Category: English

After we graduated high school, Caleb sweet-talked me into his bed. After that, he was hooked, tangling up my life for seven whole years. Our friends always joked that he was my ultimate simp: “Just marry the guy already, he’d practically die for you.” That was, until I accidentally stumbled upon his secret alt account. Thousands of posts, overflowing with a sick, obsessive love. The girl in the pictures, delicate and pretty in a white dress. She was his untouchable first love—the one that got away. Only then did I realize that for seven years, he gave his body to me, but his heart always belonged to someone else. 1 The day I discovered Caleb’s secret account. It was a completely ordinary night. Caleb had just returned from a business trip. The moment he walked through the door, he couldn’t wait to carry me to bed. He always had a high drive, and after a week apart, he was incredibly impatient and rough. By the time it was all over, I was so exhausted I could barely keep my eyes open. Ding—a short notification sound chimed. I watched as Caleb picked up his phone, his brows pulling together. As he threw on his jacket to head out, I grabbed his arm: “You’re going out this late?” Caleb looked back and coaxed me gently: “Something came up at the office. You go to sleep, don’t wait up for me.” Maybe it was a woman’s intuition. Half an hour after Caleb left, I was completely wide awake. I forced myself out of bed and called the night-shift security at his company: “Is everyone working late? I can order some late-night takeout for you guys.” “No need, Ms. Chloe. Mr. Caleb let everyone off early today. The office is empty.” “There’s no one at the company at all?” “No one. Is there something you need, ma’am?” “No, it’s fine.” After hanging up, I sat on the bed in a daze. Our condo was very close to his office. A ten-minute drive, max. But now, thirty minutes had passed, and Caleb wasn’t at the company. Where was he this late at night? 2 The next day, Caleb came back. He seemed to be in a fantastic mood, even humming a tune as he unlocked the door. He brought me my favorite artisan croissants. The bakery was a famous, century-old spot known for its amazing quality. The only downside was that it was across town and didn’t offer delivery. “Whatever my wife wants to eat, even if it’s the stars in the sky, I’d pluck them down and bake them into cookies for you.” I couldn’t help but laugh. I rubbed my forehead, thinking I had just been too paranoid lately. If I ever said Caleb didn’t love me, my friends would be the first to object: “Chloe, stop creating drama. Have you seen how Caleb acts? He couldn’t survive without you. “You’ve been together for seven years, and every time you fight, he’s the one begging on his knees for you to take him back. “Stop overthinking it. Just accept his proposal and marry him already.” My friends weren’t entirely wrong; Caleb was definitely the more proactive one in this relationship. But they were wrong about one thing: Caleb hadn’t proposed to me. Caleb always said: “Baby, I don’t want you to settle. I’ll propose properly once my career is completely stable.” I was young back then and didn’t want to be tied down by marriage either. We were on the same page, and just like that, our messy, undefined entanglement dragged on for seven years. During breakfast, Caleb was looking at his phone, a subconscious smile playing on his lips. “What are you looking at? You seem so happy.” Hearing my voice, his smile instantly faded: “Nothing, just a funny cat video.” “Let me see.” Caleb quickly locked his phone, walked over, and scooped me into his arms: “It’s nothing interesting.” His voice grew husky: “You’re much better to look at. Are you full? Because now it’s my turn to eat.” Right before he pressed me into the mattress, my eyes accidentally caught the screen of his phone. It was a red icon—a niche journaling app mostly used by women. Why would he have that on his phone? 3 Once the seed of doubt is planted, it inevitably sprouts. While Caleb was in the shower, I quickly grabbed his phone. I only had enough time to memorize the username: “Broken Star.” Early the next morning, I sat in the study. Using the profile picture and IP location, I cross-referenced and searched. An hour later, I finally locked onto the account. I clicked it open, revealing thousands of densely packed posts. It was like opening Pandora’s box. The overwhelming, obsessive infatuation hit me so hard it made my heart pound. [June 9, 2017: I slept with someone else, but I don’t regret it. You betrayed me first.] That year, Caleb stumbled into my room reeking of alcohol. He coaxed me out of my clothes and kept me awake the entire night. [September 1, 2018: I didn’t get into my dream Ivy League. Did you think you were my only option? You’re wrong.] On our first day of college, Caleb knelt holding a bouquet of flowers and confessed to me, saying he would take responsibility for that night. It turned out it was never about me. He was just rebounding because he didn’t get into his top-choice school. [August 7, 2021: You actually got married? I will never forgive you. You should rot in hell.] That night, Caleb drank heavily and was incredibly rough. He used toys and restraints; I cried for hours, and the next day I was in the hospital with a fever. [December 25, 2023: You got divorced. Will you finally look back at me now?] That day, Caleb—a guy who actively hated the holidays—actually put on a Santa hat and posted a selfie on Instagram. I couldn’t read anymore. With trembling hands, I scrolled straight to the bottom. The latest post was from a few days ago, the night he didn’t come home: [The unattainable obsession of our youth becomes the prison of our lifetime.] The photo attached showed a girl, delicate and pretty, wearing a white dress. I finally recognized her. Ashley. Caleb’s childhood sweetheart from next door. I sat completely frozen for a long time. My body turned ice-cold, shivering uncontrollably, before the devastating realization set in. It turned out that in this seven-year entanglement, his love never belonged to me for a single second. A youthful crush, years of unrequited love—anyone would shed a tear at such dedication. Their romance was an unstoppable, earth-shattering force. So, what the hell was I? 4 I took screenshots and recorded the screen, saving every piece of evidence. That night, when Caleb came home, he brought a bunch of new bedroom toys. He always had a wild appetite and a preference for gadgets. Keeping up with him was always exhausting. “Not tonight. It’s that time of the month.” Caleb froze for a second, then pressed his weight onto me: “Then just use your hands and legs, okay? I promise I’ll be gentle.” “No. I said no.” He tried to coax me a few more times, but I firmly rejected him. He was clearly annoyed, but he didn’t lash out. He brought me a heating pad and brewed some hot ginger tea: “Alright, baby, you rest up. I need to head back to the office to handle a few things.” A friend once joked with me: “Stop being so ungrateful. A guy only wants it that much because he loves you. He’s pushing thirty but acts like a horny teenager around you. “Unlike my guy, who sleeps like a dead log. The honeymoon phase passion is long gone.” I used to believe that too. Caleb was never stingy about showing his absolute obsession and desire for my body. But I forgot that for men, love and sex can be completely compartmentalized. I asked myself a simple question. If I were Caleb, would I treat the person I truly loved with such reckless aggression? Just like he wrote in his posts: [You are my pristine angel; I never dared to touch you. Just basking in your light was an honor.] Yet our first time was in a cheap motel, with scratchy sheets and an absolute, ruthless lack of restraint. It turns out, the difference between being loved and not being loved… Is truly staggering. 5 I secretly followed Caleb. I watched him walk into a boutique bakery. Ashley, wearing a white dress, came out to greet him. She looked thrilled, clinging to his arm and refusing to let go. Uncharacteristically, Caleb acted cold and pushed her away: “This bakery is yours now. Don’t contact me again.” Ashley didn’t seem to take him seriously and wrapped her arms around him again: “I don’t believe you. You could never bear to not see me.” As they pulled and tugged at each other, tears welled up in Ashley’s eyes. Finally, losing his patience, Caleb pinned her against the wall in the alleyway: “Don’t make yourself regret this.” Under the dim glow of the streetlamp, the two of them kissed passionately. Hiding in the shadows, I pulled out my phone and snapped several pictures. In my mind, Caleb always hated kissing on the lips. I stared at their intertwined silhouettes. So, it wasn’t that he hated kissing. It was just that I was the wrong person to kiss. It wasn’t that he was waiting for his career to stabilize before proposing. He was waiting for someone else to get a divorce. Just as Caleb was about to slip his hand under Ashley’s top, he stopped abruptly: “Go back inside. I’ll come see you tomorrow.” Ashley clung to him relentlessly: “Why? Rushing home to let that woman relieve your frustration?” “I won’t touch her when I get back.” “I don’t believe you. Who’s prettier, me or her?” Caleb went silent for a moment before saying: “You, of course. How could she even compare to you?” Ashley smiled, utterly satisfied. Caleb: “Do you have any slice cakes left in the display?” Ashley: “Yes, why do you ask?” Caleb: “I’ll take one.” At that exact moment, my phone buzzed. It was Caleb: [Wife, does your stomach still hurt? [I’m buying you a slice of cake. What flavor do you want?]

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1 After Dad’s affair, Mom used a steel wool pad to scrub him clean every single night. She’d spray disinfectant on his raw, bleeding back, muttering frantically. “Filthy, so filthy, Brandon Davies, you’re so filthy.” Dad’s face was ashen with pain, but his eyes were filled with guilt, and he didn’t move a muscle. He looked at me, completely bewildered, and spoke softly. “Dad made a mistake, what Mom’s doing is right.” But on my birthday, Dad asked to take a shower by himself. Mom, who was just slicing my cake, froze, then tore at Dad’s clothes like a madwoman. “Are you screwing that student of yours, Scarlett Reed, again?! Is she so desperate she can’t live without you?!” “And you’re just as pathetic, ignoring what you have for free at home, willing to cause a scandal just to sleep with some tramp!” After the eighteenth slap from Mom, Dad finally lost it, revealing a gash on his arm. “I got hurt checking machinery at the plant, almost lost an arm, and you don’t care! All you care about is who I’m sleeping with! When is it going to end?!” “Even if Scarlett isn’t ‘clean,’ she’s better than you! At least she didn’t get tangled up with her step-brother at a young age! I want to sleep with her, so what?!” The candles snuffed out without warning, plunging our quarters into darkness. Mom’s hand dropped limply, the light in her eyes fading with it. I knew then. Mom was truly tired. She was letting go. … The dry air was thick with a deathly silence. Dad was the first to react. He yanked the pull cord, and the dim, yellow light flickered, casting swaying shadows. He instinctively reached for Mom, but his hand met empty air. “My bad, I misspoke.” “The machine broke down today, I went to fix it and got hurt. I didn’t want you to worry, that’s why I wanted to shower alone.” “Don’t believe me? See for yourself, am I clean? No other woman’s perfume, right?” Mom’s step-brother had been a little boy her family took in, two years older than her. Little Mom was ecstatic, cheering that she finally had a big brother. But when he grew up, he pinned Mom down, telling her she was going to be his. It was Dad, passing by, who gallantly rescued Mom and promised to keep quiet. Yet now, it was Dad who brought it all out into the open. Mom said nothing, turning to reheat the cold food in the steamer. Dad finally realized he was two hours later than usual. Two hours. A very particular number. That day, Dad was two hours late, and Mom was frantic, searching for him in the pouring rain. Through the control room window, she saw Dad and Scarlett Reed intertwined. I was on Mom’s back, giggling foolishly. “Dad’s on Aunt Scarlett just like me! Is it a game?” “Dad’s like a puppy, having so much fun with Aunt Scarlett.” Mom covered my eyes, ordering me to look down. All I remember from that day was the heavy rain, the incessant thunder. Mom carried me back, crying harder than the rain. Dad remembered too, his face paling. He stammered. “I’m sorry, it really was an emergency at the plant.” “I promise, things like that won’t happen again. We’ll live a good life.” Mom stood with her back to Dad, silent. Dad thought she had conceded, letting out a long sigh of relief. He changed his clothes and sat back down, his arm already treated. “Happy birthday, little star. And here’s to many more happy returns for us.” Many happy returns, year after year. These were Dad and Mom’s wedding vows; they repeated them every year. Mom didn’t finish the second half, just kept piling food onto my plate. Dad sighed, pulling out two beautifully wrapped gifts. A pair of pearl earrings and a doll. “Bought these on my business trip down south. You two will love them.” I was overjoyed, still secretly glancing at Mom’s expression. Mom nodded at me, signaling it was okay to accept. Dad’s eyes lit up. He gently, carefully fastened one earring onto Mom. As he reached for the other side, the door was pounded on, rattling the whole house. “Mr. Davies, hurry! The data’s wrong, Scarlett Reed’s stuck in the machine again!” Dad’s hand slipped, the sharp earring stud piercing Mom’s earlobe. Blood welled up. Mom gasped in pain, tears welling in her eyes. He quickly pulled out a handkerchief to press against Mom’s wound, speaking as he headed for the door. “Something’s wrong at the plant, I need to go.” We all knew. It wasn’t the plant that was in trouble. It was Scarlett Reed. Dad’s injury? Also from protecting Scarlett Reed. Mom stared at the handkerchief, lost in thought. A rose was embroidered on it – Scarlett Reed’s favorite flower. After a long moment, Mom gave a soft, bitter laugh. She stroked my head, whispering an apology. “Mom messed up your sixth birthday, didn’t she?” “But Mom really can’t keep going. Mom’s going to divorce Dad.” Mom brought me to the courthouse the next day. Dad hadn’t come home all night, and Mom hadn’t slept a wink. She clutched a small red booklet, taking a while to grasp what the clerk was saying. “Are you saying this certificate is fake? That Brandon Davies and I aren’t married?” The clerk, a kind-faced older woman, sighed sympately. “I’ve checked multiple times. Brandon Davies’s marital status is indeed married, but the spouse isn’t you. It’s someone named Scarlett Reed.” “They registered a year ago with a certificate from the factory.” A year ago. That’s when Scarlett Reed had been living with us for three months. When Mom brought her home, Scarlett had not a single unbruised spot on her body. Mom said she was a poor soul, and Dad and I needed to be kind to her. Privately, I’d heard Dad complain that Scarlett was a lost girl with no parents, and living with us would be bad for my development. That was the first time I saw Mom truly angry at Dad. She said he was disrespecting women, and made him promise to treat Scarlett like a sister. Later, Scarlett recovered and clung to Dad, becoming his apprentice. Mom was even happy, glad Scarlett found a good path, and that Dad had let go of his prejudice. But no one expected everything to spin out of control later. Dad came home early today. Seeing the empty table, he raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t get to finish dinner with you two yesterday. Tonight, I’ll take you out to eat.” Mom didn’t move. She pointed at the wedding photo on the wall. “Brandon Davies, when did your heart change?” “Was it a year ago, or the first time you saw Scarlett Reed?” The photo on the wall was yellowed, curling at the edges. Dad’s face was stiff, Mom’s lips pressed into a thin line. But in Dad and Scarlett Reed’s photo, both were smiling radiantly. Dad first paused, then burst out laughing. “You’re mad at me over this? If you want to take pictures, we can go right now.” “Scarlett, she’s young but smart. Such talent shouldn’t be wasted. Marrying her was just for a spot at the plant.” “It’s just a piece of paper. If you mind, I’ll divorce her immediately.” I tugged at Mom’s sleeve, asking innocently. “Is that why I can’t go to school?” Dad stiffened, a flicker of embarrassment on his face. I was well past school age, but every time Mom took me to enroll, the school staff would say I didn’t meet the requirements. Mom had run around aimlessly for ages, wearing out two pairs of shoes. She had pulled strings, asking around, only to get one answer. “Is your husband’s identity correct? Please check again before coming back.” Mom thought it was because Dad worked for a classified unit that I couldn’t go to school. Turns out, my dad wasn’t my dad. I was illegitimate, a ghost child with no official papers. Mom held me gently, saying nothing. Dad cleared his throat twice, softening his tone. “Once Scarlett gets her promotion, I’ll divorce her. Then I’ll send little star to the best school. Can you wait a little longer, please?” Mom avoided Dad’s embrace, lifting her gaze calmly. “You never developed feelings for Scarlett Reed? You were just helping?” Dad nodded, pulling us into a tight hug. “Don’t worry. In my