Category: English

After the seventy-eighth time I received nude bed photos of my husband with his mistress. I posted all the photos on social media. My husband’s mistress cried her heart out, shouting that she was utterly humiliated. The next second, Adrian Chase’s call came through: “Delete them.” I didn’t delete them. Ten minutes later, all my social media accounts were logged into from remote locations. Deleting posts, deactivating accounts, removing trending topics. The entire operation took Adrian Chase less than ten minutes. Three days later, he came to me with divorce papers, his voice a soft threat: “It’s just a game to humor the girl. Play along.” I nodded and signed. He probably didn’t believe that I could actually give up being Mrs. Chase. Half an hour after signing the divorce papers. Adrian Chase probably didn’t know that his “innocent” lover actually had a vicious heart. Even after I divorced him, she still couldn’t wait to have someone run me over with their car. I lost the baby in my belly. Good. With the baby gone, the last tie between him and me was gone too. My phone rang shrilly just as I was wheeled out of the operating room after my miscarriage. The anesthesia had just worn off, and the pain made beads of sweat break out on my forehead. I answered the call through the pain. Adrian Chase’s icy voice came through: “Jade, take all your things and get out.” “Okay.” I agreed readily. Five years of marriage, and he’d kept one girl after another on the side. To keep me from interfering with his relationships with these girls. He had his secretary rent me a house on the outskirts of North City. He said: “If I want to find you, I’ll contact you. I’ll have my secretary transfer living expenses to you. Without my permission, you’re not allowed to appear in front of me.” Last time he knelt before me, begging me to come back. He sincerely said he’d settled down and wanted to live a good life with me from now on. I was foolishly moved to tears and believed him easily again. So I moved back home. But one week later. A girl stumbled during a modeling show, stepping on her dress hem and falling, bursting into his line of sight like a startled deer. I saw the way he looked at her. My resentful emotions screamed in my heart, but I had to admit—he’d fallen again. That evening, news of him taking the model into a hotel dominated the headlines. I became everyone’s joke once more. This girl seemed truly special. For a whole year, Adrian Chase didn’t tire of her. And in that year, I received seventy-eight provocative videos and photos, and countless harassing texts. Every word revealed the sender’s desire to take my place. Until three hours ago. For the first time, he placed divorce papers before me: “It’s just for show. Be good, don’t make me angry.” I struggled to hold back my emotions, looking at him with reddened eyes. Unwilling to sign. No matter how he’d played around before, this document had never appeared. But now, he calmly stroked my head, like soothing a bristling kitten. I knew the consequences of making Adrian Chase angry. Just like this time—he only needed to lift a finger. And he could solve all of Bianca Cole’s problems. So I signed the divorce papers, writing only “Okay.” When I returned home, I didn’t see Adrian Chase or Bianca Cole. Mrs. Hudson, the housekeeper, was busy in the kitchen. She saw me come back and asked happily: “Jade? How did the prenatal checkup go?” My face was pale. I shook my head. I’d originally planned to tell Adrian Chase tonight that I was pregnant. But plans couldn’t keep up with changes. In just a few days, I’d lost my marriage and my child. “I had a miscarriage.” Under Mrs. Hudson’s shocked expression, I spoke slowly, “Maybe it’s for the best. This child wouldn’t have been happy anyway.” Before Mrs. Hudson could respond, the door was pushed open. Bianca Cole was carrying armfuls of luxury goods. The dozen or so bodyguards behind her had their hands even fuller. Seeing me, Bianca Cole wasn’t surprised. She leaned against my chaise lounge, smiling, but her words dripped with sarcasm. “Actually, I really don’t understand—Adrian Chase treats you this way, yet you still won’t leave. Why?” “Yesterday, I said I wanted chestnut cake, and without a word, he walked five kilometers through heavy snow to buy it for me.” “Have you ever gotten that kind of treatment?” I was silent for a moment. Yesterday was the anniversary of my father’s death. When I contacted Adrian Chase through his assistant, I heard the wind howling through his phone. But I still clearly heard him say he wasn’t available. So he’d gone to buy chestnut cake for Bianca Cole. I helplessly clutched at my clothes. Once upon a time, Adrian Chase was the person who loved me most in this world, aside from my parents. He was my family’s driver’s son, not some noble identity, completely out of place among the surrounding young masters and ladies. Back then, the other children loved to bully him. But he never cared what others thought of him. He said: “I only care about Jade.” When I had a fever as a child, he stayed by my bedside all night without sleep. When the earthquake happened, he shielded me with his body, letting debris hit his head. He endured the pain without a sound, even gently comforting my emotions. In college, he and I had an argument. Holding my favorite candied hawthorn and a handwritten ten-thousand-word apology letter, he stubbornly stood outside the dorm building through heavy snow all night. On graduation day, we had our wedding. At the wedding, when my father placed my hand in his, his tone was serious. “If I find out you’ve changed your heart, I’ll take her away without hesitation. She doesn’t lack people to love her.” Adrian Chase clenched his fist and solemnly promised he would never change his heart. He said: “I want to make you the happiest person in the world, to banish sadness from your life.” From school uniforms to wedding dress—the envy of everyone. A year after marriage, my father passed away, and Adrian Chase managed everything in the company. He was exhausted, collapsing into the hospital several times from overwork. I felt sorry for him. The formerly pampered young lady cooked for him, making soup with her own hands. Every day after work, he’d bring me a bouquet of my favorite yellow roses. He said they were flowers full of love. Every day he’d sit in the courtyard with me counting stars. He’d hold me as I fell asleep. When did things start to change?

I thought about it. Probably when he completely shed the label of “the driver’s son” and transformed into CEO Chase. He started having endless business dinners, and when he came home, his clothes reeked of cheap perfume. Facing my questioning eyes, he smiled and explained: “It’s from a business partner’s perfume. Honey, don’t overthink it.” I believed him. He used clumsy excuses to repeatedly consume my unconditional trust. Until he gained complete control, he stopped pretending. And I, foolishly immersed in the prison of love Adrian Chase had woven for me. Unable to break free. The first time I caught him cheating was at the surprise birthday party I’d prepared for him. The party was on a yacht. Everyone waited until exhausted, but the guest of honor never showed up. I had no choice but to have someone check his location and discovered he was working overtime at the company. The whole way there, I complained in my heart about him not taking care of himself. When I pushed open the office door, I was still holding the cake I’d made myself. But on his office desk sat the remains of a candlelit dinner. Intimate clothing was scattered on the floor. Most ridiculous of all, two bodyguards stood outside his lounge. When I kicked the door open, Adrian Chase’s face showed no panic. He gently covered the person beneath him with a blanket, then casually draped a bathrobe over himself. When he looked up at me, he was as cold as a block of ice. “Close the door. If you have no shame, she does.” His calmness made me look like a clown. I rushed forward like crazy to drag out the homewrecker. But I was slapped dizzy by a bodyguard beside Adrian Chase. In the chaos, I finally saw clearly who was lying in the bed. It was the little nurse who had changed his dressings after he collapsed in the hospital. The little nurse was scared to tears: “Ma’am, please don’t misunderstand. I just came to bring Mr. Chase some liver-protecting medicine today. I never meant to interfere with your marriage.” “We had some drinks, and in our confusion, we…” Adrian Chase pressed his lips together, his cold eyes fixed on me. “Jade, I’m warning you, don’t lay a finger on her.” So he’d been cheating this early on. The so-called flowers of love were just random compensation to his wife after he’d had his fun outside. From then on. At business dinners, as wine flowed freely, the women around him changed too. He no longer cared about my feelings, no longer cared about anything about me. It seemed only the fame and fortune in business and different women keeping him company in pleasure. Could truly make him feel the meaning of life. I gradually grew numb in the sense of loss. Until one day, I no longer expected him to appear before me. I ignored Bianca Cole’s mockery. I went upstairs to get my passport and some ID documents, then came back down. When I came downstairs, I saw Bianca Cole going through the purse I’d left on the sofa. I caught my breath and immediately rushed forward to snatch the bag back. Bianca Cole spread her hands and rolled her eyes. “There’s nothing valuable anyway. What are you so nervous about?” I felt for the hospital examination report at the bottom of my bag and breathed a sigh of relief. Bianca Cole walked up to me and suddenly smiled. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?” “I saw the vitamin pills in your bag.” “You know, right? Adrian Chase hates kids the most. If he finds out you’re pregnant, he definitely won’t let you keep this baby.” “I advise you to get rid of it early, otherwise…” Just then, Adrian Chase came back. Adrian Chase glanced at me, his tone casual: “What fell?” I smiled and stuffed the documents back into my bag: “Nothing.” Adrian Chase was silent for a moment. As I was about to leave, he took out two cards and held them before me. “The presidential suite at Cloud Court Hotel—you can stay there for now.” “This card has ten million on it. Use it for now.” “Yesterday… I really was busy.” Busy? Busy buying chestnut cake for Bianca Cole counts as busy? At this moment, I only found the man before me utterly disgusting. I smiled gently. The next second, a slap landed on Adrian Chase’s face. I shook my numb palm, the smile on my face unchanged. “Adrian Chase, you’re disgusting.” “A driver’s son who, by chance, rose to power, and now you’ve forgotten how you used to beg me to help you through hard times?” I’d never said such hurtful words to him before. Adrian Chase didn’t strike back, but his face darkened suddenly. But before Adrian Chase could react, Bianca Cole grabbed an ashtray and smashed it at my head. Warm blood flowed down from my temple. My head spun. The living room lights suddenly became blinding, making me almost unable to stand. Mrs. Hudson rushed forward to support me. She anxiously shouted at Adrian Chase: “Adrian! Don’t you know that Jade, she…”

I cut off what Mrs. Hudson was about to say. ” Mrs. Hudson, I’m fine.” The man before me had no reaction, only casually glancing at Mrs. Hudson. His voice was cold: ” Mrs. Hudson, remember clearly whose servant you are.” “Since she’s divorced me, she’s no longer Mrs. Chase.” Mrs. Hudson looked at me anxiously. I shook my head gently. There was no point saying anything to him now. He was no longer the Adrian Chase who would smile and lean down to listen carefully to what I said. Adrian Chase nervously gripped Bianca Cole’s trembling hand: “Did you hurt your hand?” Bianca Cole shook her head with slight sobs: “It doesn’t hurt… I just can’t stand seeing someone bully you…” The light illuminated the tenderness in his eyes when he looked at Bianca Cole: “Silly girl, it’s okay if they bully me, but I can’t let you be wronged.” Hearing this, Bianca Cole became smug immediately. “That slap just now—I want to pay it back tenfold for you.” Seeing Adrian Chase didn’t respond. Bianca Cole shook his arm coquettishly: “You’re CEO Chase. If word gets out that your ex-wife slapped you, how embarrassing!” Adrian Chase still didn’t agree. Seeing this, Bianca Cole stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear. Adrian Chase finally smiled with satisfaction. He wrapped his arm around Bianca Cole’s waist and kissed her lips lightly. “Alright, I’ll listen to you.” I stepped back in disbelief, staring at the two in shock. The bodyguards immediately pushed Mrs. Hudson aside roughly and grabbed my wrists. I began to struggle: “Adrian Chase! You…” Bianca Cole sneered and delivered a quick, vicious slap to my face. At the same time, sharp pain attacked from my abdomen and head, making me break out in cold sweat. After ten slaps, I collapsed miserably on the floor. Tears streamed down my face, disappearing into my hair. I used all my strength to suppress the sob in my throat, keeping myself from crying out loud. He didn’t look at me once, taking Bianca Cole upstairs. Before leaving, I heard Adrian Chase’s low, magnetic voice: “Wear that hollow lace tonight?” Bianca Cole blushed in his arms, looking at me lying on the floor with provocation. After the door closed. Mrs. Hudson helped me stand up. But the dull pain in my abdomen didn’t decrease—it only grew stronger. I don’t know how long I lay unconscious. I only know that when I woke up, Adrian Chase sat in my hospital room with cold, indifferent eyes. His voice held no emotion: ” Mrs. Hudson told me you fainted. With such a weak body, don’t make trouble for yourself. If you behave, I can relax too.” The lazy tone seemed casual, but every word cut deep. “Jade, I’ve reached this level. Everyone around me plays with women. Your requirement for me to be faithful to one person for life is too demanding.” “I can’t do it. Whether in life or business, everyone is pushing women toward me, openly or secretly.” “I’ve said before, this divorce is just an act. As long as you’re obedient and give me some time, once I’ve had my fun, I’ll return to the family. We’ll have children and be even happier than before.” “But the premise is that I need to tire of playing around first.” He paused, only now lazily lifting his eyelids to glance at me. The moment our eyes met. I saw not a trace of guilt in him, only his certainty that I would give in. “Jade, you really should learn to be more obedient.” Be more obedient? But Adrian Chase wasn’t like this before. He liked when I threw little tantrums at him. He said obedient girls were mostly spineless, without character. I looked down at the wedding ring on my hand. Dense pain surged in my chest, like ten thousand arrows piercing my heart. After a long silence, I spoke in a hoarse voice. “I understand.” “In the bag I left on the sofa, there’s something Bianca Cole wants. When she sees it, she’ll be very happy.” My concession made Adrian Chase smile genuinely. “The pigeon blood jewelry set from the auction? Jade, if you’d realized this earlier, things between us wouldn’t have gotten this bad.” No, it’s the hospital bill for my miscarriage surgery and post-procedure care instructions. I silently answered his question in my heart. We’ll never have children again. Adrian Chase took my silence as confirmation. He left happily. And I checked out of the hospital and moved into the presidential suite Adrian Chase had prepared for me. I spent half a month liquidating all the jewelry Adrian Chase had given me over the years and transferring the money to a trust company. After the money from the last piece of jewelry came through, I bought a plane ticket leaving North City. As I left dragging my suitcase, the bodyguards asked where I was going. I didn’t answer. They asked when I’d be back. I thought about it. “In a couple of days.” Later, two days became many more days, and I never came back. A month later. The first to realize I’d completely disappeared were those two bodyguards. They tremblingly dialed Adrian Chase’s number, saying I had vanished.

One second, two seconds, three seconds. “Beep beep beep…” The person on the other end hung up with heavy breathing. At that moment, Adrian Chase was pressing Bianca Cole against the huge floor-to-ceiling window. He hadn’t heard the content of the phone call at all. As kisses fell like a storm, Bianca Cole’s clothing was gradually removed. At the critical moment, Bianca Cole pressed against Adrian Chase’s burning chest. “Wait.” Adrian Chase gripped her chin, forcing her misty eyes to meet his. “What’s wrong?” Bianca Cole blushed. Like a magic trick, she produced a pregnancy test report, her voice unable to hide her excitement. “Adrian Chase, you can’t have me tonight because I’m pregnant.” The air around them grew cold with Adrian Chase’s emotions. The burning desire vanished in an instant. Adrian Chase released his grip weakly and methodically put on his bathrobe. Looking at the stunned woman before him. He couldn’t help but sneer inwardly. This woman had crossed the line. Like other foolish women, overestimating herself. He gave a flat “Mm,” sat on the sofa, pulled a cigarette from the pack and lit it. Nothing more. Just an “Mm”? Bianca Cole was confused. This wasn’t what she’d imagined. In her fantasy, Adrian Chase should have excitedly embraced her and told her he would take responsibility. Then she would naturally marry him, have servants waiting on her, never worry about food or clothing, and live a life of luxury. But now, the man before her had only given a flat “Mm.” The huge gap made her emotions start to crack. “What does ‘mm’ mean? Don’t you want this child? Before, in bed, didn’t you say you only wanted children I gave birth to?” Adrian Chase’s voice turned cold, the desire in his eyes completely gone. “You believe what men say in bed?” “Bianca Cole, I thought you were different from other women, that you knew your place. I didn’t expect you to be as stupid as them.” Bianca Cole staggered back several steps, almost thinking she’d heard wrong. “What…” Adrian Chase slowly exhaled a smoke ring. “If you abort it tomorrow, I can overlook your rashness tonight.” “If you insist on having this child, I don’t care.” “I’ll pay child support every month, but as for how much, I decide. Could be a million, a hundred thousand, ten thousand, one thousand, or maybe a hundred. If you want to sue, fine—I’ll hire the world’s top lawyers.” “Your chances of winning are less than ten percent.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it ruthlessly crushed all of Bianca Cole’s pre-planned schemes. After weighing the pros and cons. Bianca Cole lowered her eyes, bit her lip hard, and nodded in humiliation. Adrian Chase smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. This type of woman was easiest to handle. No cards to play, no confidence—living in fantasy on a man’s scraps of mercy and gifts, willing to compromise everything. He suddenly remembered what Jade had said in the hospital. So he reached into the bag beside him to feel for the pigeon blood jewelry set, preparing to use it to pacify Bianca Cole. He didn’t feel the velvet box but instead touched some papers. Curious, he pulled the papers from the bag. The large characters on the examination report jumped into his vision. “Jade Warren.” “Patient’s pregnancy loss due to major traffic accident.” He froze. His hand holding the paper grew sore and painful, yet he still hadn’t processed it. What did “pregnancy loss due to major traffic accident” mean?!

