Category: English

I was abandoned when I was just five days old. But for some reason, my birth mother left me on the doorstep of the Black Talon gang in Southside. To survive, when I was staring into the fierce eyes of those desperate men, still in my swaddling clothes, I instinctively blurted out “Daddy.” The rough men instantly furrowed their brows. “Maybe… we could keep her?” From then on, I had 108 fathers. But my family seemed to be a magnet for wanted posters. So, to avoid causing trouble for my dads, I lived an utterly ordinary life for over a decade. Until I encountered bullying in high school. A rich girl, Chelsea Thorne, with her cronies, cornered me in the bathroom, doused me with cold water, tore my clothes, and filmed me with a camcorder. “What are you staring at? You charity case, acting all high and mighty! You trash, thinking you can go to college!” But I was hit so hard, I screamed and pulled Chelsea, dragging her with me as I plunged from the third floor. When I woke up, the school nurse, Mrs. Davison, pointed at me and yelled: “She hit you, so you tried to kill her, is that it?! When others hit or scold you, you don’t reflect on yourself, but plot revenge!!” “Get your parents here, now! I want to see them! If they don’t show up, you’ll stay here today and rot!” My hair stood on end. I meekly replied: “Ma’am, are you sure you want to call my parents?” … The words hung in the air, then SMACK, a sharp crack. “Sure? I’m sure your ass!” “You little brat! How dare you lay a hand on my daughter! You will call your parents to come apologize to me!” Chelsea’s dad, Mr. Thorne, slapped me across the face, his eyes blazing with vicious fury. I instantly fell to the ground, half my face stinging with a fiery pain. Mrs. Davison, however, acted as if she hadn’t seen a thing, immediately bowing and scraping, fawning over Mr. Thorne. “Mr. Thorne, rest assured, the school will handle this strictly and without leniency!” She turned her head, screaming at my face. “Willow King! Look at what you’ve done to Chelsea Thorne! Call your parents immediately to pay her medical bills!” I lowered my head, my nails digging deep into my palms. A metallic taste spread in my mouth. “No, it was Chelsea, she was the one who first cornered me in the bathroom with her friends, poured cold water on me, and tore my clothes. I was just…” But I didn’t finish my sentence. Chelsea, lying weakly in the infirmary bed, burst into tears. “Dad! She’s lying! I was just passing by, and Willow King suddenly went crazy and pushed me down the stairs… She’s just a scholarship student, jealous because our family has money. She’s always hated me!” “You clearly…” I immediately retorted. But Mrs. Davison gave me no chance to speak. “Silence! Willow King! The facts are clear; you deliberately assaulted her!” She grabbed me and dragged me out of the medical room. Roughly pulling out my phone, Mrs. Davison slammed it against my face with a smack. “I don’t want to hear your nonsense! Now, immediately! Call your parents! Tell them to get their butts over here and pay up!” Instantly, the eyes of teachers and students in the hallway focused on me, a mix of curiosity and schadenfreude. But I clutched the cold phone, looking at the busy contacts list, yet I couldn’t bring myself to make the call. I had 108 fathers. But Dad One was a gang boss, Dad Three trafficked weapons, Dad Fifteen ran black market loans, Dad Seventy-Eight owned an underground casino… Although they always loved to give me black cards and then stroke my head, saying: “Sweet Pea, don’t cause trouble outside, but if you’re ever in trouble, always come to Daddy. If anyone lays a finger on you, Dad One will make their whole family disappear from the face of the Earth.” “That’s right, if anyone dares to upset you, Dad Three will come with two knives and chop them up!” But they were all Southside’s most wanted criminals. A shiver ran down my spine. I remembered how they always left early and came home late, covered in scars and blood, grumbling about running into “the Feds” again today. I remembered the “Crackdown on Organized Crime” headlines constantly scrolling across the news. I… I couldn’t put them in harm’s way. Looking up again, I tried one last desperate plea. “Ma’am, my dads… they’re all working out of town, very far away, they can’t make it.” “Could I just… write an apology, get a detention, even a suspension, just please, don’t call them?” Mrs. Davison let out a sneer. “Working? No wonder you turned out to be such a shameless child! And they can’t make it?” “No way!” “Chelsea Thorne’s medical expenses, her emotional damages, so much money! You, a child, can pay for that? Call them now, don’t waste time!” She looked at me with utter contempt. “How much? I can…” I was about to say I could pay for it myself, as I hadn’t even touched the black cards my dads gave me. But Mr. Thorne came out and immediately handed Mrs. Davison a bank card. “Mrs. Davison, here’s half a million for the school’s donation.” “My demand is simple: get her parents to come here, apologize, and compensate us!” “Otherwise, I’ll call the police directly! I’ll accuse her of intentional assault! Once she has a criminal record, she can forget about ever going to college!” Seeing the bank card, Mrs. Davison’s eyes instantly lit up. She turned to me, her tone becoming incredibly stern. “Willow King, did you hear that? This is your last chance!” “Either call your working parents now to come pay and apologize!” “Or you get a criminal record and forget about college for the rest of your life!” A criminal record… The two words, like needles, instantly pierced my mind. I couldn’t have a criminal record. I still had to go to college, still had to earn money to support my dads in their old age. Looking at that bank card, looking at Mrs. Davison’s snobbish and ugly face. Tears welled in my eyes. My trembling fingers finally lit up my phone screen. “Ma’am, please! Don’t call the police. I’ll… I’ll call my parents.” My trembling hand touched “Dad One” at the very top of my contact list. Although he was a gang boss, he was still the most “normal” among all my dads. I hoped, I hoped he could pretend to be an ordinary person and get through this. “Beep, beep…” The call was answered the instant it went through. Dad One’s gentle, smiling voice came from the receiver: “Sweet Pea?” “Dad One,” I pressed my lips together and spoke: “My teacher wants me to call you to school. I…” “To school?” He instantly sounded excited: “Oh, my girl won another award, didn’t she! It’s the first time you’ve asked Dad to come get a certificate! Wait for it, Dad’s coming now!” “No…” A pang of sorrow hit me. I was about to say no. But then, a clear gunshot suddenly echoed from the other end of the line. Followed by the screams of unfamiliar men and a series of dull thuds. I froze instantly. I faintly heard a very soft “clean it up.” Childhood memories flooded back—Dad One always came home with blood on him, but he’d lie and say it was ketchup. His breathing seemed a little unsteady, but when he spoke to me again, his voice was still gentle: “No what? Honey?” The thought of him possibly doing something dangerous, or being injured, made my heart pound. The words on the tip of my tongue twisted into: “Nothing… it’s nothing. I can just get the certificate myself. You’re busy, I’m hanging up.” “Hey! You didn’t even say anything, why are you hanging up!” Hearing me, Mrs. Davison yelled and reached out to grab my phone. Instinctively dodging, I quickly hung up. But the next second, “SMACK!” Another harsh slap landed on my face. Mrs. Davison’s face was twisted with fury: “You caused such big trouble and you’re still trying to hide it from your parents!” Mr. Thorne also slammed his fist against the wall, pointing a finger at my nose and cursing: “Don’t think hiding it from adults means nothing will happen! I’m telling you, in this part of Southside, I’m the local kingpin! I have people in the police department! If you dare touch my daughter, I’ll make your whole family of low-wage workers disappear in minutes!” Chelsea hobbled out, limping, and sneered at me: “You’re so pathetic you don’t even dare call your parents, probably because your family is too poor to put food on the table, right? So where did you get the guts to push me? Ridiculous!” I lowered my head, my voice as faint as a mosquito’s buzz: “My dads really can’t come… I’m sorry, Chelsea Thorne, it was my fault, I shouldn’t have pushed you.” “I can kowtow to you in front of the whole school, be your lackey for a year, or you can hit me back, but please don’t call the police, okay? I don’t want to be expelled…” Chelsea laughed with disdain, but Mr. Thorne roared and reached out to snatch my phone. “You’re trying to negotiate terms now?” “Give me your parents’ number, I’ll tell them myself!” Mrs. Davison immediately chimed in: “Willow King, give Mr. Thorne your phone! Don’t be stubborn, you need to show a willingness to solve the problem!” The man lunged forward to grab it, but I fiercely protected my phone, backing away repeatedly. Finally, I ended up clumsily kneeling on the ground. My knees hit the cold tiles, a searing pain bringing tears to my eyes, but I kept kowtowing and begging: “…Please, please, don’t go after my dads. Chelsea, please, I’ll do anything I just said—apologize, atone, let you hit me back—just please don’t call my parents, okay?!” Dull thuds echoed on the floor until my forehead was bleeding. Only then did a look of triumphant pleasure appear on Chelsea’s face. Stopping her dad, she raised her voice: “Alright then, just apologizing publicly isn’t enough. Tomorrow, you have to kowtow to me 100 times, until I’m satisfied! Only then will I not call the police.” “Alright.” Clenching my fists, I agreed to all her conditions. My heart bled with humiliation, yet I felt it was worth it, as long as I didn’t implicate my dads. But that evening, when I, wearing a baseball cap, wearily returned to the small apartment Dad Two rented for me. I saw three men bustling in the kitchen, cooking up a storm: Dad Sixty-Six, Dad Seventy-Nine, and Dad Ninety-Three. Seeing me return, they immediately gathered around, beaming. “Sweet Pea’s home!” At the dining table, Dad Sixty-Six chuckled and squeezed my cheek: “Sweet Pea, I heard you’re getting an award at school? Why didn’t you let an old dad go collect it for you? By sequence, it should be my turn, shouldn’t it?” Dad Seventy-Nine expertly massaged my shoulders, refuting him: “My turn, you fool! It’s my turn!” Dad Ninety-Three pushed a bowl of soup in front of me: “Drink up, brain food, so you can get into a good college.” My nose stung, and I almost burst into tears. But I forced a smile and explained: “It’s just a small award, no need to trouble you. I’ll call you for a big award next time.” “Alright, we won’t argue. You eat first, honey.” The men excitedly served me food. As I was eating, Dad Sixty-Six suddenly grew serious and stood up to answer a phone call. But I faintly caught a few words. “That shipment… being watched again… jumped into the river… Damn it, this money is so hard to earn…” Instantly, my heart tightened again. Fearing they might get caught, I took a deep breath and put down my chopsticks. “Dads, in the future… can you… can you stop doing that kind of work? I’m grown up now. I’ll get into a good college and support you.” “So, can you find some stable jobs?” The three big men froze simultaneously, then, deeply moved, burst into tears and promised they would. Two hours later, the three of them gave me a few more instructions, left me three black cards, and then quickly departed. I stood at the doorway, watching them disappear down the hallway, my eyes stinging. “Remember to change jobs!” “Got it!” But the moment the door closed, old Dad Sixty-Six looked at his brothers beside him, puzzled. “Strange, our daughter doesn’t like my nuclear submarine research…?” The other three were equally bewildered. And I, closing the door, looked at the group chat on my phone, “Loving Family (108),” which already had 999+ messages. My dads were all asking: “Sweet Pea, are you tired from studying today?” “Do you have enough money? Don’t skimp, Daddy has plenty!” My eyes warmed again. I sniffed, and finally typed a line into the chat box. “I’m fine, everyone. Don’t worry. Dads, you’re busy with work, please also pay attention to your safety.” Send. The next second, staring at the constant stream of caring messages popping up on the screen, I made up my mind. I would never cause my dads any more trouble. Willow King, you must hold on. Just until after college entrance exams, everything will be fine. On Monday’s flag-raising ceremony, a dense crowd of students packed the field below. I knelt on the ground, mechanically confessing my sins. “It was I who, filled with resentment, pushed Chelsea Thorne down the stairs… I was jealous of her, I’m a worthless person…” My voice echoed across the sports field, but every word felt like a knife cutting my throat. Chelsea sat in a wheelchair, pushed to the very front by a few classmates, watching me with a smug look, her eyes filled with excitement as I knelt and kowtowed, apologizing. Beneath the stage, whispers coalesced into a buzzing din of noise. “I heard her family is really poor; she’s here on scholarship.” “Such a malicious mind, just jealous of their money.” “Look at her pathetic, penniless self, serves her right.” “Born without a mother’s raising, just no upbringing.” All the malicious words were like needles pricking my flesh, a bone-chilling pain. But I was already numb. Done reciting, I slowly bent at the waist. Thud. The first kowtow, on the cold platform. … Fifty kowtows, one hundred kowtows. I slammed my head down, again and again. My forehead went from numb to agonizing pain, then to a warm stickiness. Blood streamed down my brow, blurring my vision, plunging everything into darkness. The ground was covered in crimson. When the confession was over, I walked off the stage, my face covered in blood. The crowd parted for me as if I were carrying a plague. Chelsea, surrounded by her entourage, deliberately walked past me. She said in a voice that was neither too loud nor too soft: “Ugh, some people are just lowly. An apology isn’t enough, is it? From now on, when you see me, you call me ‘Grandma.’ Got it?” Clenching my fists, my nails dug deep into my flesh. I said nothing. I just silently returned to my seat, took out a wet wipe, and vigorously tried to rub off the red paint from the table. But the paint had already seeped into the wood grain, spreading and smearing with each wipe, like ugly scars. All day long, I was surrounded by malice, until the dismissal bell rang, and I couldn’t hold back anymore, rushing out of the classroom. Afraid to use the main entrance, I took the secluded alley behind the school to leave. But after only a few steps, at the alley entrance, Chelsea and her three cronies were already blocking the way. She stood up from her wheelchair, stretched her limbs, and walked towards me, step by step. “Didn’t you say you’d be my lackey? The boss hasn’t left, but you’re running fast, are you messing with me, Willow King?” “Sorry, you didn’t call me…” “Whether I call you or not, you’re going to follow me around like a dog!” Chelsea pulled out her camcorder, aiming the lens at my disheveled face. “Come on, apologize again. Say, ‘I, Willow King, am trash, and I shouldn’t have forgotten to be Chelsea Thorne’s dog.’” I bit my lip, motionless. Chelsea became even more excited, launching into a new round of torment. Cold mineral water poured over my head. My soaked school uniform was torn by them. Lipstick was haphazardly smeared across my face. Chelsea held up the camcorder, laughing maniacally. “Come on, smile for the camera, say, ‘Thank you, Sister Thorne, for the lesson,’ otherwise, I’m calling the police and letting your unspeakable dads have a nice chat with the precinct?” My mind buzzed. I stared at her, disbelieving. Did Chelsea know about them? But I couldn’t risk it. I could only endure my whole body trembling, my voice hoarse as I repeated her words. “Thank you, Sister Thorne… for the lesson.” Only after I said it dozens of times did Chelsea smile, satisfied, kicking me once before leaving. “Wouldn’t it have been better if you’d been this obedient earlier? From now on, after school every day, wait for me here, got it? Whatever I want you to do, you have to do!” “Alright.” She left with her cronies. Instantly, I was alone in the alley. I don’t know how long passed before I slowly crouched down. On the ground, a soaked math test, the vivid red “100” glaringly obvious. Frantically, I fought back the welling tears, reaching out to pick up the mud-stained books and test papers. However, the moment I looked up. At the mouth of the alley, four or five men had appeared. Leading them was Dad One. And behind him, another four or five dads. At this moment, their faces were dark and grim, all staring intently at me, silent. The air in the alley seemed to freeze. After a long moment, Dad One crouched down, his rough fingers wiping away the bloodstains on my face. “Who did this?” I turned my face away, not daring to meet the anger in his eyes, and whispered: “Nothing… I just fell accidentally.” “Fell?” Dad Five snatched up the math textbook, crushed and mud-stained, pointing at the dirty shoe prints on it, and roared: “This is falling? This is stomping her to death!” Dad Three adjusted his glasses, his eyes behind the lenses sharp as blades: “Sweet Pea, tell us. If you say the word, Daddy will blow up Southside and kill those people.” But I bit my lip tightly. I couldn’t say it. Mr. Thorne was rich and powerful. Chelsea said even the Southside police listened to her family. My dads were wanted men; I couldn’t get them… sent to prison. I shook my head stubbornly, but tears refused to obey, welling in my eyes. Time ticked by, second by second. Finally, Dad One sighed, gently gripping my cold hand, yet with an undeniable strength. “Sweet Pea, do you remember that year when you were five, the chubby kid from the next street stole your candy, and you cried all night when you came home?” “The next day, that chubby kid’s entire family moved out of Southside.” “Your dads aren’t good people, but our family rule is, whoever touches you, dies!” The wind in the alley instantly stilled. Seeing my dads silently gather around me, their eyes filled with extreme suppressed rage and heartache. All the humiliation, fear, and shame of these past days instantly broke through my tightly strung nerves. “Dad—” I flung myself into Dad One’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably, gasping out everything that had happened: “It was Chelsea… Her dad is Mr. Thorne, he owns mines… She said Southside is all their territory… She bullies me every day… Today she even filmed it…” Dad Five’s latest model phone, in his hand, CRACKED! He had crushed the screen! “A mine owner, how dare he!” “Damn it, that bastard Thorne! When I helped him get started back in the day, he was licking my boots!” “He’s gone too far! How dare he touch our Sweet Pea!” My dads’ curses rose and fell, but I listened, stunned. Dad One simply patted my back, then pulled out his phone, dialed a number, his voice cold as ice. “Send out the word. All brothers, drop what you’re doing.” “One hour, everyone to Southside.” “Our girl, she’s been bullied!” Early the next morning, Dad One told me to go to school as usual. I nodded, going alone. Sure enough, at the school gate, Chelsea was again waiting by that flashy luxury car. Seeing me, she deliberately raised her voice, her face full of sarcasm: “Oh, isn’t this the one who knelt and kowtowed to me yesterday…” But before she finished, I walked straight past her, my eyes calm, as if she were just air. Chelsea instantly froze. “Willow King!” She flared up in anger, lunged forward, and tightly grabbed my backpack: “Did I say you could leave? Didn’t learn your lesson yesterday, did you? You trash!” She raised her hand to slap me. “I’m giving you face—” But remembering Dad One’s words, my heart was now filled with unprecedented confidence. The next second, her wrist was clamped tightly in my hand, stopped mid-air.