heart, there’s only you and little star.” I covered my nose, scowling at Dad. The scent on his shoulder was Scarlett Reed’s perfume. Outside the door, Scarlett Reed, in a floral dress, bit her lip, her eyes red. “Brandon, I’m pregnant.” I looked up, not missing the fleeting surprise in Dad’s eyes. Scarlett Reed pushed a pregnancy diagnosis in front of Dad, her face conflicted. “I know you only married me to help me get the spot, and I won’t keep this child either.” “I only came to let the baby meet its father, after all, the doctor says it’s a boy.” Scarlett Reed’s tears traced paths down her fair cheeks, disappearing into the pearl necklace around her neck. It was a matching set with Mom’s earrings, but hers was more expensive. Scarlett Reed self-consciously covered her neck. “Brandon gave it to me for winning the competition. If you mind, honey, I won’t wear it.” Dad’s gaze was flustered. He opened his mouth to say something, but Mom cut him off. Mom calmly took off her earrings. “Since you wear my clothes, and you sleep with my man, if you’re so fond of hand-me-downs, then these earrings are yours too.” Scarlett Reed’s smile froze, then twisted into an even brighter one. She naturally took them, putting them on as she spoke. “You’re so generous, honey. Looks like Brandon was right to sleep with me. Compared to your slender figure, I clearly satisfy him more.” “After all, he said that no matter how much I mess around, I would never get involved with my own step-brother. In that regard, I’m much cleaner than you.” “Scarlett Reed! What rubbish are you spouting?! Get out!” Dad sharply stopped Scarlett Reed, shielding Mom. Scarlett Reed’s eyes reddened, and she turned and ran. Dad paused, then pretended to calmly explain to Mom. “It’s getting dark, she’s not safe alone.” “You two wait for me at home, I’ll be right back.” Mom’s hand was hidden under the table, already purple from where her fingernails had dug into her palm. I never expected Dad to use Mom’s secret as entertainment for Scarlett Reed. And I never expected Dad to protect Scarlett Reed, leaving Mom behind once more. Mom watched Dad’s retreating back, then quietly packed her clothes to leave. As she locked the door, I still peered outside. Mom took my hand, shaking her head gently. “Don’t look. He won’t be coming back.” On the way to the train station, snowflakes began to fall. Scarlett Reed suddenly blocked our path, a triumphant smile on her face. “I knew you’d leave, so I waited here specifically. See how well I know you?” Mom didn’t want to get tangled up with Scarlett Reed, so she picked me up and tried to go around. Suddenly, several menacing figures rushed out, surrounding us. Scarlett Reed’s eyes gleamed with defiance, approaching step by step. “Remember these guys? You saved me from them back then.” “They turned me into a tramp, but you brought me into your home, made me your sister.” “Compared to you, I’m practically evil.” Mom stared at her warily, her voice guarded. “What exactly do you want?” Scarlett Reed’s face hardened, letting out a scornful laugh. “Of course, I want you to become just like me. That way Brandon won’t think about you anymore.” “What do you think Brandon will say when he comes and sees you disheveled?” Scarlett Reed’s gaze fell on me, her smile meaningful. “Little star is small, but little kids have their own… appeal, don’t they?” Mom held me tight, her eyes bloodshot. She grabbed her self-defense knife, her fingertips trembling. “Get away! Anyone who dares to come closer today, I’ll kill them!” The knife had been blessed, Dad’s first gift to Mom. I hid in Mom’s arms, crying in terror. The group let out malicious laughs, closing in on Mom. In a blur, I felt a greasy hand touch my face. Mom screamed hysterically, wildly slashing the knife into the air. Someone fell to the ground in pain, others cursed. Mom didn’t dare relax, dodging and wildly stabbing. Her back hit a fleshy wall, and I heard a familiar voice above my head. “Eleanor, how much longer are you going to carry on like this?!” Scarlett Reed lay in a pool of blood, looking like a withered flower. She clutched her stomach, forcing a bitter smile. “Don’t blame Eleanor, she saved my life, and destroying me this way… I accept it…” “But my poor baby, he’s so small, not even moving yet…” Dad coldly dropped a line. “Eleanor, you’d better pray Scarlett’s baby is alright.” Dad scooped up Scarlett Reed and ran towards the clinic. He ran so fast, he didn’t notice the bowl-sized gash on Mom’s exhausted hand. Mom was dragged by me to the clinic. The nurse stitched roughly, and the wound reopened during bandaging. I lovingly blew on Mom’s hand, glaring angrily at the nurse. “You brat! I’m already doing my duty by bandaging your mom, the other woman!” Mom instinctively covered my ears, her voice sharp. “Apologize to my child.” The nurse rolled her eyes, pointing to the special care ward. “Mr. Davies and Ms. Reed are the actual couple. Their child is legitimate.” “You, the other woman, should be keeping your tail between your legs. And you expect respect?” Dad stood at the doorway, his eyes filled with concern for the blood-stained bandage. He sighed, then carefully re-bandaged Mom’s hand. “It’s a good thing Scarlett is okay, but this can’t just be brushed aside.” “Some data was leaked, and the higher-ups are investigating. You’ll have to take the fall for Scarlett.” Mom looked as if she’d been struck by a blunt object, frozen in place. “Are you saying… you want me to take the blame for Scarlett Reed?” Dad frowned, his tone matter-of-fact. “Scarlett is young and promising; she can’t have a disciplinary record. As for you… I’ll still support you, it won’t affect you.” Mom’s tears flowed like an unstrung necklace, hitting Dad’s heart. “What about my little star? She can’t have a mother with a bad record.” Dad gently wiped Mom’s tears, silent for a moment. “Don’t worry, I’ll transfer the child to Scarlett. She won’t be affected.” Mom froze, then, realizing, held me tightly in her arms. “Scarlett Reed found people to harm me and little star! I was just protecting myself!” “It wasn’t me! It wasn’t me… Don’t take my little star!” Scarlett Reed, her face pale, advised. “If Eleanor doesn’t want to, forget it. I don’t want to make things difficult for you, Brandon…” The Jeep outside honked impatiently. Dad hesitated, then forcibly pulled me away from Mom. “It’s just to cooperate with the investigation. Nothing will happen.” I screamed for Mom, desperately hitting Dad. Mom was dragged away, her knees leaving long bloody streaks on the gravel. Her eyes blurry with tears, she screamed frantically. “I didn’t do it! I really didn’t!” “Little star! My little star!” “Brandon Davies! I hate you! I hate you!” The Jeep sped away, reappearing three days later. It wasn’t Mom who returned, but the factory manager. He glanced at Dad, who was holding Scarlett Reed, and hesitated to speak. Dad noticed the white shirt in the manager’s hand—the one Mom was wearing when she left. It was covered in dried mud, mixed with conspicuous blood. Dad’s smile froze, his heart seizing up. “Comrade Eleanor encountered a mudslide during transport and died instantly.” “These are her belongings. Please take care.”

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It had been eight years since I last saw my ex-girlfriend, Sloane Kensington. The bleached blonde hair was dyed back to a sleek raven black. The rebellious tattoos had been lasered off. She had morphed into a ruthless, untouchable corporate queen. Meanwhile, my already frail body had withered into something much worse. “Rowan, I am so sorry. The cancer has metastasized significantly. At this point, aggressive treatment would only bring you unnecessary suffering.” The oncologist was a kind man. Even handing out a death sentence, he tried to soften the blow. Clutching the medical paperwork that essentially stamped an expiration date on my life, I walked past the orthopedics ward. That was when I literally collided with Sloane. Eight years apart, and she was taller, more breathtaking, and far more… “If you don’t know how to use your eyes, donate them to someone who does.” Right. Far more vicious. 1 After throwing that icy insult at me, Sloane’s entire demeanor flipped like a switch. She turned to the man beside her, a guy with his leg wrapped in a heavy cast, and asked if he was okay with a voice full of soft, genuine concern. I hadn’t bumped into them on purpose, but since the guy was already on crutches, I figured I should rack up some good karma before I died. “My apologies. I wasn’t watching where I was going. Are you alright?” The man offered a warm, reassuring smile and shook his head. He glanced at Sloane, gently nudging her arm. “He didn’t mean it. Why are you being so harsh?” I raised an eyebrow in surprise and nodded in total agreement. Ever since she became a billionaire CEO, her personality had definitely taken a nosedive. “Sorry about that, man,” the guy said to me. “She just gets a little overprotective. She didn’t mean to offend you.” Despite leaning awkwardly on his crutches, the guy had perfect posture. He radiated quiet wealth and elegance. Standing next to Sloane, they looked like the perfect power couple. It seemed he had no idea about my history with Sloane. And judging by her rigid posture, she was pretending she didn’t know me either. Suddenly, the air in the hallway felt suffocating. I didn’t want to be there a second longer. “It’s fine. As long as you’re not hurt. I’ll be going now.” I stepped around them and walked away, my shoulder brushing past Sloane’s. The sterile hospital air was instantly cut by the faint, familiar scent of camellia perfume. By the time I got back to my tiny apartment, my body was running on fumes. I collapsed onto the mattress, and almost immediately, my stomach began to cramp in violent spasms. Cold sweat slid down my forehead, mixing with the tears I couldn’t stop from leaking out of the corners of my eyes. I lay there agonizing until my phone started ringing like a fire alarm. “Rowan! Great news! The investors love the pitch. We just need you to finish writing the script, and we can submit it for final approval.” It was Declan, a television producer. We met working on a small indie project years ago and had been close friends ever since. I looked over at the full-length mirror leaning against my bedroom wall. My face was a ghostly white, stained with dried tears, my hair plastered to my damp cheeks in messy clumps. “Declan, I still haven’t figured out the ending for this one. Can we push the deadline back a bit?” “Oh man, we absolutely cannot. The money behind this project is massive. If we ghost them now, we’ll both be blacklisted in this industry forever.” The excuses died in my throat. I didn’t care about my own consequences anymore, but Declan had a long, bright career ahead of him. “Alright. I understand. I’ll get it done as fast as I can.” After hanging up, I pulled out the bottle of painkillers the doctor had prescribed. One month’s supply. Exactly thirty pills. The instructions clearly said one pill a day. But since I was going to be dead in a few weeks anyway, I saw no point in enduring the torture. I shook three pills into my palm and swallowed them dry. Dragging myself to the computer desk, I opened the document and began typing the final chapter of my very last story. The sky outside my window turned from pitch black to pale morning light, and eventually back to dusk. The End. Typing those two words, I stretched my aching arms and let out a long, heavy exhale. This story had been sitting in my vault of ideas for years, but I never managed to flesh it out until now. I stared at the black text on the glowing screen and let out a bitter laugh. “Maybe everything really is just fate.” Not even an hour after I emailed the draft to Declan, my phone started vibrating off the desk. “Rowan, I am completely obsessed with this script. I honestly think it’s your best work ever!” The investors hadn’t even given the green light yet, but Declan was already itching to pop champagne. By the time I found myself sitting in a crowded booth at a downtown lounge, I still hadn’t figured out how he talked me into leaving my apartment. To meet the deadline, I had survived entirely on cheap granola bars for two days. Now, with a few sips of alcohol in my system, my stomach was screaming in protest. I couldn’t take my painkillers with alcohol. Fighting through the sharp cramps, I grabbed an empty glass and stood up, intending to find a bartender for some hot water. The second I turned around, a warm, soft body slammed directly into my chest. That crisp, elegant camellia scent flooded my senses. My mind went completely blank. 2 A split second later, I was shoved away with aggressive force. Sloane was glaring at me, her face twisted in pure disgust as she brushed off the front of her designer blazer where I had touched her. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking,” I offered a genuine apology. “Two days, and you’ve run into me twice. If it’s not intentional, then the part of your brain that controls motor function must be rotting.” Maybe it was because my stomach was tearing itself apart. Or maybe I was just exhausted to my bones. At that moment, my nerves were completely frayed. I was simply too fragile to handle Sloane’s venomous words. “Heh.” She let out a cold scoff, her eyes raking over me like I was trash. “What are you acting so pathetic for? I state an obvious fact, and your eyes start watering?” She was right. Eight years ago, when Sloane was kneeling in a blizzard, begging me not to leave her, I didn’t shed a single tear. Looking at this sharp, calculated, ruthlessly cold woman standing in front of me, I couldn’t find a single trace of the girl I used to know. I knew she remembered me. The disgust and pure hatred burning in her eyes were impossible to ignore. It was obvious she wanted nothing to do with me. I figured I would do her a favor and step out of her orbit for good. “My apologies. From now on, whenever I see you, I will walk the other way.” I side-stepped her and walked toward the bar. When I finally got back to the booth with a mug of hot water, Declan had returned from the restroom. “Where did you go? I came back and thought you ditched me.” “Just getting some water.” Bumping into Sloane was a statistical anomaly. There was no need to bring it up. I thought submitting the script meant my job was officially done. I was wrong. The very next morning, Declan called me in an absolute panic. “Rowan, it’s a disaster. The investors rejected the script! You need to get to the production office right now!” By the time I rushed into the conference room, Declan was already sweating bullets. He was talking to the lead investor, who was sitting in a high-backed leather chair facing the window. “Excuse me, but could you specify which part of the script you found unsatisfactory?” I knew this person was the big boss holding the checkbook, so I asked the question directly. Silence stretched through the room. Finally, a voice I knew all too well echoed off the walls. “The ending.” The chair swiveled around. Sloane’s beautiful, apathetic face came into view. So she was the massive corporate backer. She locked eyes with me. There was zero surprise on her face. Before I could say a word, Declan jumped in, desperately trying to salvage the deal. “Ms. Kensington, modern audiences want a happy ending. It aligns perfectly with current market trends and guarantees higher viewership.” Sloane nodded slowly, making Declan think she was actually listening. But before he could exhale, she spoke again. “But I don’t like this ending. Rewrite it.” Billionaires really lived in a different reality. “If you want the ending changed, you’ll need to hire another writer. I can’t do it.” I had sold my soul for a paycheck plenty of times in the past. But this specific story was different. I refused to compromise on it. Sloane looked at me, a cruel, mocking smile playing on her lips. “Fine. If you refuse to write it, you can just pay the breach of contract penalty.” Declan’s face went completely ghostly. I looked at him, and he subtly scribbled a number on his notepad. Ten million dollars. Forget selling my organs. Even if we sold Declan’s entire production company, we couldn’t scrape together ten million dollars. I let out a quiet sigh and smiled bitterly at myself. Whatever. I was going to be dead in a month anyway. Artistic integrity meant absolutely nothing in the grave. “Fine. I’ll change it.” The meeting ended. The corporate sharks got exactly what they wanted, leaving me as the miserable workhorse. But apparently, the universe wasn’t done messing with me. As I walked toward the elevator, Sloane’s assistant, Blake, jogged over and blocked my path. “Mr. Rowan. To ensure seamless communication regarding the rewrites, you are required to clock in and work directly from our corporate headquarters until the draft is approved.” I frowned, looking past him to where Sloane stood chatting idly with some executives. Didn’t she hate my guts? Why on earth did she want me sitting right under her nose? My empty stomach gave a violent lurch, protesting the lack of breakfast. I didn’t have the energy to fight it. I muttered a quick agreement and left. Once I was alone in the breakroom downstairs, I pulled out my pill bottle. “What are you doing?” Sloane’s voice cut through the quiet room, startling me so badly I dropped the bottle. The white pills scattered across the tile floor. 