Category: English

To safely deliver my twins, I splurged a quarter of a billion dollars building myself a luxury maternity center. For six months, my husband was by my side, never leaving. When I suffered a massive hemorrhage during childbirth and needed emergency care, he cried so hard he nearly fainted, vowing to cherish me forever. But the day I was discharged, he took me to his old, dilapidated pre-marriage apartment. He helped me, step by agonizing step, climb seventeen flights of stairs. His eyes were bloodshot as he tenderly wiped the cold sweat from my forehead. He said he’d had the maternity center tested, and the formaldehyde and benzene levels were dangerously high. For the safety of me and the babies, we couldn’t stay there for now. Seeing how utterly concerned he seemed, I believed him. On my first day of postpartum recovery, he brought only a bowl of plain rice porridge for me and the babies, claiming rich, meaty dishes were too greasy, and porridge was best for our stomachs right now. It wasn’t until that evening that I scrolled past a viral social media post. The background was unmistakably the top-tier suite in my maternity center. The woman in the photo was holding the premium bird’s nest I’d prepared in advance, beaming with happiness. The caption read: “My boyfriend said I’m weak after childbirth, so he’s saving the best tonics and the most luxurious maternity center in the world for me to recover.” In the photo, the hand feeding her bird’s nest wore the Patek Philippe watch I had personally given Tommy. … There were only three of those Patek Philippe watches in the world, and the initials “J.S.” were engraved on the back of the dial. There was no way I could be mistaken. I used my main account to directly “like” that post and left a comment below it. “This watch looks familiar. Where did it come from?” Less than three seconds after I sent the message, Seraphina White’s post was instantly deleted. Immediately after, my bedroom door was violently kicked open. Tommy, not even wearing slippers, snatched my phone. He pointed at my nose and yelled: “Scarlett Steele, are you insane?! Did giving birth drive you crazy?!” “That’s my colleague’s watch! He borrowed it to show off! His girlfriend is vain, so what if he borrowed my watch for a photo?!” “You just sit at home all day doing nothing but being suspicious and checking up on me. Are you having a postpartum depression episode?!” His talent for turning the tables left me utterly speechless. “Borrowed a watch? Did he borrow the person too? And the top-tier suite at the maternity center is your colleague’s as well?” I hadn’t even finished speaking when Tommy erupted in a furious rage. He lifted my phone high and smashed it violently against the floor. The screen instantly shattered into a thousand pieces, scattering everywhere. “I’m out there working myself to death every day to support this family, and you won’t even let me have some peace! You need to seriously reflect on yourself!” With that, he slammed the door shut and stormed out. In truth, he wasn’t angry about me checking up on him; he was merely using it as an excuse to completely cut off my connection to the outside world. In the middle of the night, I heard rustling clothes in the living room. Tommy whispered to the empty air: “Don’t rush, baby. I have to work overtime at the office. I’ll be right there to be with you and our son.” The security door clicked shut softly. He had slipped away. I lay on the hard wooden bed, my lower body aching as if being torn by knives. A high fever made me break out in cold sweats. I turned my head to look at my twin daughters, whimpering from hunger in the old cradle beside me. They were only a few days old, hadn’t had a proper drop of formula, and were only drinking rice water. I swallowed back tears of despair, gritting my teeth and forcing myself to get up. I pulled back the covers, enduring the searing pain of my episiotomy, and slowly, step by agonizing step, moved to the side of the bed. From a hidden compartment in my suitcase, I pulled out a backup phone and logged into the Steele Corporation’s intranet. I entered the maternity center’s business registration number. The page that popped up shocked me. Tommy had forged my signature three days ago, issuing a full power of attorney for operation! And the current actual controller was explicitly listed as Seraphina White! Not only that, I checked the logistics tracking for the imported formula. Ten whole boxes of high-priced formula I’d ordered for my twin daughters had all been intercepted, and the delivery address was the top-tier suite at the maternity center. Just then, a “ding” sounded, and a strange text message popped up. “Scarlett, thank you for the maternity center and the formula.” “Tommy said he felt bad for me giving birth to his little prince, so of course, all the good stuff should be saved for me and our precious son.” “As for you, you gave birth to two money pits and still want to throw your weight around? Stay in that dump and slowly drink your rice water.” The last shred of affection I held for him vanished. If you want to play games, let’s play to the very end. That night, I called the encrypted number of the Steele family’s private lawyer. “Mr. Archer, immediately and discreetly freeze all of Tommy’s secondary credit cards.” “Create a convincing illusion of my assets being seized. I want him to believe I’m bankrupt.” “Also, assign someone to monitor that forged power of attorney. When he tries to cash out, close the net.” The next morning. My mother-in-law, carrying a greasy woven bag, moved into the dilapidated apartment under the pretense of taking care of me during postpartum recovery. She barely glanced at her granddaughters in the cradle before heading straight into the kitchen. In less than half an hour, a nauseating, foul smell permeated the entire apartment. My mother-in-law brought a chipped porcelain bowl to my bedside and thumped it heavily on the nightstand. Floating in the bowl were several unwashed, rancid pieces of pig intestine, and a thick layer of yellow grease covered the broth. “Drink this! I specially went to the market to buy these pig intestines; they’re very nourishing and help with milk production!” The rancid stench that went straight to my head made me instantly vomit. I gagged repeatedly, reaching out to block it, and the bowl of foul soup spilled directly onto the floor. My mother-in-law froze for a second, then immediately slumped to the ground, slapping her thighs and beginning to wail dramatically. “Oh, my heavens! I don’t want to live! The soup I worked so hard to make, this heartless woman just poured it all out!” “She’s cursed to bring misfortune and ruin the family! How did our Steele family marry such an ill-fated woman who can’t even give birth to a son?!” Just then, the security door was pushed open, and Tommy, reeking of alcohol, stumbled in. He didn’t even ask what happened, immediately pointing at my nose and yelling: “Scarlett, do you have any conscience?! My mom came all this way to take care of you, and not only are you ungrateful, you dare to spill the soup she painstakingly made?!” “Do you know how hard I work every day, begging and pleading for investments to keep this family afloat? It’s bad enough you don’t appreciate me, but you stir up trouble at home every single day!” Watching the disgusting faces of this mother and son echoing each other, I fought back the urge to slap them. Seeing me ignore him, Tommy snorted coldly, helped his mother up, and went to the kitchen to pour water. From outside the door, I heard my mother-in-law and Tommy whispering their calculations: “Those two money pits don’t deserve to eat my postpartum meals? The son in Seraphina’s belly is the true heir to our Steele family!” Tommy lowered his voice in agreement: “Don’t worry, Mom. My son will inherit the family business someday.” Their words disgusted me to the extreme. Behind their backs, I discreetly activated my backup phone. And added a simple message: “Proceed as planned.” At noon, my mother-in-law went to the market to buy groceries. Bored, I scrolled through local live streams and landed on Seraphina White’s live stream, showcasing her wealth to the entire internet. She was comfortably reclined on a large bed in the maternity center, a panoramic floor-to-ceiling window behind her. In her arms, she cradled a baby boy dressed in designer infant wear. She daintily raised her right hand, displaying a massive, million-dollar pigeon’s blood ruby ring on her ring finger. “Babies, this is a surprise Tommy just gave me this morning. He says as long as I and our son are happy, he’ll pluck the stars from the sky for me.” I narrowed my eyes, staring at the diamond ring. That was the one I had pre-ordered at the Sotheby’s auction six months ago. It had just been delivered to the country, and Tommy had secretly taken it, re-gifting it to Seraphina! Just then, my mother-in-law returned from the market and leaned in beside Tommy, peering at his phone. She stared at Seraphina on the live stream, her mouth stretched into a wide grin. “Oh, that girl is truly something, giving us a robust baby boy for our Steele family!” “Unlike that useless thing in there, who bore two money pits, she deserves to be stuck in that dump!” She spoke as if I weren’t even there. Tommy didn’t refute her; instead, he took a document and walked into the bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed, feigning a troubled expression, and sighed. “Scarlett, the company’s cash flow is really tight lately, and our investors are pressuring us hard.” “Could you mortgage your pre-marital penthouse apartment for me to use? As soon as we get through this difficulty, I’ll buy you an even bigger place.” He handed the authorization form to me, even having a pen ready. I looked at the mortgage contract, riddled with loopholes, and inwardly sneered. This was a reverse gamble contract I had long since had the Steele Corporation’s legal team specially tailor. It looked identical to his authorization form, but if he dared to use this property to cash out or mortgage it to Seraphina, it would immediately trigger a massive penalty of five hundred million dollars. “Husband, since you need it urgently, I’ll sign it. You must be good to me and our daughters, okay?” I pretended not to understand anything, and in front of him, signed my name with crisp finality. Tommy saw my signature, a flash of wild joy in his eyes. He snatched the document and shoved it into his briefcase. “Don’t worry, darling. I love you the most.” He turned and left, not even bothering to keep up the pretense for another second. At dinner, Tommy, citing the need to save money, only cooked two bowls of sour plain noodles in the dilapidated apartment. One bowl for his mother, one for me. He himself only drank a glass of plain water, claiming he had an important foreign client reception at the company that night. Meanwhile, Seraphina White’s live stream on my phone was bustling with activity. She was hosting her son’s birth party at my maternity center, attended by all the renowned socialites and influencers in the city. Tommy changed into a perfectly tailored designer suit. It was one I had custom-made for him for a hundred thousand dollars from an Italian tailor, originally intended for him to wear to Tommy’s one-month celebration. He sprayed some men’s cologne in front of the mirror and rushed out the door. After Tommy left, my mother-in-law slyly crept into my bedroom. She opened my wallet, which was on the bedside table, and took out the last ten thousand dollars in cash. Then she found a red envelope, wrapped the money in it, and gleefully stuffed it into her pocket before also leaving. She thought I was too weak to get out of bed and didn’t even consider me a factor. Once the front door was thoroughly locked, I threw back the thin blanket. I ripped out the IV needle I had self-administered for my fever. I put on a sharply tailored black trench coat, slipped on flat shoes, and walked out the door. As I descended the stairs, I called the captain of the Steele family’s Blackwater security team. “Seal off the main entrance of the maternity center. Don’t let even a fly get out.” When I arrived at the maternity center’s party, the opulence was sickening. Champagne towers were stacked ten stories high, and long tables were laden with top-tier seafood flown in from overseas. I didn’t immediately cause a scene. Instead, I casually took a glass of champagne, blended into the circle of socialites on the periphery, and observed with cold eyes. In the center of the banquet hall, Tommy held Seraphina’s hand, his gaze filled with adoration. Together, they cut into a ten-tier custom-made fondant cake. All the guests began to chant: “Kiss! Kiss!” Seraphina coyly giggled, covering her mouth, then announced loudly into the microphone: “I really want to thank my husband for taking such good care of me and our baby.” “To be honest, that ex-wife is truly pathetic. She can’t even afford to stay in such a good maternity center, stuck in a slum like some country bumpkin.” Tommy shamelessly cooperated with her, putting me down. “Exactly. That woman is so unrefined and difficult. She couldn’t even give birth to a son. I’ve been fed up with her for ages. She’s nothing like our Seraphina, who is so understanding.” The surrounding guests immediately burst into laughter. The socialites gathered around Seraphina openly mocked me, a “haggard wife” they’d never met. “She’s probably some uncultured, parvenu bumpkin who’s never seen the world.” “Our Seraphina is so lucky to have such a doting man like Tommy.” I watched this circus of clowns with cold disdain. I strode out from the crowd, heading directly for the main table in the center of the hall. I had no entourage, going in alone. Having just come from that dump, my pale, drawn face and casually worn black trench coat made me look quite disheveled. Seraphina, nestled coquettishly in Tommy’s arms, caught sight of me from the corner of her eye and dramatically clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, isn’t that Scarlett? What on earth are you doing running out looking like that?” Seraphina scrutinized me, her eyes lingering on my sharply tailored Italian trench coat. She then scoffed, brazenly lying. “Sister, even if you’re bankrupt, there’s no need to wear a cheap, fifty-dollar knockoff to a luxury maternity center and make a scene, is there?” The surrounding socialites immediately let out disdainful snickers. Tommy saw me, his face darkening, and he snapped: “Scarlett! Why aren’t you at home nursing?! What are you doing making a spectacle here?! Who let you in?!” Seraphina, however, tugged at Tommy’s sleeve, speaking in a sickly sweet, manipulative tone. “Tommy, don’t blame Scarlett. She probably can’t even afford formula, so she ran here to beg us.” She deliberately raised her right hand, clearly showing off the million-dollar pigeon’s blood ruby ring to me. Then, she casually pointed to a waiter carrying a tray. “Pour that glass of red wine at her feet.” The waiter hesitated, but under Seraphina’s threatening gaze, he complied. The dark red liquid instantly splashed my flat shoes. Seraphina looked down at me, a triumphant smile on her face. “Sister, if you kneel down and wipe the wine stain off my shoe, I’ll be merciful and give your two money pits some formula. How about it?” Tommy not only didn’t stop her, but wrapped his arm around Seraphina’s waist, looking at me with utter disgust. “Everyone, please excuse us. My wife developed severe postpartum delusional disorder after giving birth. She talks nonsense all day long.” “As soon as this one-month celebration is over, I’m sending her straight to a mental hospital to get proper treatment!” With that, he turned and pointed to the large screen behind them, displaying photos of the baby boy, his face beaming with pride as he arrogantly declared: “This is the true heir of the Steele family! This is the real Crown Prince!” “Scarlett, those two money pits you bore aren’t even fit to carry my son’s shoes! They deserve to rot away in that dump!” The entire hall erupted in unrestrained laughter. The socialites surrounding Seraphina mercilessly insulted me. “So she’s a disgraced ex-wife who couldn’t even bear a son.” “Reeking of poverty, yet she dares to make a scene here. What a lunatic.” Tommy waved his hand grandly, yelling at the security guards by the door: “Security! What are you standing around for? Get this crazy woman out of here!” Just as the security guards were about to touch me. I sneered, and slowly, deliberately, reached into my trench coat pocket. I slowly, elegantly pulled out the original paternity test report I had paid a hefty sum for Seraphina to have done last night. I stared intently into Tommy’s eyes, speaking each word distinctly. “Tommy, you publicly shame your only flesh and blood, yet you cherish another man’s bastard as a treasure.” “I’m very curious to see how desperate you’ll be when you realize you’ve been serving another man’s child like royalty every day.” I savagely slapped the paternity test report onto Tommy’s face. A scanned copy of the report was projected onto the large screen. The conclusion at the bottom of the report was enlarged and bolded: Tommy Steele is excluded as the biological father of the male infant!

