks a day, lunch included. You in?”
“I’m in.”
Up at 5:30 AM, bike 40 minutes to town, work until 3:00 PM, head home.
When I got home, I still had to cook, do laundry, and feed the chickens.
My mom’s “bad back” deteriorated rapidly after I started working. It turned into her lying in bed all day, not even cooking.
Ethan’s three meals a day also fell on my shoulders.
I didn’t complain.
I did these chores for 18 years in my past life.
I knew them like the back of my hand.
But one thing was different.
In my past life, I gave every cent I earned to my mom, keeping nothing for myself.
In this life, I opened an account at the town credit union.
Out of the 20 bucks a day, I deposited 15 and kept 5 for bus fare and groceries.
In twenty-eight days, I saved 420 dollars.
One night in mid-August, my mom suddenly appeared at my bedroom door.
“Chloe, how much money did you make working?”
“Not much.”
“How much?”
“About four hundred.”
“Give it here. Ethan’s backpack is broken; he needs a new one. Plus, there are school fees, notebooks, and pens for the new semester.”
“Aren’t Ethan’s school fees only 120?”
“With the backpack, school supplies, and uniform, it’s close to five hundred.”
I checked my ledger. “Ethan’s uniform was bought last year. He hasn’t even worn it a full year; it still fits. He has a ton of school supplies left over from last semester; I checked. The backpack can be stitched up and reused. All in all, 130 is enough.”
My mom was stunned.
She probably didn’t expect me to actually do the math.
The me from my past life wouldn’t have. The me from my past life would just say, “Okay, Mom. Here.”
“130.” I counted it out from my tin box and placed it on the desk.
“I’m keeping the rest for my tuition.”
My mom stared at the 130 bucks. Her expression was complicated.
She didn’t take it. She just turned and left.
The next day, Ethan came home with a new backpack.
Blue, with Spider-Man on it. It didn’t look cheap.
“Who bought it?” I asked.
“Aunt Brenda!” Ethan held it up to show me. “Aunt Brenda said I was a good boy, so she rewarded me.”
Aunt Brenda. My dad’s older sister. She married a guy in the county town who worked at the tobacco company. They had a pretty good life.
In my past life, Aunt Brenda was always incredibly good to Ethan. Red envelopes for every holiday and festival.
For me, not a single cent, ever.
I thought it was because Ethan was cute and lovable.
Later, I realized Aunt Brenda had her own calculations—
Ethan was the only male heir of the Hayes family.
If she raised him right, he would be the one to take care of her in her old age.
As a daughter who would eventually marry out, I was a losing investment in her eyes.
“It looks nice.” I patted Ethan’s backpack. “Study hard.”
Ethan nodded and ran out to play.
That night, I went through my mom’s metal lockbox again.
The bank book was still there.
The balance was still 0.
But I noticed a detail I hadn’t paid attention to before.
The account holder’s name—
It wasn’t my dad, Richard Hayes.
It was my mom, Mary Hayes.
That sixty thousand wasn’t withdrawn from my dad’s account.
It was my mom’s own account.
When did my mom, a rural stay-at-home housewife, ever have sixty thousand dollars in savings?
Unless that money was transferred from somewhere else to begin with.
I put the bank book back.
The puzzle was still missing a few pieces.
No rush.
04
On September 1st, I stepped through the gates of County High.
In my past life, I had only walked through these gates in my dreams.
County High was on the east side of the county town, over 20 miles from home. I had to board.
Boarding was 200 a semester. Tuition was 950. Estimating food at the bare minimum of 150 a month, half a year was 900.
Total: 2050.
I saved 420 from working, and I worked a few extra days at the diner at the end of summer, bringing it to 500.
I was still short 1550.
I found Director Vance at the administration office.
“Financial hardship?” Director Vance flipped through my file. “Father passed away from a work accident, mother is a farmer, and you have an eight-year-old brother?”
“Yes.”
“Ranked 11th in the county for the entrance exams?”
“Yes.”
He looked up at me.
“Do you have a proof of poverty certificate?”
“Yes.” I handed over the certificate stamped by the village committee.
Director Vance signed it. “Tuition fully waived. Boarding fee halved. Talk to your homeroom teacher about a stipend; you can get 750 a semester.”
750.
Plus the 500 I had.
1250. It was enough.
I stood outside the administration office and took a deep breath.
The sunlight was bright, reflecting off the brand-new school building.
In my past life, I stood on a factory assembly line for 18 years. I never saw sunlight like this for a single day.
During the first week of school, my mom called three times.
The first: “Ethan says he misses you. When are you coming back?”
The second: “We’re almost out of rice. Send some money back.”