3 Without answering her, I dropped to my knees, frantically scrambling to gather the pills. These weren’t just standard painkillers anymore. They were my lifeline. Sloane stood there in absolute silence, watching me crawl on the floor, picking up the medication piece by piece. When I found the last three pills, I was about to pop them straight into my mouth, but she suddenly grabbed my wrist. “They were literally just on the dirty floor, and you’re going to swallow them?” I pulled my arm away, completely annoyed. Eight years had transformed her into a titan of industry, but she still had that annoying, obsessive germaphobia. “It’s none of your business.” I swallowed the pills dry. Sloane’s frown deepened. I turned to leave, but she spoke again. “What kind of medication is that?” I stopped walking and looked at her in confusion. Noticing my suspicious gaze, Sloane let out a sarcastic laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just curious. I wanted to know if you finally got what was coming to you after doing so many horrible things.” I smiled bitterly on the inside. I really did get exactly what was coming to me. I was the monster who shattered the pure, innocent heart of an eighteen-year-old girl. I took her virginity and dumped her the very next morning like garbage. Now I was dying of terminal stomach cancer. Karma never missed. But I refused to let her see me as a pathetic joke. I forced a bright, arrogant smirk onto my face. “Sorry to disappoint you. I just haven’t been eating enough fruit lately. It’s just Vitamin C.” I left the corporate building and took a bus out to a foster home in the suburbs. “Martha, what did the specialist say about Lucy’s eyes?” The director of the foster home shook her head, her face lined with grief. “We still haven’t found a viable donor. The doctors can’t do anything without a transplant.” For some reason, my mind flashed back to the day I bumped into Sloane at the hospital. I took Martha’s weathered hands and patted them gently. “Don’t worry, Martha. Lucy is such a sweet, good kid. She will see the light again. I promise.” Before leaving, I transferred a large sum of money into the foster home’s account. “Rowan, you aren’t getting any younger. You need to start saving some money for yourself. If you meet a nice girl, you’ll want to settle down and start a family. You’ve done more than enough for us. Your presence is all we need.” I grew up in this foster home. Martha practically raised me. She was the only mother figure I had ever known. “Martha, I make really good money now. You don’t have to worry about me.” I hadn’t told a single soul about my diagnosis. Not even Martha. She had a hundred other children to worry about. I was a grown man. I couldn’t bear to be another burden on her shoulders. When I got back to my apartment, I booted up my laptop and officially registered as an organ donor. Sloane’s harsh words actually made a lot of sense. I wouldn’t need my organs when I was dead. Someone else might as well use them. The next morning, I arrived at Sloane’s corporate headquarters right on time. Blake was waiting for me in the lobby. “Mr. Rowan, this will be your desk. The CEO’s office is right next door.” I stared at the pristine, floor-to-ceiling glass wall separating my desk from Sloane’s massive executive suite. “Could I get a different desk? Being this close to the boss gives me anxiety. I won’t be able to write.” “I apologize, Mr. Rowan. The CEO explicitly chose this desk for you.” Fine. No room for negotiation. Fortunately, Sloane was incredibly busy. By lunchtime, she hadn’t even stepped foot into her office. But Carter did. Carter hobbled over on his crutches, carrying a stack of high-end takeout containers. When he saw me sitting outside the glass, his eyes went wide with shock. I quickly explained the situation. “I’m the screenwriter for Ms. Kensington’s new investment project. I’m working on-site until the script is approved.” “Wow. It seems you and Sloane really cross paths a lot.” His eyes crinkled into a warm, friendly smile, making me feel bizarrely guilty. Footsteps clicked down the hallway. Sloane was back. She walked straight past me, walking up to Carter and taking the food containers from his hands. “Why did you bring this yourself? You could have just had the driver drop it off.” “It’s fine. I was bored sitting at home anyway.” They walked into her office together. I was completely ignored, treated like a piece of invisible furniture. I knew I had absolutely no right to be jealous, but my chest physically ached. 4 The week blurred by. I submitted three completely different endings. Sloane rejected every single one of them. My stomach pains returned with a vengeance. I hadn’t eaten a solid meal in seven days. Watching Carter bring Sloane gourmet food every afternoon made the cheap delivery food sitting on my desk look even more repulsive. The pressure was mounting. Sloane kept stonewalling the script. The worse I felt, the less I ate, and the more the cancer tore at my insides. In just one week, I lost another five pounds. It felt like someone had shoved a red-hot iron rod into my gut and was twisting it endlessly. The pain sent waves of freezing sweat pouring down my back. My fingers were trembling so violently I couldn’t even press the keys on my keyboard. I curled into a tight ball in my office chair, shivering uncontrollably. I was just reaching into my pocket for my pills when my chair was violently spun around. Sloane crouched in front of me. She grabbed my face with both hands, forcing my head up. “Rowan, what is wrong with you?” I wanted to tell her it was none of her business. I wanted to slap her hands away. But the second I opened my mouth, my teeth started chattering from the sheer agony. I couldn’t even lift my arms. A moment later, Sloane pulled out her phone and started shouting commands. When I finally regained a shred of awareness, I was lying on a stretcher in the back of an ambulance. At the hospital, the ER doctor ran a preliminary physical exam. His face fell. He urged me to consent to a full-body scan to confirm his suspicions. I shook my head weakly. “Doctor, you don’t need to run the tests. I already know. It’s late-stage stomach cancer.” The kind doctor looked heartbroken. He stood there awkwardly, struggling to find a single word of comfort. “Doctor, this is strictly confidential. Please do not tell anyone. Especially not the woman waiting outside.” He agreed. When Sloane cornered him in the hallway, he followed my instructions and told her I simply had severe gastric ulcers. “Can ulcers really cause someone to collapse in that much pain?” Sloane looked highly suspicious. I leaned against the doorframe, forcing a cocky, obnoxious grin. “What’s the matter? Are you worried about me?” Just as I predicted, the comment instantly disgusted her. Her face turned to ice, and she turned on her heel and walked away. I slowly shuffled out of the hospital entrance. A sleek, black luxury town car idled by the curb. “Mrs. Kensington. It’s been a long time.” The woman sitting in the back seat was Sloane’s mother. My former employer. “When you took my money and left, you made a promise. Have you forgotten?” “I haven’t forgotten. I promised I would never appear in Sloane’s life again.” She looked me up and down, her eyes dripping with aristocratic disdain. “Running into her was purely a professional accident. Don’t worry. She despises the sight of me now. What you’re afraid of is never going to happen.” I hated being evaluated like a piece of garbage, but she was the woman who had given me the money to save Lucy’s life. “Good. Finish your little writing assignment quickly, and get away from my daughter.” When I returned to the office the next day, I heard Sloane had flown out of the city on a business trip. She was going to be gone for two weeks. With the boss out of the building, the entire executive floor relaxed. “Why is the boss staying in Boston for so long?” a secretary whispered near the coffee machine. “You didn’t hear? She’s not just there for corporate meetings. She went to track down the top orthopedic surgeon in the country for Mr. Carter.” “Wow. Boston has the best bone specialists in the world. She really cares about him!” I didn’t stick around to hear the rest. I grabbed my coat and walked right out of the building. Back at my apartment, I opened my laptop and created a brand new, blank document. It wasn’t that I didn’t know what kind of ending Sloane wanted. I was just being greedy. I had been gambling, desperately hoping she would show me one last ounce of mercy and accept a happy conclusion. Now, it was time to let the delusion die. When the snow melts and spring arrives, we will sever all ties. In this life and the next, let us never meet again. That ending was approved instantly. Looking at the word Approved on my phone screen, a violent cough ripped through my chest. Thick, dark blood sprayed from my mouth, splattering across the keyboard. Total darkness swallowed the room. As I collapsed, a bitter smile touched my lips. It seemed my own story was ending right here, too.

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After the local “sweetheart” returned to our rural town, she publicly accused my dad of scamming the townsfolk out of $300,000 in dirty money. She claimed that she had eaten a premium lobster and filet mignon dinner at a high-end city restaurant for a mere $199. So why on earth, she asked, was my dad charging $500 a table to cater country weddings? Hearing the numbers, the locals saw red and demanded my dad refund their money. They cursed him, called him a useless cripple, and sneered that it was no wonder his wife had run out on him. Furious, I packed up immediately, taking my dad back to the city with me, and swore we would never cater another local event. The two-faced girl instantly bragged that she would take over all the town’s catering from now on. Premium lobster for $199 a table, she promised! Shortly after, a lunatic showed up at the front doors of my upscale city restaurant, boasting about a massive business deal. “I’m here to bring your restaurant huge business! To show my sincerity, I’ll book 20 tables of that $199 lobster combo. Since I’m buying in bulk, give me a discount—$150 a table, deal?” 1 My dad catered the weddings for practically the entire county, and Travis Stone’s big day was no exception. At $500 a table, Travis had ordered enough food for twenty tables. On the drive over, I joked, “Dad, you’re getting older. Let’s make this your last gig, and then you can come to the city and be the general manager at my restaurant.” My dad let out a soft huff. “You cook for the money, Chloe. I cook for the heart.” My dad walked with a heavy limp. Years ago, people looked down on him for it, and even my mom ended up leaving him. When I was little, he cooked for the local logging camps. When things got better, he started catering town events. Once I started making good money, I begged him to retire. Rural catering is backbreaking labor with razor-thin margins, but he refused. He just loved it when folks called him Chef Arthur and praised his cooking for being delicious and hearty. We brought the whole family and hired four local kitchen hands. It took half the day just to haul all the equipment to the Stone family’s property. Travis politely handed my dad a cigarette. “Mr. Miller, I owe you everything. If you hadn’t fronted the cost for these twenty tables on credit, I wouldn’t even be getting married today. Don’t worry, as soon as we open the wedding envelopes tonight, I’ll pay off everything I owe you.” My dad waved him off with a smile, telling Travis to go focus on his big day. The banquet was shaping up beautifully. The whole town had shown up; people were playing cards, drinking beer, and laughing. But just before noon, the peace shattered. A shrill female voice pierced the air: “You guys are running a total scam! It’s one thing to rip off strangers, but how can you rob your own neighbors?!” The lively yard instantly fell dead silent. Everyone turned toward the voice. I looked up. It was Brittany Clark, the local girl who had gone off to college. My dad, visibly confused, wiped his hands on his apron. “Brittany? What are you talking about? Who are we robbing?” Travis rushed over, looking panicked. “Brittany, what kind of scene are you causing at my wedding?” Brittany glared at him. “Travis, they’re charging you $500 a table! If that isn’t a scam, what is?” She was seething, looking at us as if my family had committed some unspeakable crime. The locals were utterly bewildered and started whispering among themselves. “But $500 a table is standard around here. We couldn’t afford anything pricier.” “Yeah, when my daughter got married last month, it was $500 a table too.” Travis scratched his head. “Isn’t $500 the normal price? Brittany, if you ruin my wedding day, I swear I’ll make you pay for it.” Brittany frantically waved her hands. “I’m not ruining anything! I’m telling the truth! This family is making filthy, dirty money off you all!” “Just two days ago, I went to a high-end restaurant in the city. We had lobster, filet mignon, the works. Guess how much it cost?” At the mention of lobster and steak, the villagers’ eyes widened. Most of them had never eaten food like that in their lives. A meal like that had to be thousands of dollars, right? Brittany slammed a receipt onto a nearby table, lifting her chin proudly. “It only cost $199!” The crowd gasped. Lobster and steak for $199? Impossible! People shoved each other out of the way to look at the receipt. It really did say $199. I didn’t even need to look at the slip of paper. I already knew what it was, because I owned that restaurant. 2 A few days ago, Brittany had brought her college friends to my restaurant. Her friends were openly mocking her for being a rural hick and a broke farm girl. To embarrass her, they purposefully ordered the most expensive items on the menu. When the bill came, Brittany sneaked away to find a server, practically begging for a discount. She was on the verge of tears, nervously pulling out two crumpled hundred-dollar bills from her cheap purse. I happened to be on the floor and recognized her. Since we were from the same small town, I wanted to save her face. I quietly instructed the manager to comp the rest of the $6,000 bill and ring her up for exactly $199. After paying, she went right back to her friends, bragging about how it was pocket change. They were thoroughly impressed. I never expected that she would return to our hometown just to smash my dad’s livelihood! Brittany dragged a chair to the center of the yard and stood on it, projecting her voice. “A luxury city restaurant charges $199 for lobster! Meanwhile, Arthur charges $500 for cheap chicken and potatoes! Why?!” “Have any of you done the math? If he makes $300 in pure profit per table, ten tables is $3,000!” “They’ve monopolized the catering for the entire county! He probably caters over a thousand tables a year. That’s $300,000! Three hundred thousand dollars! How many years do you farmers have to break your backs in the dirt to see that kind of money?!” “They are rotten, greedy, shameless capitalists! As a college-educated woman from this town, I have to stand up and protect my community’s interests!” For the locals, $300,000 was an astronomical sum. Whether Brittany’s logic made sense or not, a dark, ugly jealousy clouded the villagers’ eyes. The friendly, laughing crowd from moments ago vanished. Now, they stared at me and my dad with naked hatred. My dad was trembling with anger. “You’re speaking nonsense! We’ve never made dirty money! With inflation the way it is, $500 for a massive buffet table is basically at-cost!” I stepped up beside him. “You say we make dirty money? Show us the proof.” I worked in the restaurant industry; I knew better than anyone that $500 a table was an absolute steal. A single table included twelve massive courses—roast beef, fried chicken, glazed ham, whole fish—not to mention we provided the tables, the chairs, the cutlery, the drinks, and the cleanup. Out of that $500, my dad barely netted $50. It was pure sweat equity. My dad had built up decades of respect in this town. Hearing his defense, the crowd’s glaring eyes softened slightly. But Brittany immediately spat back, “As if anyone would admit to making dirty money! Have you all forgotten? I used to work in his kitchen!” 