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To pay off my fiancé’s debts, I slaved away day and night in his family’s small workshop. Even when his parents, to save money, fired all the workers and made me do the work of five people, I gritted my teeth and accepted it. He promised that once the debts were cleared by the end of the year, he would marry me lavishly and give me a big diamond ring. But when the year-end arrived, his mother handed me a hard-seat train ticket back to my hometown, saying that a woman like me, who only knew how to do manual labor, was unworthy of him now that he had turned his fortunes around. 1 The Geller family’s workshop was exceptionally bright tonight. The moment the last batch of custom leather bags was sealed and loaded onto the logistics truck, I let out a long breath. Three million in debt, finally cleared. Looking at my calloused hands and the dense needle pricks on my fingertips, my heart felt sweet. Leo had promised me a big diamond ring and a grand wedding once the debt was paid. For that promise, even when my finger was pierced by an awl, I’d just slap on a bandage and keep working. His parents fired all the workers to save money; I took on five people’s jobs, toiling day and night. Fortunately, the hard times were over. I purposely changed into a clean dress, an old model from three years ago, but neatly pressed. Passing a cake shop, I spent fifty dollars on a small cake, thinking of it as a celebration. Pushing open the private dining room door, the cheerful chatter inside instantly ceased. Leo was gently peeling a shrimp for the woman beside him, his movements tender. She wore a Chanel suit, her makeup exquisite, an air of arrogance in her every gesture. Leo’s mother sat beside her, her face wreathed in smiles, serving the woman food. “Willow dear, eat more, look how thin you are. How will you bear me big, chubby grandchildren?” I stood frozen in the doorway, the cheap cake in my hand feeling glaringly out of place. Leo’s mother looked up, her smile vanishing instantly. “What are you standing in the doorway for? Don’t you know to close the door? The cold draft is coming in.” She waved her hand dismissively. Leo had just finished peeling the shrimp and placed it in the woman’s bowl without even glancing at me. “Since you’re here, sit down. This is Willow Crawley, our new design director. Don’t overthink it.” I wanted not to overthink it. But what design director gets peeled shrimp from the boss? What director makes that caustic Mrs. Geller smile like that? I quietly sat in the corner. The table was laden with abalone and lobster, but there wasn’t an extra set of chopsticks for me. Willow Crawley glanced at me, covering her mouth with a soft chuckle: “Liam, is this the capable ‘big sister’ you mentioned? She looks so… down-to-earth.” Mrs. Geller interjected: “Isn’t she? Just destined for rough work. Nothing like you, Willow, enjoying an office job.” At the dinner table, they chatted about the company’s future IPO plans, about traveling to ten countries across continents. No one mentioned my wedding, or the promised diamond ring. I took a deep breath, interrupting their grand visions: “Leo, the debt is cleared. When are we getting married?” The air froze instantly. Willow Crawley put down her chopsticks, looking at Leo with a smirk. Mrs. Geller slammed her chopsticks onto the table, making a sharp sound. She pulled a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket and slapped it in front of me. “Married? Married to what? Amy, you’re too clueless.” I recognized the paper. It was a hard-seat train ticket back to my hometown for tomorrow morning. “The debt’s cleared, you should go back to your hometown and rest. This is tomorrow morning’s ticket. No need to thank me.” Mrs. Geller’s tone was matter-of-fact, as if she were dismissing a beggar. I looked at Leo in disbelief: “What does this mean?” Leo lowered his head, sipping his soup, avoiding my gaze, his voice muffled: “Mom is doing this for your own good. You’re too tired. Go back and rest for a while.” “Rest? Are you trying to get rid of me?” My voice trembled. Willow Crawley laughed. “Oh, don’t say such harsh things. It’s mainly that the workshop is moving towards a high-end route, dealing with the upper crust.” She looked me up and down, her gaze settling on my scarred hands. “Your artisan style is too rustic. Those hands are rough as bark. What if you damage top-grade leather? Even selling the company wouldn’t cover the cost. Leo is now Mr. Geller. He can’t have a factory worker for a wife, can he? How undignified.” I stared intently at Leo: “Is this also what you mean?” Leo finally looked up, his eyes evasive yet tinged with impatience: “Amy, Willow is the daughter of a leather factory owner; she can bring resources to the company. You… what can you do besides mend things? One needs to know their place.” Three years of ceaseless toil, in his words, became “only good for mending things.” Yet, when he knelt before me, begging for help, he called me a “modern-day master craftsman.” I didn’t cry, didn’t make a scene, didn’t grow hysterical. I picked up the train ticket and, in front of them, tore it into tiny pieces. “Leo, don’t regret this later.” Mrs. Geller rolled her eyes: “Regret? Regret not making you pay for this meal? Get out, seeing you turns my stomach!” I turned and left, Willow Crawley’s triumphant giggle echoing behind me. 2 I returned to the workshop, not for sentimentality, but to retrieve my livelihood. That set of tools was a gift from my master when I started my apprenticeship; some had been with me for ten years. I had just opened the toolbox when Willow Crawley, arm in arm with Leo, followed me in. She covered her nose, a look of disgust on her face: “Liam, what’s that smell in here? So foul, like the sweat of common laborers.” Leo chuckled apologetically: “I’ll have someone spray air freshener right away. We just finished a rush order.” I ignored the despicable pair, reaching for my specialized awl and trimming knife. “Hey! What are you doing!” Willow Crawley suddenly shrieked. Mrs. Geller appeared out of nowhere, grabbing my toolbox. “Amy, why are your hands so dirty? You’re fired, and you still want to steal company property?” I looked at her coldly: “These are my own tools. My name is engraved on them.” I had scrimped and saved for two years for this set of tools; every knife was custom-made from top-grade steel. Leo frowned, walked over, and pushed my hand away. “Amy, don’t be so petty. Willow just took over the design department and needs some handy tools. Just leave these old things for her to practice with. I’ll buy them from you.” Buy? Every penny he had now, I had earned for him. “Not for sale.” I reached out to grab them. Willow Crawley, quick-witted, snatched my most cherished century-old sandalwood pony clamp. It was an heirloom passed down from my master, used to hold leather in place, and utterly irreplaceable on the market. “This wood looks nice, dark. I can just chop it up to brew tea; it has an antique flavor.” She knocked the pony clamp against the table corner with loud thuds. My rage instantly flared. “You wouldn’t dare!” I rushed to retrieve it, but Leo pushed me away. My foot slipped, and I fell hard into the scattered leather scraps. My palm landed on a discarded leather cutting blade. Excruciating pain. Blood instantly stained the floor. Leo didn’t even glance at me, anxiously pulling Willow Crawley closer: “Willow, are you okay? Didn’t hurt your hand, did you?” Willow Crawley coyly snuggled into his arms: “You scared me to death, her eyes are so fierce, like she wants to eat people.” Mrs. Geller pointed at my nose and cursed: “Defying heaven! Still daring to fight back? Believe it or not, I’ll call the police!” I picked myself up from the floor, blood dripping from my palm. Looking at this shameless trio, I burst out laughing. “Fine, keep your things.” “I just fear that these high-end tools might be too much for certain delicate claws to handle.” I took nothing, walking out the door empty-handed. Outside, it was raining heavily, cold water washing away the bloodstains on my hand. It hurt, but I felt clear-headed. My phone vibrated. Leo sent a Venmo transfer: 200 dollars. Note: Travel expenses, don’t think it’s too little. I’ve been more than generous. I stared at the number and simply turned off my phone. 3 Less than two hours after leaving the Geller family workshop, I found myself sitting in a coffee shop. The wound on my hand had been simply bandaged. Just then, a news notification popped up on my phone. A certain international luxury brand was recruiting a chief restorer in this city. I looked at my calloused hands and dialed the number. After receiving a reply, I turned on the camera in the Geller family workshop. I had had it installed previously when things went missing from the workshop. At this moment, the Geller family workshop was filled with a joyful atmosphere. Their big client, “Mr. Smith,” had placed an urgent additional order. This order involved three top-grade Himalayan crocodile skins, priceless, and represented the Geller family’s first big score after turning their fortunes around. If done well, the Geller family could enter the ranks of high-end manufacturing. Mrs. Geller was beaming, praising her new daughter-in-law for bringing prosperity to her son. “See, Willow arrives and a big order comes in, unlike that jinx who only knew how to work herself to death.” In the workshop, Willow Crawley looked at the three skins, her brows furrowed. “What kind of skin is this? It smells fishy, disgusting.” She had someone bring several bottles of cheap, strong perfume and sprayed it generously onto the million-dollar skins. “To get rid of the smell, otherwise how can Mr. Smith use them?” An old worker nearby tried to advise: “Director Crawley, this leather can’t come into contact with chemical agents…” “Shut up! Am I the university graduate or are you? Do you understand what ‘fragrance treatment’ is?” Willow Crawley snapped. Then, to speed up the process, she complained that natural air drying was too slow. “Turn on that dryer, full power, blow directly on them! They must be dry tonight!” Crocodile skin relies heavily on activity and oil balance; high temperatures are strictly forbidden. Even more fatally, when it came to the stitching phase, Willow Crawley, holding my set of tools, had no idea how to use them. The diamond chisel felt like an iron block in her hands; after a few taps, she complained her hand hurt. “What kind of broken tools are these, so outdated!” She threw down the chisel and had someone fetch an electric drill meant for renovations. “Use this to drill the holes, quickly!” As the drill whirred, the originally taut, delicate, and snow-mountain-gradient colored crocodile skin began to shriek. The high temperature caused the leather fibers to break, and the surface quickly wrinkled and cracked. The violent drilling created ugly, blown-out holes. Three hours later, Leo looked at the three pieces of leather on the table, wrinkled like old tree bark, and felt a little panicky. “Willow, this… why does this look different from what Amy used to make?” Willow Crawley swept her hair back, brimming with confidence: “What do you know? This is the current ‘aged style,’ it’s artistic! Foreigners like Mr. Smith love this unique, imperfect beauty the most.” “Really?” “Of course, I’m a professional. This is called Vintage style, it’s even more expensive than new!” I laughed inwardly; this family actually believed her, still immersed in the dream of millions about to come in. I turned off my phone, no longer caring about their self-destructive behavior, and began preparing for my interview a few days later. When the French interviewer looked at my portfolio and then at my scarred hands, he said only one sentence: “Start tomorrow, annual salary of one million. Miss Lin, we need your hands.” I signed the contract, walked out of the building, and the rain had stopped. 4 On my first day at work, I scrolled through Leo’s social media. A nine-grid post, all photos of Willow Crawley wearing a large diamond ring, with the city’s most luxurious hotel as the backdrop. The caption: [Finally met the right person, this is a soulmate. For the rest of my life, please advise me.] The location showed they had booked the entire place; I heard it cost two hundred thousand. And they used Mr. Smith’s newly transferred deposit. In the comments, Mrs. Geller replied: [Ten thousand times better than that country bumpkin who only knew how to work! My son has excellent taste!] I sneered, just about to toss my phone aside, when an unknown number called. It was the gatekeeper’s number from the Geller family workshop. But I knew it definitely wasn’t the gatekeeper calling now. The moment I answered, Leo’s furious roar nearly deafened me. “Amy! You b*tch! Did you tamper with the leather? Why did all the skins crack?” It turned out Mr. Smith had just inspected the goods. Seeing the three crocodile skins “aged” into rags, the foreigner erupted on the spot. Not only did he return the goods, but he also demanded ten times the compensation as per the contract. That was a full fifteen million! I held the phone a little further away, replying coolly: “Leo, a brain is a good thing to have. When I left, the leather was locked in the warehouse, and the key was in Willow Crawley’s hand. What, did your university-educated expert not tell you that crocodile skin is most afraid of high-temperature drying and alcohol sprays?” Silence on the other end for a few seconds. Clearly, Willow Crawley hadn’t dared to tell the truth. Leo’s tone softened slightly, but still carried a commanding edge: “Alright, stop sulking. Come back quickly and fix this batch of skins. As long as you fix them, I might consider letting you be Willow’s assistant and I’ll pay you a salary.” “Assistant? Leo, are you still dreaming?” I almost laughed out loud. “I am now Cartier’s specially appointed chief restorer, earning five thousand an hour. Want to hire me? Fine, get in line. There are three other luxury brands waiting ahead of you.” “What BS are you spouting! With your looks…” Before he could finish, I hung up and immediately sent him a photo. It was the first page of the contract I had just signed, clearly stating: Top Leather Goods Restoration Expert, Annual Salary of One Million (after tax). After sending it, I blocked him. Ten minutes later, a commotion erupted downstairs at the company. The Geller family trio had actually shown up. Mrs. Geller charged at the front, pouncing like a mad dog, trying to scratch my face. “Amy! You ungrateful wretch who watched us die! How can your heart be so vicious! You could fix it, so why didn’t you?!” Colleagues crowded around, curious onlookers, and security guards were rushing over. Willow Crawley hid behind Leo, crying tearfully, pointing at me and shouting: “It’s you! You deliberately didn’t teach me! Those tools must have been tampered with by you, otherwise how could I have made such mistakes!” Leo, thinking he had found my weakness, yelled loudly: “Everyone, come and see! This is a tramp I dumped, and now for revenge, she’s trying to destroy my ex-boyfriend’s family!” Colleagues whispered, their eyes complex. At this moment, I no longer held back. I pulled a document from my bag and flung it directly at Mrs. Geller’s face. The papers scattered across the floor. “This is my lawyer’s letter. For those three years at the workshop, I never signed a labor contract and never received a single penny in wages. I have records of all the accounts. According to labor law, you owe me one million eight hundred thousand in salary and overtime pay.” “Furthermore, the set of tools Willow Crawley destroyed, that pony clamp is a Qing Dynasty antique, valued at three hundred thousand. And that diamond chisel she threw away is a discontinued item.” I stepped closer, my gaze like a knife. “Pay up!” Mrs. Geller was startled by my imposing presence and collapsed onto the ground. “You… you’re extorting us!” “Whether I am or not, we’ll see in court. The evidence is irrefutable; you can’t deny it.”