The third: “Your Aunt Brenda says it costs too much for you to board in town. It’s better if you come back and find a job in the village.”
Three calls, three different tactics.
The family card, the financial card, the authority card.
In my past life, any one of them would have been enough to make me give up.
In this life, I replied with five words.
“I am in class.”
And hung up.
My homeroom teacher, Ms. Miller, was a woman in her early thirties, very efficient.
During the second week, she called me in for a chat.
“Chloe, I understand your situation. The school offers work-study positions. Organizing books in the library, 80 bucks a month, two hours each on Saturday and Sunday. Would you like to do it?”
“Yes, please.”
“Also, helping out in the cafeteria. 5:30 AM to 6:30 AM. They provide breakfast and an extra 30 bucks.”
“I’d like to do that too.”
Ms. Miller looked at me. Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but she ended up just saying one sentence: “Study hard.”
I nodded.
My days started running like clockwork.
5:30 AM: Cafeteria helper. 6:30 AM: Eat breakfast, go to class. Classes during the day, study hall until 10 PM. Weekends: Organizing shelves in the library. When I was done, I’d sit down and read.
In my past life, my education stopped at middle school.
But 18 years of real-world experience gave me one thing—
I knew what was truly important.
It wasn’t what Aunt Brenda called “a girl’s duty.”
It wasn’t what my mom called “you’re the older sister.”
It was myself.
Mid-October. The first midterms.
Out of 48 students in the class, I ranked 3rd.
Out of 820 students in the grade, I ranked 17th.
Ms. Miller circled my rank in red on the report card.
I looked at that ranking, not feeling anything special.
The Chloe Hayes of my past life ranked 11th in the county. She was never lacking in brains.
What she lacked was opportunity.
The weekend the midterm results came out, my mom came to the school.
She stood at the school gate, wearing a faded floral shirt, holding a plastic bag containing a few boiled eggs and a bag of peanuts.
“Chloe, Mom brought you some food.”
I took the bag.
She sat next to me on the steps by the school gate, silent for a while.
“Fixing the roof at home is going to cost two thousand.”
Here it comes.
“It leaks when it rains. Ethan’s room got all wet. The whole wall is covered in mold.”
She didn’t ask for money directly; she brought up Ethan.
It was always Ethan.
“Mom, I make 110 bucks a month working. I barely have enough for food. I don’t have two thousand.”
“Can you borrow some from your classmates?”
“No.”
My mom’s expression changed.
“You’re out here getting too big for your britches, you don’t even care about the family anymore, do you?”
“I care. But I can’t give you money I don’t have. If the roof leaks, apply for a dilapidated housing subsidy from the village committee. I’ll help you fill out the form.”
She opened her mouth but didn’t say anything.
Finally, she left carrying that empty plastic bag.
After she left, I sat on the steps for a long time.
The October wind blew past. It was a little chilly.
I didn’t feel sorry for her.
I felt sorry for 18 years in my past life, until I felt so sorry for myself that I died from it.
That was enough.
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I stared at the line of text for a long time.
It was printed in crisp, clear Arial font on the official lab letterhead.
“Testing indicates No Paternity relationship exists between the alleged father (Robert ‘Bob’ Miller) and the tested child.”
Not him.
I had mentally rehearsed a hundred ways to handle the worst-case scenario. Screaming, throwing dishes, packing his bags, slapping the document across his lying face.
But the results said it wasn’t him.
Then whose child is Leo?
The technician at the lab mentioned that while my husband wasn’t the match, the sample’s Y-chromosome markers showed a very strong familial link to the Miller line.
The Miller family line.
Not Bob.
But a Miller.
I closed my eyes.
And the cheerful, wrinkly face of my father-in-law, ‘Pop’ George Miller, floated up from the darkness.
1.
Three months ago, Sarah came over for dinner.
She brought Leo. He’s three, a chubby, red-haired little guy who’s impossible not to love.
I remarked offhandedly, “Sarah, Leo just gets cuter every day. He’s starting to look just like his dad.”
Sarah offered a tight, forced smile and kept her head down, busy cutting up Leo’s chicken nuggets.
“Let’s not talk about him.”
Sarah’s story was always that Leo’s father was a guy she dated briefly in college. She only found out she was pregnant after they’d gone their separate ways. She decided to have the baby and raise him solo.
My heart always went out to her.
Sarah had been my best friend since Freshman orientation. We’d known each other for twelve years. I helped her land her first job, I walked her through signing her first lease, and I was the one sitting outside the delivery room waiting when Leo was born.
Bob used to tease me about it. “You’re better to Sarah than you are to your own sister.”
