Category: English

A month ago, I was cursed with the Truth System. Now, any lie spoken in my presence comes true in the worst possible way. Right now, my boyfriend, Ryan, is standing before me, his face a mask of panic. He claims he’s desperately ill and needs me to donate one of my kidneys to save his life. [LIE DETECTED. ILLNESS IS A FABRICATION. COMMENCING REALITY-ALTERATION.] The cold, mechanical voice echoed in my head. I stared in shock at the man I’d loved for three years. I couldn’t believe he would lie to me about something like this. Seeing me frozen and unresponsive, Ryan must have thought I doubted him. He grabbed my arm and started dragging me toward the hospital, insisting he would show me the “test results.” As I watched his determined act, a chilling coldness spread through my heart. Oh, I believed him. After all, his lie was already coming true. … At the hospital, Ryan sat across from me, his face unnaturally pale. He was flanked by his so-called best friend, Colby, and a pack of his loyal buddies. “Ruby, I’m out of options,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. “I’m really sick. You’re the only one who can save me.” Colby chimed in, her expression a perfect portrait of concern. “He’s right, Ruby. Ryan’s been feeling awful for days. If I hadn’t dragged him to the hospital, we never would have known about his kidneys. The doctor said he needs a transplant as soon as possible, or it’s going to be dangerous!” [LIE DETECTED FROM BOTH PARTIES. COMMENCING REALITY-ALTERATION.] I glanced between them. Just as the system’s voice faded, the color drained even further from Ryan’s face. I didn’t call them out. Instead, I played along. “Ryan, don’t worry,” I said, faking a worried frown. “Maybe there was a mistake with the last test. Let’s just wait for the new results.” Colby immediately shot me down. “This is the best hospital in the state! Every day you delay is another day Ryan is in danger! If something happens to him, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.” Her words were so absurd I almost laughed. The only thing I’d regret for the rest of my life was actually giving them my kidney. I fixed my gaze on her. “I’m just trying to be careful, for Ryan’s sake. This is his life we’re talking about,” I said, my voice hardening. “Besides, you’re always saying you’re his best friend, practically a sister. You’re so close… why don’t you give him a kidney? Your blood types might even be a match.” A flicker of panic crossed Colby’s eyes before she quickly clutched her chest and started coughing dramatically. “I would, but… I have a heart condition, you see… cough, cough…” [LIE DETECTED. HEART CONDITION IS A FABRICATION. COMMENCING REALITY-ALTERATION.] This time, I couldn’t hold back a small, bitter laugh. “You know what they say. If you cry wolf enough times…” Colby opened her mouth to retort, but a sudden, sharp pain lanced through her chest. She gasped and doubled over. Ryan instantly rushed to her side, handing her his glass of water, his face etched with worry. When his eyes met mine, however, they were blazing with fury. “Why do you always have to make everything a competition? Even this? Colby’s health is fragile, and you’re deliberately trying to upset her. Apologize. Now.” I was speechless with rage. In the three years we’d been together, he had defended her countless times. Colby, the “best friend,” had inserted herself into every corner of our lives, even crashing our first-anniversary dinner “just as a friend.” Every time I complained, Ryan would shut me down with, “Can’t you just stop being so petty?” Now I saw it all clearly. Their relationship had been a lie for a long time. I refused to apologize. He was about to argue further when a doctor emerged with a file. He walked directly to Ryan and handed him the report. “The results are the same as two days ago,” the doctor said gravely. “It’s renal failure. You need a transplant, and you need it soon.” Ryan’s aggressive posture melted away. He turned to me, his expression softening into one of pathetic vulnerability. “You heard the doctor, Ruby. Now do you believe me?” The doctor stepped forward, his tone serious. “Ma’am, you’re Mr. Hayes’s girlfriend, correct? His condition is extremely critical. We’ve checked the donor database, and your blood type is a near-perfect match. You’re our best hope. Please, consider saving your boyfriend’s life.” The system was silent. Not because the doctor wasn’t speaking, but because Ryan’s lie was now the absolute truth. His condition was critical. Every eye in the hallway swiveled to me. Colby, still clutching her chest, pointed a trembling finger at me. “See? Now do you believe it? If you don’t donate and something happens to Ryan, you’ll never have a moment’s peace for the rest of your life!” Her face was pale, but her voice was sharp with accusation. “Ruby, don’t be so selfish! This is the man you’re supposed to spend your life with. It’s just one kidney! You can live perfectly fine without it. How can you be so heartless?” Ryan’s friends swarmed in, their voices a tidal wave of condemnation. “Ruby, that’s low. Ryan’s always so good to you, and now that he needs you, you’re making excuses.” “Yeah, it’s just one kidney! What’s there to even think about?” “If my girlfriend acted like this, I’d have dumped her ages ago. Ryan must have been blind.” The sheer hypocrisy was suffocating. “It’s not that I won’t help,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “But donating a kidney isn’t like getting a papercut. I had a check-up last week, and my doctor said my own kidney function was a little unstable. If I go through with this, we could both end up in trouble.” “You’re lying!” Colby shrieked. “You’re just making up excuses because you don’t want to do it!” Ryan frowned, his voice laced with disappointment. “Ruby, you’re lying to me? At a time like this? If you don’t want to save me, just say so. You don’t have to make things up.” I looked at him and suddenly smiled. “I’m not lying. But fine. You want my kidney? Say it. Say it loud and clear, right here, in front of everyone. Say, ‘I, Ryan Hayes, am in renal failure and I need Ruby Stone to donate her kidney to save my life.’ Say that, and I’ll go through with the tests.” Ryan froze. Colby tugged at his sleeve. “Ryan, just say it! It’s just one sentence!” My smile widened. “Ever heard of a self-fulfilling prophecy?” I asked, my words aimed at the air. “Sometimes, if you repeat a lie enough, it has a way of becoming true.” No one paid attention to my warning. All eyes were on Ryan. He clenched his jaw, his gaze darting from the expectant faces around him to Colby’s pale, pained expression. Finally, he took a deep breath. “I, Ryan Hayes, am in renal failure, and I need Ruby Stone to donate her kidney to save my life.” The second the words left his mouth, his face went another shade whiter. No one else noticed. But I did. Looking at his ashen face, I finally agreed to cooperate. Just then, my mother pushed through the crowd. She spotted me and pointed a finger right at my face. “Ruby, have you lost your mind? Ryan is in this state, and you’re still refusing to help? How can you be so cold and selfish!” “Mom, I—” “Don’t you ‘Mom’ me!” she cut me off. “Ryan is such a wonderful boy! He’s so good to you! And now that he needs you, you’re dragging your feet. If you don’t agree to donate that kidney today, then you’re no daughter of mine. We’re done, you and I, as of right now.” I stared at her, utterly stunned. I had expected her to be upset, but I never imagined she would so casually demand I sacrifice a part of my body. Ever since I started dating Ryan, her loyalty had shifted completely. His family had money, and because of that, she treated him like he was her own son, always urging me to put him first. I decided then and there to ignore her. The air turned to ice. Ryan, ever the performer, rushed to my mother’s side and gently took her arm. “Auntie, please don’t be angry. Ruby is probably just overwhelmed. Don’t pressure her.” His words were meant to sound supportive, but they were gasoline on a fire. My mother’s rage intensified. “How did I raise such a heartless monster? You are donating that kidney today. I don’t care if you want to or not. You’re doing it.” The relatives chimed in, and someone even pulled out their phone, announcing they had already scheduled the surgery at the city’s main hospital for next Wednesday. I looked at the scene before me, a perfect tableau of betrayal, and felt a bitter laugh rise in my throat. I took a deep breath. “Fine,” I said slowly. “I’ll cooperate with the pre-op preparations. But I want a full health screening first. For everyone’s safety.” Ryan and Colby exchanged a triumphant look. “Of course,” Ryan nodded. “Whatever you say.” “That’s a good idea,” Colby added quickly. “For Ryan’s safety, we should definitely be thorough.” I heard the unspoken meaning in her words and could only find it laughable. A short while later, I was back at the hospital with Ryan for the pre-op screening. When it was over, he said he needed to use the restroom. I followed him discreetly. Sure enough, Colby was waiting for him. I hid around the corner and watched as she draped herself over his arm. “Oh, Ryan, you’ve been working so hard,” she cooed. “If my own kidney problems hadn’t flared up, we wouldn’t have had to go through all this trouble of you pretending to be sick just to trick her.” Ryan’s voice was full of adoration. “Anything for you is worth it, Colby. As soon as the surgery is over, I’m breaking up with her. God, faking being sick is exhausting. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have wasted another second on her.” I stood frozen in the hallway, ice coursing through my veins. So that was it. He was never sick. It was all for Colby. Her kidneys were failing, so they conspired to steal one of mine, using our three years together as a cover and emotional blackmail as their weapon. I was just their personal organ bank. As rage burned through me, the system’s voice returned. [LIE DETECTED. KIDNEY PROBLEM IS A FABRICATION. COMMENCING REALITY-ALTERATION.] My eyes snapped to Colby. Just as the system predicted, the color drained from her face, leaving her looking ghostly and frail. Ryan, oblivious, simply thought she was having a bad spell and pulled her into a protective hug. I watched them for a moment longer, then slipped away, my face a mask of calm. They had no idea what they had just done. The next day, during the health check, I insisted on a more detailed renal function test. Ryan’s expression flickered, and he was about to refuse, but Colby jumped in first. “Of course, of course! A comprehensive check is always better.” She gave Ryan a subtle nudge and a meaningful look. He caught on. “Right. Whatever you want, Ruby. A full workup it is.” During the examination, I could tell the doctor was acting strangely, especially when he was checking Ryan’s kidney function. His eyes kept darting away. If he had done his job properly right then, he might have actually saved Ryan. But he was following Ryan’s orders, and in doing so, Ryan had personally severed his own lifeline. Kidney failure and heart disease weren’t instant. They were slow, agonizing descents into death. I was more than happy to watch the show. When the reports came back, they were exactly what I expected. Ryan’s showed severe renal failure. Mine declared me to be in perfect health, an ideal donor. I held my report and let out a cold laugh. Just two weeks ago, a different doctor had diagnosed me with hydronephrosis and warned me to seek treatment immediately. And now, suddenly, I was the picture of health? The goal was obvious. They had faked my report to ensure the transplant went ahead. This entire thing, from start to finish, was a trap. This time, I didn’t hold back. I stormed into the doctor’s office and slapped the report down on his desk. “What kind of doctor are you?” I demanded. “I was diagnosed with a serious kidney condition two weeks ago, and you’re telling me I’m perfectly healthy? Are you trying to kill me, or are you trying to kill my boyfriend?” The doctor’s face paled, but he held his ground. “What are you talking about? I’m a physician. I would never falsify a report! The data is accurate. You must be misremembering. Now, please, stop causing a scene and disrupting the hospital!” His eyes shifted nervously, but his voice was firm. “I swear on my professional oath, this report is one hundred percent accurate. If I faked it, may I drop dead on the spot!” [LIE DETECTED. DEATH ON THE SPOT WILL BE MADE TRUE.] The system’s voice had barely faded when a commotion erupted at the end of the hall.

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I’m the kind of girl who crawled out of the gutter, damp and shadowed, yet somehow I landed Kian Wilde, the king of campus. Four months into our relationship, Kian’s beautiful first love, Sienna, transferred to our university just for him. During gym class, they were at it again, openly flirting for everyone to see. Sienna shot me a triumphant, challenging look from the corner of her eye. Students from several classes were pointing at me, whispering, waiting for the punchline. My face went pale. I shrank into a corner, head down, playing dead. But as soon as class was over, I shoved Kian into an empty classroom, slammed him against the door, and kissed him with a desperate, frantic hunger. “Next time you get that close to her,” I hissed against his lips, “I’ll kiss you senseless right out in the open.” 1 Kian’s lips were slightly swollen from where I’d bitten them. He frowned. “Maya, can you stop talking about kissing me senseless all the time?” “Besides,” he added, his voice tight with frustration, “I’ve already explained this. Our families are old friends. If Sienna talks to me, am I supposed to just ignore her?” That was his way of saying he wasn’t going to change. My anger flared hotter. I lunged at him again, my right hand snaking under his t-shirt, my fingers tracing the hard lines of his abs. A laugh, half anger and half amusement, escaped him. “Damn it,” he swore, pushing me away. “You’re insane. I’ve seen people cash in on a favor, but never this desperately.” —This relationship was me cashing in on a favor. A little over four months ago, Kian was nearly hit by a modified street bike on his way back to Aurelia University. I happened to be walking behind him and shoved him out of the way at the last second. Afterward, he thanked me and asked if there was anything he could do. “Can you be my boyfriend for a year?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Kian raised an eyebrow. He was the undisputed king of AU—tall, handsome, arrogant, and rich. Countless beautiful girls had thrown themselves at him, and not a single one had succeeded. And me? I was just another ordinary girl, the kind you see everywhere on campus, the kind who always keeps her head down. When he didn’t answer, I quickly lowered my offer. “Six months is fine, too. If that bike had hit you, you might have been laid up for that long anyway, right?” He finally let out a sharp sigh. “Fine. Six months it is, my life-saver.” He had no idea. The entire thing was a trap I had designed just for him. The guy on the bike? I’d paid him with a year’s worth of my part-time job savings. And as the anchoring effect suggests, people are more likely to accept a lesser offer after being presented with a higher one. —All I ever wanted was six months. Outside, his basketball teammates were yelling for him to come to practice. I still held onto him, refusing to let go. “You and Sienna crossed a line. You have to make it up to me. Tonight, you have to do whatever I want, however I want to play.” He looked utterly exasperated. “I know, I know,” he said, trying to pry my fingers off the door handle. “Tonight, you can play all you want. Happy now, you little psycho?” 2 The sun was still bright when I finished my work-study shift at the library. My mind buzzed with excitement for tonight. I decided to head to the basketball court and wait for Kian so we could walk back together. “Maya Stone.” A voice called my name. I turned, surprised to see Neil Vance, the university’s other campus prince. I didn’t know him at all. Why was he talking to me? He walked up to me, a warm, gentle smile on his face. “We haven’t had a chance to talk since the chess tournament. This Friday night, the club is having a friendly match. I was wondering if you’d be interested in coming?” Oh, it was about the chess thing. The only reason I’d entered that tournament was for the $5,000 champion’s prize. A friendly match had no prize money. I looked down at my shoes, trying to think of a polite way to refuse. Neil added with another smile, “I was very impressed by you during the tournament. I was hoping I could take this opportunity to officially become your friend?” “Your friend?” I blushed, looking up at him. Because of my withdrawn, strange personality and my status as a scholarship student, I was something of a pariah at AU. I hadn’t made a single friend in three years. And now, a god-like figure like Neil Vance wanted to be my friend. “Yes,” he said, his eyes softening as he seemed to notice my awkwardness. “A beautiful girl like Sienna is wonderful, of course, but a girl like you, Maya, is brilliant in her own right. You deserve to be appreciated, too. That’s what I believe.” My face burned hotter. What did he mean by that? It felt like he was implying something. “O-Okay,” I stammered. “I’ll be there on Friday.” His eyes lit up. “That’s great! Friday at seven, at the club room. I’ll be there waiting for you. I’ll see you the day after tomorrow.” “See you then.” I stood there for a moment, stunned by the unexpected kindness. Then, as he walked away, I silently began to follow him. 3 I rounded a corner and, just as I expected, heard a group of excited voices. “Neil, you’re amazing! She took the bait!” “She just got lucky in that chess tournament! Total fluke she won.” “Last time, that video of her