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In the eighth year of our marriage, my husband sent me nine hundred ninety-nine roses. Fresh off the operating table, I calmly dialed his number and asked for a divorce. From the other end of the line, I heard his young girlfriend’s tearful apology: “Mrs. Steele, it’s all my fault for acting on my own. Please don’t be angry with Mr. Steele.” Julian softly comforted her for a long time, only turning to me to say: “As you wish.” It was half a month later before I saw him again. 1 “Make me some noodles.” Logan Steele arrived home in the early hours, the kitchen devoid of the warm meal that usually awaited him. His handsome brows furrowed instinctively as he gave me the order before heading straight for the bathroom. When he emerged, cloaked in a cloud of steam, I was still staring absently at the TV screen, not even bothering to turn my head. He pulled a designer bag from his suitcase: “Look, do you like it?” It was a pink bag, clearly a style favored by younger women. In the past, he’d charm me by taking me to do anything I desired. Now, all that remained were these hollow gifts, a mere formality. I couldn’t be bothered to glance at it, casually changing the channel. “When do you have time for a divorce?” Logan was busy, so busy that even our anniversary gift had to be chosen by his female secretary. So, when it came to scheduling, I was always the one who had to adapt to him. “Don’t be ridiculous, Seraphina didn’t know you hated roses. It won’t happen again.” The man poured himself a small glass of whiskey and settled onto the single armchair opposite me, a faint, sardonic smile playing on his lips. Seraphina White was Logan’s childhood friend, devoted to him since they were kids. The moment she graduated university, she eagerly became his personal assistant. They were inseparable, even sharing a suite on business trips. Honestly, I didn’t blame Seraphina for clinging to Logan. A fly doesn’t bother an egg with no cracks. If he hadn’t given her an opening, no woman could have gotten close. I yawned dramatically, tears unconsciously welling in the corners of my eyes. After a long silence from me, Logan seemed to assume the matter was closed. He asked about our seven-year-old son Julian’s latest test scores. I shook my head. “I don’t know.” I wasn’t intentionally withholding information to spite Logan. I genuinely didn’t know. The Steele family believed in elite education, and Julian had been raised in the family estate since childhood, with every day meticulously scheduled with various lessons. It was laughable, really; Julian was my son, yet the times I saw him were few and far between. I had cried and raged about it, but the Steele family remained unmoved. In their eyes, my marriage into the Steele family was a blessing from my ancestors. Anything else was pure fantasy. Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, urging me to focus more on Julian. “At this rate, Seraphina will be more like Julian’s mother than you are.” I understood what he meant. Yesterday was Friday, the only day I was permitted to pick Julian up from school. I arrived an hour early, waiting until dark, until the school gates closed. Seraphina then called to inform me that Mrs. Steele had asked her to pick Julian up for dinner at the estate. Through the phone, I could hear Logan’s voice. He was laughing as he asked Seraphina if she wanted some soup. My thoughts snapped back to the present. I gave Logan a brittle, mocking smile. “Well, doesn’t that suit you perfectly? I’ll leave right away, and she can take over as the esteemed Mrs. Steele.” Something in my words seemed to sting Logan. He fell silent for a few seconds, then erupted in a furious outburst. “My patience has its limits. Eliza Maxwell, stop playing these games.” The man stood up and took a couple of steps. I spoke in a flat, indifferent tone. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. I had a miscarriage.” 2 A month ago, on the night he rushed out after Seraphina’s call to shield her from drinks, I was writhing in agonizing abdominal pain. I drove myself to the emergency room, only to be told I was over two months pregnant, the baby had no heartbeat, and it was a biochemical pregnancy. The most absurd part was feeling a wave of relief when I heard the news. As I walked out of the operating room alone, I thought, it’s time to end this. In the living room, Logan stood with his back to me, gripping his whiskey glass so tightly his knuckles were white. He didn’t question why I hadn’t contacted him. He knew exactly how many times I had called him that night. Unfortunately, there had been no answer. “It’s probably for the best. It just proves you’re not cut out to be a mother.” Logan walked towards his study, shutting the door with practiced ease. Eight years of marriage, countless arguments and disagreements. I was always the one to initiate a truce. This time, however, Logan waited, but no soft knock ever came. Half an hour later, he opened his study door. He searched the expansive house, but my presence was nowhere to be found. I was Logan’s first love. No one could have imagined that a brilliant, aloof rich kid would fall for a rebellious “bad girl” who spent her days smoking and clubbing. Our first meeting wasn’t exactly romantic. In a murky, reeking alley, the star student was being shaken down by some thugs. I happened to ride by, and one of them whistled suggestively at me. So I rode my bike straight into the crowd, teaching the punks a lesson, and, in a strange twist of fate, saved the introverted rich boy from a crisis. After that, Logan clung to me like a shadow. He’d wait for me after school, following me around, no matter how much I tried to shake him off. He sent me roses, which I’d coldly dump in the toilet and then toss back onto his desk. He meticulously prepared expensive lunches for me, which I’d casually hand over to beggars on the street. My friends would tease me about having a rich, lovesick puppy. Everyone could see we were from different worlds. But this was the same person who, when my alcoholic father beat me so badly I couldn’t go to school, forcefully broke into our house, scooped up my bruised body, and rushed me to the hospital. As the doctor stitched me up, he stood with his back to me, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably, his hand constantly wiping at his face. The doctor, both puzzled and amused, asked him why he was crying when he wasn’t the one hurt. He said he didn’t know why, but his chest felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. He even foolishly asked the doctor if he needed an EKG to check his heart. In the hospital room, Logan awkwardly peeled an apple. “I never want to feel this terrible again. Eliza, please don’t get hurt anymore, I’m begging you.” I ate the popsicle he’d bought me, mumbling a “yes,” then glared at him fiercely. “So, are you going to be my boyfriend or not?” The entire day, both of us were blushing, unable to say another word. I had told Logan a secret no one else knew. Every time my dad got drunk and beat my mom half to death, a withered rose, a token of apology, would appear in the house the next day. So, if he ever wanted to break up with me, he didn’t need to say a word. Just one rose. “Silly, we’ll be together forever.” The eighteen-year-old boy held me tight, refusing to let me speak any more foolish words. 3 To escape my father’s constant harassment, Logan took me with him to study abroad. His own father, determined to force us apart, cut off all his financial support. Back then, besides attending classes, we both worked two part-time jobs every day. Those days were incredibly hard and busy, yet even during the short breaks while brushing our teeth, we couldn’t help but goof around and laugh. In our tiny apartment, we’d argue and make up, our eyes filled with only each other. If only life could have stayed like that forever… “Mrs. Maxwell? Are you feeling alright?” The doctor’s concern brought me back to reality. Today was my third day out of the mansion, and my insomnia had worsened. As I walked alone to pick up the sleeping pills the doctor prescribed, I bumped into Seraphina. “Eliza, why are you at the hospital by yourself?” Seraphina blinked innocently. Seeing my silence, she added with an exaggerated look of sympathy, “I heard Logan say something about your baby… don’t worry, you’re both still so young, you’ll definitely have another one.” “Don’t worry, there won’t be another one.” The words were barely out of my mouth when I saw Logan approach, his face dark and stony. I didn’t know why he was angry, only that he was gripping a medicated spray in his hand. Seraphina, in a sugary voice, told me she hadn’t been careful going up some steps and had twisted her ankle. She insisted it was a minor injury that didn’t warrant a hospital visit, blaming Logan for forcing her to come and making her miss work. It was my turn to collect my medication. Seeing the bag in my hand, Logan couldn’t help but ask, “What’s wrong with you?” When I ignored him and started to walk away, he snatched the medicine from my hand and opened it to look inside. “Insomnia? When did you start having this problem? Eliza, I’m talking to you. Tell me, how long are you going to keep this up?” Logan assumed my leaving home was just another impulsive whim, a new tactic to get his attention. So, even now, he hadn’t bothered to find out where I’d been staying or what I’d been doing for the past few days. The man’s voice rose, colder and louder than intended, drawing the curious glances of those around us. A flicker of annoyance crossed my eyes. I took the medicine back from him and said in a quiet, even tone, “I’m not ‘keeping this up’.” Perhaps my voice was too soft, too calm. Logan seemed to interpret it as a sign of weakness. He offered to drive me home first, then take Seraphina back to the office. But I shook my head. “Work is more important. I can get back on my own.” When I said “back,” I meant to my own home.

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I’m incredibly prone to allergies. The first time I went to my boyfriend’s for dinner, he handed his mother an A4 sheet of paper. “Riley is allergic to seafood, mangoes, strawberries, eggs, milk, beef, lamb… so please don’t use them when you cook.” But there were just so many allergens. It was only after dinner that his mother remembered. “I added a spoon of oyster sauce to the greens earlier, Riley. You’re not feeling unwell, are you?” Under their concerned gazes, I slowly shook my head. “No, but aren’t I allergic to seafood…?” My parents had told me all this. Because of it, from a young age, only vegetables were placed in front of me, while all the fish and meat went to my younger brother. I was often mocked by him— “Born with no taste buds.” Still disbelieving, after a long period of mental preparation, I drank a glass of milk, ate a piece of mango, and tried a large chunk of steak… No reaction, nothing. I couldn’t help but burst into tears. 1 Stark’s mother was an exceptionally thoughtful woman. She knew about my allergies. A table full of eight dishes, all vegetarian. She untied her apron and spoke with a touch of apology. “Riley, I know you’re allergic to seafood, mangoes, beef, lamb, and over 20 other foods.” “So, I made all vegetarian dishes, and even went light on the salt.” “Please try it and see if it suits your taste.” This careful kindness warmed my heart. I ate small mouthfuls of rice, feeling both reserved and grateful. However, when a bite of stir-fried greens entered my mouth, I froze. It tasted better than any plain stir-fried vegetable dish I had ever eaten in my life. I couldn’t help but blurt out: “Auntie, these greens… they’re delicious! Much better than what we have at home. Did you use any special seasoning?” The moment the words left my lips, Stark’s mother’s face changed as if she’d remembered something, and she slapped her thigh. “Oh dear!” Her voice was filled with panic. “I remember now! I added a spoonful of oyster sauce while stir-frying the greens to enhance the flavor! Oyster sauce… it has oyster extract, which is seafood!” The air froze instantly. Stark’s face went white. He threw down his chopsticks, pulled me up abruptly, and rushed towards the bathroom: “Do you feel a tightness in your throat? Difficulty breathing? I’ll take you to the hospital right away!” His mother also panicked, following behind, her voice trembling. They pushed me in front of the sink, my ears filled with the rushing water and their anxious urging. “Rinse your mouth quickly! Several times!” But I just stared blankly at my reflection in the mirror, my mind empty. “No, I don’t feel uncomfortable at all.” “But aren’t I allergic to seafood…?” I stood in front of the bathroom mirror. The face in the mirror was flushed with health, eyes clear. No redness. No rashes. I tried to take a deep breath, once, then again. There was no tightness in my chest, my breathing was steady. Everything was exactly as usual. Yet my parents had adamantly told me I had a severe seafood allergy. The kind that would cause breathing difficulties, full-body swelling, even anaphylactic shock and death, if I merely touched it. “Riley, if it’s really bad, should we go to the emergency room right now? Don’t try to be brave.” Stark’s mother’s voice came from beside me. She held a glass of water, her hand still trembling slightly. Her worry was so genuine, so real, that it brought with it an overwhelming sense of absurdity. I shook my head. For the first time in twenty years, I doubted the “allergy” that had been deeply ingrained in my life. My voice was a little dry. “Auntie, I… I seem to be fine.” Stark released my hand, but his brows were still furrowed. “But didn’t you say… your parents said you had a severe allergy? Even a tiny bit would…” His words were cut off by his mother’s urgent interruption. “Riley, it’s good that you’re alright.” Stark’s mother’s eyes held a hesitant, unspoken message. There was panic, there was indecision. And a hidden hint. The rest of the meal, I couldn’t taste anything. Every bite was like chewing on wax. 2 When Stark drove me home, he tried to speak several times, his lips moving, but he ultimately just gripped the steering wheel in silence. It wasn’t until the car came to a stop beneath my old apartment building that he finally turned off the engine, faced me, and quietly asked, “Are you okay?” It was then that I snapped back to reality, realizing my hands and feet were icy cold. “I’m so sorry,” I forced a smile that was uglier than a grimace. “I wasn’t myself today. My first time meeting your parents, and I caused such a scene. I hope your family isn’t too shaken.” Stark sighed, reaching out to gently ruffle my hair. “Silly, Mom won’t think anything of it. She was just worried about you. Go on up, take a hot shower, get a good night’s sleep, and everything will be fine when you wake up.” I nodded, unbuckled my seatbelt, and opened the door to get out. “Riley, please don’t overthink this,” Stark called after me. “Call me anytime if you need anything.” “Okay.” But how could I not overthink it? My mind was in chaos. These past twenty years of my life felt like a meticulously woven lie, now abruptly unraveling. Back in my tiny rental apartment, I didn’t even bother to turn on the lights. In the dark, I fumbled for my phone. My first action was to order a lot of takeout. All the foods I had previously dared not even imagine, let alone eat. Milk, mangoes, steak, roasted chicken… and even a steaming portion of seafood fried rice. I arranged them one by one on the table. Picking up the carton of milk that once filled me with dread, I twisted open the cap and carefully took a small sip. The warm liquid slid down my throat, carrying a faint milky aroma. I held my breath, waiting. Waiting for my skin to itch, my throat to tighten. But nothing happened. I picked up a piece of mango, then put it into my mouth. Next was the steak; I clumsily cut a piece with a plastic knife and fork, chewing it fiercely. Roasted chicken, cake… I tried them all. Bite after bite. Greedily, almost frantically, I put them into my mouth. Yet, my body showed no adverse reactions whatsoever. My stomach felt full as never before, but my heart was as empty as a bottomless black hole. I stared blankly, putting down my chopsticks. Looking at the empty containers, which I had devoured. Suddenly, a colossal, inexpressible sorrow. Like a tsunami, it crashed over me. The tears streamed down, unstoppable. The scene before me blurred, yet my memories surfaced with crystal clarity. 3 Our family dinner table was always sharply divided. The side closer to my parents and brother was always steaming hot, fragrant with food. Shiny braised pork. Succulent hairy crabs. But on the other side of the table, in front of me, there was always only a plate of boiled greens and a bowl of white rice. The greens, blanched in water, without oil, just sprinkled with a little salt, lay limply on the plate. My brother sat opposite, eating large mouthfuls of meat, his face gleaming with grease, while not forgetting to mock me with his childish yet malicious voice: “Sis, you truly have no taste buds! Look at you, poor thing, just eating grass.” He would even deliberately bring his oily hand close to my face, letting me smell the aroma, then giggle, watching the longing and restraint in my eyes. Mom would give the last spare rib to my brother. And her gaze never once spared a glance for me. She just kept repeating the same words I’d heard since childhood: “Riley can’t eat that, severe allergy, it’ll kill her.” These words, like an invisible chain, bound me tightly. At school, other students went to the cafeteria for their meals. They paid for their food and could choose from a variety of hot dishes. My lunch, however, was always a packed meal of boiled vegetables made by my parents. A cold lunchbox. Inside, only a few blanched greens. And some dry, hard rice. No changes. No surprises. My lunchbox stood in stark contrast to the abundant meals of my classmates. I always sat quietly in a corner by myself, quickly finishing the bland food. Afraid of being seen by classmates. Afraid of them curiously asking, “Riley, why do you always eat that?” I dreaded those strange looks. The consequence of long-term malnutrition was that my body was smaller than my peers, my hair was dull and yellow, and my complexion was pale. During P.E. class, when we ran the 800-meter race, I was always the last one, my vision blurring and feeling nauseous halfway through. When my teacher asked about my well-being, my parents would simply say: “This child has an allergic constitution, she’s naturally weak.” That year I was seven, and seeing the plump, tender hard-boiled egg in my brother’s bowl, I finally couldn’t resist. While Mom was in the kitchen scooping soup, I, with lightning speed, poked a small piece of egg white with my chopsticks and popped it into my mouth. It was the first time I tasted egg; it was fragrant and soft. But before the taste could fully melt on my tongue, a hand fiercely grabbed my ear. Mom’s face was contorted with anger, her sharp voice almost piercing my eardrum: “What did you steal?!” She rushed over, grabbed my chin, and forcefully poured saltwater into my mouth. The bitter, salty water made me cough violently, tears and snot streaming down. She wasn’t done, using two fingers to forcefully dig into my throat. “Spit it out! Spit it out! Do you want to die?!” My stomach churned, and I threw up uncontrollably, leaning over the cold toilet. That humiliation and pain, like a branding iron, were deeply etched into my childhood. From then on, I developed a physiological fear of those so-called “allergens.” My body would instinctively reject them, my brain would sound an alarm, telling me, that is danger, that is death. I never dared touch anything that might cause me an allergic reaction again. But today, I ate oyster sauce, roasted chicken, steak, mangoes, drank milk… I ate all the forbidden things, yet I was perfectly fine. I lay on the cold floor, curled into a ball, shaking with sobs. Twenty-seven years. A full twenty-seven years. I lived in this colossal lie, like a donkey with blinders pulling a millstone, deprived of the right to taste the world’s delicacies, and branded with the label of “frail and sickly.” 4 The next day was Sunday, and my mother’s phone call summoned me home, her tone allowing no refusal. At the dinner table, the same clear division, which I was long accustomed to but now found utterly ironic, remained. My father and brother’s side was laden with braised pork hock, sweet and sour ribs, and a steamed sea bass proudly sat in the center. My side, however, still only had a plate of boiled greens, not a single speck of oil visible. And a bowl of white rice. Just yesterday, I might have felt a pang of injustice from the savory aroma of meat, but now, only cold mockery remained in my heart. Honestly, I truly didn’t understand. Our family wasn’t poor at all. Both my parents worked in public institutions, with stable incomes. Not incredibly rich, but certainly not so destitute that I had to live like a child from a bygone era. Yet, they begrudged me even a single bite of meat, going so far as to concoct the malicious lie of a “severe allergy,” reinforcing this impression in my ears day after day. “Riley,” My mother spoke first, carefully picking a fish bone from a piece of fish and placing it in my brother’s bowl, her eyes, however, darting towards me. “How was Stark’s mother yesterday? Did she give you a welcome gift?” Her eyes darted around, the cunning and greedy glint almost spilling from her sockets. Stark’s mother did give one, a thick red envelope, saying it was ten thousand and one dollars, for a “one in a million” good omen. But looking at my mother’s calculating face, I simply lowered my gaze. “No.” The fake smile on my mother’s face instantly dropped, her lips downturned, and her voice became sharp. “No? How can there be none?!” “That’s so rude! First visit, not a penny to show for it? This kind of family won’t do, too much trouble, you’ll suffer for it later!” She began to calculate to herself: “Since their family is so stingy, the bride price can’t be small! It must be twenty-eight thousand eight hundred, not a penny less! I raised you this big, provided you with good food and drink, I can’t have done it for nothing, can I?” Good food and drink? My gaze slowly fell on the plate of boiled greens in front of me. What a grand joke. “So, how much dowry are you preparing for me?” My mother froze for a moment, then self-righteously said, “Dowry? What dowry does a girl need? We’ll buy you a few new blankets, and you’ll marry off splendidly, that’s enough.” “Oh,” I nodded, “Actually, Stark and I discussed it. Modern weddings are popular now, and we’re not planning to ask for a bride price.” “No!” My brother, forgetting to chew his ribs, his eyes wide. “Sis, if you don’t ask for a bride price, how will I get the money to marry my girlfriend? My girlfriend said her family won’t agree to anything less than a twenty thousand dollar bride price!” The moment the words left his mouth, everyone at the dinner table revealed different expressions. My father quietly lowered his head and ate, pretending not to exist. My mother’s face turned red then white, she glared fiercely at my brother, and quickly smoothed things over. “Eat your food! Children shouldn’t interrupt adults!” She turned back to me, her tone softening, with a hint of coaxing. “Riley, don’t say things in anger. Eat first.” Alright, eat. Under their three stunned gazes, I reached out my chopsticks, crossed that invisible line in the middle of the table, and steadily picked up a piece of braised pork hock from my brother’s plate. Then, right in front of them, I took a big bite. “You’re crazy!” My mother finally reacted, letting out a shriek, her whole body springing from her chair, her hand trembling as she pointed at me. “Do you want to die?! Spit it out! Quickly!” Her voice was identical to when I stole the egg years ago, filled with that ingrained horror. “But Mom, I don’t feel uncomfortable at all.”