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After a massive fight with Wesley, I started to keep my distance from him. He asked me, his voice cold, “Didn’t you know I loved her before you married me?” From that day on, I stopped being jealous. I didn’t ask about him and Sienna checking into hotels late at night. When rumors spread in the alumni chat that he and Sienna had rekindled their old flame, I simply replied with a “Congrats!” Now, he sat beside me, panic in his eyes. His knuckles, gripping the steering wheel, were white. He slammed on the brakes. 1. Half a month ago, Sienna returned to the country. News spread that she was on a hiking trip, got trapped on a snowy mountain. Wesley rushed to the snowy mountain overnight, spending a million dollars to hire a professional mountain rescue team. I woke up to find a photo of him and Sienna trending online. Gossip accounts gushed about his and Sienna’s romance. “Turns out, there really is a love story like those in novels—a reunion after a long separation, a broken mirror made whole again.” “A certain CEO spent millions rescuing his first love, who was trapped on a snowy mountain. And the key is, he and his first love both look like they walked straight out of a novel.” The accompanying image was of Wesley carrying Sienna in his arms. Under the moonlight, his chiseled face was bathed in a soft glow. His expression was calm, his eyes deep. The woman in his arms clung to his neck. The picture was incredibly atmospheric, like the final scene of a movie. In our school days, Wesley and Sienna were a match made in heaven. Their grades and looks were equally impressive. I sat cross-legged on my bed, staring blankly. So, Wesley’s overnight absence was to find Sienna. I’d called him three times, but they all went to voicemail. After getting ready, I drove to the TV station for work. Sienna being trapped on the snowy mountain became a major news story. My boss assigned our team to do a report on people getting trapped on snowy mountains while hiking. I planned to focus on safety tips for hikers, while a colleague from another team wanted to dig into the gossip of Wesley and Sienna’s romance. My colleagues were discussing it. “This is truly a novel brought to life, isn’t it? Guess what I found out?” “They dated in high school and only broke up in their senior year of college.” “I’ve already contacted their high school and college classmates.” Suddenly, a colleague mentioned me. “Lynn, I remember you also graduated from Capital High and Capital University, and I think you were in the same year as them.” “Did you hear any stories about them from that year?” My body tensed, and I forced a smile. “No.” Of course, I had heard. I had a crush on Wesley from high school through college, and then we married. I knew about his and Sienna’s relationship better than anyone. My colleagues’ voices buzzed in my ears. “This story could really be turned into a novel.” “Such a perfect match, handsome guy and beautiful girl.” It wasn’t until a colleague next to me reminded me that I realized I hadn’t even drafted a single line of copy all morning. After work, I walked out of the TV station. I received a call. “Lynn, Ms. Chen wants our department to contact Sienna.” I felt a bit resistant. Interviewing my husband’s ex-girlfriend felt far too awkward. I tried to decline, but couldn’t. “Anna, how about I stay behind the scenes this time? I’ll handle a different segment.” “You guys go do the interview.” Anna readily agreed. “Okay, I’ll go for the interview tomorrow.” “But I can’t drive, can you give me a ride?” I said, “Sure.” I drove home. Wesley still wasn’t back. 2. The next day, Anna and I went to the hospital where Sienna was staying. We also had to interview other injured members of the hiking group. I waited in the car for Anna. Anna called me, “Lynn, I forgot my laptop.” “Can you bring it up for me?” “It’s in your car.” I looked around and found it on the back seat. I grabbed the laptop and hurried up in the elevator. Anna messaged me. “Lynn, we’re on the sixth floor.” “In room 605.” I got to the sixth floor. As I walked towards room 605, I inexplicably stopped. Through the clear glass, I saw Wesley and Sienna. Wesley stood up, and Sienna hugged him. She carefully stood on tiptoes. “Wesley, is there still a chance for us?” Wesley froze, his eyes swirling with emotion, his eyelashes fluttering slightly. Sienna took advantage of his distraction, leaning in, about to kiss him. His gaze was filled with a careful tenderness as he looked at the woman before him. Wesley closed his eyes. “Lynn, over here.” My colleague called out to me. Suddenly, Wesley’s eyes snapped open, and he pushed Sienna away. Both people in the hospital room looked towards me, standing outside the door. Wesley and I exchanged a look. I clutched the laptop and trotted over. Anna said to me, “Sigh.” “The big boss is too protective of his wife; he won’t let us interview her.” “After all, someone who can spend millions to rescue his first love wouldn’t easily make a public appearance.” “We’ll just have to interview others.” I was a bit distracted, vaguely replying, “Oh, okay.” I helped Anna finish interviewing all the members of the hiking group. The members were all complaining, “We paid so much money, and because of the guide’s mistake, we almost lost our lives.” “You’re reporters, can you help us sue this guide?” I reassured them, “We’re reporters, we can only help you get your voices heard.” “As for the guide, you’ll need to find a lawyer for that.” Back at the TV station, I sat down at my desk. In my mind, I replayed the scene of Wesley almost kissing Sienna. I had imagined many scenarios of confrontation, but never this. Wesley returned and appeared before me. I desperately tried to control my emotions. My eyes were misting. “Wesley, don’t you need to explain what’s going on with you and Sienna?” He took off his wool coat, preparing to head to the bathroom. He let out a low laugh, tinged with a hint of mockery. “Lynn, using your position to spread rumors—is that your purpose as a journalist?” I didn’t know what he was talking about. “Wesley, what do you mean?” “I just want you to explain yourself to me.” Wesley stared directly at me, his expression cold. “Spreading rumors that she’s a homewrecker, this report was written by you, wasn’t it?” “I’ve already had all the trending topics removed.” “Lynn, don’t let me see your TV station report anything related to her again.” “If everyone in your department wants to be fired, then prepare to pack your bags and leave.” I hadn’t written any report about her. But Wesley’s defense of Sienna and his accusations made me uncomfortable and hurt. I retorted, “Wesley.” “I’m your wife.” He tilted his head slightly, his eyes distant. His tone was flat, casually aloof. “Lynn.” “You’ve had a crush on me for a long time. You already knew she was my ex-girlfriend; you should be very clear about our relationship.” “Before you married me, didn’t you know I loved her?” I froze, trying to speak several times but unable to form words. My eyes slowly reddened, welling up with tears. 3. I knew he loved Sienna. Throughout high school, I was always a peripheral student. Sienna was the beautiful, bright class president. He excelled academically and came from a good family. It was no surprise that Wesley and Sienna became a couple. In our senior year of high school, our homeroom teacher and head of year even praised them as the most outstanding students. Everyone expected the top scholar to be Wesley or Sienna. To everyone’s surprise, that year’s top scholar was me. When it was announced that I was the top scholar, the graduation class gathering buzzed with excitement. I attended the reunion filled with anticipation, only to learn that Wesley and Sienna had gone on a trip. Our homeroom teacher teased him, “Wesley, Sienna.” “Don’t forget to invite me to your wedding when you graduate.” Wesley, barely sixteen or seventeen, could converse effortlessly with adults. “No problem, Mr. Davies.” “We’ll give you a seat at the main table.” I was disheartened for a long time. He and Sienna were together. I thought that by becoming the top scholar of our year, I could finally catch his attention. In college, Wesley majored in Computer Science. Sienna studied Law. They went from high school to college, inseparable for all four years of university. When Wesley didn’t have classes, he would often walk Sienna to her law school lectures. The Capital University campus bulletin board had a post. It featured a photo of Wesley, dressed in a white shirt and black pants, radiating youthful ambition. He was tall and lean, leaning against a tree outside the girls’ dormitory. “Seeking info on this guy. I’ve been watching him for ages, he’s so handsome. Does anyone know him or have his contact info?” Someone replied to the poster. “Don’t bother asking, he’s taken.” “He’s waiting for his girlfriend downstairs at the dorm.” “He and his girlfriend have been together since high school. Give up, there’s no chance.” “Wow, he’s like a devoted statue waiting for his wife. Such a passionate guy.” In the first semester of senior year, Sienna chose to sacrifice their love to study abroad. Young and headstrong, neither would back down, and they broke up. I was surprised when I learned of their breakup. For years, everyone thought they would end up together. By the time we graduated college, Sienna had been abroad for quite a while. That day, I was at a class reunion at a bar. Wesley was there too. He knew some students from our department; he’d been brought by a friend. I secretly glanced at him several times. After the party, he walked towards me. I thought my secret crush hadn’t been so secret; he knew now. During my four years of college, after learning about his relationship with Sienna, I rarely followed his news. I thought I shouldn’t like him anymore. Until we met again, and I found my heart still fluttered for him. He raised an eyebrow, saying without reservation, “You like me?” “Let’s exchange contact info.” At that moment, I felt like a floating balloon, my heart soaring. It wasn’t until we got married that I learned he had added me because he lost a game of truth or dare. When Wesley said those words, my mind went blank. “Didn’t you know I loved her before you married me?” His words echoed in my mind. He looked at me, his expression calm. My nose stung. “Okay, Wesley.” “I will interfere in your and Sienna’s affairs.” Wesley knew I liked him, yet he didn’t hesitate to use my crush to hurt me. His shoulder stiffened imperceptibly, and he picked up his pajamas, heading to the bathroom. This was the most serious argument Wesley and I had had in our two years of marriage. Usually, he was aloof and indifferent, so we barely ever fought. We would both concede to each other. I had dreamed of marrying Wesley, the object of my secret crush, throughout my youth, and I actually did. But married life was nothing like I had imagined. He didn’t love me; he married me only as a compromise with his family and on a momentary impulse. After the fight, our relationship remained as usual, neither warm nor cold. 4. I started to examine our relationship and came to a conclusion: we weren’t a good match. After I decided to let go of him, I found our interactions became much easier. I no longer bothered preparing dinner. I left the cooking to Mrs. Chen, our housekeeper. Nor did I leave a light on when he worked late or had business dinners. That night, he came home late. I didn’t pay attention to his work hours; I was in my study, dealing with my own work. Until he made a noise, pushing open the study door. His tightly furrowed brow relaxed. “Is there any porridge?” When he had late business dinners, I used to cook him a bowl of preserved egg and lean pork porridge, or noodles. I shook my head. “No.” Hearing that answer, he visibly paused, a little unaccustomed to it. “Is there anything else to eat at home?” I said, “No.” He usually had lunch prepared by his assistant at the office, and I ate lunch near the TV station. He often didn’t come home for dinner. So, there was hardly any food in the fridge. He nodded and turned to head to the bathroom. My relationship with Wesley slowly faded; to be precise, I had always been the one initiating contact. Once I stopped, there was hardly any connection between us. The last chat we had was a week before our argument, when I shared that my colleagues and I had found a great restaurant. I told him we should go together next time, and he replied he’d see if he had time. On Friday night, my colleagues and I at the TV station worked until 1 AM, then went to a nearby street for a late-night meal. One female boss’s husband called to pick her up. Anna proactively called her boyfriend, whose first words were, “Baby, send me your location.” “I’m already dressed and ready to go.” My colleagues around us teased, and Anna’s face flushed. “No, wait a bit.” “A few colleagues and Lynn and I are going for a gathering.” We ate hot pot. Afterward, the female boss’s husband picked her up with their child. Anna’s boyfriend held two cups of bubble tea. “They’re hot. You said this afternoon you wanted bubble tea. I bought them a while ago, didn’t expect you to be working late tonight.” I greeted Anna’s boyfriend. Anna handed me the other bubble tea. “Lynn, here, drink this.” I took the bubble tea, smiling, “Thanks.” Next to the hot pot restaurant was a five-star hotel. Looking up, I saw Wesley. He stood out too much, and with Sienna, he looked even more striking. Under the night sky, a man and a woman emerged from the hotel. I stood frozen.