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My roommate is a competitive show-off who always speaks in sarcasm. When someone posted about being insecure due to illness-related obesity, she commented below: “I’m so jealous you can be soft and chubby. I’m 5’3″ and only 110 pounds. Please share your weight gain tips.” When someone celebrated escaping their toxic family, she posted screenshots of her parents doting on her, adding: “Support you. My mom forgot to give me my goodnight kiss today. So mad.” Because I’m mute, she’s never taken me seriously. Until our dorm dinner, when a child complimented me on my looks— She AI-generated photos of me drinking with different men in bars and posted them online. “I’m so jealous of my roommate. She’s so beautiful and gets to hang out with so many guys.” “Unlike me—not only am I not as pretty as her, I’ve never even held a man’s hand.” The comments below all called me a slut while praising her as a pure innocent flower. Soon, the rumors spread. I was reported and lost my guaranteed admission to an Ivy League graduate program. She took the replacement spot and looked at me: “Lyra, being mute means you have to take your losses in silence.” “But honestly, I really envy that you get to experience society. Unlike me—I can only go to grad school.” Looking at her smug expression, I narrowed my eyes. What she doesn’t know is that I’m not actually mute. I don’t speak because I have the supernatural ability of reality manifestation through words. Since she loves speaking in reverse so much, I’ll make her reverse words come true.

“What’s that awful smell?” In the classroom, Clara circled around me, covering her nose in disgust. “Lyra, you should really get yourself checked out. I swear there’s a nasty smell coming from you.” Hearing her words, the students sitting near me immediately scattered. I only smell like soap, but no one cares about that except me. Their gazes swept over me like searchlights, as if they wanted to strip me naked. “I knew I smelled something earlier—turns out it’s her!” “Stay away from her. Playing around that much, who knows what diseases she’s carrying. I’m done for if I catch something!” “She kept looking at me during class. Is she feeling the itch? I don’t want this kind of trash!” Overwhelming shame engulfed me. I almost bent down to smell myself. I glared furiously at the smug Clara, wanting to explain but unable to speak a single word. Because I was reckless as a child and caused plenty of trouble with my reality manifestation ability, my mom took me to many places. We finally found a temple where a master helped seal my vocal cords, warning me: “This is a great fortune. You cannot use it carelessly—it damages your karmic merit.” He gave my mom a vial of medicine: “When the child understands right from wrong, you can use this to break the seal. Then she’ll be able to speak normally.” My mom gave me the medicine when I left for college. “Honey, being mute isn’t so bad. Once you start using this ability, it’ll be very hard to stop.” “I’m giving this to you so you have a way to protect yourself. Promise me you won’t misuse it, okay?” For over a decade, I’d never wanted to speak this badly. I tried to explain in sign language, but no one could understand. At that moment, my phone rang. It was my academic advisor. A flicker of hope rose in my heart—had the school cleared things up? After I answered, the advisor’s cold voice came through. “Lyra, due to your personal conduct issues, the school is revoking your scholarship and financial aid.” “Additionally, you need to submit a ten-thousand-word self-criticism to the Academic Affairs Office tomorrow.” “Do you have any objections? Speak now.” I anxiously made sounds, but all I heard was the busy tone of a disconnected call. At the same time, Clara answered a phone call. “Clara, the department just had a scholarship spot open up. It’s been reassigned to you. Come fill out the paperwork.” It was the advisor’s voice. After Clara hung up, she saw me glaring at her viciously and smiled. “Lyra, I really don’t want this money, but what can I do about the school’s decision?” “Oh right, I forgot you need this money for your mom’s medical bills.” “But I’ve always envied you for juggling school with three part-time jobs—such a fulfilling life. Unlike me—all I can do is travel and see the world.” I couldn’t be bothered arguing with her. I turned to go find the advisor. My mom had a sudden heart attack this year, and her health has been deteriorating. This money was all I needed to get her a cardiac stent procedure. Before I could even leave the classroom, I heard a familiar voice. “You’re spreading lies! My daughter would never do these things!” It was my mom’s voice. And it was coming from Clara’s phone!

I rushed over and snatched the phone away. In a livestream, a man was holding forth: “Everyone, support Clara! Let’s see what the mom who raised such a slut looks like!” “Maybe the daughter learned it from the mother? You all say I’m so manly—what if she takes a liking to me!” “Actually, never mind. She’s been played into the hospital—bit too dirty for me!” As he spoke, he turned the camera toward my mom lying pale in her hospital bed. The man threw a handful of photos onto her, his voice dripping with malice. “Do you know your daughter’s selling herself out there?” “Did you introduce her clients? Why don’t you two offer a package deal—sell yourselves together. Business might be even better!” My mom lunged at him angrily, like a furious lioness: “Get out! My daughter would never do such things! If you keep slandering her, I’m calling the police!” Her emotions grew more and more agitated, yet her face grew paler. Suddenly, she clutched her chest and collapsed onto the hospital bed! The man panicked and left without pressing the call button for help. My hands trembled as I dialed the hospital, trying to call a doctor for my mom. But when the call connected, I couldn’t say a single word! I could only listen as the nurse on the other end said “Hello?” twice before hanging up. I looked pleadingly at my classmates—people I’d spent day and night with—but they all avoided my gaze, looking toward Clara instead. Thick despair consumed me. Clara laughed lightly: “Lyra, don’t worry. I’ve always thought you were so free without a father—one less person controlling you.” “Maybe you’ll be completely free soon. Unlike me—my parents make me call them every day to check in. Later I’ll just have to go home and inherit the family business. No autonomy at all.” The surrounding students began flattering Clara. “That’s not no freedom. That kind of life—I’d literally get on my knees to accept it.” Clara looked at me provocatively amid the crowd’s adulation. I ignored her, just kept messaging and calling my mom’s attending physician. I don’t know how much time passed before the doctor finally answered. Knowing I couldn’t speak, he reassured me while checking his messages. His voice grew serious. Soon, my mom was rushed to the operating room. My taut nerves finally relaxed slightly. My back was already soaked with cold sweat. Clara walked up to me, her gaze challenging: “Lyra, I’ve discovered being mute is actually really nice. You’re always so quiet, giving people a sense of emotional stability.” “I just got the scholarship, so I’m treating the whole class to afternoon tea. I’m so envious that your money can go toward saving your mom—so meaningful!” “Unlike me—I have no worries at all. My money can only be used for enjoyment.” With bloodshot eyes, I shoved her hand away and rushed toward the hospital. When I arrived at the hospital, the surgery was still ongoing. I don’t know how long passed before the operating room doors opened! I rushed forward urgently, looking at the doctor. The doctor shook his head heavily. “Your mother’s body was already weak, and we got to her too late this time.” “We did our best. She’s now in a vegetative state. With good care, she might wake up—it’s just that the costs will be quite high.” The doctor looked at me with difficulty, taking in my clothes washed so many times they’d faded to white. I staggered, my eyes erupting with bone-deep hatred. Clara must pay the price! Since she loves speaking in reverse so much, I’ll make it come true for her.

I first went into the hospital room, stroking my mom’s pale, gaunt face, my heart full of self-reproach. Because of my reality manifestation ability, my dad treated me like a monster. It was my mom who resolutely divorced him and left our hometown with me, searching for a solution. But now she was lying in bed because of me, with no telling when she might wake up. I deposited most of my part-time job earnings into her medical account. Then I went back to the dorm to find the medicine. When I pushed open the dorm door, I found my area in complete disarray. My desk was piled with junk, my closet had been opened, and my clothes were thrown on the floor, covered in gray footprints. I took a deep breath and decided to find the medicine first. I’d hidden it in a storage box at the foot of my bed. As soon as I climbed onto my bed, I discovered the entire bedding was wet and reeked of an unidentifiable stench. But fortunately, my storage box was still there. I pulled out the key and opened it, tucking the intact vial of medicine into my pocket. I needed to find a place with no people to use it, ensuring I wouldn’t be interrupted. As I climbed down, Clara watched my lack of reaction and pouted with boredom: “Lyra, I’m so envious of emotionally stable people like you. Even when we accidentally spilled mop water on your bed, you don’t get angry.” “Unlike me—my parents spoiled me so much I can’t handle the slightest grievance.” The other roommates quickly chimed in: “That’s actually better! Having a real personality means not getting bullied. Not like Lyra—what a doormat!” Their mockery didn’t change my expression one bit. Because her retribution was about to arrive. I left the dorm and checked into a hotel for an hourly room. I took out the medicine from my pocket and was about to apply it to my lips when the door was suddenly shoved open. Clara burst in, livestreaming. “Everyone, my roommate just came back to the dorm to get something, then rushed out again.” “I was worried something would happen to her, so I followed. I can’t believe she came here to rent a room!” “I can’t just watch my roommate fall this far!” After Clara rushed in and found only me in the room, disappointment flickered in her eyes. When she saw me bringing the medicine to my lips, her face took on a pitying expression. “Lyra, I actually really envy that you can’t speak—saves so much social hassle.” “But even if you’re dissatisfied, you can’t just put random unlabeled medicine in your mouth. Aren’t you afraid of poisoning yourself?” Comments flew rapidly through the livestream: “Liked. Clara is beautiful and kind-hearted. She even feels sorry for this kind of trash person—way too nice.” “Clara’s right. There’s so much meaningless socializing in society now. Being mute means she can avoid so many hassles!” “Exactly. She just can’t speak—there are people way worse off than her. I don’t know what she’s putting on an act for!” Clara smiled with satisfaction. At an angle the livestream couldn’t see, she reached out and pushed the medicine into my mouth. Half the medicine went down my throat, half spilled on my lips. An intense burning sensation spread across my mouth. Pain appeared on my face. Clara sighed, looking at me. “Lyra, I really envy your courage and freedom—you dare to consume anything. You get to experience so many things.” “Unlike me—my parents only allow things verified by professionals into my mouth.” The livestream comments uniformly read: “Good advice can’t save a ghost determined to die. Clara, don’t learn from her. This kind of trash has a hard life. Your delicate body can’t handle such treatment!” At that moment, a hoarse voice spoke. “Clara, are you speaking from your heart?”

Clara looked at me as if she’d seen a ghost. I stared straight at Clara, questioning her: “Do you really want to become mute? Do you really want to play around with lots of men? Do you really want a college life working three part-time jobs?” I returned her previous words to her, one sentence at a time. Clara’s face turned iron-gray from my questioning, but with the livestream still running, she couldn’t slap herself in the face. She gritted her teeth and nodded. The livestream started praising her again. “See everyone? Some people said Clara was being passive-aggressive and deliberately showing off, but these are clearly her true feelings!” “Protecting the world’s most straightforward and sincere Clara!” I smiled. “Clara, those are your words. So from now on, every sincere word you speak will come true.” With that, I walked past her and left the hotel. I didn’t go to the hospital. Instead, I came to an old residential complex. After Clara started doing social media, she went viral with her persona of a naive young heiress. Every month she’d have a livestream, posting malicious remarks under various videos. A pet blogger posted a video showing her face. Fans all said the blogger was beautiful. She commented: “I’m so envious that you’re cat is so well-behaved. Unlike mine—a little rebel. What method do you use to make your cat so obedient?” One ambiguous sentence led Clara’s fans to directly attack the blogger for animal abuse. When the blogger tried to defend herself, extreme fans found her address and fed her cat poisoned treats. With no evidence left, it ended with the blogger’s mental breakdown and withdrawal from the internet. Even a middle schooler who simply posted a video recording her joy at academic improvement— She commented below: “Really envious of how smart you are, improving so fast. Unlike me—I can only progress step by step. What study method do you use?” Countless people began speculating whether the child had cheated. Even when the parents came forward to clarify, Clara just smiled innocently. “Oh my, you can’t just say things like that. We’re just curious.” In the end, the child took medical leave due to depression. Not only should Clara reap what she sowed, she should also face legal consequences. I knocked on the door and explained my purpose to the pet blogger. She nodded firmly. Together we contacted the child’s parents. They agreed to go to the police station with us to file a report. After filing the report, I returned to the hospital to stay with my mom. The next day, Clara started this month’s livestream as usual. Seeing someone abnormally obese from medication, she casually said: “Your chubbiness looks so blessed. I wish I could be like you.” I watched Clara suddenly gain weight in the livestream and smiled. She continued. A girl felt insecure about persistent acne scars, and she laughed: “Your face is like the starry sky. Unlike me—I have nothing. So envious!” Someone sought help about an arranged marriage, and her eyes lit up: “I’m so envious you don’t have to worry about anything—your parents arranged everything. Unlike me—my parents make me find my own partner. If I can’t find one, I’ll just stay home and keep them company!” As she spoke, Clara noticed the livestream had gone eerily quiet. Only a couple scattered comments said: “Did the host always look like this?” She looked down to see her abnormally bloated body, covered in stretch marks, and a profound unease rose in her heart. Clara’s hands trembled as she grabbed a nearby mirror. Seeing the pockmarked face in the reflection, she let out a piercing scream!

