Category: English

When my billionaire parents and the fake heiress came to visit me in the hospital one last time, I finally gave up completely. “System, let the cancer cells spread. I want to detach from this body.” As my soul floated out, I heard them talking. “If Serena hadn’t told us, I wouldn’t even have known our biological daughter was faking an illness just to get our attention! So uncultured and pathetic.” “Let’s cut contact with her for a few months to teach her a lesson. Maybe then she’ll learn to be obedient.” Obedient? But I’m dead. 1 “Sister, do you like it? Then you can have it.” “Everything in this house is supposed to be yours anyway. I’m just grateful Mom and Dad are letting me stay.” “As long as you like it, Sister, I’ll give you anything.” Serena Miller’s beautiful face wore a faint smile, her eyes slightly red, as she offered me a diamond watch. Watching her theatrical performance, I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. If I hadn’t awakened, I would have fallen for her trap again. It was only after I awakened that I realized I was the cannon fodder supporting character in a “True and Fake Heiress” novel. Serena, the fake heiress, was the female lead. I was her foil. We were switched at birth. She grew up surrounded by luxury and wealth in the Miller family. I was thrown into a remote countryside, surviving like a stray dog. Not long ago, the Miller family found me and brought me back. I was dark and scrawny, my hair was dry and yellow, and my face and hands were rough like an old woman’s. My biological father said I had “no table manners and no proper posture,” and my academic grades were even more unwatchable. Meanwhile, their adopted daughter, Serena, was beautiful, elegant, played the piano, spoke foreign languages, and excelled academically. Comparing the two of us, my biological parents really couldn’t bring themselves to love me. Even the name they gave me was lazy: Maya Miller. 2 Right now, the diamond watch Serena wanted to give me was the limited-edition reward her mother had given her for placing third in her class on the practice exams. I, on the other hand, got no reward because I bombed the test. I just glanced at the watch twice, and Serena asked if it was pretty. I casually said yes, and the very next day she was trying to give it to me. But this was actually a trap she set. According to the plot, I was supposed to happily accept the watch. Then, the watch would suddenly snap into several pieces in my hands. She would cry and say that if I didn’t like it, I didn’t have to accept it, but why did I have to destroy it? This was a custom piece her mother had ordered way in advance, a treasure she protected with her life, and I had ruined it. This manipulative speech would successfully make my mother despise me even more. Fearing I would harm Serena again, she would banish me to the servants’ quarters in the back. “Serena, if it was given to you, keep it. It’s your reward! Maya, if you like it, I’ll naturally buy you one when you get good grades. In this house, no matter who it is, rewards and punishments are clearly separated.” Hearing Serena’s “magnanimous” words, Mrs. Miller felt a pang of sympathy and spoke up, frowning. Serena acted even more considerate and humble: “As long as Sister is happy, I don’t need a reward. Sister, take this watch.” Saying that, she forcefully tried to shove the watch into my hands. I stepped back several paces: “I don’t want it, use it yourself.” I sneered inwardly: [Give it to me? You’ve already smashed the watch band and barely pieced it back together just to force it on me. The moment I touch it, the watch will shatter into pieces, and then you’ll frame me for being malicious.] [If I touch it, even if I had a hundred mouths, I wouldn’t be able to explain myself.] Ever since I returned, Serena had been especially keen on setting traps for me, desperate for the family to despise me and kick me out as soon as possible. At first, I tried hard to explain. But as soon as she cried, the family took her side. No one listened to a word I said. So now, I couldn’t even be bothered to explain. I knew Mrs. Miller wouldn’t believe me anyway. I no longer cared about parental love or family affection. I planned to avoid the female lead as much as possible, save up some money, and leave the Miller family the moment I turned eighteen. It wasn’t that far away anyway. 3 Seeing that I didn’t fall for it, Serena froze. After all, I had been naive and easy to trap since I came back. She tried to insist, but Mrs. Miller suddenly reached out and grabbed the watch. “Mom—” Serena didn’t even have time to snatch it back. Mrs. Miller took the watch in her hand and gave it a slight twist. Snap. The watch broke into several pieces, two of them falling to the floor. One look and it was obvious someone had intentionally broken it. Mrs. Miller froze. I was also taken aback: [What’s going on? This isn’t following the plot.] [Could it be that Mrs. Miller has awakened too? Does she know Serena intentionally broke the watch to frame me, so she could drive me out to the servants’ quarters, making it easier for her to torment me?] Serena’s face went completely pale. Because the watch band was extremely sturdy; it couldn’t have shattered into pieces with just a gentle twist. But she reacted quickly, putting on a face of complete ignorance: “How did this happen? This watch was perfectly fine when Mom gave it to me yesterday, right—” She turned to look at me, her face turning terrified: “Maya, what did you do in my room early this morning? It was you, wasn’t it—” “Enough!” Mrs. Miller sternly cut her off. Serena, who had never been scolded by Mrs. Miller before, was stunned. But what followed shocked her even more. Mrs. Miller called the butler over and ordered him to pack Serena’s luggage and move her to an empty room in the servants’ quarters in the back. The butler and Serena were both dumbfounded. Then, Mrs. Miller looked at me, her expression somewhat unnatural: “Maya, you move into Serena’s old room. I’ll have someone replace everything in there with things you like.” Serena’s room was right next to the master bedroom, decorated lavishly and dreamily. Even the bed alone was worth the price of a normal person’s house. I was also a bit stunned, couldn’t help but think: [Could it be that Mrs. Miller really has awakened? Then she should know who her precious adopted daughter’s biological mother is—] At that moment, Serena’s agitated questioning interrupted my thoughts. Hearing that she was being sent to the servants’ quarters, Serena panicked, asking pitifully: “Mom, did I do something wrong?” Mrs. Miller sneered: “The custom gift I got you, if you didn’t like it, you didn’t have to accept it. Why did you have to destroy it?” “I really didn’t expect that while I treated you as my biological daughter, your heart was so dark.” “Since you despise me as a mother, go live in the servants’ quarters and stay far away from me, so you don’t offend my eyes!” “Butler, hurry up and move her!” “Yes, ma’am!” The butler was startled, not daring to hesitate any longer, and led the staff to start moving her things. I felt a rush of secret satisfaction; thankfully I hadn’t taken that watch. Serena: “…” Serena burst into panicked tears, trying hard to make excuses: “It’s not like that, I really didn’t break it. I treasured it so much, how could I bear to ruin it…” Just then, the eldest son of the Miller family, Arthur Miller, arrived. Serena immediately ran to him, throwing herself into his arms: “Arthur, help me, help me explain to Mom. Mom told me to give my room to Maya and wants me to live in the servants’ quarters. I’m willing to give it to her, but I don’t want to live in the servants’ quarters, I’m scared, boohoo~” Arthur doted on this sister the most. Seeing her crying her eyes out, he immediately hugged her. He turned to look at me, scolding me without a second thought: “Maya, if you’re not satisfied with your room, just say so. We’ll change it for you. Whatever you need, we’ll buy it. Why did you have to steal Serena’s room?” I hadn’t even spoken yet. Mrs. Miller anxiously shouted at him: “Get out of here, stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, and get back to work!” Serena hugged Arthur’s neck, pressing her whole chest tightly against him, crying even more pitifully: “Arthur, boohoo~” Arthur naturally hugged her back: “Mom, are you confused? Serena grew up in our family. She’s pure and kind-hearted by nature, and doesn’t like to fight with others. How can you bear to let her be wronged? Butler, stop moving!” I scoffed inwardly: [Tsk tsk, what a fiercely protective brother. I hope in a few days, on the night of her eighteenth birthday, after she drugs you and climbs into your bed, you’ll still think she’s pure and kind-hearted by nature?] [But he probably won’t even live to see that day, because his health is already terrible right now. He suffers from insomnia every night, and has heart palpitations and headaches during the day, but never takes the time to go to the hospital.] [By that day, when he’s drugged with those powerful aphrodisiacs and tormented by Serena all night, a perfectly capable young man will be turned into a drooling idiot at the sight of a woman.] Smack. The other half of the watch slipped from Mrs. Miller’s hand and fell to the floor. And Arthur, who was always stubbornly protective of Serena, actually had a stiff expression as he reached out and pushed away his precious sister. [Looking at the timeline, the tumor in Arthur’s brain is probably about to turn malignant, right? I should tell him to get a checkup at the hospital.] [Forget it, last time I just handed him a bowl of soup, and he told me to mind my own business, not to be overly affectionate, and not to fight over everything. If I try to advise him now, he’ll probably think I’m just jealous of his dear sister again.] Serena never expected to be pushed away by the brother who loved her the most. Caught off guard, she almost face-planted onto the floor. After steadying herself, she moved towards Arthur again. But Arthur took two sudden steps back. He suddenly looked at me, his expression complex. After a long while, his voice sounded uncertain as he said: “Sorry, I have something to do. I need to go out for a bit.” He left in a hurry. “Arthur!” Serena cried out tragically. But Arthur didn’t even look back. Serena’s expression shattered. 4 Serena didn’t go live in the servants’ quarters. She packed a simple, small bag. She only packed a few changes of clothes. She intended to move out of this house. She bowed deeply to Mrs. Miller, tears falling like pearls, her voice hoarse: “Thank you for taking care of me all these years. I’m leaving. When I graduate, I’ll work hard to earn money and repay your kindness in raising me.” Mrs. Miller frowned: “You made a mistake, I scolded you, and you’re feeling wronged? Is this you threatening to run away from home?” Serena cried and shook her head: “I’m not throwing a tantrum, I genuinely want to leave. Maya has suffered a lot outside these past few years, so please dote on her. You don’t need me anymore.” “Eleanor, there was a shipment of fresh fruit at Tim’s today. I picked out a few for you, come have a taste.” Bursting in like a whirlwind was Mrs. Miller’s best friend, Brenda Davis. Eleanor was Mrs. Miller’s name. She was always overbearing, so she had very few friends. Brenda was the only one who accommodated her in everything. Because of this, the two were very close. Seeing Brenda, the cold Mrs. Miller’s expression softened a bit: “Thank you.” I laughed inwardly: [What’s there to thank her for? She’s buying you fruit with your own money.] [You loaded her membership card with ten thousand, and eight thousand of it was spent by Brenda.] Mrs. Miller’s face, which had just relaxed, froze again. Brenda, oblivious to this, ran over to comfort Serena: “Oh my, what’s going on? Who upset our Princess Serena? Your pretty little face is all smeared with tears like a messy kitten.” Serena held her bag, crying even harder: “Aunt Brenda, boohoo, I’m moving out. I’ll come visit you when I have time.” Brenda looked surprised: “What happened?” Serena: “The watch Mom gave me broke. I don’t know how it broke, but it made Mom mad, and Maya felt wronged, so it’s best if I move out.” Brenda laughed it off: “Is that all? Serena, just apologize and it’ll be fine. You’re so pretty, if you go out there alone you’ll be kidnapped by traffickers. Your parents and brother would be heartbroken. Right, Eleanor? You wouldn’t bear to let this beautiful girl wander the streets alone, would you?” [Hmph, with her biological mother right here, how could Serena ever wander the streets? The luxury condo you borrowed from Eleanor, the princess room you meticulously decorated, wasn’t that all prepared for Serena?] As soon as I finished my internal rant, Mrs. Miller suddenly asked: “What did you say?” Her eyes were wide open, her voice trembling slightly. Seeing her staring at me, I was taken aback and shook my head: “Nothing, I didn’t say anything.” I continued complaining in my head: [It’s a pity we can’t choose our origins. Otherwise, I definitely wouldn’t have chosen to be born into the Miller family.] [Eleanor is blind, completely oblivious to the fact that Brenda swapped their two daughters.] [While I was in the countryside fighting dogs for food, my own biological mother was raising someone else’s daughter like a princess, and even letting her leech off the Miller family, paying for all her food, clothes, housing, and expenses.] [Later, when Serena turned the Miller family upside down and seized all their assets, she moved Brenda into the Miller family’s mansion. Do you remember what Brenda did to Eleanor?] [She called Eleanor a moron and an idiot, saying Eleanor must be blind to fall so low. She even said she never treated Eleanor as a best friend, but rather as a servant, and that now she was the master.] [When Mr. Miller fell ill, Eleanor went to Brenda to borrow money. As a result, Brenda forced Eleanor to kneel and lick her shoes clean.] [Even though Brenda and her daughter are barely human, specializing in inhumane acts, and Serena never said a word even when she knew about her true parentage early on. Even if I told Eleanor these things, she probably wouldn’t believe me. Better not be overly affectionate again. I’ll just watch how things unfold for them. Anyway, I must get out of this house as soon as possible.] [Speaking of which, this isn’t my home at all. I’m just a pitiful ghost temporarily lodging here. No one considers me family anyway.] At this time, Brenda pushed Serena in front of Mrs. Miller: “Eleanor, it’s not a big deal. Why kick the child out? Everyone envies you for having such a daughter—beautiful, smart, and elegant. You couldn’t find another like her in all of New York. If she runs out and something happens, wouldn’t you cry yourself to death?” Brenda urged Serena: “Go on, apologize to your mom.” Serena looked softly at Mrs. Miller: “Mom—” Before she could say another word, Mrs. Miller abruptly interrupted her: “Serena, since you want to leave, then move out.” Both Serena and Brenda were dumbfounded. Mrs. Miller stepped aside to make a phone call, then took my hand: “Come with Mom to the hospital to see your brother.” I was confused and bewildered. This was the first time she had held my hand, and the first time she used the words “Mom” and “Brother” in front of me. I was led away by her in a daze. Mrs. Miller drove, and I sat in the passenger seat. She fastened my seatbelt for me with unprecedented gentleness. As we drove out of the garage, Brenda pulled a sobbing, stumbling Serena to block the car: “Eleanor, is Arthur at the hospital? What’s wrong with him? Serena is very worried about her brother too. Let us ride with you—” Mrs. Miller locked the car doors immediately and said coldly: “No need. Arthur isn’t her biological brother, so there’s no need for her concern.” With that, she maneuvered the car around the stunned Brenda and Serena, hit the gas, and sped away. In the rearview mirror, Serena’s cries grew even louder. 5 Arthur said he wasn’t feeling well and went to the hospital for a checkup, where they found a tumor. Thankfully, it was caught early and wasn’t a major issue. After surgery, he would be fine. We had just arrived when Serena and Brenda followed right behind us. “Arthur, are you okay?” Serena’s eyes were red and swollen again, her face full of concern. She handed an exquisitely packaged bag to Arthur and said considerately: “This is lotus dew from Shangji, your favorite, Arthur. It’s still hot. Drink some, and you’ll get better faster.” Hearing “lotus dew,” I instinctively glanced at the packaging box a few more times: [The drug Serena slipped to Arthur on his birthday was mixed into this lotus dew. Turns out it’s his favorite. No wonder he was completely oblivious to being drugged.] [With a fake sister this attentive, it’s no surprise Arthur likes her.] [Too bad this affection won’t last. Later, when Arthur turns into a fool, his dear fake sister will immediately send him to a mental asylum with the worst conditions.] [He tried everything to make a phone call to her, but this fake sister found it annoying and had the asylum orderlies electrocute him to death with stun batons.] Crash. The lotus dew fell to the floor, splashing milky liquid everywhere. It turned out that when Serena handed it to Arthur, he outright refused it. Because he pushed it away too fast, the lotus dew fell to the ground. Not only did he refuse it, but he also looked terrified, backing up continuously on his hospital bed. If there wasn’t a wall behind him, he would have retreated even further. Serena froze, tears “whooshing” out again, looking on the verge of a breakdown: “Arthur, am I a ghost? Why are you hiding so far away from me?” Arthur had a “you’re scarier than a ghost” expression and said coldly: “Leave. I’m fine. I don’t need your concern.” Serena looked pitifully at Mrs. Miller again. Mrs. Miller looked away and also said coldly: “Hurry up and leave.” Serena was even more heartbroken. “Then get some rest, Arthur.” Brenda gave Mrs. Miller and Arthur a deep look and pulled Serena away. As she passed by me, Serena glared coldly and drove me away: “My brother needs to rest, and he doesn’t want to be disturbed. Stop being so full of yourself and lingering around here. Get out.” Just as she finished trying to kick me out. Arthur called out: “Maya, you don’t need to go.” I originally didn’t want to stay, but with Serena right there, I intentionally stayed and smiled slightly at her: “He insists on me disturbing him.” Serena: “…” Serena’s face turned green with anger. 6 After Brenda pulled Serena away. Arthur grabbed a carton of milk from the bedside table—delivered by his assistant—opened it, and handed it to me, saying somewhat unnaturally: “Maya, want to drink this?” I refused without a second thought: “No thanks.” [What are you pretending for? Eleanor already knows you find me annoying and hate me, so what’s the point of playing the loving sibling act in front of her? Besides, she hates me to death herself; why would she care how you look at me?] Arthur froze, his face inexplicably turning red, looking guilty. And Mrs. Miller’s eyes inexplicably turned red too. She took my hand and choked back a sob: “I’m sorry, Maya. Since you came back, Mom hasn’t properly cared for you…” Arthur suddenly apologized to me as well: “Maya, it’s my fault too. I don’t even know what you like to eat. Tell me, and I’ll buy it all for you from now on.” His eyes were also red: “Maya, I don’t hate you. We’re biological siblings. You’re my biological sister.” He deliberately emphasized the words “biological sister,” as if afraid I wouldn’t believe him. Me: “?” This drastically different attitude before and after made me suspect they had both been possessed. I gave an awkward smile and played along: “Haha, right, we’re siblings.” [Whatever, I’m only staying for a few days anyway. Once I turn eighteen, I’ll have saved up some money. Then I’ll move out and stop hoping for some supposed blood relation.] I didn’t say anything overly harsh. For some reason, Mrs. Miller and Arthur looked even sadder and more guilty. 