soaked and exposed only went viral on the campus network. This Friday, I’m going to livestream it and make it ten times worse! I’ll make sure all the research institutes and companies see it. She’ll never get a decent job in her life!” “That’s enough,” Neil’s voice cut in, cold and sharp. “Just get everything ready. I don’t want any mistakes on Friday. Don’t give her any chance to recover.” … Their footsteps faded into the distance. I stood alone in the cool evening breeze, a little disappointed. A story about the aloof student council president falling for me after a single competition was always too much like a cheesy drama. And to think, I’d actually wasted time worrying if it was too soon to move on to Neil when I only had a month left with Kian. So, the video of me in a white shirt, soaked by two buckets of water, had been his doing all along. But a livestream on Friday, huh? “What are you doing standing here?” A familiar, magnetic voice came from behind me. I spun around, a placating smile already on my face. “A student left their headphones in the library. I was just trying to catch up to her.” Kian frowned, his gaze flickering toward the distant figures of Neil’s group. “Let’s go,” he said, turning away. I quickly trotted over and took his hand, my fingers lacing through his. He tried to pull away but failed. “It’s a hot day. Aren’t you worried about sweating?” he grumbled. “Nope. I like you. I even like the way you smell when you sweat.” It was the kind of over-the-top flattery I always laid on him. He gave me a look of disgust but let me hold his hand. 4 We had already eaten on the way, so as soon as we got back to the apartment, Kian went straight for the shower. When he came out, he had nothing on but a towel wrapped low around his hips. He was six-foot-two, all broad shoulders and narrow waist, with sharply defined muscles. Droplets of water traced the V-lines of his hips before disappearing beneath the white towel. I swallowed hard and immediately ducked into the bathroom myself. After a quick shower, my hair still half-damp, I eagerly climbed onto his lap where he sat on the sofa. I kissed him like an addict getting a fix. Kian tilted his head back, letting me have my way, but his hands were just resting lightly on my back. I’d heard that when a man truly desires a woman, he wants to breathe in her scent, to pull her into himself until there’s no space left between them. Kian never had that kind of impulse with me. But that was normal. He was only with me out of obligation. And then there were the scars crisscrossing my body—burns from cigarettes, welts from a belt, rope burns, cuts from a box cutter… No one would ever desire a body like mine. But it didn’t matter. As long as I desired his body, as long as he still responded to my touch, that was enough. And in that department, Kian never disappointed. “Little psycho,” he murmured, his voice husky. “Weren’t you going to play with me? C’mon, show me what you’ve got, hmm?” … 5 The next day, our classes were in different buildings. After we walked through the school gates, I stopped him. “Kiss me before you go.” He gave me a look that clearly said you’re insane. “Since when do you enjoy being a public spectacle?” I didn’t care. Today, I wanted the perfect college romance experience. To be kissed by the most handsome boyfriend in the world, in the gentle morning breeze, with the most adoring affection. It didn’t matter if the last part was just my imagination. In my memories, it would all be real. I held onto his hand, refusing to let go. With a sigh, Kian relented. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. I heard the gasps from the students around us and saw Sienna, waiting a short distance away, throw her coffee cup to the ground in a fit of rage. “Kian, I love you,” I whispered, then turned and walked away, my heart soaring. I was in a fantastic mood all day. Even when, between classes, someone deliberately mentioned that Kian and Sienna had sat together. Even when someone else brought up that video of me, their eyes raking over my body with a disgusting leer. Even when another person “accidentally” spilled half their milk tea on my desk. Just like always, I kept my head down and silently wiped my drenched books, page by page. A girl came over with tissues to help me. It was the same girl who had spoken up for me back in freshman year when they had accused me of stealing an earring. I held up a hand to stop her. “It’s okay. I’ll do it.” If she got too close to me, she would become unlucky too. I was fine on my own. I didn’t like dragging others down with me. After my last class, I went to my part-time job at the McDonald’s near campus. Tutoring was a more popular and lucrative option for AU students, but every time I found a gig, the parents would receive an anonymous message about my “bad character.” So, McDonald’s it was. At 9 PM, my shift ended. As usual, I used my phone to order a meal, made it myself, and placed it in front of the little girl with the dirty face who was, once again, spending the night in the restaurant with her mother, scavenging for leftovers. Then I shouldered my backpack, found a public restroom, and changed into a black hoodie and sweatpants. I pulled on a black mask and work gloves, tugged the brim of my cap down low, and melted into the night, heading back towards the university. 6 Three hundred meters from the north gate of AU, there was a short, secluded alley. It was quiet during the day and practically deserted at night. Only students who rented apartments in that direction would use it as a shortcut. In a pile of trash at the end of the alley, I found the baseball bat I had stashed earlier. I hid in the shadows of a corner and waited. About fifteen minutes later, footsteps approached. The streetlight at the entrance stretched the person’s shadow longer and longer until it was swallowed by the darkness of the alley. My hand began to tremble uncontrollably. My heart hammered against my ribs. The moment the shadow was completely consumed, I swung the bat. “Ah! Who the hell hit me?!” “Agh, stop… stop hitting me…” “Damn it! If you want money, just take it! I’ll give you money…” Neil fell to the concrete ground with a scream. I gave him no chance to fight back. The bat rained down on the high and mighty student council president. He went from cursing, to negotiating, to finally just whimpering and begging for mercy. At last, I stopped. I stood over him, looking down at his pathetic, sobbing form with disgust. If this were Kian, he wouldn’t have made a sound, even with every rib broken. It would be nice if a video of Neil like this was posted online. Let him know what it feels like to be unable to hold your head up in public. I took a deep breath and quickly left the alley. I took a long, roundabout route, ditching the bat in a park trash can. I crossed two more streets, found another place to change back into my original clothes, and stuffed the hoodie, sweatpants, gloves, and hat into my backpack. I’d done this kind of thing long ago. It was all calm, practiced, routine. I had even tried to teach those two animals who gave birth to me a lesson like this. Though I’d only been beaten more severely for it afterward. Once everything was taken care of, I took a deep breath and forced a smile onto my face. Then I headed back to Kian’s apartment. 7 When I walked in, Kian was sitting at the dining table, scrolling through his phone. He looked up at the sound of the door. “Your shift ends at nine. What took you so long tonight?” I gave him a sweet smile. “We got a huge group order right at closing time. Probably some boss treating his overworked employees.” “Is that so?” He stared at me for a long moment, then shifted slightly, revealing a small cake on the table. “Bought this after the game. It’s from that place you like, right?” My eyes lit up. I kicked off my shoes and immediately launched myself at him, planting a kiss on his cheek. “Kian, you’re not just the most handsome boyfriend in the world, you’re the best!” “Don’t touch me until you’ve showered,” he said, pushing my face away with a look of disdain. I didn’t mind his attitude at all. I happily put down my backpack and started on the cake. It wasn’t expensive, just a simple cream square. When I was a kid, I’d always see other children eating them and wonder what they tasted like. After I got my college entrance exam scores, the first thing I bought with the small scholarship money was a cream square. I’ve loved the cloyingly sweet taste ever since. Kian watched me eat for a bit. “Is it really that good?” I nodded earnestly. “It’s good on its own, but because you bought it, it’s double good!” He snorted. “So easily pleased.” With that, he picked up his pack of cigarettes from the table and went out to the balcony. He hadn’t been a smoker before. He’d probably started in the last two months, around the same time Sienna had pulled strings to transfer from another top university. I heard she had always kept Kian on a string, and it was only my appearance as his “girlfriend” that had finally made her panic. But now that she had delivered herself to him, Kian was bound by his promise to me and couldn’t do anything with his first love. He was probably frustrated. I watched the hazy white smoke rings dissipate on the balcony and licked the cream from the corner of my mouth. Kian really was a decent guy. Once he agreed to something, he saw it through, no matter how much he disliked it. For the past five months, he had fulfilled every superficial aspect of a relationship that I had wanted to experience. So. I was willing to give him a little something in return. After my birthday next week, I would set him free ahead of schedule. After all, with Neil as a little appetizer, I was getting impatient to prepare the main course. 