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My friends called me a simp. I worked three jobs, all to put my girlfriend, Scarlett Reed, through law school. She’d say: “Ash, when I pass the bar, I’ll come back to you.” “Ash, when I get confirmed, I’ll marry you.” “Ash, when I become a partner, we’ll get married immediately.” My friends told me that once they make it, they often ditch their loved ones. I didn’t believe them, and I waited seven years. Until my mom was nearly assaulted and accidentally killed her attacker. Frantically, I tried to reach Scarlett, but I couldn’t get through. Desperate, I had no choice but to go to Zenith City to find her. “Attorney Reed, which Attorney Reed?” “Oh, you mean Scarlett, don’t you?” “Attorney Reed is already a senior partner at our firm at such a young age. She just married our boss’s son and is on her honeymoon.” The receptionist picked up a box of wedding favors from the desk. “Here, the firm gave these out recently. Their wedding photos are gorgeous.” 1 I stared at the wedding favor box the receptionist handed me, at the names and the wedding photo. My mind exploded in a deafening buzz. Scarlett Reed. Married? My girlfriend of seven years, seven years of long-distance, the woman I’d poured everything into to get her through school, was married? My face went ashen, my fingertips trembled. I didn’t even notice the papers I was holding slip to the floor, my airway instantly constricting, leaving me gasping for breath. The receptionist looked at me, surprised. “Sir, are you alright?” My gaze remained fixed on Scarlett’s picture. Snapping back to reality, I shook my head, my throat tight. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” “My mom got into trouble. I came all the way from out of town to Zenith City to ask Attorney Reed to represent her, but I didn’t expect… I didn’t expect her to be so busy.” I explained, my voice catching. The receptionist looked sympathetic and offered to register me to see if other lawyers could help. “Thank you.” “Can I keep that wedding photo?” “It’s really beautiful. I’d like to find a similar dress when I get married.” The receptionist didn’t think much of it and handed me the entire box of favors and the photo. I pulled out the photo and slipped it into my jacket pocket, right over my heart. In that moment, my heart felt like it was being torn to shreds. That day, I sat on the steps outside the law firm all afternoon, repeatedly looking at the wedding photo. It was the most agonizing day of my life. Mechanically, I kept dialing her number, but the call never went through. I couldn’t understand how Scarlett, who I talked to almost every day, found time to be with someone else. I couldn’t understand why Scarlett, who promised to marry me, ended up marrying another man. All of it made the past seven years—the three jobs, every penny sent to her for tuition, exam fees, and living expenses—into one colossal, heartbreaking joke. Bitterness, pain, and fury churned inside me. I tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep. It wasn’t until dawn that my phone finally rang. I groggily answered, and Scarlett’s voice came through the line. “Ash, where are you? Are you still at our firm?” “I forgot to tell you I went for an out-of-town training session. It was a closed program, no phones allowed. I just got mine back.” “I’m booking a ticket back right now. Wait for me.” Scarlett’s urgent tone on the phone would have sounded like genuine concern to anyone. If I hadn’t personally received her wedding favors, I might have drowned in her deceptive excuses once again. Thinking back, in the year since she joined Sterling & Co., she’d frequently ended our video calls and canceled our dates with various excuses: training, business trips, client meetings. I’d occasionally get upset, but she’d always soothe me with a few words. Now, I realized I’d been a complete fool. I clutched my phone, the questions I wanted to ask ready on my tongue, but just as I was about to speak, a muffled male voice drifted from the receiver. “Wifey, still on the phone in the middle of the night?” “Did Dad give you another case? Such a hassle, can’t even enjoy our honeymoon in peace…” The voice sounded strangely familiar. I thought I’d heard it a few times before on her calls. She had betrayed me long ago. Scarlett must have stepped outside, muffling the receiver. I didn’t hear another word of what followed. “Ash?” She cautiously called my name. I stared into the dark hallway, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. “Scarlett Reed, were you really at a training?” A long silence stretched on the other end, broken only by her soft sigh. “You’re doing it again.” “Ash, I know you’re exhausted because of your aunt’s situation, which is why you’re being so suspicious.” “Alright, I’ll rush back first thing tomorrow morning. Be good, go to sleep.” Before I could say another word, Scarlett abruptly hung up, leaving only a dial tone echoing in my ear. The next morning, I saw Scarlett, looking disheveled, rushing towards me outside the law firm. She hadn’t even had time to change into her professional attire, her face etched with concern. “Ash, I’m so sorry, so sorry. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have gone on that business trip now.” Her familiar embrace and warmth made my nose sting. When I saw the marks on her neck, my already cold heart gave a painful twitch. Scarlett, seeing my distraught state, simply assumed I was worried about my mother’s case. After briefly asking about the situation, she pulled me into the law firm, saying she’d ask her colleagues for a referral. I followed behind her, overhearing a colleague ask her. “Attorney Reed, who is this?” “Oh, just a cousin from back home, here for some personal business.” I clenched the case files in my hand and lowered my head, a bitter laugh escaping me. After she finished speaking with her colleague, I walked over and took Scarlett’s hand. “Cousin, shall we go?” Scarlett froze, her hand trembling uncontrollably, her expression panicked. “Cousin, why aren’t you moving? Did I say it wrong?” The colleague across from us looked at our clasped hands, deep in thought. Scarlett snapped out of it, pulling her hand away from mine. She gave an awkward laugh and led me out of the office area. Once outside, she pulled me into a secluded corner of the stairwell. “Ash, I said you were my cousin because I didn’t want people gossiping about our relationship.” “Otherwise, during your aunt’s trial, there’d be endless chatter, and you wouldn’t get a moment’s peace.” Such a convincing reason, but behind it lay her recent marriage and the relationship that had long betrayed me. I instinctively tightened my grip, quietly pulling my hand away. “I understand.” Scarlett affectionately patted my head. “Good boy.” Scarlett claimed she’d help me find a lawyer, but she kept making excuses—either the collaborating lawyer was unavailable, or the case was too difficult and no one dared to take it. I knew she just didn’t want to get involved with my affairs, didn’t want my presence to affect her life. The day before the trial, I took the organized evidence to Scarlett’s office to make one last plea. I pushed the door open, but she wasn’t there. The office was elegantly furnished, with hardly any personal items visible. On her desk stand, there was an engraved pen with delicate script: “Law in Heart, Integrity in Action.” Signed, Grenier Thorne. Her new husband, the law firm owner’s son. The door creaked open. It wasn’t Scarlett, but Grenier. He paused when he saw me, then immediately understood. “You’re here to see Scarlett about a case, aren’t you?” Grenier took out paper cups and tea from a cabinet and made me a cup of tea. “Please, have a seat and wait. She’s in a meeting, she’ll be back soon.” His movements were practiced and natural. Then, he pulled a small, delicate crystal photo frame from his desk drawer and casually placed it in a prominent spot on the corner of the desk. Inside the frame was an intimate photo of them, and a date was engraved at the bottom of the frame. It was last New Year’s Eve. The New Year’s Eve Scarlett had stood me up. At that time, Scarlett had just received her bar license and was preparing to be promoted to lead attorney. We had planned for her to come home for New Year’s and formally meet my family. My mom cooked a feast, and even my sister took time off work to wait for her. But by six in the evening, with the food already cold, Scarlett called to say she had an urgent client case to handle and couldn’t make it back. I saw the angry expressions on my parents’ and sister’s faces. After hanging up, I had to calm them, “It’s just work, you know, she can’t help it…” But the disappointment in my heart was something no one could soothe. Now, seeing this photo frame, I realized that the “urgent case” was actually to spend New Year’s Eve with another man. Scarlett Reed, you truly outdid yourself. Seeing me staring at the photo frame, Grenier chuckled. “Looks like we’re very happy, right?” “On New Year’s Eve, my wife insisted we take this photo. She said to put it on the desk so she could see it every time she looked up, symbolizing that I’m always in her sight.” The joy in Grenier’s eyes was so thick it made my own eyes ache. “Your wife is truly romantic.” I suppressed the bitter churning in my chest and responded offhandedly, my voice terribly dry. “Indeed, she pursued me for over two years, you know. Even though we’ve only been together for less than a year, she was eager to settle down with me,” He chuckled, waving his hand, his tone full of pride. “She said you have to hold on tight to the person you like, or they’ll just run off.” “But honestly, couples who date for seven or eight years and still don’t get married—ultimately, it’s just not meant to be. Nine times out of ten, they end up parting ways.” Every single word was like an ice-cold needle, piercing deeply into my heart, prodding at the most painful spots. “My wife is one of the brightest young minds at our firm. When she handles a case, her thinking is clear, her methods are tough, and she’s never lost. If your family’s case were in her hands, it would be a sure win!” When Grenier spoke of her, his face was alight with pride, an expression like a massive stone, suffocating my chest, making it hard to breathe. Once upon a time, I too would brag about Scarlett to friends and family, gushing about how smart and hardworking she was, how she passed her bar exam on the first try, how she would become the most brilliant lawyer, my lifelong pride. But now, she was still the “excellent” person in others’ eyes, but no longer someone I could proudly speak of. Click. He pulled out a cigar and lit it. I was surprised. Scarlett hated smoking, saying it smelled bad and was unhealthy. He clipped and lit the cigar, then turned back to me with a smile. “Just to unwind. My wife doesn’t like me smoking these, but it’s fine as long as I don’t do it in front of her.” “She’s pregnant, and the smell might bother her.” A buzzing sound filled my ears. My breath caught. She… she was pregnant? So, principles could be selective? My heart ached as if pierced by needles. I picked up a dropped document from the floor and handed it to him. Just as I was about to speak, the door opened. It was Scarlett. Scarlett looked visibly flustered seeing us together. She gave me a deep look, then smelled the cigar smoke in the room and frowned. “What are you doing here?” “Are you smoking again?” Beneath her slightly scolding tone was an undeniable undertone of concern. I lowered my head, tracing the paper cup in my hands. It held only warm water, but it felt scalding hot, making my insides ache. “Oh, don’t nag me.” “You have a client waiting for you…” Grenier gestured towards me with his eyes. Scarlett coughed, then spoke, feigning calmness. “Come with me to the office next door, and bring the materials.” I followed her out. As soon as the office door locked, Scarlett’s expression changed. “Didn’t I tell you not to come looking for me? I said I’d keep an eye out for a suitable lawyer for you.” “Coming directly to my office like this, did you consider my situation?” “What did you say to him?” Scarlett’s voice was high-pitched, yet deliberately lowered, as if afraid of being overheard. “From the moment we met until now, you haven’t given me a straight look, not a single explanation, and the first thing you do is blame me.” “You betrayed our seven years together; how can you be so self-righteous in questioning me?” “What could I say? Should I tell him he’s the other man, that he interfered with our seven-year relationship, and let everyone know what kind of person you are?” Scarlett’s expression drastically changed. She frantically clamped her hand over my mouth. “Don’t shout.” “Ash, I’ll explain this to you later.” “For now, please, just go back, alright?” My tears streamed down during the struggle. Perhaps it was out of hatred; I bit hard into Scarlett’s hand. She yelped in pain and let go. “Why should I leave? Scarlett Reed, tell me, why should I leave!” “If this blows up, I won’t be the one who’s humiliated!” Scarlett pressed her bitten hand, her dark eyes filled with anger. “Ash, if you dare to cause trouble, no lawyer in Zenith City will dare to take your mom’s case!” The woman I had loved for seven years, through gritted teeth, used my mother’s case to threaten me. From the moment I discovered she had married someone else, I’d replayed our potential confrontations over and over in my mind. I’d imagined furious arguments, her admitting or denying, apologizing or begging. But I never imagined she would say something like this, to warn me. “Scarlett Reed, are you even human?” “Every penny you spent during your seven years in law school was earned by my hard work.” “I supported you through seven years of schooling, through your bar exam, through getting your license. I wasted seven years of my youth on you, seven years!” “Scarlett Reed, do you have any decency?” Scarlett’s cold gaze seemed to pierce right through me. “I’ll pay you back the money.” “But you can’t disrupt my peaceful life anymore.” Scarlett left, shutting the door with a bang. I watched as Grenier put his arm around her waist and they walked out of the law firm building. News about Scarlett and me spread like wildfire. I didn’t know what Scarlett had said. In the rumors, I was the “other man” trying to break up Scarlett’s marriage. The poor country cousin who came to latch onto high society. “I’ve never seen such a shameless home-wrecker before!” “I knew something was up when he saw Attorney Reed’s wedding favors at the front desk and looked so pale. Turns out he was just trying to worm his way in as the other man!” “Yeah, I heard he used his mom’s case to gain sympathy, even trying to emotionally blackmail Attorney Reed into getting a divorce!” “Attorney Reed already promised to help him find a lawyer, and he still bit the hand that fed him!” “Oh my god, you really can’t trust these poor relatives.” “He’s just jealous now that Attorney Reed is a partner and doing well. He wants to take a shortcut. He didn’t appreciate her when she was struggling; now who would want a man like him?!” I listened to the whispers from the law firm’s break room, then turned and roared. “I’m not, I didn’t!” “I’m not the other man!” My defense was swallowed by the chatter. Everyone started to shun me. Even when I tried to consult other lawyers, they all made excuses and turned me away. I don’t know why my mom heard some whispers in the detention center. Through the visitation glass, she asked me, looking frail, “Ash, did something happen?” “Don’t be afraid, Mom is fine. Mom won’t hold you back.” My mother’s words made me want to cry. But I knew I had to hold back. At least, I had to wait for my mother’s trial, to get a verdict. “No, nothing’s wrong. What could be wrong?” “Mom, don’t worry, I’ve already found a lawyer. The trial will definitely clear your name, and you’ll be out soon.” I lied. My voice trembled even as I spoke the lie. The trial date arrived. Without a professional lawyer to defend her, my mom was speechless, unable to respond to the opposing lawyer’s interrogation. Ultimately, the court immediately pronounced my mom guilty of negligent homicide, sentencing her to two years in prison. My mom collapsed in the courtroom on the spot and was escorted to the detention center by court officers. On the third day of her detention, I received a call from the detention center saying my mom had a sudden heart attack, and after being rushed to the hospital, she passed away. When I arrived at the hospital, I only saw my mom covered by a white sheet. In that moment, my world crumbled. Back at the detention center, everyone pointed at me and whispered. “Look how quickly karma strikes. What good can come to a home-wrecker? Serves him right!” “Indeed. Do enough morally bankrupt things, and retribution will come knocking eventually. He brought this upon himself!” “Why choose to be the other man and even show up at their doorstep? I heard the wife is heavily pregnant too…” “It’s a sin, serves him right!” “Hey? Wasn’t the wife that lawyer who came to see his mom?” “Seems so. I heard she’s the managing partner’s son…” “The wife must have gone to settle scores with his mom. No wonder his mom passed away so suddenly…” The whispers were soft, but I heard every single word.

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The Princess of Capital Society was a complete love-struck fool. To elope with a poor student. She slashed my face and threatened me with my parents’ lives: “As long as you get plastic surgery to look like me and marry the Capital Scion in my place, I’ll spare your parents.” As I desperately resisted, bullet comments suddenly floated across my vision: [Princess Sweetheart is so naive! She and the poor student will encounter a tsunami during their elopement. Not only will the princess be utterly lost, but she’ll also lose her protagonist status!] [The Capital Scion is the real male lead, but the princess is choosing this poor student side character.] [What a lucky break for this passerby whose face got slashed. If she agrees to the surgery, she can replace the princess and marry into a wealthy family for a good life!] I clutched my bloody, mangled face and made an immediate decision: “Take me to get the surgery now. I promise to imitate you perfectly, ensuring no one sees through the disguise.” Since she was handing me immense wealth on a silver platter. Then I wouldn’t be polite. … My words made the bullet comments explode: [No way, is this passerby named Fiona really that bold? She’s actually daring to replace the princess in an arranged marriage?] [If anyone finds out Fiona is an impostor with plastic surgery, their whole family will surely die horribly.] Well then, I’d just have to work hard to ensure no one discovered my deception. I asked the princess, Stella Song: “Just plastic surgery won’t be enough. What if someone finds out I’m a fake and drags you back?” As Stella frowned, I seized the opportunity to suggest: “How about you train me properly? Teach me your mannerisms, your fashion style, familiarize me with your hobbies, friends, and family, and so on.” “As long as you can make me imitate you flawlessly, 360 degrees, it’ll be foolproof.” Stella immediately agreed: “Let’s do as you say. There are still three months until the arranged marriage, so while you’re recovering from surgery, I can properly train you.” Once my objective was achieved, she unlocked the chains on my parents: “Fiona, if you had agreed earlier, your family wouldn’t have had to suffer so much.” At this point, my parents were covered in blood and barely clinging to life. Yet, they continued to beg Stella: “Spare Fiona, please…” Stella kicked them disdainfully: “It’s a blessing for low-class people like you that I chose Fiona as my stand-in. You should be thanking me.” I knelt beside my parents, a fierce hatred surging within me. Just because my eyes, height, and voice bore an eighty percent resemblance to Stella. Stella had mercilessly targeted me. My family was dirt poor. My parents had no relatives and raised me by scavenging. Stella wanting to torment us was easier than crushing an ant. Thankfully, these bullet comments appeared. They made me change my mind in time, saving my parents’ lives. As I lay on the operating table, The bullet comments were still wailing: [Can the princess hurry up and come to her senses? The Capital Scion is a rich, handsome, powerful CEO! I don’t want to see Fiona snatching this opportunity!] A rich, handsome, powerful CEO? That’s perfect. I endured the excruciating pain of bone shaving and flesh grinding, closing my eyes in anticipation. From this moment on, I would no longer be the pitiful Fiona. I would replace the love-struck Stella Song and become the true Princess of Capital Society. The Capital Scion she didn’t want to marry, I would. The good life she refused, I would live in her stead! The next day, Stella began an intense training regimen for me. “I was on the racetrack at eighteen. You need to get your driver’s license now, then spend three hours every day practicing your driving skills.” “Your country accent is absolutely dreadful. Hurry up and perfect your standard English and common language. If you embarrass my father in a big setting, I’ll kill you!” “Do you understand dining etiquette? Do you understand the rules of high society? Have you never had a manicure?” As Stella lectured, she started losing her temper: “I’m very particular about everything—food, clothing, housing, travel. You reek of poverty; how could you possibly imitate me?” I humbly placated Stella: “I can do it! Even if I don’t sleep, I’ll study diligently according to your demands.” I knew the gap between Stella and me was vast. But I wasn’t afraid. I forced myself to sleep only two hours a day. Besides practicing driving and standard English, I started learning English and financial knowledge from scratch. I also devoured fashion magazines, memorized all the designer brands, and followed online videos to learn etiquette. With immense willpower and determination. A month later. I successfully got my driver’s license, my standard English became fluent, and the timidity in my eyes diminished considerably. Stella was very pleased with this: “I didn’t expect you to be so serious. Let’s move on to the next stage.” She brought stacks of documents and photos: “This is my family’s lineage. You must recognize all these relatives. They’ll give me big red envelopes during holidays. If you mistake anyone, you’re dead.” “These are important business partners of the Song family. You need to flatter all of them perfectly, or my parents will be unhappy.” “These are the details and background of my fiancé. Study them carefully and handle him for me.” I stared at the photo of the Capital Scion, Arthur Verdi, setting a goal for myself. As long as I secured this man and bore him a few children. Even if someone discovered my true identity in the future. With the children as my trump card, I could at least ensure my life and my parents’ lives. As for my parents, they hadn’t received any medical treatment since they were beaten last time. Stella kept a close watch on me, not allowing me to care for them at all. I could only occasionally sneak back to bring them some medicine and food. “Don’t worry, once I become Stella Song, I’ll make sure you live a good life.” For my sake and my parents’. I was incredibly motivated, wishing I could utilize every hour of the day. As the scabs on my face gradually fell off, The poor student couldn’t help but worry: “Fiona looks too much like you after the surgery. What if she takes advantage and replaces you, stealing your assets?” The bullet comments were also anxious: [Side character, hurry and warn the princess! This Fiona looks malicious; her diligence clearly shows she wants to take over!] [Can someone tell the princess she’s going to die in a tsunami? I’m practically dying of anxiety!] Stella was unconcerned: “Can’t I handle a trash picker? Don’t worry, I have a plan.” She grabbed my neck, her voice sinister: “I’m giving you an account number. Once you’re in my family, all the money and wedding dowry my family gives you, you must transfer to me.” “If I find out you’re pocketing my money, I’ll immediately return, expose your identity, and make sure your entire family dies a miserable death!” With that, she pushed me away and, linking arms with the poor student, smiled sweetly: “From now on, the trash picker will continuously send us money. We can travel the world and be happy together!” I feigned agreement. But inwardly, I couldn’t stop sneering. If Stella knew she would soon die, and I would completely replace her… I wonder if she would still be smiling? Soon, as all my surgery wounds healed. My every word and action took on the air of a wealthy young lady. I learned skincare and makeup, learned how to dress fashionably, and how to put on airs and act spoiled. I could recognize every relative and friend around Stella. I knew the company’s executives and subordinates even better than Stella did. At this point, the wedding date was approaching rapidly. Stella couldn’t wait to put me into practice: “Tonight, my family is formally meeting the Verdi family to discuss the wedding. You’d better perform well!” The bullet comments were still clinging to hope: [I hope Fiona makes a ton of mistakes tonight and gets exposed as a fake. That way, our princess still has a chance.] [Fiona still has poverty etched into her bones. Arthur Verdi will definitely notice it. I’m waiting to see Fiona make a fool of herself.] The bullet comments weren’t optimistic about me. But I proved them wrong. From driving home and playfully charming Mr. and Mrs. Song, to helping myself and Mrs. Song choose dresses and makeup… Throughout the entire process. No one in the Song family questioned my authenticity. If I could pass the Song family’s test, I had even less to worry about with the Verdi family. Before leaving, Mrs. Song asked me, worriedly: “Daughter, have you completely broken up with that poor student?” “You were throwing tantrums about canceling the engagement before, and now you’re suddenly so cooperative. Are you plotting something again?” I imitated Stella’s tone, lifting my chin haughtily: “Mom, can’t you have a little faith in me? No matter how much I act out, I know how to handle important matters. I wouldn’t die of anger over some poor student, would I?” “Besides, Arthur Verdi’s looks are pleasing to my eye, so marrying him won’t be a loss for me.” My sweet, coquettish, and clever demeanor would make the real Stella Song bow in defeat. It brought a relieved smile to Mrs. Song’s face. “You truly are my good daughter. Here’s five million; go buy yourself a new car.” As soon as the money hit my account, I transferred it to Stella. Stella expressed her satisfaction and told me to perform well that night. When I sat down at the dinner table, Knowing Arthur Verdi was constantly observing me, I deliberately acted indifferent to him. During the meal, I was extra careful, avoiding all the foods Stella wouldn’t touch. It wasn’t until the conversation turned to the wedding budget that Arthur Verdi initiated a conversation with me: “My current budget is eighty million. Ms. Song, do you have any thoughts on this?” I sneered, a disdainful curl to my lips: “Eighty million to buy off a beggar? I spend more than eighty million on fireworks. If you want to marry me, please show the highest level of sincerity.” My arrogant, overbearing demeanor, as expected, made Arthur Verdi narrow his eyes in appreciation: “Alright, then I’ll plan the wedding with a budget of five hundred million, with no upper limit.” I slammed my hand on the table petulantly: “Sit closer, how are we supposed to discuss details from so far away?” “I want the best designer to create my wedding gown; I won’t wear it unless it’s fully encrusted with diamonds.” Arthur Verdi smiled knowingly and moved to sit beside me. The bullet comments gasped: [Fiona really imitated her to perfection! Neither the Song family nor the Verdi family noticed Fiona was a fake. What if she really marries Arthur Verdi?] [Can the princess please punish Fiona properly? I think this ugly duckling genuinely wants to snag Arthur Verdi.] The Verdi family was extremely pleased with me, immediately transferring an advance payment of ten million for the dowry. As soon as the meeting ended, I transferred the money to Stella. “Fiona, you did quite well tonight. It was practically indistinguishable from the real thing.” I thought Stella had lowered her guard. But then her face suddenly changed, and she slapped me hard: “Remember your place. A fake is a fake; it can’t become real.” “Your purpose in living is to marry in my stead, and then transfer money to me to save your parents’ pathetic lives.” With that, She actually dragged my parents out again. In front of me, she brutally broke one of my father’s legs: “If I find out you’re trying to replace me, I’ll cripple the remaining three limbs of your parents!” Amidst my parents’ screams, I wiped away my tears and, humiliated, bowed my head to her: “I’ll do whatever you ask. I will never covet what doesn’t belong to me.” Stella threw her identification documents at me, then took mine, and began preparing her elopement plan. Through the bullet comments, I learned that she and the poor student had arranged a smuggler’s boat and secured a house abroad. Meanwhile, following Stella’s instructions, I converted her valuable bags and jewelry into cash and transferred it all to her account. During this time, I also relentlessly paved my own way. Whenever I returned to the Song family residence, I would secretly collect strands of Stella’s hair, for future unforeseen needs. The bullet comments grew more anxious: [The more I look at this Fiona, the less she seems like a good person. I feel like the princess is raising a tiger.] [If only the princess had checked the weather forecast before setting her itinerary, she could have avoided the tsunami!] I counted down the days to the elopement, my heart pounding with excitement. As soon as Stella got on the boat and died in the tsunami, I would no longer have to live in constant fear. I seized every opportunity to get close to Arthur Verdi. However, Arthur Verdi was an inscrutable man. One day, he even said to me: “Ms. Song, you’re not quite what I imagined.” I used coquetry to mask my panic, asking him what he meant by that. “From my investigation, you were once madly in love with a poor student, even considering breaking off our engagement for him.” “What changed your mind and made you agree to marry me?” I scoffed, feigning disgust: “Can we please not bring up that destitute ex-boyfriend? How unlucky! Or do you have a cuckold fetish?” Arthur Verdi stared at me meaningfully: “Since you despise your ex-boyfriend so much, I’ll keep an eye on him for you, ensuring he never bothers you again.” I suppressed my inner panic, simply assuming Arthur Verdi was joking. In our subsequent interactions, I occasionally brought up the poor student, just to prevent Arthur Verdi from becoming suspicious. After a few more agonizing days, it was finally the day of Stella’s elopement. As planned, I stayed at Arthur Verdi’s place that night. I intended to take advantage of the situation to seal our relationship, while the bullet comments were live-streaming the elopement process. [It makes me so angry to see Fiona kissing and hugging Arthur Verdi! She’s here with a rich, handsome guy, while the real princess can only secretly elope by boat.] [Sigh, the princess has finally boarded the boat of no return. The tsunami is approaching, and my protagonist is just… gone…] Seeing the bullet comments announce that Stella’s boat had set sail, The huge rock in my heart finally settled. After tonight, I would be the real Stella Song! No one would ever harm my family again, and I wouldn’t have to be anyone’s dog anymore. Only endless wealth and glory awaited me in the future. I suppressed my inner excitement, about to continue my intimacy with Arthur Verdi. Suddenly, his assistant frantically knocked on the door: “Mr. Verdi, it’s bad! That poor student eloped with Stella Song! Someone saw them boarding a ship bound for overseas!” My body stiffened, and I completely lost my composure. I had calculated a thousand things, but I never accounted for this. Arthur Verdi wasn’t joking; he really was watching that poor student! If Arthur Verdi decided to dig deeper, I would definitely be exposed! By then, not only would all my efforts be in vain, But our family of three would also face a gruesome end… Just as I was in a state of frantic panic, Arthur Verdi looked at me, confused, then opened the door to question his assistant: “Are you sure that the woman who eloped is my fiancée, Stella Song?” “Yes! I received photos!” Arthur Verdi took the phone, and his expression instantly froze. The next second, he fiercely gripped my hand: “If that woman who eloped is Stella Song, then who are you?” My heart leaped into my throat. At the same time, bullet comments scrolled wildly before my eyes.