3 She had indeed worked in our kitchen. Brittany’s family was the poorest in town. Her father was a lazy, violent alcoholic, and her mother had abandoned her at birth. Years ago, after a wedding gig, a teenage Brittany had approached my dad in rags, begging for the leftover scraps. When my dad looked into her situation, his heart broke. That year, she was supposed to start high school, but her dad refused to pay for it, planning to sell her off to an older man for a dowry instead. My dad marched over to her house, argued with her father, and negotiated a deal. He paid her father off, allowed Brittany to work as a kitchen prep cook on weekends for a fair wage, and essentially funded her high school education so she wouldn’t be forced into a child marriage. When she got accepted to college, my dad handed her an envelope with $5,000 inside. Every few weeks, he would proudly tell people that helping a smart girl change her destiny was the best thing he ever did. Had my family been wrong to help her all along? I pulled up a chair and sat down. I wanted to see exactly how far she was willing to take this circus. Brittany pointed an accusing finger at us. “I know all their dirty little secrets! I saw Arthur secretly counting fat stacks of hundred-dollar bills in the back room!” My dad’s eyes turned bloodshot. “You liar! The money you saw was cash my daughter gave me!” I nodded firmly. “That’s right. I send my dad money every single month.” Whenever I wired him money, he always withdrew it in cash because it was easier to buy fresh produce and eggs from the local Amish farmers. To think the money I worked so hard to give my father was now being framed as stolen loot. Brittany crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, looking at me with pure disdain. “Chloe, you’re just a woman. How much money can a woman really make out alone in the big city? You’re probably turning tricks in some dirty alleyway.” Hearing that, my dad completely snapped. He grabbed a heavy metal spatula and lunged toward her. “You vile liar! You can insult me all you want, but don’t you dare insult my daughter! I’ll beat you to a pulp!” Brittany immediately shrieked and hid behind Travis, continuing to fan the flames. “Look at him! He’s lashing out because he’s guilty! If she’s not a streetwalker, then the money is definitely stolen from the town!” The villagers, already whipped into a frenzy, began nodding in agreement. “Brittany’s a smart college girl, she wouldn’t lie to us.” “Yeah, Chloe barely ever comes back to town. Have you seen the clothes she wears? Proper women don’t dress like that.” “How could a single girl make so much money? Her dad definitely embezzled our money to fund her luxury city lifestyle.” The whispers grew louder and more disgusting. My dad was shaking violently from the humiliation. Suddenly, an older woman dropped to her knees with a heavy thud. 4 Both my dad and I jumped. My dad rushed forward to help her up. “Mrs. Higgins, what are you doing?” But Mrs. Higgins refused to stand, sobbing into her hands. “Arthur, last year when my son graduated high school, you catered his party. We booked ten tables for $5,000.” My dad nodded. “I remember.” Mrs. Higgins grabbed the fabric of his pants, begging, “Please, give me $3,000 back! I have so many kids to feed, and we’re so broke! You have so much money now, just give me my money back!” I immediately stepped in, peeling her hands off my dad. “Mrs. Higgins, that’s not how business works. Prices are agreed upon beforehand. There’s no such thing as retroactive refunds. Besides, at your son’s party, my dad personally handed your boy a $1,000 graduation gift to help with his college supplies!” Seeing her tears weren’t working, Mrs. Higgins stood up, dusted off her knees, and glared at us viciously. “That’s completely different! I didn’t beg you for a gift! You stole our money, so you have to refund it!” “And besides, we aren’t even related. The only reason your dad gave my boy a thousand dollars was because he felt guilty for ripping us off!” I had dealt with my fair share of difficult customers in the restaurant business, but I had never seen anyone this utterly shameless. I defended my dad loudly. “My dad knew your family was struggling, and he wanted to help your son succeed! How can you be so ungrateful?” Brittany immediately pulled Mrs. Higgins behind her. Meeting my gaze, she declared self-righteously, “Don’t think your petty little handouts excuse the fact that you scammed everyone! You owe this town a refund.” I was so angry I actually laughed. “Brittany, show me actual proof that we scammed anyone. Stop throwing dirty water on my family.” Brittany snatched the restaurant receipt and threw it at my feet. “Proof? This $199 lobster dinner is proof! Your designer clothes and fancy car are proof! Your dad’s guilty conscience and bribe money are proof!” “What else is there to defend? You greedy leeches will get what’s coming to you!” Driven by her passionate speech, the townsfolk exploded. “Yeah! Refund us! We break our backs for our money, and you just steal it!” “Let’s go get Mayor Davis! He’ll make them pay!” 5 They didn’t need to fetch him; Mayor Davis had just arrived. Seeing the Mayor, my dad hurried over and grabbed his hand. “Mayor, you’re an educated man. You’ve been to the city. You know what inflation looks like right now. Please, explain to them how the economy works.” Mayor Davis patted my dad’s hand solemnly. “Don’t worry, Arthur. I always serve this town with fairness and justice.” My dad let out a huge sigh of relief. But looking at the Mayor’s shifting eyes, I had a sinking feeling this wasn’t going to end well. After getting a summary of the situation, Mayor Davis nodded slowly. “Arthur, why don’t you tell everyone exactly how much profit you make off one table?” My dad answered honestly, “Less than fifty dollars.” The moment the words left his mouth, Brittany jumped in. “$50 is a lot! Let’s take Travis’s wedding as an example. Twenty tables means you’re pocketing $1,000 in a single day! If that isn’t robbery, what is?” My dad and I were dumbfounded. Did she think there was a 20-table wedding every single day of the year? Even working all year round, my dad barely cleared $40,000, and it had ruined his joints. My dad opened his mouth to explain, but Mayor Davis cut him off. “Arthur, that does seem a bit predatory. The loggers and farmers out here barely make $150 a day doing hard labor. You’re pulling in a thousand dollars a day. How do you justify that?” Furious, I snapped back, “My dad doesn’t work a gig every day! What about the wear and tear on our equipment? The broken plates? The gas for the delivery trucks? Does that stuff not cost money?” “Tsk, tsk. Look at that,” the Mayor scolded. “The city girl gets aggressive the second she’s questioned. If you ask me, this money is ill-gotten. My official ruling is that you refund the citizens.” At the Mayor’s words, the villagers’ eyes gleamed with pure greed. No one turns down free money. Brittany cheered, “The Mayor is a wise man! The money must be returned!” “Damn right! Thank God we have an educated college girl to keep us from being robbed blind!” “Exactly! They hold a monopoly on the whole county. Who knows how much they’ve stolen from us!” “Hey, I booked you last month! Based on city prices, you owe me $3,000 back!” My dad pointed a trembling finger at the last man who spoke. “You haven’t even paid your catering bill from last month! What gives you the right to demand a refund?!” The man rubbed his nose and sneered. “Well, I owed you $5,000. Now that you’re refunding me $3,000, I only owe you $2,000! You shamelessly try to rob us, you old cripple. It’s no wonder your wife ran away!” I snatched a thick wooden tent pole from the ground and aimed it at him. “Say that one more time, I dare you.” “I’ll say whatever I want, you city tramp! Dressing like a harlot every day, God knows how many men you’ve slept with!” These ungrateful parasites! Most of them couldn’t even afford a deposit before booking an event, so my dad fronted the cash for the ingredients. Some paid him back after opening wedding gifts. Some only paid half. Some never paid at all. And this is how they repay him? A pack of rabid wolves. I gripped the wooden pole, ready to swing, when suddenly someone wrenched it from my hands.

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When I checked out of my hotel, the receptionist handed me two invoices. The first was for eight hundred dollars—the cost of my own room. The second invoice was for thirty-eight thousand dollars. “Mr. Lin, this is the final balance for the fifty-two suites your wife booked for your wedding party. She said you would be settling the bill.” The receptionist offered a polite, professional smile. Her voice carried, and absolutely everyone in the hotel lobby heard her. I stared at the two pieces of paper resting side by side on the marble counter. One standard room. My room. One luxury presidential suite, quantity: 52. The problem? I was single. I did not have a wife. And I absolutely had not hosted a wedding. “I am not married. Whoever booked this, you need to find them.” I grabbed the handle of my suitcase, ready to walk away. But the receptionist raised her voice, stopping me in my tracks. “Mr. Lin, you had the money to throw a massive wedding, but you do not have the money to pay the final bill?” Every single guest waiting in the checkout line turned to look at me. People started whispering to each other. I did not waste my breath arguing. I pulled out my phone and dialed immediately. “Hello, I need police assistance at the Grand Horizon Hotel. A receptionist is attempting to extort thirty-eight thousand dollars from me.” “Also, please contact the local Consumer Protection Bureau. This hotel is engaging in aggressive, fraudulent billing practices.” 1 I frowned at the receptionist and pushed the invoice back across the counter. “I did not get married. I did not book these rooms. Why would I pay for this?” Her professional smile did not waver. “You are Mr. Nick Lin, correct?” “Yes.” She continued smoothly, “You stayed in room 1806 for the past three nights, correct?” “Yes.” My frown deepened. I despised having my personal information broadcasted in public. Still smiling, she slid the invoice back toward me. “Then there is no mistake. This is your wedding banquet bill. Look, your wife even left a handwritten note and signature for you!” I looked down at the scribbled handwriting at the bottom of the page. Hubby, I am taking our relatives back to our hometown first. Do not forget to pay the final balance! — Chloe. My face darkened. “I do not know anyone named Chloe.” “I do not have a wife.” The receptionist’s smile slipped slightly, replaced by a tone of exasperated patience. “Mr. Lin, we are only asking you to pay because of your wife’s explicit instructions.” “Your family booked dozens of rooms for your relatives to attend your wedding. Now you are suddenly claiming you do not have a wife? That is a very low blow.” The crowd around the front desk was growing by the minute. I was trapped in the center of a very public spectacle. “If Chloe left the note, then you can wait for Chloe to come back and pay it.” Her tone remained strictly professional. “Mr. Lin, it is not our place to get involved in your domestic disputes.” “But taking out your marital anger on our hotel by refusing to pay is unacceptable.” I let out a cold laugh. “You keep insisting I threw a wedding at this hotel. Where is the proof?” “Who did you communicate with? Who organized the logistics?” Her smile stiffened. “Your wife coordinated everything with us. She wanted to handle the details so you would not be stressed.” I stared at her, deadpan. “I am a tourist visiting this city alone. I have never been married.” A mocking edge crept into her voice. “Mr. Lin, you are trying very hard to deny this. Could it be that you have someone else in your life who cannot know you are married?” The moment she said that, the crowd in the lobby erupted into loud murmurs. A middle-aged man standing behind me shot me a look of pure disgust. “No wonder he is fighting it so hard. Sounds like he has a mistress he is trying to hide.” The receptionist maintained her perfect posture, though her smile was now laced with open irritation. “Mr. Lin, stalling is not going to make this go away.” She tapped her manicured fingernail against the thirty-eight-thousand-dollar invoice. A rhinestone on her nail caught the lobby lights, flashing obnoxiously. “Your wife left explicit instructions. We are simply following our client’s orders.” I looked at her. “This Chloe woman. Have you actually met her?” She paused for a second. “Of course I have. She booked the rooms in person. I handled her reservation myself.” “What does she look like?” She thought for a moment. “Pretty tall. Around five-foot-five. She was wearing a white summer dress.” “How old?” “Early thirties, maybe.” “Did you scan her ID?” “Obviously. Our hotel requires real-name registration for all bookings.” “Then pull up her ID profile and let me see it.” The receptionist’s smile vanished completely. “Mr. Lin, that would be a violation of guest privacy…” “You just spent ten minutes screaming that she is my wife. How is looking at my own wife’s ID a privacy violation?” She choked on her words, completely stumped. When she finally looked at me again, her tone had turned ice cold. “Mr. Lin, this little game is getting old.” “If you do not pay that bill today, you are not leaving this lobby.” 2 I leaned against the marble counter, staring her down. “Are you threatening me?” “I have never been married. I do not know a Chloe. I never hosted a wedding, and I never invited any relatives.” “Whoever paid you the deposit is the person you need to chase for the balance.” The receptionist, whose name tag read Sarah, finally dropped the polite act. Her mouth pulled into a tight line. “Mr. Lin, let me be completely honest with you.” “When Ms. Chloe booked these rooms, she provided your exact name and phone number.” “She told us you were the groom. She said that after the wedding, she needed to escort her elderly relatives back to her hometown, and that you would settle the final bill.” “She said you two had agreed on this arrangement.” “We approved the payment plan as a courtesy to our VIP clients.” “The wedding happened. The rooms were used. Now you are trying to dine and dash. Do you really think you can get away with this?” I kept my eyes locked on hers and took a slow, deep breath. “Fine. Tell me exactly what day this supposed wedding took place.” “The day before yesterday.” “Which banquet hall?” “The Grand Ballroom on the third floor.” “How many guests attended?” “Over two hundred.” “What color was the bride’s dress?” Sarah frowned deeply. “How am I supposed to remember that?” “You just said you coordinated everything with her. You handled a two-hundred-person wedding, and you do not remember what color the bride was wearing?” Sarah opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. The people waiting in line behind me were getting restless. “Can we speed this up?” a man yelled from the back. “I have a train to catch!” A woman whispered to her friend, “That poor guy. His wife runs off right after the wedding and leaves him drowning in debt.” “Poor? He is just trying to skip out on the bill! Thirty-eight grand is a lot of money.” “Still, you cannot just rob a hotel.” The gossip buzzed in the air like a swarm of angry bees. I glanced over my shoulder. There were about seven or eight people in my line. Some were scrolling on their phones, some were staring at me like I was a zoo animal, and others were actively debating my morals. Right behind me was a guy in a tracksuit, gripping two massive suitcases, looking furious at the delay. Next to him was an older woman with a tight perm. She was looking at me like I was a deadbeat son-in-law. “Young man, you need to be reasonable,” she scolded loudly. “Your wife planned the wedding. She booked the hotel. You cannot just refuse to pay because you two had a little lovers’ spat.” I looked her dead in the eye. “Ma’am, I do not know who that woman is.” “Oh, please! If she does not know you, how did she know your exact name?” “That is exactly what I would like to know.” The older woman shook her head in disgust, muttering about how irresponsible men were these days. Seeing that the crowd was on her side, Sarah’s tone softened, playing the victim. “Mr. Lin, look around. Everyone is watching.” “Making a massive scene is only going to embarrass you further.” “How about this? You pay half the bill now, and we will contact Ms. Chloe for the rest?” I almost laughed out loud. “Why on earth would I pay half?” “I am not married. I am not paying a single dime for a wedding I did not have.” Sarah sighed heavily, like a tired mother dealing with a spoiled toddler. “Mr. Lin, you keep claiming you are not married. Can you prove it?” The lobby went dead silent. I stared at her. “Prove that I am not married?” “Exactly.” Sarah smiled, a smug, victorious gleam in her eyes. “You see? You cannot prove a negative.” “Our hotel operates on hard evidence.” “Ms. Chloe provided your name and phone number. We verified your ID at check-in, and it was a perfect match.” “The wedding happened. The suites were occupied.” “And now you think you can just say ‘I am not married’ and walk away free?” “Mr. Lin, the real world does not work like that.” Looking at her arrogant smirk, it suddenly hit me. She was gambling. She was betting that I would be too embarrassed by the public humiliation and would just pay the thirty-eight grand to save face. It was pure profit for them. And if I refused, she would rally the entire lobby into believing I was a scumbag fraud. It was a classic trap. I pulled my suitcase closer, locked the wheels, and sat down right on top of it. “Alright. Then I will wait.” Sarah blinked, caught off guard. “Wait for what?” I pulled out my phone and held it up. “I just called the cops. I am waiting for them to arrive so I can report a thirty-eight-thousand-dollar extortion ring at the Grand Horizon Hotel.” 