7 Serena actually started trying hard. She didn’t return to the Miller family for several days in a row. Without her causing trouble at home. My treatment in this house instantly skyrocketed. The biggest room was now mine. Every day, the chefs prepared food tailored to my preferences. A Rolls-Royce with a starlight headliner was assigned to pick me up and drop me off. Seniors barely had any days off, let alone time to go shopping, yet Mrs. Miller bought me heaps of clothes, shoes, and bags. Mrs. Miller gave me a card, and Arthur gave me a card too. They both said it was my allowance. I checked; both cards had over a million dollars each. And they both said they would transfer money to the cards every month, telling me to spend it freely. Actually, when they brought me back, they didn’t give me any pocket money. Like Serena, they probably felt that since we were kids, giving us large sums without restriction wasn’t a good idea, so they never gave me such huge amounts before. Earlier, when I first returned, seeing my poor grades, my parents originally planned to hire private tutors for me. But Serena volunteered to tutor me. Mom and Dad were very pleased and agreed. But when she tutored me, she intentionally threw in foreign languages that I couldn’t understand at all. Naturally, I didn’t improve one bit. Serena would then show my tests, covered in red ‘X’s, to our parents, smiling helplessly and saying I gave her headaches. Her expression practically etched the words “naturally stupid” on my forehead. My parents probably assumed my academics were beyond saving. After that, they never mentioned hiring tutors for me again, only asking Serena to continue paying closer attention to my studies. But these past few days, Mrs. Miller hired several private tutors for me in a row, all of them top-tier professors. Before, problems that sounded like gibberish to me became understandable once these professors broke them down into simple terms. Although the Miller family was treating me very well right now, I still didn’t dare let my guard down. I studied desperately with the professors while continuing my master plan to save money. Except for essential expenses, I didn’t dare spend a single extra penny of the money the Miller family gave me, carefully saving it all. 8 Serena returned a week later. Brought back by Mr. Miller, Richard Miller. He had returned from a business trip and, because he hadn’t eaten for a day and a night, he went to a restaurant near the airport with his trusted assistant to eat. There, he ran into Serena and brought her back. Serena was still wearing the same outfit she had worn when she left. She had dark circles under her eyes, and her complexion was sallow. Her hands were covered in band-aids. Mr. Miller held Serena’s hand tightly, his heart clearly aching for her. As soon as he got back, he confronted Mrs. Miller, demanding to know why she let a high school senior move out alone over such a trivial matter. He angrily accused Mrs. Miller: “Do you have any idea what she was doing out there? She was washing dishes in a restaurant! Going to school during the day, washing dishes at night, and washing dishes on holidays too! If I hadn’t run into her, her whole life would have been ruined by your hands!” Surprisingly, Mrs. Miller didn’t feel sorry for the miserable-looking Serena. Instead, she asked skeptically: “What a coincidence? Out of all the restaurants, she happened to be washing dishes at the exact one you went to eat at after your business trip?” [Is it really a coincidence? They planned it all out beforehand.] [Brenda and her husband, Kevin Davis, are relying on this daughter to leach off the Miller family. How could they let her suffer?] Kevin Davis was Mr. Miller’s trusted assistant, and also Brenda’s husband—Serena’s biological father. [Looking at Serena’s dark circles, she probably went through several palettes of eyeshadow.] [Tsk, and her hands. To play the victim, how many band-aids did she waste?] I was just complaining internally when Mrs. Miller suddenly picked up a pot of tea and splashed it right at Serena’s face and hands. Splash. The makeup on Serena’s face was ruined. Serena screamed, raising her hands to cover her face. Because she had applied it so thickly, the eyeshadow started running down. And the band-aids on her hands, soaked through, fell off. Revealing smooth, completely unblemished fingers underneath. The air instantly went dead silent. Mrs. Miller sneered: “Act! Keep acting! I’m the one who failed as a mother. I meticulously raised you for eighteen years, only to raise a deceitful liar!” Mr. Miller was stunned. Serena, completely caught off guard, was also dumbfounded. I was in awe of Mrs. Miller. She actually recognized that Serena’s “pitiful look” was just makeup. 9 Mr. Miller stared at Serena in disbelief, speaking with disappointment: “So, you even lied to me? The dark circles, the band-aids on your hands—it was all an act?” Seeing she had been exposed, Serena dropped to her knees with a thud: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean it. Mom was very angry with me, and I was afraid… I was afraid you guys really didn’t want me anymore. Dad, you love me the most, you definitely won’t stay mad at me, right?” [What Dad? She already reunited with her biological parents five years ago. She intentionally kept it from you because you’re rich and she wanted to use you as an ATM.] [I also don’t know why Richard Miller chose Kevin Davis as his confidant. Kevin is even more disgusting than his wife, Brenda. He secretly runs a small company, embezzles company funds to gamble, and loses millions in a single game. And that’s not even the worst of it.] [He also uses his position as the CEO’s confidant to hook up with countless mistresses at the company. The employees below hate him to the core. With him causing so much trouble, Richard Miller is completely clueless. Truly impressive.] [No wonder the company was later seized by Serena and her biological father, Kevin. At his age, Richard is too easy to fool.] “What?” Just as I was ranting, Mr. Miller suddenly seemed unwell. His face and lips turned pale, and he collapsed onto the sofa. Mrs. Miller quickly had someone call the family doctor. When the doctor arrived, the examination revealed a blood pressure issue. They gave Mr. Miller some blood pressure medication. Once he stabilized, Mr. Miller stared at me for a long time, his eyes full of complex emotions. [Why is he staring at me like that? Does he still think I’m bullying his precious adopted daughter?] Mr. Miller’s expression froze. Serena tried to move closer to Mr. Miller again. But he pushed her away. He slowly stood up, looked at me, and spoke with unprecedented gentleness: “Maya, there’s no school today. Do you want to come play at Dad’s company?” Before I could answer, Serena eagerly interrupted: “Dad, I want to go! I’ll go with you right now.” There was an unspoken rule in the Miller family: if the children were chosen by the head of the family to be taken to the company, it meant they were intentionally being groomed to pave the way for their future entry into the business. And Serena had been waiting for this day. She thought she would only have a chance after she officially turned eighteen. She didn’t expect the opportunity to present itself now, and she was eager to seize it. However, Mr. Miller ruthlessly rejected her: “You don’t need to.” He turned back to me, his expression softening: “Maya, can you accompany Dad to the company? Think of it as an internship. Dad will pay you an hourly wage, is that okay?” I couldn’t figure out what he was up to, but hearing I could earn money, I agreed. “Dad!” Serena’s face contorted with anger, her voice trembling. “How could you treat me like this too? Are you trying to force me to die? Boohoo~” [You won’t die. Your biological parents are waiting right outside the mansion.] As soon as I finished my internal commentary, Mrs. Miller, who had regained her composure, picked up her phone, dialed a number, and said coldly: “Brenda, come pick up your goddaughter.” Brenda had become Mrs. Miller’s best friend in order to stay close to Serena, and had even acknowledged Serena as her goddaughter. Brenda quickly ran in, out of breath. Seeing Serena’s ruined makeup and the removed band-aids, she tried to smooth things over: “Eleanor, is Mr. Miller home too? You all know? Well, I couldn’t bear to let the child wander outside, so I let her stay at my place for a few days. She cried every day because she missed you all.” “I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I came up with this bad idea. Don’t blame her. If you want to blame someone, blame me, okay?” “You see, you guys were such a happy, perfect family before. You were the envy of everyone. Now you’re arguing like this. Aren’t you just letting people laugh at you for no reason?” After Brenda finished, she glared at me, her eyes filled with such resentment that they almost shot daggers: “Maya, you caused all this, didn’t you? You intentionally drove a wedge between Serena and her parents, trying to drive Serena out?” I scoffed in anger: “Are you crazy? What does this have to do with me?” Brenda’s voice grew louder: “Heh, look at your manners. Is that how you talk to your elders? Country bumpkins truly can’t present themselves in public! Do you think you can win just by being loud and throwing tantrums?” “Let me tell you, Serena is the meticulously groomed heiress of this family. You have no grades, no grace, you can’t compare to her in any way. Just because you’re lazy, you stir up trouble in the Miller family, driving a wedge between Serena and the family. You’ve completely disgraced the Miller family—” Before she could finish her sentence. Smack! Mrs. Miller slapped her hard across the face. Mrs. Miller trembled with anger: “Who do you think you are? What gives you the right to dictate matters in my family? Get the hell out!” “Eleanor, you hit me?” Brenda stared at Mrs. Miller in disbelief, clutching her cheek as tears welled up. “I hit you! If you say one more word about my daughter, I’ll hit you again!” Mrs. Miller roared even louder, “Get out!” 10 Since the day Mr. Miller took the initiative to bring me to the company. Except for my class hours, whenever I had free time, he would continue to take me to the company. The salary he paid me was very high. I didn’t have to do anything difficult, he just introduced me to some uncles and aunts in the company. They were all veteran shareholders and executives of the company. During this time, he suddenly broke from the plot and uncovered all of Kevin’s illicit activities in the company. He implemented sweeping reforms, making Kevin pay the price for his actions. The price was spending the rest of his life working behind bars. Every employee in the company who had been oppressed by Kevin rejoiced. Watching the changes in each member of the Miller family, I realized that all the plotlines were being rewritten by them one by one.

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When the parent-teacher conference ended, I stayed in that tiny, cramped plastic chair for a long moment. I knelt down by my daughter’s side and asked her, my voice a forced whisper, what the “other mommy” in her essay looked like. Sophie blinked her big, innocent eyes. “She’s the lady Daddy takes me to see every week. He told me I have to call her Mommy, too.” Outside the school gates, Thomas was leaning against the SUV, looking every bit the doting suburban father. He flashed that easy, crooked smile of his and asked if the teacher had liked Sophie’s writing. I rolled the notebook into a tight cylinder and shoved it deep into my bag. I didn’t look him in the eye. “I’ll let you read it yourself when we get home,” I said, my voice as cold as the autumn wind. My mind kept spiraling back to the classroom. When the teacher had read Sophie’s essay aloud, the room had gone deathly quiet. She had written about having two mothers—one who lived in our house, and one who lived in “Daddy’s other house.” A few parents had let out stifled, awkward chuckles. The teacher had frozen for a heartbeat before quickly moving on to the next paper. I had been sitting in the very back row, my hands trembling so violently that the plastic water bottle in my grip crunched and popped in the silence. 1. On the drive home, Thomas drove with one hand on the wheel, the other reaching back to turn up the Disney soundtrack Sophie loved. Sophie hummed along in the backseat. He glanced at me three times in the rearview mirror. I kept my gaze fixed out the window, watching the familiar streets of our neighborhood blur into a gray smudge. The moment we stepped inside, Sophie ran off to wash her hands. I sat on the sofa and opened the notebook. The pencil marks were shaky, the letters oversized and messy. “Daddy has another house. There is a lady there. She is very nice and makes me cupcakes. Daddy says she is my mommy too, so I call her Mommy. She has very long hair and plays the guitar.” Below the text, there was a drawing. A woman with long, flowing hair sat in a wheelchair. A tall man stood beside her, holding a little girl’s hand. Above the girl’s head, Sophie had drawn a bright red heart. I closed the notebook and set it on the coffee table. Thomas came out of the kitchen with a glass of water and handed it to me. “So, what did the teacher actually say?” “She said Sophie has a vivid imagination. Great descriptive skills.” He laughed, settling into the cushion beside me. “That’s my girl.” I looked at him—really looked at him—and suddenly, his face felt like a mask. We had been married for seven years. We’d been together since our sophomore year of college. Ten years total. His smile had always been my anchor—the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the warmth in his expression. It always felt so sincere. But now, I noticed how his eyes kept darting toward the notebook on the table. His right thumb began to rub his wedding band, back and forth. I knew that gesture. He did it every time he was lying. “Thomas.” “Yeah?” “Who is the lady in Sophie’s essay?” The hand holding his water glass faltered for a fraction of a second before he took a long, steady sip. “What lady? You know how kids are, Callie. She probably made it up.” “She said you told her to call this woman ‘Mommy’.” “Oh,” he said, his voice smooth and rehearsed. “That must have been Sarah from the office. We had that company picnic a few months ago. She was probably just teasing Sophie. You know how she is.” He didn’t skip a beat. I nodded slowly. I didn’t push him. That night, while he was tucking Sophie in, I sat in the dark living room and logged into the cloud backup for his car’s dashcam. The GPS history didn’t lie. Every Thursday afternoon, the car stopped at an old apartment complex on the outskirts of the city. Arrival: 2:00 PM. Departure: 6:00 PM. Four hours, like clockwork. I took screenshots and saved them to a hidden folder on my phone. At 2:00 AM, thinking I was asleep, Thomas leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. Then, he crept out to the balcony. Through the glass door, I heard his voice—hushed, tender, aching with a softness he used to reserve only for me. “Don’t be scared,” he whispered into the phone. “I’ll be there tomorrow morning to take you to your check-up. I promise.” The next morning, I took a half-day at work. I went to the bank and pulled our shared account statements for the last six months. There it was. A recurring transfer of twelve hundred dollars every month to an account held by someone named Lydia Vance. Six months. Never a day late. I sat on the cold plastic chair in the bank lobby, my legs shaking. I pulled out a black notebook, turned to a fresh page, and wrote down the name and the amount. My handwriting was so neat it frightened me. That afternoon, I drove to the address from the GPS. I stood on the sidewalk, looking up at a first-floor balcony. A man’s white dress shirt was hanging there to dry. It was the one I had ironed myself last Sunday. I recognized the slight yellowing at the collar and the spare button I’d sewn on by hand. An elderly man walking a golden retriever passed by. He saw me staring and smiled. “You must be Mr. Miller’s sister,” he said. “Something like that,” I replied. “He’s a good man, your brother. His wife’s health is so poor—being in that wheelchair can’t be easy—but he’s here every day, cooking for her, looking after her. You don’t see that kind of devotion much anymore.” His wife. I forced a smile. “Yes. He’s always been very… devoted.” When Thomas came home that night, he brought a box of my favorite pastries from the bakery downtown. I sat at the table, methodically slicing a lemon tart. He kicked off his shoes and asked why I was so quiet. I didn’t look up. “That white shirt of yours—the cuffs are starting to fray. You should probably change into a new one tomorrow.” 2. He glanced at his sleeve and laughed. “I must have snagged it on a crate at the warehouse today. Good catch, babe.” He looked so honest. So utterly guiltless. For a second, I almost wondered if I was the one losing my mind. Over the weekend, Sophie was coloring in the living room. She drew a woman with long hair in a wheelchair again. I walked over. “Who’s this, sweetie?” “Lydia,” Sophie said. “Daddy says she’s the bravest person in the whole world. He says we have to look after her because she’s family.” Family. I stroked her hair and said nothing. After dinner, I was at the sink, the water running at full blast to drown out the noise in my head. My mother-in-law, Martha, was at the counter, drying dishes. I kept my tone casual. “Martha, Sophie’s been talking about someone named Lydia lately. Do you know her?” The dish towel slipped from Martha’s hand. She took a second too long to pick it up. When she finally looked at me, her eyes were darting toward the door. “Oh, Callie… Thomas is a man of honor. His father… well, there was an accident years ago. Lydia’s family did a great deal for us. He owes them. He’s just paying back a debt. As his wife, you really should try to be more understanding. Be the bigger person.” I turned off the faucet. I pressed my palms against the cold marble countertop. They all knew. My husband, his mother—everyone was in on the secret. I was the only one playing a role in a play I hadn’t been cast in. I was the fool. On Monday, I took Sophie to the city hospital for a routine pediatric appointment. As we passed the corridor leading to the physical therapy wing, I saw him. Thomas was pushing a wheelchair. A woman with long, dark hair sat in it, a knit blanket draped over her lap. He stopped, took off his own jacket, and tucked it carefully around her legs. He knelt down, adjusting the footrest with a practiced, intimate familiarity. I stood ten feet away, hidden behind a concrete pillar, clutching Sophie’s prescription bag so hard my nails bit into the paper. I felt nothing. Just a cold, hollow numbness. The sound of the final gavel falling. A nurse pushed a cart between us, blocking my view. By the time she passed, Thomas seemed to sense something and glanced back. But I was already gone, disappearing into the stairwell. When I got back to the office, I called Rachel, an old college friend who worked as a forensic accountant. “Rachel, I need you to teach me how to track hidden assets and marital property. Every cent.” There was a three-second silence on the other end. “Come over tonight,” Rachel said. “I’ll bring the wine and the spreadsheets.” When Thomas came home late that night, he wrapped his arms around me from behind. He buried his face in my neck, his voice low and exhausted. “Callie, I’m so tired. Being here with you is the only thing that makes me feel alive.” I closed my eyes. I didn’t pull away, but I didn’t lean in, either. His body heat seeped through my shirt—the same warmth I had relied on for a decade. But all I could think about was that he had shared that same warmth with another woman just hours ago. 3. The “business trips” started getting more frequent. Tuesdays, Thursdays, sometimes the entire weekend. I went to work. I made dinner. I played the part. But at night, when he was dead to the world, I photographed every message, every receipt, every email on his phone. I found a real estate contract in his sent folder. A two-bedroom condo, paid in full. The title was in his mother’s name—Martha Miller. The address was in the same complex where I’d seen the white shirt. The same building. The same floor. I took the photo. I saved it. On Wednesday, I received an anonymous text. “Some love is a responsibility. Some love is a gift. Thomas is exhausted. He needs a sanctuary where he is understood, not just a list of chores.” I read it twice. I didn’t reply. Screenshot. Archive. Getting into a gutter fight with a woman like that was beneath me. That Thursday night, the fever hit Sophie like a freight train. She was shaking, her skin burning, her lips turning a terrifying shade of blue. I called Thomas. First call: Straight to voicemail. Second call: Straight to voicemail. Third call: That cold, mechanical woman’s voice. “The user you are trying to reach has their phone turned off.” I grabbed Sophie and ran out into a torrential downpour, screaming for a cab. She was delirious, sobbing into my neck, her tears and saliva soaking my collar. The rain was a wall. Not a single car stopped. I stripped off my coat to wrap her in it, standing on the curb in my shirtsleeves for eight agonizing minutes. Finally, a van driver pulled over. He said he didn’t usually take passengers, but I looked like a ghost. At the ER, I did it all alone. The registration, the blood draws, the frantic pacing. The nurse asked where the father was. “It’s just me,” I said. At 4:00 AM, the fever finally broke. Sophie fell into a fitful sleep. I went to the pharmacy window to pick up her meds, and that’s when I saw him. Thomas was sprinting through the ER lobby, drenched to the bone, his face a mask of panic. His shirt was on inside out. The tag was sticking out at the neck. For a split second, I thought he was looking for us. Then I heard him speak to the pharmacist. “Lydia Vance. Severe abdominal pain. The ER doctor sent over a prescription.” He was standing five feet away from me. He was in a state of total collapse because another woman had a stomach ache. Meanwhile, our daughter had almost slipped away in a fever of 104 degrees. Then Martha appeared, scurrying down the hallway, grabbing Thomas by the arm. “Is Lydia okay? Go back to her, Thomas. She can’t be left alone right now. She’s too fragile.” She didn’t see me. Or maybe, in their world, I just didn’t exist anymore. I stood there, clutching Sophie’s antibiotics, watching the two of them hover over the ghost of another woman. My hands didn’t shake. My eyes stayed dry. But I felt something deep inside my chest shatter. It was a clean break. No jagged edges. Just a total, quiet annihilation of everything I had ever believed in. At 7:00 AM, Thomas finally checked his phone. He burst into the pediatric ward, his eyes bloodshot, his voice trembling. “Callie, I am so sorry. My phone died… there was a massive crisis at the office, I—” I sat by the bed, slowly peeling his hand off my arm. I took a wet wipe from my bag and began to clean my fingers, one by one. “It’s fine,” I said, my voice so soft it was almost a whisper. “Just don’t turn your phone off next time.” He stood there, stunned. His mouth opened, then closed. Sophie woke up and reached out for him. He picked her up, his eyes welling with tears. I watched him hold our daughter, and all I could wonder was if he’d used that exact same expression of heartbreak to comfort someone else just an hour ago. 4. For the next two weeks, I became a ghost in my own life. I worked. I cooked. I spoke to him. But behind the scenes, I moved every cent of my personal savings into my mother’s account. I applied for a six-month editorial assignment out of state, and my boss approved it immediately. I worked with Rachel to map out every asset Thomas had. He didn’t suspect a thing. He thought I’d swallowed his lies. On our seventh anniversary, he booked a table at the most expensive French restaurant in the city. The room was filled with roses and candlelight. He slid a velvet box across the table. A diamond necklace. It must have cost a fortune. He looked at me with an intensity that would have moved me to tears if I didn’t know the truth. “Callie, once things settle down at work, I want to take you and Sophie to Iceland. Let’s see the Northern Lights. Let’s start over. Okay?” His voice was hoarse. His fingers were trembling. I looked at him and felt a wave of pure, unadulterated absurdity. How could a man be so profoundly treacherous and yet look so devastatingly sincere? I nodded. “Okay. I’ll wait for you.” The moment the words left my lips, his phone buzzed. He looked at the screen, and the color drained from his face. His breathing hitched. I went back to cutting my steak, my eyes focused on the plate. “If it’s an emergency, you should go.” He didn’t move. I set my knife down and looked him in the eye. “But if you walk out that door tonight, Thomas, we are done. Permanently.” His body went rigid. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. Then he closed his eyes, his voice a ragged whisper. “Lydia slit her wrists. I owe her her life, Callie. I am so sorry. I promise—this is the last time.” He stood up, the chair screeching against the floor. He turned and ran. The door swung shut behind him. The candle flame flickered and died. I sat alone at the long, empty table. I picked up a piece of rare steak and chewed it slowly. It tasted like iron. After paying the bill, I took a taxi to the apartment complex. 11:00 PM. The autumn air felt like a knife against my skin. I stood under the first-floor window, peering through a gap in the curtains. There was no blood. No slit wrists. Thomas was sitting on the sofa. Lydia was curled into his side, her head on his shoulder. Martha came out of the kitchen with a plate of sliced fruit, smiling as she set it on the coffee table. And my daughter, Sophie, was leaning against Lydia’s knees. She looked up and chirped, “Mommy, don’t be mad at Daddy anymore. We’re all going to be together forever.” Thomas looked down at them with a smile of weary, indulgent adoration. It was a perfect family portrait. A family of four. My stomach cramped so violently I thought I would be sick. I leaned over, hands on my knees, dry-heaving into the darkness. I looked down at the wedding ring on my left hand. I’d worn it for seven years. It had left a permanent indentation on my skin. I slid it off. I looked at it for two seconds. Then I dropped it into the storm drain at my feet. It hit the metal grate with a tiny, pathetic clink. You owe her your life, Thomas? Fine. Pay it with your own life. I’m done settling your debts.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “436727”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The ice rattled in my glass, a sharp, rhythmic sound that matched the thrumming of my heart. I’d lost the round of Truth or Dare, and my friends didn’t waste a second. “What was the exact moment,” my best friend asked, a predatory glint in her eye, “that you knew Thomas was ‘the one’?” I let the silence stretch, my gaze drifting lazily toward the dark corner of the lounge where he sat. “Probably the moment after we broke up,” I said, my voice carrying just enough of a sting. “When he saw someone else trying to move in on me and finally grew a spine. He came back crawling, literally in tears, begging for a second chance. That’s when I knew.” The room erupted in a chorus of whistles and laughter. But in the shadows, a young woman—a graduate student of Thomas’s—sat frozen. Her face was a violent shade of crimson, and I could see the liquid shimmer of unshed tears in her eyes. I didn’t look away. I leaned back, letting my shoulder press firmly against Thomas’s chest, claiming him. He stiffened for a heartbeat, a micro-tension in his muscles, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he slid an arm around my waist, pulling me closer. The girl couldn’t take it. She stood abruptly, her chair screeching against the hardwood, and bolted out the door. Only then did Thomas lean into my ear, his voice a jagged whisper. “Lydia, for God’s sake. Enough is enough.” … Thomas had told me to get back to the venue immediately. He wanted me to “smooth things over” with the university board members and quell the whispers that were already spreading like wildfire through the faculty. I didn’t do that. I did two things instead. First, I called the university’s endowment office. I informed them that I was pulling my family foundation’s funding for his research project and effectively shuttering his lab. Second, I walked out of my own wedding. I drove back to the house we shared, my vision blurred by tears I refused to let fall. Once inside, I began to scrub him out of my life. I packed the couple’s mugs we’d fired ourselves during a weekend in Vermont. I grabbed the matching silk pajamas we wore every Sunday. Finally, I reached for the wedding portrait we’d picked up just yesterday—the one I’d spent a fortune framing. I threw it all into the oversized soaking tub in the master bath. I flicked a lighter and watched the edges of our “happily ever after” curl into black ash. As the smoke began to rise, I called the hotel. “The wedding is off,” I told the manager, my voice eerily steady. “Don’t look to me for the balance. Send the bill to the groom. And please, have the concierge pack up my personal belongings and deliver them to my new address.” There was a stunned silence on the other end. “But, Ms. Whitlock… the groom just called. He said the wedding is still on, just postponed by twenty-four hours? He said we’d made a mistake with the signage and the programs. He’s asked us to change the bride’s name to Piper Sampson.” A cold, sharp needle pierced my heart. That wedding was ten years in the making. Every peony, every hand-calligraphed place card, every inch of the lighting design had been curated by me over the last six months. It was the physical manifestation of a decade of devotion. Thomas knew that. He knew this was my dream. And he was going to hand it to his student like a second-hand gift? I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. “Do whatever you want with the party. Just send my things back. Especially the contents of the suite’s safe. The gold cuff. Make sure it’s there.” The manager sounded even more confused now. “But… the groom took the cuff an hour ago. He said it was part of the ‘traditional dowry’ for the bride.” My head spun. I hung up and began dialing Thomas’s number with shaking fingers. He declined the first seventeen calls. On the eighteenth, he finally picked up, his voice dripping with exhausted irritation. “Lydia, I told you! Stop calling me. I’m trying to help Piper through this. We’re essentially performing a ‘mercy marriage’ to save her reputation. I’m with her parents right now, and if they suspect this isn’t real, everything is ruined.” “Thomas,” I choked out, my voice thin. “Did you take my mother’s cuff?” He paused. Then came a small, dismissive huff of a laugh. “Yes. Piper’s mother insisted on a significant piece of jewelry as a gesture of good faith. I remembered that gold cuff of yours—it’s heavy, it looks the part. It’s just a prop for the ceremony, Lydia. You’ll get it back.” The pain was so sudden it felt like my chest had been cleaved open. “Thomas!” I screamed, the sound tearing my throat. “That was the last thing my mother left me! It’s an heirloom! You have no right to give it to that… that little home-wrecker!” “Give it back! Now! Or I swear to God, I will call the police. I’ll make sure you both spend your honeymoon in a cell!” I was shaking so violently I had to lean against the wall. Thomas’s voice turned icy. “Watch your mouth. I told you, it’s a performance. I’m borrowing it. I was going to buy you a replacement tomorrow anyway—something newer, something you’d actually like. I didn’t realize you’d be so petty.” I couldn’t listen to another word. I slammed the phone down, grabbed his suitcases from the hallway, and hailed an Uber. I gave the driver Piper’s address. On the way, my phone buzzed incessantly. A text from Thomas: “I’m sorry I snapped. I’m under a lot of pressure, Lydia. Let’s be adults about this. I’ll return the cuff tomorrow, but you need to show up at the ceremony as Piper’s maid of honor. If you’re there, people won’t think she stole me. If anyone asks, just tell them you were the one who moved on first… tell them you had an affair. Just don’t let this ruin Piper’s future.” I stared at the screen, a hysterical laugh bubbling up in my chest until it turned into a sob. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror and silently handed me a tissue. I thanked him, wiped my face, and hauled the suitcases out of the car. I didn’t take the elevator. I ran up the stairs and began pounding on Piper’s door with everything I had. The door flew open. “Who the hell is it at this—” Thomas stood there, wearing a pink floral apron, his forehead dusted with flour. My eyes stung. We had been together for ten years. I had watched him climb from a struggling PhD student to a tenured professor. I knew his deepest scars. I knew that in grad school, he’d worked a brutal shift as a line cook to pay rent, and a group of wealthy frat boys had cornered him, mocked his “servant” status, and dumped a bucket of kitchen scraps over his head. He had loathed the kitchen ever since. When we got engaged, and I brought him home to meet my dying mother, I had asked him to help me carry a tray of food into her room. He had turned cold, slammed the door, and left me there to explain his “shame” to a woman who just wanted to see her daughter loved. I had spent years protecting him. I had learned to cook—burned my hands, spent hours over a hot stove—just so he would never have to touch a pan again. And here he was, wearing an apron for her. Thomas froze when he saw me, his hand instinctively twitching toward the apron strings. “Lydia… what are you doing here?” Piper appeared behind him, her small face pale and wide-eyed. “Professor… I mean, Lydia… why are you here?” She stepped in front of him, her eyes welling up instantly. “If you’re going to be angry, take it out on me. He’s only doing this to save me.” Thomas looked at her with such visceral tenderness it made me nauseous. He turned his fury on me. “How can you be so heartless, Lydia? Piper was going to be forced into a marriage with a literal predator by her family. I’m just providing her a shield. Can’t you find an ounce of empathy?” “No!” I shouted, my voice trembling. “Her family problems are her business! She can go to the police! She doesn’t get to take my wedding, my husband, and my mother’s jewelry!” “Or maybe…” My voice cracked. “Maybe she was never ‘forced’ into anything. Maybe you two have been screwing around behind my back and this is just a convenient—” Crack. The slap echoed in the narrow hallway. My head jerked to the side, the sting blooming across my cheek. Thomas stood there, his hand still raised, his face a mask of righteous indignation. “I won’t let you slander her! I told you, it’s a legal arrangement! How can you be so malicious?” The noise had drawn the neighbors out. People were peering over the banister, whispering. “Piper, honey? Is everything okay? Who is this woman?” an older woman from the floor above asked. Piper sniffled, looking down at the floor. “She’s his… his ex.” The neighbor’s expression shifted to pure disgust. She stepped toward me, shoving my shoulder. “The man is getting married. Have some dignity and stop harrassing him! You’re acting like a obsessed mistress. Get out before we call the cops.” “Yeah, film her! Put her on TikTok!” someone else shouted. I laughed, a jagged, broken sound. I kicked Thomas’s suitcases toward them. “Tell them, Thomas. Tell them who the ‘mistress’ is here.” As the suitcases slid across the floor, Piper let out a sharp cry and collapsed to her knees. Thomas looked at her leg—there was a tiny, nail-sized red mark. His face went livid. “Lydia! Are you finished? I am legally married to Piper as of this morning! Who the hell do you think you’re calling a mistress?” I went still. “You actually signed the papers? This morning?” Thomas realized his slip, his eyes darting away. “It’s a shitty bracelet, Lydia! You came here to assault a girl over a piece of gold? I never realized how selfish and cold you truly were.” My eyes went wide as Thomas stormed back into the apartment. He returned a second later, holding my mother’s cuff. He didn’t hand it to me. He hurled it against the tiled floor of the landing with all his might. “You want your precious junk? There! Take it and get out!” “No!” I screamed, lunging for it, but I was too late. The gold hit the hard tile and the delicate filigree snapped, the jade inlay shattering into a dozen pieces. I looked up at him, and for the first time in a decade, there was no love in my eyes. Just a cold, dead hatred. Even Thomas seemed to flinch at the look in my gaze. But then Piper whimpered. “Thomas… my leg hurts so much. I think it’s broken.” Thomas snapped back into her orbit instantly. He scooped her up, stepping right over the shattered remains of my mother’s legacy. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ve got you. I’m taking you to the ER.” He moved so fast, with such reckless intent, that he slammed into me as I was still kneeling on the floor. I lost my balance and tumbled backward, down the steep, narrow flight of stairs. I hit the landing with a sickening thud. Through the blur of pain and the gasps of the neighbors, I looked up. Thomas didn’t even turn around. The last thing I saw before the world went black was Piper, her head resting on his shoulder, looking down at me with a slow, triumphant smile. In that moment, the sound of my heart breaking was as clear and sharp as the shattering of that jade. There was a time when Thomas would have fought the world for me. Back in college, when those frat boys were following me, whistling and making me feel small and hunted, he had appeared out of nowhere. He’d stood between me and them, his jaw set, refusing to budge until they backed off. He’d taken my hand and led me to safety. Later, when I found out they’d targeted him because of it, I had gone to him in tears. He’d just smiled, tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, and said, “It’s okay, Lydia. I just can’t stand to see you cry.” The man who once couldn’t bear a single tear of mine was now the reason for my agony. When did Piper start living in the spaces between us? Maybe it was the day she became his research assistant. He’d talk about her constantly, saying she reminded him of his younger self. But the look in his eyes wasn’t nostalgic—it was proprietary. Or maybe it was the night she called him, sobbing, saying a group of guys were cornering her at a campus bar. Thomas, usually the most rational man I knew, had sprinted out the door and ended up in a fistfight. When I went to bail him out, looking at his bruised lip, I felt the first real pang of bitterness. “I heard what was happening to her,” he’d explained, “and I just thought of you, back then. I lost my head.” But back then… he had just led me away. He hadn’t tried to be a martyr. I woke up in the hospital with a dull, throbbing ache behind my eyes. The doctor told me I was lucky—I’d suffered a concussion and a small brain bleed. If I’d stayed on that landing any longer, I might not have woken up at all. I discharged myself as soon as I could. I needed to breathe. But as I reached the entrance to my new apartment building, three men stepped out of the shadows. “You the bitch from the internet?” one of them sneered. “Look at her, acting all high and mighty,” another said. “Spends her daddy’s money to hire goons to harass a poor student? You like men so much, let’s see how you like us.” They lunged. I screamed, trying to fight them off, but they were stronger. They tore at my clothes, leaving bruises like dark thumbprints on my skin. Only the arrival of the building’s security guard and the sound of a police siren sent them running. I collapsed on the pavement, sobbing, my body wracked with tremors. The security guard looked down at me, his lip curled in a sneer. “Honestly, you probably had it coming,” he muttered. “Who does that to a young girl?” I looked up, my voice a broken rasp. “What did you say?” He just shook his head and walked away. My phone buzzed. I pulled it out, my hands shaking so hard I nearly dropped it. And there it was. A public post from Thomas Beckett. “I hate to bring private matters into the public eye, but I have to clear the air. My ex-fiancée, Lydia Whitlock, has been orchestrating a campaign of harassment against my student, Piper. Out of jealousy, she hired local thugs to intimidate this girl. I stepped in to protect Piper, but Lydia’s behavior has only escalated. I cannot remain silent while an innocent woman is terrorized. I will be standing by Piper, and I will be taking her as my wife to ensure she is protected for the rest of her life.” Piper had commented below it: “With you, I’m not afraid of anything.” The blood roared in my ears. Below the post, there were thousands of comments. Strangers calling for my head. My photo had been photoshopped into horrific, degrading images. People were leaking my address, promising to “teach me a lesson.” I tried to reply, to explain that I had done nothing, that Thomas was lying. But no one cared. “Your own boyfriend called you out! You’re a monster!” “Where’s your proof? Oh, wait, you don’t have any. Burn in hell, bitch.” I forwarded the post to Thomas. “Why are you doing this to me?” His reply was instantaneous: “I told you to handle the board members yesterday. You walked out and left me to drown. I had to protect my career, Lydia. Everyone was calling Piper a slut; she was suicidal last night. I did what I had to do to save her reputation.” “What about mine?!” I typed back. “What about my life?” “Lydia, they’re just words on a screen. Don’t look at them. People have short memories. By the way, the ceremony starts in an hour. You need to come. Be the maid of honor, apologize to Piper in front of everyone. We need to complete the narrative.” Then, his final sting: “Be a good girl. If you keep acting out, I can’t promise I’ll come back to you in a few years. Remember, your mother is gone. I’m the only family you have left in this world.” I sat there, the phone cold against my palm. Years ago, at my mother’s bedside, he had held my hand and sworn to be my rock, my family, my forever. And now, he was using my loneliness as a weapon to keep me under his thumb. As the tears started to fall, a notification popped up from an unknown number. “Ms. Whitlock, I have something you should see. I have the security footage from the night of the ‘incident’ at the university. I think you deserve to know what actually happened in that equipment room.” I clicked the file. I froze. A month ago, during the graduation gala, Piper and Thomas had vanished. As the primary donor for the lab, I’d gone backstage with some faculty members to find them. We’d seen Thomas carrying a semi-conscious Piper to his car. At the hospital, the doctor’s report had been “heat exhaustion and dehydration.” They’d been locked in a storage room for three hours with high-intensity stage lights. Piper claimed someone had trapped her there, and Thomas had “found” her. The school was ready to expel her for the scandal, but Thomas had threatened to pull my funding if they didn’t drop it. I had tried to help her find “the attacker,” but Thomas had screamed at me to drop it, saying I was “retraumatizing” her. Now, watching the video, I saw the truth. I saw Piper and Thomas practically tearing each other’s clothes off as they ducked into that room. I saw them accidentally kick the door shut, engaging the heavy-duty latch from the inside. They weren’t victims. They were caught in the act of their own betrayal. But as I scrubbed through the footage, I saw something else. My eyes widened. I stared at the screen for a long time, a bitter, hollow laugh escaping my lips. Oh, Thomas. You think you’re her savior. You have no idea you’re just her fall guy. My phone buzzed again with another demand from Thomas. I wiped my eyes and typed back a simple response. “Fine. I’ll be there.” I wasn’t going there to save them. I was going to bury them. When I arrived at the venue, the air turned cold. Guests looked at me with open sneers. Piper’s mother saw me and immediately spat at my feet. “You disgusting woman! How dare you show your face here after what you did to my daughter!” She and a few other relatives began pulling at my dress, calling me every name in the book until security finally pulled them away. I didn’t say a word. I straightened my silk blazer and walked into the ballroom. The room was packed. Thomas had invited the press, the university board—everyone. He wanted a public sanctification of his “noble” choice. When he saw me, he looked relieved. He walked over, his gait confident, and tried to take my hand. “See? I knew you’d come around. It’s better this way, Lydia.” “I’ve already sent the cuff to a jeweler. They’ll fix it. It’ll be like it never broke.” He handed me a piece of paper. “Read this when the officiant calls you up. It’s a confession and an apology. Once this is over, I’ll come home to you tonight, okay? I’ll even buy you a ticket to Europe. Stay there for a year or two, and when the dust settles, I’ll come find you. We’ll get married then.” I looked down at the paper. It was a detailed script of how I had “hunted” Piper out of “unstable jealousy.” If I read this, I would be socially and professionally dead. I looked at him, then slowly, deliberately, tore the paper into shreds and let them flutter onto his polished shoes. I walked up to the podium, signaled the technician I’d paid off earlier, and turned to the crowd. “Everyone!” I said, my voice echoing through the speakers. “I’m here to clarify the record.” “I’m here to show you exactly who targeted Piper Sampson.”

