Category: English

Everyone in my family thinks I’m a frail, introverted good girl. But no one knows I’ve been lusting after my stepbrother Ethan for a long time. I’ve even secretly written a dark romance novel with him as the protagonist. In the book, I imprison him in a dark room, touch him as I please, make him cry and beg for my mercy. The colder he is to me in reality, the more cruelly I torment him in my novel. Until yesterday, when my stepbrother brought home a beautiful blind date. I went crazy with jealousy and returned to my room to torture him mercilessly in my novel all night long. In a daze, I discovered the novel’s plot bleeding into reality. Someone blindfolded me and tied my hands behind my back to a chair. Warm breath sprayed against my neck as a pair of hands methodically unbuttoned my collar. That familiar yet cold voice chuckled softly in my ear: “Last night’s update was quite well written. But Chloe, you got one thing wrong—I don’t like to beg. With my vision stripped away, my other senses amplified infinitely. Ethan’s fingertips carried a scorching heat as they traced across my skin inch by inch. I shuddered violently. This couldn’t be possible. He was always so proper, someone who buttoned his shirts all the way to the top. How could he speak to me in such an intimate tone? “Not going to say anything?” His finger flicked open my last button. The cool air touched my skin, and I trembled uncontrollably. “Ethan… I was wrong…” My voice quavered. I couldn’t tell if it was fear or hidden excitement. “Scared now?” He laughed lowly and untied one of my hands. But before my newly freed hand could move, he forcefully pressed it down. He pulled my hand downward. Through the thin fabric, that shocking heat made my scalp tingle instantly. I tried to pull my hand back, but he gripped it tightly. “Why are you running away?” He leaned against my ear, his teeth gently biting my earlobe. “Didn’t Chloe write in her book that I was tormented by aphrodisiacs until I lost my mind, crying and begging for your mercy?” I was so ashamed I could explode. Tears soaked through the blindfold. “I’ve taken the drug now.” He guided my movements, each one carrying irresistible force. “How do you want to see me beg?” I gasped heavily, my senses infinitely magnified in the darkness. The sensation in my palm was too vivid—hard and burning hot. Ethan’s voice was hoarse beyond recognition, heavy with panting. He rested his chin in the hollow of my neck, teeth lightly grinding against my throat. “Chloe, help me. Please.” He was actually begging me… using a tone tortured to the extreme, almost broken, begging me. The intense contrast made me both afraid and gave birth to a secret pleasure. My brain exploded with a boom, my rationality completely burned away. Following his force, my five fingers slowly tightened. Sweat dripped from his temple onto the side of my neck, so hot it made my whole body tremble. “Faster.” He urged in a low voice, his tone carrying not a hint of pleading but rather a commanding tone from on high. I could only be forced to follow his rhythm. The temperature in the air climbed steadily. The ambiguous sounds of panting were especially clear in the silent room. The intense sensory stimulation and mental tension made my head spin. I was already physically weak. My vision went black and I lost consciousness. When I woke again, sunlight streamed through the curtain gaps into the room. I bolted upright and found myself lying on my bedroom’s large bed, my pajamas neatly arranged. I let out a long breath. My back was already soaked with cold sweat. So it was just a dream. My palm seemed to still retain that shocking heat and sensation. I collapsed back into the pillows, my heart still pounding wildly in my chest. I must have become obsessed with writing my novel lately. What you think about during the day, you dream about at night. To actually have such an absurd erotic dream. Taking several deep breaths, I forcefully suppressed the twisted flutter in my heart and got up to wash. The girl in the mirror had faint dark circles under her eyes, looking like a sickly invalid who couldn’t withstand a gust of wind. But her cheeks were flushed, tear tracks still visible at the corners of her eyes—the appearance of someone who’d been bullied. Chloe Harper, you’ve really lost your mind. I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on my face. But the dream’s sensations were too real. That shocking heat, that hoarse panting, and the trembling sensation when he bit my earlobe. I leaned against the sink, my fingertips uncontrollably gripping the hem of my pajamas. My mind was filled with Ethan’s cold, ascetic face. In front of others, he always maintained a lofty appearance, but in my dreams, in my novel… He belonged to me. I closed my eyes, my breathing gradually becoming rapid. “Ethan…” I bit my lip, letting out a suppressed whimper.

Until my mother’s knocking came from outside the door. “Chloe, are you up? We’re having guests today, come downstairs for breakfast.” I snapped my eyes open. Guests? Could it be another blind date for Ethan? I took a deep breath, straightened my clothes, and pushed the door open. In the dining room, my stepfather and mom were chatting warmly. Ethan wore a well-fitted suit, his collar buttoned meticulously. He was looking down at the morning paper. The morning light outlined his cold, ascetic profile. Even his hair carried an inviolable sense of distance. This was the real Ethan. Lofty and untainted by worldly dust. I lowered my head, pulled out the chair next to him and sat down, calling out softly: “Dad, Mom, Ethan.” Ethan’s movements paused slightly. He gave a faint “Mm.” That voice was clear and clean, completely different from the hoarse, panting man in my dream. I bit my spoon, my gaze involuntarily drifting downward to his long legs. Imagining what kind of burning body was wrapped beneath that suit. Just then, the doorbell rang. A servant led a young woman inside. As expected, another blind date for Ethan. She wore exquisite makeup, every movement revealing the elegance of a high-society lady. “Ethan, Uncle, Auntie, good morning.” She greeted them with a smile and naturally walked to sit on Ethan’s other side. Ethan gave a slight nod in acknowledgment and stood to pour her a glass of warm water. “Thank you.” When their eyes met, there was an understanding that outsiders couldn’t intrude upon. My hand gripping the spoon tightened suddenly. Crazy jealousy threatened to drown me. Why could she sit beside him so openly? Why did she get such gentle treatment from him? I stared at that glass of water, wishing I could poison it. “Coming over so early, what’s the occasion?” Ethan’s tone remained cool, but held a bit more familiarity than when he spoke to me. Mia chuckled lightly, reaching up to play with her curled hair. “Didn’t we agree you’d accompany me today to choose a venue for the engagement party? Did you forget?” Engagement party. Those three words drove into my eardrums like nails. I lowered my head abruptly, biting my teeth hard. How long had they even known each other? And they were already getting engaged? Mom laughed beside them, unable to contain her joy. “Ethan’s busy with work, Mia. Please be understanding. If this boy dares bully you, tell me and I’ll deal with him for you.” “Don’t worry, Auntie. Ethan treats me very well.” Mia’s eyes sparkled as she looked at Ethan with adoring eyes. I watched them like a match made in heaven, my nails digging deep into my palms. I wanted so badly to gouge out those eyes of hers. I wanted so badly to tie Ethan up and lock him in a place where only I existed. Make him only look at me, only become aroused for me. I suddenly covered my mouth, coughing violently. This trick never failed me. As long as I showed signs of illness, everyone’s attention would immediately shift to me. Sure enough, Mom immediately rushed over nervously to pat my back. “Chloe! What’s wrong? Did you catch a cold?” I coughed until I couldn’t catch my breath, my eyes rimmed with pitiful red as I secretly observed Ethan from the corner of my eye. He frowned and stood to pour me a glass of water too. “Drink some water.” He brought the glass to my lips. I tremblingly reached out to take it, my fingertips covering the back of his hand. My heartbeat skipped, greedily savoring that brief moment of contact. Ethan didn’t pull back. He let me half-hold his wrist as he tilted the glass. The warm water moistened my dry throat. I finally stopped coughing. “Thank you.” I looked up at him with tearful eyes. From this angle, I could see his prominent Adam’s apple. So sexy. I wanted to bite it. “If you’re not feeling well, go back to your room and rest.” Ethan withdrew his hand calmly, his voice indifferent. He pulled out a disinfectant wipe and methodically wiped the back of his hand where I’d touched him. He actually found me dirty? Mia watched from the side, a flash of contempt in her eyes. “With Chloe’s poor health, she should probably stay home more. Ethan, let’s go. We’re almost late for our appointment.” She hooked her arm through Ethan’s. Ethan didn’t push her away. I watched their departing figures, the obedience in my eyes fading, leaving only gloom. After returning to my room, I immediately locked the door. I opened my computer and stared at the words on the screen. Anger and jealousy grew wildly. If only everything in the book were real. How wonderful that would be.