3 The smug confidence on Sarah’s face cracked. “Mr. Lin, what are you doing?” “Do you really think calling the cops means you can skip out on your bill?” Her voice wavered, but she was trying desperately to maintain control. I flashed her a dark smile. “I guess we will find out when they get here.” A sharp snort of laughter broke the tension. It came from a young guy wearing headphones standing a few spots back in line. He glanced at me, realized everyone was looking, and quickly pretended to be fascinated by his phone. Sarah glared at him before taking a sharp, hissing breath. “Mr. Lin, do you really think this is a game?” “Do you think sitting on your luggage like a child is going to solve your financial problems?” I looked up at her from my suitcase. “Do you think forcing a thirty-eight-thousand-dollar fake invoice on me is going to solve yours?” Sarah’s expression hardened into pure granite. She turned to the junior receptionist working next to her. “Go get me a glass of water.” The younger girl scrambled away immediately. Sarah leaned against the front desk, crossed her arms over her chest, and glared down at me. “Mr. Lin, I have been working in hospitality for eight years.” “I have seen every type of scammer walk through those doors.” “People who dine and dash. People who claim their wallets were stolen. People who pretend to have amnesia.” “But a man who denies the existence of his own wife over a hotel bill? You are a first for me.” I laughed. “And this is a first for me. A hotel that assigns me a wife just to extort thirty-eight grand.” Sarah’s face flushed dark red. “Mr. Lin, you need to watch your mouth. Do not make accusations you cannot back up with evidence.” “Show me your evidence, then.” “Ms. Chloe’s ID registration, the wedding photos, the banquet catering receipts, the liquor tab, and your check-in logs for room 1806. I can pull all of it up.” The lobby fell into a tense, agonizing silence. People in line started giving up. A few moved to the other receptionist’s desk. Others walked over to the velvet sofas to sit down and watch the drama unfold. Sarah stood behind the counter, aggressively tapping her manicured nails against the marble. I sat on my suitcase, checking my phone. It had been almost twenty minutes since she handed me the insane invoice. No new messages. I scrolled through my contacts and stopped on my mom’s number. I hesitated, then locked my screen. If my mom found out about this, she would be so furious she would probably book the next flight down here just to scream at the manager. Better to handle this myself. Sarah suddenly reached into a drawer and pulled out a piece of paper, sliding it across the counter. “Mr. Lin. Look at this. This is a photocopy of Ms. Chloe’s ID.” I took it. It was a standard black-and-white photocopy of a driver’s license. Name: Chloe Jenkins. The photo showed a woman with a bob haircut, a round face, and thick eyebrows. She looked to be in her early thirties. The address listed was from a completely different state. I stared at it for a second before sliding it back. “Never seen her in my life.” Sarah’s patience completely evaporated. “Mr. Lin!” My patience was gone, too. I cut her off, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous warning. “We will wait for the cops. When they get here, you pull out your evidence, and I will pull out mine.” “If the cops say I owe the money, I will wire it to your account on the spot.” “But if the cops say I do not owe you a single cent, you are going to stand in the middle of this lobby and publicly apologize to me.” Sarah checked her phone. Suddenly, she looked up at me and smiled. It was a cold, victorious smirk. “Mr. Lin. You are not going anywhere.” My stomach dropped slightly. “What does that mean?” Sarah picked up the desk phone and dialed an internal extension. “Chloe? Are you here yet?” She hung up and looked right at me. “Like I said, Mr. Lin. You are paying this bill today, whether you want to or not.” From the long, carpeted hallway behind me, I heard the sharp, rhythmic clicking of high heels against the marble floor. Click. Click. Click. 4 “Sarah? What is going on?” I did not turn around, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw a slender silhouette step out from behind one of the lobby’s massive pillars. It was a woman. Her voice was low, carrying a slight out-of-state accent. Sarah looked at her, then pointed straight at me. “Chloe. Your husband is refusing to pay the bill.” The woman turned to look at me. Her eyes lingered on my face for exactly two seconds. Then, she smiled. It was a completely natural, exasperated smile. The exact kind of smile a wife gives a stubborn, misbehaving husband. “Nick, stop throwing a tantrum.” She walked right up to me and reached for the handle of my suitcase. “Let’s go home.” I took a sharp step back, pulling my luggage with me. “Do not touch me.” Her hand hovered in midair. She blinked in surprise, then let out a heavy, long-suffering sigh. “Nick, I know you are mad at me.” “But my parents are old. They cannot handle a long train ride. I had to drive them and the relatives back home. It was the right thing to do.” “We are married now. All of my savings are tied up in the joint account for the house down payment. Just pay the hotel, and we can go home and talk.” Her acting was flawless. It was so terrifyingly sincere that if I did not know for an absolute fact I had never met her, I might have actually believed her. “Who are you?” I asked sharply. She frowned, looking genuinely hurt. “Nick, you…” “Do not call me Nick.” “I do not know who you are.” She looked at Sarah and gave a helpless, bitter laugh. “See, Sarah? I told you he was just throwing a fit.” Sarah immediately played along, sighing loudly. “Chloe, you cannot really blame him. You left the groom all alone right after the wedding. Any man would be furious.” “I did not have a choice! My side of the family is huge, and my mom insisted I escort them personally.” “You should have communicated better with your husband.” “I tried! I left him a note, I called his cell a dozen times, but he refused to pick up.” The two of them bounced lines off each other like a perfectly rehearsed Broadway script. I looked back and forth between them. It was almost hilarious how insane this was. “Are you two done with the performance?” Sarah turned to me, plastering that fake, professional customer service smile back on her face. “Mr. Lin. Look. Your wife drove all the way back here just to sort this out. If you two have marital issues, please discuss them privately. Do not cause a scene in our lobby.” I stared at the woman claiming to be Chloe. “You are saying you are my wife?” “Yes.” “When did we get married?” “The day before yesterday.” “Where?” “Right here. The Grand Horizon Hotel. Third floor, Grand Ballroom.” “How many guests?” “Two hundred and thirty.” “Were my parents there?” Chloe paused for a fraction of a second. “Of course they were. Your mom, your dad, my parents. Everyone was there.” “What is my mother’s name?” Chloe opened her mouth, but nothing came out. “You married me, but you do not know my mother’s name?” Chloe’s expression hardened. Her eyes narrowed, and her voice dropped to a scolding whisper. “Nick, what exactly are you trying to pull here?” “I asked you a question. What is my mother’s name?” “You are legally my wife, and you do not know your own mother-in-law’s name?” She instantly reverted back to playing the exhausted, victimized wife. “Nick, if you are going to act like a child, I cannot help you.” “I drove all the way to my hometown, dropped off my family, and drove straight back here because I knew you would struggle to handle this alone.” “And you choose to humiliate me in public like this?” “How am I supposed to look these people in the eye?” She spun around, facing the crowd of guests who were still watching the drama unfold. “I am so sorry, everyone. My husband is just acting out. I am sorry we are holding up the line.” Right on cue, the peanut gallery chimed in. “Honey, do not argue with him when he is angry. Just let him cool off,” a woman yelled. “Yeah, men just need their egos stroked. He will get over it,” another chimed in. “Honestly, leaving your husband alone on your wedding night? No wonder he is throwing a tantrum.” Chloe offered the crowd a tragic, apologetic smile. “I know, I know. It is entirely my fault.” She turned back to me, making her voice soft and pleading. “Nick. Stop making a scene. Let’s just go home.” I stared at her, deadpan. “Alright.” Chloe’s eyes lit up. “You will come home with me?” “Show me the marriage certificate.” “What?” “If we got married, there is a legal marriage certificate. Pull it out. Let me see it.” Chloe’s smile completely froze. “The certificate… is back in my hometown.” “Which hometown?” “My parents’ house.” “Call your parents right now. Tell them to take a picture of it and text it to you.” “Are you telling me not a single person in your family knows how to use a smartphone?” Sarah aggressively interrupted. “Mr. Lin, the marriage certificate is a private matter you can handle later. Right now, the priority is settling the hotel balance.” “As you can see, your wife drove hours just to be here. She is being incredibly reasonable—” Before she could finish, Chloe lunged forward. Her hand clamped onto my wrist like a vice grip, and she yanked me violently toward the exit. “Your debit card is in the car, right? I will go with you to get it.” “Stop ruining everyone else’s day! Behave!” Her grip was shockingly strong. For a split second, I actually could not rip my arm away. “I do not know this woman! This is kidnapping! Someone help me!” I shouted. But Sarah and Chloe just laughed it off, playing to the crowd. “He is still throwing a tantrum! So sorry, everyone. We will send up some wedding chocolates to your rooms later as an apology!” Sarah chirped brightly. Not a single person in the lobby moved to help me. They were all completely convinced this was just a toxic newlywed fight. My arm was starting to ache, and my mind was racing. This was a highly organized, premeditated extortion ring. This was not a random scam. I braced my legs, preparing to physically shove her off me, when a voice boomed from the sliding glass doors. “Nobody move! We received a 911 call reporting an attempted kidnapping and extortion!”

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1 After I married Dr. Hayes, every morning at seven, I’d hear the progress of my ‘conquest’ of him in my mind. He was unfailingly responsive to my every whim, impeccably perfect. Yet, the progress bar stubbornly stalled at 95%. I loved him with all my heart, and naturally, I wanted him to love me just as completely. So, I shed my sharp edges, embraced his preferences, and transformed myself into the gentle, virtuous Mrs. Hayes. This morning’s progress report finally hit a hundred percent! He came home early, changed into an off-white linen pajama set, and the cold aloofness that usually surrounded him softened. We snuggled together, watching an indie romance film. He got up to wash fruit, and I leaned back on the still-warm sofa, my heart full of sweetness. Suddenly, my tablet chimed twice. Curiously, I tapped it open and froze. “Your wife is so ugly, ugh.” “At 4 minutes 13 seconds, her tummy rolls are practically popping out. You must be suffering, pretending to be in love with her watching this movie.” … I stared at the two lines of text on the screen. Shock, fury, disgust. All emotions intertwined, but I didn’t explode. How could the man I had completely ‘conquered’ be live-streaming our time together to someone else? I knew Robert’s character. He was aloof and proud; he would never do something so despicable. It must be a misunderstanding! Before he explained, I shouldn’t blindly lose my temper and accuse him. Robert walked out, drying his hair, and saw me sitting on the bed, pale, holding the tablet. “Amy, what’s wrong? Feeling unwell?” I turned the tablet and pushed it toward him. Robert’s gaze fell on the screen. I didn’t miss a single change in his expression. No panic, no guilt. He simply visibly darkened, then tiredly pinched the bridge of his nose: “She’s at it again.” “Who is ‘she’?” Robert sat beside me, his voice full of helplessness: “A new colleague who joined our department, her name’s Bethany White. She… has some issues up here.” He pointed to his head. “Probably severe delusional disorder.” He candidly pulled out his phone, unlocked it, opened his messenger, and handed it to me. “See for yourself.” The chat history was filled with Bethany’s one-sided barrages. “Dr. Hayes, you look so handsome in your lab coat today!” “Your spoiled, old-fashioned wife is no good. Only I can help you.” There were also various self-orchestrated fantasies. Robert’s replies were few and far between, and entirely about stiff work matters. I tapped into Bethany’s social media, no photos, just blurred silhouettes and travel check-ins. “She’s harassing you like this, why haven’t you blocked her?” My voice was still tight. Robert smiled bitterly, pulling me into his arms. “Amy, do you think I don’t want to? She was placed by the hospital board, and she has deep connections. The board insisted we work together on several major projects recently. If I blocked her, how would I move forward with my work? To avoid delays, I can only keep her on my contacts and pretend she’s dead, just ignore her.” His voice held deep exhaustion. “I thought if I just ignored her, she’d get bored and stop. I never expected her to send such disgusting things to you!” “I’m sorry, Amy. I didn’t handle it well; I let you down.” Just then, that voice in my head suddenly spoke. [Warning: Trust crisis detected with your target. Current approval rating 100%. Please stop baseless speculation and avoid damaging the perfect marital relationship!] The bloodshot eyes and candid look in Robert’s eyes filled me with guilt. I had misunderstood him. He worked so hard outside, dealing with harassment from a crazy person, and yet I doubted him over two messages. “I’m sorry, Robert…” I hugged him back, my voice choked, “I shouldn’t have doubted you.” He kissed my forehead: “Silly girl, we don’t need apologies between us.” The next day. I personally cooked several of his favorite dishes, carefully packed them, and took them to the hospital. Pushing open his office door, he was sitting at his desk, rubbing his temples. Seeing me, a flicker of surprise crossed his eyes. “Why didn’t you call ahead? Aren’t you tired?” He smiled, taking the insulated box. “Wanted to make sure you’re well fed.” Just as he picked up his chopsticks to eat, his phone screen lit up. Robert glanced at it, his face instantly changing, and he decisively stood up: “Amy, emergency in the ER. Major car accident. I have to go save them immediately!” He grabbed his lab coat and rushed out of the office. I stood there, stunned, looking at the steaming food, a hollow feeling in my heart. But there was nothing to do. Lives were on the line. I could only quietly pack up the insulated box and take a cab home. As soon as I walked through the door, I received a text message from an unknown number. “The food you cook, just the smell of it is sickening. Not as delicious as my body, though. Dr. Hayes is starving for it~” 2 If last night’s message was her one-sided fantasy, what about today? I had barely delivered the food to the hospital when Robert made an excuse about an emergency surgery and rushed off. I went straight back to the hospital. Not to find Robert, but to the HR department. “I want to file a formal complaint against Bethany White, a doctor in your cardiac surgery department!” I slammed both hands on the desk. “She has an unprofessional conduct and is severely harassing a colleague’s family!” The person across from me was startled. He frowned and opened the system: “Bethany White? Cardiac surgery? Please wait.” A minute later, he looked up, puzzled: “Are you mistaken? We have no doctor named Bethany White in our hospital system, nor any nurse.” “Impossible!” I raised my voice. “She’s new! She’s in the same department as Robert Hayes, how could you not find her!” “Truly, no one.” The clerk turned the monitor towards me. “The entire staff list is here. No one by that name.” I stared at the “No matching results” message on the screen, my mind a blank. Medical staff gradually gathered outside, curious. “Isn’t that Dr. Hayes’s wife?” “Why is she causing a scene here?” “I heard her mental state isn’t very good, always suspicious…” “Poor thing, Dr. Hayes is so brilliant, how did he end up with a crazy wife.” … The fragmented whispers pierced my ears. I looked around, experiencing panic for the first time. Just as I was on the verge of collapsing, Robert rushed in, drenched in sweat, pulling me into his arms. He didn’t get angry at me; instead, he bowed repeatedly, apologizing to everyone around us. “I’m so sorry, truly! My wife has been under a lot of stress lately, and hasn’t been sleeping well. She might have misunderstood something. I apologize for disturbing everyone, please don’t mind her!” I was half-hugged, half-dragged by him into the car. As soon as the car door closed, Robert’s eyes reddened. “Amy, I’m sorry… I lied to you.” I looked at him blankly. “Bethany White isn’t a colleague from our hospital.” He confessed, choked up, “She’s an external pharmaceutical rep. Last night, seeing how upset you were, how much you minded this person, all my energy was spent on calming you down. I didn’t want to mention irrelevant people and upset you further, so I just casually made up a lie, saying she was a colleague, hoping to gloss over the matter…” I remained silent, showing him the text message. “I really did go for an emergency surgery just now!” Robert looked up, his eyes full of sincerity and urgency. “That car accident patient is still in the ICU! I don’t know what’s going on with the text message, she must have bribed someone, or she was staking out the hospital and saw you! Amy, I really only lied because I was afraid you’d overthink things. I swear, she and I have absolutely nothing going on!” The warning in my mind sounded again. [Please trust your target! Stop self-sabotage!] I didn’t know who to believe, or even if I should trust my own judgment. I pushed open the car door, frantically hailed a cab, and returned to my parents’ home. This was my safe haven. Seeing me return distraught, my sister was terrified. After listening to my tearful account, she angrily smashed the decorative item beside her. “That bastard Robert