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The word “divorce” hit me just as I picked up a piece of braised pork. “Let’s do it,” Liam said, setting down his chopsticks. His tone was as casual as if he were mentioning a business trip tomorrow. I bit into the pork, chewed twice, and swallowed. “Alright.” He froze. His chopsticks hovered mid-air for five seconds, then another five. I kept eating. The braised pork, rich with sauce, was perfectly cooked – a dish I’d spent forty minutes preparing. He never touched his chopsticks again. After finishing the last piece, I got up to clear the table. As I passed him, he grabbed my wrist. “Audrey, did you hear me clearly? I said divorce.” I looked down at his hand, then up at him. “I said, alright.” His grip loosened. I walked into the kitchen and turned on the faucet. The rushing water drowned out everything. Including the gentle flutter I felt in my lower belly when my hand instinctively touched it. 01 The faucet turned off, and the kitchen fell silent. I dried my hands and pulled my phone from my apron pocket. Sarah’s message was still lit up, sent three minutes ago: “Business license approved, pick it up tomorrow.” I replied “Got it” and put the phone back. Liam leaned against the dining room doorframe, arms crossed. “That’s it? You’re not going to ask why?” I untied my apron, folded it neatly, and placed it by the stove. This apron, cream-colored linen with a small daisy embroidered on the corner, was a gift from him our first year of marriage. Three years on, the embroidery was frayed. “No need to ask,” I said. His jaw tightened. Having known Liam for six years, I recognized that expression well. He was waiting for me to cry, to make a scene, to grab his sleeve and demand: Is there someone else? Did your mother say something again? Then he could storm out, leaving behind a classic line: You’re always so unreasonable. I’d played this script for three years, knowing the lines by heart. But not today. “So… Monday, at the courthouse?” he probed. “Sure. Morning or afternoon?” “Morning. Nine o’clock.” “Alright. I’ll set an alarm.” I walked past him to the bedroom. Though “bedroom” wasn’t quite right. After our big fight three months ago, he moved to the study. I slept alone in the master bedroom. In this 1400 square-foot apartment, we each occupied a half, separated by a hallway and three months of silence. I locked the door and pulled open the innermost drawer of the wardrobe. Beneath the drawer lay a file. Inside was a newly signed apartment lease, a bank card I’d had for three years, a brand-new family registry book, and today’s detailed ultrasound report. On the report, a tiny figure was curled up, its limbs clearly visible. Thirty-two weeks. Eight months. My hand rested on my belly; beneath my loose loungewear, my pregnancy was quite noticeable. But Liam wouldn’t know. He hadn’t really looked at me for three months. 02 Monday, at the registry office. The divorce cooling-off period application forms lay on the windowsill, one for each of us. Liam finished quickly and slid his over to me. He used that Montblanc pen. A limited edition I’d queued three hours for last Valentine’s Day. He’d glanced at it then, saying, “Keep the box, I’ll put it in my office.” The pen was given away, but the box remained. The irony struck me now. I signed my form with the ballpoint pen from the counter. The clerk took the forms, her face expressionless. “Thirty-day cooling-off period. Both parties must return to collect the certificate when it expires.” Leaving the office, the November wind gusted into my collar. I wrapped my coat tighter. This coat was two sizes too big, a loose black style, like a flag draped over me. Sarah had specially chosen it two months ago. “To hide the belly, who’d ever notice?” she’d said, crouching outside a changing room, handing me sizes. Liam stood in the parking lot, hands in his pockets, watching me. “Need a ride?” “No.” I pulled out my phone and called a car. He took a step forward. “Audrey, have you… gained weight recently?” My heart skipped a beat. Just one. “Too much hotpot.” My ride arrived. I opened the back door. Before getting in, I looked back one last time. Not out of longing. But to remember the scene—him standing beneath the grand “Marriage Registration Office” sign, autumn wind ruffling his hair, a look of bewilderment on his face I’d never seen before. Three years of marriage, and this was the first time he showed me such an expression. It wasn’t because he was reluctant to let go. It was because he was confused. He was confused because: Why aren’t you following the script? 03 Day three of the cooling-off period. I was packing my things in the master bedroom. Clothes in the wardrobe hung in four rows, separated by season. The left two rows were mine, the right two were Liam’s. I’d ironed his shirts a thousand times. Light blue for business functions, white for client meetings, gray for overtime. The collars and cuffs were always immaculate. I took down my two rows of clothes, folded them, and packed them into boxes. Not much. Two suitcases held everything. In three years of marriage, everything I brought into this home amounted to just two boxes. And what I left behind in this home— The print from the antique market in the living room, I hung it. The row of pothos on the balcony, I planted it. The storage basket under the coffee table, the categorized spice jars in the kitchen, the toiletries neatly arranged by function in the bathroom. All my handiwork. But they wouldn’t come with me. They belonged to this house, not to me. My phone rang. It was my mother-in-law, Mrs. Hayes. I hesitated two seconds, then answered. “Audrey dear, I hear you two are getting divorced?” Her voice was as cheerful as if she were discussing good news. “Yes.” “Oh, that’s good, that’s good. You’re young, finding someone else won’t be hard.” She paused, her tone suddenly dropping a notch. “By the way, that credit card of yours, what was the limit again? Five thousand? Remember to close the account after you pay it off.” I didn’t speak. That card was in my name, with my credit limit, and I’d charged nineteen thousand to it over three years. Twelve thousand of that was for her wellness classes and health check-up packages. “Alright,” I said. “If there’s nothing else, I’m hanging up.” After ending the call, I squatted by the suitcase, taking a moment to compose myself. Not sadness. It was a sudden feeling of lightness. Like a shackle, slipped on at some unknown point, had finally been removed. The baby in my belly kicked again. I looked down and whispered, “Mommy’s taking you away.” Day five of the cooling-off period. Liam returned once. He stood at the master bedroom door, looking at the suitcases spread on the floor, but didn’t enter. “Are you really moving out?” “Yes.” “Where to?” “To a friend’s place.” He leaned against the doorframe, as if waiting for something. I continued packing, tucking a half-read book from the nightstand into a box. He suddenly said, “Audrey, do you think I’ve wronged you?” I straightened up, looking at him. “Liam, you were the one who suggested divorce.” He didn’t reply. After a long silence, he said, “My mother said you recently…” “What your mother says isn’t important.” I zipped up my suitcase. “What matters is what you think.” He opened his mouth—no, he didn’t say it. He turned and left. The door closed softly, as if afraid of disturbing someone. 04 Day seven of the cooling-off period. The moving van was parked at the complex entrance. Two suitcases and a bag of books didn’t even fill the trunk. The driver helped me load my belongings, then looked back at me. “Ma’am, moving alone? Need help finding someone?” “No, this is all of it.” The van pulled out of the complex. I glanced in the rearview mirror one last time. The lights on the seventeenth floor were off. Liam wasn’t home. Sarah picked me up and drove me to my new apartment. A two-bedroom, one-bath, 680 square feet, in a new complex on the west side of the city. Rent was $4200 a month. She’d found it for me three months ago, paid a deposit plus three months’ rent, and it even came fully furnished. “The landlady is a sweet old lady, she even brought you a microwave when she heard you’d be living alone,” Sarah said, carrying my suitcase inside, glancing back at my face as she walked. “How are you doing? Tired? Maybe lie down for a bit?” Her gaze lingered on my belly. With my coat off, even a loose sweater couldn’t hide the curve anymore. “I’m fine.” I sat on the sofa, a hand supporting my lower back. A 32-week belly was heavy, and just a few steps made me breathless. Sarah pulled a stack of documents from her bag and placed them on the coffee table. “Business license, bank account opening, tax registration—all done.” She flipped to a page and pointed it out to me. “Timeless Media LLC, legal representative Audrey Ye, registered capital fifty thousand.” Fifty thousand. It was all the savings I’d accumulated over these three years. Liam didn’t know I had this money. He thought my entire salary went to household expenses. In reality, for three years, I’d siphoned eight hundred dollars from my monthly salary and deposited it into an account he didn’t know about. Eight hundred times thirty-six months, that’s twenty-eight thousand eight hundred. Adding a few freelance projects I took on, it just reached fifty thousand. Those freelance projects were done late at night—after Liam fell asleep, I’d open my laptop on the kitchen dining table, writing proposals, revising PowerPoints, and developing marketing strategies for clients. Once, he got up for water in the middle of the night and saw the light in the kitchen. “Not sleeping this late?” “Can’t sleep, watching a show for a bit.” He grunted and returned to the study. He didn’t even bother to walk over and glance at the screen. Sarah sat next to me, resting her head on my shoulder. “Audrey, you’re finally out.” I didn’t speak. Outside the window, the city lights of the west district were not as bustling as the east, but they were certainly quieter. The baby in my belly turned over. I thought, this might be the first night in nearly three years that I don’t have to pretend to be happy. 05 Day ten of the cooling-off period. Mrs. Hayes came by once. Not to see me, but to see Liam. I had already moved out, but the security guard Sarah knew in the complex messaged her: “Your friend’s ex-mother-in-law is here, with a young woman.” I didn’t ask for details. But that night, Sarah couldn’t help but tell me anyway. “The guard said the woman was in her mid-twenties, walked in arm-in-arm with your mother-in-law, laughing and chatting.” Lily White. The name wasn’t unfamiliar to me. Liam’s senior from college, who went to the UK after graduation. Even before we got married, Mrs. Hayes used to lament, “Liam had a classmate named Lily, such a wonderful girl, what a shame she went abroad.” Later, Lily returned to the country. It was last autumn. Mrs. Hayes specifically mentioned it at a family dinner: “Little White is back, an executive at a foreign company, earning a million a year. Audrey, can’t you try a little harder?” The whole table fell silent. Liam’s aunt tried to smooth things over: “Sister Hayes, Audrey is great too, she keeps the house so clean.” Mrs. Hayes pouted: “What good is clean? It doesn’t put food on the table.” On the drive home that day, Liam didn’t say a single word in my defense. The entire elevated highway, forty-five minutes, not a single word. I watched the streetlights flash by, one after another, counting to the one hundred thirty-seventh, then finally stopped. Not because we were home. But because I didn’t want to count anymore. Now Lily was being led in by Mrs. Hayes. I wasn’t surprised at all. What surprised me was the WeChat message Liam sent me the next day. “My mother brought someone without my permission. I’ve already sent her away.” I stared at it for ten seconds, didn’t reply. A minute later, he sent another: “Where did you move to? Send your location.” Still no reply. His avatar flickered on and off above the chatbox, as if he was typing and deleting repeatedly. Finally, it settled on one sentence: “Audrey, don’t be like this.” I flipped my phone over, face down on the table. Don’t be like what? Don’t cry, don’t make a scene, don’t beg him to stay? Don’t follow the script he’d set? Unfortunately, I was no longer that Audrey.