In the evening, when Ethan returned, he carried a faint scent of alcohol. Seeing him enter the study, I brewed a cup of tea and walked in. “Ethan.” Ethan was leaning back in his chair, rubbing his temples. His tie was loosened, the top two buttons of his collar undone, revealing a kind of decadent sexiness. Hearing my voice, he paused and looked over. “Why aren’t you asleep yet?” “I heard you come back, so I made you your favorite black tea.” I walked closer carrying the tray, deliberately stumbling. Ah! I cried out, my whole body falling straight toward him. Ethan caught me steadily as expected. I tumbled into his lap, enveloped by his intense masculine scent mixed with a faint alcohol smell. My breathing became chaotic. My heart pounded wildly, almost bursting through my chest. If I just tilted my head slightly, my lips could brush against his jawline. “Did you burn yourself?” Ethan’s voice came from above my head, deeper than usual, slightly hoarse. He didn’t immediately push me away. Those long-fingered hands even lingered at my waist for a moment. My whole body stiffened. I didn’t dare move, even slowing my breathing. “No… no.” I stammered in response, my eyes rimming red. “I’m sorry, I’m too clumsy.” I tried to stand, but my legs were weak and I fell back into his embrace. This time, my hand braced against his chest. Beneath my palm was his steady, powerful heartbeat. Through his shirt, it burned my fingertips. Ethan’s eyes darkened. He finally reached out to grip my shoulders, pulling me from his lap and steadily placing me to the side. His movements were restrained and distant. “So careless. What have I taught you?” He pulled out a tissue and methodically wiped the suit pants where I’d pressed against them. His tone returned to its lofty coldness. I lowered my head, staring at the water stains on the carpet, the dark flame in my heart burning hotter and hotter. “How did it go today with Miss Thompson choosing the venue?” I asked with feigned casualness, my fingers twisting my skirt hem tightly. Ethan’s wiping motion paused slightly. He looked up at me, his eyes unfathomable. “Adult matters. Children shouldn’t pry.” He stood up, looking down at me. “It’s late. Go to bed.” What kind of answer was that? Was he protecting Mia? I bit my lip, tears welling in my eyes, stubbornly sitting on the sofa without moving. “Do you think I’m annoying? After you get married, I won’t be able to come to you like this anymore, will I?” Ethan looked at me silently. After a long moment, he sighed. He walked in front of me, bent down slightly, and gently wiped the corner of my eye. “Don’t overthink it.” His voice softened a bit, carrying a seductive quality. “As long as Chloe is good, I’ll always be your brother.” Always be your brother. Who the hell wants you as a brother! What I want is you panting beneath me, those eyes seeing only me! I suddenly grabbed his hand, recklessly pressing my cheek against his palm, greedily absorbing his warmth. “I’ll be good.” I looked up at him, my gaze nearly obsessive. “I always listen to you.” Ethan let me nuzzle his palm, his gaze resting on my face. Then slowly withdrew his hand. “Go to sleep.”

Wednesday afternoon, my parents went on a business trip. Only Ethan and I remained at home. I carried a plate of freshly cut fruit and carefully pushed open the study door. Ethan was leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed, breathing evenly, seemingly already asleep. His tie was loosened slightly, revealing a large expanse of delicate collarbone. I stared at his thin lips, my mind filled with scenes from my novel of him being kissed until red and swollen, panting. My hand reached out uncontrollably, inching closer to his cheek. Just one touch would be enough. His phone on the desk suddenly vibrated. I jerked my hand back like I’d been shocked, my heart nearly leaping from my throat. The screen displayed a message from Mia. “Darling, I came back early. Let’s have dinner together tonight.” Darling. Those three words stabbed my eyes. Ethan was awakened by the vibration. He slowly opened his eyes, his gaze hazy for a moment before returning to clear indifference. Seeing me standing nearby, he sat up straight and casually adjusted his collar. “What is it?” “Nothing… I brought you some fruit.” I pointed frantically at the fruit plate on the desk. Ethan’s gaze fell on the lit screen. A trace of extremely faint smile actually rippled in his eyes. It was a warmth I’d never seen before. He picked up his phone to reply to the message, not even sparing me a glance. “Leave it there. I’ll eat it later.” I don’t know how I walked out of the study. Back in my room, I swept everything on the desk to the floor. Why! Why should he give all his tenderness to that woman! Ethan was mine. Could only be mine! Since he wanted to fly away with someone else, I’d break his wings and drag him into hell with me. I pulled open the drawer and took out a small white bottle from the very back. This was something I’d obtained from the black market. Originally just an impulse purchase, but now it finally had a use. In the afternoon, Ethan went out for a while. When he returned in the evening, he carried a faint perfume scent. Mia’s scent. I forcefully suppressed the violence in my heart, lowering my eyes as I brought a cup of calming tea to the living room. “Ethan, you’ve been working overtime so much lately. Drink some calming tea and get some rest early.” Ethan removed his suit jacket and casually accepted the teacup without any wariness, tilting his head back to drain it in one go. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. The swallowing motion was inexplicably sexy. After drinking, he handed me the empty cup, his gaze lingering on my face for a moment. “You don’t look well today either. Get some sleep early.” The rare concern in his tone made me waver for an instant. But thinking of how he was about to get engaged to another woman, that wavering instantly turned to ash. I clutched the cup and obediently nodded, returning to my room. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I stared at the time on my phone. One hour later. I soundlessly opened my door and walked out. Ethan’s door wasn’t locked. I gently opened it. The room was pitch black. He lay on the large bed, his breathing long and deep. I crouched beside the bed, my gaze tracing his features. This absolute sense of control made my whole body tremble. Worldly ethics and morality were completely cast aside in this moment. He was a responsible person. Even if he hated me, he could only be bound to my side. I climbed onto the bed, straddling his lean waist and abdomen. Trembling, I reached out to undo the first button of his pajamas. Then the second, the third. A large expanse of firm chest was exposed to the air. I leaned down, my nose nearly touching his skin, greedily inhaling his unique pine scent. “Ethan, you’re about to be mine.” I murmured obsessively, closing my eyes and kissing toward his thin lips. Just then, a hand suddenly gripped the back of my neck, pinning me in place. My whole body stiffened. My blood nearly froze. Ethan, who should have been in deep unconsciousness, slowly opened his eyes. Those black eyes, usually cool and ascetic, now churned with unfathomable dark currents. The world spun. He flipped me onto the bed. He turned over and pinned me beneath him. His cool fingertips brushed across my skin, stirring up tremors. He laughed lowly, his voice carrying a heart-bewitching hoarseness in the silent night. “Chloe, the dosage wasn’t enough.”