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On my wedding day, my own sister locked me in a bathroom. The scholarship student I’d mentored, seeing my fiancée standing alone and humiliated at the altar, heroically stepped up to marry her in my place. My sister, Sarah, was so moved that she immediately declared him her adoptive brother, allowing him to fulfill the marriage alliance with the Vance family on my behalf. My now ex-fiancée, Luna, later said to me, “Asher, you cured my legs. I love and respect you for that. But I’m legally married to Leo now. From now on, you can be my boyfriend, and he’ll be my husband. We can all be just like we were before, okay?” I slapped her across the face. What she didn’t know was that her recovery wasn’t complete. Without the final support brace I designed, her legs would fail in seven days, and she would be paralyzed again. And as for my treacherous sister? She’d clearly never seen our parents’ will. What made her so certain the company was hers to control? … I clawed my way out of that bathroom, a complete wreck, only to see Luna Vance holding Leo’s hand, the two of them gliding through the reception hall, graciously accepting toasts from the guests. “Welcome, everyone, to my wedding to the heir of the Blackwood family,” Luna announced from the stage, her voice ringing with false joy. “This day marks a new era of partnership between the Vance and Blackwood corporations.” She was clever, deliberately blurring Leo’s identity, letting the crowd assume the man beside her was still me, Asher Blackwood. The hall erupted in applause. Then, Luna’s eyes caught sight of me standing in the doorway, soaked and disheveled. Her smile faltered, and her face hardened. She shot me a look, a silent, venomous command not to ruin her moment. Leo followed her gaze, his face lighting up with a sickeningly feigned delight. He rushed over to me. “Asher! You made it!” he exclaimed, his voice dripping with false sincerity. “Perfect timing. Come on, have a drink with us. It’s a double celebration!” Before the ceremony, my sister, Sarah, had pulled me aside, claiming it was an emergency. She’d led me into a bathroom stall and, in a moment of distraction, bolted the door from the outside. A minute later, a bucket of vile, stinking water cascaded over the top, drenching me. My bespoke suit, now ruined, clung to me, soaked through with the stench of fermented filth. The catering staff pinched their noses as I passed, their disgust poorly hidden. Sarah rushed toward me, trying to drag me out of sight. “Ash, whatever it is, can it wait? Don’t make a scene—” The moment she touched me, I snapped. I swung my arm and struck her hard across the cheek. SLAP. Sarah stumbled back, her hand flying to her face, a red welt already blooming on her skin. “Asher… you hit me?” she whispered, her eyes wide with disbelief. A cold, mocking smile twisted my lips. I didn’t offer an explanation. I just raised my hand to strike her again. But before my hand could fall, it was caught in an iron grip. Luna stood before me, her face a mask of fury. “Asher, that’s enough! First, you abandon me at the altar and make me a laughingstock, and now you’re hitting your own sister?” Looking at the woman I had loved since childhood, a wave of hurt and betrayal washed over me. I opened my mouth to tell her everything, to explain the locked door, the filth, the humiliation. But before I could speak, Leo dropped to his knees in front of me with a dramatic thud. “Brother, if you’re going to blame someone, blame me!” he cried, his voice thick with phony anguish. “I couldn’t bear to see Luna standing up there alone, being whispered about by everyone.” “I only did it to repay your kindness, to save the merger between our families!” he sobbed, his head bowed. “Now that you’re back… I won’t even ask you why you ran out on your own wedding.” His words were poison wrapped in pity. He painted himself the hero while branding me a coward who’d fled his own marriage. Sarah, biting her lip, grabbed my arm and dragged me away from the stage. “Ash, do you have any idea what you’ve done?” she hissed, her voice low and menacing. “If the Vance deal falls through, it will be your fault. You’ll be the one who destroyed everything!” I stared at her face, twisted with a rage I’d never seen before, and my heart turned to stone. When our parents died in that crash, she was just ten years old. I was the one who stood between her and the vultures—the shareholders, our own relatives—who wanted to tear the company apart. I protected her. She used to look at me with such adoration. Now, her eyes held nothing but hatred. “Why can’t you ever think of me?” she pleaded, her voice cracking. “Leo is a better match for the Vances than you are! Why can’t you just let her go?” I ripped my arm from her grasp and turned my gaze back to the stage, to the woman I was supposed to marry. “Luna,” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. “Is he really your choice?” Luna’s eyes met mine, then flickered to Leo, a storm of indecision brewing within them. But that flicker of hesitation was all it took. It was a shard of ice in my heart. After her accident, when the world had given up on her, I was the only one who didn’t. I pulled her from the abyss and poured everything I had—my time, my fortune—into getting her back on her feet. I handed over the day-to-day operations of the company to Sarah, assembled a world-class medical team, and practically lived in my research lab. A year of sleepless nights and relentless work finally led to a breakthrough: a new material, a new procedure. I, along with the nation’s top surgeon, put her back on her feet. And now, less than a month after she walked again, she was hesitating between me and him. A bitter smile touched my lips. I had no use for a love that wasn’t absolute. Suddenly, Leo grabbed my arm, his face a mask of crocodile tears. “Brother, don’t worry. Even though Luna and I are legally married, I’ll give her back to you!” He then pulled a marriage certificate from his jacket, tore it to shreds, and scattered the pieces like bitter confetti. Luna gasped and rushed to embrace him, her voice firm and resolute. “Leo, we are married. You are my husband now. Nothing and no one can change that!” She turned to me, her eyes red and blazing with anger. “Asher, are you happy now? Are you trying to drive him to his death?” Before I could answer, a wine glass shattered at my feet, spraying shards across the floor. A sharp pain shot through my ankle as a piece of glass sliced my skin, drawing blood. Luna didn’t even glance down. Her voice grew colder, laced with impatience. “All those years I was stuck in that hospital bed, where were you? You were always busy, buried in your damned lab, impossible to reach.” “It was Leo,” she said, her voice softening as she looked at him. “Leo was the one who stayed by my side, day and night. He wasn’t disgusted by my helplessness. He cleaned me, he cared for me. Where were you then, Asher?” She looked back at me, her eyes hard as diamonds. “Fate has made its choice. I’m his wife now. My husband is Leo, and only Leo!” My soaked clothes felt like a second skin of ice, the chill seeping deep into my bones. She had forgotten. She had forgotten who I was buried in that lab for. Sarah stepped in, pushing me back. “Brother, stop it. You’re only making things worse for yourself.” Her eyes were cold, calculating. “There’s only one way to fix this. You need to gift your hospital and your entire medical research team to Leo. A wedding present. Then I’m sure Luna will forgive you for abandoning the wedding, and we can officially welcome Leo into our family as my brother.” I stared at her, my voice dropping to a frigid whisper. “Our parents only had one son. I have no idea who this ‘sister’ is you’re talking about.” I left them there amidst the wreckage of my wedding. That night, I posted a single, clear message on all my social media accounts: my engagement to Luna Vance was over. I didn’t expect to find her on my doorstep the next morning, looking haggard and worn, with a sullen Leo trailing behind her. She was holding a bouquet of red roses, and the moment she saw me, her bloodshot eyes lit up. “Don’t be like this, Ash. A night has passed. Surely you’re not still angry?” she said, attempting a playful smile. “I know you love me. We’re not breaking up.” My eyes drifted to the fresh, purple hickey on Leo’s neck. A humorless laugh escaped my lips. “You slept with him, and we’re not breaking up? What am I supposed to be, your side piece?” “Don’t be so crude,” Luna frowned. “Leo is my husband. You are my boyfriend. We can be just like we were before. What’s wrong with that?” I stared at her as if she’d grown a second head. I was seriously beginning to suspect her accident had damaged her brain, not just her legs. My stunned silence must have given her the wrong impression, because a flicker of triumph crossed her face, as if she believed my love for her was so absolute I would accept any terms. Leo, gnashing his teeth behind a fake smile, reached out to touch my sleeve. I instinctively pulled away. I barely moved, but he recoiled dramatically, stumbling backward as if I’d shoved him with all my might. Luna, reaching out to steady him, was pulled off balance. They both went down in a heap on my porch. Suddenly, Luna cried out, her hands clutching her stomach, her face contorted in agony. She looked at Leo, her voice a panicked shriek. “The baby! Our baby!”

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Eight months into my pregnancy, my husband sent me to the manor of the Lord Regent. He did it because the Regent, Lord Cassian Thorne, had specifically asked for me. “Everyone knows the Regent is a monster,” the servants whispered. “If the Lady goes, she’ll never come back alive.” My husband paid them no mind. Instead, he brazenly brought his mistress, whom he’d kept hidden on the outskirts of the city, into our home. “Don’t blame me for being cruel, Elara,” he said, his face a cold mask. “It was a direct command from the Lord Regent. No one dares to defy him.” Then, right in front of me, he promised his mistress my title. I didn’t cry. I didn’t protest. I simply climbed into the carriage that would take me away. Because in my last life, when I had threatened to kill myself to stop him, my husband sent his pregnant mistress in my place. Within a fortnight, she was tortured to death. My husband hid his grief, waiting until the day I gave birth. Then, he took our newborn son and smashed him to a pulp on the floor. When I tried to stop him, he drove a dagger into my heart. “This,” he had snarled, “is what you owe Dahlia.” But this time, I would give him exactly what he wanted. “Did you hear? The Lord Regent demanded that our Lord send his own wife to… attend to him, in exchange for ending the inquiry against him at court.” “But Lord Thorne is a notoriously cruel man! They say no woman who enters his manor ever comes out alive. It’s a death sentence!” “I know. And our Lord agreed. In three days, he’s sending her. Poor Lady Elara, she’s always been so kind to us. And with a child on the way… Such a tragic fate.” The window was open, and the servants’ gossip drifted in clearly. My handmaiden, Luna, was weeping, her eyes red and swollen as she brushed my hair. “My lady, please, you must beg Lord Alistair! You two have always been so devoted. Surely he wouldn’t send you to that monster’s den!” “Oh, you sweet, foolish girl,” I said, my gaze distant. “Begging is useless.” He is more than willing. The entire city spoke of the great love between Lord Alistair Croft and me. They thought our marriage was a perfect union. In my previous life, when the Regent’s summons first arrived, Alistair had been shocked. But to save himself from ruin at court, he had reluctantly agreed. It was I who had knelt and wept, threatening my own life to stop him. So Alistair had made a substitution. He sent his mistress, Dahlia, to the Regent’s bed instead. But within two weeks, she was dead, her body returned bearing the marks of unspeakable torture. Alistair had her buried quietly and told me to focus on my pregnancy. He was so gentle, so caring. Then, on the day our son was born, he revealed his true face. He murdered our child and then drove a blade into my heart. Only then did I understand the depths of his deception. He had loved that mistress with a desperate, all-consuming passion. So yesterday, when the Regent’s messenger arrived and named me specifically, and Alistair agreed without a moment’s hesitation, I knew. He had been reborn, just like me. And this time, he would protect Dahlia at any cost. He would send me to my death. “The master has returned!” The familiar sound of his footsteps echoed in the hall, followed by his cold, hard voice. “Where is your lady? Tell her to come out and meet Dahlia.” A wave of shock rippled through the household staff. Luna rushed back to my chambers, her face pale with panic. “My lady, he’s brought a woman back with him! And she’s… she’s…” “She’s pregnant,” I finished for her. Luna stared at me, dumbfounded. “My lady, how did you know?” In my last life, Alistair, coveting my family’s immense wealth, hadn’t dared to send me away so openly. He had played the part of the doting husband, swearing his undying love with tears in his eyes. To keep me and my fortune, he had brought his hidden mistress to me. “Elara, my love,” he’d said, “this is a servant girl I purchased. She, like you, is with child. The Regent has never seen you. He won’t know the difference.” He had gambled on a clever deception, sending Dahlia to the Regent’s manor while begging the Regent to spare his “wife’s” life. But his plan had failed. She had died anyway. Only on my deathbed did he finally confess the truth: the child Dahlia had carried was his. I smiled faintly at the memory and shook my head. “Luna, you should stop calling me ‘my lady.’ The woman outside is Alistair’s new wife.” “Go and pack our things. In three days, we will be leaving this place for good.” The words had barely left my lips when Alistair kicked the door open. “Elara, you have some nerve,” he sneered. “Too proud to answer a servant’s summons? Do you think because you’re about to become the Regent’s plaything, I have no power over you?” I ignored him, but the woman behind him, Dahlia, immediately fell to her knees, her face a mask of artful sorrow. “My lord, please don’t be angry,” she whimpered. “Lady Elara comes from the House of Valerius, one of the wealthiest merchant families in the kingdom. It’s only natural that she would look down on a poor orphan like me. I should have come to pay my respects to her, not the other way around.” Before her knees could touch the floor, Alistair swept her up into a protective embrace. “Dahlia, my love, you must not kneel,” he murmured, his eyes filled with a tenderness he never showed me. “You are with child. You owe her no courtesies.” He then turned his cold gaze on me. “Besides, in three days, Elara will be in the Regent’s manor. You will be the true lady of this house.” At his words, I stood and picked up a small, black lacquered box. Alistair instinctively shielded Dahlia. “What are you doing?” I smiled. “Why, I’m handing over the household to its future mistress, of course.” I opened the box, revealing the keys to every room and the household ledgers. Under their astonished gazes, I held it out to Dahlia. “Take it.” Dahlia hesitated, her hand reaching out. But Alistair slapped the box from my grasp. The keys and ledgers scattered across the floor with a loud clatter. “Elara, who knows what poison you’ve smeared on it?” he spat, his eyes filled with disgust. “You’re being sent to a eunuch’s bed in three days. You think I believe you’d be this calm? Don’t think I don’t know what you’re plotting.” He glared at me. “You want to harm Dahlia, don’t you? You wish she were the one going to die in your place!” I couldn’t help but shake my head. He was just as foolish as he was in our last life. Who said that being sent to the Lord Regent’s bed was a guaranteed death sentence? My silence seemed to unnerve him. His expression shifted. “Elara, don’t think me heartless,” he said, his tone softening into a parody of reason. “Lord Thorne himself asked for you. No one in the kingdom dares to cross him. But if you go quietly, and solve this problem for me… when you return, I might be generous enough to allow you to stay on as my concubine.” “There’s no need,” I said, cutting him off. I nudged the scattered ledgers with my foot. “Since you don’t trust me, have a servant gather them for her.” Dahlia was installed in the main wing of the house. Alistair announced to the entire staff that any disrespect shown to the “Lady Dahlia” would be punished with fifty lashes and immediate dismissal. Luna was telling me this as I sat embroidering a gown, a wedding gown. Seeing my calm composure, she burst into tears of frustration. “My lady, how can you let that woman bully you like this? When Lord Alistair came to your family to ask for your hand, he swore a sacred oath to never take another woman, or be struck down by the heavens!” “He betrayed you…” I shook my head, a weary sigh escaping my lips. “What’s the point in arguing with a man like that? Are our things packed?” Luna wiped her tears. “They are, my lady. But… all this packing, and now you’re sewing a wedding gown… it’s as if you’re planning on staying at the Regent’s manor.” My hand stilled. This sweet, simple girl. She, too, thought I was going to my death. Before I could speak, a cup of cold tea was thrown in my face. The icy liquid streamed down my cheeks, soaking the delicate silk of the gown in my lap. “Oh, my deepest apologies, sister,” Dahlia cooed, though her voice was laced with triumphant malice. “My hand slipped. I’ve ruined your beautiful gown.” She stood there, her swollen belly pushed forward, her chin tilted in an arrogant sneer. “But it is strange, isn’t it? Being sent to serve a eunuch, and yet you’re sewing a wedding dress as if it were a real marriage. Aren’t you afraid of becoming a laughingstock?” Luna stamped her foot in fury. “You go too far!” “Luna, stand down.” Dahlia, seeing my passivity, grew even bolder. She assumed I was a condemned woman, too afraid to fight back. Her eyes, filled with cruel amusement, fell to my own rounded stomach. “Sister, I’ve heard the Regent is exceptionally brutal. I fear by tomorrow night, that child of yours will be no more…” she said, her voice dripping with false pity. “It truly is a shame.” The gown was ruined. I tossed it aside. “You needn’t trouble yourself with my affairs.” I turned to leave, but she grabbed my arm. “Elara, what do you think my lord would do to you if something… were to happen to me?” A wicked smile spread across her face, and then she threw herself backward, toward the ornamental pond in the courtyard. At that exact moment, the sound of Alistair’s approaching footsteps echoed from the colonnade. “Ah, help me!” she screamed as she hit the water. Alistair’s face contorted in panic. He dove into the pond without a second’s thought and pulled her out. “My love, don’t blame her,” Dahlia sobbed, clinging to him. “She’s just jealous that I’m carrying your child, jealous that I will be the one by your side forever. It was just a moment of weakness…” Her feigned innocence fueled his rage. A sharp, stinging slap cracked across my face. “You wretched bitch!” Alistair roared. “It was you who seduced the Regent in the first place, and now you’re trying to murder Dahlia and my unborn child out of jealousy?” On my final day, Alistair, in his fury, had me locked in the woodshed. “Without my command, she is not to have a single drop of water!” Luna knelt outside, begging and crying. “My lord, you can’t do this to her! She is eight months pregnant! Even if she can endure it, your own son cannot!” Alistair didn’t hear a word. Dahlia, however, who had supposedly suffered a terrible fall, was perfectly fine. She marched over and slapped Luna hard across the face. “Insolent slave! I am the lady of this house!” she shrieked. “Elara is nothing but a whore being sent to serve a eunuch! That bastard in her belly is probably from some stable boy she seduced!” Luna, utterly enraged, tried to lunge at her, but Dahlia’s servants held her back. “You truly are a loyal dog,” Dahlia sneered. “Too bad your mistress won’t live to see the day after tomorrow.” Luna kept vigil outside the woodshed all night. The next day, when the Regent’s carriage arrived, Alistair finally unlocked the door. “Drink this,” he commanded. A servant brought forward a bowl of dark, steaming liquid. “It’s a tonic to protect the child. Drink it, and then go and serve the Lord Regent well.” I smiled a cold, humorless smile. He gripped my chin, his voice softening with a false tenderness. “Elara, you and I were once deeply in love. If you manage to survive this, I will grant you and the child a place in my home.” He forced the bowl closer. “This is the finest tonic. It will protect our child.” I lowered my eyes and took the bowl. He thought I didn’t know. It wasn’t a tonic. It was an abortifacient. The night he brought Dahlia home, I had overheard her whisper to him. “Since Elara only has a few days left to live, there’s no reason to keep her child.” Alistair had hesitated. “But…” Dahlia had wrapped her arms around his neck, her voice a seductive purr. “My love, you still have my child, don’t you? You promised me that my son would be raised as your legitimate heir.” In the end, Alistair had agreed. And still, I drank the poison without hesitation. My child, I thought, a silent apology in my heart, forgive your mother. You were simply born at the wrong time. Alistair smiled, satisfied. “Servants, prepare the lady. Dress her and see her to the carriage.” The Regent’s attendant had been waiting for a long time. When he saw me emerge in my red wedding gown, his eyes widened, and he bowed respectfully. “My lady, please, this way.” As I turned to leave, Alistair grabbed my sleeve. “Elara,” he whispered, a slow, triumphant smile spreading across his face. “I’ll be waiting to collect your corpse.” “Go and die peacefully in the Regent’s bed. It is your fate. And the Valerius fortune, all those businesses and properties… they will all be mine.” After a long moment, I smiled back. “Perhaps you’ll be disappointed.” The moment I turned away, my smile vanished. My hand clenched around the document hidden in my sleeve: a writ of divorce. Dahlia had come to me a few days prior, gloating. “Elara, did you really think he loved you? He only married you for your family’s fortune. He would have divorced you years ago otherwise. One night, when he was drunk at our villa, I coaxed him into it. He wrote this writ of divorce with a single stroke of his pen.” She had dangled the document in front of me, her face alight with victory. “You can’t even hold onto your husband’s heart. You truly are a failure.” But all I had felt was an immense, overwhelming relief. I was even a little grateful to her. As the carriage pulled away from the Croft estate, I lifted the curtain. I watched Alistair and Dahlia, standing together, shrink into the distance. A slow smile spread across my face. The real performance was just beginning. Halfway to the Regent’s manor, a dull ache started in my belly. Soon, it sharpened into an agonizing pain. The poison was working. I knew exactly what Alistair had planned. A man’s pride could not stomach his wife being defiled by another man, even a eunuch, even the all-powerful Lord Regent. He knew that at eight months, any complication with the pregnancy would mean certain death for both me and the child. He wanted me to die on the road, an unfortunate accident. But I would not give him the satisfaction. “Luna,” I gasped, sweat beading on my forehead. “The child… it’s lost. Help me… help me get it out.” Luna’s face went white with terror. “My lady, you’re mad!” “Hurry! There’s no time!”