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Waiting at the bus stop, I scrolled through a trending local post. “What’s the cruelest thing you did at seventeen?” I was about to swipe past, but then a highly-rated reply caught my eye. “To get my crush, I photoshopped nudes of his girlfriend, spread awful rumors about her, and even hired thugs to harass her. Ended up driving her into severe depression.” Her answer exploded with tens of thousands of comments almost instantly. The replies were a torrent of abuse. But the poster didn’t care. “A bunch of jealous losers.” “If you knew I’m now the wife of a CEO worth billions, with a lovely son, you’d all think I hit the jackpot.” 01 As if to prove her point, she attached over a dozen pictures to her comment. Luxury cars, sprawling mansions. Designer watches and bags worth hundreds of thousands. And a tall, well-built man in a suit, his back to the camera, standing by a floor-to-ceiling window. I tapped on that photo. My finger hovered, frozen for a good few seconds. Even after all these years, I could recognize the man in the picture by just his back. Owen Bridgerton. In the few seconds I was lost in thought, the comment section had already escalated several floors. “Is that your justification for hurting others?” “So you’re a homewrecker and proud of it, huh? Do your parents know how shameless you are?” “Homewreckers die, affair-starters die!” Facing the barrage of insults, the poster replied with a single sentence. “Every man for himself.” At the same time, she re-edited her post. “Though many people are cursing and attacking me, I still say I don’t regret it.” “Everything I have now, I deserve it!” In her self-narration, eight years ago, she was just a poor student living in the mountains, walking miles to school and back every day. As the daughter of the family, unloved by her parents, she was destined to be married off to an old bachelor in the village upon reaching adulthood, fetching a good price to build a new house for her younger brother. “I thought that was my fate.” “But then, on the first day of my senior year, I saw him.” “He was the school’s heartthrob – handsome, brilliant academically, and most importantly, incredibly rich. A single pair of his sneakers cost more than my entire year’s living expenses.” “I decided right then and there that I had to have him.” “But he had a girlfriend.” The post ended abruptly here. The discussion below was intense. “Your husband is so amazing, his girlfriend couldn’t have been bad either, right?” The poster replied, “Of course. Good grades, very pretty, and from a well-off family. They were childhood sweethearts.” “But so what?” “The more perfect she was, the more I wanted to utterly destroy her.” As soon as she posted this, countless comments attacked her morals. But amidst them, a few envious and fawning praises were interspersed. “I don’t think the poster did anything wrong. If she didn’t fight for herself, she would have ended up marrying an old bachelor.” “Isn’t this the ultimate underdog story? You’re amazing, girl! Teach me your ways!” “To cross social classes by herself, I have to say, the poster is incredible.” Soon, the two sides started arguing. Amidst the debates, one comment quietly floated by. “Am I the only one who wants to know what happened to the ex-girlfriend?” What happened later? I smiled wryly, then exited the app. 02 Willow Reed was right; Owen Bridgerton and I were indeed childhood sweethearts. I first met Owen when I was four. A new neighbor had moved in next door, but I never saw anyone. Only occasionally, late at night, would I hear faint sobs coming from the small balcony opposite. Not long after, while playing in our yard, I overheard passersby talking about the new neighbors. “They own a company; both parents are constantly traveling abroad for business. They didn’t even come back for the move.” “It’s just a nanny watching the child, supposedly since he was little.” “That nanny isn’t any good. I’ve seen her hit the child several times.” Hearing that, I waited outside their gate that very evening. When the nanny went out to throw trash, I, being small, squeezed through the gap in the door. My little legs pattered up to the second floor, where I found Owen sitting on the stairs, lost in thought. He was curled up, small and thin, hiding in a patch of shadow. A faint blue bruise marked his pale face. Hearing footsteps, his slender shoulders flinched. He buried his head even deeper. I walked over and gently patted his shoulder. My childish voice said, “Don’t be scared, I’m here to protect you.” That night, I secretly brought four-year-old Owen home. I hid him in my bed, snugly wrapped in a small blanket. We slept together at night, and during the day, I secretly brought him food. It went on like this for a week until Owen’s parents finally learned he was missing. The couple booked the next available flight and rushed back. The nanny’s years of misconduct were exposed. It’s hard to say what my small self was thinking back then. Perhaps those nights of crying sounded too pitiful. A strong sense of responsibility welled up inside me. For a long time afterward, I considered caring for Owen my personal mission. I took him up the mountain to catch butterflies, down to the water to catch loaches. In spring, we flew kites; in winter, we built snowmen in the yard. Little by little, I drew that somewhat gloomy, introverted boy out of the shadows. Our relationship grew closer. Our feelings deepened. In the height of summer during our junior year, Owen confessed his feelings to me. The young man was still wearing his school-issued short-sleeved uniform, his pant legs rolled up above his knees. In his hands, he held a few lotus flowers freshly picked from the pond. “Summer Blossom, I like you.” “Be my girlfriend.” Dappled light fell on him. My heart fluttered in an instant. Seeing me nod, Owen grinned. Even under the sun, his smile was brighter than the sunshine itself. He pulled me into a hug, repeating softly, “Summer Blossom, I like you!” “I’ll always, always like you!” After we started dating, not much actually changed. We went to school and came home together. On weekends, we’d bury ourselves in the library or attend tutoring sessions together. The difference was, we held hands and kissed. Owen seemed to have a constant need for physical contact, wanting to be glued to me every day. I thought we’d go on like this forever. Until Willow Reed appeared. 03 Because Owen had spent the entire summer abroad with his grandparents, I went to school alone on the first day of our senior year. He called me when he found out, insisting I wait for him. I stood by the school gate for a long time, from morning until afternoon, even skipping lunch. His calls went unanswered, messages unread. It wasn’t until the academic office was about to close that he rushed over, breathless. He grabbed my hand and explained, “I actually could have been here this morning, but I accidentally hit someone on my bike.” I frowned, “Are you okay?” He shook his head, “I’m fine. It was a girl from our school. I took her to the hospital to get checked out; she just twisted her ankle.” “I was running around, and came straight here as soon as I was done.” Seeing his face flushed from overexertion, my heart softened, and I couldn’t really stay mad. I just casually asked, “What’s her name?” Owen thought for a moment, then replied, “Willow Reed. Willow, as in the tree, and Reed as in a marsh plant.” I thought it was a trivial incident that would quickly pass. I was wrong. The very next day, during physical education, a slender girl limped over. She wore a faded school uniform and carried a worn paper bag. She approached Owen, offering the paper bag with both hands, her lips pressed tightly together. “Owen, thank you for taking me to the hospital yesterday and paying for my medical expenses.” “These are rice balls I made myself. Please have some.” Owen waved his hands repeatedly, “It was my fault I accidentally hit you yesterday, so I should have taken you to the hospital. No need to thank me.” The girl shook her head, her expression stubborn, “No, I must thank you.” With that, she tried to press the paper bag into Owen’s arms. Owen refused. They went back and forth, and the girl lost her footing, about to fall backward. In a moment of panic, Owen reached out and grabbed her hand. The instant their palms touched, the girl’s face flushed crimson. She quickly placed the bag on the ground, then stumbled away. Watching her retreating figure, I narrowed my eyes. “Is she Willow Reed?” Owen nodded. For some reason, the first time I saw her, I felt an uneasy sensation. So I said, “I don’t like her. Stay away from her.” Owen looked surprised but still nodded. But the other person’s persistence was simply too much.

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I’m gay, and when my roommate Derek found out, he said I was disgusting. Because of what he said, my other roommates started isolating me too. So petty me decided to pretend to be a woman online and start dating him. When the time was right, I sent him a few faceless nudes, then deleted and blocked him before he could even react. But that night, he climbed into my bed, pressing down on me, his voice urgent: “I know it’s you!” Derek is an athlete who competes in high jump for the national team. Recently he sprained his ankle and has been recuperating in the dorm. It just so happens that during this time, I’ve been pretending to be a woman online and started a relationship with him. [Baby, I’m going to dance class now, see you tonight!] [Love you~] After sending this message, I picked up the packaged meal and entered the dorm. As soon as I walked in, I saw Derek holding his phone, sending a voice message: “Okay, baby, see you tonight.” His voice was deep and pleasant, with an unusual tenderness that wasn’t normally there. But then his hand holding the phone relaxed. The next second, my phone in my hand vibrated and chimed. Me: “…” Mistake. I hadn’t switched back to my main account yet. The guy across from me turned his head, his sharp eyes sweeping over, looking somewhat fierce. Fortunately, he’s handsome, so even his fierceness comes across as cool. Derek is six foot five, tall with long legs and an imposing presence. And I’m five foot ten and three-quarters, which rounds up and rounds up again to six feet, with a slimmer build. Standing next to him creates a stark contrast. His gaze suddenly fell on my hand. Startled, I quickly grabbed my phone, pretending a friend had messaged me, and even made a show of sending a voice message: “Yeah, after afternoon class, I’ll come find you.” Actually, I sent it to my main account. I sat down at my bed space without greeting him. Our relationship was that bad. But this guy had zero awareness: “Logan, help me get some water, thanks!” Actually, he could move just fine, but he deliberately ordered me around because I wouldn’t engage with him. What a dark mind. Yet faced with his tyranny, I pathetically stood up. And got him a glass of water. Damn it. My foolish kindness, my cowardly heart. He took the water glass, his eyes staring straight at me: “Got plans this afternoon?” “Ah.” I sat back down in my spot, responding coolly, then said nothing more. Derek’s gaze fell on me with subtle scrutiny. I felt very uncomfortable under his stare. I really wanted to slam the table and curse: You have a girlfriend and you’re still looking at me, scumbag! Speaking of which, I’d been chatting with him online for over two months, and we’d only made it official recently. After lunch, I climbed into bed for a nap. He didn’t make any noise, which was at least one good thing about him. After afternoon classes, I received a message from Derek. [Baby, what are you doing?] [Did you eat? I’ll order food for you.] He also sent a red envelope, which I didn’t open. The corner of my mouth curved up as I found a patch of grass to sit on. Princess Ann: [Just got out of class~] [Haven’t eaten yet, want to see your abs.] Two minutes later, a photo of honey-toned, clearly defined abs came through. Under the sunlight, my head swayed slightly in satisfaction. Hmph! When Derek eventually discovers that all the photos he sent were received by a guy, he’ll probably be so angry he’ll cough up blood, right? But soon a message came: [I want yours too.] Actually, most of the time, he spoke in a commanding tone. At first I was unhappy, thinking he was being pretentious, but later I realized that was just his personality. After some guidance, he now calls me “honey.” I’d previously sent him leg photos for flirting. What he wanted now was photos of me wearing pretty dresses. But Derek had been in the dorm lately, making it hard for me to take pictures. [Tomorrow, okay? I’ll give them to baby tomorrow, don’t have any new dresses] Derek: [I’ll buy you one.] [Same address as before?] I deliberately gave him the address of another university. Actually, it wasn’t far, but we hadn’t brought up meeting yet. Derek wasn’t deeply invested yet. I still needed to work harder. Before, he’d told the other two roommates in the dorm that I liked men and that it was disgusting. I’m petty and I remembered that.