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I lived as a mute for three years for Ethan Lancaster. I didn’t dare speak loudly. I didn’t dare touch my cello. I even kept my breathing quiet. All because my “hypersensitive” husband couldn’t stand the slightest noise. Then I saw him at a noisy Livehouse, another woman in his arms. They kissed passionately in the chaos. It turned out his condition only applied to me. My voice was noise, but her rock music was his cure. That night, I signed the divorce papers, dragged my suitcase out, and left without looking back. Three years later, at Vienna’s Musikverein, I took the stage as principal cellist. And he knelt backstage, clutching the ring I once wore, begging me to come back. Right in front of him, I threw the ring into the trash. “Trash belongs in the trash.” Stella Sterling POV I spent three years being a “mute” in the Lancaster household. Not because I couldn’t speak, but because of my husband, Ethan Lancaster. He suffered from severe neurasthenia and hyperacusis. Everyone in San Diego knew that Ethan Lancaster, the head of Lancaster Corporation, loved silence and hated noise. He couldn’t tolerate the slightest commotion. High-decibel sounds would give him splitting headaches and even trigger severe physical nausea. Because of his condition, I lived like a ghost in these three years. I carpeted the entire mansion with the thickest rugs. I wrapped every table corner and door hinge in soundproof foam. I fired all the staff and took care of him myself, just because their footsteps might bother him. I even gave up my cello. The one I loved more than life itself. I locked it in the basement and never touched it again. In front of Ethan, I barely even breathed loudly. I spoke in soft whispers, never daring to raise my voice. I thought it was his weakness. A physical defect he couldn’t overcome beneath that cold, noble exterior. I willingly dimmed my shine and silenced my energy for him. I became his quietest, most obedient wife in this tomb-like mansion. Until tonight. A friend sent me a video. The background was San Diego’s most famous, and loudest, underground Livehouse. Heavy metal drums pounded. Lights flashed. The crowd screamed. Their voices nearly lifted the roof. And right in the center of the video, sitting in the front row of the VIP section without even frowning, was the man who “got physically sick from noise.” My husband, Ethan Lancaster. Through the screen, I could clearly see that Ethan wasn’t wearing any noise-canceling earplugs. Instead, he lounged lazily on the sofa, his gaze piercing through the chaotic crowd, focused tenderly on the woman performing on stage. That woman was Miranda Lynn. She was the love Ethan had hidden in his heart for seven years, the first love he had once defied everyone, even risking a break with his family, to be with. At the end of the video, cold sparks suddenly shot from the stage with a massive explosion. Ethan almost instinctively stood up, strode quickly to the stage edge, and pulled Miranda into his protective embrace. He gave Miranda all his tenderness and protection, completely forgetting that he himself was supposed to be a severe neurasthenia patient who “couldn’t tolerate any noise.” I don’t know how I walked out of the mansion or how I took a cab to that Livehouse. When I pushed open the door, the deafening music hit me like a tsunami. My eardrums ached from the assault, my heart pounded violently in my chest, and I nearly vomited. I hadn’t heard sounds this loud in three years. For Ethan, I had grown accustomed to deathly silence, to soundlessness. My hearing had even become abnormally fragile from years of overprotection. But now, forcing down my discomfort, I pushed through the wild, packed crowd step by step until I reached the front. Less than thirty feet away, Ethan was looking down, saying something to Miranda. Miranda’s eyes were slightly red, as if she’d been wronged somehow. Ethan sighed softly, reached up to tousle her hair, his eyes filled with an indulgence and tenderness I had never seen in three years. Was this really the same Ethan who would coldly tell me to get out if I accidentally knocked over a water glass? I stared at them, tears streaming down my face. I remembered the New Year’s Eve of our first year married, when fireworks suddenly went off outside. The loud noise left Ethan pale-faced. He locked himself in his study and didn’t speak to me for three whole days. After that, I never celebrated another holiday, never listened to music again. I thought he was seriously ill. I thought he was simply cold by nature, unable to tolerate external noise. But only now did I suddenly understand. Lofty angels aren’t incapable of descending to earth. His hyperacusis could have exceptions too. He couldn’t tolerate noise. He just couldn’t tolerate sounds I made. Miranda’s rock music was medicine that healed him, while my cello was merely noise that disgusted him. How ridiculous. I had once been the most brilliant young cellist at Vienna’s Musikverein. Proud, radiant, supremely confident. Yet for a man who never loved me, I clipped my wings. I silenced my voice. I spent three years in humble suffering. A widow’s marriage. Since his condition had long been cured, since he’d already found his medicine. Then it was time for this dispensable “mute” to exit the stage.