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My husband implanted an embryo—his and his first love’s—inside me. I pretended not to know. For twenty-five years, I meticulously raised their son. The day our son secured the company shares and officially became the CEO of the Keane Corporation, my husband wheeled his first love, Serena, onto the stage at the press conference. “Veronica,” he announced, “Flynn is my and Serena’s child. You’ve had him for twenty-five years. It’s time to give him back to her.” I offered a cryptic smile. “Of course. But I’m afraid my son might not agree.” 1 “Veronica, how can you do this to Flynn? He’s so young, and you’re making him do so much homework!” My sister-in-law, Serena, swept a crying Flynn into her arms, cooing and comforting him. “There, there, Flynn, don’t cry. Mommy is the worst, isn’t she? Making us write so much when we’re just little boys.” She tossed his pen aside and took his hand, her voice soft and maternal. “How about Auntie Serena takes you outside to dig for crickets?” The mention of digging for crickets in the backyard instantly transformed Flynn’s tears into a smile. He threw his arms around Serena’s neck, then glanced back at me, a flicker of fear in his eyes. Serena’s husband, my husband’s younger brother, had died in a car accident. She had lost both her legs saving my husband, losing the ability to ever become a mother. As a result, she poured all her maternal affection onto Flynn. Outsiders praised her for her nobility, for staying a “widow” for a decade, for respecting her in-laws and doting on her nephew. Despite being in a wheelchair, she insisted on taking him to and from school every day, never missing one, even in the heaviest snow. Once, the snow was so deep her wheelchair tipped over, and she cut her forehead. That evening, she was still there at the school gate, a bandage on her brow. She personally cooked his meals, picked out his clothes, and was on call for everything from getting him a glass of water to playing with him. Her rationale was always the same: since she couldn’t have children of her own, Flynn was her son, and she would depend on him to care for her in her old age. The truth was, Flynn was her son. Hers and my husband’s. I never exposed her. I let her lavish all her motherly love on him. It worked out for me; I was swamped with company matters and couldn’t be there for him all the time. A child needs companionship. But I never slacked on his education. I brought him to events, cultivating his perspective and instilling a proper worldview. I was afraid he’d pick up her underhanded, classless ways. Seeing Serena wheel Flynn out of the living room, I strode over and pulled my son back. “Serena, you can’t indulge him like this. He’ll grow up lazy and spoiled.” She shot me an annoyed look. “He’s just taking a little break. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill, Veronica.” She stroked Flynn’s face lovingly. “Our Flynn is going to be the CEO of both the Keane and Kent corporations one day. He’s not some poor kid from the slums. Even if he doesn’t learn a thing, he’ll have people waiting on him hand and foot.” She turned her wheelchair and reached for Flynn again. I scoffed. Such a small-minded, short-sighted view of the world. I didn’t waste my breath arguing. I pulled Flynn back toward his desk. On paper, at least, he was my son, and I would not compromise on his education. The sudden pull sent Serena tumbling from her wheelchair. She let out a pained cry, clutching her head as she hit the floor. When she looked up at me, a flash of pure hatred crossed her eyes. A panicked voice boomed from the doorway. “What happened? Why are you on the floor?” A tall, lean figure strode in and swept Serena into his arms. It was my husband, James. Serena’s expression immediately shifted to one of pure anguish, tears streaming down her face. “James, I was just taking Flynn out to play for a bit, to let him relax. He’s been doing homework for over an hour.” “Veronica said I was spoiling him, and then she just… she just…” She buried her face in my husband’s arm and sobbed. James’s face darkened. He turned on me, his voice sharp with anger. “Veronica, you’re a workaholic, a powerhouse, that’s fine. But can you please stop torturing my son?” “He’s only eight years old! Stop trying to mold him into some kind of robot with your twisted ideology.” 2 I watched James coolly, this man I had chosen for a husband. His ambition and abilities were average, but he was handsome enough, and his family background was a good match. In families like ours, marriage is less about love and more about strategic alliance. I never had deep feelings for James. I certainly couldn’t be like the women on the outside, all gentle and considerate, worshipping him with stars in their eyes. Years ago, as the second son, James was at a disadvantage in the Keane family power struggles. He couldn’t compete with his older brother, who was already entrenched in the company, nor could he match the cloying obedience of his illegitimate younger half-brother. Pursuing me was his best move. The Kent and Keane families were the titans of their respective regions. As the sole heiress to the Kent fortune, I held absolute power. At the time, our families were negotiating a five-year renewable energy partnership. James showered me with affection, deferring to me in all things. I, on the other hand, was in a pique of defiance after a falling out with someone else, and I impulsively agreed to marry him. My expression was icy as I met his gaze. “Flynn is the heir to both Keane and Kent. Do you really think letting him do whatever he wants is what’s best for him?” “If he develops the habits of a spoiled brat, aren’t you afraid he’ll squander everything our ancestors built?” James hesitated, glancing at his tear-streaked son. Before he could speak, Serena piped up, her voice fragile. “Veronica, you’re being too dramatic. Is he going to become a degenerate just by skipping a little homework?” “Flynn is only eight. You can’t just see him as a financial asset and rob him of his childhood.” She looked up at James, her eyes pleading. “Don’t you agree, James?” He looked down at Serena and smiled tenderly. He gently placed her back in her wheelchair, then scooped up our son. “Veronica,” he lectured, “you should learn from Serena. Learn how to be a gentle woman, a good mother. Stop being so obsessed with money. You have no warmth.” I let out a cold laugh. Looking at the picture-perfect family of three, I couldn’t resist twisting the knife. “James, Flynn is my son. I don’t think his education is any business of an outsider.” I shot a provocative glance at Serena. James’s face contorted in anger. He quickly looked at Serena, then back at me. “Veronica, how can you say something so cruel? Serena is my savior. My son is her son.” “I’m warning you, as long as I am in this house, Serena is part of this family. If you ever call her an outsider again, don’t blame me for what happens.” He pushed the wheelchair, and the three of them strode out of the house. A moment later, I heard the sound of happy laughter from the yard. I stood on the second-floor balcony, watching my son perched joyfully on James’s shoulders, watching Serena’s look of utter contentment, and I sighed. It was my own youthful willfulness that led to this, to someone’s child being separated from them. With James’s backing, Serena became even more brazen. She started making household decisions without even consulting me. Watching them on the security cameras, flirting and exchanging loaded glances, I could only feel a sense of pity. She had ruined her own life for James. I wondered if one day, she would regret it. When it came to our son’s upbringing, they could handle his daily life, his playtime. But on the important matters, the matters of character and future, I never relaxed my grip. Every evening, unless it was an absolutely essential business dinner, I delegated to my VP and stayed home to read with my son, to tell him stories. Every school break, I took him to visit the world’s top universities, to let him witness the wonders of academia. I spent a fortune to have him mentored by an Ivy League professor in business administration. Though my son disliked my strictness, as he grew older and his horizons broadened, he began to enjoy discussing life with me, sharing his own fantastic ideas. Whenever we were away for a couple of weeks, Serena would bombard him with calls, nagging him to wear more clothes or not to eat strange food. Seeing the slight frown on my son’s face, I once asked him with a faint smile, “Flynn, do you think I’ve been too strict with you? Not as gentle and caring as your aunt?” 3 Flynn thought for a moment. “Mom,” he said, “don’t you think a sapling has to be kept straight from the beginning to grow tall and strong?” “I’m a man. I need to absorb as much knowledge as possible so I can contribute to society, like the great people who came before me. That’s a life of value.” I patted his shoulder. As expected of a top expert’s son. Genetics truly are a marvel. Under our combined, albeit conflicting, styles of parenting, Flynn grew into a cheerful, outgoing, and diligent young man. He was a standout among his peers. At eighteen, he was accepted into MIT. His grandfather, the patriarch of the Keane family, had high hopes for him and gifted him twenty percent of the company’s shares. To put that in perspective, my brother-in-law’s own children had received nothing, and he himself only held twenty percent. Over the past eighteen years, with the financial backing of my company, the Kent Corporation, James had solidified his position in the Keane family business, surpassing his older brother. The old man rubber-stamped every one of James’s decisions, knowing that I was behind him. Even if James made a mistake, I would cover it with my own money. The top executives at Kent had long since tacitly pledged their allegiance to James, leaving his brother a figurehead with no real power. Three years later, Flynn returned from his studies abroad. That day, I showed him a four-hour video, a compilation of all the sordid, dramatic secrets of our wealthy family. Flynn was silent for a long time. Finally, he said, “Mom, what do you want to do?” I asked him calmly, “You’ve been with them for twenty years. If we make a move, can you bear to do it?” He considered it. “Mom, I know what to do. If he has a conscience, I’ll know how to proceed.” I patted his shoulder, a gratified smile on my face. My son was a man now. In some ways, his ideas and abilities had already surpassed my own. I trusted he wouldn’t disappoint me. Following my plan, Flynn quickly started an internship at the Keane Corporation. With the support of his father and grandfather, he managed to make the company’s stock price jump three times in just two years. The old man was clearly thinking of bypassing his own son and handing the company directly to his grandson. A few days before Flynn’s twenty-fifth birthday, we held a family meeting. I announced my intention to transfer all my shares to Flynn, making him the CEO of the Kent Corporation while I retired to the background. I was a woman who had fought in the corporate world for over two decades. I was tired. A flicker of delight crossed James’s face. I subtly glanced at Serena, sitting in the corner. A raised eyebrow, a mouth struggling to suppress a grin, eyes blazing with ecstatic joy. Old Mr. Keane tapped his cane, deep in thought. If Flynn took over Kent, he couldn’t generate profits for Keane. The two companies weren’t one entity. He didn’t want his grandson’s talents benefiting another family. With a little prompting from me, he finally understood. The Kent and Keane corporations would merge into one, with Keane as the dominant name. The new entity would be called the Flynn Group, with our son as its CEO. The Flynn Group would become the undisputed titan of the city. The old man was ecstatic. The Keane name would remain, and his own grandson would be at the helm. The Kent name would be erased. The Keane dynasty would be unshakable. It was, in essence, a complete absorption of my company. James’s older brother protested, but I quickly bought out his shares at a premium. I didn’t want any loose ends. Under pressure from his father, he knew he couldn’t win and stormed off with his money. As for James’s younger half-brother, Serena, acting as his representative, naturally gave her full support. She even made a noble speech: “My dear Nathan is gone, and I have no children of my own. I’ve always thought of Flynn as my son. I’ll depend on him in my old age. All of Nathan’s assets will go to him.” 4 The plan was set. On Flynn’s twenty-fifth birthday, we would hold a press conference to announce the merger and his appointment as the new CEO. The day was a media circus. The city’s elite, business magnates, and socialites were all there. The air buzzed with envy and congratulations. The Flynn Group was the new pinnacle, the partner everyone wanted. With lawyers as witnesses and the unanimous support of the board, my son walked onto the stage. He signed the share transfer agreement and delivered his inaugural speech. The applause was deafening. The crowd was electric. Just as his speech ended, James wheeled a lavishly dressed Serena onto the stage. With James’s help, she stood up shakily and threw her arms around Flynn. “My son,” she cried, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re finally a man. I no longer have to be forced to be separated from my own flesh and blood.” She pulled out a twenty-year-old paternity test report and, in front of all the cameras, shoved it at me. “Veronica Kent, you were jealous of James’s love for me. You couldn’t stand to see me happy, so you orchestrated a car accident that killed my husband, Nathan, and crippled me. Then, you stole my son.” I watched her cold-eyed as she spouted her lies. I knew she had no shame, but I never imagined she could be this audacious, twisting facts so brazenly in broad daylight. I was surprised lightning didn’t strike her dead on the spot. The crowd stared, stunned, their eyes darting between me, James, and Flynn. A murmur rippled through the room. “What’s going on?” “Flynn isn’t Veronica’s son?” “She forced her sister-in-law to give up her child?” “But if he’s not her son, doesn’t that mean all her years of raising him were for nothing?” “Wait, she just gave him the entire Kent Corporation. If he’s not her son, she’s lost everything!” James spoke, his voice filled with regret. “Veronica, I know you were devastated when you delivered a stillborn baby. That’s why you clung to the belief that Flynn was yours. For all these years, for the sake of your mental health, Serena has endured the pain of being separated from her child. Now that Flynn is grown, it’s time he knew who his real mother is.” I stared at him, at his self-righteous performance. It’s true what they say: birds of a feather flock together. He could spin such lies without batting an eye. My gaze swept to old Mr. Keane. He coughed and turned away, avoiding my eyes. In that instant, I understood. They all knew. James’s great deception had been a family affair. That explained why Serena had remained “unmarried” in the Keane household for so many years without anyone objecting. They had all been stringing me along, making me raise a child and build an empire for them. What a masterful, ruthless plan. If I hadn’t been so vigilant all those years ago, I really would have ended up with nothing, thrown out on the street for them to torment. Under the shocked gazes of the crowd, I smiled faintly at my son. “Flynn, what do you think? Do you want to acknowledge your birth mother and cast me out? Or will you remember the years I raised you and continue to treat me as your mother?”