8 I had told Kian about my birthday weeks in advance. When the day came, I went back to the apartment after class. I showered and changed into the silk slip dress I had bought just for the occasion. I’d never dared to wear something like this in front of him before because of my scars. But this was our last time together, and my first real birthday. I wanted to experience the “romance” and “sweetness” I had always craved, in its entirety. I even put on some light makeup and a touch of perfume. Then I sat on the edge of the bed, scrolling through videos of lively birthday celebrations online, and waited for him to come home. By nine o’clock, he still wasn’t back. He had told me his department head had suddenly arranged a dinner for the top students. He couldn’t refuse, but he promised he’d find an excuse to leave by eight-thirty. Maybe the department head was hard to fool, I thought, shifting my weight. The silk would wrinkle if I leaned back, and my back was already aching. At ten, I messaged him. No reply. At eleven, I called him. No answer. At eleven-forty, he finally texted back. Sienna collapsed at dinner. I’m taking her to AU General. I’ll be back as soon as her parents get here. It would take at least twenty minutes to get back from the hospital. I stared at the message, my body stiff. I looked at the time. Then, barefoot, I walked step by step to the bathroom mirror. The reflection showed a girl with pale shoulders, arms, and chest covered in a grotesque web of old scars. Her face was darker and more lifeless than ever before. Why? Why couldn’t you just give me a perfect ending for our last night? Why, when you people already have so much happiness, can’t you stand to see me have just a little taste of it? CRASH! I grabbed the perfume bottle and hurled it at the mirror, shattering the reflection of that crazed face. Then I ripped off the silk dress, stormed to the storage room, and pulled out my suitcase. I punched in the code, changed into my black hoodie and sweatpants, and pulled on my hat and gloves. Finally, from an inner pocket of the suitcase, I took out a foldable military knife. After a final check, I glanced at the time again: 11:55 PM I gripped the knife in my left hand and pulled up my mask. My right hand reached for the doorknob. Click. The door was pulled open from the outside. 9 “…Dressed like that, where are you going?” Kian stood in the doorway, a bouquet of flowers in his hands, his eyes locked on me. His chest was heaving. He took a heavy step toward me, his gaze shifting to my hand. “What are you holding?” I was frozen solid, a statue. I stared back at him for a long time before my dry, tight voice returned. “Weren’t you waiting for Sienna’s parents? Why are you back?” “It wouldn’t be your birthday after midnight. So I floored it.” “Oh. I thought I was going to be spending my birthday alone again, so I was just going for a walk.” I forced a smile and opened my palm to show him the knife. “It’s not safe for a girl to be out alone, so I brought this for protection.” Kian stared at the knife for a long moment before finally closing his sharp, dark eyes. He held out the roses. “I messed up tonight. I’m sorry I’m late. Happy birthday, Maya.” I looked down at the bouquet and the small, elegant box nestled within it. “Thank you.” Inside, I put the flowers in a vase and opened the box. It was a beautiful, understated necklace. “Do you like it?” I nodded. Kian took it out and fastened it around my neck, then pulled me into a hug. Maybe it was my imagination, but the hug seemed to carry a hint of profound, relieved gratitude. He let me go and turned toward the bathroom. “I’m covered in sweat. I’m going to take a quick shower.” By now, the adrenaline had faded, and I remembered the state of the bathroom. I grabbed a broom, forcing another one of my placating smiles. “It was my first time using that perfume. My hand slipped and I broke the mirror. I’ll just sweep it up.” Kian paused at the doorway but said nothing. Later, when we were lying in bed, his body, still damp from the shower, pressed against me in the darkness. It was a rare occurrence. This was the first time he had ever initiated.

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One second I was accepting an award in Milan, the next I was hooded and shoved onto a private jet. I woke at the Thorne estate. Mr. Silas Thorne was cheerfully playing chess with my grandfather. “It’s time we settled that marriage pact between your grandson and my granddaughter,” he said. While they negotiated, I slipped into the garden. Seeing a perfect rose, I reached for it—but a kick sent me stumbling down, my back burning. “Who’s this charity case touching my rose? The one Miss Thorne planted for me!” snarled a man surrounded by bodyguards. Before I could speak, he punched my face, leaving a bruise. “And now he’s stealing the engagement ring she made for me? Take it and teach him a lesson!” As the guards closed in, he smirked. “Time to clean up the riff-raff as the future Thorne son-in-law.” I glanced at the family heirloom ring on my finger, then texted my contact “Fiancée”: Isabelle Thorne, there’s a rabid dog in your garden. Are you handling this or not? 1 To my surprise, the message was immediately met with a red exclamation point. I let out a dry, humorless laugh. We hadn’t even finalized the engagement, and she’d already blocked me. “How did you sneak in here! Give Mr. Everton back his property this instant!” a housekeeper shrieked, lunging at me. I sidestepped her easily. “I am an honored guest of the Thorne family,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Is this how you treat your guests?” The man, Blake Everton, sneered and pulled out his own phone to call Isabelle Thorne—my supposed fiancée. A cool, melodious voice answered on the first ring. “What is it, Blake?” I listened closely. A nice voice. My type. Grandfather had good taste, at least. “Isabelle! There’s some pretty boy in your garden claiming to be a guest, and he stole the ring you gave me!” I cut through his whiny, dramatic tone, deciding to introduce myself before she got the wrong idea. “Miss Thorne, my name is Julian Moritz. I’m your fiancé.” There was a two-second pause as she processed the name. When she spoke again, her voice was glacial. “What fiancé? You need an invitation to enter the Thorne estate. Otherwise, you’ll be dealt with as a trespasser.” Then, her tone melted back into syrupy sweetness. “Blake, don’t be upset. It’s just a ring. I’ll buy you a new one when I get back.” My ring, a custom piece by a legendary French master, was my parents’ engagement ring. There wasn’t another one like it in the world. As I began to seriously question the wisdom of this alliance, Blake Everton doubled over with laughter. He raked his eyes over me with contempt. “You? Your clothes don’t even have a label, you piece of trash! And you have the nerve to call yourself Isabelle’s fiancé? That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard!” I had studied design abroad. The clothes I was wearing were my own creations, hence the lack of a brand name. My designs were already sought after by Europe’s elite, but this peacock couldn’t even recognize them. It made me question his credentials. The encounter had soured my mood. I turned to leave the garden. Blake blocked my path. “Didn’t you hear Isabelle? You need an invitation. You claim to be an honored guest, so where is it?” I rolled my eyes and reached into my pocket, but found nothing. I vaguely remembered my grandfather saying we wouldn’t need one. Seeing my empty hand, his smirk widened. “A liar, just as I thought! Men! Get the ring off him, tie him up, and throw him out!” I shielded the ring with my hand and took a step back, my expression hardening. A few of the maids approached me, their faces full of pity. “Sir, you should just give it back to Mr. Everton. You have no idea what he’s capable of.” “That’s right, that ring is a symbol of their love! They grew up together. Miss Thorne won’t let you get away with this.” “I saw it with my own eyes… a man just got a little dirt on Mr. Everton’s suit, and the next day, he’d lost a hand!” Their warnings only fueled Blake’s arrogance. “You hear that? Get on