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In the apocalypse, I acted out due to my pregnancy. Others couldn’t even get water, but I’d make Richard clear out zombie-infested supermarkets just to get me milk. Until I gave birth to a… zombie baby. I fainted from shock, then was jolted awake by the system: [I told you to romance the male lead, not to cheat on him!] [And a zombie, no less! Now it’s impossible to trick the male lead into taking the kid!] [The male lead already hates zombies. Now you and your baby are definitely going to be thrown into the zombie horde…] Richard once again offered me milk, warmed with his powers. I frantically shook my head. “I-I’m never drinking milk again.” 1 “Say that again. What’s in my belly?” The system repeated firmly: [You’re carrying a zombie!] After humanity entered the apocalypse, the medical system completely collapsed. Fortunately, I was still bound to a system that regularly helped me with prenatal check-ups. The progress of romancing Richard had been stuck at 99%. The system and I both agreed that the key to ultimate success lay with this child. At the moment of complete domestic bliss, the strong, tragic male lead would surely be completely healed. But now. It was telling me that what I was carrying was not Richard’s child at all. But a zombie’s? My vision went black. I fainted instantly from fright. Richard was the leader of the Southern Base. Everyone knew he detested zombies. He killed every one he saw. That’s how he earned his current top-tier ability and status. [Youth is good, just fall over and sleep. But host, wake up first.] The system jolted me awake with a “biu.” It was utterly heartbroken. [I told you to romance the male lead, not to cheat on him!] [And with a zombie, no less! Now it’s impossible to trick the male lead into taking the kid!] [The male lead already hates zombies. Now you’re doomed. He’s definitely going to throw you and your baby into the zombie horde…] I was utterly confused. And collapsing. “How could this happen…” Good heavens. I truly never cheated on him! No. Except for that one time… 2 That day, I found a bottle of fruit wine among the supplies Richard had gathered. I couldn’t resist drinking it all. In my drunken stupor, I vaguely saw a pair of red eyes. Chilling, dangerous. Clearly not the eyes of a normal human. Those belonged to the legendary high-level zombies. Half-sober, I was terrified. I tried to run. But was dragged back by my ankle. When I woke up, I was lying in the base’s bedroom. Richard was bringing me food back to the room. I simply thought it was a dream. Now that I think about it. Richard’s expression was a bit strange then. He asked me, “Do you remember anything? Do you feel any discomfort?” I was so embarrassed, I thought he was asking about his performance last night. I threw a pillow at him. “Don’t ask!” He froze for a moment, then said nothing more. He just pulled me into his arms, holding me very tightly. 3 “How about we draw lots again?” The ability team was discussing personnel assignments for a mission, when someone suddenly suggested, in a nuanced tone. Pulling my thoughts back. I looked at them blankly: “Why redraw?” Then I realized they were also observing my reaction. It turned out that during the drawing, Richard and a newly joined female ability user, Sarah, were accidentally chosen to go on an S-rank mission together. I was notorious for my ‘demanding’ nature, leveraging my beauty. Since seeking protection from Richard, the Southern Base leader, I had a reputation for being ‘difficult’. I was very possessive of him. If he was going out on a mission, I’d cling to his arm and insist on going for a drive with him. If he spoke an extra word to a female team member, I’d be jealous for three days straight. Not to mention this kind of isolated outing for two people, a man and a woman. My behavior only intensified after I got pregnant. But now… The system urgently warned me, [At this point, let’s not be arrogant. Put the romance mission aside; self-preservation is key!] [It was understandable that you were possessive of the male lead for the sake of the mission. But now, self-preservation is paramount. Listen to me, it’s best to quickly hand over the male lead, this hot potato, to the female second lead…] [Anyway, you don’t really have feelings for him beyond the mission.] Hearing that last sentence. My hand paused, mid-stroke, on my belly. My thick eyelashes lowered, concealing a hint of bitterness. In the living room. Richard said calmly, “No need.” “I can handle it alone. Sarah can go with your other team…” Before he could finish. I quickly interrupted: “Just follow the drawing.” “Sarah’s abilities complement yours perfectly. You two go together.” Richard looked at me in surprise, his eyes dimming slightly. I returned a sweet, soft smile. 4 Evening. Everyone had returned from their missions. Except for Richard and Sarah, who had the most arduous task. Following their tracker, we found them in a warehouse of an abandoned supermarket. Richard was shirtless, his muscles wrapped in bandages. Sarah was crouching in front of him, her hand resting on his chest. Hearing the commotion. She frantically withdrew her hand and stood up. “Why are you all here?” As she spoke, she made small, restless gestures. Tossing her hair, her cheeks flushed: “I was treating Captain Hayes’s wounds. He’s quite hurt… Please don’t overthink it, Phoebe.” The other team members exchanged glances, having initially not thought much of it. I also stood motionless. Richard’s gaze was as cold as ever, but on closer inspection, it seemed to hold a hint of tension. Everyone was waiting for my reaction. I pursed my lips. But, uncharacteristically, I was generous. “Well, why don’t we wait for them in the car? We’ll head back together after they’ve finished treating their wounds.” The air was silent for two seconds. The others were momentarily unsure if I was being sarcastic. Richard’s face darkened. Ignoring his wounds, he picked up his shirt and put it on. He hoisted a carton of milk supplies by his side and walked away. As he brushed past me. He gave me a fleeting glance. That look sent shivers down my spine. On the way back, he didn’t say a word. When we got home, he still heated a cup of bedtime milk for me first. Then he sat there, changing his own dressing. I went to help. He pulled his hand back. “No need.” I froze. He struggled to wrap the bandage himself, one hand being inconvenient, making a messy job of it. Eventually, I snatched it from him and re-bandaged it properly. In the quiet bedroom, a low, hoarse, unwilling voice suddenly broke the silence. “Why weren’t you angry today?” 5 My hand paused. I chose to feign ignorance. “Huh, angry about what?” “Phoebe, don’t pretend.” His dark eyes were still, fixed on me. I continued to wrap the bandage, speaking softly. “You two were treating wounds, what’s there to be angry about?” On the way here. Afraid my emotions would trigger early labor, the system showed me the remote monitoring. They truly weren’t doing anything. Besides, I was carrying another being’s child in my belly. Even if they really were doing something. What right did I have to be angry at him? He was silent for a few seconds. “Phoebe, you weren’t like this before.” That night, Richard tossed and turned. Suddenly, he hugged me from behind, his hand resting on my belly, even unconsciously stroking it a few times. My body stiffened. I knew he couldn’t tell the baby’s species by touch. Still, I instinctively felt guilty. As soon as I moved his hand away. He put it back. “You, don’t want to?” I moved it away again. “No.” He stopped moving. After a while, his voice was muffled, containing a hint of uncontrollable joy. “You really are angry after all.” I shook my head. “No, I’m just tired.” He was silent for a moment. His hand reached over again, this time gently pulling me into his embrace. “I’m sorry, you’re tired from pregnancy. Just sleep if you’re tired.” I didn’t struggle anymore. But I couldn’t sleep either, secretly rubbing my leg. I actually wanted to… Late-pregnancy hormones were acting up, making my body uncomfortably restless. I had secretly asked my doctor friend before. She said it was okay, as long as we were careful. But Richard was afraid of hurting me. Each time, he would unilaterally attend to my needs, then use his powers to take a cold shower. Or he’d go out to hunt zombies to vent, returning with a chill and then hugging me tightly again. Today, he definitely wouldn’t touch me. Sure enough, he hugged me for a while, then released me and went to the bathroom. The sound of rushing water went on for a long time. When he came out, he carried a coolness with him. He lay down again, this time a little further from me. Waking up the next morning, a pile of crystal cores lay on the pillow beside me. All of them were his earnings from yesterday. I had no abilities, so I couldn’t absorb them. But I liked these sparkly things, like diamonds or crystals. He always saved them for me. I counted them. There were more than usual. He probably gave me all of yesterday’s spoils. I looked up. And saw Richard staring intently at me. Our eyes met, and he awkwardly looked away. “Awake?” I nodded. Clutching those crystal cores, my heart ached. “I heard… Sarah is at a bottleneck in her Level 3 abilities and needs a lot of crystal cores to level up. Maybe you should give these to her instead?” “It would be a waste if they were given to me.” 6 “And the milk, you don’t have to bother with it next time either.” “A-anyway, I’m almost due, so I don’t need extra nutrition anymore…” He stared at me silently for a while. Just as I felt a chill run down my spine, he suddenly chuckled softly, with a hint of obsession. “Phoebe, when you suddenly clung to me, saying you liked me, I asked why, and you said you wanted my protection. I gave it.” As he spoke. He suddenly pressed close, pinning me against the headboard of the bed. “Now you’re telling me you don’t want anything anymore. Why? Is there another man offering you more?” “Tell me if there’s anything I can’t give you. I can find anything for you, just tell me.” The system told me to stop being difficult, and to be thoughtful and generous, to make him happy. I was already changing. But why did he seem even angrier? I stared at his cold profile, feeling very uneasy myself. Richard was injured last night. The system once again started fretting for me, [It’s over! It looks like the baby in your belly is about to be exposed, and you’ve gone and gotten the male lead injured again?] I wanted to cry but had no tears. “I didn’t! He was injured on the mission.” [This is the apocalypse. Water is more precious than gold, let alone milk. You keep clinging to him, demanding milk every day. Yesterday, he risked injury just to reclaim that carton of milk from dozens of zombies…] I froze. I liked drinking milk, especially a cup of warm milk before bed. But that was a pre-apocalypse habit. I had just mentioned it casually, never expecting Richard to remember it all this time. Just as I was about to say something. A sharp pain shot through my belly. My face changed. Richard suddenly sat up. “Phoebe, are you going into labor—” I endured the pain, shaking my head. “It’s nothing, maybe just… a stomach upset.” “Aren’t you leading a zombie clear-out today? Go quickly. I’m really fine.” He didn’t move. “I’m not going.” My heart was pounding, threatening to burst. If he didn’t go out, and I suddenly went into labor. Wouldn’t everything be exposed? “Really, it’s nothing. Just a cramp earlier, it’s fine now. Your mission is important, don’t delay.” He stared at me, silent. I forced out a pale smile, pushing him out. I looked incredibly considerate. “Go on, go on, don’t make the team wait.” He was silent for a few seconds, then rose and got dressed with a cold expression. He walked to the door. Turned to look at me. “Even if you hate me, it’s too late!” “You provoked me first. I gave you a chance to leave, but you didn’t take it. Trying to get rid of me again? Impossible.” A startling obstinacy flashed in his eyes. He abruptly pulled open the door and left. The sound of the door closing was still silent, however. I’ve always lacked a sense of security since childhood, developing a habit of being easily startled by sudden noises. After he left. I slowly leaned against the headboard, biting my lower lip hard to keep from crying out. My eyes were already red, ring after ring. I gently patted my belly. Baby, just bear with it a little longer. Mommy hasn’t figured out a way yet.

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I was on a business trip when my wife, Lauren, suddenly called, saying she was selling the restaurant my dad had left behind. “Tony, I’ve decided to transfer the restaurant to someone else. For $1.8 million.” I froze for two seconds, then demanded to know why she hadn’t discussed something so big with me beforehand. She replied self-righteously, “I’m the legal owner of the restaurant. I have the right to decide.” “That’s what your dad said before he passed.” “$1.8 million isn’t a small sum. I thought it was a fair price, so I sold it. What’s wrong with that?” She hung up immediately. When I called back, her phone was off. I was shaking with anger. I sent her a message. “Lauren, if you really sell the restaurant, we’re getting a divorce!” I canceled all my plans and took the next flight back to the city. It was five in the afternoon when I landed. I hailed a cab straight home. I called her on the way, but her phone was still off. As I approached my apartment building, just as I was about to enter, I saw a black Mercedes parked at the curb. Lauren was in the passenger seat, laughing and talking to the man in the car. I retreated behind a nearby tree, watching covertly. The man was probably in his early thirties. He rested his arm on the car window, smiling as he asked, “So, it’s settled then?” Lauren nodded. “Don’t worry. Tony’s on a business trip. He won’t be back for another week.” “Are you sure he won’t mess things up? It is his dad’s place, after all.” Lauren let out a cold laugh. “I’m the legal owner. I’ll sell it if I want to. No one can tell me what to do.” “Besides, even his dad said when he was alive that the restaurant was mine to manage.” “Worst case, we get divorced.” The man smiled. “Good.” Lauren smiled too, leaning in and kissing his cheek. The man reached out and pulled her closer. The two began to kiss passionately in the car. I gripped my suitcase handle, my knuckles turning white. They exchanged a few more words, then the man drove off. Lauren grabbed her bag and went into the building. I stepped out from behind the tree and stood downstairs, lighting a cigarette. The early March wind was still chilly. The ash blew away, landing on my shoe. I looked down at the ashes, remembering my dad on his deathbed, holding my hand and saying, “Tony, I’m leaving the restaurant to Lauren. Don’t overthink it.” “You’re busy with work and can’t spare the time. She’s ambitious and always wanted to be involved in managing the restaurant. Don’t fight over this.” I said I understood. He gasped for a while, then added, “Lauren’s ambition is a good thing, but you must remember to hold onto this restaurant. It’s my life’s work.” I nodded. Three days later, my father passed away. At the funeral, Lauren stayed by my side, crying more bitterly than anyone. At the time, I thought my dad hadn’t misjudged her. Thinking about it now, it’s just so damn laughable. I dragged my suitcase out of the apartment complex and found a small diner on the street. The owner came over with water, glanced at my suitcase, and didn’t ask any questions. When the food arrived, I didn’t touch it. Instead, I poured myself a glass of hard liquor. The strong alcohol burned my throat and made my eyes water. My mom passed away when I was three. My dad never remarried. He started with a small food cart, waking up at three in the morning every day to push his utility cart to the market for ingredients. In winter, his hands would crack from the cold; in summer, his back would peel from the sun. After eight years, he finally saved enough to rent his first storefront. Ten more years, and he bought out the entire three-story building. He had no other hobbies in his life; his only joy was being in the kitchen. When I was little, I’d come home from school and do my homework right there in the restaurant while he cooked beside me. The cooking fumes always made his eyes red, but he’d chuckle and say he was used to it. Later, I went to college, got a job, and started traveling a lot for work. Every time I came back, I’d stop by the restaurant. He’d personally cook a couple of dishes for me, sitting across the table, watching me eat, asking about everything. One time I visited the restaurant, it was a week before he was hospitalized. He stood at the entrance, smoking, watching the customers come and go, his eyes filled with reluctance. I thought then that after a few more years, when I wasn’t so busy, I’d come back and help him. Unfortunately, I never got the chance. I refilled my glass and picked up my phone to message my friend, Rubio. Rubio was a well-known lawyer. “Help me check a license plate. I’ll send it to you.” He replied instantly: “What’s up?” I sent him the license plate number. “A Mercedes. Why are you checking it? Whose car is it?” “A guy I don’t know.” There was a few seconds of silence before he called. “Tony, explain yourself. What’s going on?”