That evening when I returned to the dorm, the other two roommates were out at a competition. In this dorm, I was the only one from a different major. Derek’s plastered leg was propped up on a small stool beside him. So long. I sighed inwardly. “You’re back?” His fierce eyes turned to me, his tone flat. Right in front of him, I took off my T-shirt, deliberately exposing my upper body. The more he hated men, the more I wanted to disgust him. “Yeah.” I tossed the T-shirt onto the chair, grabbed clean clothes, and prepared to shower. As I passed behind him, I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination, but he seemed to glance at me. I didn’t pay it much mind though. I went into the bathroom to shower. When I came out, wearing pajamas and athletic shorts, humming a tune, I washed all my changed clothes. What I didn’t know was that Derek leaned back, his gaze shifting to me on the balcony. His eyes fell on my legs. My exposed calves were straight and slender. Going up a bit, my knees had a reddish tinge. After I hung up the clothes and turned around, Derek had already imperceptibly withdrawn his gaze. His features were deep and three-dimensional, his eyes sharp and exquisite—an undeniable hunk, just looking cold and unapproachable. I pursed my lips. Your time to cry is coming. After lying down in bed and pulling the curtain, I started bombarding him with messages. [Miss you so much, gonna sleep hugging your abs photo tonight!] [Gonna lick the screen like crazy tonight] He immediately called on video, muted. I hung up. [My roommates are all in the dorm, can’t take calls baby~] Derek: [The package will arrive tomorrow.] Meaning he wanted to see leg photos. I gave a small huff, seriously suspecting Derek had a leg fetish. No, he was just a pervert. It’s just that quite a few people liked this guy—both men and women. If I hadn’t been bold enough, I might not have been able to hook him. But it also proves that no matter how good-looking a man is, he can’t resist temptation. Hah! Men. Thinking it over, I turned on the desk lamp and pulled out a spaghetti strap dress I’d worn before and left in the storage basket on my bedside table. I slipped it onto my legs. Reaching out one hand, I grabbed hard at the dress fabric. In the frame, my fingers were slender and bony, forcefully grabbing at the fabric on my thigh, then releasing. A three-second video with some filter added, sent over. [What should I do? My hands won’t behave, want to grab your abs~] “Damn!” I heard a low growl from Derek’s bed area. Inside, I was blooming with joy. I laughed so hard I fell back on the bed. Because I had to control myself from making noise, my legs wrapped in the dress excitedly flapped in the air like a fish several times. The next day, I received the package and went to the other university to pick it up. I worked up a sweat, so I just went and got an hourly hotel room. Opening the package, well… This dress was actually quite nice—a creamy white cake princess dress, length reaching the thighs. It had a bit of a sheen but not exaggerated, very good quality. Wearing it, wouldn’t I actually become a little princess? I amused myself with that thought. But I had to admit, this dress barely fit. I almost couldn’t pull up the zipper. Looking at it this way, my waist appeared even thinner. Thinner? I felt like I could barely breathe. Just then, there was a knock at the door. I quickly went to open it. It was my friend. When she saw how I was dressed: “Holy shit” several times: “You you you…” “Stop babbling, quick, take some photos for me.” She’d brought a wig and put it on me. Her hands were really itching, and after Hope begged me, I finally agreed to let her do simple makeup on me. Finally, we took back shots, side profile shots, and body shots. With slight retouching, a beautiful girl with waist-length hair emerged. Even looking closely, my own mother wouldn’t recognize me. Hope was practically drooling: “Logan, you’re so beautiful.” I waved my hand: “So-so, you’re quite beautiful too. Come on, this young master will take some photos for you.” So Hope also got some beautiful shots.

After changing in the bathroom, I finally took several deep breaths. I’d almost suffocated. When I came out, Hope was looking at the dress’s packaging box. The more she looked, the more shocked she was. After searching online: “Damn, your boyfriend is pretty loaded, huh? This dress costs over twenty thousand.” “What?” I was shocked. “This thing?” I suddenly felt the dress was very ordinary. I’d originally planned to sell it online, but now I was worried about disputes when we broke up later, so I packaged it back up and put it in the box, then into the shipping box. The tags weren’t removed. Later when we fell out, I’d just mail it back to him to avoid disputes that might expose my real identity. Right after finishing the retouching, I sent Derek a few photos. He was probably busy, so he didn’t see them right away. By the time Hope and I left the hotel and were buying pizza at the food court, my phone vibrated. I pulled it out and saw he’d replied. Hope leaned over to look and read aloud: “So beautiful… I really can’t imagine his handsome face saying something like that. Logan, quick, make Derek send a voice message so I can hear.” Me: “…” I snorted and satisfied her request. I raised my phone and sneakily sent him a message: [Want to hear your voice, so sexy, I replay it three hundred times every time~] I could spout sweet talk at the drop of a hat. No wonder I’d managed to get Derek—it was perfectly natural. . He quickly sent back a voice message: “You look beautiful.” Derek’s voice was magnetic and mellow. Her eyes sparkled with stars, but her focus was: “Oh my god, he’s so sweet, sweeter than if I’d eaten four hundred pounds of durian.” The way she put it, I could practically smell an intense stench. Oh, it was the durian next to us. I put away my phone and shouted loudly: “Boss, one order!” Planning to take it back and stink up Derek. Then Hope, who was supposed to be on a diet, and I finished it on the road. Hope and I were high school classmates and neighbors. She actually attended the university on that address. After finishing the fried chicken and durian, we parted ways. Speaking of which, Derek really was famous. Even the neighboring university knew about this campus heartthrob. Before, many girls came to our school to watch basketball specifically because of Derek. Because of this, Derek’s bros were heartbroken about his sprained ankle, causing them to lose many opportunities to be watched by beautiful women. Back at the dorm, unsurprisingly Derek was there. Wasn’t his family local to the capital? Why wasn’t he recuperating at home instead of staying in this dorm being an eyesore? Annoying! I only dared to complain internally. After all, when he messaged asking me to bring food, didn’t I obediently take a detour to bring him his favorite meal from that restaurant? I put the packaged food on his desk: “Here you go, ninety-five.” Derek’s gaze imperceptibly swept over my hand. He picked up his phone: “Thanks, sent it to you.” I checked—it was a hundred dollars. Every time he asked me to bring him things, he’d round up the amount. I’d mentioned it once, but he kept doing it, so I let him. I couldn’t very well voluntarily waive the change and say the meal only cost ninety, right? Then wouldn’t I be losing out?

Returning to my spot, he saw the package box on my chair and asked: “What did you buy?” Without blushing or my heart racing, I said: “Shoes.” Derek’s brow furrowed slightly, his gaze falling on the package box again. My heart skipped a beat, and I quickly tossed the box under my desk. This package box was just an ordinary cardboard box, right? Although the quality was a bit better, there wasn’t any logo on it! Even if there was, it would be tiny—just a pattern that you wouldn’t notice unless you were paying attention. Besides, Derek bought it online, right? He shouldn’t know this box contained the dress he bought. I calmed down and couldn’t help but sigh. This is what happens when you walk the dark path too often—Derek doing anything slightly suspicious made me feel guilty. After this was over, I definitely wouldn’t do bad things anymore. Actually, I’d regretted it before, but by then I couldn’t extract myself. I remembered that time returning to the dorm when the door wasn’t fully closed and I heard my roommates’ voices inside: “Holy shit, he… he actually likes guys? Damn, better not have his eye on me.” I rolled my eyes. For fuck’s sake, look at yourself in the mirror, I’m attracted to good looks. Then I heard another roommate say: “Not necessarily, I heard Logan has someone he likes.” At that moment, that voice I’d always found particularly pleasant came coldly from inside: “Really disgusting.” Crack… Something shattered. Oh, it was my positive filter of Derek shattering into pieces. I’d originally wanted to viciously push the door open and enter, but in the end I chickened out and went downstairs, sitting sadly on the nearby grass for ten minutes. I’d thought that in the dorm, even though our relationship wasn’t great, we could at least exchange a word or two. I didn’t expect him to be this kind of person. From that day on, my other two roommates would instinctively avoid me when they saw me, yet they fawned all over Derek. I felt this was all Derek’s doing. Finally, filled with resentment, I decided to disgust him. Now, there’s no turning back once you’ve shot the arrow. Not only did I not reflect on whether my actions went too far, I actually felt I was getting the short end of the stick. Platonic relationships are all about that emotional value, and I was heartbroken, feeling I’d given too much. I picked up my phone, opened the alternate account, and sent him a message: [Baby, want to see your nude photos.] Right after sending, I suddenly came to my senses and quickly recalled it. Ahhhhh, that was way out of line. My face instantly flushed red. I quickly pressed the phone face-down on the desk. Carefully glancing at the next bed over, I saw the guy whose profile was impossibly handsome staring at his phone screen, his brow slightly furrowed, expression subtle. I didn’t know if he’d seen my message. But he didn’t reply, so most likely he hadn’t seen it. Small chance he saw it and chose to ignore it. I was used to it, even painfully thinking: having to act like a simp just to get revenge, this losing deal I’ll never do again.

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I’d been married to Dylan Harper for three years, and he’d cycled through six mistresses during that time. Every time he found someone new, he’d make me personally paint the two of them in intimate poses, then hang it on the most prominent wall in our house. Everyone in our social circle said I was the most tolerant wife they’d ever seen. But no one knew—I’d fought back once. The first time, my art exhibition mysteriously caught fire, and ten years of my life’s work turned to ashes. The second time, he allowed his mistress to push me down the stairs. I lost our three-month-old baby. Now, my grandmother was the only person I had left to depend on. So when Dylan called and asked me to deliver ultra-thin condoms to him, I smiled and agreed without hesitation. I personally placed that box of condoms in his mistress’s hand and said, “Call me if you need more.” I’d just reached the door when Dylan’s low voice came from behind me. “Violet.” My steps faltered. Without turning around, I already knew what expression he wore right now. Lazy, casual, with a hint of amusement. I slowly turned around. The private room’s lighting was deliberately dim and suggestive. Dylan was half-reclined on the sofa, his shirt casually unbuttoned. Sitting on his lap was his latest mistress, Melody Shaw. She wore a skirt that couldn’t possibly be any shorter, draped over him. Her fingers were restlessly tracing circles on his chest. Seeing me turn around, Melody not only didn’t restrain herself—she deliberately pressed closer into Dylan’s embrace, marking her territory. Dylan’s gaze landed on my face. With scrutiny and curiosity, as if he couldn’t believe I could be this calm. “What,” he began, his tone indifferent, “being sarcastic? Throwing a tantrum?” I slowly curved my lips into a smile. A perfectly appropriate smile. “No,” I said. “Mr. Harper, don’t misunderstand.” “I just want you two to enjoy yourselves.” At those words, Dylan stared at me, his dark eyes intense, as if trying to find a crack in my expression. But Melody on top of him wasn’t pleased. She directly wrapped her arms around Dylan’s neck. “Dylan,” she cooed, “you were so eager just a moment ago. Why are you only looking at her now?” As she spoke, she turned to glance at me. Her eyes were full of naked provocation. She might as well have written “you’re in the way” directly on her face. But I only pressed my lips together lightly. Without a word, I wisely turned and left. When I reached the door, I even thoughtfully helped them close the private room door gently. Shutting out the sordid scene inside. And shutting out the last trace of emotion I shouldn’t have had. By the time I got home, it was already dark. I’d just changed my shoes when my phone buzzed. A message from Dylan. “Perform well at the family dinner tonight and put Grandpa’s mind at ease, okay?” “I know you’re jealous. That limited edition Chanel piece you had your eye on—I’ll have someone deliver it to the house soon.” I paused for a few seconds, then typed back two words: “Thank you.” Dylan was always like this. He made a habit of slapping you, then offering a sweet treat. In the past, I couldn’t accept it. I always felt his compensation was an insult. Those clothes, jewelry, handbags—I didn’t want to use any of them. I threw them all into the depths of my closet, out of sight, out of mind. But now it was different. I no longer loved him. So these things were just gifts. Naturally, I accepted them all. Besides, this time Dylan was truly wrong. I really hadn’t been sarcastic. I wasn’t angry either. I didn’t even feel the slightest ripple of emotion. Because as long as I could protect Grandma and let her spend her remaining years in peace and stability, I wouldn’t complain even if I had to do more than just deliver condoms—even if I had to help them put the damn things on myself.

At seven o’clock that evening, Dylan’s car pulled up downstairs right on time. Seeing me come down, he stubbed out his cigarette in a trash bin and opened the passenger door. His movements were as gentlemanly as always. For a brief moment, I almost believed he was still the man from three years ago who’d promised to treat me well for a lifetime. I bent down and got into the car. As soon as I’d fastened my seatbelt, my gaze inadvertently fell on his hand. The ring finger that should have worn our wedding band now displayed a pink crushed diamond ring instead. The style was childish and tacky, completely at odds with his usual taste. I froze slightly. My heart felt like something had stung it gently. Dylan also noticed where I was looking. He glanced down at his own hand, his brow furrowing almost imperceptibly. “The girl doesn’t know any better,” his tone was flat, as if discussing something trivial. “She replaced my ring. I’ll change it back tomorrow.” I shook my head calmly. “No need.” That wedding band—we’d designed it together. He’d said, “Violet, this is our lifelong promise.” So even later, no matter how badly we fought, no matter how much he hurt me, I never took it off. But now, I suddenly understood. Dylan no longer loved me. If that was the case, why keep deceiving ourselves, forcing him to wear that ring and pretend we still had feelings for each other? Dylan seemed surprised by my response. He froze for a moment. He stared at me for several seconds, as if trying to read something in my face. But my expression was blank. Calm as stagnant water. So he said nothing more and closed his eyes to rest. The atmosphere in the car grew heavy. I felt tired. Slowly, I removed my own wedding band. The car soon arrived at the family estate. Dylan opened his eyes. “Don’t let Grandpa and Grandma notice anything. Don’t upset them, okay?” I nodded obediently and numbly. After all, I was used to it. No matter how Dylan humiliated me in front of others, no matter how much he made me suffer, as soon as we returned to the Harper family home, he would immediately put on an affectionate act. He’d tell his grandparents how well we were getting along. It was all performance. I could play along. But just as we were about to enter, Dylan’s phone suddenly rang. “Dylan, someone drugged me and threw me in a hotel room. Please come save me…” Melody’s voice came through. Dylan’s expression grew darker by the second. “What did you say?” He lowered his voice. “Alright, I’ll be right there.” He hung up and immediately turned to leave. I stood there, somewhat stunned. “If you don’t come, Grandpa and Grandma will definitely be unhappy,” I found myself saying. “Besides, how could anything happen to Melody on your turf? Don’t be fooled!” Even I knew what kind of person Melody was. What she loved most was using various schemes to get Dylan’s attention. I’d seen this act before. But Dylan acted as if he hadn’t heard me at all. He just threw out a line without looking back. “Melody is different from you,” he said. “She never lies to me.” “As for how to appease my grandparents, figure it out yourself.” With those words, he’d already reached his car. He disappeared into the night. Leaving me standing alone. I watched the direction he’d gone and laughed bitterly.