Stella Sterling POV The atmosphere in the Livehouse reached its peak as the band began their encore, and the crowd below descended into complete frenzy. The mass of people surged forward like a tide, and my body swayed precariously among the frenzied fans. I was shoved by those around me, stumbled, and fell hard less than ten feet from Ethan’s VIP booth. My knee slammed into the edge of a hard step, and searing pain shot through me. The commotion caught the bodyguards’ attention. Several black-suited security guards rushed forward, forcibly separating the surging crowd and roughly shoving me, who had fallen to the ground, back. “Stand back! Don’t disturb Mr. Lancaster and Miss Lynn!” The bodyguard’s cold voice cut clearly through the noisy music. My palm scraped across the rough floor, tearing away a large patch of skin and drawing blood. I didn’t cry out in pain. I just raised my head and looked directly at Ethan across the short distance between us. Ethan had clearly noticed the disturbance. He frowned slightly, his gaze sweeping over coldly. When he saw it was me, a flash of shock crossed his deep eyes, but it vanished instantly, replaced by undisguised annoyance and ice. He didn’t come forward to help me up. He didn’t even stop the bodyguards’ rough treatment. He simply turned aside instinctively, completely shielding the startled Miranda behind him, as if I were some dangerous beast that might bring harm. “What are you doing here?” Ethan looked down at me from his superior position, his voice cold as ice. “Stella, have you sunk to stalking now?” Stalking. Sunk to. Those words were like sharp knives, stabbing precisely into my heart. Pain wracked my entire body, but I stubbornly refused to look away. I gazed at Ethan’s devastatingly handsome face and suddenly found it utterly unfamiliar. “I was just passing by.” I forced myself to stand up from the ground, my voice hoarse and dry from not speaking loudly in so long. “I apologize for disturbing Mr. Lancaster and Miss Lynn.” Miranda peeked out from behind Ethan. Seeing the blood on my hand, she immediately covered her mouth with a gasp. “Oh my God, Stella, you’re bleeding! Ethan, you should have someone take her to the hospital. There are too many people here, it’s too dangerous.” Her concern sounded so sincere, as if she were the legitimate Mrs. Lancaster, while I was just a stranger who’d accidentally wandered into their world. But Ethan didn’t even glance at the wound on my hand, his tone utterly flat. “Don’t worry about her. She has legs, she can go to the hospital herself.” Then he turned to the bodyguards with a cold order. “Clear out the irrelevant people. Don’t let them frighten Miranda again.” Irrelevant people. I silently chewed on those words in my mind and let out a low laugh. Three years of marriage, over a thousand days and nights of companionship and compromise. In his eyes, I was just an “irrelevant person.” Following their orders, the bodyguards immediately stepped forward and gestured dismissively. “Miss, please leave immediately.” I didn’t look at Ethan again. I straightened my back, turned around, and walked out that door step by step without looking back. Outside, a cold autumn rain had started falling at some point. Icy raindrops pelted my face and body, instantly soaking me to the bone. I didn’t open an umbrella or call a car. I just walked aimlessly along the empty street. Flashing through my mind were the absurd five years I’d spent. At twenty, I fell in love with Ethan Lancaster at first sight at a Sterling family banquet. Back then, he was the brightest rising star, cold, ascetic, utterly unattainable. Like a fool, I set aside all my pride to pursue him. I learned to cook for him, tempered my personality for him, and even during the six months after his car accident from family power struggles when he was temporarily blind, I stayed by his hospital bed for the entire half year. Later, he finally agreed to marry me. I thought I’d finally moved his heart. Our wedding night. He coldly tossed me a prenuptial agreement and laid down that “absolute silence” rule. That’s when I finally understood. He married me for the Sterling family’s influence. And because I was obedient. Quiet. Easy to keep in line. And now, Miranda had returned. The woman who could make him break all his rules, who could make him willingly endure noise, had returned. I stopped walking, tilted my head back, and let the icy rain wash over the tears on my face. Enough. Really, enough. Though I’d loved him humbly, the pride in my bones hadn’t completely died. Since he didn’t love me, since his heart would forever hold only another woman, then I was done serving him. These three years. I’d just consider them wasted on a dog. I wiped the rain from my face. I pulled out my phone and called my lawyer. “Mr. Williams, draft a divorce agreement for me. As soon as possible.”

Stella Sterling POV When I returned to the mansion, it was already two in the morning. I didn’t change out of my soaked clothes or treat the now-congealed wound on my palm. Instead, I went straight to the basement. At the far end of the basement sat a large temperature-controlled case. I entered the password and opened it. Inside lay a deep brown cello. It was my eighteenth birthday gift from my grandfather, and my “comrade-in-arms” through countless international competitions. Since marrying Ethan, this cello had never seen daylight. I reached out with trembling hands and gently caressed the cold wood grain of the instrument’s body. I carefully packed the cello and carried it back to the master bedroom. Over the next several hours, I methodically packed my belongings. I actually didn’t own much. Over these three years, to match Ethan’s minimalist, cold aesthetic, I’d thrown away all my brightly colored clothes. My jewelry box contained only a few plain accessories. I stuffed the few items of clothing and documents that belonged to me into my suitcase. Finally, I placed the divorce agreement that Mr. Williams had sent over and printed overnight squarely on the massive black-and-white marble coffee table in the living room. After finishing everything, dawn had broken. At eight in the morning, the sound of fingerprint unlocking came from the mansion’s main door. Ethan walked in carrying a chill and the faint scent of tobacco. His suit jacket was draped over his arm, his tie slightly loose, his brows showing traces of exhaustion from staying up all night. When he saw me sitting on the sofa with a suitcase at my feet, his steps paused briefly, and his brows immediately furrowed. “What are you making a fuss about now?” Ethan’s voice dripped with impatience. “Wasn’t making a scene at the Livehouse last night enough? Now you’re staging a runaway drama at home?” I looked up at him. No hysterical questioning, no tears of grievance and compromise. “I’m not making a fuss.” My voice was soft. “Ethan, let’s get divorced.” Ethan’s movements froze abruptly. As if hearing some absurd joke, he laughed coldly, casually tossed his suit jacket on the sofa, and walked over to look down at me from above. “Stella, do you think you can force me to yield to you this way?” Ethan’s eyes filled with mockery. “Miranda spent seven years abroad and developed severe depression and claustrophobia. Her therapist suggested she visit crowded, lively places for exposure therapy. I was only there last night as a friend accompanying her for treatment. As Mrs. Lancaster, with perfect health and everything you could want, must you compete with a sick person?” A sick person. A friend. Listening to these high-sounding excuses, I felt nothing but churning nausea in my stomach. “What about your neurasthenia?” I looked into his eyes and asked word by word. “Weren’t you supposed to get headaches and nausea from sounds over fifty decibels? The sound system at the Livehouse last night was deafening. Why didn’t your condition flare up?” Ethan’s expression darkened instantly, anger at being exposed flashing in his eyes. “I took medication.” He looked away coldly, his tone forceful. “Stella, my patience has limits. Don’t push it.” “Right, you took medication.” I smiled. “For her, you can take medication to endure the noise you hate most. But for you, I didn’t touch my cello for three years and even walked on tiptoe. Ethan, don’t you think you’re a hypocrite?” “What exactly are you trying to say?” Ethan’s patience completely ran out, his voice rising. “I’m saying I’m done.” I stood up and pushed the document on the coffee table toward him. “I’ve already signed the divorce papers. I’ll leave with nothing. I don’t want a cent of the Lancaster fortune. Just sign your name, and we can divorce tomorrow. From now on, you can accompany your beloved for her treatment, and we’ll owe each other nothing.” Ethan looked down, his gaze falling on that black-and-white document. He stared hard at my face. “Stella, you’ve grown quite bold.” Ethan laughed in fury, grabbed the agreement, tore it to shreds right in front of me, and threw the pieces violently on the floor. “Think you can threaten me into cutting ties with Miranda through divorce? You’ve chosen the wrong method.” He closed in on me, his eyes menacing. “Let me tell you. I won’t agree to this divorce. You’d better put that suitcase back right now and be the obedient Mrs. Lancaster you’re supposed to be. Otherwise, I guarantee that once you walk out that door, you won’t get anywhere in this city!” With that, he turned without hesitation, strode out of the mansion, and slammed the door. I looked at the scattered paper fragments on the floor. No anger, no sorrow. I simply bent down, picked up my suitcase, shouldered my cello, and walked out of this prison that had trapped me for three years without looking back. If he wouldn’t sign, fine. I’d just file for divorce in court. Either way, I was never coming back.