I briefly told him what happened. He swore on the phone, then asked, “Where are you?” “Drinking.” “Stay put, I’m coming over.” “No need. Just help me find out who that guy is.” He swore a few more times and hung up. I continued drinking. The owner came to tally the bill, glanced at the empty bottle, and looked like he wanted to say something but held back. I paid and stood up to leave. Back home, Lauren was lounging on the couch, watching TV. Seeing me enter, she paused, then frowned. “Why are you back?” “My business trip was canceled last minute.” She just mumbled “Oh,” and her gaze shifted back to the TV. “Did you eat? There’s leftover pizza in the fridge.” I looked at her profile and suddenly felt like she was a stranger. We’d been married for seven years, and I traveled for work more than a dozen times a year. Every time I came back, she’d enthusiastically ask what I wanted to eat, then go to the kitchen and make it for me. And now, she was telling me to eat cold, leftover pizza from the fridge. I stood in the living room, saying coldly, “I want to discuss the restaurant again.” She turned her head, a hint of impatience on her face. “What’s there to discuss? I’ve already worked out the details with him. The contract’s being signed tomorrow.” “$1.8 million? Don’t you think that’s too little?” “I had it appraised. That’s what it’s worth. Besides, the restaurant business is tough these days. Better sell it while someone’s interested.” “But that’s my dad’s life’s work!” I cut her off. She stood up, her voice rising. “It’s always about your dad! If I hadn’t been running that restaurant, it would have collapsed long ago!” “Do you know how hard it is to run a business now? Do you know how annoying it is to deal with those customers and suppliers every day? You don’t know anything!” I looked at her. “But you can’t just sell the restaurant without discussing it with me.” “Discuss what? I’m the legal owner, I have the right to decide.” “Did you see the message I sent? If you really sell the restaurant, we’re getting a divorce,” I roared. Lauren paused, then sneered. “Tony, are you being childish?” She crossed her arms, tilting her head as she looked at me. “Just because I want to sell a restaurant, you want a divorce? Do you think marriage is just a game?” I pressed my lips together. “That’s not just any restaurant!” “What’s so special about it? It’s just a building, a few private rooms, a few tables, right?” “Yes, your dad worked his whole life on it, but that was his business. What does that have to do with me?” “I married you, not that restaurant.” I frowned. “You didn’t use to say that.” “Me, before?” she scoffed. “You know that was ‘before.’ I used to go along with you because I didn’t want to fight, didn’t want us to be at odds.” “But now I’ve realized I can’t spend my whole life tied to some crumby restaurant, dealing with drunk customers who act crazy.” “I have my own ideas. I don’t want to manage the restaurant anymore. I want a better, more relaxed life. Is that wrong?” After a long silence, I asked her, “Who did you sell the restaurant to?” “I sold it to George, my high school classmate,” she said. “Good thing he’s a familiar face, otherwise it wouldn’t have sold for this much.” I looked at her, but didn’t reply. She grew a bit uncomfortable under my stare, shifting her gaze. “Why are you looking at me like that?” “I had it appraised before,” I slowly began. “Given the restaurant’s reputation over the years, and its monthly revenue, it’s definitely worth more than $1.8 million.” She paused, then frowned. “Who did you get to appraise it? They must have been making things up. Do you even know what the restaurant market is like right now?” “Of course, I know,” I nodded. “Actually, you know the truth yourself.” “What do I know?” She stood up. “George’s price is already very fair. Do you think restaurants are easy to sell these days? I talked to him for a long time before he even agreed to take it!” “Talked for a long time? Since when did you start talking?” She opened her mouth, but said nothing. “These past few days while I was on my business trip?” I continued. “Or even earlier?” “What are you implying?” She glared at me. “Tony, just say what you mean. Don’t be so cryptic.”

“I’m not implying anything,” I said, my face calm. “I just want to know when you started planning to sell the restaurant, and how you negotiated.” “We talked about it last year. George is in the restaurant chain business, and he was interested in our location, wanted to turn it into a flagship store for his brand.” I pressed on. “$1.8 million – was that your asking price, or his offer?” Her eyes flickered. “Does it make a difference?” “It does,” I said. “If it was his offer, then he’s taking advantage of you because you don’t understand the market.” “If it was your asking price, then you’re practically giving away my dad’s legacy.” Her face changed. “Tony! Get your facts straight, who’s giving it away?” “I’ve worked my fingers to the bone managing that restaurant these past two years. I know better than anyone what it’s worth!” “Then tell me, what is it worth?” She opened her mouth but couldn’t speak. I watched her, waiting for an answer. “Anyway, the contract’s already signed,” she turned her face away. “There’s no point in talking about this.” “Signed?” “Signing tomorrow,” she said. “The letter of intent has been signed.” I said nothing more. She waited a while. Seeing that I remained silent, she spoke again. “Tony, I know you feel it’s your dad’s legacy and you don’t want to let go.” “But have you ever thought, what are we keeping it for?” “You don’t manage it, and I’m tired of managing it. Now that we can sell it for a good price, why not just sell it and be done with it?” “$1.8 million, you call that a good price?” “It’s not for you, but it is for me,” she said, her voice sharp. “I’ve been with you for so many years, what have you ever given me? You’re always on business trips. Have you ever handled anything at home? Or at the restaurant? Now that I want to sell it, you’re suddenly speaking up.” I retorted, “So you’re selling the restaurant because I travel too much?” “Don’t flatter yourself,” she scoffed. “I’m selling the restaurant because I don’t want to deal with those people anymore. I want an easier life. Is that wrong?” “No, it’s not.” “Then that’s it,” she stood up. “We’ll sign the contract tomorrow. Once the money’s in, we’ll split it fifty-fifty. If you want a divorce, fine by me, I don’t care.” I looked into her eyes and asked, “Are you serious?” “Serious.” I nodded. “Alright. Don’t regret it.” She let out a laugh, then turned and went into the bedroom, slamming the door shut. I stood in the living room for a while, then went to the guest room, grabbed a blanket, and lay down on the sofa. I couldn’t sleep. My phone buzzed. I picked it up. It was a message from Rubio. “Tony, I found him. The car owner’s name is George. He runs a catering company.” “This guy is no small fry!” Attached were several documents. After carefully reading them, I replied, “Are you free tomorrow? Come with me to the restaurant.” “No problem!” I put down my phone and closed my eyes. I don’t know how much time passed. Just as I was drifting off to sleep, my phone rang. I picked it up and saw it was Mira, my mother-in-law. I answered, and before I could say a word, she started yelling at me. “Tony! What do you mean? You’re divorcing Lauren?” “What did she ever do to you? Is it easy for her to manage this household and such a big restaurant all by herself? Now you’re saying you want a divorce? Are you even human?” I listened, but didn’t respond. “I’m telling you, if you dare divorce her, I’m not done with you!” “Don’t think my family is easy to push around! Lauren’s been with you for seven years, what have you ever given her?” “That crumby restaurant your dad left, she helped you manage it, working her fingers to the bone every day, and now she wants to sell it, and you’re not happy about it?” “Is that yours? She’s the legal owner of that restaurant! She can sell it if she wants to, you can’t stop her!” I finally spoke. “Are you finished?” She paused. “What did you say?” “If you’re done, I’m hanging up.” “You wouldn’t dare! You have to explain yourself today!” I hung up and turned off my phone.

The living room was pitch black. I sat up and lit a cigarette. The smoke drifted upwards, dissipating on the ceiling. I remembered Lauren crying, hugging me at my dad’s funeral. She wept, saying we’d make a good life together from now on, and she’d manage the restaurant well so my dad could rest easy in heaven. At first, she went to the restaurant every week, discussing new dishes with the chef, holding meetings with the waitstaff, and reconciling accounts to calculate profits at the end of the month. Later, she gradually went less often. I asked her a few times, and she said she was too tired and wanted to hire a manager. I agreed. Even later, she stopped reconciling accounts altogether. She’d just take the manager’s word for it, couldn’t be bothered to deal with it. I thought she was working hard and didn’t say much. Thinking about it now, she probably started planning to sell it around that time. After finishing my cigarette, I lay back down. I vaguely drifted off to sleep, and when I opened my eyes again, it was already daylight. The next morning, Rubio and I arrived at the restaurant. It was just before lunch prep, waitstaff were setting tables, and the sound of chopping came from the kitchen. Seeing me enter, several old employees paused, then greeted me one by one. I responded to each of them. They looked at me, their eyes wanting to say something but holding back. Someone opened their mouth, but in the end, said nothing. Rubio followed behind me, whispering, “Tony, the vibe is off.” I didn’t respond. Walking to the kitchen door, Chef Anthony was preparing ingredients. He looked up, and his knife stopped. “Tony?” He put down the knife, wiped his hands on his apron, and came out. “Why didn’t you say you were back?” I replied, “It was a last-minute decision.” He glanced at Rubio behind me, then back at me, and pulled me aside into the stairwell. “Tell me honestly, is Lauren really selling the place?” I looked at him. He’d worked here for twenty-three years. He started with my dad when the restaurant first opened, worked his way up from kitchen helper to head chef, and watched me grow up. “Yes, Anthony.” I forced a bitter smile. His face changed. After a few seconds of silence, he asked, “Really selling?” “She’s already negotiating.” “Then you…” “Don’t worry, Anthony,” I cut him off. “This place isn’t going to be sold.” He stared at me for a long time, then nodded. “That’s good.” “No matter what, me and everyone else are on your side.” A warmth spread through my heart. I said, “Thank you.” “Don’t mention it,” he waved his hand. “Your dad was always good to me. This place is his life’s work; it can’t just be squandered like this.” He turned to leave, then stopped. “Oh, right. Yesterday, Lauren brought some people to see the place—a guy driving a Mercedes, and a few members of her family.” “They walked around, pointing at things.” “I know.” “Alright, as long as you’re aware.” He patted my shoulder and left. Rubio and I sat down in the main dining room and ordered two glasses of water. At eleven-thirty, a black Mercedes pulled up to the entrance. George got out, walked around to the passenger side to open the door, and Lauren stepped out, taking his arm as they walked inside. Behind them, a white Buick pulled up, and four people got out. Mira, Lauren’s uncle Rafael, her aunt Ruth, and Lauren’s cousin Mark. They didn’t seem surprised to see me inside. Mira even managed a smile—a ‘let’s see what happens’ kind of smile. George walked over, extending his hand. “Tony, right? I’ve heard a lot about you. George.” I looked at his outstretched hand, but didn’t move. His hand hovered awkwardly for a second before he pulled it back, smiling. “Lauren said you were on a business trip, but I see you’re back. Perfect, we can all talk together.” “Talk about what?” “About the transfer, of course,” he smiled. “Lauren and I have already agreed. We’re signing the contract today. After this, the restaurant will be mine.” “Yours?” “That’s right. $1.8 million, an absolutely fair price. I plan to turn this restaurant into a chain brand, make it a flagship store.” I looked at him, saying nothing. Lauren walked over, set her bag on the table, and pulled out a stack of documents. “George, the contract’s here,” she said. “Go ahead and sign.” Mira leaned in, eyeing me, and immediately warned, “Tony, I’m telling you, don’t mess things up here.” “Lauren is the legal owner, she makes the decisions. Your say doesn’t count.” I ignored her, looking at Lauren. “I’m asking you one more time. Are you really selling?” “Of course,” Mira cut in. “Why else would we be here? Do you think we’re just bored?” The others immediately chimed in: “Exactly. George is a big shot. He’s doing you a favor by taking this crumby place off your hands. Don’t be ungrateful.” “Lauren’s been with you for seven years, what have you ever given her? Now she’s selling the place and splitting the money with you, what more do you want?” Mark stood behind them, filming on his phone, muttering, “Gonna post this on Twitter, let everyone see what a cheapskate Tony is.” Rubio stood up, pointing at him and snapping. “What are you filming? Put that phone down.” He recoiled a step, but still muttered insults. “Who are you? Mind your own business!” Lauren handed the contract to George. “George, ignore them. Just sign.” George took the contract, pulling a pen from his jacket pocket. “Tony, don’t worry, the restaurant will definitely be better in my hands. You can come by anytime, I’ll always treat you well.” He uncapped his pen. “Hold on,” I reached out and stopped him. George looked up, his pen hovering in mid-air. Lauren frowned. “Tony, what are you doing?” Mira immediately shrieked, “I knew he’d cause trouble! George, ignore him, just sign!” Ruth stepped in front of me: “Tony, I’m warning you, don’t push your luck!” I ignored them, looking at Lauren. “Don’t be in a hurry. Wait until you see these things, then decide whether or not to sell to him.” I took a manila envelope from Rubio and placed it on the table. Lauren paused. “What is it?” “See for yourself.” She looked at me suspiciously, then picked up the envelope and pulled out the documents. After only seeing the first page, her pupils immediately constricted.

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Ten years into our marriage, I discovered my husband was buying a ninety-million-dollar pink diamond for his mistress. I asked for a divorce. He dragged me to the family’s private cemetery and pointed at a tombstone already engraved with both our names. “Vivienne,” he said, “there is no divorce between us. There is only death.” The next day, I was placed under house arrest. My bank cards were frozen. My access to the company was revoked. And his mistress, heavily pregnant, moved into the Presidential Suite aboard the cruise ship I had named after myself. It was only later that I learned the truth. That kidnapping and fire that nearly killed me when I was nineteen. He had arranged it himself. If he wanted to lock me in a grave, then I would turn the entire ship into his coffin. Vivienne’s POV Everyone in Los Angeles knew that Lucas Holt had once loved me like a man possessed. When I was nineteen, to pull me out of the basement of that hellhole boarding school, he drove a truck straight through the perimeter wall. When he was clawing his way to the top, to win the first shipping route that belonged to the two of us, he pressed a gun to his own temple at the negotiating table and bet his life on it. After we married, he named the most expensive luxury cruise ship in his fleet after me. As if broadcasting his love for me via satellite to the entire world wasn’t enough. For ten years, he paved every road with his own blood and carried me into legend within this world. And now, he tossed a ninety-million-dollar receipt into the fireplace. A receipt for a pink diamond bought for his mistress. Then he warned me in a cold, flat voice. “It’s just keeping up appearances. Stay out of it.” He didn’t even look up at me. “It’s necessary PR management, Vivienne. Since when did you become so petty?” I slid off the diamond ring, which he’d won at a Vegas poker table the night he proposed to me. I slammed it down on the mahogany desk, along with the divorce agreement. “If it’s a liability, then cut it loose. Lucas, I want a divorce.” Lucas finally looked up. His eyes were dark and full of something cold. He grabbed my wrist hard enough that I felt my bones grind, and dragged me toward the door. “You want a divorce? Fine. We’ll discuss it at the cemetery.” He drove like a man with nothing to lose. We ended up at the iron gates of the Holt family’s private burial grounds. He hauled me to a massive black granite headstone. Both our names were already carved into it. “Take a good look.” He pointed to the freshly dug pit beside it. His voice was as cold as the wind sweeping through that place. “Vivienne, between us, there is no divorce. There is only burial.” That was the wedding gift he had prepared for me. A headstone with our names on it. He released my arm, turned, got back in the car, and left me standing alone at the cemetery gate. Rain ran down my hair and dripped into my collar. Ice cold. I walked down the mountain road alone. The cemetery sat on a hillside outside the city. At that hour, there wasn’t a cab in sight. I was wearing nothing but a thin silk blouse. The downpour soaked it through in seconds, pressing the fabric flat against my spine. With every step, the red-soled heels felt like walking on knife blades. How fitting. It had been a rainy night just like this when I was nineteen. The fire at the school. Lucas crashing through in that truck, pulling me out of the flames, and stripping off his own bulletproof vest to wrap around me. He had said, “Vivienne, as long as I’m here, I will never let a single drop of rain touch you.” Tonight, he pointed at a grave with my name on it and told me only death could part us. Then he threw me out like garbage into the rain. Two beams of light swept up from behind me, stretching my shadow out long and thin against the road. A black Rolls-Royce Cullinan shot past. Lucas’s car. The wheels tore through a puddle and sent a spray of black mud across my calves. The car didn’t stop. It accelerated. Through the tinted bulletproof windows, I could just make out Lucas in the driver’s seat, phone pressed to his ear. His brow was furrowed. His expression – careful, anxious, tender in a way I hadn’t seen from him in three years. So that was where all his urgency and his glances back had gone. He’d been giving them to someone else all along. By the time I made it back to the house, two hours had passed. Soaked to the bone, I pushed open the front door and was met with a warmth that felt like a slap. I reached down to take off my shoes, and stopped.