“She’s doing this on her own, Bob,” I’d say. “It’s not easy.”
After dinner that night, my mother-in-law, Martha, stopped by.
The moment she saw Leo, her face lit up.
“Oh my goodness, look who’s here!”
She knelt down, ignoring her bad knees, and pulled a brand-new, boxed Transformer out of her large tote bag.
I froze.
I’d seen that exact toy in the mall last week. The price tag was seventy-five dollars.
Our son, Sam, had begged for one just like it. I’d told him it was too expensive, that we’d have to wait for a sale or maybe Christmas.
Martha pressed the toy into Leo’s hands, smiling so wide her eyes crinkled shut.
Leo took it, offering a chubby grin, and chirped, “Thanks, Grandma!”
I glanced at Sam.
He was standing off to the side, staring at the toy Leo was holding.
He didn’t say anything.
And I didn’t say anything either.
Martha never even glanced his way.
That night, lying in bed, a small detail clicked into place.
Leo called my mother-in-law “Grandma.”
When did Sarah teach him to do that?
I rolled over, trying to push the thought away.
It didn’t mean anything. Toddlers are sweet; they call any nice older woman “Grandma.”
But the next afternoon, as I was packing Sam’s water bottle into his backpack, I saw a drawing he’d started in his notebook.
He’d drawn a rough, blocky square with pencil.
Next to it, he’d printed one word in wobbly, childish letters.
“TRANSFORMER.”
I stared at that word for five full seconds.
Then I shoved the water bottle in and zipped the backpack shut.
Sarah texted me later that afternoon: “Hey Chloe, Leo’s preschool needs some paperwork. Something about certifying paternity for legal stuff. Do you know where I can get one of those DNA tests done quickly?”
I texted back: “Any Quest Diagnostics or LabCorp can do them. It’s just a couple hundred bucks.”
Hours passed before she replied: “Never mind. I’ll figure something else out.”
I pushed a bit. “They’re really fast, Sarah. It’s just a cheek swab.”
She didn’t reply.
I asked her again about it that evening.
She finally said: “I don’t want to do it. It’s too much hassle.”
What hassle is there in a paternity test?
You swab, you wait three days, you get the report.
It was the first time I felt Sarah was dodging something.
But at the time, I assumed she was dodging the ghost of that college ex. Maybe he had a family now. Maybe she didn’t want him listed on any official documents.
I didn’t think much of it.
But with those two incidents stacked together, I couldn’t sleep soundly anymore.
Martha’s attitude toward Leo.
Sarah’s refusal to do a certified test.
Was there a connection between those two things?
I told myself I was being ridiculous.
But that night, I dreamed Leo was sitting in our living room, looking up at Bob and calling him “Daddy.”
I snapped awake.
Soaked in sweat.
2.
I started noticing things I’d never paid attention to before.
Like how often Martha came over.
It used to be once a month, maybe twice if there was a family birthday.
After Leo was born, she started coming over two or three times a week.
And every single time, she brought something.
Always for Leo.
Designer clothes, expensive shoes, organic snacks, top-tier toys. The good stuff.
For Sam—nothing.
Once I couldn’t help but mention it. “Martha, you know Sam’s birthday is coming up soon, too.”
Martha didn’t even look up from the floor where she was building blocks with Leo. “Sam has everything he needs.”
“Leo has everything he needs, too.”
Martha shot me a look.
I’ll never forget that look.
It wasn’t anger. It was defensiveness. Like I’d crossed a line I didn’t know existed.
She put down the block she was holding and said slowly, “Sarah is raising that boy all on her own. It isn’t easy, Chloe. You’re her best friend; don’t you have any sympathy for her?”
I didn’t say anything.
She added, “You shouldn’t be so keeping score all the time.”
Keeping score.
I’ve cooked her son’s dinner for eight years, washed his clothes for eight years, gave birth to and raised her actual grandson. She comes over three times a week, bringing luxury items to someone else’s kid, and I’m the one keeping score for asking a simple question.
I put my head down and continued peeling the shrimp for dinner.
Bob was off to the side, looking at his phone.
He never said a single word.
That night, Sam was in his room doing homework, and I was in the kitchen washing dishes.
In the living room, Martha was on the sofa, holding Leo and reading him a story. Leo was giggling.
I looked out through the glass door of the kitchen.
Martha leaned down and kissed Leo’s forehead.
She had never kissed Sam.
Not once.
I turned back around.
And kept scrubbing the dishes.
I turned the faucet on full blast.
I couldn’t hear the laughter from the living room anymore.
Sarah came to pick Leo up the next day.
As I was helping Leo put his shoes on, I felt his socks.