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When I was finally rescued after fifteen years of being trafficked, I discovered I was the long-lost true heiress of a top-tier billionaire family. My mother was incredibly emotional as she came to take me home. But I caught her secretly exchanging glances with my brother. And my brother, tightly holding the hand of their timid, “pure-hearted” fake heiress daughter, looked at me with open hostility. I smiled. I am a demon raised in a land that eats people and spits out their bones. By bringing me back, they’ve just invited the devil through the front door. 1. When my mother, Sylvia Sterling, arrived, a female police officer was holding me in her arms, comforting me. My body was shaking violently. Every inch of skin exposed outside the blanket was covered in dark purple and sickening green bruises. According to the officer, I was the true heiress of the Sterling family, a top-tier billionaire dynasty in New York. Coming home this time meant my suffering was finally over. From now on, no one would ever be able to bully me again. When Sylvia first saw me, she looked genuinely heartbroken. She crouched down to my eye level, her hands trembling as she touched my head. “Are you… are you Avery Sterling?” I couldn’t blame her for not recognizing me. I was incredibly ugly right now. And she was incredibly beautiful. Even in her mid-forties, she was impeccably maintained. Her face was exquisite, her aura gentle and elegant, and she even smelled of expensive perfume. This was the mother I had no memory of. I stared at her blankly, my eyes clear and pitiful. After a long moment, I hesitantly nodded. The police officer chimed in appropriately, “Little Avery has suffered unimaginable abuse out there. When we found her, she had two snakes wrapped around her neck, and those animals had stripped her naked and hung her…” At those words, Sylvia uncontrollably pulled me into a tight embrace, her voice trembling. “My poor baby, you’ve suffered so much. It’s okay now that you’re back. I will never let anyone bully you again.” Naturally, I didn’t believe a word she said. Because I saw her subtly exchange a look with the boy standing behind her when she walked in. That boy was also beautiful, dressed in immaculate, expensive clothes. With his left hand, he was holding a soft, delicate-looking girl. Both of them were glaring at me with raw hostility. As if my return was something filthy and disgusting. I buried my face into Sylvia’s neck, letting a massive, chilling smile spread across my face. 2. After I went missing at age five, the Sterling family adopted a girl and named her Chloe Sterling. I also had a twin brother named Carter. But in this moment, Carter looked like a pristine, arrogant little prince, while I looked like I had lost half my life. I actually quite liked him. If my long-lost, dear brother Carter hadn’t looked at me with such disdain and spoken so cruelly, I really could have liked him. “Mom, she’s too dirty. Shouldn’t we send her to get washed up first? The carpets at home are imported from France.” Sylvia shot Carter a reproachful look and told him not to say such things. The only thing she didn’t do was deny it. She didn’t say I wasn’t dirty. Chloe tugged at Carter’s hand. “Brother, you shouldn’t say that. It will make my sister sad.” Carter scoffed. “Just telling the truth.” I twitched the corner of my mouth, looking at Chloe’s feigned kindness and the smugness she couldn’t quite hide. This kind of trick… Was way too amateur. I grabbed Sylvia’s hand, nuzzling against her palm, and said devoutly, “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t want to be so dirty either.” No one knew how I had survived countless days and nights in that unimaginably brutal hellhole. Only absolute submission, combined with a fast, precise, and ruthless understanding of the human heart, gave you a slight chance to live like a human being. Those who have never been to hell have no idea what a demon even looks like. A single tear slipped from the corner of my eye, landing perfectly in Sylvia’s palm. Sylvia’s heart instantly ached. She hugged me tightly and scolded Carter, “This is your sister! How can you speak like that?” Carter glared at me, but he stopped his cruel remarks. Chloe was different. Her entire demeanor screamed that she felt threatened, and she stared at me intently. I didn’t care. As if suddenly remembering something, I asked out of the blue, “By the way, which orphanage was Chloe adopted from?” Sylvia was caught off guard. “After you went missing, we found her passed out under our car.” Oh. I see. 3. Chloe really was wicked. On my very first day back, she couldn’t wait to burst into my room to mark her territory. “Avery, in the fifteen years you were gone, I have completely secured the love of Mom, Dad, and Carter! Right now, you are the extra one here!” She was haughty and arrogant. I just casually sipped my tea. “Oh.” Apparently, this was top-tier Darjeeling tea, but to me, it tasted no different from the stagnant water in the dungeon. Seeing that I was completely unfazed, Chloe grew furious. She grabbed a heavy bedside lamp and swung it at my head. More than a decade of living as a spoiled rich girl had made her reckless and entitled. I let out a soft chuckle and didn’t fight back. Not only did I not fight back, but I also went with her momentum, slamming my own head into the wall to finish the job. Under her utterly bewildered gaze, I began to scream bloody murder. When Sylvia and Carter rushed into the room, this is what they saw: The room was a mess. Blood was pouring from a gash on my head. Aside from the screaming, I wasn’t even crying; I was just trembling violently in sheer terror. And Chloe was completely frozen in shock. When she finally snapped out of it, she started screaming too. “No! I didn’t do anything! She clearly could have dodged it! I just threw the lamp, she was the one who went crazy and slammed her own head into the wall…” But I acted so terrified that I shrank into the corner. Like a dog that had suffered massive trauma. Sylvia hesitated for a moment, but ultimately decided to pick me up and treat my wound. While comforting me, she shot a look of deep disappointment at Chloe. “Chloe, she is your older sister. Why would she… slam her own head into the wall? And the wound is so severe.” I smiled with deep satisfaction. Carter looked at me with fury. He stubbornly grabbed Chloe’s hand. “I can’t believe my sister, who’s been missing for so many years, turned out to be this kind of person. This is truly vicious. Anyway, I don’t believe Chloe would ever do something like this.” With that, he pulled Chloe away without looking back. Sylvia applied iodine to my wound, speaking softly. “Chloe has always been a filial, obedient, and kind child. We adopted her, we watched her grow up clearly and plainly. She is your sister too…” I cut her off. “You don’t believe me, do you?” She froze. I said, “Because she grew up right under your nose, you trust her. But I wanted to grow up by your and Dad’s side too…” She panicked. “No, Avery, that’s not what I meant…” Seeing her panic made me very happy. But I still deliberately pushed her out of the room, acting heartbroken, saying I wanted to be alone. I didn’t care in the slightest whether they genuinely liked me or not. My only target in coming back was Chloe. After all, if it weren’t for this “good sister” of mine, I wouldn’t have been trafficked overseas. Chloe, you personally sent me into a monster’s den. Tell me, how are you going to handle a demon’s revenge? 4. After that night, out of guilt, Sylvia constantly bought me piles and piles of clothes. Whatever toys or luxuries Chloe had, I got exactly the same. It seemed she wanted to aggressively compensate for the fifteen years of love I had missed. Probably having been warned, Carter didn’t bother me, avoiding me entirely. He just went out drinking with his rich frat-boy friends, publicly declaring that in his heart, Chloe was the only sister he would ever have. I didn’t care. I just focused on my skincare routine and meticulously nursing my body back to health. That place was so bloody and brutal that the doctors said even if I fully healed, I would be left with many savage, permanent scars. I didn’t care. I simply bided my time, waiting for the right moment to strike at Chloe. But what I didn’t expect… Was that Chloe was so ruthless to herself. She left behind a dramatic suicide note: “You all think I hurt my sister, none of you believe me! But I really didn’t do it! I truly love my Dad, Mom, and Carter so much. Please don’t stop loving me just because my sister is back…” That night, she locked herself in the bathroom crying and attempted suicide. Luckily, the maid found her in time, and she was rushed to the hospital and revived. I heard her blood dyed the entire bathroom floor red. Carter, eyes bloodshot, charged at me like a madman and slapped me hard across the face. “You bitch! This is all your fault! You framed Chloe! If it weren’t for you, why would she feel so wronged that she tried to kill herself?! If anything happens to my sister, I’ll make you pay with your life!” Why didn’t she die? I ground my teeth, which were aching from the slap. Sylvia also clearly stopped believing me. The way she looked at me was full of disappointment. “Avery, haven’t we been good enough to you? When you came back to the Sterling family, we welcomed you so warmly and wanted to make up for everything. I never imagined your heart could be so vicious. Did staying in that place for too long corrupt you?” Chloe lay in her hospital bed, staring at me provocatively and weakly, like a proud peacock. Her eyes clearly said: Avery, do you see? While you were gone, all your love became mine. I remembered when I was five years old, the first time I met Chloe. I was wearing a princess dress, feeling superior as my mom carried me out of a boutique. Chloe was covered in dirt, staring at me from a dark alley corner. My mom didn’t like me playing with “those kinds of people.” So I distracted my mom, clutching my pocket money, wanting to give it to Chloe. But I never expected that this one “saintly” act would result in me being trafficked for fifteen years. And Chloe, the cuckoo in the nest, got to enjoy everything that belonged to me. She was a demon too. I smiled and said earnestly, “It won’t happen again. I’m sorry.” Sylvia sighed, pulled me into a hug, and said earnestly, “You and your sister are both pieces of my heart. I hope you two can get along from now on.” I nodded obediently. That very afternoon, I went to a seafood market and bought a large bag of live eels. I was going to dump them into Chloe’s bathtub. Doesn’t she like committing suicide in the bathtub? Chloe was terrified out of her mind. Screaming bloody murder, she scrambled out of the bathroom stark naked and threw herself into Carter’s arms. Carter, while enjoying the view, didn’t forget to yell at me, “Avery, are you insane?!” I blinked innocently. Chloe was trembling uncontrollably, sobbing hysterically. “My sister put snakes in my bathtub…” Hearing the commotion, Sylvia rushed over and slapped me without hesitation. “You truly have no upbringing! What you’re doing is illegal! Who gave you the right to do this? Did your very soul rot away in that pile of corpses?!” Her eyes were filled with profound disappointment. I looked at her and said, “They aren’t snakes.” How could they be snakes? You can’t just buy live snakes at a fresh seafood market. Even I understood that basic fact. But Chloe had jumped up, snatched the bag of eels from my hands, dumped them into the bathroom herself, and tried to lock me inside to “dance with the snakes.” I was stronger than her. She failed to lock the door, which is why she started screaming so loudly. My dear mother and dear brother, why don’t you actually look inside the bathroom first? But Sylvia refused to listen, turning her head to softly coax and comfort Chloe. I stepped forward, slapped Chloe hard across the face, and then, remembering the slap Carter gave me at the hospital, I slapped Chloe again. Everyone froze, including Chloe. Her face visibly swelled up in seconds. After surviving out there all these years, my strength and angle were perfect. I hit much harder and better than a soft guy like Carter. It must have hurt like hell. I bared my teeth and grinned. Chloe burst into a loud wail. Her eyes clearly held deep hatred for me, but since Carter and Sylvia were there, she didn’t dare say a word. She just shrank weakly into Carter’s embrace. Sylvia’s face was livid. “You’re crazy! You’re a lunatic!” She grabbed me by the collar. “I’m sending you to the police station! I’ll let the cops teach you how to be a decent human being!” I didn’t resist. I even voluntarily got into the car. Before getting in, I looked back at Carter. “By the way, she’s stark naked. Even though I never went to school, I know men and women should keep their distance. You two aren’t trying to—” I grinned and spat out two words that made Carter’s face turn purple with rage. Sylvia almost slapped me again. Sylvia meant what she said. She dragged me into the precinct, declaring I had thrown snakes into her daughter’s bathtub and demanded to press charges. The female officer who had brought me back last time saw me and looked surprised. “Why are you here?” I pressed my lips together and didn’t say a word. The officer looked at Sylvia with sudden realization and explained, “I’m sorry, ma’am, but throwing snakes does not constitute a crime. Especially between sisters, the victim would have to come to the station to press charges herself. And even then, we could at most mediate. We can’t do anything more.” Sylvia was furious. “Is this how you do your jobs?!” The officer looked at me, choosing her words carefully. “Is there a misunderstanding? When I brought this little one back, she was very well-behaved.” Ultimately, Sylvia angrily abandoned me at the station and left by herself. The officer spoke to me gently, “What’s wrong? Are you not getting along with your family?” I stubbornly shook my head. The officer had been very good to me. When I was rescued, my body wouldn’t stop shaking. She was the one who took off her police jacket and wrapped it around me. She was the one who noticed the obscure injuries on my feet and told me: “Sweetheart, you’re back now. You have to live a good life. All those things in the past are over. You have family, you will have friends, and you have a brand-new future.” A future? Did I really possess such a thing? Back then, looking at her confident smile, I actually felt a spark of hope. I thought maybe, just maybe, there was a tiny chance my family wouldn’t despise me for what I had become. But it was only a tiny chance. I didn’t want the officer to know I was miserable. Her eyes reddened, and she softly hummed an “Mhm.” Then she looked at me, a bit puzzled. “Did you not tell them that it was because of your help that we dismantled the trafficking ring?” I shook my head. “The reward money hasn’t come through yet. I can’t tell them.” She laughed, and I smiled too. 5. Nobody came to pick me up, but I knew how to call an Uber. Relying on my excellent memory, I made it home smoothly. Carter was in the living room. Seeing me walk in, he gave me a nasty look, his tone aggressive. “Chloe and I are not blood-related. I love her, and I’m going to marry her. I hope you keep your filthy mouth shut from now on.” He thought for a moment, then added, “Chloe cried for a long time because of you.” His eyes seemed full of reproach. I sneered. “I don’t see her crying to death, do I?” I expected Carter to start screaming at me again, but surprisingly, he just looked at me hesitantly. When I grew impatient and started walking upstairs, Carter called out to me. “Hey. I know they were eels in the bathtub. I went and looked. Why didn’t you say anything?” I stopped, turning around with an amused smile. “What would happen if I did?” Carter thought about it and said awkwardly, “Chloe and I have lived together for fifteen years. I can’t live without her. She is so kind-hearted. She must have just been terrified, which is why she didn’t look closely to see if they were eels or…” “That’s exactly why I didn’t say anything.” I rolled my eyes and turned to leave without looking back. This was also the reason why I didn’t immediately tell Sylvia that the daughter she had raised for fifteen years was the primary culprit who caused our separation. From the moment I saw Carter carefully holding her hand at the police station, I knew. I was very good at avoiding and reducing meaningless arguments. Carter choked on his words, staring at me without saying another sentence. I didn’t shy away; I just let him look. When I was captive, I was locked in a cage, being a perfectly “good” girl while enduring the stares of countless men. Why would I be afraid of him? Chloe came skipping down the stairs, her eyes still red like a rabbit’s. She shot me a hostile glare, then linked her arm through Carter’s. Hearing the commotion, Sylvia came downstairs. Seeing me, she made no effort to hide her displeasure. “If you do something this outrageous again, I won’t just drop you at the police station.” Alright. I nodded, acting very obedient to show I understood. Perhaps my attitude was acceptable, because Sylvia’s voice softened a few degrees. “I know you’re rotten to the core, but people can change. Take some time to get your GED, or find an entry-level position at your father’s company. We don’t raise freeloaders in the Sterling family. Your brother and sister will both be entering management after they graduate.” She looked at me with mockery, as if she felt I had struck the lottery. I chuckled softly. I didn’t tell her that even in that hellhole where I was just struggling to survive, I never forgot to study. Because my mom once told me that kids who study hard are good kids. I thought that when I came back, my mom wouldn’t despise me if I knew nothing. Whatever. Chloe spoke up smugly, “Mom, my sister came back and we haven’t even had a welcome-home party for her. Shouldn’t we throw a banquet for her, at least to officially announce her identity to everyone?” Sylvia looked slightly repulsed. I knew Sylvia felt I was an embarrassment. A person with my background wasn’t fit for high society. I also knew exactly what Chloe was scheming. She just wanted everyone to see how ignorant and vulgar I was compared to her, the refined heiress of so many years. She wanted everyone to formally compare us, to make everyone think I was worthless. In the short time I had been back, she blindly convinced herself that if we stood side-by-side, she would easily outshine me. Unable to resist Chloe’s relentless whining and acting cute, Sylvia reluctantly agreed. I had no say in the matter throughout the entire conversation. Look, how hilarious. It was supposedly a banquet for me, the main character, yet the decision-making power rested entirely with Chloe. I chuckled softly and didn’t object. A hearty laugh came from behind me. I turned around, and the moment I saw him, I knew it was my father, Richard Sterling. He wore a tailored suit but exuded a bloated, greasy aura of wealth. He looked me up and down, his eyes filled with satisfaction and approval. Because of long-term starvation and malnutrition, my arms and legs were incredibly thin. Even though my body was covered in scars and bruises, it was easy to see that my natural skin tone was pale and delicate. With a little nourishment, I would definitely be a beauty. After all, even when I was covered in filth, many men looked at me with sheer, greedy lust. He said, “Pick a good date for the banquet. I’ll attend personally and introduce you to everyone.” His eyes crinkled into a smile. Makes sense. For an illiterate billionaire’s daughter who happens to be pretty, her only practical use was an arranged marriage. I smiled innocently. “Okay!” Even Sylvia looked at me with pity, but she didn’t stop him. I lowered my head, hiding the look in my eyes. 6. Perhaps because I was about to have “utility value” at the banquet, Sylvia took very good care of me in the following weeks. She hired top international doctors to treat me quickly. The doctor said, “The young lady’s body has suffered severe, chronic depletion. I can only do my best to rehabilitate her.” For a whole month, neither Chloe nor Carter appeared in front of me. I recovered very well during this time, actively undergoing treatment. The only thing was a long, prominent scar on my back that couldn’t be completely erased. Sylvia felt a bit of pity, but also a bit of resignation. “With your personality, you definitely suffered a lot of bullying out there.” What she didn’t know was, if it wasn’t for this personality, I would be dead. The banquet arrived as scheduled. I wore an expensive gown. Carter appeared in front of me for the first time in a month. His face softened a bit as he said, “You can take my arm, if you feel awkward.” I gave a fake smile. “No thanks, I’m fine on my own.” Chloe was thrilled. While Sylvia wasn’t looking, she deliberately leaned close to my ear. “I heard that all those men are in their fifties. Sister, you better choose carefully. Oh, by the way, I also heard a few of them are so twisted they’ve already had several wives die on them.” She sighed in mock pity. “But for you, this is already a great destination. After all… I highly doubt you came back from that place ‘clean.’” I looked at her expressionlessly. “What is your point?” She hissed viciously, “Your dad, mom, and brother are all mine. Can’t you see that yet? If you know what’s good for you, pack up and get out.” Oh. I overestimated Chloe. She kept playing the same old, repetitive games. Once at the banquet, I realized Chloe hadn’t exaggerated. Richard enthusiastically led one pot-bellied, middle-aged man after another in front of me, introducing them with great patience. “Avery, this is the Chairman of Wang Corp, in real estate.” “This is the young master of the Liu family. Although they aren’t top-tier billionaires, every single one of them is a promising rising star…” Meanwhile, Chloe stood among her group of socialite friends, watching the show, giggling and pointing at my every expression. I just nodded blankly, showing no favor toward any man, nor putting up any resistance. All the men flattered me and tried to make conversation, but faced with my awkward, introverted silence, they could only laugh uncomfortably. After a while, Richard grew exhausted. He couldn’t help but reprimand me a bit: “Can’t you give me some face? You’re acting like a block of wood. Nobody likes a girl who acts like this.” I looked him straight in the eye. “I don’t know how.” He froze. It was true. I had never attended a banquet, and I had never faced so many people at once. How could I know how to act? When I was little, I was Richard’s precious jewel. My memory of this father stopped at him putting me on his shoulders and lifting me high in the air. He said he could pluck the stars from the sky for me. But now, I was just the ladder he was using to reach for more stars. After fifteen years, I had absolutely no familial love for him left in my eyes. I sighed inwardly. Richard seemed to want to say something, but Carter stepped forward in time, grabbing my hand. “I’ll take her to rest on the side for a bit. Even I can’t handle this much networking.” Seeing us acting like supportive siblings, Richard’s expression softened for a moment, and he reluctantly nodded. Once we walked away, I pulled my hand out of Carter’s. He said, “Why aren’t you thanking me?” I walked over to a chair and sat down, casually grabbing a bottle of cider and taking small sips. “Does an unsolicited intervention count as help?” Call me heartless, call me whatever you want. After all— If I were to feel grateful to him now, wouldn’t my next actions be biting the hand that feeds me?