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I was the woman Christopher Pierce chose for himself. But after all his friends married women from their own world, from families of equal standing, I could feel it. A shadow of regret had begun to creep into his eyes. His parents never approved of me. I couldn’t keep up with their conversations about art auctions and European politics. I didn’t have the right pedigree. One by one, these became his reasons to resent me. The day he praised another woman in front of me for the third time that week, I finally untied the apron that had become a second skin. I put on my makeup again. I slipped into my favorite dress. This marriage—I was done fighting for it. 1 I was dropping off lunch at Christopher’s office when I saw his friends were already inside with him. The door was slightly ajar. I hesitated. A voice drifted out from within. “Christopher, you seem on edge lately. Trouble with the wife?” A cigarette was wedged between his fingers as he sat hunched over a stack of documents. He paused for a moment at the question. Then he shook his head. “No. It’s just… I’m irritated.” He paused again. “I can’t explain it. She hasn’t done anything wrong, but I find myself getting inexplicably annoyed by her.” The lunchbox in my hand suddenly felt impossibly heavy, its weight pulling my arm down. The real reason, the one he couldn’t bring himself to say… I think I already knew. When a life together is no longer sustained by love alone, every other difference becomes a chasm. To put it plainly, he was tired of me. I had just turned to leave when his childhood friend—and newly appointed personal assistant—Victoria Vance, blocked my path. I didn’t miss the playful, mocking glint in her eyes. With a light push, the door swung open. “Christopher, darling, your wife is here with your lunch.” Her voice was sickeningly sweet. “I’m so jealous. You get to enjoy her amazing cooking every single day.” He rose from his chair. I am certain of this: his eyes never once met mine. He simply walked past me, took the container from my hands, and placed it on his desk. “You little brat,” he said, his voice softening as he turned to Victoria. “I’ve given you my lunch almost every day this week. Still not satisfied?” Victoria gave a delicate shrug, a playful pout on her lips. “Hmph. You were the one who said Becca’s only good at cooking and that I should order whatever I wanted. Now you’re blaming me!” She shot me a triumphant glance before sinking into the plush leather of Christopher’s executive chair. She opened the container and began to eat, slow and deliberate. My fingernails dug into my palms. The sting was sharp, but Christopher’s hand gently pried my fingers open as he came to stand before me. His eyes, when they finally looked at me, were still filled with that deep, practiced affection. Not a trace of the annoyance he’d just confessed to. “Becca, Victoria’s been having some stomach issues lately. I’m sure you can understand.” I pulled my hand away without a word. He caught it again, his grip firm this time, refusing to let me go. He stroked the back of my hand, a gesture that felt more like a restraint than a comfort. Victoria, having finished her meal, turned her head. “Let’s all go for drinks tonight! It’s been ages since we all got together.” A chorus of agreement filled the room. Christopher nodded. “Sounds good.” He stood and handed the now-empty lunchbox back to me. “You head home. Don’t wait up for me tonight.” I should have been angry. But I felt hollowed out, the capacity for anger gone. I turned and walked out. Behind me, Victoria’s voice, artificially high and cloying, chased me down the hall. “Christopher, why not ask Becca to come along? It would be fun!” His reply was flat, devoid of emotion. “She doesn’t get any of it. She can’t contribute. It’s awkward for her, and it’s awkward for us.” My feet froze to the floor. I stood there for a long time before I found the strength to walk away. 2 That night, I didn’t wait for Christopher. But deep in the night, my phone rang. It was Victoria. “Becca? Christopher’s had a bit too much to drink. He refused to go home, so I brought him back to my place.” A small laugh. “Now, don’t get the wrong idea,” she explained. “I just kicked him out of my bed. He’s sharing a room with my brother now.” The room was pitch-black. I hadn’t turned on any lights. The silence was absolute. On the other end of the line, she was waiting for my response. Was she trying to provoke me? I didn’t have the energy to play her game. “Let me talk to Christopher,” I said. Less than three seconds later, a man’s voice, thick with feigned drunkenness, came through the speaker. “Becca… they kept pushing drinks on me. My head’s killing me, can’t drive. I’m not coming home tonight.” There was an undercurrent of resistance in his voice. This house, our home, had me in it. Had that become a source of irritation for him, too? “Christopher, do you regret it?” He gave a noncommittal “Hmm?” and I wasn’t sure if he’d even heard me. Before I could say another word, the phone seemed to move away from his mouth. But he didn’t hang up. I heard Victoria’s soft, feminine laughter. “Christopher, being so dismissive of Miss Thorne… aren’t you afraid you’ll hurt her feelings? What if she starts to suspect there’s something going on between us? You’ll ruin my reputation.” The drunken slur was completely gone from his voice now. In its place, a hint of amusement. “You were my fiancée to begin with. She’s always been bothered by it. What’s one more night?” It was true. Before he married me, he and Victoria had been engaged. I only found out after we were married, from one of his friends. For me, Christopher had rejected the arranged marriage his family had planned for him since birth. Back then, he must have loved me. But three years can change so many things. Just as, back then, he had loved me so deeply. And just as, now, he didn’t want to come home. 3 Christopher didn’t come home until dinnertime the next day. Usually, when he knew he’d done something to upset me, he’d bring a small gift to smooth things over. A bouquet of flowers, or a pastry from that bakery I loved with the ridiculously long line. But today, his hands were empty. He mumbled a greeting and sat down across from me. After only a few bites, he slammed his chopsticks on the table. He directed his anger at me. “Why is this dish so salty? Becca, you’ve been married to me for three years. Don’t you know how to taste your own food?” I don’t know where his rage came from, but he was unleashing it all on me. But for the first time, I felt something shift between us. Our housekeeper, hearing the commotion, hurried out from the kitchen. She apologized timidly. “I’m so sorry, sir. Ma’am wasn’t feeling well today, so I prepared the meal. I’ll take these dishes away and remake them for you right away.” Christopher looked as if he’d swallowed something sharp. His expression turned ugly. After a long, tense silence, he waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t bother. This is fine.” Even after his outburst, even after he’d wrongly accused me, Christopher said nothing to me. No apology. No acknowledgment. It was as if it was my duty to absorb his anger. I put down my own chopsticks, letting them clatter against the bowl. “Christopher, do you hate me?” His head, which had been bowed, seemed to flinch. When he looked up, his face was a blank mask, scrubbed of all emotion. “Becca, why would you say that? I raised my voice, and if that made you uncomfortable, I apologize. But since you’re home all day, maybe you could handle small things like cooking yourself, instead of always troubling the staff.” I stared into his eyes, searching for something, anything. “I am your wife, Christopher. Not your maid. And I am certainly not Victoria Vance’s private chef. I will not be setting foot in the kitchen again.” As expected, the mention of her name lit a fire in his eyes. He shot to his feet. “This is about us. Why do you always have to bring her into it? You’re being irrational.” 4 That night, for the first time, Christopher and I slept in separate rooms. I sat on the vast, empty bed. I suddenly remembered something he had told me on our wedding day. He said that even if we fought, we would never sleep apart. Because a conflict that lasts overnight creates a crack in a relationship that can never be repaired. He wouldn’t allow it. I turned off the light. In the middle of the night, I felt a hand reach for me. A man’s warm breath ghosted across my neck, his voice laced with a placating tone. “Honey, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have lost my temper with you. Can you forgive me?” I lay still, letting him hold me, my gaze fixed on the window. “Why did you come here?” Christopher snuggled closer, his words muffled. “Can’t let a fight last overnight. I haven’t forgotten.” A single tear hit the pillowcase. I had made up my mind. So why was I hesitating now, just because of those few words? Behind me, Christopher started to explain. “Becca, I was in a terrible mood when I left work. That silly girl Victoria really got under my skin. That’s why I forgot to buy you a gift.” A sharp pain lanced through my chest. I tried to sound casual. “What did Victoria do?” Maybe it was my imagination, but his voice suddenly sounded more animated. “She printed an important document with a dozen typos. I said a few words to her, and she had the nerve to get upset with me. Started crying and throwing a fit. In the end, I was the one who had to calm her down. God, it’s exhausting.” He seemed to realize halfway through that he was saying too much. He added, lamely, “You know there’s nothing between Victoria and me, honey.” I turned over onto my back. “I know. Otherwise, you never would have married me.” The hand resting on my waist slowly pulled away. He whispered, as if to himself, his voice tinged with regret. “Yes. In the end, I married you.” 5 From that day on, the dynamic between us shifted into something fragile and strange. He started making excuses, finding reasons not to come home for dinner. And I, true to my word, never stepped into the kitchen for his sake again. One afternoon, while cleaning, I found a stack of dozens of brand-new, unopened aprons in my closet. They were piled on top of my own clothes, a thick, suffocating layer that had buried the last three years of my life. I thought back. What had turned me into a woman who only revolved around a kitchen? After we were married, Christopher said: “Becca, I’m a picky eater, but I love your cooking more than anything. You don’t need to work.” His mother said: “Our family can’t afford the embarrassment of you working. Just take good care of my son.” I knew being the daughter-in-law of a wealthy family would be difficult. So I tried my best to please them. I gave up my budding career as an illustrator, a passion I had loved, and dedicated myself to managing every detail of Christopher’s life. And in the end, all I got for it was a dismissive comment. “Becca? Oh, she’s only good at cooking.” So, from now on, I was done. I threw every single apron into the trash. Then I went to the mall and bought a new wardrobe. I put on a beautiful dress and did my makeup. I took dozens of selfies, all of them flattering. On my professional art account, which still had a small but loyal following, I posted a single message announcing my return. I was going back to what I loved. I no longer cared if Christopher came home at night. I no longer cared who he was with. And I no longer cared when he would finally get completely tired of me. None of it mattered anymore. 6 One evening, Christopher, with whom I hadn’t had a proper conversation in what felt like weeks, came home to pack a bag. He didn’t even tell me he was back. I only ran into him by chance when I went downstairs for a glass of water. He looked startled to see me. His lips moved for a moment, as if he were wrestling with what to say. Finally, he spoke, his tone cautious. “A few friends and I are going camping this weekend. Becca… do you want to come with us?” As he asked the question, his entire body was tense. Was it anticipation, or resistance? I couldn’t help but laugh. At the sound, the tension in his eyes grew even more pronounced. A mischievous impulse took hold of me. “Sure,” I said brightly. “It’s been years since I’ve been camping!” He just stood there, stunned. Christopher knew I didn’t fit in with his friends. The invitation had been a mere formality. He crouched down and began unpacking the clothes he had just folded. He didn’t look at me, but it was clear he was annoyed. “You know, I just remembered I have some urgent work to deal with at the office. I’m not going to go. You shouldn’t either.” “Oh.” I didn’t say another word, just turned and went back downstairs. I drank a full glass of water, feeling strangely light. A few minutes later, I heard a car start. To avoid me, Christopher had tiptoed down the stairs, carrying his suitcase. In the past, he might have been afraid I would embarrass him. But now, he was probably just afraid I’d interrupt his good time. I stared at the spot where his car had disappeared. Christopher, when are you finally going to ask for a divorce? I’m ready. 7 Victoria updated her social media story. It had zero likes or comments, which meant she’d made it visible only to me. I watched it carefully. It was a video from the campsite. Two-person tents. Everyone else was there with their wives. Only Christopher and Victoria were single. Someone in the video joked, “Christopher, you two should just share a tent. Victoria’s a scaredy-cat, she’ll be terrified on her own tonight.” Victoria’s brother shot a meaningful look at the two of them, who had been silent until now. “Christopher, if you’re sharing, keep your hands to yourself.” Christopher laughed. “Get lost. Am I that kind of guy?” The next second, he held open the flap of a tent, his gaze on Victoria heated and intense. “Alright, Your Highness, get in. I’ll keep you company tonight.” I saved the video. Then I liked it. It was clear from the footage. Christopher had crossed a line. It was no longer just an emotional affair. He had taken action. A man like that. Was there any point in continuing this entanglement? I spent the entire night wrestling with that question. By dawn, I had my answer. Without hesitation, I packed my bags. I moved into the small apartment I had bought with my own hard work before the wedding. It was two full days and nights later that Christopher finally called me. His first words were, “Where are you? I’ll come pick you up.” I gave him the address and sat on my sofa. Waiting. 8 When I opened the door, his eyes were clouded with exhaustion. He sighed, a look of weary resignation on his face. “Becca, I’m sorry. I was wrong to hide the trip from you. If you still want to go, I can take time off work right away and we can go together.” I let him in and poured him a glass of water. Then I spoke. “Christopher, I don’t want to anymore.” He leaned back against the sofa and closed his eyes, rubbing his temples. He clearly wasn’t taking my “tantrum” seriously. As he was talking, he even pulled out his phone and sent Victoria a quick text, telling her to get some rest. Then, he glanced at me casually. “Alright, then. Let’s go home.” He took a few steps toward the door and realized I hadn’t moved. He looked back, confused. “I said, I don’t want to be with you anymore.” The look of impatience on Christopher’s face flickered into one of brief, sharp panic. I showed him the video on my phone. After he watched it, he started to stammer, trying desperately to explain. I cut him off. “We’re not right for each other anymore. I know you’ve realized it, too. That’s why you regret it. You regret not choosing the marriage with Victoria, and now you’re trying to correct that mistake.” A look of shame, of being seen too clearly, crossed his face. Under my calm, steady gaze, he finally nodded. “Yes. I have thought about what might have been if we hadn’t gotten married. But Becca, we are married, and I will be responsible for this marriage. What you saw in the video is real, but nothing happened between us. I can promise you that, and I can promise that I will have no further relationship with her.” Fearing what I might say next, Christopher stumbled to his feet. He fled like a coward. I couldn’t understand it. He was clearly tired of me and already planning a divorce. So why, the moment I called him out on it, did he suddenly start playing the part of the devoted husband? Over the next few days, I kept asking Christopher when we could file for divorce. But he remained resolute, refusing. I didn’t know what he was clinging to. We lived separately, at a stalemate. Until his grandfather’s birthday banquet. Christopher called me in advance. “Becca, I hope you’ll come with me tomorrow. If not for me, then for Grandfather, who has always treated you like his own granddaughter.” I couldn’t refuse. In the entire Pierce family, his grandfather was the only one who had never looked down on me because of my background. This meeting would be a farewell.