Hayes!” She hugged me tightly, gnashing her teeth. “I knew that opportunistic guy couldn’t be trusted! The whole family disagreed when you insisted on marrying down! Have you forgotten how I used to argue with him? I feared he’d show his true colors once he found success!” I leaned in her arms, my thoughts a tangled mess. “What should I do? I feel like I’m going crazy.” My sister gently patted my back, her voice chilling. “Don’t worry. Mom and Dad and I will back you up! I’ll find out right now who that vixen really is!” 3 My sister moved quickly. “Got it.” “She’s the daughter of a high-ranking executive at Starcorp Group! A notorious party girl in the social circles.” The day I received the documents from my sister happened to be my birthday. Robert had specifically taken time off, booked out a restaurant, and even gifted me an expensive diamond necklace. Candlelight flickered, and a violin played a melodious tune. “Amy, happy birthday!” The atmosphere was warm, and he was about to clink glasses with me. His phone suddenly vibrated urgently. He glanced at the screen, his face instantly grave. After taking the call and listening for a few moments, he quickly stood up, looking apologetically at me: “Amy, I’m so sorry. There’s an emergency in the department, and I have to be the lead surgeon.” “But today…” “Come on, lives are at stake. I’ll come right back to you after I’m done!” He left the restaurant without a backward glance. I stared at the untouched glass of red wine opposite me, feeling a deep sadness. A few minutes later, my sister sent a message. [I just finished with a client and saw Robert Hayes at the Cloudhaven Club! He went into a VIP room, and Bethany White is in there too! I’ve sent you the location!] That voice in my head screamed again. [Warning: Target detected meeting with another woman. Maintain composure and defend your marriage!] The stress reaction made me lose my ability to think. I rushed towards the Cloudhaven Club following the location. “Bang!” After kicking open the private room door, Robert and Bethany were sitting very close on the sofa. I shrieked, grabbed the ice water from the table, and splashed it onto Bethany’s face. “You home-wrecker, are you that desperate for a man?!” She recoiled in surprise, shot a glance at a bodyguard, then pulled out her phone and started filming. “So, you’re Dr. Hayes’s pampered wife?” Bethany’s eyes were contemptuous, her words deeply insulting. “Truly, seeing is believing! It’s bad enough you ruin your husband at home, but you come out here pretending to be the wronged wife and hitting people! What? He can’t have a normal social life?” I continued to scream and struggle, accusing her of coveting a married man. Robert looked bewildered, simultaneously blocking the camera and shouting at me: “Amy! What are you doing! Why are you suddenly bursting in and making a scene like this?!” “You lied to me! You said you were going for emergency surgery!” I cried hysterically. But the bodyguard’s strength was too great; I couldn’t break free. Two hours later. Bethany posted the video online. #RenownedDoctorCaughtWithMistressByCrazyWife# #WifeThrowsFitLikeMadDog# … The hashtags quickly soared to the top of trending topics in our city. The entire internet was mocking me. Saying I had paranoid delusions and wasn’t good enough for Robert. He looked at me, sitting blank-eyed on the sofa, then suddenly slapped himself twice. “Amy, I’m sorry… I ruined you.” He knelt before me, sobbing uncontrollably, revealing the whole truth. It turned out he had long grown tired of the stagnant salary at the public hospital and wanted to strike out on his own, opening his private clinic. But he lacked startup capital. He disliked the nickname “Sterling family’s kept man” and didn’t want to ask me for money, so he had to find other ways. Bethany was the daughter of a Starcorp executive; she had resources and was willing to provide funding. Tonight, he was meeting her at the club to discuss the collaboration plan in detail, which was why he had no choice but to go. “If I had known you would misunderstand, thinking we were having a secret rendezvous, I would have told you the whole truth right then!” “I’m sorry, I was just too concerned about your feelings! I knew you minded her, and I was afraid you’d be upset if you knew I was meeting her, that it would ruin your birthday, so I found another excuse to leave…” “I messed up, I was too clever for my own good… Amy, hit me! Just don’t look at those comments, please!” I understood his pride, and I knew he hadn’t intentionally meant to hurt me. The pain, finding no outlet, left me only with silence. Later, Robert took extended leave from the hospital. Ignoring the public criticism, he stayed by my side at home, caring for me constantly. He cooked for me, coaxed me to sleep, and endured my occasional emotional breakdowns. I gradually improved, and we became even closer. I wondered if it was a blessing in disguise. 4 I still couldn’t help it. I threw up the noodles I’d just eaten, along with the multicolored pills, all into the toilet. The pills hadn’t had time to digest, their edges covered in murky white foam. For the past two weeks, Robert had been seeking out doctors and medicines everywhere, prescribing me a large quantity of psychiatric drugs. I took them on time every day, always feeling drowsy and muddled. My memory began to decline, and I couldn’t even walk steadily. The voice in my head came in snatches, like a fog. [Please maintain… emotional stability…] With the pills completely expelled, my mind cleared. I propped myself up by the sink: Was this still the spirited second daughter of the Sterling family from before? I splashed cold water on my face, forcing myself awake. One in the morning. The fingerprint lock clicked, and Robert returned. It wasn’t the sound of one set of footsteps, but two. Like a cat lurking in the dark, I slipped silently out of bed and pressed myself against the master bedroom door. The motion-sensor light in the hallway flickered on. I saw two intertwined figures, stumbling into the room next door. A few seconds later. Nauseating gasps and the tearing of clothes penetrated the wall, stabbing into my eardrums. “Robert… don’t be so rough!” The woman’s voice was seductively soft. Even though it differed from her usual style, I easily recognized it. It was the voice I had heard since childhood. It was my closest, most trusted sister! My own sister, and my beloved husband, were fervently entwined in the guest room less than three meters from me. “I’ve waited so long, how can I slow down?” Robert gasped, his voice already trembling with passion, completely devoid of any cold aloofness. “Gentle! Amy’s right next door, aren’t you afraid of waking her?” My sister laughed playfully. “Afraid of what?” Robert’s voice was incredibly certain. “She took double her dose tonight; she’s probably sleeping like a log. Even if we dragged her out and sold her, she wouldn’t know.” After a creaking sound, my sister chuckled softly. “I just said it casually back then, and you made it happen for me? Amy still thinks she’s the chosen one, tied to some novel’s system, right?” I pressed against the wall, my breathing stopped. “It was just a medical experiment, darling. Heaven blessed you and let it succeed,” Robert responded proudly. “She’s such a fool, doing tasks according to your demands for some illusory ‘conquest progress’!” What did that mean?! All those times I suppressed my true self, trying to conform to his every whim, were actually my sister’s demands? “Why does she always have such good luck? Why does she get all the good things? I’m going to make her go insane! Only then will Mom and Dad give up on her, and the Sterling family… oh my!” My sister’s complaints were silenced by his kiss, initiating a new round of passion. I stumbled backward in shock, unable to listen anymore. Compared to the pain of being betrayed by my closest kin, I cared more about something else. So… No conquest system. No mistress named Bethany. It was all fake?!

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When he said he wouldn’t come home for the holidays, I packed my bags and returned to my hometown alone. When he helped Eleanor rent the apartment next door, I moved my things out. When he decided to take a permanent position at the local college, I applied to a university out in the Pacific Northwest. In my previous life, when we were old and gray, even our two children urged me to divorce him. All so that, after they passed, those two star-crossed lovers could be buried side by side. 1 Looking at the college acceptance letter in my hand, I nearly shed a tear. No one knew that I had been reborn. At the very last minute, I had changed my college application to the Pacific Northwest Engineering Institute. Even my high school counselor, Mr. Harrison, was perplexed. “I thought your fiancé was staying to teach at the local college? If you go so far away for your degree, will he wait for you?” At the mention of Oliver Smith, the image of his tall, youthful figure flashed through my mind. Honestly, everyone thought I was the lucky one to have Oliver. He was ambitious and handsome. I only had the right to stand beside him because of a childhood promise made by our families when we were kids. I smiled and replied loudly, “Mr. Harrison, free love is the trend now!” “That childhood betrothal our families made is just an outdated tradition, it’s got to go!” Perhaps he hadn’t expected me to be so forward-thinking. Mr. Harrison patted my shoulder, his eyes full of approval. Leaving the school, I followed the flow of the crowd toward home. 2 In my past life, I never even went to college. Because just a few days from now was the date set for my wedding to Oliver. Soon after, I got pregnant, and my education ended there. Shortly after Oliver stayed to teach at the college, he was transferred to a government agency. From then on, we lived entirely different lives. Outside, he climbed the corporate ladder. Wherever he went, Eleanor Davis—the star of the local community theater—followed, transferring her job and bringing her daughter along. And me? I was trapped in my little domestic bubble, taking care of his bedridden parents and raising the kids. I watched my son grow from a babbling toddler who clung to me, to a young man who gradually grew distant, drifting step by step toward Oliver. Later, I didn’t even know my son was marrying Eleanor’s daughter until after the wedding was over. I only saw it in a photo shown to me by an old friend. In the picture, as my son and his new bride made a toast, Oliver and Eleanor stood side by side, smiling at each other with undeniable affection. Later still, my son urged me to get a divorce on more than one occasion. He said, “Mom, Dad has suffered his whole life. If it weren’t for you, he’d have been with my mother-in-law long ago.” “Mom, you two don’t match at all. Why can’t you just let go?” Even my daughter-in-law refused to see me. But what could I do? I was so bitter! I was bitter because when my in-laws were paralyzed and I was serving them day and night, he was out playing house with another woman. I was bitter because when my son had a midnight fever, I was in such a panic that I ran three miles barefoot to get the doctor, while he was taking someone else’s woman to piano lessons and helping another man’s daughter with her homework. I was bitter because I had given up everything for this family, only to reach the end and hear… Him say it. Them say it. Everyone say it. We didn’t match. Everyone blamed me. Why couldn’t I just let go? But I refused. The exhaustion of my youth had carved deep trenches into my face, leaving me looking ancient and withered. Even if it killed me, I was going to drag them down with me. As for whether they got together after I died, I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t have the strength to care. Finally, I died right after my son urged me to divorce him one last time. He had talked for hours, and seeing my stubborn silence, he stormed off in anger. What he didn’t know was that before his slamming door even latched, I had a massive heart attack. I called out to him, but he didn’t even look back. In that moment, I felt an overwhelming sense of regret. Why did I ever give birth to him… Why did I throw my entire life away for him? But thankfully, I was reborn. I returned to the days right before my wedding to Oliver. There was still time to change everything. 3 When I got home, I hid the acceptance letter and started making dinner. This two-bedroom apartment was subsidized housing provided by Oliver’s university. While waiting for the water to boil, I found the calendar in the living room. I located the date I needed to report to the university next month and drew a big red circle around it with a pen. I stared at that circled number with longing. Soon. Very soon. Soon, I would be completely free. 4 The food was barely on the table when Oliver walked in. Unsurprisingly, Eleanor was right behind him, holding her daughter’s hand. “I’m so sorry to intrude again,” she said softly. Eleanor was pale and pretty, with an oval face. The bright red trench coat she wore gave her an indescribable charm. The little girl, Lily, was used to coming over. Seeing that I had finished cooking, she cheered and expertly went to serve the mashed potatoes and roast beef. A plate for her, a plate for Oliver, a plate for Eleanor. Only… None for me. By the time I walked out of the kitchen, the three of them were sitting around the table, laughing and talking as if they were a happy family. But as soon as they took a bite, all three spat their food out simultaneously. “Mommy, it’s so salty!” I leaned casually against the kitchen doorframe. I watched Oliver quickly pour a glass of water for both mother and daughter. But the water was heavily salted, too. Finally, Eleanor left in tears. Before walking out, she turned to Oliver and said, “She obviously doesn’t welcome me here. I just won’t come around anymore.” Oliver walked them to the door. When he came back, his brows were tightly knit. I ignored him and went straight to the kitchen to cook myself a fresh meal. “Did you do that on purpose?” Oliver seemed genuinely baffled. Then he started his usual defense. “Her husband died in the line of duty, and he asked me to look after them. You’re a great cook, and Lily loves your food.” Seeing my continued silence, Oliver shook his head, seemingly compromising. “Since you don’t like it, I won’t invite them over for dinner anymore.” 5 The next morning, after Oliver left, I pulled out my duffel bag to pack for a trip back to my rural hometown. Although our parents had promised us to each other, our families had officially exchanged heirlooms. If we were really going to break it off, the engagement had to be annulled with the town elders present, to avoid any messy rumors later. While packing, I saw the quilts and crocheted blankets I had secretly made over the past few years. I thought about it, stuffed them all into a heavy canvas bag—along with some hand-stitched shoes I’d made—and hauled it down to the antique consignment shop at the end of the street. Things I had spent years making sold for a mere thirty dollars. It wasn’t much, but food and rent at college would be a massive expense, and I needed every penny I could save. When I got home, I drew a massive X over today’s date on the calendar. Twenty days left. Just twenty more days, and I could leave this place and start my new life. 6 Oliver came back very late. The dinner I had left out was completely untouched. “I ate at the campus cafeteria,” he explained casually. But smelling the faint, white-tea perfume lingering on his jacket, I knew exactly who he had eaten with. He knew bringing them here would irritate me, so he just took them out to eat instead. I silently cleared the table and went to my room. My room was filled with high school textbooks and test papers. Since they wouldn’t all fit, many were stacked in the living room. I started tying the books in my room together with twine. I planned to pack up the ones in the living room tomorrow when Oliver was at work. Since I was leaving, it wasn’t appropriate to leave anything of mine behind. As I was packing, I heard a knock on my door. I knew it was Oliver. He was always polite to me and would never step foot into my room without my permission. “What is it?” I asked, not wanting him to see me packing. There was silence on the other side for a moment before he spoke. “I’m filling out the marriage license application for City Hall. Does the ninth of next month work for you?” The ninth of next month. The exact day of my wedding in my past life. I glanced at my packed duffel bag and said flatly, “Marriage is a big deal. Let me ask my folks back home tomorrow before we decide.” There was a long silence outside before I finally heard his footsteps walk away. I breathed a sigh of relief and leaned against the headboard. Honestly, with his current status, he didn’t need to consult my family for a marriage license. Since my parents passed away when I was young, Oliver’s parents had taken me in because of our families’ promise. In everyone’s eyes, I was already a part of the Smith family. The paperwork was just a formality. Besides, he was handsome, had a great job, and treated me decently enough. Anyone with eyes could see that my heart had belonged to him for years. It was true that I owed the Smith family. But no matter what, I had already paid off that debt with my entire past life. I owed them nothing anymore. In this life, I was going to walk my own path. A path without Oliver Smith.