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My daughter went behind my back and signed up for The Reunion, one of those high-drama reality shows meant to reconnect lost families. The entire nation watched her break down in front of the cameras. She sobbed, her face a mask of calculated agony, claiming she’d known since she was a child that she wasn’t mine. She told the world I’d spent twenty years treating her like a punching bag, emotionally and physically. She even went as far as to say her life in my home was worse than a stray dog’s. Listening to this girl—the child I had meticulously raised, protected, and poured my life into for two decades—slander me with such venom felt like an ice pick through the heart. Then came the kicker. Right there on live television, she dropped to her knees. She wailed into the microphone, begging for her biological parents to find her. She cried that she knew they must have had a “tragic reason” for giving her up, that she didn’t blame them, and that her only wish was to finally be “brought home.” If she wants her biological parents that badly, I’m not going to stand in her way anymore. But I can’t help but wonder. When she finally realizes who brought her into this world, will she cry even harder than she is now? 1 The host, a woman with a practiced look of maternal concern, helped my daughter, Jade, to her feet and handed her a tissue. “Don’t you worry, Jade,” the host said, her voice dripping with artificial sympathy. “This show will do everything in its power to find your real family.” She then leaned in, guiding Jade further down the path of public execution. “The waiting is the hardest part. While we track down leads, why don’t you tell the world a bit more? How exactly did your adoptive mother treat you? Don’t be afraid. We’re here to protect you now.” That’s how these shows work—the more trauma, the better. They trade in tears for ratings. Jade nodded, dabbing at her eyes with a delicate, practiced grace. “I was basically a servant,” she whispered. “I remember once, when I was little, I accidentally broke a plate while doing the dishes. She didn’t just yell. She grabbed my hand and held it under a pot of boiling water on the stove.” Jade held up her left hand. The studio lights caught the raised, jagged scar tissue on her skin. “And another time,” she choked out, “I lost a twenty-dollar bill I was supposed to use for groceries. She locked me in the basement and beat me with a wooden hanger for three days straight. She didn’t leave a single inch of my skin unbruised.” The camera zoomed in on Jade’s face, a tight close-up of her trembling lip, underscored by a mournful cello soundtrack. The audience erupted in murmurs of horror and disgust. “Monster,” someone shouted from the front row. “How can a woman be so evil?” The on-set “behavioral expert” cleared his throat, looking directly into the lens. “This is a classic case of a narcissistic sociopath. People like this don’t see children as human beings; they see them as toys. They play with them when they’re bored and torture them when they’re frustrated.” Jade nodded vigorously at the word “torture.” My fingers shook so hard I almost dropped my phone. Jade’s hand had been burned because she was a clumsy toddler who reached for a pot while I was distracted for a split second. I had spent three months’ worth of salary and worked double shifts just to afford the best specialists and laser treatments for her. I had sat by her hospital bed for three weeks, barely sleeping, praying the skin would heal. And the “beating” with the hanger? She had started stealing money from my purse and local shops to buy things she didn’t need. I had grounded her and, yes, I had given her a sharp swat with a plastic hanger on her backside once—just once—to make her understand that theft had consequences. We weren’t blood, but I had never, not for one second, failed her. I had stayed single my entire life, bypassing any chance at a romantic partner because I didn’t want a stepfather to complicate her life. I had loved her to the point of self-erasure. And this was my reward. “Ungrateful” didn’t even cover it. She was a scavenger, picking apart the bones of our life to feed her own victim narrative. Jade wiped another tear. “Mom, Dad… I don’t want to suffer anymore. I just want to be with you. I don’t know why you left me, but I’m an adult now. I graduated college. I just landed a prestigious government job. I’m a success. I won’t be a burden to you. Please… just take me back.” She was so worried about being a burden to people who had thrown her away like trash, but she didn’t give a damn about ruining the woman who had carried her. I was twenty-five when I took her in. For the first two years, I didn’t have a single night of uninterrupted sleep. Every night at 3 AM, her crying would pierce the silence, and I would rock her until the sun came up. My friends told me I was aging in dog years, turning from a vibrant young woman into an exhausted shadow. Beyond the physical toll, we were broke. I borrowed money for her formula. Later, when I finally started earning a decent living as a teacher, every cent went to her dance lessons, her tutors, her clothes. I never complained. Not once. But now that she had her degree and a career, she was kicking me to the curb to go play “happy family” with the strangers who shared her DNA. The studio lights shifted, focusing on a set of giant, ornate double doors at the back of the stage. On this show, if they find the parents, this is where they make their grand entrance. Jade stared at the doors, her voice cracking. “I just want to belong. Blood is thicker than water. You gave me life, and now I want to give back to you.” She sat there, filled with a sickening, naive hope. She had no idea that if those two people actually walked through those doors, they would destroy everything she had worked for. Her precious government job? It would be gone the second the background check hit the “immediate family” section. 2 The bell rang, signaling the end of the lunch break. I shut off the livestream on my phone, gathered my lesson plans, and headed to my classroom. I am a high school history teacher. And Jade’s biological parents? They were once my students. Their names were Frank Miller and Darla Vance. Twenty years ago, when I was a brand-new teacher, they were in my first-ever homeroom class. They were teenagers who got pregnant and, out of pure, panicked cowardice, delivered the baby in a disgusting gas station restroom and dropped her into the trash. I was the one who found her. When I pulled Jade out of that bin, she was blue, cold, and seconds away from death. The “blood bond” she was so desperate for didn’t exist. It had been severed in a pile of paper towels and filth. As Jade grew up, I had kept tabs on Frank and Darla from a distance. If they had turned their lives around, I might have told her the truth. But they hadn’t. They had gone on to have four more children. The two oldest girls were married off barely out of high school for whatever “dowry” or favors Frank could squeeze out of the grooms. The third daughter was kept at home like a servant to raise the youngest—the only son, who was treated like a little god. I couldn’t let Jade go back to that den of wolves. More importantly, Jade had just secured a high-level position with the state. Frank and Darla both had extensive criminal records—drug possession, fraud, assault. If she associated with them, if she was legally tied to them, her security clearance would be revoked instantly. I sighed. But if this was the choice she wanted to make, I was done protecting her. I’d given my heart to a dog, and the dog had bitten me. I straightened my blouse and walked into the classroom. But as soon as I pushed the door open, a bucket of ice-cold water propped above the frame drenched me from head to toe. My students—kids I had taught for three years—were staring at me with pure vitriol. “How can you even show your face here, Ms. Miller?” one boy spat. (Ironic, given that was his last name too). “Abusing your own daughter is one thing,” a girl in the front row sneered, holding up her phone showing a viral post. “But being a total slut on the side? Acting like a pillar of the community by day and a hooker by night? You’re disgusting.” The rumors had started. I knew immediately Jade was behind this. While I changed into my gym clothes in the faculty locker room, I pulled up the livestream again. The producers were milking the suspense. They hadn’t opened the doors yet. Jade, thinking her parents had rejected her again, was having a full-blown meltdown for the cameras. “Mom! Dad! Do you really want me to keep suffering?” she wailed. “Do you have any idea…” She hesitated, then leaned into the mic, her eyes wild. “My adoptive mother is a degenerate. She’s out every night at cheap motels with different men. Do you really want to leave me with a woman who sells herself for a better car? Who brings that filth into our home?” The host looked genuinely shocked—or was doing a great job of faking it. “Jade, that’s a heavy accusation. Your mother is a respected teacher. She was just nominated for a Senior Faculty Tenure. Are you sure?” To prove it, Jade pulled a stack of photos from her bag. They were grainy, but clear. There I was, entering and leaving various high-rise buildings and hotels with different men. Tall men, short men, older men. The show’s “tech team” did a quick scan and announced the photos weren’t Photoshopped. “I wouldn’t lie about this,” Jade sobbed. “How else do you think a public school teacher could afford to pay for my college and my lifestyle? It wasn’t on a teacher’s salary.” I stood in the locker room, shivering—not just from the cold water, but from the sheer, breathtaking cruelty of it. The photos were real. But I wasn’t going to those buildings for sex. I was going for real estate. The men in the photos were agents. Jade’s new job was an hour-long commute from our house. I had been spending my weekends looking for a condo to buy for her, something close to her office so she wouldn’t be exhausted every day. The irony was sickening. I had just received the deed this morning. I was going to surprise her tonight with the keys. The audience didn’t know that. They were already calling for my head. “She probably wanted to recruit the daughter into the family business,” someone commented on the stream. “And that tenure? We all know how she got that.” My phone buzzed. A text from the principal. Miriam, regarding the Senior Faculty Tenure nomination… due to recent ‘complications’ and budget shifts, we’ve decided to move in a different direction. We’ll be prioritizing candidates who better reflect the values of this institution. 3 The promotion was gone. Decades of staying late, grading papers until my eyes bled, and being a mentor to these kids—vanished in a single afternoon. Jade knew exactly how much that tenure meant to me. She knew I had been working on my thesis for two years just to qualify. And she had burned it to the ground with one sentence. I marched to the Principal’s office to explain, but he wouldn’t even look me in the eye. “Miriam, the optics are catastrophic,” he said, staring at his desk. “Parents are already calling for your resignation. If I don’t act, they’ll go to the School Board. The tenure is off the table. As for your job… I suggest you go home and handle your ‘family business’ before the mob shows up here.” I walked out of the office. In the hallway, I passed the “Teacher of the Month” board. Someone had used a permanent marker to black out my eyes and scrawl “WHORE” across my biography. Colleagues I’d had lunch with for years turned their backs when I passed. I couldn’t sit back anymore. I called Jade. I needed her to tell the truth, right now. On the screen, Jade’s phone rang. She looked at the caller ID. She didn’t answer. Instead, she acted like she’d been struck. She dropped to her knees again and began slapping her own face in front of the live audience. “She’s calling me!” Jade screamed. “She knows I’m here! She’s going to kill me! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have said anything! Please, just don’t hurt me anymore!” She started kowtowing, banging her forehead against the stage floor. The more she groveled, the more like a monster I looked. The host rushed to pull her up, her voice trembling with indignation. “Jade, you are safe here. You have us. You have this audience. You have millions of people watching. She can’t touch you.” Even the “expert” got fired up. “Child, you’ve survived twenty years of hell. We are going to find your real parents. We are going to give you your dream.” I couldn’t reach her, and my silence was being edited into guilt. My phone number was leaked online within minutes. My inbox flooded with thousands of messages. Kill yourself. Why are you still breathing? Die, bitch. Suddenly, the livestream showed Jade heading “to the restroom.” My phone rang. It was her. Gone was the whimpering victim. Her voice was sharp, cold, and dripping with triumph. “Hey, Miriam. You like your gift?” I gripped the phone, my knuckles white. “Jade… why? What did I ever do to deserve this?” She laughed. It was a hollow, ugly sound. “You tried to keep me from them. You tried to gatekeep my own blood. You get what you deserve.” She was a black hole. No matter how much light I poured into her, she only wanted to consume. If things didn’t go exactly her way, she didn’t just walk away—she sought to destroy. “I told you the truth about them because they are dangerous, Jade. Why won’t you listen?” When Jade was ten, she found out she was adopted. I didn’t want to traumatize her with the story of the gas station trash can, so I told her a beautiful lie: that I’d found her in a bundle of blankets on a snowy night. When she turned eighteen, I tried to give her the real version, in pieces. I hinted at the dark truth. She refused to believe it. She convinced herself I was lying to keep her “tethered” to me. “You’re a liar,” she spat into the phone. “No parents would try to kill their own daughter. Oh, I forgot—you don’t have kids of your own. You’re hollow inside. You don’t even have a uterus, remember? How could you possibly understand a parent’s love?” I had undergone a hysterectomy years ago due to severe endometriosis, but I had also chosen not to try for more children so I could focus entirely on her. My sacrifice was her punchline. “Fine, Jade,” I said, my voice going dead. “Just remember: you chose this path. Every step of it.” 4 She snorted. “Ms. Miller, you’re a pariah. Worry about yourself. But… tell you what. If you sign over the house and your savings to me, I might go back on air and say it was all a ‘misunderstanding.’ Think about it.” She wanted to bleed me dry one last time. Three years ago, I had collapsed from exhaustion and ended up in the ICU. When Jade came to see me, she didn’t ask how I felt. She looked at the heart monitor and asked, “Mom, if you die, does the life insurance go straight to me, or is it tied up in probate?” I should have known then. Some things are born broken. “Don’t hold your breath,” I said, and hung up. I didn’t waste time. I called my lawyer. I told him to draft the papers to formally dissolve our legal adoption and to freeze the trust I’d set up for her. Then I called the real estate office and told them I was putting the new condo back on the market immediately. A half-hour later, a text from Jade: Doesn’t matter what you do. The producers just told me. They found them. They’re here. I opened the livestream again.

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I will never forget the day that was supposed to be the happiest of my life. Standing there in my pristine white wedding dress, my heart brimming with anticipation, I waited for my groom. Instead, what arrived was the news that he had been taken away by the police, accused of sexually assaulting a college student. My mind went completely blank. Driven by pure instinct, I chased after the squad cars, desperate to defend him, to prove his innocence to the world. But reality delivered a crushing, suffocating blow—he had turned himself in. Faced with my absolute shock and confusion, he looked at me with eyes full of apologies and explained. He said the girl’s name was Daisy. Her family had found out she had been taken advantage of, and now, they were forcing her to marry the scumbag who had assaulted her. He couldn’t bear to watch Daisy be condemned to such a tragic fate, so he stepped up and took the fall for the crime himself. He told me Daisy’s family had agreed to drop the charges on one condition: he had to marry her. As for the inevitable fallout at his job, the investigations, and the vicious rumors that would tear through our social circles—he hoped I could handle all of that for him. He and Daisy had already worked it out. It would just be a fake marriage. A three-year arrangement. After three years, he promised, he would come back to me. He would give me another wedding. He begged me to wait. Listening to this absurd, martyr-like confession, a strange, chilling calmness washed over me. I turned my back on him and walked away without a word. Passing a stray dog on the sidewalk, I casually pulled the delicate tulle veil from my hair and draped it over the animal’s head. Donovan, did you really think I’d be stupid enough to wait? …… 1. I took another heavy pull from my glass. Honestly, my friends hadn’t cursed him out nearly enough. They went too easy on him. Maybe the liquor was finally hitting my bloodstream. A different kind of regret started bubbling up in my chest—the regret that I hadn’t slapped Joseph across the face when I had the chance three years ago. I lost track of how many drinks I’d downed. I pushed my chair back, swaying slightly as I stood up to find the restroom. The moment I was on my feet, the room tilted. The ground felt like a sponge beneath my shoes. A coworker grabbed my arm, eyes laced with concern. I waved her off with exaggerated confidence and stumbled out of the booth. It wasn’t until I hit the hallway that I realized exactly how far gone I was. The recessed lighting seemed to pulse and sway. But I brushed it off, humming a tuneless melody as I made my way to the bathroom, and was still humming when I emerged. And then. I saw a painfully familiar silhouette standing at the end of the corridor. The slope of the nose, the sharp line of the jaw, the profile… Why… why did he look exactly like my ex-boyfriend? I narrowed my eyes, squinting through the alcohol haze for a few long seconds. The longer I looked, the more certain I became. It was Joseph. The arrogant, manipulative sociopath who had cosplayed as a starving artist to trick me, the guy who had looked down his nose and told me I’d hit the jackpot just by breathing his air. “Dead man walking,” I muttered under my breath. 2. Before my brain could process the command, my body was already launching forward. Smack— My palm connected with his cheek. The sound cracked like a whip in the narrow hallway. The man clutched his face, his eyes blown wide in absolute, horrified disbelief. I leaned in close, glaring at him, but something felt… off. This skin… wasn’t it a little smoother than I remembered? Then it clicked. I crossed my arms over my chest, a mocking smirk twisting my lips. “Well, well. Haven’t seen you in three years and you’ve somehow aged backwards. What, did you finally discover Botox?” But I had the wrong guy. The consequences of my impulsive, drunken rage were far more severe than I could have anticipated. The man called the cops. During the fifteen agonizing minutes it took for the police to arrive, the cold draft cutting through the hallway sobered me up entirely. My coworker came sprinting out of the bar, staring at me in sheer horror. “Nicola… did you actually hit someone?” I nodded, a sickening wave of remorse washing over me. Liquid courage really does make fools out of cowards. I couldn’t believe I had actually struck someone. The police arrived shortly after. We were ushered into a bleak mediation room at the precinct. The moment the door clicked shut, the officer turned a stern, unforgiving gaze on me. “Alright. Let’s hear it. What exactly happened here?” I let out a dry, nervous laugh, entirely resigned to my fate. “Officer, I was completely out of line. I hit him, and I’m wrong for that. I’m more than willing to apologize and pay for any medical expenses, as long as… well, as long as he doesn’t try to ruin my life over this.” The officer sighed, looking exasperated. “You look like a perfectly normal, quiet young woman. Why on earth are you going around slapping people?” The corner of my mouth twitched. I swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “I’m so sorry. It’s just… he looks exactly like my ex-boyfriend. I had way too much to drink, and I just lost it. I thought he was the guy who ruined my life, and I… I just swung.” The cop took a deep breath, his expression a mix of pity and exhaustion. “Even if it was your ex, you can’t just assault people in public. If he presses charges, you’re looking at assault and battery. Do you understand that?” I was drowning in shame, nodding frantically. “Yes, yes, I know. It’s my fault entirely. The alcohol clouded my judgment. I’ll apologize, I’ll pay, I’ll—” Before I could finish, the man sitting across the table let out a sharp, incredulous scoff. “Looks like your ex?” He dragged his eyes up and down my body, his gaze scraping over my messy hair down to my scuffed boots. A blatant, cruel sneer settled on his face. “You?” “Someone wearing head-to-toe clearance rack polyester, looking like a thrift store tragedy… and you think you dated someone who looks like me?” He paused, as if savoring the insult, before delivering the final blow. “Honestly, with eyesight like yours, you should just donate your corneas to someone who actually needs them.” I buried my face in my hands, completely incapable of formulating a defense. Who could have possibly predicted this? That there was someone out there walking the earth with Joseph’s exact face. Drinking really ruins lives. I had just wanted one night to numb the pain of a ruined wedding. And now, I might not even get to sleep in my own bed tonight. 3. Stripped of any right to defend myself, I kept my head down, staring blankly at the tips of my shoes. Seeing my silence, the man leaned into his arrogance, completely unleashed. “Officer, look at her. You see how insane this is, right? The woman is genuinely delusional!” “She belongs in a psychiatric hold! What kind of nonsense is she spouting about me looking like her ex?” “Any man who shares even three percent of my DNA would never be caught dead with someone of her… caliber.” I snapped my head up, unable to hold my tongue any longer. “Not three percent. You look ninety-nine percent like him! I literally thought he just got a chemical peel.” The man looked at me with unbridled disgust. “That makes it even more impossible. The only person on this planet who looks that much like me is my older brother.” He rolled his eyes, his tone dripping with mockery. “And my brother? You definitely don’t know him. He’s operating in a completely different stratosphere than you. There are millions of miles of tax brackets between you two. You’d have to get down on your knees and thank God just to be in the same room as him. Date him? You couldn’t even afford to dream about it.” I froze. My breath caught in my throat, and the words died on my tongue. Seeing me stunned into silence, the man threw his hands up in a dramatic, ‘I told you so’ gesture. But it wasn’t that I didn’t want to fight back. It was that my brain had short-circuited. His words… they sounded so familiar. “A girl from your tax bracket is lucky to even be breathing my air. You hit the jackpot with me. You should be down on your knees thanking God.” The exact same cadence. The exact same arrogance. The exact same suffocating condescension. This brother he was talking about… Maybe I really did know him. Maybe… Before my racing thoughts could land, the heavy door of the mediation room swung open. The man, who had been aggressively running his mouth just a second ago, shot up from his chair. The haughty cruelty vanished from his face, instantly replaced by the exaggerated whine of a victimized child. “Joseph! You’re here! This crazy woman literally assaulted me! You have to destroy her for this!” I slowly lifted my head. My entire body went rigid against the hard plastic chair. He looked at me. His dark, fathomless eyes locked onto my face, and time completely stopped. In the fraction of a second our eyes met, my palms began to burn. For three years, I had fantasized about this exact moment. I had replayed our inevitable reunion a thousand times in my head. I thought I would slap him. I thought I would scream at him. I imagined standing tall, shoulders back, radiating success, letting him see exactly how brilliantly I had survived without him. But three years hadn’t diminished him. He was still the man who commanded the summit of the world. Dressed in an impeccably tailored, charcoal Brioni suit, the sheer, crushing weight of his authority was even more suffocating than I remembered. He was lightyears away from the man who used to cram into my tiny, drafty apartment wearing pilled sweaters. And me? I was wearing a cheap, oversized hoodie I’d bought on sale. My hair was a tangled mess, and I reeked of cheap tequila. Beside him, the younger brother was practically vibrating with excitement. “Joseph, seriously, you have to handle this. Call the legal team. Let’s lock this psycho in an asylum!” As soon as the words left his mouth, Joseph slowly turned his head and looked at him. Just one look. The younger brother snapped his mouth shut, visibly shrinking back, terrified to make another sound. When Joseph spoke, his voice wasn’t loud, but it carried an absolute, terrifying finality. “Apologize.” I swallowed thickly, my heart hammering against my ribs. I cursed my own cowardice. Where was all that fire I had when I slapped his brother? Hand up, strike down, clean and brutal. Now, with the actual villain standing right in front of me, I couldn’t even summon a single word. My palm still tingled. But I was stone-cold sober now. I knew the reality of the situation. The man standing before me had the power, the money, and the absolute ruthlessness to completely ruin my life with a snap of his fingers. I folded. I lowered my gaze. Even though every fiber of my being screamed in protest, I forced the words past the lump in my throat. “I’m sor—” “Not you,” Joseph interrupted, his voice slicing through the thick air. “Wyatt. Apologize to her.” 4. I sat there, dumbfounded. Wyatt looked equally paralyzed. The color drained from his face as he choked out, “Joseph… what did you just say?” Joseph’s expression dropped by several degrees, the air around him turning arctic. “Wyatt, I said apologize. What gives you the right to speak to a woman like that? What kind of garbage were you spewing? Who taught you to behave that way?” Wyatt’s jaw tightened in defiance. His lips parted to argue, but the sheer terror in his eyes forced him to swallow the rebellion. Joseph’s dark eyes narrowed slightly. “And another thing. Didn’t you swear to me you’d be back in your dorm by ten every night? Not only are you out past curfew, but you reek of alcohol. So, you’re lying to me now?” Wyatt physically flinched. He had completely forgotten about the leverage. To get Joseph to buy him a new Porsche 911, he had sworn up and down: “I’ll study hard, I’ll stay out of trouble, back in the dorms by ten, I promise.” Now, his entire facade had crumbled. Wyatt nervously rubbed the back of his neck. Though his face was flushed with humiliated reluctance, he muttered, “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have insulted you.” But he couldn’t let it go entirely. He added a petulant, “But she shouldn’t have slapped me either… she needs to—” “Enough. The matter is settled,” Joseph cut him off effortlessly. “It’s late. Go home.” Wyatt’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. He looked at his older brother, then at me, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. His face contorted with suppressed rage. He was the one who got hit. He was the victim here. How the hell did it end up with him getting chewed out, forced to apologize, and sent away like a scolded dog? But he didn’t dare say a word. He knew exactly how ruthless his brother was. Joseph held absolute, terrifying control over the family empire. Their father deferred to him, their mother feared him, and even the ancient, cutthroat board members of the company wouldn’t dare cross him. If Wyatt talked back, that Porsche was gone, and his trust fund allowance would be frozen by morning. Defeated, Wyatt shot me a venomous, secretive glare, before dropping his head and trailing miserably toward the exit. I sat there, completely dazed. The police officer, clearly eager to be done with the drama, sighed. “Well, since the aggrieved party considers the matter settled, we’re done here. You’re free to go, miss.” It took me a long moment to gather my bearings before I slowly walked out of the precinct. The night wind hit me instantly, biting and cold, making me shiver in my thin hoodie. I stood on the concrete steps, tilting my head to look at the sky. There were no stars tonight. Just a solitary, crescent moon hanging in the dark, looking incredibly lonely. A few feet away, I heard Wyatt dramatically whining by the curb. “Come on, Joseph! You’re already here, just give me a ride!” He tried to play the pathetic card. “Joseph, please. My dorm locked its gates an hour ago. I can’t get back in! Just let me crash at your penthouse tonight, please! I can’t go back to our parents’ house looking like this. Your driver can just drop me at campus in the morning!” Joseph’s face remained carved from stone. “You can stay at the penthouse. Call an Uber.” Wyatt stared at him like he had lost his mind. “I am your blood brother! Why do I have to get an Uber? You’re getting in a car right now!” Joseph ignored him entirely. His peripheral vision caught me standing on the steps. He bypassed his brother and walked straight toward me. When he spoke, the ice in his voice melted into something almost agonizingly gentle. “Nicola. It’s late, and it’s hard to get a cab in this area. Let me take you home.” Behind him, Wyatt looked like he was about to have an aneurysm, his eyes darting frantically between his untouchable brother and the girl in the cheap hoodie. I looked up at Joseph. A chaotic storm of emotions raged in my chest, a bitter, tangled knot I couldn’t even begin to unravel. Right now, less than three feet separated us. The amber glow of the streetlamp spilled across his face, casting deep, cinematic shadows over the sharp angles of his jaw and the intense, searching look in his eyes. Every survival instinct I possessed screamed at me to maintain the boundary. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Leonard,” I said, my voice deliberately flat. “My best friend is on her way.” As if on cue, the high-pitched beep of a moped horn pierced the quiet night. Gemma pulled up to the curb on her battered vintage Vespa, the engine sputtering as she hit the brakes in front of the precinct. She spotted me instantly, kicked the stand down, and pulled a spare helmet from the storage box. She marched up the steps, shoved the helmet onto my head, and loudly clicked the chin strap into place. Gemma didn’t spare Joseph an ounce of politeness. She knew exactly what he had done to me. As she walked past him to get back to the bike, she dragged out her words, her tone dripping with venomous sarcasm. “Well, well. Look at the Wall Street royalty gracing us with his presence. Careful, you might catch something from us peasants.” She turned to me, making sure he could hear every word. “Come on, Nat. We need to stay far away from people like this. They might look like gentlemen in their custom suits, but underneath, they’re nothing but rot.” She punctuated the insult with a massive, exaggerated eye roll aimed directly at Joseph. She yanked me onto the back of the Vespa. The second I was settled, she gunned the throttle, and the little engine roared as we shot down the empty street. I could hear Wyatt screaming obscenities in our wake. “Are you kidding me?! Who the hell does that trashy bitch think she is talking to us like that?! This is the worst night of my entire life!” …… The cold wind whipped violently against my ears. Wyatt’s screeching faded into the distance until there was nothing but the hum of the tires on the asphalt. I didn’t speak. I just gripped the grab rails of the seat so tightly my knuckles ached. There was a heavy, stinging pressure building behind my eyes. I sniffled softly against the chill. Gemma felt the shift in my posture. She called over her shoulder, her voice softening. “Nat, don’t tell me you’re crying over that piece of garbage. Hey… if it hurts that much—just lean on me.” I hesitated for a second, then slowly pressed my forehead against her back. I wasn’t crying. I just told myself the wind was blowing a little too hard tonight. 5. It was nearly midnight by the time I walked through my front door. I turned the key as quietly as possible, but when I stepped inside, my mother was sitting rigid on the living room sofa. She had clearly been waiting up for me. Still rattled by the collision of my past and present, I forced a casual tone. “Mom, why are you still awake?” The deep worry lines etched into her forehead relaxed slightly the moment she saw me safe. Her gaze swept over me, lingering on my face. “Nicola, why are you home so late? Your eyes are red. Have you been crying?” I waved my hand dismissively, forcing a bright, easy smile as I dropped onto the couch beside her. “I was just in a really good mood tonight. Went out with the girls from work and had a few too many.” I leaned in closer to her, exaggerating a sloppy grin. “Smell me. Don’t I reek of tequila?” A shadow of doubt crossed my mother’s eyes. She spoke quietly. “But you only ever drink like that when you’re heartbroken or stressed. Did something happen tonight? Did you… run into someone?” My stomach plummeted, but I kept my expression perfectly neutral. “Run into someone? Who would I possibly run into in a city this big?” “I never said a name,” she replied softly. I was completely trapped. I couldn’t find the words to spin a lie. She sighed, her voice frail and tender. “Nicola, honey… I don’t interfere in your love life. You know that. But as long as it’s not him… As long as it’s not Joseph. Not after what he did to—” She stopped herself, swallowing the rest of the sentence as if it were poison. “Never mind. Let’s not talk about him. I just… I never want to see you broken like that again.” A painful lump formed in my throat, burning all the way down to my chest. I forced the corners of my mouth up. “Mom, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. The only thing on my mind right now is making rent and keeping my head down at work. I don’t have the luxury for anything else.” My mother looked at me, a deep, complicated sorrow in her eyes. Her lips parted, clearly wanting to say more, to dig into the old wounds. But in the end, she just sighed and let the silence take over. I knew exactly what she wanted to ask. She wanted to talk about three years ago. And what exactly happened three years ago?