Stella Sterling POV After leaving the Lancaster house, I moved into an apartment in the city center. It was a property I’d bought outright before marriage. Ethan didn’t know about it. After settling in, the first thing I did was call my former professor, Leonard Wright, principal conductor of the National Symphony Orchestra. “Stella? Is it really you?” On the other end, Leonard’s voice trembled with excitement. “Three years! You finally decided to contact me, girl! I thought you’d really decided to spend your whole life as that invisible wife for the Lancaster family!” My eyes grew hot. I took a deep breath, forcing down the bitterness in my throat. “I’m sorry for disappointing you. I want to come back. Does the orchestra… still have a place for me?” “Yes! Of course!” Leonard answered without hesitation. “Early next month, the orchestra is holding a major charity symphony concert at the theater. Our original principal cellist withdrew due to tendonitis. If you’re willing, come to the orchestra tomorrow for an audition! As long as your foundation hasn’t deteriorated, the position is yours!” After hanging up, I looked at the cello standing quietly in the corner, and light finally rekindled in my heart. Early the next morning, I brought my cello to the National Symphony Orchestra’s rehearsal hall. After three years without touching the instrument, my fingers were initially stiff. But when bow met string and produced the first note, the muscle memory carved into my bones instantly awakened. When I finished a difficult piece, Elgar’s Cello Concerto in E minor, the entire rehearsal hall fell silent. Then it erupted in thunderous applause. Leonard excitedly patted my shoulder. “Wonderful! Marvelous! Stella, not only haven’t you regressed, you’ve gained a depth and explosive power you didn’t have three years ago! The principal position is definitely yours!” I was genuinely happy. However, this joy didn’t last long. That afternoon, while I was alone in a practice room familiarizing myself with the score, the door was suddenly pushed open roughly. Ethan’s chief assistant, Marcus, walked in with several workers wearing moving company uniforms. “Mrs. Lancaster.” Marcus saw me and bowed his head slightly, though his tone carried undeniable firmness. “Mr. Lancaster has instructed us to take the antique cello you have here.” I stood up and blocked the cello. “What did you say? This is my cello. What right does he have to take it?” Marcus explained expressionlessly. “Miss Lynn is also participating in next month’s charity concert as a guest violinist for her comeback performance. However, her violin was damaged during air transport back to the country. Mr. Lancaster said your cello has excellent tone quality, and though they’re different instruments, it can be used by Miss Lynn’s accompaniment team to ensure a perfect performance.” I couldn’t believe my ears. “Has he lost his mind?” I trembled with rage. “This was my grandfather’s legacy to me! It’s something I value more than life! He wants to take my cello just to support Miranda’s performance?” “Mrs. Lancaster, please don’t make this difficult for us.” Marcus waved his hand, and several workers immediately stepped forward, attempting to forcibly remove the cello. “Don’t touch it!” I desperately protected the case. Just then, my phone rang. “Ethan Lancaster” flashed on the screen. I answered, my voice shaking with anger. “Ethan, what the hell are you trying to do?!” On the other end, Ethan’s voice remained coldly indifferent, as if discussing some trivial matter. “Marcus should have explained it to you clearly. Miranda needs a good instrument. That cello of yours will just gather dust in your hands anyway. Better to lend it to her.” “I told you, that’s my cello! I’m performing next month too. I need it!” I spoke through gritted teeth. “Performing?” Ethan scoffed, his tone full of contempt. “Stella, you haven’t touched a cello in three years. What are you doing running to the orchestra to make trouble? You think a concert is kids playing house? Don’t embarrass yourself on stage.” “Whether I embarrass myself or not is none of your business!” “Enough, stop making a scene.” Ethan cut me off impatiently. “It’s just a cello. I’ll have Marcus order ten of the latest models for you tomorrow. Miranda’s emotional state is very unstable right now. This performance is important for restoring her confidence. As Mrs. Lancaster, can’t you be a little more generous?” Generous? Hearing those words, I found them utterly absurd. For another woman’s confidence, he would ruthlessly trample my pride and seize my most precious faith. “Ethan, I’m saying this one last time. I won’t lend it.” I spoke each word deliberately. “If you dare let anyone touch my cello, I’ll call the police immediately.” The line went silent for two seconds, then Ethan’s ice-cold warning came through. “Stella, must you make this so ugly? Believe me or not. You won’t just lose that cello, you won’t even be able to get through the doors of the National Symphony Orchestra!” My heart plunged into an ice cellar at that moment. Looking at the advancing workers and Marcus’s expressionless face, I released my protective grip on the case. “Fine. Take it.” “Ethan Lancaster, remember this. I’m giving you this cello as charity today. From now on, between us, all debts are settled.” I hung up and watched as the workers carried away the cello that held all my dreams and memories. The moment the door closed, I didn’t cry. My heart had already died. It died in Ethan’s casual remark about “don’t embarrass yourself on stage.”