your knees, place the ring respectfully in my hand, and then get the hell out of here. Otherwise, you’ll end up just like the man who dirtied my suit.” 2 In my entire life, people had only ever kneeled to me. The last person who dared to speak to me like that was six feet under. I stepped forward and drove my fist into his face. His head snapped to the side, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You dare hit me?!” He clutched his cheek and screamed at his bodyguards, who immediately rushed me. A slow, cold smile spread across my lips. When I first went abroad, my grandfather, fearing I would be bullied, had personally taught me combat. A few untrained bodyguards were nothing. With a series of precise strikes, I sent them spinning, dazed and confused. “Pathetic.” I flexed my slightly numb knuckles and turned to leave, ignoring Blake’s enraged shrieks. Suddenly, a maid cried out, “Miss Thorne is back!” I looked up. A woman in a couture gown was striding toward us, her face a mask of cold fury. Blake’s vicious expression vanished, replaced by one of a wounded puppy. He grabbed Isabelle’s hand. “Isabelle! You’re finally back! I was being bullied so badly!” I had to admit, Isabelle Thorne was stunning. She could have easily made a name for herself in Hollywood. It was a shame, then, that even knowing she was engaged to me, she was cupping her childhood sweetheart’s face with such tender concern. I scoffed. I needed to get Grandfather and go home. This marriage was dead on arrival. I ignored their little drama and headed for the garden exit. “Hold it. You think you can just walk away after touching my man?” Isabelle didn’t even look at me. She gestured, and two of her bodyguards moved to block my path. I let out a long, weary sigh and turned to face her. “Miss Thorne, my grandfather is currently in your grandfather’s study discussing our engagement. If they find out about this, it won’t look good for you, will it?” At the mention of her grandfather, the maids’ expressions shifted. “What? Is he really her fiancé?” “Who cares? Look how protective she is of Mr. Everton. This marriage is probably off anyway.” “Exactly. We’d better not say the wrong thing and offend Mr. Everton. You know what he’s like.” The word “engagement” only seemed to darken Isabelle’s mood. “What marriage pact? I never agreed to it. Besides, my grandfather adores me. He would never force me to marry some broke nobody from god-knows-where.” Blake shot me a triumphant look over her shoulder. “Isabelle and I are soulmates. How dare a common thief dream of taking my place?” I nodded slowly. A perfect match of trash. They deserved each other. It’s just, my grandfather had told me that of all the families who had sought an alliance with ours, the Thornes had put in the most effort. I’d met Silas Thorne a few times; he was a good man. I could only imagine the storm that would erupt when he found out his own granddaughter had sabotaged the marriage he’d worked so hard to secure. But you can’t help it when a fine bamboo stalk produces a rotten shoot. 3 I shook my head in pity and was about to leave when Blake shouted, “Don’t let him go! The ring Isabelle gave me is still on his hand!” At a signal from Isabelle, the bodyguards seized me. They tried to wrench the ring off, but it was custom-fitted to my finger. They couldn’t budge it. “Blake, if this is your ring, why does it fit my finger so perfectly?” I taunted. His face flushed with anger. “It’s because you’re fatter than me! You forced it on, that’s why it’s stuck!” he spat. “Get an electric saw!” My expression changed. This was bad. I hadn’t brought my own security. Isabelle’s bodyguards were huge and numerous. I fought back, but they quickly exploited an opening and slammed me to the ground. Blake squatted in front of me, his eyes gleaming with excitement. He grabbed my chin. “Still acting tough? Weren’t you so tough a minute ago?” He slapped me hard across the face, the grit from the path scraping my cheek and drawing blood. Isabelle stared at me for a moment, then a cruel smile touched her lips. “Did that hurt your hand, Blake? Want to see something more fun?” His eyes lit up. “Tie him to the boat in the middle of the pond!” My own eyes widened in horror. I looked at her face, which was now glowing with a sick excitement. Did she know something? “No! You’ll regret this!” Blake laughed, a manic edge to his voice. “Regret? That word isn’t in my vocabulary. But you? You’re about to regret ever touching what’s mine.” The guards dragged me to the large pond in the center of the garden and threw me into a decrepit, rocking rowboat, tying me down with thick ropes. Before I could even open my eyes, they flipped me onto my stomach and brought an electric saw buzzing toward my hand. A scream tore from my throat as searing pain shot up my arm. The ring was instantly slick with my blood. “Looks like another one who didn’t know his place is about to lose his life.” “Such a handsome young man, too. If only he hadn’t been so stubborn. Miss Thorne will never let him go now. He’ll lose a finger, at least.” “This is too cruel. I can’t watch.” The maids and servants chattered on the edge of the pond, but their voices were already fading into a dull roar. I thrashed against the ropes, the old boat groaning and slapping against the water. The scene was sickeningly similar to the day my parents were lost at sea. A deep-seated terror clawed its way out from the depths of my mind. My face went deathly pale. My hands clamped over my head of their own accord, my own blood smearing down my cheeks. “No! Please! Let me up!” But Blake and Isabelle just stood on the bank, watching the show. Blake even kicked the boat, sending me drifting toward the center of the pond. Through a blur of pain and fear, I saw him smugly holding up my ring. Isabelle wrapped her arms around him. “It’s covered in that trash’s filthy blood,” she cooed. “Throw it away. I’ll buy you a new one.” Over my desperate screams, they casually tossed the ring into the water. “Isabelle Thorne! Aren’t you afraid of what my grandfather will do to you?!” 4 She just laughed, her eyes full of contempt, as if she were looking at garbage. “Your grandfather? Who does he think he is? The Moritz family is nothing but you and that old man now! You cursed your own parents to death, and he actually wants me to marry a jinx like you? He must be dreaming!” My world narrowed to a single point of pain. Cursed your own parents to death. The words were a knife, twisting in my heart. On my eighth birthday, my parents were on a cruise, sailing home to celebrate with me. A storm blew in, and the captain urged them to wait it out at port. But I had called them, crying, telling them I missed them. So they took a smaller boat themselves, trying to make it back in time. Just as they were nearing the shore, a monstrous wave, five meters high, rose from the sea and crashed down upon them. Their boat capsized right in front of my eyes. The memory, dragged up by Isabelle’s words, played over and over in my mind. I curled into a ball in the bottom of the boat, trembling, mumbling the same words again and again. “Dad… Mom… I’m sorry. I don’t want you to come back for my birthday anymore…” Blake clapped his hands in delight. “So he really is bad luck! No wonder he feels so cursed! Isabelle, we should stay away from him before we catch his bad luck!” No one abroad knew about my past. At home, Grandfather had forbidden anyone from ever mentioning it, even going so far as to have the lake on our own estate filled in, just so I wouldn’t have to see it. The guilt and grief had been buried for years, but now it erupted, and all I wanted was to throw myself into the water and atone for what I’d done. Suddenly, my phone rang. The custom ringtone I had set for my grandfather. A flicker of clarity cut through the fog in my mind. The Moritz family was just me and him now. He had lost his son and daughter-in-law. His pain was no less than mine. If I left him, too… I couldn’t bear to think of it. I took a shuddering breath, fighting the suicidal impulse, and struggled to reach my phone. But Blake saw. He had his men start throwing rocks at me. My body, already weak from the resurfacing trauma, was trembling uncontrollably. A rock hit my hand, and the phone skittered away, falling into the water. It flickered twice and went dark. The rocks also punched two large holes in the old boat. Icy water seeped in, chilling me to the bone. “Julian Moritz, didn’t you want to join your parents? I’m giving you the chance! You should be thanking me!” Isabelle said, her arms crossed as she watched me sink. “And as for your grandfather, that old geezer, when he gets here, I’ll make sure your whole family has a reunion at the bottom of this pond!” I struggled weakly, but it was no use. Grandfather… I’m sorry… Just as the water closed over my nose, a familiar, heavy tread echoed from behind them. An ebony cane swung through the air. “I’d like to see who’s sending my family to its reunion!”