They were incredibly soft, high-end cotton. I checked the ankle cuff. The brand label was still there.
I flipped it over.
A fourteen-dollar pair of socks.
The socks I bought for Sam were ten dollars for a six-pack at Target.
I didn’t say anything.
I finished putting his shoes on, picked Leo up, and handed him to Sarah.
Sarah said, “Thanks so much, Chloe. Sorry to keep imposing on you.”
I told her it was fine.
After she left, I stood in the doorway, watching her get into a taxi.
A taxi.
Sarah worked an administrative desk job at a small local company. She made less than forty thousand a year.
Single mom, forty thousand a year, fourteen-dollar socks, and taxis.
Where was the money coming from?
I’d never questioned it before.
Because I assumed she was struggling.
Raising a kid solo, paying rent, no help.
I’d been transferring her $150 every month, telling her it was to “help with groceries.”
She always said, “Oh, you don’t have to,” but she always accepted it.
But…
Someone who can afford fourteen-dollar socks for a toddler doesn’t need $150 a month from me.
I stood in the doorway, watching the taxi turn the corner and disappear.
The wind picked up.
It felt incredibly cold.
3.
I started doing a deep dive into Sarah’s Instagram.
Her feed was pristine. Occasionally photos of Leo, occasionally reposting parenting articles.
But I remembered a post she’d put up a while ago, then deleted.
I remembered what was in the photo.
Leo was sitting on a high-end leather sofa, with a massive floor-to-ceiling window behind him.
Neither the sofa nor the window looked anything like the cramped, one-bedroom apartment she was renting.
I’d even commented on it at the time: “Where’s this place? It’s gorgeous.”
She’d replied: “A friend’s place.”
And the next day, that post was gone.
I opened up the Amazon app and searched for the brands Leo was wearing.
An eighty-dollar puffy coat. Fifty-dollar sneakers.
I scrolled through.
Not a single item Leo wore cost less than twenty dollars.
A single mom on forty thousand a year.
I shut off my phone.
The following Saturday was my birthday.
I’d mentioned it to Bob the day before: “Hey, my birthday’s tomorrow. Let’s just stay in, I’ll cook us something nice.”
He said, “Sure, sounds good.”
I also called Martha: “Martha, it’s my birthday tomorrow, come over for dinner.”
Martha said, “Okay, noted.”
I went grocery shopping early that morning.
I came back and made a four-course meal.
Braised short ribs, garlic butter shrimp, roasted Brussels sprouts, mashed potatoes, and a scratch-made mushroom soup.
Sam helped me set the table.
“Mommy, when is Grandma coming?”
“Soon, sweetie.”
I waited until 5:30.
I called Martha.
No answer.
I called Bob.
“Where are you?”
“My mom said she took Leo to the petting zoo and needed me to come pick them up. I’m on my way there now.”
“Leo?”
“Sarah had something come up, so she dropped Leo off at my mom’s.”
“It’s my birthday today, Bob.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line.
“I know. We’ll all eat when I get back.”
He hung up.
I sat at the dining table.
A four-course meal.
The fat on the short ribs was already congealing.
Everything was cold.
Sam sat across from me, poking at a shrimp with his fork.
“Mommy, can we just eat?”
“Let’s eat.”
I scooped some short ribs onto his plate.
I didn’t eat.
They all got back later that evening.
Martha walked in saying, “God, the petting zoo was packed today.”
Nobody mentioned my birthday.
Bob hung his coat up, put on his slippers, and walked straight into his home office.
I went into the kitchen and scraped the mushroom soup down the disposal.
I have never cried in that house. I didn’t cry that day, either.
I washed the dishes, wiped down the stove, and mopped the floor.
Then I went to the bedroom and turned off the lights.
Lying in the dark with my eyes open.
Thinking about one thing.
Where is Sarah’s money coming from?
The next day, I made a decision.
I waited for the perfect moment when Sarah brought Leo over to play.
Leo was on the sofa watching cartoons.
I walked over, knelt down, and stroked his hair.
“Leo, buddy, let Aunt Chloe get this little white thread off your shirt.”
A thread from his shirt. A hair from his head. He didn’t know the difference.
I pulled three hairs, making sure to get the root, and slipped them into a small Ziploc bag I’d hidden in my pocket.
Sarah was in the kitchen helping me wash fruit.
She didn’t know a thing.
I clenched my hand around the Ziploc bag.
My palm was covered in sweat.
4.
I needed a comparison sample.
I thought about it for two days.
The websites said paternity testing requires samples from both the child and the alleged father.
At first, I only wanted to test Sarah’s “college ex”—but I didn’t have his sample.