Stella Sterling POV Two weeks later, at the theater. This charity symphony concert, jointly hosted by several top financial conglomerates, not only gathered the nation’s finest musicians but also attracted countless celebrities and dignitaries. I didn’t attend as Mrs. Lancaster. After all, we’d kept our marriage secret for three years. The outside world had no idea Ethan was married. I came as a guest cellist with the National Symphony Orchestra. Though the antique cello had been seized, Professor Wright had worked through the night to borrow an equally prestigious instrument for me, preserving my performance opportunity. At seven p.m., the red carpet ceremony officially began. I wore a well-tailored black velvet gown, my hair swept up elegantly. Free from the oppressive rules of the Lancaster household, I felt much more relaxed. I had just walked to the signature board when the crowd suddenly erupted in violent commotion and flashbulbs went wild. “It’s Mr. Lancaster! Ethan Lancaster is here!” “Oh my God, who’s that woman with him? She’s gorgeous! Mr. Lancaster is actually helping her out of the car himself!” My hand holding the signing pen paused slightly. I turned to look. At the end of the red carpet, Ethan wore a custom black suit, his posture upright, coldly noble. And on his arm was Miranda in a custom white starlight gown. One in black, one in white, they walked slowly forward surrounded by countless cameras. Miranda seemed somewhat uncomfortable with such blinding flashbulbs and shrank back slightly. Ethan immediately turned aside, using his tall frame to shield her from some of the cameras, leaning down to whisper comfort in her ear, his eyes so tender they could drip water. Reporters frantically pressed their shutters, someone shouting questions. “Mr. Lancaster, is this beautiful lady your girlfriend? Did you come tonight specifically to support her?” Ethan stopped, his gaze sweeping the entire venue before settling on the cameras. “This is Miranda, tonight’s guest violinist.” Ethan’s voice carried through the microphone across the entire plaza, low and firm. “She’s also… a very important person to me. I hope everyone will support her performance tonight.” The entire venue erupted. This was clearly Ethan announcing Miranda’s status to the entire city. Standing in the shadows not far away, I quietly watched this scene. My heart was strangely calm. No jealousy, no anger, only indifference. I turned and walked straight into the theater without another glance at them. The first half of the concert went extremely smoothly. My solo performance stunned the audience. With flawless technique and abundant emotion, I announced to everyone the powerful return of the former cello prodigy. During intermission came the charity auction segment. I sat in the orchestra section, watching the auction items sell one by one on stage. Until the final featured item was wheeled onto the stage. It was a pair of rare nineteenth-century European royal antique matching rings, called “Eternal Vow.” The instant I saw those rings, I took a sharp breath. Before our wedding, I had seen this pair of rings at a private exhibition and loved them beyond measure. Full of joy, I’d pulled Ethan along, hoping he would bid on them as their wedding rings. But Ethan had only glanced at them coldly, shaken off my hand, his tone mocking. “Stella, marriage is just a transaction of interests. Buying such impractical things, don’t you find that ridiculous?” In the end, our wedding rings were just ordinary plain bands, and Ethan, citing “inconvenience at work,” never wore his once in three years. And now, the auctioneer enthusiastically introduced the rings’ significance on stage. “‘Eternal Vow,’ representing love that transcends time until death. Starting bid, twenty million!” As soon as the words left his mouth, from the front VIP section, Ethan raised his paddle without hesitation. “Fifty million.” The entire venue gasped. Jumping straight to thirty million more. This wasn’t just a display of wealth but a determination to win. No one dared compete with Ethan. The auctioneer excitedly brought down the gavel. “Fifty million, sold! Congratulations, Mr. Lancaster!” The host joked with a smile. “Mr. Lancaster spent a fortune on this pair of couple’s rings. Which lucky lady are you planning to give them to?” The spotlight instantly focused on Ethan and Miranda sitting beside him. Ethan stood up and accepted the velvet box containing the rings from the staff. He turned his head, looking at Miranda beside him, her face full of shy delight, his voice carrying through the microphone to every corner of the theater. “These past years, I lost something very precious and left behind a great regret.” Ethan’s gaze was deep and devoted. “These rings are to make up for that regret. I want to give them to the person who is most important to me.” The venue erupted in thunderous applause and cheers. Miranda covered her mouth, tears of emotion streaming down her face. And sitting in the corner, I silently raised my phone and recorded the entire scene. I opened my email and sent the video to Mr. Williams with a message. “Mr. Williams, this is the latest evidence of Ethan Lancaster’s extramarital affair and transfer of marital assets. Please add it to the divorce litigation file.” After sending it, I darkened the screen. Ethan Lancaster, since you love such public displays of affection, I’ll grant your wish and let you love to your heart’s content. In court.

Stella Sterling POV After the auction segment ended, it was time to prepare for the second half of the performance. I stood up and headed toward the backstage restroom. Just as I reached the corridor corner, I heard a familiar light laugh.”Ethan, these rings are too expensive. I really can’t accept them.” Miranda’s delicate voice carried a hint of shyness. “As long as you like them, any price is worth it.” Ethan’s voice was low and tender. “You deserve this.” I paused mid-step, intending to turn and leave, but accidentally kicked a decorative planter by the wall, making a soft sound. The two people in the corridor turned their heads simultaneously. The moment he saw me, the tenderness on Ethan’s face vanished instantly, replaced by his usual coldness and wariness. He instinctively pulled Miranda behind him, his brows furrowed. “What are you doing here? Eavesdropping again?” I almost laughed at his persecution complex. I smoothed my dress and walked forward to face them both. “Mr. Lancaster thinks too highly of himself. This is the only way to the restroom. I’m not bored enough to eavesdrop on other people’s declarations of love.” Miranda stepped out from behind Ethan, her gaze falling on me, a flash of barely concealed jealousy in her eyes. “Stella, don’t misunderstand.” Miranda bit her lip, putting on a pitiful expression. “Ethan only bid on the rings to cheer me up because I’ve been under so much stress lately. Oh, and I need to thank you for lending that antique cello to my team. The tone is really wonderful. Ethan said you didn’t need it anymore. You’re not angry with me, are you?” These words, seemingly grateful, were actually flaunting Ethan’s favoritism toward her with every sentence while twisting the knife in my heart. Looking at her hypocritical face, I laughed coldly. “Miss Lynn is too kind.” I lifted my chin slightly. “Since that cello has already been touched by others and tainted, I don’t want it anymore. Consider it a donation to those in need. After all, someone has to deal with the garbage.” “You!” Miranda’s face went pale, her eyes instantly reddening as she looked at Ethan with grievance. “Ethan, I didn’t mean anything by it. How can Stella say such things…” “Stella Sterling!” Ethan shouted harshly, his face terrifyingly dark. “Watch your mouth! Miranda thanked you out of kindness, and you have to act like a lunatic making a scene? Apologize to her right now!” “Apologize?” I met his angry gaze fearlessly and smiled slightly. “Ethan, have you forgotten you’re supposed to be a severe neurasthenia patient? You could handle that noisy auction earlier, and now to protect her, you’re even raising your voice. You two really are a perfect match. One with depression who can play violin in front of thousands, another with hyperacusis who can chat and laugh at a Livehouse. Truly two medical miracles.” My words struck Ethan’s face, turning it iron blue. For three years, I had always been docile and silent, not even daring to breathe loudly. But now, each of my sentences hit precisely where it hurt. “Stella Sterling, you’re completely unreasonable!” Burning with rage, Ethan suddenly reached out, trying to grab my wrist. “Don’t touch me!” I reacted quickly, retreating a step sharply. “Ethan Lancaster, you disgust me.” His hand froze in midair, his pupils contracting violently. He stared into my eyes. “Say that again.” He spoke through gritted teeth, the words barely squeezing out. “I don’t repeat myself.” I glanced at him coldly. “Please control your people, Mr. Lancaster, and stop bothering me. Otherwise, I don’t mind letting the whole city know that Mr. Lancaster is not only a hypocrite but also a cheating scumbag.” With that, I turned without hesitation and walked away from the corridor without looking back. Leaving Ethan standing there alone.