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In the fourth year of our marriage, both Arthur and I had affairs. He kept a young college student on the side, treating her like a precious treasure. Behind his back, I kept a pure, sweet college boy to relive the passion of my youth. I originally thought he had long since grown tired of our messy, exhausting marriage. But to my surprise, the day he discovered my betrayal, he acted like a madman, desperately demanding that we both return to our marriage. 1 Arthur slept in the study again tonight. When I went in to bring him some coffee, I happened to catch him working on documents while on the phone with his young mistress. His phone, placed next to his laptop, was on speaker. The girl’s voice was sweet but laced with a bit of bratty entitlement: “Why aren’t you answering my video calls? Are you with that old woman and afraid I’ll see?” Arthur coaxed her with a good temper: “What are you talking about? I’m looking at a contract. I’ll FaceTime you when I’m done. Be a good girl.” The girl was relentless: “Arthur Sterling, don’t forget what you promised me. You won’t touch her ever again.” “I know, you little jealous thing. “I’ve been sleeping in the study lately, you know that.” Hearing his unconsciously softened tone, I felt a momentary daze. Once, when I threw little tantrums, he used to lower his pride and coax me just like that. After all this time, he was still the same Arthur—once he liked someone, he would spoil them unconditionally. It was just that the object of his affection had changed to someone else. A girl as young as I was back then. 2 Arthur’s smile froze on his face the moment he saw me. Perhaps afraid I would say something harsh to his little girl, he quickly hung up the phone, frowned, and scolded: “Why didn’t you knock?” I slammed the mug down on the table with a loud clack. “Your coffee. Maria has an upset stomach, so she asked me to bring it up. “And, I did knock. You were just too absorbed in your little romance to hear it.” Arthur tugged at his shirt collar and leaned back against his chair. The expression on his face relaxed. “Sorry, my fault. “Chloe has been a little fussy the last two days. I was just dealing with her.” The moment he mentioned Chloe Davis, the corners of his mouth unconsciously turned up, and even his voice lightened considerably. 3 Ever since I caught him cheating, Arthur stopped hiding his affection for Chloe. I had cried, made scenes, and even threatened suicide to make him cut ties with her. The result? He just watched me coldly, calling me a lunatic. Thinking back on it now, I definitely looked like a lunatic. It took me a very long time to detach myself from the trauma of that heartbreak. Even if it wasn’t agonizing, I was definitely left covered in scars. After calming down, I considered divorce. But that thought was quickly swallowed by resentment. Yes, resentment. I had been with Arthur from the very beginning when we had nothing, all the way to his current success. How could I possibly just step aside and let them have their happy ending? Moreover, from what I knew, Arthur was working on a massive project. Once completed, his assets would at least double. If I was going to divorce him, I would wait until the project was over. I didn’t care about the man anymore, but there was no reason to let a cheating bastard mess with my money. I don’t claim to be a saint. When I loved him, I gave him my all, but since he betrayed me, I had to find a way to maximize my own interests. Treating Arthur as a money-making tool made this marriage much more bearable. 4 A close friend had warned me before: never feel sorry for a man, and never try to save money for a man. Because the money you save will eventually be spent by another woman. At the time, I laughed and told her she was overthinking it. Now, it seems her words were absolute wisdom. I, who used to be frugal and calculated every penny, started spending lavishly. If Arthur could use our joint marital assets to keep a college student, why couldn’t I? So, using the money Arthur earned, I comfortably became the sugar mama to a very handsome male college student. I have to admit, having a ridiculously good-looking, fit, and clingy “puppy dog” sweetly calling me “older sister” was quite enjoyable. Thinking about this, I had no desire to stay and watch his performance of deep devotion to Chloe. These past two days, it wasn’t just his little girl making a fuss; my little puppy dog was also getting pretty jealous. 5 Back in my bedroom with the door locked, I video-called Leo Vance. Soon, a stunningly handsome face appeared on the screen. He was wearing white earbuds. He must have just taken a shower; his hair was still damp. He had a beautiful, sun-kissed complexion and perfectly sculpted muscles. He looked like an intoxicating male siren. I swallowed hard. “Pan down, let me see those abs.” Leo shyly lowered his head, his earlobe, visible on the edge of the screen, turning a soft pink. So incredibly innocent. But he obediently moved the phone further away. “There are people in the dorm,” he whispered. Even his voice was so husky it gave me goosebumps. I chuckled darkly, acting like a total creep: “Doesn’t that make it more exciting!” Leo’s earlobe turned even redder, the color spreading down his neck. Afraid I would say something even more inappropriate, he quickly changed the subject: “Sister, a girl has been hitting on me the last couple of days. She looks a bit like you.” 6 Given Leo’s looks, it was obvious he had a lot of girls chasing him. But this was the first time he had mentioned it to me. I suddenly remembered Chloe calling me an “old woman.” An inexplicable wave of irritation hit me. A six-year age gap… to Leo, I suppose I was a bit old. “So… do you like her too? If so, I’ll let you go.” He clearly hadn’t expected me to say that, and he panicked. “That’s not what I meant.” He waved his hands frantically, explaining: “My roommates told me I needed to let you know how high in demand I am, so you’d feel a sense of crisis. “I don’t want freedom. I just want you to care about me a little more. “Sister, I only like you.” He spoke with such urgent sincerity, as if he was genuinely terrified I didn’t want him anymore. I sighed. We originally started this as a mutually beneficial arrangement. The worst-case scenario was one of us actually catching feelings. “Leo, I like you a lot too. But the gap between us is too big. It won’t lead anywhere. “You should find a girl your own age and have a normal, healthy relationship. “Let’s just end it here.” Just as I finished speaking, a frantic knocking came from the door. Through the wood, Arthur’s voice sounded furious. “Maya, who are you talking to?” 7 I quickly hung up the video call. The project Arthur was working on was in its final stages. I had endured for over half a year; I didn’t want any complications at the very end. I opened the door and looked up at him. “What, you managed to coax your mistress? Does she know you ran over here in the middle of the night to bang on my door?” Arthur frowned, his face dark. He lowered his voice and asked again, “Who was it?” I rolled my eyes and couldn’t help but curse: “None of your damn business.” “Maya, are you seeing someone behind my back?!” Looking at his tightly clenched hands, the knuckles white from the strain, I found it hilarious. He was having an affair so blatantly, acting like he wished the whole world knew he was cheating on me. And now, he couldn’t handle a tiny hint of suspicion? “In what capacity are you asking me?” I crossed my arms and leaned against the doorframe. “As my cheating husband, or as Chloe’s boyfriend? “Is it that people who are dirty themselves think everything else is dirty too?” Arthur glared at me, his eyes looking like they wanted to slice me into pieces. He held out his hand. “Give me your phone.” I couldn’t be bothered with him. I stepped back into my room and slammed the door right in his face. 8 Arthur went crazy, pounding on the door relentlessly. Annoyed, I texted Chloe directly. [Your man is banging on my door right now. He probably wants to spend the night with me. Should I go open the door?] A few minutes later, it was finally quiet. I let out a long breath, tossed my phone aside, and collapsed onto the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. My phone kept buzzing with notifications. I didn’t know if it was Leo or Chloe, or maybe both of them frantically messaging me. Regardless of who it was, I didn’t want to look at it right now. It was so annoying. 9 When I woke up the next day, Arthur had already left for the office. Maria brought out breakfast, hesitated for a moment, and asked: “Ma’am, did you and Mr. Sterling have a fight? He didn’t look very happy today.” Maria was great, but a bit old-fashioned. I had told her many times to just use our first names, but she insisted. She said she couldn’t break the rules. Eventually, I just let her be. I picked up an egg, tapped it twice on the table, and shrugged indifferently. “He probably had a fight with the girl he keeps on the side.” Chloe had been acting quite entitled lately, spoiled by Arthur’s indulgence. Arthur probably didn’t have a good time last night. Maria’s expression changed a few times: “Ma’am, you can’t just let Mr. Sterling continue like this. You’ve been married for so many years, it’s time you had a child. “Maybe with a child, he’ll come back to you.” Trying to use a child to tie down a man who has already checked out… how pathetic do you have to be to resort to that? I shook my head. “That’s not fair to the child. Besides, I don’t want to win him back.” When threatening suicide didn’t make him change his mind, I had already decided I didn’t want this man anymore. 10 When the company got on track, I stepped down from the General Manager position and opened my own studio. I focused on jewelry design, which I loved, and I had achieved some minor success over the past two years. I had just parked my car in the studio’s underground garage when Leo appeared out of nowhere. His eyes were red, and his upper eyelids were still swollen. “Sister…” He called out to me, his voice noticeably hoarse. He looked at me with pitiful eyes, like an abandoned puppy. “What are you doing here?” I asked. “You didn’t reply to my messages, and I didn’t dare call you. I could only wait for you here.” He took a few steps forward and carefully tugged at my sleeve. “Don’t push me away. If I did something wrong, you can tell me. I’ll change.” 11 I started feeling irritated again, an irritation mixed with a heartache I couldn’t ignore. “Leo, think clearly. Our relationship is toxic. “If we separate, we can’t even use the word ‘breakup,’ it’s just ‘termination.’ Do you understand?” The color drained from Leo’s face. He lowered his head, refusing to speak, his hand still stubbornly clutching my cuff. Holding on very, very tightly. I took a deep breath, ultimately giving in to my softer side. “Leo, find a girl your own age and love her properly. “Go have a healthy relationship, one that can be out in the open.” Leo sniffled and rejected my suggestion without a second of hesitation. “I only want you.” We went back and forth in the underground garage for a long time, but in the end, I couldn’t dissuade him. Whatever. He’s still young. Give him time, and he’ll eventually get tired of me. Just like Arthur—he used to love me so much he would have jumped in a river for me, and now hasn’t he moved on to someone else? 12 After sketching designs all morning, I stretched and decided to take a break. As soon as I opened my phone, I saw that Chloe had sent me a barrage of messages. This mistress was getting increasingly arrogant. At first, when she added me as a friend, she didn’t even dare say who she was. She only dared to subtly show off her relationship on her Instagram stories. Now, she had the nerve to provoke me directly. She sent two photos. In one, she was wearing a very expensive necklace, smiling brightly. In the other, it was also a necklace, a very beautiful design, just noticeably less extravagant than the first one. But I recognized it instantly. It was the exact one I had loved a few years ago but couldn’t afford. That year, Arthur and I were preparing for our wedding, and he took me to pick out jewelry. I fell in love with that necklace at first sight. But at the time, our business was just getting off the ground, and we couldn’t support such a high expense. He held my hand, his eyes red from holding back tears. He said: “Honey, I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want. “In the future, I will definitely make a lot of money. When the time comes, I’ll buy out an entire mall’s worth of jewelry for you.” Later, he did make a lot of money, enough to buy dozens, even hundreds of malls. It’s just that he forgot his promise to me. 13 Below the photos were a few lines of text. [Arthur bought me two necklaces to make me happy. But I don’t really like the second one.] [I thought about gifting it to you, Sister, but I was afraid you wouldn’t like it either. But Arthur told me you actually liked this design a few years ago.] [So I told him to bring it back for you tonight. I hope you don’t mind, Sister.] This two-faced, competitive, ‘pick-me’ attitude was truly disgusting. I didn’t hold back. [My mother only had one child. Stop with the ‘Sister’ nonsense, it’s pathetic.] [From now on, just call me Mrs. Sterling.] Maybe the words ‘Mrs. Sterling’ hurt her fragile ego. She didn’t reply, but a moment later, Arthur called. “What did you say to her now? “Can you stop causing drama and leave her alone? I bought you a gift.” I cursed again: “Fuck your drama! Get lost!” Then I hung up without hesitation. I think I might have developed a phobia of massive idiots. 14 I sat in my chair, fuming, feeling increasingly disgusted the more I thought about it. I picked up my phone again, took screenshots of my conversation with Chloe, and sent them to Arthur. Even though I had already decided to divorce him once the project was over, I needed him to see clearly what kind of trash he had fallen for. Running over to lecture me? Telling me I provoked her? If you make me uncomfortable, I won’t let anyone else have a good day either. [Open your damn eyes and look closely! Who provoked who first?!] [Are you trying to tell me the gift you prepared for me is the necklace your little mistress rejected? Don’t fucking disgust me! I don’t want it!] Without waiting for his reply, I swiftly blocked him on every single platform. Rather than letting them drain me, it’s better to act crazy and drain them. It felt fucking great! 15 Arthur tried calling me from several different numbers, but I blocked them all. It started drizzling in the evening. When I got home, Arthur was sitting stiffly on the sofa. On his white collar, a smeared lipstick stain was glaringly obvious. On the table in front of him sat a beautifully wrapped gift box. Seeing me enter, he stood up and held the box out to me. “Listen to my explanation. “I specifically bought this for you. I didn’t know Chloe would sneakily try it on. And I didn’t know she would say those things to you.” I took it, turned around, and tossed it into the nearby trash can. “I find things she’s touched filthy. “Including you.” Arthur’s face darkened. He gritted his teeth and glared at me fiercely: “Maya, don’t push it.” “I’m pushing it? “Do I need to remind you of everything you’ve done?” He froze, shifting his angry gaze away from me, his hands clenching into fists and then slowly releasing. He didn’t argue back, nor could he. 16 I couldn’t be bothered to continue arguing with him. I bypassed him and went straight to my bedroom. Afraid Arthur would hear, after showering, I didn’t video-call Leo; instead, I texted him. We were in the middle of a lively conversation when there was a knock on the door. Arthur stood in the doorway, dripping wet. He awkwardly shoved a gift box into my hands again. “I just went out and bought a new one. “She hasn’t touched this one. It’s not dirty.” He wet his lips and continued: “I remember you really liked it before. I just couldn’t afford it back then. I…” I cut him off: “Oh, sorry. I don’t like it anymore.” Arthur frowned, looking confused: “Why?” I sneered: “People’s feelings change, let alone a piece of jewelry that’s out of style. “Stop bothering me from now on.” I slammed the door in his face again. 17 Because he got caught in the rain, Arthur developed a fever. He’s always been incredibly fussy when he’s sick. Maria made him various nutritious meals, but he refused to eat a single bite, only demanding the pork and century egg congee I used to make. Back when we were just starting the business, maybe because he was stressed and overworked, Arthur got sick a lot. Every time he got sick, I would make him pork and century egg congee. After he finished eating, he would rest his head on my shoulder, hugging me and acting like a baby. “Wifey, why are you so good to me? You’re the best wife in the whole world!” We had no money back then, living in a tiny, cramped apartment. But every day was so happy. But later, I don’t know how things changed. Do men really turn bad once they get money? Maria looked at me, clearly conflicted. “Ma’am, maybe you could make him some congee? He’s not eating anything, his body won’t be able to handle it.” I nodded. True, if he stays sick, wouldn’t his project get delayed? I opened the chat with Chloe again. [Your man is sick, come take care of him.] 18 Seeing Chloe at the house, Arthur’s fever-flushed face looked even worse. He coughed and asked darkly: “Why did you come to my house?” Not expecting him to say that, Chloe was stunned for a moment, forcefully suppressing her rising temper. She lowered her head, looking pitiful. “I heard you were sick, so I came to take care of you.” Arthur glanced at me, and seeing my amused expression, suddenly became very impatient. He aggressively started kicking her out: “I don’t need you here, go back.” Chloe had been treated like a precious jewel by him all this time; there was no way she could handle this kind of attitude from him now. She turned and ran out crying. She ran very slowly, though, probably expecting Arthur to chase after her and comfort her. But Arthur stood ramrod straight in place, not moving an inch. I clicked my tongue, secretly mocking them. Just the day before yesterday they were so lovey-dovey and sweet. Is he bored of her already today? “I know, you little jealous thing~” Yuck~ Disgusting! 19 Chloe felt wronged at Arthur’s place, so she decided to take her anger out on me. [What did you say to Arthur! He’s never treated me like this before!] I thought about it. [Maybe because I took screenshots of our conversation and sent them to him?] [Oh, he also said the necklace was meant for me, and you secretly tried it on yourself.] I guess that was the only thing I did. Chloe must have been furious; she started aggressively cursing me out: [You bitch!] [Filthy slut! Serves you right Arthur doesn’t want you!] [You’re old, go find a nursing home and rot there, stop making a fool of yourself!] I calmly took a screenshot and replied: [Wow~ So vulgar~] [Aren’t you afraid I’ll send these screenshots to that blind, idiotic asshole?] As soon as the message sent, she started frantically unsending her messages one by one. Too late, honey~ I unblocked Arthur, sent the screenshots, and blocked him again. Before blocking him, I didn’t forget to curse him out thoroughly. Equally destroying both the scumbag and the bitch. It felt so fucking good! 20 Before, I had never thought about causing trouble for Chloe. Even when I tried to use suicide to save this severely damaged marriage, I never said a single bad word about her. I always believed that flies don’t bite seamless eggs. The main reason for cheating is the man’s lack of commitment. But the more I acted this way, the more she thought I was a pushover. She provoked me over and over again. She even blatantly attacked me to my face a few times. I slashed my wrists and lay in the hospital, and she came to see me. She pressed her hand on my bandaged wrist, her face full of sympathy: “Arthur is so cruel to you, Sister. You’re in this state and he doesn’t even feel bad. “If I even get a tiny scrape, he gets anxious for half the day.” She brought her friends to my studio and judged my work. Several of them laughed loudly, making reckless comments. They said someone would have to have terrible taste to like the ugly things I designed. If I kept tolerating this, Notre Dame would invite me to ring their bells.