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My stutter kept me in a car repair shop for five years. The only person who truly listened to me was my girlfriend of five years, Anna, who lived with me in the run-down city block. To deliver a smooth speech at our wedding, I practiced talking every day with a pebble under my tongue. The day I finally stopped stuttering, I was waxing a car, my mind consumed with images of my wedding to Anna. Suddenly, an arrogant male voice cut through my thoughts: “Hey Stutter Boy, is my car fixed?” It was the owner, here to pick up his car. I gave a strained smile and handed him the keys. As he raised his hand, the diamond watch on his wrist glinted, hurting my eyes. He tossed a stack of hundred-dollar bills on the ground, glancing at me. “Keep the change. My wife’s coming to pick me up.” As I bent to pick up the money, a pair of familiar white stilettos entered my field of vision. “Honey, that half-million dollar limited edition sports watch you mentioned, they have it in stock today.” I instinctively looked up. The moment my eyes met hers, the banknotes scattered from my fingertips. It was Anna, who always claimed to be allergic to motor oil, and had never once set foot in the auto repair shop where I worked. 1 Anna’s gaze lingered on me for barely a second before shifting back to the young man. “There, there, darling. Your wife will get you a year-long membership here.” Dean, with his arms around her, chuckled. “Honey, he’s such a stutterer. He sounds so silly and clumsy when he talks.” Anna giggled, ruffling the boy’s hair. “No one’s as witty as my baby. You’re the biggest chatterbox.” He leaned down and kissed Anna’s forehead, then looked at me with a smirk. “Stutter Boy, why are you always so grimy? Guess you’re only good for dealing with car parts.” My fists clenched tightly, my throat bobbed twice, but I said nothing. Compared to him, I certainly looked grimy. To earn enough for a down payment as quickly as possible, I worked from six in the morning until midnight every day. The broken-down cars in the shop were tough to fix, and I often got scratched and bruised by metal parts, always gritting my teeth to get the job done. Marrying Anna was my most steadfast goal for the past five years. In the five years we’d been together, I only had two pairs of worn-out work clothes to rotate, so I naturally looked rough. “I—” I had just started to question Anna, when her hand slamming a bank card onto the counter interrupted me. “My husband says you’re silly when you talk, so just keep quiet.” “There’s ten thousand in this card. From now on, you’re responsible for servicing his car.” Through the blurry vision in front of me, I thought I saw Anna from when we first got together. Back then, I was so self-conscious I dared not enter stores, afraid people would disdain me for my stutter. She was the one who encouraged me, often patiently listening to me practice speaking for an hour or two, never once showing impatience. Because of her, I found the courage to get a job, and first understood what it felt like to be cherished. But now, she said I was silly when I talked, telling me to keep quiet. I swallowed the bitterness in my throat and nodded. The raw wound under my tongue, chafed by the pebble, throbbed faintly, but it was nothing compared to the dull ache in my heart. Dean looked at his custom shirt, stained with motor oil, frowning and pouting. “Honey, look, this car got oil all over me.” “This shirt is a new limited edition, cost tens of thousands, and now I can’t even wear it.” Anna smiled, leaning in to rub his neck, her voice full of indulgence. “It’s okay. You’re handsome no matter what you wear. I’ll buy you new ones.” The boy pouted, then, wrapping his arm around Anna, he headed out. I stood rooted to the spot, uncontrollably shivering. For five years, before going home, I would shower and change clothes at the shop, terrified of carrying even a hint of gasoline smell. All because Anna said she was allergic to motor oil. A year ago, I was so tired I missed a tiny oil stain on my cuff. Anna saw it and immediately her face fell, she grabbed my blanket, took it to the sofa, then closed the bedroom door. That night, I curled up on the sofa and slept, the next day, I spiked a 104-degree fever. I looked at my faded, twenty-dollar work clothes, and suddenly forced a bitter smile. Laughing at my own foolishness, my own naivety. Turns out, Anna wasn’t allergic to motor oil, she was allergic to me. And in her eyes, I only deserved to wear twenty-dollar clothes. My phone rang. It was a message from Anna. The message was short, just like every other reply from her. [Don’t overthink it. I’ll explain tonight when I get back. Dean is only eighteen, you’d best not say too much in front of him.] Something inside me snapped. Anna, who at 22 told me she’d always listen to me. Anna, who at 24 said she’d marry no one but me. Anna, who at 26 held me and said I was the love of her life. The Anna I knew, she was dead. 2 I dragged my heavy feet out of the shop gate, for the first time, not staying to work overtime. The previously clear sky suddenly opened up with a heavy rain, the icy water drenching me to the bone. I had no umbrella. As I walked home through the downpour, a honk sounded behind me. A Bentley pulled up beside me, the window slowly rolling down. It was Anna. She looked at me, her expression somewhat complicated. “Where are you going? I can give you a ride.” I opened my mouth, about to speak, when Dean, in the passenger seat, stopped her. “Honey, just give him an umbrella.” “Look how dirty he is. What if he messes up our car?” I watched her wavering gaze, saying nothing, like waiting for a verdict whose outcome I already knew. A black umbrella extended from the car, then splat, fell into the mud. Anna turned, placing a kiss on Dean’s forehead. “I’ll listen to my husband. Your wife will take you to buy a watch.” I watched the receding car, my hands trembling as I pulled out my old phone, typing word by word. [Anna, let’s break up.] A sharp screech of brakes suddenly tore through the air. “Look out!” I was violently struck, my body lunging forward and falling to the ground. Warm blood trickled from my forehead, seeping through my lips into my mouth, the metallic taste spreading in my throat. An older woman climbed down from a three-wheeled vehicle, looking at me frantically. “You can’t blame me for this. Blame yourself for being an idiot and not getting out of the way.” She tossed fifty dollars onto me. “Fifty bucks is enough, right? Don’t be so young and try to fake an accident in the middle of the road. You might shorten your life.” I lay helplessly in the mud, passersby cast curious glances, but no one came to help me. I felt like I was back five years ago, being ostracized by everyone in my class. After the accident, I frantically searched my phone contacts, unable to find a single person to ask for help. Five years ago, Anna walked up to me and extended her hand. I looked up at her, meeting a familiar smile. I gently placed my hand in hers, and she pulled hard. I thought she had pulled me out of the mire. That umbrella not far away, mud splattered, leaving mottled marks on its black surface. I was like that umbrella, easily tossed from her car window, covered in mud. I’ve forgotten how I managed to pick myself up and walk home. I only remember Anna returning home at dawn that day, reeking of perfume. She saw my state and scoffed. “Found out I have money, so you’re using a pity play to get sympathy?” “Arthur Bradbury, I never knew you were so scheming.” I said nothing, simply throwing the car service card heavily onto the table in front of her. Anna picked it up, her delicate brows arching. “Arthur, ten thousand dollars would take you three months to earn.” “You should be grateful for what I give you.” “After all, without me, you would have died in that car crash five years ago.” Seeing the wound on my forehead, her tone softened slightly. “The past five years were just a test for you, Arthur. Congratulations, you passed.” “I’m actually the eldest daughter of the Sterling family in the capital, and I’ll be the future CEO of Sterling Corp.” She stepped forward, wanting to put an arm around my shoulder, but her fingers had barely touched my jacket when I avoided her touch. “Dean is just my arranged marriage partner, and you, you’re my lover.” I turned my head away, my voice a little hoarse from the injury, and with a slight stutter. “You mean, Dean will be your public husband?” Anna hesitated, then nodded. “Husband is just a title. As long as you know in your heart that I only love you, that’s enough.” I looked directly into her eyes and said, “What if I say, I want that title?” 3 Anna’s face instantly drained of color, and she sharply pulled her hand back. I stumbled slightly, then regained my footing, but she merely looked down at me from her superior height. “Arthur Bradbury, you’re a stutterer, with no money, no power, no family. Don’t dream of things that don’t belong to you.” “I can give you my love, but my husband can only be Dean.” I tightened my fingers, my nails digging deep into my palm, a sharp pain spreading from my arm throughout my body. I looked at Anna. Her face was still the same, yet I felt like I was looking at a complete stranger. I knew, she was no longer the Anna who would massage my shoulders after I finished fixing a car. She was the high and mighty Ms. Sterling, and I was merely a plaything for her to experience life while pretending to be poor. Anna’s phone suddenly rang. She answered it, a gentle smile spreading across her face. “Dean, I’ll be right back. Don’t be afraid, your wife will protect you forever.” She hung up the phone. Her gaze turned to me, becoming impatient again. “Stop messing around. Dean has nightmares if I leave him at night. You sleep alone tonight.” The door closed. I sat alone in the empty room all night, not shedding a single tear. The next day, I still put on my faded work clothes, and forced myself to the auto repair shop. Dean was already there, a modified off-road motorcycle parked at his feet. He saw me, a triumphant smirk on his face. “Hey Stutter Boy, I’ve brought you a big job, specially.” He kicked the motorcycle’s tire, his tone provocative. “Take this bike apart and put it back together for me. Finish it, and I’ll give you ten grand!” I looked at the illegally modified motorcycle, its wiring completely messed up, and took a step back. “This bike is dangerous. I won’t fix it.” But the shop manager, at that moment, fawned over Dean, pushing me forward. “Mr. Dean, don’t listen to this stutterer’s nonsense. We’ll definitely take this job.” He lowered his voice, threatening me in my ear. “If you don’t take this job, you can forget about this month’s salary.” This month’s salary would complete the down payment for the house. I gritted my teeth and nodded. Dean grinned triumphantly, and as he passed me, he whispered, “I know you’ve been with Anna for five years. But you, a stuttering mechanic, do you really deserve her?” I said nothing, took the tools, and walked over to the motorcycle. Just as I was about to inspect the wiring, the motorcycle’s battery suddenly short-circuited, sparking. The blast of air instantly knocked me off my feet, and flying metal shards savagely embedded themselves in my arm. Excruciating pain hit me. My vision went black, and I fell unconscious. In the last second before my consciousness faded, I saw Anna rushing in. When I awoke, the hospital’s stark white assaulted my eyes. Anna’s voice, clearly annoyed, came from outside the door. “You only told me you were playing a joke on Arthur, but now you’ve hurt him so badly.” “The doctor says the scar on his arm won’t go away, Dean. You’ve gone too far.” Dean complained indignantly. “I was just jealous. Sister Anna is mine!” “Why does he get to be with you for so long!” “We’re getting engaged soon. I just wanted to teach him a lesson, so he wouldn’t dare cling to you anymore!” Silence fell outside for a moment, followed by Anna’s helpless sigh. Expressionless, I pulled out my phone and called my sister. “Sis, I want to come home.” My sister’s familiar voice came from the other end. “It’s good that you’ve come to your senses. Wait there, I’ll be right there to pick you up.”

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For three years, my husband Derek enforced a strict 50/50 split—mortgage, bills, even groceries, which he’d calculate to the cent. I told myself he was just frugal. Then one day, my period came early. Out of supplies, I asked him to grab overnight pads on his way home. That night, a Venmo request arrived: Always Ultra Thin Overnights – $7.99. Personal item.It hit me like a needle to the heart. Derek emerged from the bathroom, towel around his waist, smirking. “Too expensive?” he said. “Stock up next time. Or buy Walmart’s generic brand—I’m not subsidizing your choices.” I looked at him—really looked—for the first time in three years. Rising, I pulled a manila folder from beneath the table and dropped it before him. “Derek, we’re getting a divorce.” My voice was steady. He laughed. “Over eight dollars? We split everything. Remember the prenup protects my assets. Your salary can’t even cover a studio here.” He leaned in, sneering. “You leave me, you can’t afford rent.” I stayed silent, meeting his gaze. “You’ll soon see exactly how much of your money I’ll touch.” In front of him, I texted my lawyer: Initiate asset freeze. File evidence. We’re going to trial. His laughter stopped. For the first time, panic flickered across his face. 1 The next afternoon, while Derek was sitting in a board meeting at his consulting firm, a process server handed him a court summons. He absolutely lost his mind. He called my cell phone back to back, the screen lighting up again and again. I hit decline, then permanently blocked his number. Unable to reach me, he ran straight to his mother, Brenda, to complain. Through the audio feed on my laptop, I heard Brenda shrieking in the background. “That ungrateful little bitch! She ate our food and lived in our house for three years, and now she thinks she can just fly the coop?!” “Don’t you worry, sweetheart. We kept the books completely clean. She won’t get a single red cent from us!” “Let her throw her little fit. Let’s see what she can actually do!” I closed the remote access app synced to the hidden microphone in his home office and looked out the window at the busy Manhattan traffic. For an entire year, I had lived like a rat in the shadows, quietly and methodically collecting every shred of evidence proving this mother-son duo was laundering marital assets. Now, the curtain was finally going up. 2 My marriage to Derek was a meticulously calculated scam from day one. When we got engaged, he pitched the 50/50 split as a modern, progressive way to live. He said it would prevent financial resentment and give us both total independence. He said good business partners keep clean books, and a marriage is the most important partnership of all. God, I actually thought he was a visionary back then. I never imagined his 50/50 rule would become a psychological torture device. The down payment on our condo was split exactly down the middle. The mortgage, the HOA fees, the electric bill all perfectly halved. It sounded fair on paper. Except the master bedroom he occupied was a hundred and fifty square feet larger than the guest room I used as an office. So, he spent an hour on Excel calculating the square footage and demanded I pay 0.5% more of the utility and maintenance costs. He called it equity. I cooked dinner every night. He came home to hot meals. After eating, he would literally pull out a digital kitchen scale. He would estimate how many grams of salt and how many ounces of olive oil I used in the recipe. Then, he would cross-reference the grocery receipt and Venmo me exactly half the cost of the ingredients. His justification was maddening. “We only split joint expenses. You bought the groceries, but we both consumed the seasoning.” He called it respecting my labor. The most absurd moment happened when I was hospitalized for severe food poisoning. He came to visit me in the ER, bringing a small bouquet of bodega flowers. I was lying in the hospital bed, pale and violently dehydrated. He sat in the visitor’s chair, perfectly calm, and pulled out his phone calculator. “The ER copay, we split down the middle.” “The IV fluids are for your personal bodily needs, so you cover that 100%.” “My Uber ride here to see you was $38, so you owe me $19.” He pointed to the cheap carnations. “The flowers are a gift from me. No need to split those.” Lying in that sterile bed, watching him aggressively punch numbers into his phone, the very last shred of love I had for him evaporated into thin air. That was when the suspicion started. How could a man who obsessed over pennies to this psychotic degree suddenly become so “successful” in his freelance consulting side-hustle, yet our joint standard of living never improved? Where exactly was all that lucrative consulting money going? I used to be a senior financial analyst. I have an instinct for numbers and cash flow. After I was discharged, I told him I wanted to streamline our household budgeting software. I tricked him into granting me viewing access to his primary checking account. Then, using my professional background, I began secretly tracing every single dollar that entered and exited his name. It didn’t take long to uncover a horrifying secret. Every single month, a massive wire transfer was sent directly into Brenda’s personal bank account, labeled as a “Caregiving Stipend.” I remembered a conversation from a few months prior. Derek had proudly bragged to his friends that he bought his mother a gorgeous retirement property in the Hamptons in straight cash. When I asked him about it, he brushed it off. “It was money I made from an old investment before we met. It has nothing to do with our household.” Before we met? His pre-marital savings were a joke. He had to beg his uncle for a loan just to cover his half of our condo’s down payment. I knew right then he was lying through his teeth. I tapped into my old industry contacts and ran a deep background search on his shell LLCs and off-shore routing numbers. The results made my blood run cold. When my divorce attorney, Arthur, reviewed the preliminary forensic audit I put together, he actually gasped. “Vivian, every single penny your husband made from his private consulting contracts over the last three years bypassed your joint accounts entirely.” “He funneled all of it directly into his mother’s checking account under the guise of living expenses and elder care support.” The day of our pre-trial mediation, Derek’s lawyer strutted into the conference room looking like he already won the lottery. He slammed a binder as thick as a phonebook onto the mahogany table. “Your Honor, opposing counsel. Please direct your attention to this ledger. This is a comprehensive, line-by-line accounting of every joint expense shared by Mr. Davis and my client over their three-year marriage.” “Every single transaction is documented and acknowledged.” “This proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that both parties operated under a strict, agreed-upon separation of finances.” Derek sat across from me, a winner’s smirk plastered across his face. During the recess, Derek’s lawyer walked over to me, dripping with arrogance. “Vivian, you can’t even keep track of your own grocery bills. Do you really think you can unravel a multi-million dollar asset portfolio?” “I suggest you take the high road and drop this. Stop embarrassing yourself.” I looked at that massive binder of receipts and smiled. For three years, I swallowed my pride and endured your financial abuse just to make you feel invincible. I lulled you into a false sense of absolute security. The cleaner you kept these petty little books, the harder you are going to bleed. 