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When a gentle woman moved into our home, I saw my brother smile for the first time in ages. He said she would live with us and take care of me. I ran to her with a card I’d made and asked if she knew his biggest wish. She crouched down, smiled, and said, “Your brother’s biggest wish is for you to disappear.” At that moment, memories flooded back: my parents in a pool of blood, my brother’s vows at their graves, the plates I broke, the tears he could never wipe away. After the accident, I became the idiot everyone whispered about. My medical bills drained our family’s savings. My brother went to college by day and worked grueling night shifts, yet returned to a house I’d trashed. I’d throw filthy things at him, shouting that he wanted to hurt me. He never got angry, just held me, repeating, “Besser, it’s me. It’s your brother.” Later, as I worsened, he had to take me everywhere. One day, I ruined a new job he’d worked so hard to get. He crouched with his back to me, shoulders shaking, and said brokenly, “Besser, why don’t you just die? Stop torturing me…” Those words unlocked a piece of my memory. I walked over, wiped his face with my shirt, and whispered, “Brother, don’t cry.” He pulled me into a tight hug, choking on apologies. Now I finally understood. Those moments of clarity and his occasional tenderness were just the calm before the storm. Some wishes are not just words spoken in anger. 1 I stared blankly at Randee. It took a long time before I could force a sentence out of my mouth. “Die… what does it mean to die?” Randee let out a cold scoff. “You really are a retard. You don’t even know what dying means.” She crouched lower, explaining with mock patience. “Dying means you end up exactly like your parents. Gone. Erased.” I stumbled backward in terror and shook my head. “Brother said… he doesn’t want Besser to die.” Randee stood up, looking down at me from above. “Your brother changed his mind. He told me himself. His greatest wish is for you to vanish.” “So go die, Besser. It’s better for him, and it’s better for me.” I stood frozen, gripping my handmade card tightly, struggling to process her words. When I finally snapped out of it, I noticed the sliced fruit scattered across the floor and the trash that had spilled out of the bin. No. The house was messy. Cole was going to be mad. I quickly squatted down, trying to scoop the garbage back into the bin. A noise came from the front porch. The door clicked open. Cole was home. I looked up at him with a big smile. I was just about to tell him how good I had been today, but Randee ran past me, crying, and threw herself into his arms. She pointed at the mess on the floor. “I really can’t handle your sister anymore, Cole. I tried to feed her some fruit, and not only did she refuse to eat, but she threw everything everywhere!” A deeply apologetic look crossed my brother’s face. He stroked Randee’s hair gently. “I am so sorry, Randee. The doctor said she was getting better. I didn’t think she would act up again so soon.” My mouth fell open slightly. I instinctively wanted to defend myself, but my damaged brain couldn’t string a complete sentence together. I could only stutter, “Besser didn’t…” Randee shot me a sideways glance before complaining again. “Look at her. She even knows how to lie now.” Cole let out a heavy sigh. He knelt in front of me. “Besser, lying is wrong.” “And didn’t I tell you to listen to Randee while I was gone? Why didn’t you listen?” I was so confused. But Randee told me to go die. Brother, was I really supposed to listen to her? My already broken mind felt like an overheated engine. A wave of dizziness hit me, and I collapsed weakly into his arms. Randee leaned in close. “Will she ever really be normal again?” Cole held me a little tighter. His voice was firm. “She will. Even if there’s only a one-in-a-ten-thousand chance, I am going to cure her.” He didn’t notice the dark, venomous look that flashed across Randee’s eyes. But a second later, her voice was sickly sweet again. “Okay. Focus on your work. I’ll help you take good care of her.” Cole was moved to tears by her understanding. But for me, the real nightmare had just begun. One afternoon, she was sitting on the sofa watching TV and ordered me to massage her legs. I squeezed her calves clumsily. She kicked me hard in the chest, sending me flying backward. “Are you stupid? You can’t even massage a leg right?” I landed a few feet away, crying out loud from the sharp pain. But when Cole came home, Randee twisted the story, claiming I was throwing another tantrum. Cole could only tell me, over and over again, to be a good girl and listen to her. Choking on my sobs, I reached out, wanting my brother to hold me like he used to. But he swatted my hands away. His tone was unusually harsh. “Besser. Say it. Tell me you will listen to Randee.” I was trembling from crying so hard. I mumbled incoherently, “Brother says… listen to Randee…” Right then, Randee pulled me into a sympathetic hug. She looked up at Cole. “Come on, Cole. She’s just a kid with a sick brain. Don’t be so mean to her. I can handle a little unfairness.” Cole was so touched by her grace that he completely missed the way the blood drained from my lips while I was trapped in her embrace. Seeing that Cole believed her every word, Randee dropped her mask entirely whenever he left the house. She would secretly pinch the soft flesh of my inner arms. When I instinctively tried to pull away, she would lean in and whisper, “Besser, remember what your brother said? You have to listen to me.” “Hold your arm out!” And so, weeping quietly, I would hold my arm out to her. She seemed to hate me to my core. Every pinch was calculated to inflict maximum pain. Just as I was about to pass out from crying, Cole walked in. Randee immediately yanked my sleeves down and threw herself into his arms. It took her less than a second to play the victim. “Cole, your sister is impossible! She just won’t listen to anything I say!” One day, I had a sudden moment of clarity. I pulled up my sleeves to show Cole the dark, ugly bruises mottling my skin. Cole froze. Randee quickly chimed in with a deeply apologetic tone. “It’s all my fault. I didn’t keep a close enough eye on her.” “You know how she is, Cole. She can barely walk straight these days. She bumps into the corners of the tables and bruises herself instantly.” Cole thought back. It was true that almost every time he opened the door, he found me sitting on the floor crying. The very next day, he bought foam padding and wrapped every sharp corner and piece of furniture in the house. Randee gritted her teeth and glared at me. “Your brother really treats you well, doesn’t he?” I nodded happily. “Brother treats Besser good. Doesn’t want Besser to die.” Randee let out three cold, mocking laughs. She grabbed a plastic clothes hanger and began raining blows down on my head and shoulders. It hurt so much. I screamed for my brother. Randee just sneered. “He’s on a business trip. He won’t be back for two weeks.” “You little bitch, you actually tried to snitch on me!” She grabbed my chin with her left hand and slapped me across the face with her right, over and over until my cheek was swollen and burning. I couldn’t stop shivering and crying. My pain only seemed to excite her. She kept hitting