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On our fifth wedding anniversary, Simon promised me a grand wedding. He said he regretted that we never had a proper ceremony when we first got married. He said I would be the most beautiful bride. Then, on the day of the wedding, he got a text message and bolted. I chased after him in my heavy, cumbersome gown. “Karen,” he said, trying to soothe me, “something really important came up at the office. I have to go.” His lies were so clumsy, but I no longer had the energy to call him out on them. Because I had cancer. I didn’t have much time left. 1 Simon didn’t know that I had received the message first. I was sitting at the vanity, the chime of a notification breaking the silence. I opened my phone and saw the words: “Karen Grant, I will never bother you again. Are you satisfied now?” My heart hammered against my ribs. Before I could even process it, I saw Simon glance down at his own phone, and then, with a look of pure panic, he rushed out of the room. He was always so calm, so composed. I had never seen him like that before. I stood up to follow him, nearly tripping over the hem of my dress. I stumbled, my knee slamming into the doorframe with a searing pain. He didn’t even look at me. He just slammed the car door shut, leaving me with those words hanging in the air. For this wedding, I had chosen a strapless, mermaid-style gown, even in the cool autumn air. I had hoped, just once, for a beautiful moment in my life. Just one. And he left me there, alone, in front of all our friends and family. For a split second, I wanted to run. I was so tired. I didn’t want to clean up the mess he had left for me. He was the one who had promised me a surprise. He was the one who had filled me with hope. And he was the one who abandoned me. But I looked at the expectant faces in the crowd. We weren’t a young couple, going through the motions of a wedding. We were a married couple, five years in, who had carefully considered who to invite. These were our closest friends, our family—less than six tables in total. My college roommates were there, friends from work, people who had traveled from far away to be a part of my “silly, romantic dream.” My body felt stiff as I turned back. I changed into something simpler and then went from table to table, playing the gracious host. Simon’s best friend joked, “You two really know how to keep things interesting! A wedding after five years of marriage. Make sure you invite us to your golden and silver anniversaries too!” I smiled and said of course. But I knew in my heart, there would be no more anniversaries. Even if I lived that long, our marriage wouldn’t. My best friend, Zoe, rubbed my hands. “Your hands are freezing! And where’s Simon?” I forced a smile. “Oh, you know him. Workaholic. The office called him in for an emergency.” She squeezed my hand tightly. We had known each other for over a decade; we could read each other’s minds. I met her worried gaze and almost broke down right there. I tried to act normal, but a storm of frustration was raging inside me. Finally, after everyone was settled, I collapsed into a chair, completely drained. Then my mother called. “Do you have a heart?” she screamed into the phone. “Your cousin is dying, and you’re throwing a wedding?” I didn’t even have the strength to stand. I just listened to her tirade, my body numb. It took me a moment to understand. My cousin, Savannah, had a history of depression. She had tried to kill herself, slitting her wrists on the roof of her university dorm. I finally found my voice. “The groom has already gone to save her, hasn’t he? What more do you want from me? Should I kill myself to appease her? Will that cure her illness?” There was one more thing I didn’t say. I don’t have long to live. You’ll all be satisfied soon enough. But I didn’t want them to know. I didn’t want to see any of them in my final days. “What are you talking about? Even your husband couldn’t stand by and do nothing! The cousin you grew up with is dying, and you have no reaction at all? How can you be so cold-blooded?” My mother’s voice continued to grate on my ears. She didn’t know that just saying those few words had made my throat burn with a raw, searing pain. I held back a cough, hung up the phone, and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like a ghost. When it came to Savannah, I always lost. She had a way of effortlessly taking everything that was mine. Savannah was my uncle’s daughter. After my aunt and uncle died in a car crash, she came to live with us. From that day on, I heard the same thing every day: “Savannah has already been through so much! Why do you have to compete with her? Can’t you just let her have it?” 2 Simon came home late that night, looking exhausted. I was tending to the gash on my knee. I hadn’t wanted to bother, but it looked serious, and even the smallest infection caused me immense pain now. It would trigger a cascade of inflammation throughout my body. I treated it numbly. I’ve always been afraid of pain, and sleep had become a nightly struggle. Ever since college, I’ve suffered from severe anxiety. When it flares up, I vomit and can’t sleep. I’d throw up until my mouth was filled with the bitter taste of acid. Simon glanced at me. He was heading for the shower but stopped when he saw the raw, bloody wound on my knee. “What happened? How did you manage that? Why weren’t you more careful?” I didn’t answer, just continued to clean the wound. I didn’t have the energy to talk to him anymore. He slowly sat down beside me and reached for the gauze. I looked up, my eyes cold and hard. “Karen, I’m sorry,” he pleaded, his gaze full of a practiced sincerity. “Today was an accident. Please don’t be angry with me.” If I hadn’t known the truth, I might have fallen for that look again. “Simon, let’s get a divorce. I’m so tired.” I looked back down at my knee. I finished wrapping the bandage, and he suddenly pulled me into a tight embrace. It felt desperate, the panicked gesture of a guilty man. He held me so tightly it hurt my wound. I hissed in pain, and he finally loosened his grip, sinking to his knees in front of me. “Karen, we’ll have so many more anniversaries. Please don’t say that word. It’s so hurtful.” “Simon,” I said, meeting his gaze directly. “This afternoon was the last shred of dignity I was willing to give you.” He froze, his expression crumbling into one of pure panic. “Karen, it’s not what you think. It was an emergency, I had to go. I didn’t want to tell you the truth because I was afraid you’d misunderstand. I—” For the first time in his life, Simon stammered. “What are you afraid of, Simon?” I asked, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “Am I that terrifying? Or are you all just afraid I’ll bully Savannah, and now you’re afraid I’ll bully you too?” “Karen, you’re too emotional right now. I don’t want to fight with you.” He dodged the question and retreated into the bathroom. I didn’t say another word. I went into the study and closed the door. My hands were shaking. I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep was a luxury I could rarely afford, usually managing only three or four hours a night. I should have woken up to the truth a long time ago. Savannah was the vibrant red rose, the permanent mark on Simon’s heart. When I met Simon, he and Savannah had already broken up. He never showed me a picture of his ex-girlfriend; I only knew that the relationship had left him heartbroken. I never knew his ex was Savannah. We had an unspoken agreement not to talk about our pasts. It wasn’t until after we were legally married, during a New Year’s visit to my parents, that Savannah was also there. That day, I saw a flicker of panic in Simon’s eyes for the first time. A woman’s intuition is a powerful thing. A knot of unease tightened in my stomach. I wanted to ask him about it, but every time I brought it up, he would shut me down, saying it was in the past and dredging it up would only make us unhappy. And then, after the holidays, Savannah went abroad to study the violin, her lifelong passion. To support her, my parents sold their house and moved back to their hometown. I couldn’t describe the feeling then. It was the same as it had always been. Savannah got to take expensive music lessons while I couldn’t even afford tutoring. I’ll never forget the look on my mother’s face when she found out Savannah was continuing her studies. She was beaming with pride, saying she never thought our family would produce a musician. Simon was with me then. He squeezed my hand and whispered, “In my eyes, my wife is the best.” He was good to me. He let me look at his phone whenever I wanted, gave me his bank cards to manage. He was the perfect husband, by all online standards. My appetite was poor, so he learned to cook, coming home every night after work to make me dinner. We would go for walks in the evening, holding hands. Life was simple, pure. I thought it would always be like that. Then Savannah came back. She hadn’t become a famous musician. She had developed severe depression. Her arms were covered in a latticework of scars from a brow razor. My mother held her and sobbed. She came to me, her face gaunt. “Karen, I regret it. Can you give Simon back to me?” The absurdity of it was staggering. She spoke as if Simon were a dress, a toy, a room, a snack—all the things she had taken from me in the past. She was used to getting what she wanted, simply by asking. I ignored her, treating her like a madwoman. She was the one who told me they had been together. I remember it was New Year’s Eve, fireworks exploding in the sky. She was unusually friendly, insisting we go watch them together. Simon was inside, playing cards with the elders. Savannah led me on a long, winding walk. 3 We ended up at a park bench, far from the house. She sat down and started reminiscing. “Karen, it’s hard to believe the little girl I knew is married now.” I didn’t know what to say. Then her tone shifted. “Karen, you’ve always hated me, haven’t you?” “Say something!” I was still at a loss for words. “You hate me so much that you married Simon, just because he was my boyfriend.” As she spoke, she burst into tears. The fireworks bloomed in the sky at that exact moment, illuminating the tears streaming down her face. I had never seen Savannah cry like that before. A chill ran through me. Simon was her ex-boyfriend. We had been married for less than a month. God as my witness, if I had known they were together, I would have stayed as far away as possible. But I didn’t know! Simon had burst into my life, telling me how much he liked me, helping me through the toughest of times. “I didn’t know you were together,” I finally managed to say. She glanced at me, then turned and walked away without another word. A few days later, she left to pursue her musical dreams. Before she left, she sent me a text: “You’ve let me have my way so many times. This time, I’ll let you have him.” I showed the text to Simon, furious. What did she mean, “let me have him”? If he couldn’t get over her, he should just get back together with her. I would admit I’d made a mistake. Simon threw his hands up in the air, claiming he was an innocent victim. He showed me his phone. “Karen, you can’t do this to me. I don’t even have her on WeChat. I didn’t know about your relationship.” “And if you had known?” “I would have gotten together with you sooner, and I would have run in the opposite direction every time I saw her. I would have closed my eyes and pretended she didn’t exist.” He squeezed his eyes shut as he said it. He made me laugh, and he immediately pulled me into a tight hug. For the next few years, Savannah really did disappear from our lives. I had almost forgotten about the whole thing. Until she came back, her studies finished, her body and spirit broken. She was like a wilting rose, even more pitiful and heart-wrenching. It was winter when she returned, and she was always cold. My mother was so worried she developed gray hairs. I even gave her the numbers of a few doctors I knew. Then I saw the way Simon looked at her. I couldn’t fool myself. You can’t hide the look of pity in your eyes. A steel needle seemed to pierce my heart, making it hard to breathe. I confronted him. For the first time, he got angry. “Enough! Karen, she’s already in this state. What more do you want?” Tears streamed down my face. He quickly tried to comfort me. “I’m sorry, Karen. I didn’t mean to snap at you. We’ve been together for so long. Don’t you trust me?” I tried to push the incident out of my mind. The years of love and companionship we had shared became a comforting dream I clung to. Later, he went on a business trip to Tibet. He came back right on New Year’s Day, and we went to my parents’ house with gifts. Without my knowledge, he pulled out a bag of saffron and handed it to Savannah. “The locals say this helps with the cold.” Then, under her surprised and grateful gaze, he took out a protective amulet. “They also say this can keep you safe.” I was silent, in a daze. It was like being a child again, watching my parents come home with piles of gifts for Savannah while I could only watch, a pathetic dog begging for scraps. On the way home, Simon tried to take my hand. I pulled away, and that’s when I noticed a large gemstone ring on my ring finger. I was stunned. He pinched my cheek. “Are you a little jealous? Your mother asked me to buy the saffron. The amulet was just something I picked up. They think your cousin might be cursed.” “But the ring,” he said, his voice dropping to a seductive murmur, “I spent a long time choosing this for you. As long as I’m with you, you’ll always be safe.” He was always so good with words. I stared at the pigeon-egg-sized ruby, mesmerized. He leaned in and kissed my forehead. “Karen, let’s have a wedding. I’ve always felt bad about not giving you one.” Our eyes met. In that moment, I truly believed that everything before had been a misunderstanding. He loved me. Tears welled in my eyes. He panicked, wiping them away, asking me what was wrong, looking like a guilty child. In that moment, I wanted so badly to tell him. While he was away, my insomnia had gotten worse. I was throwing up constantly. At first, I thought I might be pregnant. I went to the hospital, overjoyed. But the doctor, seeing how sick I was, recommended a full check-up. When I got the diagnosis, I couldn’t believe it. How could this be happening? I was so young. I went to several other hospitals. The result was the same. I wanted to call him, to tell him, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even face it myself. I didn’t know who to tell, how to say it. The doctor asked me why I hadn’t come in sooner. I told him I’d been like this since college, throwing up whenever I was anxious. He sighed. “Young people are under too much pressure these days.” In college, my mother, who was paying for Savannah’s expensive education, couldn’t afford to give me much. She paid my tuition and then bombarded me with messages and calls, telling me to work hard, to remember our family’s financial situation. Sometimes, at six or seven in the morning, I’d wake up to a text from her, asking if I’d found a part-time job, if I was earning any money, if I was going to get a scholarship. She said she was anxious, that the family could never save any money. What would they do when they got old? I asked her why she was still paying for Savannah’s expensive music lessons. She flew into a rage. “Why are you always so petty? Why can’t you just let it go? Savannah finally has a dream. Shouldn’t I support her?” “What about me?” “What more do you want? I’m already putting you through college! Are you trying to kill me?” She was determined to give Savannah the life she wanted, at the expense of my own survival. But she never saw it as a problem. She would just say, “I gave birth to you, I raised you. What more do you want?” I worried constantly about living expenses, about how to earn money, how to make my resume look better, how to find a better-paying job. That’s when I met Simon. He comforted me, understood me. Later, when he started his own business, I was by his side, traveling all over the country. To save money, we would buy standing-room-only tickets for twenty-hour train rides. He would buy two small stools, and we would huddle together, him shielding me from the crowds. He would whisper in my ear, “I will give you a good life.” But now, I had no life left. 4 Simon didn’t know that on the way home from the “wedding,” we passed by a jewelry store, and the name sounded familiar. On a whim, I went inside and asked the salesperson about the ruby ring on my finger. She was a young girl, and she blushed as she told me, “Oh, this ring? Just last Sunday night, right before we closed, a gentleman who had just gotten off a plane rushed in to buy it for his wife.” “He must love her very much, to be in such a hurry.” “Or maybe he did something wrong?” I whispered, to no one in particular. The girl stared at me, embarrassed. I turned and left. So that’s why he had suddenly bought me a ring. He had bought gifts for everyone on his trip, but had forgotten about me. To assuage his guilt, he had bought me an expensive ring. My gratitude now seemed so ridiculous. All those nights, I had been so scared, wanting to tell him about my illness, wanting to grasp at some non-existent warmth. It was all just my own wishful thinking. I lay in bed, numbly crying. The door suddenly opened. Simon pinned me down, kissing away my tears. “Karen, what do I have to do to make you stop overthinking things?” A wave of nausea rose in my throat. With a strength I didn’t know I possessed, I pushed him off me and ran to the bathroom, retching violently. He looked humiliated. “Karen Grant! What are you doing? I can’t even touch you anymore? How could you do this to me?” I ignored him, slumping to the floor. When I finally found the strength to stand, I splashed cold water on my face. “Let’s get a divorce. I’m serious.” He threw a towel at me and turned away. “In your dreams!” I watched his retreating back. You will, I thought. 5 I went to the hospital for a painkiller shot. I couldn’t even swallow pills anymore. Then I went directly to Savannah’s hospital room. I just sat there. She became incredibly agitated, yanking the IV needle from her arm. Blood spurted everywhere. “Karen Grant, what do you want? Can’t you just leave me alone?” I didn’t say anything, just quietly peeled an orange. When I was done, I realized I couldn’t eat it. I was on a liquid diet now. There were so many things I wanted to taste, but I couldn’t even do that. I held out the orange to her. “Want an orange? It should be sweet.” I wanted so badly to taste it, even if it was sour. But Savannah only became more agitated. She slapped the orange out of my hand and burst into tears. My mother rushed in, carrying a container of food for Savannah. The dishes looked familiar, but I didn’t have time to think about it. She slapped me across the face. “What did Savannah ever do to you? Why can’t you just leave her alone?” The slap made my nose bleed. I stared at the blood on the floor, then turned and left the room. My mother followed me out, wanting to say something. Finally, she grabbed my arm. “Karen, what’s wrong with you? Do you have a fever? You’ve lost so much weight recently.” “What’s it to you?” “I’m your mother!” she shrieked. “Really? I don’t believe you.” I smiled at her, and then the tears came. She cried even louder than I did. “I’m your mother! What do you want me to do? Can’t you try to understand me?” “I named you Karen, which means understanding. You were such a considerate child. How did you become like this?” I couldn’t listen anymore. Maybe it was because I hadn’t eaten, but my head was spinning. I ran away. But as long as Simon refused to sign the divorce papers, I would keep coming back. We would all suffer together. 6 Simon rushed home. I was staring at a bowl of mushy porridge, trying to swallow a few spoonfuls, but I threw it all up. I managed to choke down some sugar water. “Karen, what are you doing?” he asked, his voice low and tight, trying to control his anger. “Can you make me a bowl of noodles?” Simon was an excellent cook, and his noodles were especially delicious. But he hadn’t cooked in a long time. I couldn’t remember if it was because of work or something else. I had been on a liquid diet for so long, sucking my meals through a straw. I suddenly craved noodles, the kind Simon made. I had been to so many restaurants, but I could never find anything like them. I knew I couldn’t swallow them, but just smelling them would be enough. “She’s already in such a bad state. Please, just leave her alone,” he begged. His words were like a knife, twisting in my heart. I remembered a time when we were madly in love, and I had told him he was the person I was closest to in the world. I had meant it then. But the intimacy had been so fleeting. “Then divorce me. If you divorce me, I’ll leave her alone,” I said stubbornly. “You’re being irrational!” He stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Simon had once promised that he would never make me regret marrying him. But I did. I didn’t understand why I wanted a divorce so badly. I only had a few days left. But when I thought about those days, the pain was unbearable. Do people change? How could it happen so suddenly? How could he do this to me? Why did I offer up my heart to be trampled on? They all liked to trample on me. All I wanted now was to get away, but even that wasn’t allowed. I went to see Savannah every day. Anyone who didn’t know would have thought we were the closest of sisters. And then I finally understood who had been cooking her meals. Savannah saw me looking at her food and said, mockingly, “Want some? Simon made it. It’s the only thing I can eat right now.” For the first time, I almost broke down in front of her. I hadn’t even left the hospital when Simon called, his voice full of frustration. “Karen, can you just stop? Savannah is sick.” “Then divorce me! If you divorce me, I’ll stop,” I repeated. I stood at a crosswalk, wanting to step out into traffic. But then I thought, it wouldn’t be fair to the driver. Everyone has their own struggles. I couldn’t add to someone else’s by dying. I stepped back, watching the endless stream of people and cars. All I could think about was Simon, cooking for Savannah. The irony was suffocating. He always looked so tired, and I, trying to be considerate, had been learning to cook his favorite dishes, waiting for him to come home, even though I couldn’t eat a thing myself. I was trying to be considerate of his hard work, but he was spending his energy cooking nutritious meals for Savannah. Simon, how could you? If I had the time, I would have taken him to court, fought him, torn him apart. But I only had a few days left. Maybe God heard my prayers, or maybe Savannah just couldn’t take it anymore. That day, I went to see her as usual. We were arguing on the stairs. I envied her, that she could yell and still have enough breath and energy. My mother had called Simon. Savannah was crying, her face streaked with tears. “I don’t want to see you! Just die!” I was silent. She grabbed my arm, shaking me violently. “What do you want?” I looked at Simon. The message was clear. Savannah was hysterical. She was pulling at me, lost her footing, and almost fell. And then I saw Simon rush over, grabbing her to steady her. I tumbled down the stairs. There were some glass panels at the landing. I put my arms up to protect myself. CRASH! The glass shattered. My arm, in its white sweater, was embedded with shards of glass. My face was cut too. I must have looked a mess, so ugly. It had been so long since I had looked beautiful. I couldn’t even stand to look in the mirror anymore. I was so ugly. Simon rushed down, his voice panicked. “What happened? How did it get this bad?” Blood stained my sweater red. He tried to pick me up, but I pushed against his chest, fighting back tears. “Divorce me. Please? If you divorce me, I won’t come back.” “I promise I won’t bother you.” “Please, just divorce me.”