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I hadn’t spoken to my boyfriend in two weeks. A fourteen-day cold war that felt like a slow suffocation. In a moment of desperate weakness, I decided to join a relationship counseling livestream, hoping some internet guru could tell me how to fix the cracks in an eight-year foundation. Just as my turn was coming up, someone outbid me, paying to jump the queue. The caller was anonymous. The moment he spoke, my breath hitched. “Hey, Coach,” the voice said, low and steady. “I’ve fallen for a new girl at work. She’s… she’s everything my girlfriend isn’t. I’ve been giving my girl the silent treatment for two weeks just to get some space. We’ve been together for eight years. I don’t love her anymore, but I don’t want to be the villain. How do I end it without looking like the bad guy?” The voice was so familiar it made my skin crawl. I froze, my heart hammering against my ribs, praying I was wrong. Then the host spoke. “Listen, man,” the host said with a cynical shrug. “If she hasn’t reached out after two weeks of silence, she’s probably over it too. Just send a ‘we need to talk’ text and say it’s not working. If she’s mad enough, she’ll agree, and you’re off the hook. Clean break.” The words had barely left the host’s mouth when my phone buzzed in my hand. A text from Tyler. Joanna, I’ve been thinking a lot. I just don’t think our personalities mesh anymore. We’re spinning our wheels. Let’s call it quits. Goodbye. … 1 My fingers trembled as I typed back. [Eight years, Tyler. It took you eight years to realize our personalities don’t ‘mesh’?] He didn’t reply to me. Instead, his voice came through the speakers again, sounding frustrated. “Coach, that didn’t work. She’s pushing back.” “My girlfriend… she’s the sensitive, deep type. She’s not the kind of girl to just let go or throw a tantrum. She’ll want to talk it out. She’ll want to ‘fix’ it.” He sighed, a long, weary sound, as if I were a heavy coat he was exhausted from wearing. The live chat was exploding. “Total scumbag. Anonymous coward. Go live with your face on, let your girlfriend see who you really are!” “The new girl is gonna regret the day she met you.” “Host, kick this loser off. This is nauseating.” The host, leaning into the drama, leaned closer to his mic. “So, this new girl at the office. Does she even like you back? Or are you blowing up your life for a fantasy?” I held my breath. More than anyone watching, I needed to know. Was this a temporary lapse in judgment? A mid-life crisis at thirty? Or was my world truly ending? After a few beats of silence, he spoke. “Actually… we’re already living together.” The glass in my hand slipped. It shattered against the hardwood, shards grazing my bare ankle, but I didn’t feel the sting. I just stared at the screen, my mind reeling. Living together. We had been in a ‘cold war’ for fourteen days, and he had already moved in with someone else. Eight years tossed into the trash in two weeks. “I tried to fight it,” Tyler continued, his voice taking on a wistful, romantic tone. “I really did. But every time I went home, I saw her in the same old faded leggings, cooking the same three meals she’s made for a decade. It felt… stagnant. Like a pool of standing water.” “But the girl at the office? She’s different. Every day is a new outfit, a new energy. She takes me to these trendy pop-up bars, shows me these viral dance trends… it’s like she’s a jolt of electricity. For the first time in years, my heart is actually beating again. My girlfriend is just… a habit I can’t break.” Stagnant. A bitter laugh escaped my throat. I looked down at my ‘faded leggings’ and my oversized sweater. I hadn’t bought new clothes in three years. Tyler and I were both transplants in this city, working our fingers to the bone to save for a down payment. We wanted a home. A future. And that required sacrifice. In the beginning, it wasn’t like this. 2 I remember the early years. I used to spend my entire paycheck on silk dresses and designer perfume just to see his eyes light up when I walked into a room. I gave him the best version of myself when the world was still bright. But life isn’t a romantic comedy. In our third year, Tyler’s father had a stroke that left him paralyzed. The family’s primary earner was gone, and his younger sister, Mia, was still in high school. Tyler crumbled. The weight of his entire family shifted onto his shoulders overnight. My friends told me to run. My parents begged me to leave. “That kind of baggage will bury a young man,” they said. “He’ll take you down with him.” But I didn’t believe them. I believed in us. I believed we were stronger than bad luck. I stopped buying the dresses. I stopped going to the salon. I taught myself to cook so we wouldn’t waste money on takeout. At first, I was terrible at it—I could only master a few basic recipes. But back then, Tyler would take a bite and grin like I’d won a Michelin star. “Jo, you’re a genius! This is incredible!” I’d laugh, knowing it was just basic pasta, and I’d feel so loved it hurt. I saved every penny of my salary and funneled it to him so he could send it home to Mia and his mother. Back then, Tyler’s eyes would get misty, and he’d hold my hands tight. “If I ever forget what you’ve done for me, Joanna, I hope I lose everything. I’m never letting you go.” I’d hush him, kissing his knuckles. “Don’t say things like that. We’re a team.” Two years later, his father passed away. I went back to his hometown for the funeral. It was the first time I met his mother and Mia. His mom held me, weeping, calling me a “godsend.” Mia called me “Sis” and promised she’d repay me someday. I hugged them back, sincerely. “I don’t want repayment. I love Tyler, and I love you guys. We’re going to get a big house one day, and you’ll both come live with us.” I meant it. I worked for it. By this year, our joint savings account was finally enough for a three-bedroom house in the suburbs. I thought the hardship was over. I thought we had finally made it to the “happily ever after.” Instead, I got a betrayal. He was bored of the stability I had bled for. He wanted “electricity.” The tears finally came, hot and stinging, not because I was weak, but because my heart was literally breaking in my chest. The chat was a riot now. “TRASH MAN! LEAVE!” “I feel so bad for the girlfriend. She probably thinks they’re just having a spat.” “Bro, I get the boredom, but this is cold-blooded.” Tyler couldn’t handle the heat. He disconnected abruptly. Then, the host called my name. It was my turn to go on air. But the questions I had prepared—How do I get him to talk to me? How do I fix our communication?—felt like ash in my mouth. 3 The truth was out. There was no “fixing” a mirror that had been shattered and stepped on. I sat in silence on the line for sixty seconds, the host calling “Hello?”, before I simply hung up. I sat on the living room floor until the sun came up. When 7:00 AM hit, I tried to stand, only to realize the spot on my foot where the glass had hit was swollen and purple. The pain was sharp, but I welcomed it. It was a physical distraction from the void in my soul. I cleaned the wound, changed into a clean set of clothes, and limped out the door. I needed to see her. The “bright, fresh” girl who had stolen eight years of my life. I drove to his office. I sat in the parking lot, my hands gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. And then, I saw them. Tyler came out the front doors, laughing, his arm draped over a girl’s shoulder. It felt like a physical blow to my stomach. I squinted through the windshield, needing to see her face. He said something that made her blush and turn her head. My heart stopped. I knew her. It was Hailey. Hailey had been Mia’s mentor in college. When Tyler and I had taken Mia on a road trip a few years back, Hailey had accidentally bumped into our car with her bike. That was how they met. At the time, Tyler acted like he couldn’t stand her. “She’s so flighty,” he’d complained. “Mia needs to stop hanging out with girls who have no sense of responsibility.” Mia had just rolled her eyes at him and whispered to me, “Hailey’s not like that. She’s just had a hard time. Her parents are awful—totally sexist, they only care about her brother. She’s actually the smartest person I know. She just needs a break.” I felt for her. I really did. A few months later, I quietly paid for Hailey’s final semester of tuition through Mia. It wasn’t a fortune, but it was enough to keep her in school. Hailey had even sent me a four-page handwritten thank-you note and a box of specialty tea from her hometown. Two years ago, Mia came to me again. Hailey was struggling to find a job. “I know Tyler doesn’t like her, Jo, but she’s desperate. Please? She’ll take any entry-level position, any salary. She just needs a foot in the door.” Tyler’s company had been complaining about the “entitled” interns they were getting. Thinking I was solving two problems at once, I talked Tyler into giving her a chance. He had grumbled and made a face, but eventually said, “Fine, for you, I’ll do it.” A few weeks after she started, she invited us to dinner to say thank you. Before the food even arrived, she tried to toast us with a glass of wine. Tyler had reached out and stayed her hand, his brow furrowed. “Don’t drink that. You know you can’t handle it. Don’t be reckless. Joanna doesn’t care about the formalities.” At the time, a tiny seed of unease had planted itself in my gut. I’m severely allergic to alcohol. At Tyler’s father’s funeral, his uncles had pressured me to drink to “honor the dead.” 4 I had looked at Tyler, my face already flushing with hives, silently begging for help. He had just shrugged and said, “Jo, it’s just a toast. Give my family some respect. A few sips won’t kill you.” I ended up in the ER that night on an IV drip. And yet, here he was, protecting Hailey from a single glass of Chardonnay. When we got home that night, he had noticed my mood and laughed it off. “Oh, that? We had a team-building happy hour a few weeks ago. Hailey had one drink and almost fainted. Some guys were hovering around her like vultures, so I had to step in and play big brother. I was just making sure she didn’t make a fool of herself again.” I believed him. I was the “stable” one, the “secure” one. Why would I doubt him? I wiped the tears from my face and dialed Mia. She picked up on the second ring. “Hey, Mia. Tyler and I… we’re having a bit of a rough patch. He’s moved out and won’t tell me where he is. Do you know where he’s staying? I just want to talk to him.” Mia’s voice was instantly tight with panic. “Oh… uh, Jo. I don’t know. He didn’t tell me. Don’t go to the office, okay? I’ll… I’ll call him. I’ll make him come home and apologize tonight. Just stay put!” I hung up without another word. A few minutes later, I saw Mia’s car pull into the office lot. Hailey came down to meet her. They talked for a long time, Hailey looking distressed, Mia looking frustrated. Then Mia drove off. I closed my eyes. The last shred of hope vanished. Everyone knew. His sister, the girl I had helped put through school—everyone was in on the secret except the woman who had paid the bills. I didn’t wait for him to come home. I went to a Starbucks, bought eight large Iced Americanos, and walked straight into his office building. I saw them at the reception desk, flirting shamelessly. Tyler was leaning in close; Hailey was giggling. They both froze when they saw me. Tyler’s face went pale. Hailey looked like she wanted to bolt. I didn’t give them a chance. I stepped up to the desk, took two of the coffees, ripped the lids off, and poured them slowly over both of their heads. “The first round,” I said, my voice eerily calm, “is for the two of you hooking up behind my back like a couple of stray dogs.” Hailey shrieked as the ice-cold liquid hit her. Tyler tried to shield her, his hands fluttering uselessly. I opened two more. “The second round,” I said, drenching Tyler’s expensive suit jacket, “is for the eight years of my life you just pissed away.” The office had gone silent. People were peering over their cubicles. Hailey was sobbing now, the brown liquid staining her white blouse. Tyler finally found his voice. He lunged forward and slapped me—hard. The force of it sent me stumbling back against the desk. “Joanna! What the hell is wrong with you? You’re acting like a psycho! You’re making up lies about Hailey! I could have you arrested for this!” I didn’t say anything. I just straightened up, my cheek throbbing, and picked up the next two cups. “And the third round is for the ‘false’ police report you’re about to file.” I threw those too. Hailey tried to grab my arm, her face a mask of ‘innocent’ tragedy. “Joanna, please! You’ve heard some rumors and you’re overreacting. I don’t know why you’re doing this to me. I know… I know it’s hard for women over thirty to keep their emotions in check, but this is too much!” She looked around the room, making sure everyone saw her ’empathy.’ “Tyler told me you were getting paranoid and unstable lately. I didn’t want to believe him, but now…” I didn’t argue. I grabbed the final two cups. This time, Tyler didn’t just slap me. He shoved me with everything he had. I tripped, my head slamming into the sharp corner of the reception desk. Everything went blurry. I felt something warm trickling down my forehead. “Joanna, enough!” Tyler screamed. “This is a place of business, not your kitchen!” I stayed on the floor, the coffee pooling around me, blood dripping into my eye. And then, I started to laugh. A wild, jagged sound that filled the room. “I’m unstable? I’m paranoid? I’m the problem?” I looked up at Tyler’s horrified face. “Fine. I’m the problem. So you’re free. Go have your ‘fresh blood,’ Tyler. I hope she was worth the price.” I stood up, shaking. “Be out of the apartment by tonight. Take your trash with you. We’re done.”

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My boyfriend accidentally mirrored his chats to the TV. “She’s great. Very suitable for marriage.” “No need to buy her gifts, no need to coax her, and no need to pay a bridal price.” “Even without love, I can still have a good life.” 1. “How about we go to Napa Valley? I saw this incredibly beautiful bed and breakfast online.” I enthusiastically pulled up the itinerary I had spent hours putting together. Before I could even hand my phone to Declan, he had already pushed my arm away. His handsome face was completely emotionless. No impatience, but no interest either. Just like always. As calm as a pool of dead water. “You book it. I don’t really care. I’m going to the restroom.” Declan stood up and left. I sheepishly pulled my phone back. He was great in every way. Good-looking, good temper, good job, and he treated me well enough. It was just that his personality was a bit too cold. At such a young age, he acted like a monk with no earthly desires. We had been together for so long, and I had never seen him lose his temper. Of course, I had never seen him laugh out loud either. He was a stereotypical, stoic straight man! I grumbled internally for a moment. Somehow, the B&B that looked so beautiful a minute ago now just seemed ordinary. Feeling disheartened, I put my phone down and lay on the couch, glancing at the TV. The TV was playing an American drama that Declan really liked. He had even paid for a pirated resource online to watch it. The male lead was in the middle of a monologue when the screen suddenly switched, and an iMessage window popped up. “Dec, I heard you’re getting engaged next month? That’s awesome, man. Why didn’t you tell the boys?” I recognized that avatar. Was that Declan’s college roommate, Carter? 2. My curiosity was piqued. In all the years we had been together, I had never looked at Declan’s phone. On one hand, Declan was a very disciplined person. He lived a simple life, had a clean social circle, and I trusted him. On the other hand, he was very protective of his privacy and boundaries. He deeply resented the idea of partners checking each other’s phones. But this time, he was the one who accidentally mirrored his screen. Of course I was going to take a good look. Declan was getting engaged, and he hadn’t even told a single friend? I rolled my eyes. That was so like him. Declan: “Nothing to talk about. Just an engagement.” Carter: “Same girl, right? Still Audrey?” Declan: “Yeah.” Carter: “Figured. Aside from her, who else could tolerate your personality?” “Audrey really puts up with a lot!” I nodded in deep agreement. Having a block of wood for a boyfriend—someone who understood nothing about romance or taking care of people… These past few years really hadn’t been easy. Carter: “I remember when you two got together, it was just so you could get over Lily. But Audrey’s temper is 100 times better than Lily’s.” “Audrey’s temper is seriously amazing.” “That time it was her birthday, and you couldn’t leave your raid group. She waited at the restaurant alone for two hours and didn’t even get mad.” “Back when you dated Lily, you were always 20 minutes early. If you were even one minute late, Lily would throw a massive tantrum.” 3. Lily? Declan’s ex-girlfriend, Lily? I stared blankly at the TV, my mind completely empty. She and Declan went to high school together and started dating their freshman year. Declan and I were college classmates, but I remembered they broke up during the first semester of our freshman year. Declan was devastated at the time. He got blackout drunk at a restaurant and threw up all over me as I was walking by. That was how we met, but we didn’t really start talking until we joined the same club our sophomore year. What Carter was saying… He had been broken up for over a year and still wasn’t over it, so he used me as a rebound to heal his broken heart? And the birthday incident was even more absurd. Declan didn’t even explain himself at the time. He just said he had something extremely important to do. He had been preparing for it for months and absolutely couldn’t leave. Declan loved writing. At the time, he was constantly submitting to a magazine, but kept getting rejected. I knew he had been working on one novel for a year. So when he was late, I naturally assumed it was something related to his career. I never expected it was because he was doing a video game raid… Hahahaha, yeah, some game raids do take months to prepare for. He didn’t lie to me. I let out a dry laugh. Laughing until the tears started falling. Carter’s words were truly enlightening. So Declan was the kind of person who showed up early for dates? All these years, because his job was “busy,” our dates always consisted of me waiting for him. 20 minutes, 40 minutes, an hour. I got so used to waiting that eventually, I started intentionally arriving half an hour late. 4. Declan: “She has a good temper. Very suitable for marriage.” Carter: “I’ll agree with that. When we were young, I envied the passionate, fiery love you and Lily had. But now that we’re older, I realize that being with a gentle, generous girl like Audrey, someone who doesn’t nitpick over everything, is so much easier.” I rubbed my eyes. Declan was finally complimenting me. But why were my tears flowing even harder? Declan was a very reserved and traditional person. He rarely expressed affirmation or love toward me. If I asked him if I was pretty or if my outfit looked good, his answer was always a flat “It’s fine.” In our seven years together, he had never even said “I love you.” Whenever I asked, he would change the subject, saying that real men didn’t hang romantic words on their lips, that it was boring. So the “boring” Declan actually had a passionate, fiery love once upon a time? Passionate and fiery. Passionate and fiery… Tears blurred my vision. I wiped them away fiercely, lifting my head to keep reading the screen. Carter: “Since you’re getting married, treat her well from now on.” “The guys and I had a bet going on when you’d finally drive Audrey away.” Declan: “Relax, she won’t leave.” 