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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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My buddy asked me once, after you cheat, do you still have feelings for your wife? I had to really think about it. How do you explain it? It’s not like there’s nothing there. After all, for the longest time, we were family. But if you ask if I’m still deeply in love with her… then no, that’s gone. I thought I’d finally figured out the true nature of marriage. Until one day, on a crowded street, I saw her laughing with another man. 1 I was on the balcony, slowly letting a smoke ring dissolve into the cold air, just about to answer Cole’s question when my phone buzzed. It was my wife, Yara. “What’s up, honey?” I kept my voice warm and gentle. She giggled before she even spoke. “Haha, Sean, when are you coming home? Gizmo learned how to do a backflip! You have to see it!” I smiled back into the phone. “Alright, I’ll be home soon. You in the mood for some of those caramel-glazed chestnuts from downtown? I can swing by and grab some.” “Yes, please!” “So, what’s the vibe for tonight? Starfall Dynasty or Midnight Bloom?” We hung up in a fit of cheerful laughter. When I turned back, Cole was staring at me, a blank, dazed look on his face. I just smirked. I wasn’t surprised. He’d just clawed his way through a brutal divorce battle with his wife over his mistress. The whole ordeal had skinned him alive, and now they were mortal enemies. And then there was me and Yara. The picture of a perfect couple, sickeningly sweet. Four years of marriage hadn’t led to the usual boredom; if anything, we seemed stronger, more deeply connected than ever. The truth is, I’d always been good to her. But after I started cheating, I became even better. By anyone’s standards, she was an enviably happy woman, living a charmed life. Cole nudged me with his chin. “Hey, you still haven’t answered my question.” I shook my head with a sigh, tapping the ash from my cigarette. “Let me put it this way,” I said. “When you touch your own hand, do you feel anything?” “Feel what? It’s just my hand.” I took a long drag, my eyes narrowing at the snow-dusted skyline in the distance. “That’s how it is with Yara now,” I said slowly. “Touching her is like touching my own hand. But if that hand got hurt… I’d feel the pain just as sharply.” Cole blinked. “And that’s your excuse for being with Celeste?” I shot him a serious, warning look. “Celeste is a proud woman. Don’t you ever, ever say something like that in front of her.” 2 I don’t think of myself as some kind of monster. Even though I slept with Celeste while I was married. Some things in this world… they just don’t go the way you plan. A year ago, at our high school reunion, I ran into Celeste—the girl I’d secretly worshipped from afar all those years ago. The moment I saw her, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The Celeste I remembered was radiant, untouchable. From a wealthy family, top of her class. For a guy like me, still wrestling with the awkward, insecure shadows of adolescence, she was a goddess, an impossible dream. But the woman I saw that day had been completely reshaped by life. She looked worn-down, gaunt, and haunted. The lines around her eyes and mouth were drawn tight, a permanent defense etched by years of hardship and struggle. An ache bloomed in my chest. It was like watching the moon you once prayed to fall from the heavens, crashing into the dirty, mundane world. Its light was gone, its surface covered in dust. As the reunion wound down, everyone was gathered around my new car. Celeste murmured, “That must’ve cost, what, sixty, seventy thousand?” Someone next to her scoffed. “Are you kidding? That’s a hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar car. Sean’s a regional director now, he’s made it. This isn’t high school anymore.” A flush crept up her neck, and she pressed her lips into a thin, hard line. “It’s not that much, don’t listen to them,” I said quickly. She glanced at me, her face a rigid mask, then turned and walked away without so much as a goodbye. As the crowd buzzed with chatter, I pieced together the story of her lost years. Her family’s business went bankrupt while she was in college, their fortune vanishing overnight. After graduation, she married the wrong man—a violent drunk. During one of their fights, he ended up dead. She sold everything she had to cover legal fees and restitution, but still ended up in prison. Now divorced, she was raising their four-year-old son, Leo, alone in a cramped rental, scraping by selling insurance policies. “She never used to come to these things,” someone commented. “Guess she was hoping to drum up some business. Nothing wrong with trying to make a living, but with that attitude, who’s going to bother?” Two weeks later, Celeste called me out of the blue, asking if I needed a commercial insurance plan. Yara, who works in the bancassurance division at her bank, had already set me up with full coverage years ago. I could hear the disappointment in Celeste’s voice, so I passed along a few of my friends’ numbers. To thank me, she invited me to dinner. I accepted. Not long after, her son came down with a high fever during a blizzard. She couldn’t get a cab and called me in a panic. Naturally, I dropped everything to help. After that, it became a casual thing. She’d cook something nice and have me over. Her son, Leo, started calling me “Uncle Sean,” clinging to my leg whenever I was about to leave. One night, a heavy snowstorm rolled in, and I was stuck at her place. We’d both had a couple of glasses of wine. After Leo was asleep, she got up and went into the bedroom. A moment later, she called my name. I walked in. She was sitting on the edge of the bed in a sheer, revealing nightgown, her eyes red-rimmed as she looked up at me. She bit her lip. “Sean,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I don’t have any other way to thank you. If you don’t mind… this is all I have to offer.” I was so flustered I turned to leave, stammering, “Celeste, I… I never expected you to… repay me. We’re old friends. It’s what friends do.” A low, melancholic sigh came from behind me. “I remember in class,” she said, her voice laced with sorrow, “you used to pretend you were sleeping, but you were always watching me. I know. I know I’m not what I used to be.” “If you’re worried about anything,” she continued, her voice gaining a desperate edge, “don’t be. I’m never getting married again. I would never, ever destroy your family. I just want… this. Right now.” The snow swirled furiously outside the window, a world away from the charged silence of the room. Suddenly, I turned around and lunged for her. 3 I got home late that night. As I pulled up to our building, I saw a small, bundled-up figure standing in the snow, peering down the street. It was Yara. When she saw my car, she let out a visible sigh of relief and came jogging towards me, her steps clumsy in the deep snow, a huge grin on her face. “Sean! Any later and you would’ve come home to a wife-sicle!” I had a lot of work events, so she never questioned where I’d been. She just unwound her own scarf, wrapped it snugly around my neck, and beamed. “Considering you made it home in one piece through this blizzard, I, your magnanimous ruler, will forgive you for not answering your phone.” That night, the bitter cold masked the stiffness of my body and the frozen expression on my face. … I adapted quickly to this new rhythm in my life. Celeste had a flexible schedule, and I often spent my afternoons visiting our various branch locations, so my absence from the office wasn’t unusual. We had plenty of time and places to meet. Even with her changed circumstances, Celeste carried herself with an air of pride, at least around me. Or maybe she just knew that was the version of her I was obsessed with. It reminded me of how she used to be. Cole, my best friend and old classmate, didn’t get it. “Look, Celeste was a knockout back in the day, I get it,” he’d said. “But now? She can’t hold a candle to Yara.” He didn’t understand. They say you spend your whole life chasing the one thing you couldn’t have as a kid. Celeste was that impossible thing. And now, she was beneath me. The thought filled me with an intoxicating, almost primal satisfaction every time we were together. She refused to take my money, saying it made her feel cheap. So, I found other ways to help. I referred friends and colleagues who needed insurance. I used her phone number to prepay for services at various stores. I’d pass on expensive gifts I received from clients. No matter how you looked at it, Celeste’s presence in my life felt like the ultimate testament to my success. I was a man who had it all. I never considered divorce. Yara and I were a perfect match. Our home was my sanctuary—a happy, stable life that I cherished. Being with her was easy; she was cheerful and easily contented. Around her, I felt relaxed, confident, alive. Besides, I’d made a promise at her mother’s deathbed. I swore I would always love her, always be good to her. And for years, I had been. As for the pain my affair could cause her? I’d thought it all through. She would only suffer if she knew. If she never found out, then there was no actual harm done, was there? If anything, life would be better for her. I was already providing for her every material and emotional need. Now, weighed down by a sliver of guilt, I was doubling my efforts, treating her better than ever before. And it was working. Our relationship was stronger now than it had ever been. 4 Every year on my birthday, Yara took the day off. She’d start her preparations in the morning, driving ten miles to the city’s best seafood market for the freshest ingredients. She’d spend the entire day washing, chopping, simmering, and frying, all in anticipation of the lavish feast that would be waiting for me when I got home from work. And I’d do my part, clearing my schedule to get home early. We’d finish the last bits of cooking together, laughing and talking before settling in for our celebratory dinner. But this year, Celeste called. “Can I be the one to celebrate your birthday with you?” she asked. I hesitated for two seconds, then said yes. For the past six months, Celeste had been true to her word. She hadn’t made a single unreasonable demand. In fact, after each of our trysts, she would meticulously check my clothes, my skin, making sure there were no stray hairs, no lingering scent of her perfume. I figured she must be feeling sidelined. It was