Vivienne’s POV Right beside my gray house slippers sat a pair of pink fluffy ones. Not the disposable kind you’d put out for a guest. These were expensive, personal – the kind that implied permanence. They were pressed intimately against Lucas’s black leather slippers, the two pairs nudging each other at the toes, almost playfully. Lucas had severe OCD when it came to his personal space. He wouldn’t even let his award-winning Persian cat set foot in certain rooms. And yet these shoes stood there like a declaration of war. The air was thick with a cloying, sweet fragrance – some cheap, aggressive floral perfume that had completely smothered the cool, woody scent I always wore. At the cemetery, he told me only death could separate us. In this house, he was letting another woman build a nest in his territory while I was still alive. “So the living get pushed out, and the dead get to keep their hole.” I picked up the pink slippers without expression and dropped them in the trash can by the door. I walked into the living room and found a same-day delivery package sitting in the center of the coffee table. No sender information. I opened it. Inside was a new iPad. The screen lit up on its own, and a video began to play. I recognized the background immediately. It was the Presidential Suite at the top of the Vivienne – the cruise ship. The one Lucas had once promised would always belong only to me. The camera swept the room. The minimalist, cool-toned décor I had chosen had been torn apart. A young woman wearing my custom-made silk robe was directing workers to paint the walls pink. “That light is too dim. Replace it with one of those massive crystal chandeliers.” She turned toward the camera and flashed a big V-sign with her fingers. She was twirling a pen between her fingers. A Montblanc. Limited edition. The one I had used to sign the Holt Group’s first billion-dollar shipping contract. It meant everything to me. I had turned the entire study upside down looking for it just days ago. And there it was – spinning between her fingers like a cheap toy. That feeling of being watched, being consumed, being picked apart – it was colder than anything the rain outside could do to me. I opened the photo album on the tablet. I scrolled. Page after page of prenatal records. The ultrasound images were clear. The fetal outline unmistakable. At the bottom of the report, in the signature field, someone had signed in a bold, slashing hand. Lucas Holt. His signature pressed hard into the page. In the notes column, a line in bold:”Holt Family Firstborn – Maximum Guardian Priority”. There was one more item in the video folder. Recorded twenty minutes ago. Right around the time he had left me standing in the cemetery. In the footage, Lucas was lying with his head resting against the woman’s stomach, his ear pressed to the curve of it. His eyes were closed. His expression was reverent – like a man at prayer. The hand resting on her belly bore several fresh red marks across the back – scratches left by my nails when he had grabbed my wrist at the cemetery. The cold, brutal expression he had worn in front of me had melted into something gentle. Something I had never once seen him give me. I lurched into the bathroom and retched over the toilet. There was nothing in my stomach. It was all bile. The revulsion hit harder than the rage. That was my husband. The man who had once fought his way out of a dead-end slum at my side, back to back, through blood and bodies. Looking at him now felt like watching a dog in heat, driven by nothing but the need to breed. The iPad vibrated. A FaceTime request popped up. I answered. Bianca White’s face filled the screen – all dewy skin and collagen-plump cheeks. In the background, a fetal monitor beeped in a slow, steady rhythm. “Nice sound, isn’t it?” Her voice was sweet. Her eyes were vicious – like needles dipped in poison. “The doctor says this is the strongest heartbeat the Holt family has ever produced. Yours was just barren ground, Vivienne. Lucas needed somewhere worth planting.” Even the Vivienne no longer had a place for Vivienne herself.

Vivienne’s POV The video call stayed connected. From somewhere off-screen on her end, Lucas’s voice drifted through. “Bianca, drink your milk.” That voice. Soft. Careful. It belonged to a stranger. The venom in Bianca’s face evaporated in an instant. She replaced it with a fragile, startled expression and mouthed silently at the camera. He’s here. I was the only audience for this little show. “Tonight is the family dinner. Bring the heir and let the families meet him. Make sure you save me a good seat.” Bianca ended the call. Tonight was the Holt family’s most important annual gathering. It was a deeply tradition-bound event. Bloodlines, inheritance, legacy. And she was planning to attend? This was the ultimate provocation against me as his legal wife. It was a slap in the face to the entire Holt family name. Before I could put the tablet down, the doorbell rang. The old family butler led a procession of staff through the front door, each one carrying a formal evening gown. “Mrs. Holt.” The butler’s expression was stiff – professionally blank as he bowed. “Mr. Holt has instructed that tonight’s family dinner will include all board members and extended family. He asks that you be present and conduct yourself as befitting the lady of the house. The family’s reputation must be maintained.” That woman was going to walk in there and parade her belly around, and he wanted me to smile and cover for him. Lucas. What a perfectly shameless calculation. The butler made a point of presenting a custom-tailored men’s suit. “This is what Mr. Holt will be wearing tonight.” I reached out and ran my fingers over the fabric. Expensive. Smooth. Cold to the touch. Such fine material. What a waste, draping it over something so rotten underneath. “Leave it there.” The butler set it down and led the staff back out. I walked into the dressing room and picked up the small scissors used for trimming cigars. This suit had been made three years ago, when I flew to Savile Row myself to have it commissioned from an old master tailor – a celebration of Lucas claiming his position at the top. The cufflinks bore the Holt family crest. Every engraved line had been chosen by me, with care. Snip. The blades came down. The sound of expensive fabric tearing was almost like a scream. I cut mechanically. One stroke after another. In that video, he had been lying against another woman’s body, wearing different clothes. If he was no longer fit to be called a man, then he didn’t deserve the skin of one. When Lucas returned, the dressing room looked like the aftermath of a storm. Shredded silk and wool lay scattered across the carpet like black snow – the shattered remains of dignity. I was sitting in the middle of it all, turning the scissors over in my hands. He frowned slightly. No anger. He didn’t even glance at the ruins on the floor. “Derek, bring a backup suit.” He stepped over the scraps, walked to the mirror, and began loosening his tie. There was a faint mark on his neck – barely there, covered with concealer, but visible under the bright lights of the dressing room. He had ignored the entire wreckage around him and taken care to hide a small smudge of lipstick. “I hear someone’s planning to bring the heir to the family dinner tonight?” I flicked a scrap of fabric off the floor with the tip of the scissors. Lucas adjusted his tie clip in the mirror, unhurried. “Bianca is carrying a child. I’m bringing her to meet my grandfather. Let the old man enjoy himself. Don’t make a scene on a good night.” He stated his illegitimate child’s existence as though it were a perfectly reasonable family arrangement. “There won’t be anything to enjoy.” I pulled a piece of paper from my pocket, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it at his freshly changed trousers. It was a surgical consent form. There were bloodstains on the edge. Lucas picked it up and smoothed it open. When he saw the hospital letterhead and the words Termination of Pregnancy, his pupils contracted sharply. “I had someone take care of it for her. A little housecleaning.” My voice was flat. I watched his back go rigid. “She should be on the operating table right now.” “Vivienne!” He spun around with a shout and grabbed me by the throat, slamming me back against the closet doors. “That was my blood. How could you-” The veins on the back of his hand stood out. His eyes went red. Watching him unravel like that, over an unborn child that wasn’t even mine to lose, I suddenly found it almost funny. So much for two people who were supposed to have each other’s backs. One instinct, and all of it crumbled like wet paper.

Vivienne’s POV The pressure closed around my throat. My lungs compressed, air forced out in slow, grinding increments. I stared into Lucas’s bloodshot eyes. Only once before had I seen that look on his face. When I was nineteen. The school was burning. He had torn through scorched brick with his bare hands, eyes red, clawing through the rubble for any sign that I was still alive. And now, for the sake of an embryo, he was using those same hands to choke the woman he had once nearly destroyed himself to save. The man who saved me had become the man trying to kill me. “What’s the rush, Lucas? Worried about that empty burial plot?” Even with his hands around my throat, I forced out a cold laugh. “You said it yourself – only my name goes on that headstone. Whatever she gives birth to will just be a bastard with no claim to anything.” His fingers tightened. I could feel my windpipe flexing under the pressure. I held his gaze and delivered the only warning that mattered. “Lucas. If you can’t finish the job, I will have that double grave filled in and leave you with nowhere to be buried.” Something warm dripped onto the back of his hand. He hesitated. Looked down. I must have gripped the scissors too hard earlier – my palm had been cut, and blood was running down over his cuff. He released my throat like he’d been burned. I slid down the closet door, coughing hard. Lucas forced the rage back down behind his face. “It’s done, it’s done. It probably wouldn’t have survived anyway.” He didn’t believe a word of that. Neither did I. But his body moved before his pride could stop it. He turned, grabbed a bottle of high-proof whiskey from the bar cart, twisted the cap off with practiced ease. “Give me your hand.” No matter that they were standing in a mansion. No matter that the medicine cabinet was stocked with the best that money could buy. Under pressure, he always defaulted to the most raw, most instinctive method he knew. Back in the days when we were hiding from enemies in the slums, there was never any medicine. He would grab the strongest liquor he could find and pour it over my knife wounds. That burning sensation was proof we were still alive. Dark amber liquid mixed with blood and dripped onto the floor. The alcohol hit the cut like a lit match. It brought me sharply back to myself. He kept his head down, rinsing the wound, muttering curses under his breath. “How did you manage to cut yourself this badly.” A moment ago he genuinely wanted to choke me to death. Now he was tending to my hand. Killing me and saving me in the same breath. Lucas Holt. You really are out of your mind. He wasn’t doing it out of tenderness. He was repairing damaged property. “Get off me.” I yanked my hand back and knocked the whiskey bottle to the floor. Glass exploded. The smell of aged whiskey mixed with blood spread across the room. “Don’t touch me.” I looked at him evenly. “Your hands were just on her stomach. They’re dirty.” Lucas looked at the broken glass on the floor. He was quiet for a moment. He didn’t blow up. He just pressed the intercom and called for the house doctor. Then his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, and something shifted in his face. The hospital, most likely. If the procedure had gone through, he wouldn’t look like that. He didn’t say anything else about my hand. He turned and walked out, long strides, forgetting his jacket entirely – his whole posture radiating undisguised panic. That line about it’s done, it’s done – complete garbage. He still wanted that child.

Vivienne’s POV The following morning, I tried to leave for the office. In the garage, Lucas’s head of security was standing directly in front of my car. “It’s Mr. Holt’s order. Your hand is injured and you need to rest.” He kept his head slightly bowed. His tone was respectful and immovable in equal measure. “The deputy director will handle company matters for the time being. Your presence isn’t required.” Rest. That was house arrest. “Move.” I pressed the key fob for the sports car – the one I had purchased under my own name. Nothing happened. The guard offered a mild explanation. “All vehicles are currently undergoing GPS maintenance. They can’t be started at this time.” He was cutting off my legs. I went back inside to the study, opened my laptop, and logged into the family trust’s black account. I wanted to trace Bianca’s arrangements – the renovation costs for the Vivienne suite had to have come from here. I hit enter. A large red warning box filled the screen. “Administrator has revoked your access permissions.” He was shutting down my information channels. That account had always been completely open to me. He’d told me once, what’s mine is yours – you can move anything in the Holt Group, anytime. I took out my phone, switched to a personal backup SIM, and tried to call a rideshare. “Transaction failed. Card has been frozen.” I tried three more cards. Every single one declined. A text from the bank followed immediately:”Per account holder request, your supplementary cards have been suspended.” I checked the Wi-Fi signal. Even the home network password had been changed. Lucas was telling me something very clearly: without him, I was nothing. In this city, with no money, no car, no access to information, I was completely immobilized. This wasn’t punishment. This was conditioning. He wanted me docile. Dependent. Grateful for scraps. I threw my phone onto the sofa. You think you can cage me? Lucas, you’ve badly underestimated someone who clawed her way out of the gutter. The study door opened. Lucas walked in, a freshly lit cigar between his fingers. “Why did you cut off my access?” I demanded. He took a slow drag. The smoke curled between us, obscuring his expression. “Vivienne, you don’t need to dirty your hands with people like that.” He walked to the shredder beside the desk, picked up the second divorce agreement I had left on the table. “Stay home, let me handle what needs to be handled, and everything goes back to normal.” He laid down the law about staying home like he was scolding a dog that had slipped its leash. “Your cards will be unfrozen. I’ll have my assistant handle it.” Back to normal. Back to being your blind, deaf, obedient little wife? A mechanical whir. He fed the divorce papers into the shredder. Over the grinding of the machine, he said it again. “I told you. Until that grave is filled, this marriage stays intact.” The shredder went quiet. The study was dead silent. Those strips of paper were my last legal way out. If the legal route was blocked, and the financial pressure was already applied, then there was only one option left. The oldest trick in the book. Something had to bleed before he would wake up.

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At our engagement banquet, my fiancé Zachary’s assistant, Lily, dropped a half-bitten carrot into his bowl. Zachary, who had always been obsessive about cleanliness, just smiled — and put that saliva-coated carrot right into his mouth. I didn’t make a scene. I simply clapped my hands and had the servants bring out a large bucket of slop from the kitchen. I set it down in front of Zachary. “You love eating other people’s leftovers so much? Then eat your fill.” “Leave even one bite, and this engagement is off.” Zachary’s fork clattered to the floor. He shot up from his chair like he’d been launched from it. “Nina, don’t be angry — this is on me.” He stared at me, terrified I was about to say something even more final. The guests around us all turned to look, with that particular gleam in their eyes that said they were enjoying every second of this. Zachary’s face flushed deep red. His throat bobbed as he rushed to explain. “Lily just started as an intern a few days ago. She doesn’t know table manners yet.” “If I’d called her out right then and there, word would’ve gotten around that we bully newcomers. That would’ve looked terrible.” He reached for my hand, his voice going soft. “I really didn’t mean anything by it. I just didn’t want to kill the mood. I’ll discipline her from now on — I promise nothing like this will ever happen again.” I watched the panic flickering in his eyes and laughed — silently, coldly. I pulled my hand back and turned to my assistant, who had been standing nearby, keeping my tone flat. “Remove the bucket. Clear the rest of the banquet. Cancel all remaining events.” My assistant acknowledged the order. The sound of dishes and silverware being moved filled the banquet hall. Zachary’s face went even whiter. He looked like he wanted to say something, but I cut him off before he could. “Zachary. Clean up your act.” He froze. His lips moved, but in the end he didn’t dare push back. He just gave a small nod. I didn’t look at him again. I stood up and walked straight out of the banquet hall. The car ride home was completely silent. Zachary tried to speak several times. Each time, my cool stare stopped him cold. When we got back, I’d barely sat down before the doorbell rang. Zachary was standing outside, holding two gift bags, his posture stiff and straight. I reached over and pressed the door release. He walked in and set the bags on the entryway shelf — he didn’t dare bring them into the living room. “Nina, I wrote this for you.” He handed me a letter. “It’s all in there. I’ll cut off all personal contact with Lily going forward. I’ll reassign her project responsibilities to someone else entirely.” I didn’t take it. I just looked at him. He immediately set the letter on the coffee table, then fished his phone out of his pocket. He unlocked it and slid it across to me, screen-side up. “Take it. Go through whatever you want.” He added, “My messages with Lily are strictly work-related. Nothing else. Not a single thing.” I looked at his SnapChat. In the conversation with Lily, every message was business — timestamps scattered, content nothing but project updates. No casual greetings. No private chat. It was almost suspiciously clean. I didn’t pick up the phone. Zachary saw this and quickly spoke up again. “I know you’re hurt. I really was just trying to avoid making things awkward.” I knew exactly what that spotless message history meant. He’d prepared it in advance. “You don’t need to be so nervous,” I said, keeping my voice even. Zachary’s shoulders visibly relaxed. He shifted half a step closer, as if he wanted to reach out — then seemed to think better of it and stayed where he was. “Nina, can you forgive me?” He looked at me. “I’ll give you a proper explanation for what happened at the engagement party. I’ll deal with Lily. I promise.”

“Go home for now,” I said, not answering his question. “It’s late.” Zachary’s expression dimmed. He managed a weak reply. “Then I’ll come by tomorrow.” He backed toward the door. “I also brought some things you like to eat.” When I said nothing, he forced another apologetic smile before finally turning to leave. “I need you to look into two things,” I told my assistant directly. “First, everything on Lily’s background. Second, where Zachary’s money has been going for the last three months.” My assistant nodded quickly. I sat in the living room, staring at the letter on the coffee table. The handwriting was neat, the promises laid out point by point in careful detail — but I had no desire to even read it. Over the next three days, Zachary didn’t come back. He sent two messages a day — one in the morning, one at night — each one a brief account of his schedule. I didn’t reply to any of them. He didn’t push further. On the third afternoon, I was at my office going through project files when there was a knock at the door. “Come in.” Zachary pushed the door open and walked in, holding a document. He held it out to me. “Nina, take a look.” “It’s a copy of Lily’s resignation. I’ve already approved it.” I glanced at it. Lily’s signature was at the bottom, dated yesterday. Zachary’s sign-off was in the approval field, along with an official HR stamp from the Sinclair Group. “I also withheld her full month’s salary as a penalty for her behavior at the engagement banquet.” Zachary said it like he was expecting a gold star. “Is that satisfactory to you?” But when I still didn’t say anything, the smile on his face grew stiffer by the second. After a long silence, I finally said, quietly, “Let’s leave it at that.” He let out an audible breath of relief, nodded quickly, and stepped back. That same evening, my assistant delivered the report. Not long ago, Zachary had purchased a one-bedroom apartment in a high-end complex downtown — in Lily’s name. On top of that, he’d been making regular transfers to her private account. Enough to cover all of her living expenses. What I found most darkly ironic was a photograph included in the file. In it, Lily was wearing a watch on her wrist. That watch was the limited-edition piece I’d given Zachary for his birthday last year. Fewer than ten existed worldwide. I’d had someone track it down and bid on it at auction in Switzerland specifically for him. Zachary thought he’d hidden everything so well. What he didn’t know was that his every move had been under my watch all along. Not long after, both families arranged a dinner. “Nina, Zachary has already sincerely apologized. That little incident at the engagement party is behind us now — don’t dwell on it.” Mrs. Sinclair, who had been briefed on what happened, smiled warmly as she urged me to let it go. “The joint venture is already underway. We need to move forward on consolidating our interests — it’s better for everyone.” My father nodded and looked at Zachary. “Zachary, going forward you need to be more considerate of Nina. Nurture this relationship. And keep a close eye on the project.” Zachary stood immediately, giving a slight bow, his manner perfectly, impeccably humble. “You have my word. I’ll treat Nina right, and the project will run without a single issue.” He turned to me. “Nina, to give you peace of mind, I’ve had the preliminary review authority for the joint project transferred entirely to your team. I won’t interfere at all.” As he spoke, he reached into his briefcase and held out a document with both hands. “This is the formal transfer confirmation. My signature is already on it.” I didn’t reach for it right away. Instead, I looked at Zachary with something close to amusement.