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After Liam Harrison and I broke up, I found out I was three months pregnant. I raised our daughter, Ellie, alone for five years. But working three jobs took its toll, and a sudden stroke claimed my life. I floated in the air, a voiceless spirit. And then, I saw him. Liam Harrison, now a celebrated, award-winning actor, was knocking on the door of my small apartment. 01 It took a while for the door to open. “Who are you?” The one who opened it was my daughter, Ellie. She had to stand on her tiptoes just to reach the door latch. Her eyes, usually so bright, were wary as she looked up at my ex-boyfriend—her biological father, Liam Harrison. Seeing it wasn’t me, Ellie immediately tried to close the door. Liam wedged his foot in the gap. He frowned. “Where’s Serena Vance?” Ellie paused for a moment, then looked up, a bright, disarming smile lighting her face. “Oh, you’re looking for Mommy? She’s not home right now.” “She’s at work.” Liam’s expression darkened. He asked another question: “Where’s your dad?” [It’s you! You are her father, Liam!] I yelled desperately in the air, but he couldn’t hear me. Ellie thought for a moment. “My daddy is far away, making a lot of money. Mommy said once he makes enough, he’ll come back to pick us up.” Liam’s brow furrowed tighter. Suddenly, he gave a short, self-deprecating laugh. He muttered to himself, low enough for only him to hear. “God, I must be crazy. I actually thought she might still be waiting for me.” With that, he turned to leave. But he stopped abruptly. He asked Ellie for her full name. “Eleanor Vance.” “Mommy says I’m her little treasure, so she calls me Ellie.” Ellie said this with immense pride. Liam’s gaze searched her face, lingering, as if seeking some undeniable proof. But in the end, he said nothing. He stepped into his long, black sedan. I watched the car retreat into the distance, screaming silently. [Don’t go, Liam! If you leave, what will happen to our Ellie?] [She’s only five! How is she supposed to survive alone?] I gently pleaded with my daughter, who was blinking innocently at the dust of the departing car. [Ellie, sweetheart, chase after him! Mommy isn’t here anymore. He’s the only one who can take care of you now.] But Ellie couldn’t hear me either. She simply mumbled, “What a strange man,” and closed the door. In that moment, I wished I could slap myself. Why didn’t I tell Ellie who her father was sooner? Why didn’t I ever show her a picture of him? All of this was my fault. My death didn’t matter. But what about my daughter? 02 Ellie sat inside, swinging her short legs, waiting for me to come home. The last streaks of twilight faded. The sky grew heavy and dark. By all accounts, I should have been back hours ago. Ellie was terrified of the dark. But I was dead. My colleagues had just received the notification from the hospital: I had succumbed to my illness despite all efforts. They needed to notify my next of kin. But when they opened my phone, the ‘Family’ section in my contact list was empty. However, they knew I had a child. That evening, the home phone rang. Ellie, with her little legs pumping, rushed to answer it. “Hello?” Her small, childish voice brought tears to my colleague’s eyes. She didn’t know how to tell a little girl that her mother was dead. And wasn’t ever coming back. “Is that Mommy?” Ellie’s voice was excited. “Are you working late again? It’s okay, Ellie’s fine. I’m not hungry at all. I just ate the bread Mommy bought me.” She patted her round tummy proudly. “Ellie, your mother… she passed away a little while ago.” Ellie asked, confused: “Passed away? Where did she go? That’s okay, Mommy always takes Ellie with her when she goes far away.” Once, due to a work assignment, I had to travel to a neighboring state. I didn’t feel safe leaving Ellie alone. So, I brought her along. It was Ellie’s first time on a train, and she was ecstatic, pointing at the scenery outside the window. So now, Ellie thought I was just away on another business trip. My colleague sighed, unsure how to proceed. She simply hung up. Later, she represented the company and arranged for my cremation. All that was left of me was an urn of ashes. 03 That night dragged on, interminably long. It was the first night I hadn’t come home. Every so often, Ellie would run to the door, checking for a glimpse of me. But the darkness would quickly frighten her back inside. She ran back and forth countless times. Overcome by exhaustion, she finally fell asleep clutching the teddy bear I had bought her. The sun rose. A rooster crowed somewhere nearby. She woke up with a start. And rushed to the door again. Seeing I still hadn’t returned, a flicker of disappointment crossed Ellie’s face. But she quickly comforted herself. “It’s okay. Mommy is just very busy. She’ll be home soon.” Having eaten little all night, Ellie’s tummy rumbled. She had no choice but to snack on the remaining bread. Then, she unwrapped the carton of milk I had purchased. Mimicking my actions, she tried to heat the milk on the stove. “Mommy said cold drinks are bad, or I’ll get a tummy ache.” Ellie talked to herself as she carried the small pot, filled with water. But her hands were tiny. How could she manage? I watched, frantic, pleading with her to stop. But I was powerless. Ellie stood on a stool, just about to place the pot on the stove. But she lost her grip. Water splashed everywhere. The heavy pot crashed down onto her small foot, instantly swelling the tender skin. My heart felt like it was being ripped apart by blades. Yet, I was also relieved it hadn’t been boiling water. Ellie began to sob quietly. Then, she quickly hugged her foot and started blowing on it. “Mommy’s not here, so Ellie will blow on it herself. It won’t hurt then.” She wiped her tears. She dragged the stool back. She sat in the living room, her eyes fixed on the door. “Don’t cry, Ellie. When Mommy comes back, she’ll say I was very brave.” Ellie was so good. So sensible. Sensible enough to break my heart. I desperately wished she would resent me, curse me for being an unfit mother. Instead, she waited, so patiently, so sweetly, for my return. 04 Two hours later. A car stopped outside the apartment door. My former colleague knocked. Ellie was ecstatic, thinking it was me. She ran so fast she stumbled. Her leg scraped against a sharp stone. But she only winced, quickly scrambled up, and rushed to open the door. When she saw it wasn’t me, her composure shattered. She burst into heart-wrenching sobs. “Mommy, why haven’t you come home yet?” “Ellie’s foot is swollen, and my leg hurts, but Ellie was brave!” “But Mommy still isn’t here. Mommy doesn’t love Ellie anymore!” “Does Mommy hate me?” Ellie’s cries were tearing my heart to shreds. My colleague rushed to comfort her. She found the first-aid kit and gently cleaned Ellie’s leg with antiseptic, applying a plaster. Once everything was calm. My colleague brought in my urn and the box of personal effects from the company. Ellie looked confused. But then she saw a framed photo we’d taken recently at the fair. In the picture, I was hugging Ellie, and we were both smiling widely. She recognized me. She asked my colleague, “Miss, are these all my mommy’s things? Then where is my mommy?” The colleague held back her tears. She pointed to the urn. “Your mommy is right here, sweetheart. If you miss her, you can hug this and talk to her.” Ellie shook her head vigorously. “My mommy can’t be a jar! She’s not like those characters in storybooks who can change shape! You’re lying!” She hugged the photograph tightly. “This is my mommy.” She pressed a sweet kiss to the photo, smiling softly. My colleague sighed, placing the urn on a high shelf. She looked around the tiny, dilapidated apartment. “Where is your father? Are you all alone here?” Ellie lowered her head. “Mommy said Daddy went far away to make money. I’ve never met my daddy.” The colleague was shocked. “Do you have any other family? Grandparents? Aunts or uncles?” Ellie shook her head. The woman couldn’t hold back her tears any longer and pulled Ellie into a hug. “You poor, poor child.” “You’re so young. How could your mother bear to leave you alone?” Ellie argued fiercely. “Mommy would never leave me! Mommy loves Ellie the most.” The colleague slipped a card into Ellie’s hand. “This is the compensation money from the company after your mother’s death. There’s twenty thousand dollars on this card. The pin is six eights. Keep it safe, don’t lose it.” Ellie nodded seriously. She clutched the card tightly. Because of our poverty, I had taught Ellie from a young age that money was precious and must be protected. She remembered. After careful consideration. The colleague called the local Child Protective Services. It was the institution designated for children without guardians. I was immensely grateful, bowing repeatedly in the air before the woman. [Thank you so much.] If Ellie could be placed in an orphanage, at least she would survive. 05 When the Child Protective Services came to pick Ellie up, she refused to go. She clung to the door, screaming and wailing. “You’re kidnappers! Don’t take Ellie! Ellie isn’t worth anything!” The CPS workers tried to smile through their distress. The lead social worker, a kindly woman, knelt down. She spoke gently. “I’m not a kidnapper, dear. We’re taking Ellie to a new place where she can stay.” Ellie frowned. She told them seriously. “This is my home! If you take me away, Mommy won’t see me when she comes home, and she’ll be worried!” I covered my mouth, tears streaming down my incorporeal face. The social workers exchanged glances, their eyes moist. They gently coaxed her. “Ellie, sweetie, your mommy asked us to bring you here. Your mommy has to travel for a while and won’t be back immediately, so she wants us to take care of you.” “Besides, there are lots of kids like you there, so you won’t be lonely.” Ellie listened carefully. She blinked her big eyes, staring at them. “Really?” “Of course.” Only then did Ellie slowly release the door. But before getting into the car. Ellie ran back inside. She grabbed the teddy bear I had bought her and the photograph. She hugged them tightly to her chest. The car started moving. It was Ellie’s first time traveling with strangers. The calm she had forced earlier vanished. Fear and panic rushed in. She finally burst into tears. “Mommy, Ellie will be very good and very obedient.” “Please hurry and come get Ellie, okay?” I followed the car, floating behind. Wherever Ellie went, I followed. But she couldn’t see me. And I couldn’t touch her. 06 On her first day at the St. Jude’s Children’s Home, Ellie was strangely silent. She just stared blankly out the window. Every time someone passed, she would widen her eyes, scrutinizing them, searching for me. When she realized it wasn’t me. Her face held only disappointment. A curious boy approached her, trying to start a conversation. “Why did you come to the Home?” Ellie answered seriously: “My mommy had to go away, so she sent me here. But she’s coming to pick me up soon.” The boy seemed to mock her innocence. He suddenly snatched the teddy bear from her hands. “Your mommy abandoned you.” “She’s not coming back for you.” “What’s this? Let me play with it.” Ellie was furious. She rushed forward, shoving the boy to the ground. “You’re lying!” “My mommy would never abandon me!” “That’s the teddy bear my mommy gave me! Give it back!” The boy was equally aggressive, quickly climbing back up. He pushed my Ellie to the ground. He was a year or two older than Ellie. His strength was naturally greater. He straddled Ellie. He yanked at her hair and clothes. He even tore the teddy bear, and white cotton stuffing burst out of its broken seam. “I’m not lying! Your mom doesn’t want you! All the kids here were abandoned by their parents!” “It’s just a broken toy, I don’t even want it.” Ellie hugged the damaged bear. Fighting back hard. “You’re a liar! I don’t believe you!” “Don’t rip my bear! Mommy gave it to me!” The noise alerted a staff member. She hurried over. She separated the two children. After learning what happened, she severely scolded the boy. But the boy didn’t think he had done anything wrong. “I just told the truth! Her mom is never coming back!” “She’s the one who pushed me!” He made a face and ran off. Ellie stood there. Her hair was a mess, her clothes stained with dirt from the floor. She looked like a defeated fighter. But she still insisted, “My mommy would never abandon me.” “Don’t try to fool me.” From then on. Ellie became even quieter. The other children stopped interacting with her. They whispered privately that she had been abandoned but was too stubborn to admit it. Whenever Ellie heard the whispers. She would quickly walk away. But I saw her retreat to a deserted spot, hugging her damaged teddy bear, and secretly wiping away tears. “Mommy, is what they said true? Did you really abandon me?” I gently wrapped my arms around Ellie. Just like I used to hug her to sleep. [Ellie, Mommy is always here. Mommy would never abandon you.] [Mommy is with you forever.] 计费点 07 A month passed. Ellie ate very little. And slept even less. Her once round, cherubic cheeks had grown sharp and thin. The laughter in her eyes had faded. She no longer looked out the window or at the door. She stopped nagging the staff, asking: “Did my mommy come for me today?” Today, the Children’s Home was unusually bustling. I heard the director talking and learned the reason: Liam Harrison was coming to visit the children today. Apparently, after becoming a major star, he donated a lot of money to the Home. And he visited this specific Home every year. I knew why. We had both grown up in this Home. I felt a surge of hope. If he saw Ellie. He would surely realize I was gone. And surely, he wouldn’t be heartless enough to let our Ellie stay here. After all, we had once loved each other so very much. A crowd of people gathered at the entrance, waiting for the philanthropist, Liam Harrison. Even the children flocked towards the door. Only Ellie watched the excitement with cold indifference. [Ellie, sweetheart, go to the door! Your daddy is coming soon!] [If he sees you, maybe you won’t have to stay here anymore.] [You could have a good life. Then Mommy could rest easy.] She couldn’t hear my words. But she picked up a crayon, and in clumsy, childish handwriting, she wrote a note. [Ellie is going to find Mommy. Don’t look for me.] She placed the note next to her pillow. Then, she started running. But she didn’t join the group at the entrance. She ran in the opposite direction. I was shocked and frantic. [Ellie, what are you doing? Where are you going!] She ran faster and faster. I had thought she had accepted the Home. Accepted the reality that I wouldn’t come for her. It wasn’t until I saw the note that I understood. She was leaving the Home. If I wouldn’t come for her. She would find me herself. … A Maybach pulled up to the entrance of the Home. His manager, Ryan Lee, shielded Liam as he stepped out. A swarm of people greeted him. No one noticed that Ellie had slipped away. Just moments ago. Just that close. Liam would have seen Ellie. Now, she was alone outside. How would she survive?