All I had were samples from the Miller line.
Bob.
If my suspicion was right—if Leo was Bob’s son—then comparing his sample would work.
I snagged a few hairs from Bob’s hairbrush.
The kind with the root follicle still attached.
I mailed them off to the lab.
Then came the wait.
Those seven days felt like I was walking on cotton.
Every day I cooked, cleaned, did laundry, picked Sam up from school, helped him with homework.
Everything was normal.
But every night, I stared at the ceiling until 2 or 3 in the morning.
Beside me, Bob slept soundly.
Snoring.
On the seventh day, the call from the testing center came.
“Your results are ready. You can log in to view the report.”
I took a half-day off work.
I took the bus home.
My hands were cold the whole ride.
When I opened the PDF of the report, I sat on a bench in a nearby park for a long time.
“Alleged Father 1 (Adult Male hair) vs Child (Toddler hair)—No Paternity relationship exists.”
Not Bob.
I stared at that line, my mind a complete blank.
It wasn’t him.
Then whose is it?
I thought the worst-case scenario was—my husband and my best friend.
I was prepared to be furious, prepared to pack a bag, prepared to leave him with nothing.
But now they were telling me it wasn’t him.
Whose child is this?
I picked up my bag and walked out of the park.
Standing in the sunlight.
One sentence kept replaying in my head—
“A very strong familial link to the Miller line.”
The lab tech’s words.
“While No Paternity relationship exists with this specific male, the Y-chromosome markers are a near-perfect match, meaning the child’s biological father and your submitted sample share the same paternal lineage.”
The same paternal lineage.
Not Bob.
But a Miller.
How many Miller men are there?
Bob.
Bob’s younger brother, David, who lives in California and comes back once a year for Thanksgiving.
Bob’s father.
George.
No.
Impossible.
I stood on the street corner for a long time.
Then I bought a bus ticket back to my neighborhood.
The whole way, I kept thinking: Impossible.
George is fifty-eight.
He’s the quintessential suburban American grandpa. Retired, loves his backyard grill, watches the game on Sundays. Every time he comes over for dinner, he wears a collared shirt, talks loudly to Bob about politics, and always lectures about “living with integrity.”
Martha always says, “The best thing about your father is how grounded he is.”
Grounded.
Suddenly, I remembered something.
About a year after Leo was born, I stopped by Sarah’s apartment to drop off some chicken soup.
The door wasn’t quite shut.
I pushed it open and saw George sitting on her sofa.
He was holding a bag of groceries.
He saw me, stood up, and offered a calm smile.
“Bob asked me to drop some things off for Sarah. Said she’s got a lot on her plate.”
I didn’t think much of it at the time.
A father-in-law dropping groceries off for his daughter-in-law’s best friend. What was weird about that?
But now replaying it—
Bob asked him to?
I got home and called Bob.
“Hey, you remember when your dad used to drop groceries off at Sarah’s? Did you ask him to do that?”
There was a pause on the other end.
“What? No, I never asked him that. He went on his own? I didn’t know that.”
He went on his own.
He didn’t know.
I hung up the phone.
It almost slipped from my sweaty palm.
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My sister was dating a young heir from a wealthy family, but they were cruelly broken up by his older brother.
His snobbish older brother looked down on people, calling my sister a gold-digging green tea bitch.
I was so furious I created a burner account, intending to let him taste what it’s like to love someone he can’t have.
We dated online for half a year. The old-fashioned prude, calling me “baby” left and right, proposed we meet in person.
I gave a cold laugh, blocked him, and ran.
I thought our paths would never cross again in this lifetime.
But after all the twists and turns, my sister and the young heir actually got married.
At the wedding banquet, upon hearing a familiar voice, I didn’t even dare to raise my head.
Yet I saw my sister and brother-in-law go over and call that man “Uncle.”
Uncle?
I was so shocked I dropped my chopsticks.
1
As I bent down to pick up my chopsticks, the tablecloth hid my shocked expression.
How could it be the uncle?
This voice clearly belonged to Arthur Sterling, the older brother of my brother-in-law, Liam Sterling—the one I had been online dating for half a year.
Half a year ago, my sister and Liam were dating and went to meet the parents, only to be cruelly broken up by Arthur.
This obsessive older brother insisted my sister wasn’t good enough for Liam. He even called her a gold-digging green tea bitch, saying she was only with Liam for his money.
My sister came back crying her eyes out and broke up with Liam.
When I found out, I was furious. I felt this couldn’t just slide.
Arthur Sterling, right? You obsessive bro-con, how dare you insult my sister and make her cry? Just watch how I deal with you.