I took a deep breath, pushing down the emotions churning in my chest. Steeling myself, I pushed open the Harper family’s front door. In the living room, Dylan’s grandparents sat on the sofa. Seeing that I’d come alone, the smiles on their faces instantly cooled. “Where’s Dylan?” Grandma spoke first, her tone clearly displeased. “The family dinner is such an important occasion—he’s not even coming?” Grandpa frowned too. “Getting more irresponsible by the day. Does he not care about us at all anymore?” I stood at the entrance, feeling helpless. “He had an emergency at the company and couldn’t get away.” I forced myself to explain. “He sent me ahead to keep you company.” “An emergency?” Grandma clearly didn’t believe it. She scoffed. “What emergency could be more important than a family dinner?” Her gaze fell on me with scrutiny and dissatisfaction. “You must have upset him again.” “Our Dylan wasn’t like this before. Ever since he married you, his mind hasn’t been on family!” Grandpa also sighed, looking at me with disappointment in his tone. “Violet, I don’t mean to criticize, but as Dylan’s wife, you should be more understanding and caring toward him.” “Men work hard out there. You need to learn to be considerate of his feelings.” “If he refused to come to the family dinner today, you must have done something wrong.” I opened my mouth to explain, but the words stuck in my throat. What was the point of explaining? In their eyes, I was always the one at fault. I was silent for a few seconds, then nodded gently. “It’s my fault.” Grandma still seemed unsatisfied. She scoffed. “Since you know you’re wrong, go kneel as punishment.” She pointed to a spot in the center of the living room. “Kneel for two hours and reflect properly.” “When you’ve thought it through, then you can get up and eat.” My knees already had old injuries. Two years ago, when Dylan’s mistress pushed me down the stairs, I’d damaged the bone. Over the years, whenever the weather turned cold, the pain would be excruciating. Now I looked at the cold floor of the living room. For a moment, I felt resistant. But I didn’t dare refuse. After all, my own grandmother was lying in a Harper family hospital, receiving treatment. If the Harpers were unhappy, my grandmother’s days wouldn’t be easy either. She was the only family I had left in this world. Resigned to my fate, I walked to the center of the living room and knelt down on the cold floor. The moment my knees touched the ground, piercing pain instantly spread through them. It felt like countless needles were simultaneously stabbing into my bones. I clenched my jaw and made no sound. My gaze fell on the dining table not far away. Grandpa and Grandma had already resumed smiling, discussing tonight’s dishes. As if I didn’t exist at all. I lowered my head, staring miserably at the floor. In that moment, the last remnants of feeling I’d had for Dylan completely shattered.

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When the news reached me that Julian was planning a three-day “seven times a night” challenge with an underclassman, I had just sent him the pregnancy test results. The next second, his video call came through. A girl was wrapped tightly in his arms, covered in kiss marks. “Can’t we just get rid of this baby? You two are a family of three… and I’m all alone.” Julian patted the girl while coaxing her, then issued me a command. “Get the abortion. She’s crying.” I calmly refused him. “And if I don’t?” Julian froze, then smiled coldly. “If you don’t, we’re getting divorced.” I instantly felt relieved. “Alright. I’ll prepare the divorce papers for you.” My wish to have a child without keeping the father was finally coming true. “Lila, be good. Don’t make a scene.” Julian crushed out his cigarette and repeated the same words he’d said countless times before. I shook my head. “I’m not making a scene. I really want this baby.” Hearing this, the girl in his arms, Summer, cried even louder. Summer was a year below him in school. Half venting, half marking her territory, she hooked her arms around Julian’s neck and bit down hard. Julian let out a muffled groan. Without any consideration for me, he grabbed the woman and kissed her deeply. I had the sense to hang up the phone and took a cab home. As soon as I got in the car, Julian’s video call came through again. The man had several bite marks on his neck now. He grinned. “Little girl’s got a temper. I promise they’ll be gone by the time I get home.” Only then did I remember. The day I gave up on Julian, I made an agreement with him. No matter how much he fooled around outside, he couldn’t have any marks on his body when he came home. He’d cheated so many times that I’d even forgotten when I stopped loving him. I shook my head immediately, thinking I was being understanding. “It’s fine. We’re getting divorced anyway.” The man on the screen froze, his dark eyes dimming as he stared at me silently with pursed lips. “Lila, stop this.” “You’re lying! Lila would never abort the baby!” “I’ll never… let you do it again.” Summer’s reaction was even more dramatic than mine. She cried until she was choking on her tears. Julian’s heart tightened. He immediately held the young girl and issued his final ultimatum to me. “Lila, we’re not keeping this baby.” Whenever he called me by my full name, it meant he was truly angry. But I still shook my head. “When you get back, let’s just talk about the divorce.” Summer cried miserably. Julian had no choice but to hang up the video to comfort her. He really had a way with comforting people. He’d hold you gently, whisper sweet nothings against your ear with his mouth right there. Combined with his good looks and attractive voice, almost no one could resist. Even I, who had decided never to marry, had been fooled by him like this. As I got out of the car, the driver hesitated before speaking. “Your husband is this shameless and you’re not going to confront the other woman?” I smiled lightly. “I did once. That’s how I lost my first child.” The driver had nothing more to say. I’d never been loved by my parents. They’d rather dote on my uncle’s daughter than give me even a kind look. So I’d always longed for someone connected to me by blood who would love me. I met Julian a week before I was planning to go to a sperm bank. He was handsome, well-educated, and intelligent. I quickly conceived the idea of having his child without keeping him as a partner. Through careful planning, I successfully dated Julian, and then married him. The only uncontrollable variable was my heart. Against the plan, I fell in love with him and started thinking about spending the rest of my life with Julian. When I first discovered his infidelity, I was devastated like any wife would be—in pain, hysterical. But each time after he promised to change, he’d go behind my back and mess around with another woman. Gradually, that uncontrolled heart returned to its original place. I gently stroked the life growing in my belly. After the divorce, I’d raise it well on my own, whether it was a boy or girl.

I was working on the divorce agreement on my laptop when Julian came home with a bouquet of roses. Julian brought me a gift every day when he came home. Sometimes it was cake, sometimes blind boxes, sometimes jewelry. Roses were the gift he brought most often. He skillfully replaced the withered roses in the vase with fresh ones, his tone gentle. “Tomorrow’s my day off. I’ll go with you to the hospital for the abortion.” Such a gentle tone, yet speaking such cold words. In the past, I would have cried and fought with him. But I didn’t love him anymore. I showed him my laptop. “See if there’s anything that needs adjusting in the agreement. If not, I’ll go print it out.” Julian held the withered roses, a smile playing at his lips. “Still throwing a tantrum with me?” He sighed and stroked my long hair with practiced ease. “Lila, I’m very tired. Stop fighting with me, okay?” Three consecutive days of seven times a night—any man would be exhausted. I stubbornly moved the laptop toward him and looked at him seriously. “Julian, I’m serious about this.” Julian seemed utterly exhausted. Without even looking, he pushed the laptop back toward me, walked past me, and lay down on the sofa. “Lila, make that herbal soup from the fridge for me.” Since I stopped loving him, I could prepare meals for him without batting an eye. I was even more worried than his mistresses about him not performing well. If he couldn’t perform, I’d have to go buy quality sperm. But with purchased sperm, I couldn’t see what the donor looked like. I wanted a smart, beautiful baby. So I endured the mockery from his friends and cooked meals and made soups for him every time. But now, I already had what I wanted in my belly. I didn’t need to play the role of the numb, considerate wife anymore. “If you think there are no problems, I’ll go downstairs to print it.” Julian’s closed eyes suddenly opened, revealing complex emotions. “You want to divorce me that badly?” I nodded without hesitation. Honestly, Julian was disgusting. After all, he’d slept with so many women. No normal woman could tolerate him. If it weren’t for my obsession with having a child, I wouldn’t have put up with this until now. Julian sat up from the sofa and beckoned me over. “Bring it here. Let me see.” After I handed it to him, he barely glanced at it. “Go print it then.” Without a moment’s hesitation, I transferred the file to my phone and immediately put on my coat to go downstairs. As I closed the door, Julian leaned back on the sofa and smiled at me, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes. When I returned from the print shop, I saw Julian and a woman playing around in the kitchen. “You’re mean! I’m in so much pain.” The woman pouted and reached to pinch Julian’s face. Not only was the man not angry, he leaned down, grabbed her waist, and kissed her. What a scene of passionate affection—just like an idol drama. Unfortunately, the scene was interrupted by the sound of me opening the door. Julian’s hand on Summer’s waist suddenly dropped, though his expression remained gentle. “You’re back.” Summer acted as if she didn’t see me, grabbing the fabric on his chest and mumbling something about not having kissed enough. Julian glanced at me. “Summer’s been spoiled by me. Don’t be angry.” In the three years of our marriage, Summer was the one who had stayed with him the longest and whom he doted on the most. I nodded and walked over with the divorce agreement. “I already signed at the print shop. Once you sign, we can go on Monday.” Watching Summer acting coquettish in his arms, I considerately added another line. “I can move out today to make room for you two.” Summer’s eyes immediately lit up. “Can I move in tonight then?” Julian tapped her on the head. “Why don’t you say hello to Lila?”

Both Summer and I froze, not expecting him to ignore both of our questions. On the second day after I stopped loving him, I rented an apartment that had remained empty all these years. I didn’t like any place that carried Julian’s presence. “Sign first. I’ll go pack my things.” I placed the documents on the table and turned to get my suitcase from the balcony. “You don’t care about me at all!” Amid Summer’s soft accusation, a warm body pressed against my back. Julian held me with one hand while reaching for the suitcase with the other. “Lila, still angry?” I felt a bit disgusted and instinctively tried to push him away. Instead, Julian pressed even closer. “About the seven times a night thing—you know about it? If you’re angry, once I recover, we can challenge even more…” “Don’t touch me!” I couldn’t hold back and stepped on his foot. The moment Julian felt the pain, I broke free from his embrace. I used to cherish his embrace so much, but now I found it equally revolting. His arms had held another woman just a second ago, yet now he was holding me and saying sweet words. Shock flashed in Julian’s eyes. He maintained the posture of holding me. “Lila, what will it take for you not to be angry?” “If you don’t want to go tomorrow, we can pick a better day. I’ll go with you to get rid of the baby.” As he said this, he returned to his usual gentleness. But Julian’s gentleness was like a mud puddle that anyone could step in. I suppressed the urge to retch and spoke. “No need. Just hurry up and sign. I’ll make room for you two.” The curve of Julian’s lips gradually turned downward. “Lila, I don’t want this baby.” “Stop throwing tantrums. I’m serious.” “I’m serious too.” The darkness in Julian’s eyes grew heavier, his aura increasingly cold. Just when I thought he would get angry— The man smiled instead. “Let’s wait until tomorrow. My friend’s having a birthday party. You don’t mind if I bring Summer, do you?” Julian was smiling, but I felt no warmth from it. Whether he smiled or not had nothing to do with me anymore. I shook my head. “Whatever.” Julian turned around without hesitation, strode over, and princess-carried the crying girl. His voice was louder than usual at home. “Little crybaby, I just said two sentences to Lila and your eyes are already swollen from crying. From now on, you’re only allowed to cry in bed.” Summer nodded through her sobs. As the two left, Summer seemed to speak casually. “Huh, there are roses here too?” “But they’re not as big as the ones you gave me, and not as red as mine…” The rest of her words were swallowed by the closing door. I walked over and threw the flowers, vase and all, straight into the trash. Julian seemed to be deliberately showing off to me. He updated his social media eighteen times in one night. Every single post was about his intimate moments with Summer. Since we were getting divorced anyway, there was no point keeping him. I immediately blocked him. When I switched to my alternate account to block him there too, I discovered those eighteen posts were set to “visible only to me.” I’d created this alternate account when I still loved him, to stalk his social media. Now that I didn’t love him anymore, there was no need for it to exist. After I deleted the alternate account, I started packing my things. By midnight, all my belongings had been moved to the rented house. For the first time, I felt the air was so fresh, without that rotting stench—only the presence of me and my baby. Lying on the sofa that wasn’t made up yet, I slept beautifully. Remembering I needed to ask him when we could register for divorce at the government office, I unblocked Julian to send him a message, only to get a red exclamation mark. I didn’t think much of it. After tidying up briefly, I went to the supermarket to buy household supplies. Even though I didn’t know if the baby in my belly was a boy or girl, I couldn’t help but linger in the baby products section. I picked out a few pieces of clothing, wondering if this child would like them. As I was hesitating whether to buy a pink baby bottle, I heard a familiar voice. “The milk’s over there. Don’t go that way…” It was Summer’s coquettish voice. Then Julian appeared, directly going through the items in my shopping cart. “Geez, Lila, why is your taste so bad? Are you sure the baby will like these things?” “This outfit is for a five-month-old baby. The child won’t even be able to wear it after birth. And you’re buying these things when you’ve just gotten pregnant?” “Lila, do you even like… our child?” Julian’s pursed lips held emotions I couldn’t understand. I didn’t know from which day he started looking at me like this. Every time I asked him what was wrong, Julian would open his mouth but say nothing for a long time. Then he cheated. I put down the bottle and asked him, “Have you signed the agreement? When are you available to register the divorce?” Julian sneered. “Do you really like this baby that much, or are you still throwing a tantrum with me?” The man’s expression was cold, completely inconsistent with his usual gentle persona. Even when Summer came over with red eyes, he didn’t comfort her. I looked at the woman acting coquettish with Julian in public, asking for kisses, and the corner of my mouth twitched. “Does it matter?” “You can only choose one—me or the baby.” People who didn’t know better would think Julian was such a devoted man. I stroked my belly. “The baby, of course.” A blood relative who would love me without any reason. I’d been longing for it for so, so long. Julian was merely a scumbag I used to love. How could he compare to the baby? Suddenly, Julian pulled Summer close by the waist. “She has my seed in her belly too, but I only want the child Summer gives me.” A flash of surprise crossed Summer’s eyes, but she quickly hugged him back joyfully, calling him “honey.” “Lila, I don’t like the child you’re giving me.” These two sentences seemed to be squeezed through gritted teeth. No one understood what he actually wanted. “Oh, don’t worry. This baby is for me. I absolutely won’t let you take any responsibility for it.” “Good… very good.” Julian said through clenched teeth. “Who knows if you’ll use this baby to demand living expenses from me!” “I’m taking you to the hospital right now to get rid of it!”