understandable. Yara and I had every day together. A lifetime of days. We could celebrate countless birthdays. Missing one wouldn’t matter. I called Yara, telling her I had a last-minute dinner with some city officials and would be home late. Over the sound of sizzling oil, she asked, “Okay, what time do you think you’ll be back?” I thought for a moment. “Around seven.” “Got it!” Seven seemed reasonable. But that day, the moment I stepped into Celeste’s apartment, she was on me, kissing me with a fierce, desperate hunger. She’d sent Leo to a friend’s house and was wearing a provocative, see-through dress. She was bolder, wilder than I’d ever seen her. In bed, it was like she was trying to devour me whole. She used every trick she knew, pushing us both to the limit, again and again. When I finally drifted back to consciousness from a heavy, sated sleep, I glanced at my phone. It was already 11 PM. A jolt of panic shot through me, and I scrambled to get dressed. Celeste suddenly wrapped herself around me from behind, nipping my shoulder gently. Her eyes welled with tears as she whispered, “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have kept you this long today.” Her vulnerability made me feel guilty all over again. I finished dressing and soothed her. “In a little while, I’ll take you away for a few days. Just us. We’ll be like a real husband and wife. You can call me your husband, and I’ll do anything you want.” She laughed through her tears. “You and your silver tongue.” On the drive home, I assumed Yara would already be in bed. She was a creature of habit: asleep by eleven, up by seven, every single day. But when I walked in, I found her slumped over the dining table, fast asleep. The table was a feast, covered with elaborate dishes, fresh flowers, and a birthday cake. I checked my reflection in the entryway mirror to make sure there were no tell-tale signs, then walked over and gently shook her awake. Yara looked up at me, her eyes bleary with sleep. It took her a second to register who I was, and then her face split into a wide grin. “Honey, happy birthday!” My lips thinned. “Why were you sleeping out here?” She yawned. “Well, you said you’d be home at seven, and it’s your birthday, so of course I was going to wait for you. But I didn’t want to bother you while you were with city officials… I guess I just dozed off.” “You haven’t eaten?” The question came out sharper than I intended. “I tasted so much while I was cooking, I’m not even hungry,” she said with a cheerful wave of her hand. Looking at her, a strange, baseless anger surged inside me. “Are you crazy?” I snapped. “If I’m not home by this time, it obviously means I’ve already eaten out! Why wouldn’t you just eat by yourself?” Yara froze, her smile faltering. After a few seconds, she asked quietly, “What’s wrong?” I instantly realized how I sounded. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice. I’m just… tired today. I’m going to bed.” I fled to the bedroom like a coward. As I lay in bed, trying to make sense of my own bizarre emotions, I heard a rustle behind me. A warm body pressed against my back. “Honey, I’m sorry,” Yara whispered. “I know you were just worried about me going hungry. I promise next time, I’ll eat when I’m supposed to. Did something bad happen at your dinner tonight? Do you want to do something… fun… to take your mind off it?” This was our little ritual. If one of us was down, stressed out from work, or just in a bad mood, the other would initiate. It was a small, tender comfort we offered each other. I knew my anger was completely out of line, and her gentle gesture was the olive branch I needed. I started to turn towards her. But maybe it was exhaustion from my time with Celeste, or maybe it was something else entirely. I just… couldn’t perform. Nothing was happening. The more I tried, the more anxious I got, and the worse it became. “Let’s just sleep,” I muttered, my voice tight with frustration. Yara, thinking I was still sulking, started playfully tickling me. Something in me snapped. I let out a low growl. “Stop it! For God’s sake, have some dignity!” Yara’s hand froze mid-air. In the dim light of the bedroom, her eyes were wide with shock as she stared at me. 5 Yara was angry. The next morning, she left for work without a word. In all the years I’d known her, I could barely remember a time she’d been truly angry. We met six years ago at a charity event. I was captivated by the easy grace and confidence she projected while speaking on stage. I pursued her relentlessly. The more I got to know her, the more I discovered. She and her mother had faced incredible hardship, but Yara had cultivated a spirit of pure sunshine. Optimistic, generous, forgiving, and content with the simple things. She was almost always happy. To her, life’s obstacles were just “mini-bosses you have to beat before you can level up.” Sprained her ankle? “Guess the universe is telling me to take a break. Better listen!” Purse got stolen? “Awesome! Now I have an excuse to buy a new one!” I grew up in a tense, stifling household. Even after achieving some professional success, I was wound tight, always on edge. Being with her taught me how to finally unwind. How to appreciate a flower, how to watch the clouds drift by. How to accept myself. I bought a massive bouquet and went to pick her up from the bank, much to the amusement of her colleagues. When she saw me, she walked over, her lips pressed together, saying nothing. I theatrically slapped my own face. “It’s this stupid mouth’s fault! It deserves a beating! Honey, you want to take a swing?” She didn’t move. I made a grand gesture of getting down on one knee, which finally made her rush forward to stop me. A snort of laughter escaped her. “Fine. I’ll add it to your tab.” “I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me!” I grinned. She was quiet for a second, then looked at me, her expression serious. “Sean. This is a one-time thing. Don’t let it happen again.” I nodded like a bobblehead, and finally, her smile returned. The incident was quickly forgotten. Life went back to normal. A few days later, a massive blizzard hit the city, and the temperature plummeted. My chronic pharyngitis flared up. Yara announced she’d managed to get an appointment with a renowned traditional medicine specialist, famous for treating persistent throat issues. She was going to pick up my prescription the next day. The clinic was far, she said, and asked if I could drive her. I hesitated. Celeste’s son, Leo, had slipped on the ice and twisted his ankle. With the snow making travel impossible, I’d been driving them to and from his school and appointments. “If you’re busy, it’s fine. I can just get a cab,” Yara said breezily. I seized the opening. “That’s probably for the best. I have an important meeting tomorrow that’s going to take up the whole day.” The next day, I picked up Celeste and Leo. She mentioned he had a physical therapy session at a specialist’s clinic. The snow had started falling again, thick and heavy. When I pulled up to the clinic, a small, unassuming building, I was surprised to see a long line of people snaking out the door. I parked the car and was about to get out when I saw her. Near the back of the line stood Yara. She was bundled up in her thickest coat, her neck buried in her scarf, blowing on her hands to keep them warm. A fine layer of snow dusted her hair and shoulders. She’d clearly been standing out there for a long time. Celeste froze. “What is she doing here?” she whispered. My brow furrowed. I glanced in the rearview mirror. The alley was too narrow to turn around easily. “Don’t get out yet,” I said, thinking fast. “The sound of the door will make her look over, and she might recognize the car. Let’s wait until she’s inside.” Celeste bit her lip, silent. After a moment, she murmured, a bitter edge to her voice, “I’m just taking my son to the doctor. Why do I feel like I’m sneaking around?” I didn’t answer. I just sat there in the heated car, watching Yara shiver in the biting wind. She always hated the cold. At this rate, it would be another forty minutes before she got inside. Half an hour later, Celeste’s patience wore out. “If we wait any longer, we’re going to miss his appointment.” And then, she opened the car door and got out, holding Leo. Thump. The sound of the door closing echoed in the quiet alley. Instinctively, Yara turned her head, her gaze sweeping towards the sound. Her eyes landed first on Celeste, then slowly drifted to the car. A flicker of confusion crossed her face, which was red with cold. The next second, our eyes met. Hers and mine. A silent, staring match through the windshield of my car. And in that frozen moment, everything shattered.

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The night before my engagement party, my stepsister’s reckless driving left me broken. Joey Sterling, my once-gentle fiancé, lost his mind. He locked Ailsa away, pulling every string to make her pay for what she’d done. He burned through his fortune and called in every favor to keep me alive, but it was no use. I slipped into a vegetative state. In the last moment of consciousness, I saw Joey kneeling by my hospital bed, his face a mask of tears. “Elara,” he choked out, “I’ll wait for you. I’ll always wait for you.” Three years later, I opened my eyes. The first thing I saw was Ailsa, her hand resting on a swollen belly as she flaunted a diamond ring on her finger. “Joey and I are getting married soon,” she purred. “So be a good girl, stay quiet, and get the hell out of our lives.” She flicked a wad of cash at my face, the bills scattering across my lap. I picked them up, one by one. Then, under Ailsa’s disbelieving stare, I shoved them into her mouth. As Joey rushed to her side, pulling her protectively into his arms, I swallowed the coppery taste of blood in my throat and slapped him across the face. “You’re disgusting, Joey.” 1 The force of the slap snapped Joey’s head to the side, a raw, red mark blooming on his cheek. His eyes were a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. He reached for me, his hand hovering in the air for a moment before falling uselessly to his side. After a long, heavy silence, all he could manage was a hollow, “I’m sorry.” I wanted to scream at them to get out, but the words wouldn’t form. My breath came in ragged gasps. Panic flared in Joey’s eyes. He shot up, calling for a doctor. The physician who arrived assumed Joey was my next of kin and began to speak, but Ailsa suddenly clutched her stomach, crying out in pain. In an instant, Joey abandoned