I registered a burner account pretending to sell tea, added Arthur’s contact info, and checked in on him warmly every day, stringing him along until he was totally hooked.
Arthur seemed like a pure, old-fashioned prude. He was extremely hard to flirt with at first, but eventually, he fell for me, calling me “baby” with every other breath.
Until recently, when he proposed we meet up.
Acting very insecure, I said my circumstances were poor and I wasn’t good enough for him.
Arthur said he didn’t care about any of that; he just liked me for me.
Wow, typical Arthur Sterling. When it comes to himself, “just liking her” is enough, but when it came to Liam, he insisted my sister had to be a perfect social match.
If this isn’t a double standard, what is? He was clearly targeting my sister.
I was so angry I humiliated him thoroughly, blocked him, and disappeared.
I thought that after toying with Arthur and making him suffer, the matter would be settled.
Who knew that after all the twists and turns, Liam and my sister would still get married.
I came to attend the wedding banquet, sitting at the main table for the bride’s family.
Right next to us was the Sterling family’s table.
From the moment I sat down, I didn’t dare raise my head or even sneak a glance.
I also used a sore throat from a cold as an excuse to play mute the whole time.
I had sent Arthur photos, but they were heavily Photoshopped—smaller face, bigger eyes, higher nose bridge.
As long as I didn’t speak, comparing me to that heavily edited photo that even my sister wouldn’t recognize, he absolutely wouldn’t be able to tell it was me.
Trembling with fear, the wedding proceeded to the second half, and the newlyweds came to toast each table.
“Wishing you a hundred years of happiness.”
Hearing that familiar voice, I practically buried my head in my bowl.
But my sister and Liam both called him Uncle!
No, no, something must be wrong.
Maybe I misheard?
After sitting back down, I sneaked a glance next to me, only seeing the man’s back.
He was in a suit, his attire exceptionally luxurious, his back broad and straight. It was just that a dense aura of low pressure surrounded him.
After the newlyweds toasted and left, an elder at the table teased him.
“Your little nephew is married. When do you, as an uncle, plan to get married?”
“Don’t mention it, Second Brother.”
A young man next to him, who seemed to be his friend, said sympathetically: “Old White was finally blooming, but it turned out the other party was a female scammer selling tea. She blocked him and ran. He’s still fuming about it even now…”
“Harrison.”
The owner of the voice was somewhat displeased, seemingly reminding him to stop.
What White?
I quickly turned my head, breaking into a cold sweat.
This person… really doesn’t seem to be Arthur.
In the evening was the family dinner with the Sterling family. My sister introduced the Sterling family members to me beforehand using photos.
My inner despair finally reached its peak.
I’m doomed. I really flirted with the wrong guy!
2
During our half year of online dating, “Arthur” sent me countless spicy photos and left countless voice messages with me.
In the later stages, he became super clingy, wanting to be on a voice call even while sleeping.
I would recognize that voice even if I were a ghost.
Seeing the time was ripe, I told him I had a change of heart and had a new boyfriend who was much better than him.
I called him old, saying he probably smelled like an old man.
I called him ugly, which is why he didn’t show his full face.
I also said his body looked like it was pumped full of protein powder.
And!
I even said he was small…
Only after a refreshing round of insults did I block him and run.
The more I thought about it, the paler my face became.
I am completely doomed.
Not only did I fail to get revenge, but I also brought massive trouble upon myself and my sister.
My sister had said the Sterling family is a powerful dynasty. The old patriarch has three children, and the most favored one is undoubtedly his youngest son, Julian Sterling.
He is the current CEO of the Sterling family enterprise, Sterling Corp, and holds a pivotal position in the entire Sterling family.
If he found out I toyed with him like this, my sister’s life in the Sterling family would definitely become difficult!
I paced around anxiously but couldn’t tell my sister.
I had done this behind her back.
Besides, it wouldn’t help even if she knew; she might even give the game away.
After our parents died, my sister and I relied on each other in the orphanage.
It wasn’t that there weren’t families wanting to adopt us separately, but my sister and I refused to be parted, so we both stayed behind.
My sister had always been very good to me.
Now that she had become a university lecturer and married into such a good family, there absolutely couldn’t be any problems because of me.
Julian Sterling absolutely must not discover that I am that person.
At the family dinner, I finally saw Julian’s full appearance.
One word: handsome.
Two words: incredibly handsome.
I actually played with such a handsome man and even turned us into enemies.
I just hoped he wouldn’t recognize me.
I played the role of a good, quiet, mute girl.
Julian’s cold gaze swept over me for a second and then withdrew.
He didn’t recognize me.