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The second year after my birth parents took me in, my entire family was dragged into a horror game. A Siren, his silk robes hanging open to reveal a half-finished skin he was painting onto himself, asked his victims if he was beautiful with a voice that chilled the bone. A Vase Maiden giggled as she rolled across the floor, searching for a replacement to star in her little show. I stared at the familiar faces in this terrifyingly familiar place, and with a sharp cry, I clapped my hands over my eyes. “Elara? Lysander? What in the world are you two doing?!” The Siren froze, swiftly pulling his robes shut. The Vase Maiden instantly sprouted a body, suddenly looking prim and proper. “Oh, our little star,” they murmured in unison. “What are you doing back here?” 1 [Attention all players, you have now entered the Horror Game.] [Current Instance: Hollow Creek] [Difficulty: SSS-Rank. This is a Merged Instance.] [Objective: Survive for ten days.] [Number of Players: 10] [Good luck to all players.] The robotic voice echoed in my ears, leaving me dazed. A moment ago, I was in the middle of a family tribunal, locked in a crying competition with my sister, Cassandra. Cassandra was bawling because her final exam scores were lower than mine, milking it for all the parental sympathy she could get. I was crying out of sheer terror. I’ve always been able to see things others can’t. Right then, a phantom doll was perched on Cassandra’s shoulder, while the ghost of a woman clung to her back. In the blink of an eye—the time it took to wipe away a tear—my surroundings had changed completely. I looked around. Besides my family of five, there were five strangers. Cassandra, trembling, burrowed into our mother’s arms. “Where are we?” she shrieked. “What is this place?” My father, Robert, shielded my brother Nathan like a mother hen, his eyes darting around nervously. I stood off to the side, completely alone. The five strangers—three men and two women—seemed to know each other. Their leader, a man with a jagged scar across his face whom the others called Blade, glared at us. “Dammit. What rotten luck,” he grumbled. “An SSS-rank Merged Instance, and we get saddled with five rookies.” “Look at them,” another one scoffed. “Useless. All they do is cry.” “So damn loud.” I cautiously approached them, picking out a woman who seemed slightly less hostile. “Excuse me,” I asked, my voice small. “Do you know where we are?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow, her sharp features giving her an air of superiority. “Well, look at that. A newbie who knows how to use her mouth. A rare find.” Her gaze flickered dismissively toward Cassandra. “Better than the professional mourners over there, at least.” She gave me a once-over. “This is the Horror Game. People with intense desires are usually the ones who get pulled in. Clear an instance, you get points. Points can be exchanged for anything—a longer life, money, power. Anything you want.” “And if you fail the game?” I asked, my heart sinking. Her expression darkened, a wave of sorrow washing over her. “You die. You become fuel for the game.” She paused, her eyes meeting mine again. “My name’s Sienna. Stick with me. You can call me Sienna.” A surprised smile bloomed on my face. Tough on the outside, but kind on the inside. I’d chosen the right person. “Okay, thank you, Sienna.” “I’m Seraph. You can call me Seraph.” 2 Suddenly, lines of text materialized in the air, a live chat feed visible only to us. [SSS-Rank Merged Instance? These guys are toast.] [The Hollow Creek instance has three bosses. Survive ten days? They’ll be lucky to last three.] [That newbie Seraph hit the jackpot, latching onto Sienna right away.] [What kinda luck do Blade and Sienna have? SSS-rank, five dead-weight rookies… Someone play ‘Taps’ for them.] I stared at the floating comments in fascination. “Sienna,” I whispered, “I can see this chat. Can you?” “Normal,” she replied curtly. “Every instance is live-streamed to boost our survival odds. You can get intel from the comments.” I nodded, only half-understanding. An iron gate before us creaked open slowly, and in a blink, we were standing in a quaint, old-fashioned town. But this town… it was chillingly familiar. It looked exactly like the one at the foot of the mountain where I grew up, before my birth parents found me. Even the stone griffin at the town entrance, with its chipped wing, was identical. [Mission One: Enter Hollow Creek and evade the Vase Maiden’s attack.] [It is the annual Midsummer Festival, and Hollow Creek is alive with celebration. On the main stage, the ringmaster has unveiled his main attraction: the Vase Maiden. Tormented by her limbless form, she seeks a replacement to take her place in the show.] [The Vase Maiden will appear in thirty seconds. Players are advised to hide immediately. Anyone caught will be assimilated and become the new Vase Maiden.] [The show begins in ten minutes. Good luck.] 3 The announcement sent everyone scattering, scrambling for cover. Sienna grabbed my arm and pulled me into a large wooden wardrobe inside a nearby cottage. Instinctively, Cassandra and my mother, Eleanor, followed us, piling in right behind me. The cramped space was now suffocating with four people. Sienna scowled, clearly wanting to find a new spot, but it was too late. With a grimace, she pressed herself against the wall of the wardrobe. A hollow, scraping sound began outside, growing closer, accompanied by a mournful, lilting song: “The hills are green, oh, the road is long~” The Vase Maiden giggled between verses as she rolled around, searching. “Are you in here?” she cooed. “Or maybe… over here? Hee hee~” The scraping sound rolled through the town, then suddenly stopped. A shrill laugh pierced the silence. “Found you~!” A man’s horrifying scream tore through the air. It sounded horribly familiar. It sounded like my father. Tears streamed down my mother’s face as she clamped a hand over her mouth, muffling a sob, her body rigid with fear. [Player Robert Sterling has failed the mission. Assimilated by the Vase Maiden. Remaining survivors: 9] The chat feed exploded. [This is SSS-rank for you. Someone dies two minutes in.] [That rookie had the worst luck. Caught almost instantly.] [Wait, wasn’t that his son next to him? He shoved his own father out to die! That’s cold-blooded.] [Oh god, the assimilation process is brutal. They’re tearing off his limbs and stuffing him in the vase right now.] Reading the chat’s graphic descriptions of my father’s fate, Cassandra and my mother began to sob uncontrollably. I just felt a hollow sort of pity. In the year since they’d found me, I’d been blamed for everything and hit more times than I could count. I couldn’t find any tears for him. 4 The scraping sound started again. This time, it stopped right outside our wardrobe. A chilling voice whispered, “Is anyone in here?” Everyone inside the wardrobe froze, holding their breath. “Hee hee hee… I see you… I see you.” “Don’t hide… Come out and play…” Beside me, Cassandra’s body went ramrod straight. Sienna held up a finger, silently warning us not to move. The chat was buzzing with advice: [She’s bluffing! Don’t open the door!] [Damn, this boss is smart. She’s trying to bait them out.] [It’s no good. You have to sacrifice one person. Once the Vase Maiden kills someone in a room, she won’t return to it.] The scraping sound moved into the cottage. My mother and Cassandra exchanged a look—a silent, desperate agreement. Then, with a unified shove, they pushed me out of the wardrobe. Sienna gasped, her hand shooting out to grab me, but she was too late. I stumbled forward and fell right at the feet of the Vase Maiden. A beautiful porcelain vase with the head of a gorgeous woman perched on top. Skin like cream, a face like a blossoming rose. So, so familiar. Our eyes met, and tears instantly welled in mine. “Elara,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “What have they done to you?” Chapter 5 The chat feed was flooded with question marks. [????] [Is the girl delirious from fear? Why’s she calling the monster a name?] [It’s over. The Vase Maiden is gonna be pissed. Hope this newbie gets a quick death.] [The Vase Maiden literally rips people’s limbs off. For a stunt like this? It’s gonna be so much worse. A moment of silence for her.] Seeing my tears, the Vase Maiden jolted. In a flash, her form shifted. The porcelain vase melted away, reforming into a stunning, form-fitting silk gown. A full body materialized beneath it, graceful and elegant. She produced a honey cake from thin air and gently pressed it into my hand, her voice soft and soothing. “Oh, my little star, what are you doing back here? Don’t cry, don’t cry. Your big sister is just… working a temp job.” Her voice was laced with panic. “Did I scare you? I’m so sorry.” “Here, have something sweet. It’ll make you feel better.” The Vase Maiden was none other than Elara, my eldest sister-in-training from the Sanctuary, the one who had practically raised me. I was seventeen when my birth parents found me. Before that, my entire life had been at the Sanctuary on Azure Mountain. From my earliest memories, it was always Elara and Lysander by my side. Elara taught me to read, flew kites with me, bought me snacks and my first phone, and baked the best cakes. But seeing her now, her true form crammed into that tiny vase… an unbearable ache filled my chest. The chat was stunned silent, then erupted. [Wait, the Vase Maiden is ACTUALLY her sister?!] [Does this newbie have some kind of mind-control skill? How can a player have a connection to a BOSS?] [I don’t believe it. The Vase Maiden actually showed mercy.] [Am I the only one who noticed the BOSS LITERALLY GREW A BODY for this player?] Seeing a familiar face, all the misery and injustice I’d felt at the Sterling’s house came rushing back. The tears I’d been holding back now streamed down my cheeks. All the times Cassandra had framed me, all the times my parents had ignored me… I’d wanted to run back to the Sanctuary, but I could never find the way. 6 My sobbing intensified, and Elara went into full-blown panic mode. “Don’t cry, please don’t cry! Tell me what’s wrong. Tell your sister everything.” Her eyes narrowed, her gaze locking onto the wardrobe where my mother and Cassandra were hiding. A dangerous glint appeared in her eyes, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “Are they treating you badly? That family of yours… Say the word, and I’ll end them for you.” The threat, cold and lethal, made the two women in the wardrobe tremble. I just shook my head, unable to speak. Elara thought for a moment. She pulled out a smartphone, quickly opened up my favorite streaming show, and pressed it into my hands, gently patting my back. “There, there, my little treasure. Don’t cry. Your sister is fine, see? Everything’s fine.” Suddenly, her body tensed. “Little star,” she said, her expression apologetic, “I have to get back to work. It’s… busy. You just watch your show, okay? I’ll come find you later.” Her phoenix-like eyes flickered to the wardrobe again. She shot a withering glare at my mother and Cassandra before pointing at Sienna. “You. Come here.” Sienna hesitated for a second before stepping out. Elara handed her a pile of snacks—honey cakes, peach tarts, chips, soda. “My little sister is timid, and she loves to eat. Take care of her for me. Protect her.” When Sienna nodded, Elara smiled, satisfied. She tossed a dagger to her. “This is your payment for looking after her.” [Congratulations, Player Sienna, you have obtained the SS-Rank Attack Item: Dagger of Shadows.] Sienna stared at the ornate dagger, her expression one of utter disbelief. Elara then knelt and tied a small silver bell to my belt. “Little sister, if you need me, just ring this.” [Congratulations, Player Seraph, you have obtained the SS-Rank Summoning Item: Silver Bell.] I nodded, wanting to ask her to stay but managing only to whisper, “Be safe, Elara.” With her instructions given, Elara closed the cottage door behind her. The hollow, scraping sound of the vase started up once more outside. 7 After Elara left, everyone still alive looked at me with an impossibly complex mix of awe, fear, and jealousy. The chat, which had been quiet, roared back to life. [Damn. Everyone else comes to these instances to survive. This girl came for a vacation.] [I’m so jealous I could scream. She just got two SS-rank items handed to her?] [Did this newbie trigger a hidden questline? Why is the Vase Maiden so soft on her?] [I’m reporting Seraph for cheating! This is impossible! Last time the Vase Maiden appeared, she killed nine people in ten minutes!] I ignored the chat’s uproar. Sienna looked at me, her expression a whirlwind of emotions. “Seraph,” she began hesitantly, “you know the Vase Maiden?” I finished chewing the piece of honey cake in my mouth and corrected her. “She’s not the Vase Maiden. She’s Elara, the eldest sister from my home, the Sanctuary. And she’s the kindest, gentlest person in the world…” I launched into a gushing speech, singing her praises. The chat was speechless. [Are you kidding me? The Vase Maiden? Kind and gentle?] [I want to see you say that again when she’s tearing a man limb from limb.] The flood of information was overwhelming. Cassandra finally snapped out of her shock and lunged at me, ready to strike, but Sienna kicked her away with a sharp movement. “Seraph! Why are you so damn lucky?!” Cassandra shrieked. My mother, Eleanor, marched forward, her hand raised to slap me. Sienna caught her wrist in an iron grip. Eleanor’s face was contorted with grief and fury. “You knew her! Why didn’t you save your father?! You let him die such a horrible death!” Before I could answer, the chat jumped to my defense. [? Is this woman serious? Seraph didn’t know it was her sister.] [I’ve seen shameless people before, but this mother-daughter duo takes the cake.] [Wow. Just… wow. What a pair of witches.] I wasn’t known for my patience, and with Elara backing me up, I fired back. “I didn’t know it was her! And even if I did, why would I have saved him?!” My mother stared at me, aghast. “He was your father!” “Was he?” I shot back. “You could’ve fooled me. From the way you all treated me, I thought I was just some stray you picked up off the street.” It was the truth. When my birth parents brought me home, I discovered they had already adopted another girl, Cassandra, to replace me. From day one, they criticized me for not being “sophisticated” enough, for lacking the “grace of a wealthy heiress.” Cassandra and my brother Nathan went out of their way to torment me, and my parents always looked the other way. I even had to earn my own allowance by telling fortunes for strangers. My words left my mother stunned, her shock quickly turning to rage. She pointed a trembling finger at me, calling me ungrateful, but Sienna shut her up with a sharp glare that could cut glass. 8 Screams echoed from outside the cottage as the system continued its grim broadcast. [Player Donovan has failed the mission. Assimilated by the Vase Maiden. Remaining survivors: 8] [Player Lynn has failed the mission. Assimilated by the Vase Maiden. Remaining survivors: 7] The ten minutes passed quickly, with no more deaths. We pushed open the door and met up with the other three survivors. We all looked shaken and disheveled, but the game waited for no one. The Vase Maiden’s show was about to begin. The stage was a cacophony of music and celebration. Three large vases, each half the height of a person, sat center stage, covered with red cloths. A ringmaster gave an impassioned speech about the wonders of the Vase Maidens. Then, with a flourish, he whipped off the cloths. Inside each vase was the twisted body of a dead player—my father and the two others. Their heads lolled against the rims of the vases, their faces ashen and defeated, like wilted flowers. The “Vase People” were paraded around the stage for the townspeople’s amusement. The remaining players turned away, unable to watch. A chilling sense of “that could have been me” settled over us. Nathan’s face was pale as a sheet as he covered his mouth, trying not to be sick. The somber mood didn’t last long. The system issued its next mission.

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I was Charles Schwartz’s most devoted admirer. When he skipped class to sleep, I covered for him. When he pursued the new transfer student, I delivered his love letters. After high school graduation, the transfer student went off to an Ivy League university. I went abroad with Charles. In that foreign land, I finally claimed my prize, feasting to my heart’s content. Until the transfer student came to the same city for postgraduate studies. When Charles once again stayed out all night with her, I breathed a sigh of relief. It was time for me to go home. The Schwartz family had paid for my entire overseas education. It would be rude to just break up with him. 1 The Schwartzs were the most powerful and influential family in our exclusive compound. Charles was the undisputed king of all the neighborhood kids. I’d followed him since we were little. He was the most fun, and by far the most handsome. If the Schwartz family hadn’t disapproved, he would have been snatched up by talent scouts and launched into stardom. Just looking at Charles’s face, I could eat an extra two bowls of rice. And the closer I was to Charles, the higher my standing at home. As we grew older, everyone became more aware of gender. The girls stopped hanging out with the boys all day. But I was different. I continued to stick to Charles like glue, utterly shameless. Charles grew into the handsome young man everyone expected. His eyes were sharp, his jawline sculpted, exuding a rakish, youthful charm. Meanwhile, I slowly became known as Charles’s “sycophant” – his eager admirer. They mocked me, scorned me, looked down on me. But they didn’t know how much I gained. Charles didn’t love me, but the Schwartzs trusted me. My family received crucial resources, and I, too, was placed in classes filled with the children of the elite, all thanks to my association with Charles. 2 High school for the children of the powerful wasn’t tedious. Their paths were meticulously planned from birth, every road leading to success. Even if one path closed, they could simply conjure another. I was different. My family could only guarantee me a life of comfort and ensure my social standing wasn’t a detriment in circles that valued lineage. Therefore, I clung to Charles even tighter. When he skipped class, I provided cover. When he slept, I copied his homework. Even when he became infatuated with Sophia Miller, the new transfer student, I was the one who gathered intelligence. Sophia was a tenacious little wild rose, admitted on a full scholarship and grants. Countless girls had pursued Charles – innocent ones, seductive ones, children of celebrities, children of politicians – but all had returned empty-handed. I’d even begun to suspect Charles didn’t like women. But the moment Sophia walked to the front of the classroom and introduced herself, it was like a switch flipped in him. He had no idea how to pursue someone, yet he clumsily chased Sophia for three months. This gave me the perfect opportunity. I outmaneuvered the other male admirers, leveraging my position to serve Charles to the fullest. Oh, and by the way, those male admirers never called themselves sycophants. They considered themselves Charles’s childhood friends. It seemed that because I was a girl, my deference to Charles was “sycophancy,” but their flattery was “friendship.” How amusing. I bought Sophia breakfast. I played tennis with her during gym class. Sophia had never encountered anyone so kind in this school. Her eyes were filled with gratitude and trust when she looked at me. It was then that I handed her the love letter I had prepared long ago. Sophia froze, her expression disbelieving. I quickly added, “It’s from Charles Schwartz.” As expected, Sophia tossed the letter into the trash. Charles went to confront her, only to be called a “spoiled trust fund baby.” After that, Sophia stopped speaking to me altogether. I didn’t care. I was too busy consoling a heartbroken Charles. He’d lived a life of uninterrupted ease; this was his first real setback. He pretended indifference, drinking as if it didn’t matter, but two glasses later, he was completely drunk. In his stupor, he cradled my face in his hands, asking me repeatedly, “Why? Why doesn’t she like me?” I whispered gently, “She just has no taste.” “Charles, I like you.” I saw a flicker of clarity in his hazy eyes. 3 After Sophia rejected him, Charles suddenly became like some of his childhood friends, cycling through girlfriends at a rapid pace. A new one every week. Sometimes, one might even last a month. But his gaze never truly left Sophia. Soon, the high school finals arrived. After the exams, Sophia was accepted into a prestigious Ivy League university. Charles chose to study abroad. When I visited the Schwartz estate to deliver some homemade desserts from my mother, Mrs. Schwartz asked me about my plans. I feigned nonchalance. “It depends on my scores, I suppose. You know, Aunt Eleanor, I’m not really cut out for academics.” I was, in fact, quite skilled. But my high school years had been entirely dedicated to looking after Charles. When he had a fever or a cold, I was the first to contact the Schwartz family secretary. When he went abroad to party, I was the one who kept them updated. Mrs. Schwartz looked thoughtful. That summer was an excruciating wait for me. Others waited for their scores, their university acceptance letters, the start of a new semester. I waited for Lady Luck to smile upon me. Finally. On a tranquil summer evening, Mrs. Schwartz called personally, inviting my family to dinner. I still remember how cool the breeze was that night, how crisp the cicadas chirped. She didn’t know how long I had been holding my breath before that call. I had won the gamble. My future would be intertwined with Charles’s for a long time. As bright as Charles’s future was, so too would mine be blessed with favors and opportunities. A month later, Charles and I departed for overseas. A top-tier university. Charles’s “friends” looked at me with open envy. “Summer, do you really enjoy being his doormat?” “Aren’t you afraid you’ll never get married like this? Oh, wait, you can just cling to Charles your entire life, like a parasite, and bring your kids along with you.” See, see? The ugliness of a man’s jealousy. 4 After moving abroad, Charles’s appeal only grew. His features had matured. The blend of boyishness and masculine refinement, sharp angles mixed with a subtle sensuality, made hearts flutter. I continued to serve him diligently, enduring his every whim. During his first year abroad, Charles let loose completely. He might be in Seattle in the morning and Los Angeles by evening. His parade of girlfriends still changed weekly. Around the holidays, Mr. Schwartz’s mistress, along with their thirteen-year-old illegitimate son, caused a scene with Mrs. Schwartz. Mrs. Schwartz told Charles not to come home. I stayed with Charles, and we spent the holidays together in New York. While we were waiting for the new year, he suddenly asked me, “Summer, can a person’s heart truly remain unchanged?” I didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” I said. Charles smiled. “But I think… I might not like Sophia anymore. I can’t even remember what she looks like. Yet back then, I thought I’d never loved anyone like that before…” I thought he was simply drawn to someone completely different from himself. What kind of love was that? But if he were to ask me what love was, I wouldn’t have an answer either. No one had ever taught us. The fireworks outside the window illuminated Charles’s impossibly beautiful face. On a whim, I grabbed the lapel of his shirt and pressed my lips against his perfect mouth. The rhythm of adults is fast. By the time Charles reacted, the arrow was already released. A flash of annoyance crossed his face as he looked at me. “Are you sure about this?” The coursework at a top-tier university was challenging. And I still had to be Charles’s caretaker. I needed to release some pent-up energy. Charles, this is your task. This is my well-deserved reward. I ran my hands over his sculpted abs and answered his question. I truly was eating well. Charles’s eyes darkened, as if he meant to devour me whole. He was spoiled, arrogant, extravagant… full of flaws. But his physical form was a rare treasure. And it happened to fall into my hands. I was unleashing years of suppressed pressure. My suffocating childhood, the dysfunctional family dynamics, had left me constantly on edge. I spent it all lavishly on Charles. He responded to my passion, seemingly tireless. “Summer, do you really like me that much?” I nodded wildly. “Summer, don’t regret this.” He stared at me with an intense gaze, as if trying to pierce my soul. For a moment, I had the fleeting illusion that he might actually like me. After that night, Charles and I were together. There was no formal confession, no public announcement. But he stopped seeing other women. Once, an Asian-American girl pursued him relentlessly. He finally snapped, telling her he already had a girlfriend. This caused a ripple effect. Many people began asking who Charles’s girlfriend was. A few days later, I received a call from Mrs. Schwartz. She inquired about my studies and then deposited a seven-figure sum into my account for living expenses. Just before hanging up, she said, “Thank you for taking such good care of Charles.” Before I could react, the line was dead. She knew everything. Her perception of my role was like that of a live-in companion of convenience from ancient times – a woman kept for utility. Charles walked in right then. “Summer, what are you dawdling for?” I looked up, smiling. “Coming.”

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