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On New Year’s Eve, my sister-in-law Rachel’s son threw a firecracker into the manhole cover behind my son. After a deafening explosion, my son collapsed on the ground, not breathing. I rushed forward, demanding her son pay with his life. Rachel said it was just an accident. She tossed me fifty thousand dollars and told me not to ruin everyone’s holiday mood. The whole family urged me to be magnanimous, forcing me to sign a settlement agreement. In the end, I was completely exhausted and committed suicide on my son’s death anniversary. When I opened my eyes again, I was back one second before the firecracker was lit. I immediately yanked my son into my arms. A loud explosion rang out, followed by a scream behind me. I turned around and saw a child lying beside the manhole cover. Rachel screamed and rushed over. Her son was gone. The air reeked of sulfur as a lighter clicked. My nephew Logan crouched by the manhole cover, holding a lit firecracker that was sparking. My son Daniel faced away from the manhole, crouched a meter away playing with firecrackers. This scene overlapped with the image from my past life when my son was blown to death. “Daniel!” I yelled and lunged forward. I grabbed my son’s collar and yanked him into my arms, simultaneously kicking out with my right leg. Logan was just about to throw the firecracker when my foot connected with his rear. “Ow!” He screamed, lost his balance, and fell forward onto the manhole cover. The firecracker that had burned down to the end slipped through the hole. BOOM—!!! The earth shook. The shockwave mixed with sewer gas and sludge shot into the sky. I pressed Daniel firmly beneath me. My back was struck painfully by flying debris, my ears ringing. “Mom… scared…” Daniel in my arms trembled all over, his little hands clutching my clothes. Still alive. The smoke cleared. Rachel, holding a bag of snacks, rushed into the yard. A large crater had been blown in the concrete, the cast iron manhole cover was gone. A figure lay at the crater’s edge. The child was covered in sludge, his clothes indistinguishable, his head and face smeared with blood and mud, motionless. Rachel froze for a moment. Then she saw me hiding behind the flower bed. My back was toward her, my coat covering Daniel, only showing a pair of dust-covered shoes. Rachel spat out some shells. “Oh my God! I told you to watch your Daniel, but you wouldn’t listen!” She scurried in front of the child and began lecturing, pointing at the body on the ground. “I said it during dinner—manhole covers are dangerous. My Logan is so well-behaved, he never goes near those places! Your Daniel is the wild one. Now he’s gotten what he deserves, hasn’t he?” She turned and shouted toward the house. “Mom! Derek! Come out and see! Nina’s gotten her son killed!” I straightened up, holding Daniel against me, not letting him look. I just watched Rachel. In my past life, when Daniel was blown up, she wore this exact same expression. Back then she said: “Kids fooling around, who knew the manhole would explode? It’s fate!” Now, watching her gesticulate over that body, even kicking the rubble on the ground with her foot, I said nothing. Since you think this is karma, then let it be karma. The people inside ran out. My mother-in-law Martha, wrapped in a cotton coat, leaning on her cane. “What happened? Are you trying to tear down the house?” Rachel pointed at the child on the ground and shouted. “Mom, look! I told you Nina was bad luck! On New Year’s Eve she just had to play with fireworks, and now she’s blown herself into this state. Isn’t it unlucky?” My mother-in-law squinted through her reading glasses and frowned. “Oh my heavens! Is… is this Daniel?” “Really a cursed short-lived child! Seeing blood on New Year’s—how unlucky!” My mother-in-law poked at the child’s leg with her cane. “Why aren’t you getting up? What are you pretending to be dead for? Don’t embarrass the Miller family here!” Logan on the ground made gurgling sounds in his throat, his body curling up. Rachel jumped back a step, covering her nose. “Pretending! Still pretending! That noise was so loud just now, I bet he’s just trying to scare us! Covered in this stinking mud—hurry up and drag him away, don’t dirty the ground in front of my house!” Neighbors gathered around. Someone spoke up: “Rachel, this child doesn’t look right. So much blood—I’m afraid his internal organs are injured. Call 911 quickly!” “Yeah, look at that leg, it’s deformed.”

Rachel immediately panicked, hands on her hips glaring at the neighbors. “Call what 911! I’ll see who dares call!” “Today is New Year’s Eve! If an ambulance comes into the village, how will our family show our faces afterward? What family calls an ambulance on New Year’s?” She turned and glared at me. “Nina, stop playing dumb! Hurry up and get rid of your half-dead son!” “Let me tell you, tonight my brother is bringing important guests home for dinner. If he sees a bloody person lying at the door, can you handle the consequences?” I shielded Daniel, showing only my dust-covered face. “Rachel, are you sure you don’t want to call an ambulance?” “I think this child is seriously injured. If it’s too late, I’m afraid he won’t survive.” Rachel rolled her eyes. “Survive? What survival? A worthless life!” She glanced at the child on the ground. “The Miller family has virtue—how did we produce this thing? Playing with fire and burning himself, even dragging down the whole family. If he dies, it’s because he’s cursed! Just have another one!” She pulled out her phone, preparing to call her husband to complain. “Nina, I’m telling you right now—if you dare call an ambulance to come cry at our house, I’ll make sure you can’t stay in this family! Try me if you don’t believe it!” Logan on the ground convulsed again, spitting out a mouthful of black blood. His eyes were swollen into slits, staring fixedly in Rachel’s direction. His mother was busy making phone calls. I looked down at the foot on the ground. Half the shoe had been blown off, revealing bloody flesh. The remaining part still showed that swoosh logo. Limited edition AJ children’s sneakers. Last night, Rachel had specially shown them off, saying she spent three thousand dollars on them as Logan’s New Year’s gift. I curved my lips. Since you don’t want to save him, I’ll grant your wish. … “Oh my God, how sinful! Why is there so much blood?” My husband Derek came back from the village entrance carrying two bottles of wine, his hands shaking in fright. “Nina, what… what happened?” Derek ran to my side and looked past me at the child on the ground. “This… this is Daniel?” I looked at him. In my past life, when he saw Daniel lying in a pool of blood, his first reaction was also to check Rachel’s expression first. Rachel rushed to complain first. “Derek, you’re back just in time! Look at what your wife’s son has done! On New Year’s Eve, throwing firecrackers into the manhole—he blew up the manhole cover!” “And now look—he not only killed himself, but he’s made my doorway so bloody!” She slapped her thigh. “Mom was so scared her heart condition almost acted up! If word of this gets out, the Miller family will be completely disgraced!” Derek whipped around to glare at me. “Nina! Are you brain dead? What did I tell you before I left? I told you to watch the child! Is this how you watch him?” He pointed at “Daniel” on the ground. “Now it’s come to this—how are Rachel and Mom supposed to celebrate New Year’s? My brother is about to bring his boss home. Are you deliberately trying to ruin our family?” “Derek, shouldn’t your priority be checking if the child can still be saved?” Derek hesitated, glanced at the blood-covered person on the ground, his eyes evasive. “Save? How can we save him when he’s blown up like this? Do you want to bankrupt me?” He lowered his voice, speaking in my ear. “Anyone can see he’s beyond saving! Even if we save him, he’ll be disabled! Do you want me to spend the rest of my life taking care of a cripple?” “So, what you’re saying is, you won’t save him?” Derek stuck out his neck. “This was an accident! His own bad luck! Besides, Rachel already said we can’t call an ambulance. If we offend my brother’s important guest, can you bear that responsibility?” Rachel walked forward. “Enough, enough. Why the long face on New Year’s? It’s just a child.” She pulled a stack of banded cash from her bag. Fifty thousand dollars. The red envelope her brother had just given her. With a smack. She flung the stack of bills at me, hitting me in the face. The bills scattered, fluttering to the ground, several landing in the black-red sludge. “Take this fifty thousand.” Rachel lifted her chin. “Don’t say I’m heartless. This whole thing was your son’s own fault. Take the money and do whatever you want with it. Just keep your mouth shut.” She waved her hand. “Hurry up and get rid of this unlucky thing, and clean the ground! If you delay my brother’s dinner later, I’ll make sure your whole family regrets it!”

The neighbors whispered among themselves. “Fifty thousand isn’t a small amount. This child looks like he won’t make it.” “Rachel is ruthless enough.” My mother-in-law picked up a bill, wiped off the dust, and stuffed it in her pocket. “Nina, what are you standing there for? Why aren’t you thanking Rachel? Only Rachel is kind-hearted. In any other family, they wouldn’t give you a penny and would make you pay for road repairs!” “Take the money and get lost! Don’t be an eyesore here!” Derek crouched down to pick up the money. “Nina, are you stupid? Quick, take it! With this fifty thousand, we can renovate the house next year. As for Daniel… we can just have another one.” Looking at this family, I said nothing. Logan on the ground began convulsing. Those blood-covered hands scratched at the ground, fingernails digging into the dirt. “Mom… Mom…” The voice was faint. Rachel frowned and stepped back. “What are you calling for? Still not being quiet in this condition! Really a debt collector!” I bent down and snatched the money from Derek’s hands. “Fine.” “Since Rachel is so generous, I won’t refuse.” Derek grinned. “Now that’s more like it! Nina, you’re finally being sensible!” Rachel also smiled contemptuously. “Smart of you. Alright, hurry up and get rid of him. Just looking at him makes me sick.” I clutched that stack of bills. “Rachel, I’ll take the money. But we need proof of this, right?” I glanced at Logan on the ground—his convulsions were getting weaker. “What if you go back on your word later and say I extorted money from you? Or what if the child really dies and you turn it around, saying I caused it?” Rachel laughed. “Oh, quite the legal awareness? Fine, you want proof? Then let’s write an agreement!” Rachel pulled out a small notebook and pen, quickly writing a “liability waiver.” She shoved the notebook in front of me. “Sign it. Once you sign, the money is yours, and we’re square from now on.” Derek urged. “Sign quickly! What are you dawdling for? If my brother comes back and sees this mess, what will it look like?” My mother-in-law also tapped the ground. “Sign! Hurry up and sign! The sooner this mess is over, the better!” I took the pen and glanced at the dying Logan on the ground. I signed my name on the paper: Nina Carter. Then I added a line: “Rachel personally confirms waiving any rescue obligation for said injured party and demands family members immediately clear the scene. Consequences borne by her.” Rachel barely looked before snatching the notebook back and putting it away. “There, smart of you.” “Derek, what are you standing there for? Hurry up and help your wife get rid of this… this thing!” Derek rolled up his sleeves, about to drag the body. “Nina, give me a hand. Let’s move him to the back yard—don’t let him be an eyesore here.” There was only an abandoned pigsty in the back yard. I stepped back. “Wait.” Derek frowned. “What now? Having second thoughts?” “Since we signed the agreement and took the money, I’ll handle the body myself.” I looked at him. “No need to dirty your hands.” Derek breathed a sigh of relief. “Fine, fine, you handle it yourself. I’ll go help Rachel rinse the doorway. All this blood is so unlucky.” He ran to get the hose. Rachel nodded with satisfaction. “My brother-in-law is sensible after all. Nina, don’t blame me for being heartless. Don’t be too sad either. That child was always a bit slow anyway. Better to die early and be reborn early.” She took out a wet wipe to clean her hands. In the distance, an engine roared. Two headlight beams shone directly over. A Mercedes G-Wagon pulled into the village road. Rachel’s eyes lit up. “Oh! My brother’s here! My brother’s here!” She fixed her hair. “Mom! Derek! Quick, quick, quick! Don’t let this unlucky scene disturb my brother!” My mother-in-law threw down her cane to move debris blocking the road. Derek dropped the hose and ran to greet him. “Nina! What are you still standing there for? Hurry up and drag away the dead body! If my brother sees this and gets upset, you can forget about keeping that fifty thousand!” The car stopped five meters from the blast crater. The door opened, and Raymond stepped out in a fur coat with gold chains, a cigar in his hand. “Hey, Rachel, why is it so messy here?” Raymond glanced at the crater and me, frowning. Rachel smiled and rushed over. “Raymond! It’s nothing, nothing! Just Nina’s little brat who didn’t know any better, playing with fireworks and blowing up the manhole. And now, he’s blown himself to death. I already gave her money and told them to clean up!” Raymond exhaled smoke, scanning me with contempt. “Oh, dead? If he’s dead, hurry up and get rid of him. Why leave him lying here on New Year’s to disgust everyone?” He turned to get gifts from the trunk. “Rachel, quick, come see what I brought you. This is authentic Australian lobster…” The whole family gathered around. Logan on the ground had completely stopped moving.

“Rachel.” I suddenly spoke, my voice cutting through their laughter. “You just said this child died because he was cursed, better to die early and be reborn early, right?” Rachel, holding a large lobster, turned back impatiently. “Yeah! What about it? You want to back out? The agreement is signed!” I shook my head and walked toward the child on the ground. “I don’t want to back out. I just think that since you gave so much money, as a family member, I should let you take one last look.” I crouched down beside Logan. Rachel wrinkled her nose. “Look at what? A pile of rotten flesh? Am I sick?” I pulled out Rachel’s remaining wet wipes, placed them on the blood-covered face, and began wiping. The sludge and blood were wiped away, the features gradually becoming clear. Though swollen and deformed, these eyes, this nose, this mouth… The black mole on the left eyebrow was revealed. I stood up and stepped back. “Rachel, now, can you see clearly?” Raymond’s cigar dropped to the ground. My mother-in-law’s mouth hung open. Derek froze in place. Rachel’s hands, holding the lobster, trembled violently. The large lobster fell to the ground with a splat. Her eyeballs bulged as she stared at the face on the ground. That face, she recognized. “Lo… Logan?” Rachel’s voice trembled and shrilled. She swayed forward two steps, her legs gave out, and she fell to her knees. “Impossible… this is impossible…” She shook her head frantically. “Logan was inside… Logan was inside watching TV! He was eating jelly! He was still wearing the new shoes I just bought him…” Her gaze fell on that foot. That foot with half a destroyed AJ sneaker. “AHHHH!!!!!!” Rachel crawled over and grabbed the corpse. “Logan! Logan, what’s wrong? Say something! I’m your mother!” She shook Logan’s body desperately, frantically wiping the blood from his face. The more she wiped, the more blood there was. “How could it be you? How could it be you?! Weren’t you inside?” My mother-in-law let out a wail and fainted. Derek caught her. “Mom! Mom, don’t scare me!” Derek roared. “Nina! It was you! You did this, didn’t you?!” “You knew it was Logan all along! You deliberately didn’t say anything, right? You deliberately watched us make fools of ourselves, right? You venomous woman!” Wind blew through my hair. I unbuttoned my coat and turned slightly. Daniel, whom I’d been protecting behind me all along, carefully poked out his little head. His face was clean and unharmed. He blinked his big eyes. “Mom, why is big brother sleeping on the ground? Why is auntie throwing money on him?” Rachel jerked her head up, staring at Daniel, her eyes frighteningly red. “Daniel… Daniel isn’t dead?” She froze. If Daniel wasn’t dead… then all those words I just said, those kicks, that spitting… were all directed at my own son?! “NO!!!” “I’ll kill you! Nina, I’ll kill you! You killed my son!” She tried to lunge at me but couldn’t lift the child or stand up. Raymond snapped back to reality. “Quick! Call an ambulance! What are you all standing there for!” “No need to call.” I pulled out that stack of bills. With a flick of my wrist. The bills scattered, falling on Rachel and the corpse. “Rachel, this is the price you set yourself.” I looked at this woman with her twisted face. “Fifty thousand dollars to buy out your son’s life.” “Just now, you were the one who said not to call an ambulance, and you were the one who said to just have another one if he dies.” I pointed at the ground. “Don’t ruin everyone’s holiday mood, right?” Rachel looked at the money, looked at that “consequences borne by her” agreement. She opened her mouth wide, making gurgling sounds in her throat. A mouthful of fresh blood sprayed out, splashing on the money. “Karma… this is all karma…” Her eyes rolled back, and holding the corpse, she fell backward.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “368275”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic #浪漫Romance #重生Reborn