Did he really think handing over control of this project would be enough to buy my silence? “It seems you’re quite sincere,” I said, keeping my voice light. Zachary’s face lit up. He thought I was going to let him off the hook. He lowered his head quickly. “Yes, Nina. I genuinely understand where I went wrong. This document is proof of my commitment.” My parents exchanged satisfied looks beside us. They were taken in completely — fooled by the act Zachary was putting on. “All right. Then I’ll give you another chance.” I spoke slowly. Zachary was overjoyed. Both sets of parents exhaled in relief. What none of them knew was that those words weren’t meant only for Zachary. They were meant for all of them. “Good, good — let’s put the past behind us. Here’s to a successful partnership going forward!” My father raised his glass. Everyone smiled. The atmosphere warmed up again. The dinner ended, and Zachary walked me to the door. “Let me drive you home, Nina.” He said it as he reached out toward me. I stepped to the side. Zachary’s hand froze in mid-air, his expression stiffening. “Nina, what is that supposed to mean? I fired Lily. I handed over the project. What more do you want?” A flash of frustration crossed his face. But I just looked at him calmly — the way you’d look at something you’d found in a trash can. “Zachary, something that’s been dirtied doesn’t become clean just because you rinse it off. Especially when it comes to a person’s character.” Zachary stared at me like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, his jaw twitching. I didn’t bother addressing it. I simply told him, “Don’t forget — this is the first chance I’ve given you. Don’t waste it.” Then I turned and walked away. Zachary stood where he was. The expression on his face had gone dark. Don’t worry. This is only the beginning. Holding the preliminary review authority meant that the Sinclair Group was obligated to follow my lead on this project, no questions asked. And the first thing I did with that authority was put a hold on one of Zachary’s critical payments. The next morning. Zachary called me, his voice tight with urgency. “Nina, why was the startup funding returned? This is going to throw off the entire schedule!” I put him on speaker and took my time looking at the photos that had just been printed out on my desk. “The receiving party had compliance issues. To minimize risk, I had our finance team run a new review.” My tone was perfectly even. “What? That vendor has been working with us for years —” “Didn’t you say you were leaving this to me?” One sentence, and Zachary went quiet. After a long pause, he said, stiffly, “But — but —” “No buts. Process is process.” I hung up. I looked at the photos on the desk and let out a cold laugh. My private investigator had just sent these over. The Lily who was supposedly terminated was currently living in that upscale apartment. Her wrist — with that watch — was captured clearly in the shot. And Zachary’s car was parked right outside the building. Running the project dry on one hand, keeping his little bird in a gilded cage on the other. Zachary. You’ve got some nerve. Over the following week, I turned a blind eye to everything — the business dealings, and Zachary’s secret meetings with Lily. When Zachary played the role of the devoted fiancé, I played along with just enough indifference to keep him guessing. And then Friday night arrived.

A charity auction gala was being held — one of the industry’s big annual events. Zachary, as my publicly announced fiancé, was expected to attend with me. He was waiting downstairs early. He’d even thoughtfully prepared a bouquet — of lilies, which I can’t stand. “Nina, there’s a sapphire necklace tonight that I know you’d love. Whatever it costs, I’ll bid on it for you — sound good?” He held the flowers out to me. I took them. Then dropped them straight into the trash can. “I like daisies.” Zachary went rigid with embarrassment. He scrambled after me into the venue, tripping over himself with apologies. Inside the gala, the city’s elite had gathered. The moment we walked in, admiring looks followed us from every direction. Zachary straightened up and leaned into it. He loved being the center of attention. His grip on my arm tightened slightly without him even noticing. As if he really were the flawless heir to the Sinclair family he pretended to be. But all of this was exactly where I needed it to be. Just when Zachary thought everything was going perfectly — that tonight was his night to shine — Something unexpected happened. His phone started buzzing relentlessly. He covered it quickly, but not before I caught a glimpse of the caller ID. It was Lily. He tried to pretend nothing was happening. I tilted my head and smiled. “Aren’t you going to answer? What if it’s urgent?” Zachary looked uncomfortable. Sweat was already appearing at his hairline. He forced a laugh. “It’s nothing. Spam call.” “Is it?” I smiled. “Funny — I could’ve sworn I recognized that number. Wasn’t that your assistant you supposedly let go?” Zachary’s face changed. He glanced around quickly, his voice dropping into a panicked hiss. “Nina, what are you talking about? I haven’t been in contact with her —” But before he could finish explaining, a commotion broke out near the entrance. A figure came stumbling in. “Zachary! Help me, Zachary!” She screamed it without caring who heard. Not even the security guards could stop her. By the time Zachary registered what was happening, his face had gone the color of old ash. It was Lily. Every head in the room turned. Whispers rippled through the crowd. “Nina, I — I honestly have no idea what’s going on!” Zachary stared at me, completely rigid. Of course he didn’t know what was going on. Because I was the one who arranged it. When Lily spotted Zachary, she broke down completely. She made a beeline straight for our table. “Zachary! I got thrown out of my apartment — my bank account’s been frozen — I have nowhere to go!” “You have to do something!” She dropped to her knees at his feet, crying like the world was ending. Zachary’s fists clenched until his knuckles went white. The people around us started murmuring. “Isn’t that the assistant he fired?” “I thought she was long gone — why is she still causing scenes?” “Wait — is anyone else looking at that watch she’s wearing? Isn’t that the one Nina gave Zachary for his birthday last year? That thing is worth hundreds of thousands —” Zachary finally snapped into action. He kicked Lily’s hand away and snarled, “What’s wrong with you? I barely even know you — get away from me!” Lily stumbled back. She looked up at him like she’d been slapped. “So you really were lying to me this whole time, weren’t you?” “You told me if I was patient, once things blew over you’d come back for me!” “That apartment — you bought it for me! And now that you’re done with me you’re taking it back? You played me from the start!” She screamed it for the entire room to hear. The words detonated like a grenade. I looked at Zachary with a cold smile.

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It was April Fools’ Day when a delivery guy knocked on my door asking me to sign for a package. I waved him off. “I didn’t order any pads. My period just ended two days ago. Is this some kind of April Fools’ joke, or did you get the wrong address?” The guy kept his head down, checking his phone. “No mistake. This address is correct. The recipient is listed as Mrs. Archer — left by a Mr. Damien Archer.” A few minutes later, my husband’s assistant came rushing over, drenched in sweat, bowing over and over. “I’m so sorry, ma’am! These were meant for my girlfriend. I accidentally put down your address instead of hers. That’s totally on me!” Before he even finished talking, our front door swung open. My husband, Damien, walked out and draped his arm around my shoulders. He turned to look at his assistant, his expression darkening. “How do you handle anything? Didn’t I tell you to have it delivered tonight? You can’t even get something this simple right.” Then he pinched my cheek, his tone instantly softening. “Don’t listen to him, babe. These are actually for you. I was going to wrap them up as part of a little surprise, but he ruined it.” I smiled and waved everyone off. Once they were gone, the smile dropped from my face. I’d always bought pads in bulk — always the overnight kind, because I needed the extra coverage. But out of those nine packs of expensive, brand-name pads, eight of them were regular daytime ones.

When we got inside, Damien said he was tired and wanted to shower. The moment he stepped into the bathroom, I walked straight to the living room and picked up his phone. The passcode was still my birthday. I went through all his messages. Aside from work stuff, his conversations with other women — coworkers, employees — were all short and cold. Just “yeah” and “okay” type replies. His social media was the same — nothing but work updates. Not a single trace of anything suspicious. I sat on the couch, staring into space. Was I just being paranoid? I was thirty now — maybe I was reading too much into things. The shower turned off. I quickly cleared his search history and put the phone back exactly where I’d found it. Damien came out toweling his hair, steam still rising off his skin. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, pressing his damp head against my neck. “Did you miss me?” My body stiffened. I pushed him away half-heartedly. “You’re still wet. You’re getting me all damp.” “So what?” He leaned in more, hands starting to wander, his lips brushing my ear, my neck. “Let’s go to bed early tonight…” Damien had never been one to hold back in that department. When the mood struck him, he went for it — I’d known that since day one. Even when I was on my period and feeling off, he’d sweet-talk and tease until I found another way to help him. But just as his lips were about to reach mine, something snapped me back to reality. Those nine packs of pads felt like a needle lodged in my brain. It was around last month that things had changed. Whenever I was on my period, he’d completely stopped pushing. Every evening when he got home, it was the same line: “Long day. You must be tired too. Get some rest.” I’d actually thought he was getting more thoughtful. Now, looking back, every single thing felt wrong. I shoved him away and asked, keeping my voice casual: “Damien, what made you suddenly think to buy pads for me? You’ve never bothered with that before.”

He paused for just a second, then reached over and flicked my nose. “You’re so silly. It’s a holiday, babe.” His voice was warm and indulgent. “I wanted to stock up on essentials for my girl. Is that a crime? It’s not like I haven’t bought them for you before.” He stretched out on his side of the bed, lazily twirling a strand of my hair around his fingers. “Besides, I’ve noticed you always buy them on sale around this time of year and stockpile them. This year, you don’t have to worry about it. I took care of it.” I kept my eyes on him. “Then why this brand? And why did you get so many daytime ones?” “Everyone online says this brand is good. Light and breathable.” He answered immediately, his eyes never flickering. “I’ve seen you buy the thick cotton ones. Thought you might want to try something different. And the daytime kind works on regular days too, not just during your period. More convenient.” As he spoke, he reached over to his nightstand and pulled out a small blue velvet box. “And of course, that’s not all.” He handed it to me, looking a little pleased with himself. “You didn’t think I’d only get you pads for the holiday, did you? Open it.” Inside was a pearl necklace. The pearls were large and perfectly round, with a warm, lustrous glow. One look and you could tell it wasn’t cheap. “South Sea pearls. They’ll look beautiful on you.” He lifted the necklace out and moved to clasp it around my neck. “Do you like it?” I stared at those cold, round beads and didn’t move. “What’s wrong?” He looked at me. “Nothing.” I closed the lid and set the box aside. “It’s expensive, I’m sure. It’s just… I think I mentioned before that I don’t really like pearls.” “Did you?” Damien blinked, thinking for a moment. “I don’t remember that. But women can never have too much jewelry. Every piece counts. Look at any woman worth her salt — they all have pearls.” My heart sank, piece by piece. He didn’t remember. When he was pursuing me hardest, I’d told him about my past. After my mom died, my dad moved on fast — with a woman he’d been seeing on the side. She drained most of what was left of our family’s money, then showed up at our house wearing a thick strand of round pearl bracelets, like she owned the place. She drove me out, and I ended up growing up in a group home. That year, in the middle of a snowstorm, I’d cried and told him: “I hate pearls. Every time I see them, I think of that woman. And of my dad, who threw me away.” He’d held me so tight it hurt, and swore: “I will never let you see a single pearl for the rest of your life. I’ll make sure you never have to think about any of that again.” And now, he was holding out a pearl necklace and saying: “I don’t remember that.” “Thank you, honey.” I forced a smile and took the box. “My stomach’s acting up a little. You go to sleep first.” I slipped into the bathroom and locked the door. The pads weren’t for me. He’d given me jewelry I’d specifically told him I hated. Damien was lying. I’d already checked his phone and found nothing. But wait — there was one more thing. There was a name in his contacts that stood out from all the rest. Jade. A college student he sponsored — a girl who’d grown up in poverty and earned her way into a top university in the city. I had been the one who’d agreed to support her. I remembered her — small and thin, a little timid when she’d come to dinner at our place once. Quiet about most things, but her eyes lit up when she talked about school. Damien had said at the time: “That girl’s got a real fire in her. Reminds me of you back in the day.” So why did he have at least some kind of message history with every other woman in his contacts — But with Jade, nothing? Not a single message? Her chat log was completely blank. Clean as glass after a rainstorm. You could see straight through it. Too clean.

The next day, I found Jade’s contact in my own phone. Her profile photo was a silhouette of a girl reading, just the side of her face. Her social media was mostly library corners, open books, a cup of tea. I scrolled down slowly. Then my finger stopped. The most recent post. Uploaded yesterday afternoon. Period cramps are the worst. Can’t focus on anything. Good thing my man is taking care of me~ The photo showed a steaming mug of hot milk on a natural wood desk. I stared at it for a few seconds, then zoomed in. In the corner of the desk, partially cut off by the frame, was a cardboard box. On the corner of the box, clearly visible, was the logo of the same expensive pad brand. I counted — at least eight packs visible. And beside them, one opened pack that looked like it had just been used. So that was it. The desire he’d been holding back during my period had been redirected — toward another woman entirely. That afternoon, I did something I never did. I showed up at Damien’s office. What I walked in on made my vision go red. Jade was sitting on Damien’s lap, wearing a school uniform, arms wrapped around his neck. They were kissing like they had all the time in the world. His hand rested on her waist. The air in the room was thick. I crossed the room in seconds, grabbed Jade by the hair, and yanked her off his lap. She stumbled and nearly fell. I raised my hand and slapped her. The sound cracked through the office. Then I turned to Damien. He’d gotten to his feet, his expression dark. I raised my hand to slap him too — but he grabbed my wrist. “Rachel, what is wrong with you? Why aren’t you home? You’re supposed to pick up our son from school. What are you doing storming into my office?” Not a shred of guilt. Like he wasn’t the one who’d done anything wrong. I wrenched my hand free, my voice breaking. “Damien, you remember we have a son? You could do this here and not think about your wife and kid for even one second?” Jade pressed her hand to her cheek and shuffled to Damien’s side. She tugged lightly at his sleeve, then turned to me and bowed her head. “Ma’am, I’m so sorry. Please don’t be angry with him. It’s my fault. I’m the one who fell for him. It’s nothing to do with him — if you’re going to blame someone, blame me.” I pointed right at her. “Jade, I chose to help you because you’d worked so hard to get here from nothing. I wanted to give you a real chance to build your own life. And this is what you do with it?” “You used your position as someone he sponsors to go after a married man. Do you have any conscience at all?” Jade suddenly dropped to her knees in front of me, wrapping her arms around my legs. Her tears were falling fast, the red mark from my slap still vivid on her cheek — but her eyes were defiant. “Ma’am, I know this is wrong. But what Damien and I have is real. Loving someone isn’t a crime. And if we’re really in love — doesn’t that mean you’re the one who doesn’t belong anymore? The one who isn’t loved is always the outsider.” My stomach lurched. I stepped back, trying to shake her off. “Let go of me. Don’t touch me.” But then Jade let out a sharp cry and clutched her stomach. Her knees buckled. She crumpled to the floor. “Jade!” Damien’s face went pale. He’d turned away a moment earlier to close the office door — he hadn’t seen me push her, but he’d heard me tell her not to touch me. When he spun back around, Jade was on the ground. “Jade? What happened? Are you okay?” She curled against his chest, tears sliding into her hair. “I’m okay… my stomach… it hurts a little. Don’t blame her. I lost my balance…” Damien looked up at me. The warmth in his eyes had been replaced by something cold and sharp. “She’s like this and you still pushed her? What happened to you, Rachel? When did you become like this?”