I breathed a sigh of relief, sat down safely, and didn’t dare look up again.
Because I was the only relative from the bride’s side, Liam’s family was quite attentive to me.
Learning I was still a senior in college, Liam’s mother asked: “Have you found an internship company yet? How about coming to our Sterling Corp?”
Sterling Corp?
Isn’t that the company where Julian is the CEO?
No, no!
But Liam’s mother was looking at me with such burning intensity, it was hard to signal my sister with my eyes.
I opened my mouth, almost forgetting my “lost voice” persona.
“That sounds great.”
My sister agreed readily, smiling brightly: “Thank you, Mom.”
NO!
How is this any different from delivering myself right to his doorstep!
At the table, Sterling Corp CEO Julian just watched and tacitly agreed.
As the family dinner dispersed, I wiped the cold sweat from my forehead, resolving to visit the Sterling family as little as possible, whether I had a reason to or not.
Before leaving, my sister pulled me aside seriously.
“You’ve been acting weird today. What exactly is going on?”
I continued playing mute, waving my hands and typing that I was just sick and feeling unwell.
My sister sighed in relief and told me to hurry back and rest.
I finally managed to bluff my way through and return to my dorm.
But the tricky part was that my sister had actually gotten me an internship spot at Sterling Corp.
Sterling Corp is an industry leader; having an internship there would undoubtedly add a brilliant stroke to my resume.
If it weren’t for the Julian situation, I would have definitely gone without hesitation.
But what if Julian recognized me…
I agonized for several days before making up my mind.
It’s just a three-month internship.
Sterling Corp is so huge. How could a lowly intern possibly run into the CEO?
I just need to survive for three months and then quietly slip away.
3
Having connections in high places makes things easy; I quickly blended in.
At first, I was on edge for a few days.
But later, exactly as I had thought, a lowly intern only had to complete the tasks assigned by their mentor. The highest-ranking superior I usually saw was just a department manager.
Let alone the CEO, I couldn’t even see the General Manager.
I felt relieved.
However, surviving in an industry-leading company wasn’t that easy. Within a few days of joining, the workload was outrageously heavy.
Proposals submitted were constantly sent back, the department head got scolded, and consequently, the working atmosphere was extremely tense.
While eating in the cafeteria, my lunch buddy gossiped with me in a low voice.
“Do you know why things have been so tough these past few days?”
He was an intern from the same batch as me.
“Why?”
I was very curious.
“Because…”
My lunch buddy glanced around and lowered his voice to the absolute minimum.
“The CEO went through a breakup.”
My spoon dropped onto my plate. I gave an awkward chuckle: “Really?”
“I heard it was an online romance too, and he ran into a scammer.”
I lowered my head to sip my soup, hiding my expression.
“Where did you hear that from?”
“The CEO asked his special assistant to investigate an account. Word spreads fast, from one to ten, ten to a hundred. Everyone knows now.”
My lunch buddy was thoroughly puzzled: “With his net worth, what kind of woman couldn’t he get? To think he’d actually date online. Online dating is one thing, but getting scammed… If the other party knew who he was, they’d probably regret it until their intestines turned green.”
They’d definitely regret it until their intestines turned green!
It’s all because I wasn’t careful when asking for contact info. Instead of finding Arthur, I actually hooked such a big fish.
I asked carefully: “Did the special assistant say what the CEO plans to do if he finds the person?”
“Call the police, for sure! That tea-selling woman must have fleeced a lot of money from the CEO. Add up the total amount, and it’s probably enough for a severe sentence.”
Total nonsense!
When I initially approached Julian, my motives were indeed impure. I put on the guise of selling tea, harassing him every day asking if he wanted to buy some.
It just so happened a friend’s family sold tea.
Who knew he would actually buy it, and at ten times the price, insisting I accept the money.
Other than that, any other money he gave me, I returned when we broke up.
I told him I found a new boyfriend who was super possessive and wouldn’t let me spend other men’s money.
Even though the Sterling family is rich, I was really afraid Arthur might get cheap and sue me to return the money, causing unnecessary trouble.
Anyway, as long as the goal of breaking his heart was achieved, that was enough.
Thankfully, that account is deleted now. Julian shouldn’t be able to trace it.
As long as I survive these three months…
“Chloe, go deliver this document to the CEO’s office.”
I took the document from the senior colleague in my department, wanting to cry but having no tears.
Why is there another hurdle!
Riding the elevator up to the top floor, I secretly hyped myself up.
It’s just delivering a document, how hard can it be? I’ll just keep playing mute.
I fearfully went up to the top floor, only to find the office empty.
Julian wasn’t there.