5. Declan sure was confident. Where did that confidence come from? That confidence… I suppose I gave it to him. Late for dates? It’s fine, I understand, it’s just work. Forgot my birthday? It’s okay, people make mistakes. Never celebrated any other holidays. I wanted to respect his preferences. If he didn’t like celebrating, I could just celebrate by myself. So for every Valentine’s Day and Christmas, I would buy myself a bouquet of flowers and go out for a nice meal. “You can like rituals, but you can’t force someone else to have rituals.” “It’s not wrong that you like celebrating holidays, and it’s not wrong that I hate them. We should understand and respect each other.” After Declan seriously said these things to me, he refused to celebrate any holidays with me, except for my birthday. Carter: “You and Audrey are from the same city, right? I remember engagement customs there are super complicated.” “You have to prepare return gifts, the engagement ring, the formal wear, and book a banquet for a dozen tables. Have you got all that sorted?” Declan: “I don’t need to manage that. She’ll handle it.” Carter: “Damn, you’re a lucky guy! You literally don’t have to lift a finger!” I smiled bitterly. Carter was absolutely right. When it came to the engagement, it really felt like I was the only one organizing everything. After seven years of dating, my parents said I wasn’t getting any younger and needed to start planning for marriage and kids. So I had my parents call Declan’s parents. Their attitude was the same as Declan’s. You pick the date, you book the restaurant. When the time comes, we will definitely show up. 6. Carter: “Oh right, I heard the bridal prices in your area are super high, like tens of thousands of dollars. How much did Audrey’s family ask for?” Declan: “Her family didn’t bring it up. What era are we in? That’s just outdated patriarchal nonsense.” Carter: “…So if her family doesn’t ask, your family just isn’t giving one?” “Wow! Does Audrey have any sisters? Can you introduce me to one?” Declan: “Boring.” I pulled out a tissue to dry my tears and took a large gulp of water. I had cried so hard my throat was a little hoarse. The “clear and detached” Declan had the same bad habit as every other man: once he went to the bathroom, he wouldn’t come out for half an hour. Regarding the engagement, Declan’s family hadn’t said a word. The implication was that I should arrange everything, and they would just show up to eat. I booked the banquet. I picked the return gifts. I even bought the suit Declan was going to wear to the dinner. Whenever I asked Declan for his opinion, it was always the same. “You decide. Whatever you like is fine. I don’t care.” Thinking back on it now, was it that he didn’t care about these things, or did he not care about me? Carter: “Oh, I almost forgot the main thing. Lily is getting married. She sent us all invitations.” “She said she deleted your contact info back then, so she asked me for your number. I figure she’ll be sending you an invite soon.” 7. The TV audio continued playing. Declan exited the chat, and the sound of the toilet flushing echoed from the bathroom. I half-lowered my head, pretending to look at my phone, not saying a word. Declan walked out of the bathroom expressionless, seemingly completely unaware that I had just read his entire conversation. He sat silently beside me, not even glancing my way. Naturally, he didn’t notice my swollen eyes and red nose. Ring, ring~ His phone rang. I caught a glimpse; it was an unknown number. Declan answered the phone, his voice trembling slightly: “Hello, speaking.” “Yeah, congratulations.” “Okay, I’ll be there on time.” Was that Lily’s call? A chilling wave spread from my heart to my fingertips. I knew Declan too well. In all our years together, the last time I saw him this nervous was when he received a call from his company’s CEO. At the time, he was competing with someone else for a VP position. He had prepared for a whole year for that role. Declan hung up the phone. His expression was calm, but his hand gripped the phone with immense force. He squeezed so hard the veins on the back of his hand bulged, a glaring sight. “Audrey.” Declan softened his tone. “Last time you showed me a few suits, I didn’t look closely. Send me the links.” I snapped my head up, staring at him dead in the eye. 8. Declan was startled by my red, swollen eyes. For once, his voice carried a trace of warmth: “What’s wrong? Your eyes are as red as a rabbit’s. Was the TV show that moving?” “You, always so sentimental.” He patted my head affectionately. In the past, I would have thrown myself into his arms and acted cute. Now, I merely shifted my body slightly, dodging his outstretched hand. A flash of displeasure appeared in Declan’s eyes. “Come here.” He patted the sofa. Declan had grown up as the “golden child”—good-looking, good grades. The teacher’s pet, the students’ role model, his parents’ pride. These experiences forged a personality where his word was law. Furthermore, influenced by his father, he possessed a heavy dose of toxic masculinity. My personality was gentle, and I rarely went against his wishes. But this time, I was holding onto a breath of suffocating anger. I absolutely did not want to entertain him. Seeing that I wasn’t moving, Declan got angry. He stood up, walked back to the bedroom, and slammed the door hard. The old me would have been incredibly anxious, rushing to comfort and appease him. The current me just sat blankly on the sofa, beginning to recall our seven years together. As a man, Declan was undeniably attractive. He had a handsome face and kept himself in perfect shape. He was a man who held himself to incredibly high standards. No smoking, no drinking, early to bed, early to rise, exercising every day. He worked hard, was highly ambitious, disciplined, and smart. 9. But if Declan didn’t treat me well, what did all his good qualities have to do with me? I lowered my head, seriously contemplating our relationship for the first time. I liked him. The first time I saw him, I couldn’t help but fall for him. Declan was my first boyfriend. First time holding hands, first time hugging, first kiss. The most beautiful, youthful years of my life were entirely spent walking by his side. He was so perfect. So perfect that when I was with him, I always carried a trace of an inferiority complex. It was this insecurity that made me retreat step by step, erasing my temper, leading to my current situation. Seven years of living together—to me, he was unforgettable. But to him, I was merely… suitable for marriage. Soon, Declan walked back out with a dark expression. “Remember to send me the suit links.” I actually laughed. He hadn’t even spared a glance at the suit he was supposed to wear for our engagement. But now that he was attending his ex-girlfriend’s wedding, he suddenly knew how to shop for clothes. “I don’t have them. I deleted them.” Declan shot me a look of pure astonishment, finally noticing my abnormal behavior. “What’s going on? Throwing a tantrum?” “Things not going well at work?” “If work isn’t going well, don’t take it out on me. We’re all adults here; process your external emotions outside.” “I don’t want to be your punching bag. You need to do some self-reflection.” Declan poured himself a glass of water and retreated to the bedroom. From today onward, we officially entered a cold war. 10. I never expected that Lily’s fiancé would turn out to be my coworker. My coworker sent me a digital invitation. I stared at the photo on it for a long time. It really is a small world… Lily’s wedding was on the weekend. Declan finally ended our cold war and spoke to me first thing in the morning. “Give me a thousand dollars.” Since graduating, Declan had proactively handed his salary card over to me. He said that a family could only maintain maximum stability if the woman managed the finances. Declan… he had genuinely intended to marry me. I pulled out a thousand dollars in cash from the drawer and handed it to him. Then, I watched coldly as he washed his hair, shaved, and meticulously styled himself. “I rarely see you dressed up this formally. Going to the office today?” Declan paused while polishing his shoes. “Yeah, I have a business meeting. It’s very important.” “I’m leaving now. I won’t be back for lunch or dinner.” I took a deep breath, sat in front of the mirror, and applied a stunningly vibrant, striking makeup look. Declan, see you at the wedding. The wedding was very modest. The groom’s family was from a rural town, and the reception was held in a massive tent set up in their community hall. This was my first time visiting Charlie’s hometown, which surprised me. Because Charlie usually spent money like water and paid a lot of attention to his appearance, I had always assumed he was a trust fund kid. Rural banquets were always livelier than city ones—aunts and uncles everywhere, eating, checking out the bride, asking for wedding favors. Lily was wearing a very fitted mermaid wedding dress, revealing her proud curves and a large expanse of pale, delicate skin. 11. I mingled in the crowd of onlookers and quickly spotted Declan. He was walking slowly but firmly toward Lily, step by step. His expression was sacred and solemn, like a devout believer on a pilgrimage. Seeing Declan, Lily also grew emotional, her eyes quickly turning red. Declan handed Lily a thick red envelope. “Long time no see. Happy wedding.” Lily bit her lip, looking at Declan with a complex expression. She seemed very happy, yet tinged with a bit of sadness. “Long time no see, Dec.” Soon, other guests began arriving. Declan stepped aside, staring intently at Lily, savoring every passing second. He looked so focused and serious, as if after today, he would never see this person again. How hilarious. If he just looked around, he would realize I was standing very close to him. “This Charlie’s wife doesn’t look like a decent woman at all. Showing so much skin, who is she trying to show off for?” “Ugh, exactly. With so many people around, showing half her chest. I’m too embarrassed to even look at her.” “People from the big city are so open. I heard they’re only getting married because she’s pregnant. Otherwise, the Smith family would never accept this daughter-in-law!” It seemed I was standing entirely among the groom’s rural relatives. In just a few minutes, my ears were filled with gossip. Um, at the time, I heard Lily was the one who dumped Declan, complaining he was cheap and unromantic. But it seemed her new in-laws were a tough crowd to deal with… I quickly found my seat and sat down. How ridiculous. Before, I was constantly fantasizing in my head about what I should say to Declan if he saw me. I didn’t expect that to be a total non-issue. He was completely lost in his own world, completely devastated. He didn’t even react when his friends called him while standing right next to him, let alone spot me in a bustling crowd. 12. The banquet soon began. I saw more expressions on Declan’s face for the first time than I had in our seven years together. In just a few short minutes. Loss, sorrow, nostalgia, joy, confusion, bitterness, regret… Looking at Declan now, I suddenly understood. He never loved me. That was why he never got angry, never argued, never got jealous. I thought he was easygoing, aloof, and stoic. The reality was simply because he didn’t love me. Because he didn’t love me, he didn’t want to spend time with me. Because he didn’t care, he had no emotional fluctuations regarding me. Because he was indifferent, everything had to be done his way. The moment I realized this, beneath the heartbreak, I mostly felt a wave of relief. Like a prisoner awaiting sentencing, finally hearing the final verdict. “Oh my god, Audrey, why are you crying?” “Hahaha, were you moved? There’s no need, absolutely no need. Don’t you know what kind of person Charlie is? The way he spends money… I heard to pursue this current wife, he maxed out over a dozen credit cards. I bet he’s close to a hundred grand in debt right now.” “Dating was romantic. Five-star hotels, global travel, designer bags.” “But after they’re married, the girl is probably going to have to help him pay off his debts.” “Cough, cough~” I choked on my own saliva, shocked as I listened to my coworkers start loudly gossiping about Charlie.

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Five years of marriage, and my wife has just burned through her ninety-seventh “Grace Token.” Those little slips of paper, hand-stamped with promises, were supposed to be her security blanket when we first wed. Ninety-nine of them—a symbolic vow that I would walk with her until the very end, through every stumble and every spat. But she’s spent them like pocket change on her “muse,” her young obsession. Every time she stumbles home in the dead of night, she tosses one at me with a casual shrug, another piece of our history turned into a get-out-of-jail-free card. It came to a head tonight. She was halfway out the door to rescue her “assistant”—her little stray, Logan—when I reached out and caught her wrist. “Can I use one this time?” I asked, my voice sounding foreign even to me. “Can I use a token to ask you to stay?” She paused, then laughed, patting my hand as if I were a petulant child. “You’ve still got over sixty left, babe. Use them for whatever you want. I have to go.” I watched her back as she disappeared into the night, then slowly tucked the voided slip into my pocket. She didn’t know. No one did. That was number ninety-seven. Back then, she was the one who chased me. She proposed ninety-nine times before I finally said yes, moved by the sheer tenacity of her devotion. Now, there are only two tokens left between us. And I’m done crying for her to stay. 1 Tonight was the victory gala for the East Side project. It was also exactly three days since I’d been discharged from the hospital following major liver surgery. The room was a blur of silk and champagne until Logan, Lydia’s “secretary,” managed to topple a champagne tower. The crystal cascaded down, soaking our most important investor in expensive vintage brut. Lydia’s first instinct wasn’t to apologize to the client. It was to pull Logan behind her, shielding him like a mother hen. Then, without a flicker of hesitation, she pointed at me. “Adrian, apologize to Mr. Lewis.” I froze, the words hitting me like a physical blow. Even the investor looked uncomfortable, frowning as he gestured toward Logan. “Lydia, the boy caused the mess. I only want an apology from him.” Logan’s eyes welled with practiced tears. He tugged at Lydia’s sleeve, the picture of a kicked puppy. Lydia’s expression softened instantly. She squeezed his hand and turned back to me, her voice hardening. “What are you waiting for? Pour Mr. Lewis a drink. Now.” “Lydia—” I started, my voice thin. “One glass won’t do it? Then make it two. Or three. Whatever it takes to make Mr. Lewis feel better,” she snapped. She had forgotten I was on post-op medication. Or perhaps, she simply didn’t care that a single drop of alcohol could send my recovery into a tailspin. The whispers started then. I could feel the pity in the room, thick and suffocating. Everyone saw the truth: it wasn’t my fault, but Lydia was hell-bent on protecting her pet. I opened my mouth to refuse, but Lydia leaned in. Her lips moved, barely a whisper, framing two words: Grace Token. When we were in college, Lydia proposed ninety-nine times. I turned her down ninety-nine times, terrified of her intensity. On the hundredth time, she gathered our entire world—friends, family, professors—and swore a blood-oath: “Adrian, it’s only ever been you. If you say no, I’ll just ask again. And again. Until you’re mine.” I let her in. I gave her my life. And on our wedding night, I gave her those ninety-nine tokens. A pact: as long as we had tokens, we were forever. For the first three years, she treated them like diamonds. She never used one. Then Logan appeared. In two years, she had burned through ninety-six. Now, number ninety-seven was being used to force a drink down my throat. My knuckles were white as I took the glass. I forced a smile for the investor. “Mr. Lewis. My apologies.” The man sighed, sensing my desperation. “Just a sip, son. It’s fine.” I didn’t take a sip. I drained the glass. The red wine burned like acid, clashing with the medicine in my system. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lydia playfully pinching Logan’s nose. “You little troublemaker,” she cooed, her voice a honeyed caress. “Watch your step next time. I’d hate for you to get hurt.” Logan beamed, clutching her hand. “You’re too good to me, Lydia.” Too good, I thought. The wine hit the back of my throat, making my eyes sting. It’s okay, I told myself. Only two left. 2 After the gala, I instinctively went for the passenger side of our SUV. Just as my hand touched the handle, I heard the sharp click of the locks. Lydia rolled down the window, looking at me with a cold, detached disdain. “Take an Uber,” she said. “I just had the interior detailed. You reek of booze. It’s disgusting.” She seemed to have completely erased the fact that she was the one who forced that smell onto me. Her disgust was brighter than the streetlights. In the past, I would have panicked. I would have scrubbed my skin raw, crying, pleading with her to understand it was just one drink. Or I would have stood there on the curb and screamed, demanding to know why she traded my dignity for Logan’s comfort. This time, I just nodded. “Okay. Drive safe.” Lydia’s grip on the steering wheel faltered. She looked at me, confused by the lack of friction. “Adrian, you—” Before she could finish, Logan appeared, practically skipping as he pushed past me. “Ready to go, Lydia! All packed up!” He was draped in Lydia’s spare blazer. His shirt was still soaked in champagne, the smell of fermented grapes far more pungent than the single glass I’d consumed. Lydia didn’t mention the smell. She got out of the car, personally opened the door for him, and tucked the blazer tighter around his shoulders. “It’s chilly. Don’t catch a cold.” Only then did she look back at me, a flicker of guilt crossing her face. “Don’t read into this. Logan is young, he’s still learning the ropes. He needs the guidance.” I nodded again. “I understand.” I added, just to be sure, “You used a token, remember? I’m not angry.” She stiffened. She wanted to say something, but Logan let out a theatrical sneeze, and her attention snapped back to him instantly. “Go home,” she tossed over her shoulder as they sped away. I stood in the dark, a cold shiver racing down my spine. When I got home, I pulled the ceramic jar—the one we’d labeled The Treasury—from the back of the closet. I reached in, my fingers fumbling through the small slips of paper until I found one. I shredded the ninety-seventh token into tiny pieces. Then, I sat at my laptop and began drafting the separation agreement. I called my mentor, Professor Whitlock, for advice. “Professor, if I were to file for divorce, how should we handle the equity split on the downtown firm?” The Professor was silent for a long beat. “Divorce? Adrian, what happened? The whole department still talks about how she chased you for years. You two are the campus legend.” A legend, I thought. A ghost story, more like. “It just… ran its course,” I said quietly. It started with the scent of his cologne on her neck. It grew with the nights she didn’t come home. It accelerated every time she reached into that jar to buy my silence. The Professor didn’t push. “I’ll draft the paperwork for you. When do you need it?” I looked at the jar on the desk. “When Lydia uses her last two chances.” The front door creaked open. “What chances?” Lydia asked, stepping into the room with a shopping bag in her hand. 3 I snapped the laptop shut. “Nothing. Just talking to the Professor about some pro-bono work.” Lydia’s eyes narrowed, and she crossed the room toward me. “Divorce? I thought I heard the word divorce.” I stepped back, keeping the desk between us. “Just a case we’re looking at. He wanted my perspective on a filing.” She exhaled, the tension leaving her shoulders. She held out the bag. “Here. For you.” The logo on the bag was from my favorite patisserie—the place where we used to go when we were first dating. Back then, if she upset me, she would wait in line for two hours, rain or shine, just to bring me a specific lemon tart. “Anything for you, Adrian,” she used to say. “It’s my pleasure.” A faint, bitter warmth stirred in my chest. I reached for the bag. “I didn’t think you remembered… what is this?” I stopped. My heart sank. Inside weren’t tarts. There were two shirts, heavy with the smell of stale alcohol. One was Lydia’s silk gala wrap; the other was Logan’s champagne-soaked button-down. Lydia didn’t even look ashamed. “Logan’s shirt is a mess. I figured since you were doing a load of laundry anyway, you wouldn’t mind. It’s just easier if you handle it.” She saw my expression and her voice took on that defensive, “reasonable” tone. “Look, I’ll use another token. I know how you get about ‘chores.’ There, we’re good, right?” The words died in my throat. I wanted to tell her: Lydia, there is only one left. You just used the ninety-eighth. But instead, I just looked at her. I took the clothes and walked them to the laundry room. I used to hand-wash her silks, obsessed with making sure she looked perfect. I realized then how much of a fool I had been. My devotion had become her convenience. To her, I wasn’t a husband; I was an upscale, live-in housekeeper. I tossed the clothes into the machine and turned it on. When I returned to the bedroom, Lydia looked up. “Done already? Did you get the stain out? That’s Logan’s favorite shirt. I promised him you’d take care of it.” “It’s in the wash,” I said flatly, already thinking about which dry cleaner I could call tomorrow to handle the rest of my life. Her phone rang—a bright, upbeat chime. Lydia glanced at me, then slipped out onto the balcony. I followed silently, standing just behind the sheer curtains. I heard Logan’s voice on the other end, playful and whining. “Lydia, the cake you bought me is so good! I’ve never had anything like it.” “I told you it was worth the wait,” Lydia replied, her voice dropping into that intimate register she used to save for me. “But you had to wait so long in line… I feel bad.” Lydia chuckled. “For you? I’d wait all night. It’s my pleasure.” Logan let out a soft laugh. “And my shirt? Is it okay that Adrian is washing it? I don’t want to cause trouble.” “Don’t worry about him,” Lydia said, her tone dismissive. “He’s used to it. Besides, your hands are too nice for manual labor. I’d hate to see them get rough.” I looked down at my own hands. Reddened from years of housework, the skin around my knuckles dry and cracked. She was right. I wasn’t the man she’d fallen for anymore. I was the man she’d used up. I retreated to the bathroom, feeling a wave of nausea. Ten minutes later, Lydia knocked on the door. “Adrian, something came up at the office. I have to head back. Don’t wait up.” “Lydia,” I called out as she reached for her keys. “If you don’t come back tonight… can I use a token?” I looked at her, my eyes damp despite my best efforts. She paused, her hand on the doorknob. 4 “Sure,” she said, flashing a quick, easy smile. “But you won’t need to. I’ll be back by midnight, I promise.” I watched her go. I had three hours until midnight. I pulled out my phone and ordered a cake from the same patisserie. Lydia’s assistant, Sarah, posted a photo on Instagram: “Finally leaving the office! Empty building, spooky vibes.” Lydia was nowhere in the background. Lydia texted me: “Just got to the office. Mountains of paperwork. Home soon.” Two hours until midnight. I was clearing out my old photos when I found the one of her hundredth proposal. I posted it to my private feed with a simple caption: “Five years. How quickly the time goes.” Lydia commented almost instantly: “More than five. Forever.” She followed up with a text: a photo of the city skyline. “The moon is beautiful tonight. Thinking of you.” I didn’t reply. I knew that skyline. Those buildings weren’t near her office. They were the view from The Gilded Lily, the most romantic rooftop restaurant in the city. Logan posted a story, visible only to a “Close Friends” list he’d forgotten I was on. “She says she’s married to her past, but I’m her future.” In the corner of the frame, Lydia’s hand was visible, resting on the table. Her wedding ring was missing. One hour until midnight. I sat on the sofa, playing our wedding video on loop while I ate the lemon tart I’d ordered. It tasted like ash. I realized then that I would never want this cake again. One minute until midnight. I pulled the very last token from the jar. There was a knock at the door. I froze, then hurried to open it. “Delivery for Adrian,” a courier said, holding out a sleek, expensive-looking watch box. “A gift from Lydia. Please sign here.” Simultaneously, my phone buzzed. “So sorry, honey. Work is running late, going to crash at the office suite. Use that token if you want. I’ll bring you that cake you like tomorrow.” I went to type a response, but my hand brushed against the bookshelf. Our framed wedding portrait—the big one that had sat there for five years—toppled over. The glass shattered, the shards scattering across the hardwood floor. The courier jumped. “Sir? You okay? Want me to help you clean that up?” I shook my head. I picked up my phone and sent the last text I would ever send her as her husband. “Don’t bother with the cake, Lydia. The tokens are all gone.” “I’m filing for divorce.” The next second, my phone exploded with notifications.

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