He lifted Jade carefully and laid her on the couch. “You saw her fall on her own!” Damien ignored me completely, calling out toward the door: “Marcus, get in here!” His assistant Marcus pushed the door open, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Hold her.” Marcus flinched, then walked over to me and said quietly, not meeting my eyes: “I’m sorry, ma’am…” Then he took hold of my arm. Damien stood beside the couch, his expression empty of anything warm. “Kneel down and apologize to Jade. Do that, and we’ll call this even.” I stood frozen, staring at him. “What… what did you just say?” “She already deals with cramps. She’s not strong. And you hit her and shoved her.” Damien said it slowly, each word deliberate. “I’m telling you to kneel down and apologize to her.” “Damien!” My voice was shaking so badly I barely recognized it. “You want me to… kneel down? For her?” In that moment, the man standing in front of me felt like a complete stranger. It was like something cracked open in my chest, and cold air was rushing in through the hole. He scowled, impatient. “Are you deaf?” “Do you remember what you said when you were chasing me?” My tears finally broke through. I couldn’t hold them back anymore. “You said you couldn’t stand to see me upset even a little. At our wedding, you carried me the whole way down the aisle because you were afraid my feet would hurt in my heels.” From the couch, Jade let out a sharp, perfectly timed gasp of pain. I looked at her. “Drop the act. Have some self-respect.” “Rachel!” Damien snapped. He grabbed me by the shoulders and shoved down hard. My knees hit the marble floor. The pain shot straight through me. I cried out. He wasn’t done. He seized my jaw, forcing my face up toward his. His grip was crushing. “Say one more word about her. I dare you.” He leaned in close, his voice cold and cutting. “You keep throwing around words like sponsored student. You keep calling her shameless. Rachel — who do you think you are? Don’t forget: you were a charity case too. I’m the one who paid for your education.” My breath stopped. “You got where you are by getting into my bed.” He stared into my eyes, the corner of his mouth curling into something ugly. “What, now that you’ve got the ring and the title, you’ve forgotten how you got here? You actually think you’re somebody?” “Damien…” My voice came out ragged. Hollow. “You were the one who waited outside my school for three months. You said you admired me. You said you loved my spirit and felt for everything I’d been through. You said you loved me. You said you wanted to marry me and give me a home.” “You were the one who begged me to say yes. I gave up a graduate school scholarship abroad because of you. I stayed home and built a life around you.” I was nearly screaming, my vision blurred with tears. “And now you’re telling me I slept my way up?” Damien’s grip on my jaw loosened slightly, but the contempt in his eyes only deepened. “What else would you call it? Look at yourself right now, Rachel. You’re no different from a woman throwing a fit in the street. You got married, had a kid, and figured that meant you had a meal ticket for life.” “I want a divorce.” I shoved his hand away with everything I had and tried to push myself to my feet. “I can’t do this anymore. Not one more day.” Damien looked down at me, and let out a short, derisive laugh. “You think I care that much? Fine. Get divorced. But don’t come crying to me after.” He leaned down until his mouth was at my ear, his voice quiet and vicious. “Rachel, without the title, without my name behind you — you look around this city and tell me which company would hire you. Without me, you are nothing.” The hole in my chest kept filling with cold air. At some point, the pain went so deep it turned numb. I reached up and wiped my face hard. “Damien. I want a divorce. Right now. Today.” He went still for a moment — probably hadn’t expected me to mean it. “Alright. If that’s what you want.” He straightened up, smoothed out his sleeve where it had wrinkled, and put back on that cool, distant expression he wore so well. “You’ll learn soon enough.” He said nothing more to me. He turned and walked back to the couch, gently lifting Jade into his arms. “Come on. We’re going to the hospital.” Jade nestled into him, calm and content. As they passed me, she turned her head just slightly and, looking down at me still on the floor, gave me a small, silent smile. Then she tilted her head up and kissed him on the cheek, loud enough for me to hear. “You’re so good to me.” The door shut behind them. I pulled myself up slowly. I looked around the wrecked office, and somehow — I started to laugh. And then, in the middle of laughing, the tears came back. So the thing I thought had saved me — had been a joke all along. I held onto the couch and got to my feet. Dried my eyes. But there was one thing he’d forgotten. He hadn’t been the only one willing to help me back then.

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For three years, I built supply chains across Southeast Asia and carved out a billion-dollar empire for Liam Holt. The day I came back happened to be the third anniversary gala of Holt Group. I pushed open the banquet hall doors, still dusty from the road. But Liam was standing in the blazing light, arm-in-arm with the wealthy socialite Serena Walsh. That same night, Liam handed me divorce papers. “Ava, the company is under investigation for money laundering. I need Serena’s support. Don’t worry—even after the divorce, I’ll still love you.” When I said nothing, he took my hand and continued with practiced tenderness: “Serena doesn’t have your skills. I’ll still need you to guide her through the work. From now on, we’re all family.” I looked at his hollow face and signed without hesitation. Liam thought I was a vine that could only survive wrapped around him. He had no idea that the lifeblood of Holt Group was never in Serena’s hands. Once the papers were signed, Liam folded them away with satisfaction. “Thank you for your patience, Ava.” He walked over and reached out to touch my shoulder, but I stepped aside. His hand froze in mid-air. He pulled it back like nothing had happened, then reached into his suit jacket and produced a black card. “Take this. The PIN is still Noah’s birthday. The divorce is just a formality, but I know it hurts. Think of it as compensation.” I took the card and slipped it into the pocket of my mud-stained jacket. “This is the least I deserve.” My calm tone made him frown slightly. He seemed to want tears, accusations—not this cold indifference. The lounge door swung open. Serena walked in carrying two glasses of champagne, all smiles. “Mrs. Holt… oh, I mean, Ava—is that outfit custom-made from Southeast Asia? It has a certain… wild charm.” She held out a glass to me, the contempt in her eyes completely undisguised. I didn’t take it. “Miss Walsh, I’m not divorced yet. You should still be calling me Mrs. Holt.” Serena’s face went pale for a moment. She looked to Liam for help. Liam immediately smoothed things over: “Ava just got back. She’s tired—just kidding around.” He put his arm around Serena’s shoulders, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it: “Go entertain the guests. I’ll be right there.” After Serena left, the warmth faded from Liam’s face. “Ava, stop being petty. The bigger picture matters. You know I’m doing all of this for the company—for us.” “Where’s our son?” “In the side room. My assistant Ethan is with him.” I didn’t bother with another word and walked out. I pushed open the side room door. Three-year-old Noah was sitting quietly in the corner of a sofa, holding a battered old Transformer. When he saw me, his eyes lit up instantly. He scrambled across the room on his little legs. “Mommy!” I crouched down and pulled him tight against my chest. He smelled like warm milk—the same familiar scent I’d missed for three years. In those three years, I had missed so much of his growing up. “Noah’s been such a good boy.” Liam came in behind me. He crouched down too, reaching out to ruffle Noah’s hair like a devoted father. But Noah instinctively pressed closer into me. The distance between father and son made Liam’s hand freeze again. Just then, Serena followed him in, pulling a beautifully wrapped gift box from her clutch. “Noah, look—I brought you a present. It’s the brand-new LEGO Star Destroyer.” But Noah just buried his face in my neck and whispered: “Mommy, I want the one you got me.” What I’d gotten him was a marked-down toy from an airport gift shop on the way back. Serena’s expression soured. I stood up with Noah in my arms and looked at Liam. “I’m taking Noah home.” “Fine.” Liam nodded, then added: “The money laundering files—I’ll have Ethan send them over first thing tomorrow. Come up with a damage control plan as fast as you can. And Serena… help her get up to speed.” He said it like everything I did for him was simply expected. I looked at him and, for a moment, I almost laughed. “Liam, do you know what I brought back with me from this trip?” He assumed I was about to claim credit for the billion-dollar contracts, and a flicker of irritation crossed his eyes. “I know you worked hard. Don’t worry—the company’s keeping track of everything you’ve contributed.” “No.” I shook my head, and said each word clearly: “What I brought back is the engagement gift—for you and Miss Walsh.” Then I walked past him with Noah in my arms and didn’t look back. I buckled Noah into his car seat and made a call. On the other end of the line was my old partner from Wall Street. “Ava, you’re back?” “Yeah.” I watched the city lights blur past the window. “Get the debt liquidation proceedings against the Walsh Group started.” “Now? But Liam—” “No more waiting.” I cut him off. “He’s already chosen his path.” And I was choosing mine.

The next morning. Top floor of Holt Group. Ethan set a thick stack of “classified documents” in front of me, his expression uneasy. “Ms. Linne… Mr. Holt has asked that you review these materials related to the money laundering investigation. He needs a legal mitigation strategy within three days.” I glanced at the cover. “Ms. Linne?” I gave a short, humorless laugh. “Didn’t take long to change your tune.” Ethan lowered his head and said nothing. Ten minutes later, I closed the file. My eyes had gone cold. The documents were real. But the so-called “investigation targeting Holt Group” was not. The data was riddled with inconsistencies. There was no real criminal exposure here. At most, this was a smokescreen—fabricated by Liam to strip assets and shuffle funds. He had invented a crisis that didn’t exist, then used it to pressure me into signing those divorce papers. The whole thing had one purpose: to get me to step aside and make room for Serena. “Where’s Liam?” “Mr. Holt is… he’s hosting a celebration for Miss Walsh.” I stood up and walked toward the conference room. Liam stood in front of the projection screen, looking every inch the conquering hero. The screen displayed the Southeast Asia herbal supply chain—the one I’d spent three years and nearly my life building. “This breakthrough in our overseas supply chain was made possible entirely by Miss Walsh, who leveraged her family’s connections across Southeast Asia. She is the reason Holt Group has risen from the ashes!” Liam’s voice rang out, barely containing his pride. Serena sat beside him, smiling with practiced grace. The executives fell over themselves to agree: “Miss Walsh is truly remarkable—she’s only just returned and she’s already achieved something extraordinary!” I stood in the doorway and watched this farcical little theft play out. Liam spotted me. A flash of panic crossed his face, then was quickly replaced by cold dismissal. “Ava, what are you doing here? If you’re not feeling well, go rest.” He crossed the room quickly and dropped his voice low: “Serena is officially the Head of Supply Chain now. Your job is to be a ‘consultant.’ Nothing more.” I looked at him, and the last flicker of warmth in my chest went out completely. “Don’t worry, Mr. Holt,” I said evenly. “I’m only here to transfer the non-performing debt portfolio.” In the divorce agreement, I had waived all rights to real estate. The only thing I took was a three-hundred-million-dollar collection of “dead debt”—debts Holt Group had been carrying overseas for years, written off as uncollectible. When I brought it up, contempt flickered in Liam’s eyes. Those debts were loans the Walsh family had taken out overseas at punishing interest rates. Because of their age and the complicated parties involved, Liam had always treated them as worthless paper. “Take it. Holt Group doesn’t need those write-offs.” Serena walked over and reached for my hand with an air of false warmth. “Ava, don’t be angry. Liam is trying to protect you. Southeast Asia is too dangerous. From now on, leave the public-facing work to me.” Then she dropped her voice so only I could hear: “I stole your man and your credit. Isn’t that just… so embarrassing for me?” I closed my hand around her wrist. Hard. Serena gasped. The color drained from her face. “Miss Walsh,” I said, holding her gaze, each word deliberate: “Southeast Asia is full of things that can bite. A woman with your delicate constitution should be very, very careful.” Liam shoved me back, stepping between me and Serena. “Ava! What is wrong with you?!” I took one step back and smoothed the wrinkle he’d made in my jacket. “I’m not done yet.” I pulled out a debt transfer confirmation and dropped it on the table. “Mr. Holt, sign this. As of right now, the three-hundred-million-dollar debt that the Walsh family owes Holt Group is formally transferred to my name—Ava Linne.” Liam signed without even reading it. In his mind, I was venting helpless frustration. Grabbing a few scraps to get by on. He had no idea that the Walsh family was never the elite dynasty he thought it was. Serena’s father had burned through the family fortune in Southeast Asia. The three-hundred-million-dollar IOU was backed by collateral—the Walsh family’s entire equity stake in Holt Group. I walked out of the building and dialed a number. “Tell the debt collectors the Walsh debt is mine now.” “Starting tomorrow—maximum compounding interest. Send them to the Walsh family’s front door.”

Liam brought Serena into my office while I was reviewing a secondary compound analysis report on Southeast Asian herbs. “Ava, walk Serena through the core chapters of the IPO prospectus.” He leaned both hands on my desk, his tone leaving no room for debate. “Serena is handling the investor roadshow. Help her polish the presentation.” Serena settled into the leather chair across from me like she owned the place. “Ava, Liam says you’re the best at doing the grunt work.” She pulled a document out of her bag—one that had been rewritten beyond recognition—and tossed it in front of me. “All those numbers are so boring. I rewrote it as a brand story. Just work the technical data back in somehow.” I opened the so-called proposal. It was nothing but hollow buzzwords. She had even listed the herbal degradation rate as one hundred percent. If this ever went public, Holt Group would be fined into bankruptcy by regulators. “I can’t work with this.” “Miss Walsh, biotech isn’t luxury retail. Falsifying data is a federal crime.” Serena’s face fell instantly. “Liam, are you hearing this—” Liam straightened up, clearly displeased, his eyes going cold. “Ava, don’t bring your personal feelings into the office. Serena’s family connections will triple Holt Group’s market premium.” He came around behind me, leaned down, and spoke quietly into my ear: “Don’t forget—you’re still living under this roof. For Noah’s sake, you need to let Serena hold this position.” I closed my eyes for a moment. This wasn’t just an assault on my emotions. It was the murder of my professional dignity. “Fine.” I opened my eyes, keeping my voice level. “I’ll rewrite it.” Liam’s expression relaxed. He gave my shoulder a satisfied pat. “Good. There’s a charity gala tonight. Serena is attending as co-founder. You’ll be there as her accompanying consultant.” At three in the afternoon, Serena arrived with her personal stylist and took over my private lounge like she owned it. Right in front of me, she changed into a gown covered in diamond fragments. It was the dress Liam had bought at a Paris auction last year—the one he’d said was my thirtieth birthday gift. “Ava, this dress fits a little tight. Liam said it was made especially for ‘the lady of the house.’” She turned left and right in front of the mirror, then glanced at my black blazer. “You look like an office assistant. Noah will be there tonight—don’t you want to make a better impression for him?” When she mentioned Noah, I felt the air go still in my chest. Liam wanted to parade Noah at the gala to perform the image of a happy family. “Miss Walsh, a beautiful dress means nothing if the person wearing it can’t carry herself. It just looks ridiculous.” I didn’t look at her again. I picked up my laptop and walked out. In the hallway, I dialed a number. “Get the liquidation team ready. Tonight at the gala, I’m giving Mr. Holt a very special IPO gift.” Three hours later. The charity gala. Holt Group arrived in full force. Every camera in the room was aimed at Liam and Serena by his side. The press called them “the golden couple of the investment world.” And I stood in the shadows beyond the lights, holding Noah’s hand. Noah tugged at my sleeve, uneasy. “Mommy, why won’t Daddy hold our hands?” I crouched down and straightened the bow tie on his little suit. “Noah, in a little while, watch Mommy do a magic trick.” “When it’s done, we’ll be free.”

The gala was in full swing, the crystal chandeliers scattering sharp light across the hall. I was peeling a shrimp for Noah when a piercing shriek cut through the noise nearby. “Waaah! He hit me! That little brat with no dad hit me!” I spun around. Serena’s nephew was clutching his face, sobbing. And Noah had been shoved down onto the hard marble floor, a red welt forming on his forehead where it had struck the corner of a table. Serena came rushing over: “Oh my God, Tyler! Are you hurt? What kind of child does something like this? Completely out of control!” The guests nearby turned to stare, murmuring to each other: “Isn’t that the ex-wife’s kid? Figures he’d cause a scene.” “I heard his own father doesn’t want him. No wonder he’s like this.” I dropped my napkin and crossed the room in seconds, pulling Noah into my arms. He was shaking. “I didn’t push him…” Noah was crying, pointing at the pieces of his Transformer scattered across the floor. “He grabbed my toy. And he called Mommy a… a bad word.” Liam walked over, his face hard. He didn’t even glance at Noah’s injury. His first move was to pull Serena to him. Then he turned on me: “Ava! Take him outside! Why would you bring a child to something like this?” “Making a scene?” “Liam, are you blind? Look at who’s actually hurt here.” Serena leaned against Liam and dabbed at her eyes with theatrical delicacy: “Liam, it’s fine. Ava’s been raising Noah alone—it’s hard, kids act out. But Tyler is my family’s pride and joy. If my father hears about this, the investment into Holt Group…” The word “investment” landed like a trigger. Liam’s expression shifted—cold, hard, and resolute. He stared at me: “Apologize to Serena. Apologize to Tyler.” I was holding Noah. My hands were trembling. “What did you just say?” “Apologize!” Liam’s voice went harder. “Don’t let your selfishness destroy Holt Group’s future.” I looked at this man I had once fought through everything alongside, and the very last ember of warmth inside me went dark. “Alright.” I set Noah down and slowly stood up. Liam thought I was yielding. His expression eased slightly. The next second, I picked up a glass of red wine from the nearest table and threw it across Serena’s million-dollar gown without warning. Then, before anyone could react, I stepped forward and slapped her—clean and sharp. Crack. The entire hall went silent. “That one was for my son.” I held Serena’s gaze as she reeled from the blow. Then I turned to Liam. From my clutch, I pulled out the IPO prospectus he’d been guarding like his life depended on it. Under his horrified stare, I tore it apart. “Liam, the dynasty you’ve been dreaming of is nothing but a shell.” I spoke loud enough for the entire room to hear, and dropped the bombshell cold: “The Walsh family’s assets in Southeast Asia have been frozen. Serena’s three hundred million in debt is due today.” The color left Liam’s face instantly. He grabbed Serena’s wrist: “Is it true? The Walsh family—” Serena began to stammer a response, but at that moment, the gala doors burst open. Several men in black suits with hard faces pushed their way inside. The man in front held up a debt certificate stamped with Southeast Asian legal seals: “Miss Walsh—with compounding interest, that comes to three hundred and fifty million dollars. Ms. Linne sent us to collect.” Liam looked like he’d been struck by lightning. He turned to me, his eyes filled with terror and dawning regret. “Ava… what have you done?” At that moment, his phone erupted with alerts. Ethan’s voice cut through the stunned silence in the hall: “Mr. Holt! The IPO application has been rejected!” “The regulators received an anonymous tip—financial fraud. The Walsh family’s assets are all non-performing debt!” Liam collapsed into a chair. He watched my back as I walked away, and he finally understood. He had thrown away a god and welcomed a ghost into his house instead. The moment I stepped through the doors, I made the call. “Ava, what’s next?” I looked up at the stars scattered across the night sky, my voice perfectly calm: “Liquidate Liam. I want him left with nothing.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “369103”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #浪漫Romance #现实主义Realistic #重生Reborn #擦边Steamy #校园School #狼人Werewolf