the doctor’s report. He swept Ailsa into his arms, barking orders and summoning half the medical staff to her side. “Elara, just wait for me,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll be right back.” Then he was gone, leaving me in the sterile silence of the room. A dark drop landed on the pristine white sheet. It wasn’t a tear. It was a grim reminder of my borrowed time. The doctor had barely finished explaining my prognosis when my father, Arthur Gabriel, walked in carrying a bouquet. Trailing behind him was Ailsa’s mother, Miranda. After a few empty pleasantries, Miranda slid a stack of photos onto my bedside table, her smile saccharine sweet. “These are some of the most eligible young men in the city, Elara. See anyone you like?” I kept my eyes down, refusing to acknowledge her. She shot a wounded look at my father. He took his cue, his voice stern. “Your sister is getting married. It’s time for you to stop dwelling on the past and find someone to settle down with.” A flicker of triumph lit Miranda’s eyes. “Love doesn’t wait, dear,” she said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “It’s a shame you and Joey didn’t work out, but you can’t interfere with their happiness now.” That was it. I snatched the photos and threw them in her face. “My mother is dead,” I snarled, my voice raw. “Who the hell are you to tell me what to do? Played the homewrecker for so long you’ve started to believe you’re the lady of the house?” For a moment, even Miranda’s practiced mask slipped, a flash of pure hatred in her eyes before she dissolved into crocodile tears. “Elara!” my father roared, his hand raised to strike me. For the first time in my life, I fought back. I grabbed his wrist, my grip surprisingly strong. My voice was ice. “A story about you cheating on my dying mother, or one about you striking your sick daughter… which do you think the tabloids would prefer, Dad?” We were locked in a standoff. Finally, he backed down, his face turning a shade of purple as he stormed out, dragging Miranda with him. “I can’t believe three years in a coma turned you into this monster!” he spat as he left. Only when they were gone did I allow myself to collapse. A violent cough wracked my body, and I spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor. My eyes landed on the bouquet they’d left behind—a cluster of yellow roses, now trampled on the ground. With my mother gone, no one remembered my allergy. Leaving the hospital, the doctor’s words echoed in my head. I was diagnosed with stomach cancer right before the wedding, three years ago. They said I wouldn’t live to see twenty-five. I’d been on my way to tell Joey, to call everything off, when Ailsa’s car slammed into me. I had missed the window for effective treatment. Now, the clock was ticking. I had two weeks left. 2 A heavy rain began to fall as I arrived at the house my mother had left me. It was supposed to be my wedding gift, the home where Joey and I would start our lives. Only the two of us knew the passcode. I stood in the downpour, trying every combination I could think of, my fingers numb and clumsy. Finally, on a whim, I typed in Ailsa’s birthday. The door clicked open. The entryway was cluttered with Ailsa’s designer shoes. On the main wall, a large wedding portrait of her and Joey had replaced the landscape painting that used to hang there. My mother’s photograph was tucked away in a dusty corner, forgotten. Ailsa was lounging on the sofa, a smug look on her face, while Joey knelt before her, gently massaging her feet. The sight of me turned them to stone. Joey froze, his expression a mixture of shock and guilt. I didn’t even look at him. My voice was a shard of glass. “Get out.” Ailsa’s disbelief quickly curdled into a malicious grin. “This is my house now. You’re the one who needs to get lost. Guards! Drag her out of here!” As two burly men moved toward me, Joey shot to his feet. He kicked them both to the ground, his face dark with fury. “Don’t you dare touch her!” His gaze softened as he turned back to me, and he reached out to cup my face. I flinched away as if his touch were acid. “I said, get out,” I repeated, my voice flat. “Don’t you understand English?” A shadow passed over his features. “Ailsa loves this house, Elara,” he said, his tone pleading. “I have other properties. You can have any of them. Just… let her have this one, please?” My stare was glacial. “Hit-and-run. Unlawful occupation of private property. If you don’t leave, I’ll have you both thrown in jail.” Ailsa laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. “Oh, you poor thing. Don’t you know that Joey already—” “—Take Miss Gabriel back to the main estate,” Joey cut her off, his voice sharp. Ailsa’s face fell. As she was escorted out, she deliberately knocked over my mother’s portrait, the frame shattering on the floor. “Oops,” she said with a vicious smile. “Slippery hands.” The glass splintered, and a gust of wind from the open door caught the photograph, sending it tumbling into a pile of trash by the curb. Joey sighed, a familiar weariness in his voice. He didn’t even notice the note of indulgence as he made excuses for her. “She’s young, she’s used to getting her way. Don’t mind her.” I ignored him, bolting out the door and into the rain. I fell to my knees beside the garbage heap, desperately clawing through the filth, all dignity forgotten. Joey saw me, my hands covered in grime, clutching the torn, wet pieces of the photograph like they were priceless treasures. A strange ache bloomed in his chest. He pulled me up from the mud, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re Elara Gabriel. What do you think you look like right now?” I slapped him again. “You have no right to tell me what to do, Joey,” I sneered. The look in my eyes seemed to shatter him. “Elara, I can explain everything,” he pleaded. “I’m not going to marry her.” But his words were cut short by one of his men running up to him, breathless. “Sir, it’s Miss Ailsa! She’s street racing again. We couldn’t stop her!” Joey’s mouth snapped shut. He looked at me, his face a canvas of regret, and uttered a single phrase: “Wait for me.” Then he turned and ran, leaving me standing alone in the storm. The old Joey would have run to me, no matter what. The new Joey only ever showed me his back. A bitter smile twisted my lips as the rain washed over my face, mingling with tears I couldn’t stop. Joey, I’m done waiting for you. 3 News of my miraculous recovery slowly trickled through our social circle, but the lack of an official announcement fueled rampant speculation. Unable to stand the gossip, my father insisted on throwing a party to celebrate my return. It was the perfect opportunity to retrieve my belongings from the family home, so I agreed. At the party, Ailsa was the center of attention, preening in a designer gown as sycophants flocked around her. She caught my eye from across the room and raised her glass in a mocking toast. “You’re so pathetic, Elara,” she whispered as I passed by, her voice laced with venom. “Did you really think this party was for you? It’s my engagement party with Joey.” I clutched the documents in my bag, ignoring her. Her perfect face twisted in a snarl. She stepped in front of me, blocking my path and tilting her neck to reveal a series of fresh, angry-looking bruises. “Don’t run off just yet. I wanted to thank you. Joey was so angry last night… he didn’t stop until dawn.” She leaned in closer, her breath hot against my ear. “I bet you didn’t know this, but during the first week you were in that coma, Joey and I tried out every inch of your wedding bed. Have you ever seen him when he’s rough, when he just takes what he wants?” Her eyes were filled with contempt. “You’re just as useless as your mother. I hit you with my car three years ago, and no one lifted a finger to help you. I could still crush you today without a second thought.” “So tell me,” she purred, a strange smile playing on her lips, “who do you think he really cares about? You, or me?” With that, she stumbled backward and collapsed onto the floor. “Elara, I already apologized! Why would you push me?” she shrieked, her eyes filling with tears as she stared up at me with a look of pure betrayal. A crowd gathered instantly, their whispers and pointed fingers a fresh wave of assault. Joey pushed through them, his face a mask of concern as he rushed to Ailsa’s side and helped her up. The movement jostled me, and I stumbled back, the sharp corner of a marble pillar digging into my spine. The pain was blinding. I didn’t say a word. In front of everyone, I walked over to Ailsa and slapped her, hard. “How old are you?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. “Is this pathetic little act the best you can do?” “Elara!” Joey’s shocked voice and Ailsa’s shriek of outrage echoed through the room. “The security cameras are right there,” I said, my gaze locked on Ailsa. “I dare you to let them play the footage. Do you?” I turned back to her. “You deserved that slap for your filthy mouth. We can settle all our scores, old and new. Why don’t you repeat those threats you just made to the police?” I pulled out my phone to dial 911. Joey knocked it from my hand. It clattered to the floor, the screen cracking. “That’s enough! Calm down,” he commanded. He stood there in silence for a moment before scooping Ailsa into his arms and carrying her away. The room erupted. Voices, sharp and pitying, sliced through the air. “Even if Ailsa’s a terrible actress and rotten to the core, she has him wrapped around her finger.” “Didn’t you hear? Mr. Sterling personally erased the records of the accident three years ago. No one even dares to mention it.” “It’s all part of their twisted game. The imprisonment, the drama… it’s just their version of foreplay. The great Elara Gabriel is nothing but a pawn.” My cold stare swept across the crowd, and they fell silent. A hot surge rose in my throat, and my hands began to tremble uncontrollably. I stumbled away from the scene, my legs barely holding me. Once I was out of sight, the strength I’d been faking deserted me. My whole body seized with pain, a fire tearing through my organs. I could barely stand. In a daze, I wiped away the blood streaming from my nose and mouth, but it just kept coming, a relentless tide telling me my life was about to end, right here, right now. I dug my nails into my palms, the sharp pain grounding me enough to pull out my phone again. My voice was steady. “Yes,” I said to the person on the other end. “I have the evidence.”

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