A secretary from the CEO’s office asked me which department I was from.
Since he wasn’t there, there was no need for me to play mute. I answered obediently, the other party noted it down, and it was fine.
After a few times like this, I relaxed.
Once again taking a document up to the top floor, I had just greeted the people in the secretary’s office when a familiar voice came from the inner office.
“Let her come in.”
Me: “…”
My heart leaped to my throat again. Looking death in the eye, I walked into the office and handed the document onto the desk.
Julian reached out a hand with prominent knuckles to take it, then lowered his eyes and began to flip through it, saying nothing for a long while.
As time ticked by, I calmed down a bit and boldy looked up, only to meet Julian’s raised, phoenix-like eyes. I quickly lowered my head again.
After a suffocating silence, Julian spoke, asking me: “How have you been doing in the company lately?”
I had just spoken to the people in the secretary’s office outside, so I couldn’t play mute anymore!
Squeezing my voice, I replied softly: “Pretty good.”
I glanced up at him and added a title: “Mr. Sterling.”
“Good?”
Julian seemed not to hear anything unusual and gave a cold laugh: “They send you to deliver documents, clearly knowing the relationship between you and me, and you call this good?”
What relationship? Don’t spout nonsense!
I was so anxious I even forgot to squeeze my voice: “What relationship do we have…”
Before I finished, looking at his inexplicable expression, I realized he was talking about his relationship with my sister.
“Hehe.”
I caught on, “I didn’t tell them anything…”
It’s rare for me to be someone with “connections,” yet I feel so guilty about it. I wish no one knew.
But it turns out they had me deliver documents because they knew I had connections and was here to act as a shield against getting scolded.
Julian frowned slightly, sizing me up for a long while, and said: “Call your manager up.”
I felt like I had received a royal pardon and fled at top speed.
I don’t know what Julian said to the manager, but no one ever asked me to go up and deliver documents again.
Another hurdle passed!
4
On my last shift before the holiday, I was mentally planning what to eat for dinner as I pressed the elevator button.
With a ding, the elevator arrived. I looked up and ran straight into Julian, dressed in a suit.
Wait, what??
Why isn’t he taking the executive elevator? What is he doing taking the employee elevator?
Julian, inside the elevator, stared at me intently and asked, “Are you coming in?”
I braced myself and stepped inside.
The elevator doors slowly closed and continued downwards.
The person beside me was tall, making the already cramped space feel even smaller.
A pleasant, fresh scent filled my nose; it seemed to be his natural scent.
Those scandalous photos he had sent me in the past were awakened from the depths of my memory.
At first, it was just hands and arms.
Later, it was pecs and abs draped with various accessories.
And then later…
Recalling the scenery I saw then, and his words: “Satisfied with what you see?”
My face grew redder the more I thought about it, and I felt like there wouldn’t be enough oxygen in this narrow space.
Why is this elevator so slow?
I looked up at the flashing red numbers.
“Chloe.”
“Hmm?”
I instinctively responded, turning my head to meet Julian’s inquiring gaze.
He half-narrowed his eyes. “You seem… very afraid of me?”
5
“I…”
I tried hard to stay calm: “You are the boss, and an elder. I… respect you.”
Beside me, Julian said flatly: “Then don’t look like you’ve done something to feel guilty about.”
“We haven’t met before this, right?”
Hearing these words, my back heated up, and I felt like my hairs were standing on end.
“No, no we haven’t.”
“Oh.”
Julian responded casually, his expression normal, as if it were just an offhand question.
With a ding, the elevator stopped at a certain floor, and a huge crowd of people flooded in.
Good news: I finally didn’t have to face Julian alone.
Bad news: I was squeezed into the furthest corner, forced to stand right against Julian.
Heavens above, why must you torture me like this?
Once again, I cursed the person who gave me the wrong contact information countless times.
After a long torment, the elevator finally reached the first floor.
“Goodbye, Mr. Sterling.”
The people in front cleared out, and I was preparing to slip away.
I had only taken two steps when a stinging pain in my scalp pulled me back.
I came back to my senses and realized my hair had actually gotten tangled in Julian’s suit button!
Just destroy me!
My face was stiff. I felt like nothing could possibly hit me harder now.
Outwardly calm, I stepped forward to rescue my hair from his button.
Fortunately, it was just an accidental snag, not severely tangled.
A gaze that couldn’t be ignored swept over me. Feeling it, I looked up.
Julian’s eyes were slightly lowered, his cold gaze resting quietly on my collarbone.
During my movements just now, my collar had become slightly disheveled, revealing a bit of my collarbone.
There, rested a tiny red mole.
The one from the photos I had sent him.
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