3 When the mediation session went on recess, Derek cornered me in the courthouse lobby. He stood with his chest puffed out, looking incredibly pleased with himself. “I am giving you one last chance, Vivian. Drop the lawsuit right now, and we can walk away clean.” “Don’t even dream about squeezing a single dime out of my pockets. You don’t have the brains for it.” His voice was kept low, but it was laced with deliberate cruelty. I didn’t waste my breath arguing. I simply reached into my designer tote, pulled out a separate legal document, and shoved it into his chest. It was a formal notice drafted by Arthur that morning. The bold black header read: Notice of Intent to Litigate: Fraudulent Dissipation of Marital Assets. Derek snatched it, scanned the first few lines, and let out a loud, mocking scoff. “What a joke! You think paying some ambulance chaser to write a scary letter is going to intimidate me?” “Every dollar I spent went to my own personal expenses. Our financial boundaries are legally documented in that binder. You could take this to the Supreme Court and you’d still lose!” He crumpled the notice into a tight ball, threw it onto the marble floor, and ground it under the heel of his Italian loafer. “You are so naive, Vivian.” I stared at the crushed paper on the floor, feeling absolutely nothing. The mediation resumed. Derek’s lawyer was putting on a masterclass in theatrics, endlessly praising the modern brilliance of their 50/50 financial arrangement. He painted me as a hysterical, greedy housewife trying to steal her brilliant husband’s hard-earned pre-marital wealth over a petty argument. Right in the middle of his grand speech, Arthur stood up. “Your Honor, my client is submitting an emergency motion for a preliminary injunction.” “We request the immediate freezing of the defendant’s primary bank account ending in 8848.” The entire room fell dead silent. Arthur handed the motion directly to the mediator and the judge. “My client has uncovered evidence that Mr. Davis is currently bleeding massive amounts of capital out of his personal accounts to undisclosed offshore entities.” “To prevent the total liquidation of marital assets, we require an immediate freeze.” Derek’s face completely dropped. He snapped his head toward me, genuine panic flashing in his eyes for the very first time. But he quickly forced his features into a calm mask. He probably assumed I had only found a few hidden thousands. A minor inconvenience. His lawyer immediately jumped in. “Objection!” “The transfers in question are routine, documented financial gifts to my client’s elderly mother. It is a standard display of familial duty.” “This has absolutely nothing to do with asset concealment! We demand opposing counsel produce hard evidence of fraud!” “Hard evidence?” I finally spoke up. My voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the heavy silence of the room like a knife. I looked dead into Derek’s eyes. “Don’t panic, Derek. This is just the appetizer.” “Every single penny you swallowed in the dark, I am going to rip out of your throat with interest.” My words completely broke him. He slammed his hands on the table, surging out of his chair, pointing a shaking finger at my face. “Who the hell do you think you are, Vivian?!” “If you can actually prove anything, I’ll legally change my name!” The room erupted into chaos. I watched him hyperventilate, a cold smile touching my lips. The higher you climb on your pedestal of arrogance, the more bones you will break when you hit the pavement. Derek finally realized I wasn’t just playing games. The second the hearing adjourned, he ambushed me in the parking garage. He slapped his hands against the driver’s side window of my car. His face had undergone a terrifying transformation. The smug superiority from the courtroom was entirely gone, replaced by a sickeningly sweet, desperate warmth. “Viv, roll the window down. Let’s just talk.” I lowered the glass a few inches, staring at him blankly. He instantly put on a face of deep, wounded heartbreak. He was playing the emotional manipulation card. “Vivian, I know the last few years have been hard on you.” “But our financial setup… I only did it so we could build a stronger foundation for our future. Why can’t you see that?” His voice was buttery soft, acting like we were still a pair of star-crossed lovers. “Are you really going to destroy three years of a beautiful marriage over an eight-dollar Venmo request?” 4 The sheer hypocrisy of his performance made my stomach turn. “Three years of a beautiful marriage?” I let out a dry, venomous laugh. “Were you thinking about our beautiful marriage when you were calculating the exact retail tax on a box of tampons?” “Were you thinking about our love when you sat by my hospital bed punching numbers into a calculator to split an Uber fare?” My questions shattered his fragile mask of affection. Seeing that the soft approach was completely useless, his eyes darkened. The vicious, cornered animal finally came out. “Don’t push your luck, you ungrateful bitch!” He snarled, leaning close to the glass. “You think I don’t know you’ve been digging through my trash?” “I’m telling you right now, whatever garbage you think you found won’t hold up in court!” “If you actually try to take this to trial, I will drag your name through the mud. I will make sure you are totally blacklisted in your industry. You will never work in finance again!” He whipped out his phone and shoved the screen against my window. They were highly edited, out-of-context screenshots of our old text messages. He had spliced them together to make it look like the strict 50/50 rule was entirely my idea, and that I was financially abusing him. “You see this?” Derek gloated, his voice dripping with malice. “You don’t have a single shred of concrete proof that I hid millions of dollars!” “Everything you say in front of that judge is going to be thrown out as malicious slander!” “You are going to lose everything, Vivian!” I looked at his face, twisted and deformed by his own terrifying ego. The very last ripple of anger in my chest finally went completely still. I gave him one final answer. “I will see you in court tomorrow, Derek.” “That ‘garbage’ evidence you are so confident about is going to cost you a price you cannot even begin to comprehend.” I rolled the window up, shifted into drive, and left him standing in a cloud of exhaust. When I got back to my apartment, I unlocked my heavy steel safe and pulled out the masterpiece I had spent a year building. A fifty-page dossier titled: Forensic Analysis of Concealed Marital Funds. I smoothed my hand over the cover and flipped to a page near the middle. It was a printed screenshot of a WhatsApp conversation between Derek and Brenda. Brenda: Honey, the wire transfer cleared. I put it in the offshore high-yield account. We’re almost at two million. Is that enough for the Hamptons property? Derek: Don’t worry Mom, it’s more than enough. Just remember, do not leave a single paper trail with your signature on it. We declare it strictly as your retirement savings. That way, even if things go south with Vivian, that leech won’t be able to touch a single dime. I took a slow, deep breath and dialed my lawyer. “Arthur, tell the judge we are submitting our core evidence exhibit on the floor tomorrow.” “I want him to stand in front of a crowded courtroom and watch the lies he built burn to the ground.” The morning of the official trial was gray and overcast. The courtroom was packed. Brenda was sitting in the front row of the gallery. She glared daggers at me, her lips moving rapidly as she quietly cursed my name. Derek sat at the defense table in a sharp tailored suit, his hair slicked back, looking every bit the untouchable corporate elite. The trial commenced. Derek’s attorney took the floor first. He elevated our toxic financial dynamic, preaching about how our marriage was a shining beacon of modern, progressive financial independence. Then, he signaled his paralegal to lug that massive, brick-like binder of receipts over to the judge’s bench. “Your Honor, I direct your attention to Exhibit A.” “This ledger, spanning over three hundred pages, meticulously documents every single shared expense incurred by my client and the plaintiff over the course of their marriage.” “From mortgage payments and utility bills, to a single box of salt, a roll of paper towels, and even… personal feminine hygiene products.” He emphasized the last few words, drawing a smattering of muffled laughter from the gallery. “Both parties have physically signed off on this ledger.” “This explicitly proves that a strict, undeniable separation of assets was established and maintained throughout the marriage.” “There is absolutely no comingling of funds.” “Therefore, the plaintiff’s demand for equitable distribution of my client’s personal assets is entirely baseless in both fact and law!” As his lawyer finished, Derek shot me a wildly arrogant smirk. He looked right at me and silently mouthed the words. This is the price you pay for eight dollars.

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Three years into my marriage to Carter Hayes, he had everyone hide the fact that he was keeping a younger, fresher girl on the side. Everyone around us said I was his one true love, his guiding light, his sole weakness. Yet, after a few drinks, he laughed and told his friends, “Audrey Davis? Once I finally married her, I realized she’s nothing to write home about.” The man who swore at seventeen to love me forever… Was currently holding a young girl, coaxing her, “She’s so boring. Of course I love you the most, baby.” The day I left, it was like any other day. No one noticed a thing. The housekeeper smiled and asked if I was going out shopping and for afternoon tea. I smiled back and nodded. “You don’t need to prepare dinner for me tonight.” When a man’s heart strays, you don’t weep. You strike the match, burn the memories, and scatter his ashes to the wind. Carter Hayes didn’t know that the “nothing special” Audrey Davis had a backbone of steel. In her dictionary, the word “forgiveness” never existed. 1 I clutched my wool coat, my other hand holding a pharmacy bag filled with hangover-recovery supplements. The corridor of the private club was endlessly long. The dim lighting caught the edges of oil paintings, casting fractured shadows across the floor. Laughter echoed from the room at the very end of the hall. Carter kept this entire floor booked year-round. No outsiders were allowed within fifty feet, so they hadn’t even bothered to close the door. My heel caught on the thick carpet. As I bent down to steady myself, the pearl necklace around my throat suddenly snapped. Pearls of all sizes scattered across the floor. A sharp, inexplicable pain pierced my chest. Just as I crouched down to gather the beads, I heard Carter’s voice. “Come on, I’m not a player like the rest of you.” “My first love, the love of my life, my everything—it’s only ever been my wife.” He sounded drunk. His voice was thick with liquor, swelling with pride and arrogance. I couldn’t help but press my lips together. Clutching a cool pearl in my palm, my heart smoothed out, feeling oddly comforted. “It’s just a shame.” Carter suddenly sighed. “Once I finally got her, I realized she’s nothing to write home about. Utterly ordinary.” My hand clamped shut. The pearl dug into the soft flesh of my palm. The smile froze on my lips. “Then what about me, Carter?!” A soft, delicate female voice suddenly chimed in. It dripped with a resentful, unwilling whine. “You say your wife is the only love of your life. So what am I to you?” “Just last night, you swore you loved me the most!” The men in the room erupted into laughter. “Silly girl, you actually believe what a man says in bed?” “Besides, it’s a given that a man loves his wife.” “You’re just the side piece—what are you fighting for?” “Carter! Look at them!” The girl’s voice cracked with tears. She sounded so pitiful, it was enough to make anyone’s heart ache. 2 “Alright, that’s enough. Stop messing with her.” “What’s this ‘side piece’ garbage? This is my actual girlfriend. Watch your mouths.” Carter’s voice deepened, carrying a hint of genuine displeasure. “No way, Carter. You’re serious about this one?” Carter gave a soft “Yeah.” Then added, “She’s been with me since she was eighteen. I have to take responsibility.” “You animal. You went after her the second she was legal.” “Aren’t you afraid your wife will find out and raise hell?” Carter laughed. “She relies on me to survive. What’s she going to raise hell with?” “But seriously, keep your mouths shut. I love my wife. I don’t want to make her sad.” “You love your wife, but what about me?” The young girl started whining again. Carter reached out, pulling her into his arms to coax her. “Are you really crying over a joke?” The girl sniffled, acting spoiled. “Carter, tell me I’m the one you love the most… even if you’re lying, I just want to hear it.” “Alright, baby. She’s so boring. Of course I love you the most.” Standing in the shadows outside the door, I suddenly smiled. The man who once swore to love me for a lifetime. Was currently sweet-talking a younger girl. Yet, I didn’t even feel the urge to walk in and confront him. Once unfaithful, forever discarded. I turned around and walked back down that long, suffocating corridor. When he was seventeen, Carter had secretly carved my name into his high school desk. He said Carter Hayes loved Audrey Davis, and he would love her for the rest of his life. But his “lifetime” was nothing more than a fleeting ten years. 3 When Carter came home the next morning, I was already downstairs eating breakfast. He rushed in, clutching a massive bouquet of flowers and a gift box. His face was a portrait of apology and guilt. “I’m so sorry, honey. The business dinner went incredibly late last night. I just couldn’t make it back.” When we got married, he promised that no matter how busy he was, he would never spend the night away from home. But over the past six months, he had been coming home later and later. This time, he hadn’t come back at all. I put down my fork and looked up at him. His suit, shirt, and tie were all freshly changed. He smelled clean, crisp, and minty. It must have been so exhausting for him, being this careful. He set the flowers down and walked over, leaning in to kiss me. “Honey, I swear, this is the first and last time.” I raised a hand to block him. Staring right at him, I asked, word by word: “Did you sleep at the office last night?” Carter didn’t hesitate for a second. “Yes. Look, I even changed into the spare clothes you packed for my office wardrobe.” He gripped my shoulders, looking at me with cautious eyes. “Honey, are you mad at me?” “I’ll stay with you all day today. I won’t go into the office, okay?” I looked at him. I looked at my own reflection in his dark eyes. He didn’t flinch. There wasn’t a trace of guilt on his face. And amazingly, I managed to hide my absolute heartbreak flawlessly. “No.” I pushed his hands away. “Eat your breakfast.” But the moment he sat down, his phone rang. I watched him frown and decline the call. Seconds later, it rang again. He hesitated for a moment, then declined it again. Immediately, a text message popped up. Carter read it, and his brow furrowed deeply. “Audrey, there’s an emergency at the office…” “Go.” “Never mind, I’ll have Marcus handle it. I promised to stay with you all day.” He said the words, but his mind was clearly already out the door. “No, work is more important. You should go.” I looked at him calmly. Even the pain in my chest had gone numb. Carter only struggled for a brief second before standing up. “Then I’ll try to come back early to be with you.” I murmured a soft “Okay,” and watched him rush out to his car. Only after he drove away did I finally reach up and wipe the cold tears from my cheeks. I picked up my phone and called my best friend. “Brie, can you book me in for a full exam at your clinic today?” 4 When the test results came back, I let out a massive sigh of relief. My STD panel was entirely clean. And I wasn’t pregnant. When I married Carter, my health was incredibly fragile. Because of that, we had put off having children. But just to be absolutely safe, I asked for a comprehensive workup. “Doctor, I wanted to ask, how is my body recovering overall?” Once I got the green light that my health had fully stabilized, the heavy fog in my chest finally began to clear. Clutching my medical report, I walked out of the office. Just as I turned the corner into the hallway, I heard Carter’s name. “Carter, if I’m really pregnant, can I please keep it?” I stopped in my tracks and looked at the two figures standing a few yards away. Carter had a cigarette clamped between his fingers. He looked annoyed, his brows locked together. The young girl was bare-faced, her cheeks stained with fresh tears. She was tugging on his sleeve, practically begging. Carter sneered. “My wife hasn’t even had a child yet. You think it’s your turn?” “But this is my first baby. I can’t bear to lose it.” “I promise I’ll be good. I’ll never cause you any trouble.” “And I’ll make sure your wife never finds out about me or the baby.” Carter took the hand holding the cigarette and lightly patted her cheek. “Don’t be naive, baby. There’s no way I’m letting you have this kid.” “Be a good girl. Have the abortion, and I’ll buy you a condo.” “But if you refuse… Chloe, I’m warning you right now.” “There are plenty of pretty, obedient girls at your college. I could sleep with a different one every night if I wanted to. You’re not irreplaceable.” The girl was utterly terrified by his words. Her face went deathly pale beneath her tears. “I’ll be good. Carter, please don’t leave me.” “Good girl. Go get the ultrasound.” “I’ll go get the checkup. It’s just… you said your wife is too sick to have kids.” “If I really am pregnant, think of it as me having the baby for her. She can even raise it! I won’t fight for custody, I swear. Please?” Carter fell silent for a moment. “Just go get the checkup. We’ll talk after.” The girl sobbed as she pushed the clinic door open and went inside. Carter finished his cigarette and stamped it out. As he turned around, I pretended I had just walked down the hall. When he saw me, he froze. But a second later, his face contorted into a mask of frantic worry. “Honey! What are you doing at the hospital?” “Are you sick? Did you get hurt?”

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