me until a knock sounded at the front door. Panicking slightly, she shoved a rag into my mouth, threw a heavy blanket over me, and went to answer it. It was Mrs. Higgins, our neighbor. “What’s going on? Why is Besser crying so terribly?” Randee offered a helpless, weary smile. “She’s having an episode again. She keeps screaming that I’m the one who killed her parents. I can’t calm her down.” Mrs. Higgins looked sympathetic. She pulled out a small tin. “It’s so hard on you two. I baked some cookies. Let me go in and try to coax her.” She made a move to step inside. Randee quickly blocked the doorway. “Oh, you don’t have to do that, Mrs. Higgins. I’ll take good care of her.” She took the tin of cookies, shut the door, and locked the deadbolt. She sat on the sofa, crossing her legs, casually eating the cookies meant for me. Between bites, she warned, “You better behave yourself these next few days. Don’t cause me any trouble.” When she was done, she grabbed a thick rope, tied me to the leg of the heavy dining table, and left the house. I needed to use the bathroom, but the rope was too short. The rough fibers rubbed the skin off my neck. It burned. I couldn’t hold it anymore. I soiled the floor. When she came back, she kicked me twice in the ribs. Then she took a picture of the mess and sent it to Cole. She called him, crying hysterically. “Cole, what do I do? I really can’t take this anymore. I took my eyes off her for one second and she went to the bathroom all over the floor. Is she doing this on purpose to punish me?” Cole replied almost instantly. “How did that happen? Baby, I’m sending you money right now. Hire a cleaning service. I am so sorry you have to deal with this.” He sent her dozens of apologizing emojis. After the cleaners came and went, Randee walked toward me with a dark, murderous look. She slapped me hard across the face. “You useless piece of trash! You can’t even control your own bowels!” After venting her anger, she looked down at me. I was lying on the floor like a dead fish. Her voice turned ice cold. “If you ever try to snitch to your brother again, I will beat you worse than this.” “Let me tell you the truth. Every single girlfriend your brother ever had left him because of you.” “I am the only one willing to put up with this.” “Do you know how much money your brother has burned trying to fix your broken brain?” “Don’t you realize you are nothing but a burden?” “Besser, if you really love your brother, you need to grow up. Stop ruining his future.” Her words sank deep into my mind. I really was a burden. When Cole returned from his business trip, he brought Randee a thick gold necklace. Randee grinned from ear to ear. “Gold is so expensive right now. You really bought this for me?” Cole told her he knew taking care of me was incredibly hard. He promised to buy her a piece of gold jewelry every single month from now on. Randee’s smile grew even wider. But a second later, her smile froze completely. Cole pulled a solid gold bracelet out of his bag. It was much heavier, and far more expensive, than her necklace. He slipped the bracelet onto my wrist and smiled gently. “Merry Christmas, Besser. I just want you to be safe and happy for the rest of your life.” Randee’s voice was stiff. “Cole, you’re putting a bracelet like that on a retard—I mean, your sister. Aren’t you worried she’ll lose it?” I felt a spark of anger. For the first time, I talked back to her. “No. Besser won’t be careless.” Hearing my response, Cole grabbed Randee’s hands excitedly. “Did you hear that? That’s the longest sentence she’s spoken in months!” “She’s definitely getting better.” He hugged me tightly, thrilled. But then his eyes fell on the raw, red marks around my neck. He frowned. “Besser, how did you hurt your neck?” I wanted to tell him. I wanted to say Randee bullied me. But before the words could leave my mouth, Cole’s attention was pulled away by a small bandage on Randee’s finger. “Your sister wanted me to peel an apple for her, and I accidentally cut myself,” she lied smoothly. She was lying. She hurt her finger when she went out partying with her friends. I opened my mouth and stammered, “Not… not because of me.” But no one heard me. Luckily, Cole had accumulated a lot of paid time off after his trip. For a little while, I didn’t have to get beaten. I didn’t have to eat food off the floor like a dog, or have Randee record humiliating videos of me on her phone. But I also knew Cole couldn’t stay home with me forever. Suddenly, I remembered what my mother told me a long time ago. “Besser, if anyone ever bullies you, you must, absolutely must, tell your family.” Yes. I needed to listen to my mom. I needed to tell Cole what Randee was doing. But whenever Randee was in the room, I never got the chance to speak. The moment I stepped out of my room, her eyes would lock onto my gold bracelet with a terrifying, greedy intensity. I could only cover the bracelet with my sleeve, hide in my room, and listen to the noises outside. Finally, the day came. Randee received a money transfer from Cole and went out shopping. Hearing the front door shut, I immediately ran out, grabbing Cole’s sleeve. “Randee. Bad. She hurts me.” Naturally, Cole didn’t believe me. After all, I used to call him a bad man too. He squatted down and looked at me gently. “Besser, if you falsely accuse people, it will make Randee very sad.” I shook my head violently, my eyes wide and serious. “No lie.” I ran to the storage closet, found the thick, rough rope she used to tie me up, and slipped it over my own neck. Then I placed the other end by the leg of the dining table. I got down on my hands and knees, looking up at him. “Randee makes me eat like this.” “She ties me here.” “I need the bathroom. Can’t walk. Neck hurts.” I pointed to the scabbing wounds on my neck, stuttering as I desperately tried to explain. Cole’s expression grew darker and more serious by the second. He rolled up my sleeves. Despite the foam padding covering every edge in the house, I had more purple and yellow bruises than ever before. “Randee hit you?” he asked quietly. I nodded. Cole took a deep breath. “I understand.” Later that evening, I hid in my room. Through the thin walls, I heard Cole and Randee get into their very first fight. “You’re taking the word of a retard over mine?!” Randee’s voice was shrill, much louder than his. She screamed hysterically. “Your sister never liked me! She thinks I stole your love, and you actually believe her?!” “I must have been blind to choose you. My parents told me we would never be happy. I cut ties with them just to come here and help you take care of her, and this is the thanks I get? You suspect me?!” She cried with absolute heartbreak. I sat on my bed, staring blankly at my own bruises. Did I really do this to myself? Eventually, the house fell completely silent. I crept out of my room and found Cole sitting on the floor, looking utterly defeated. When he saw me, he offered an exhausted smile. “Did we wake you up, Besser?” Seeing the look on his face, I suddenly remembered the woman who had been by his side before Randee. When that woman first met me, she couldn’t hide the disgust on her face.

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The hotel lobby exploded with noise as a group of women, banners held high proclaiming “Anti-Affair League,” stormed in, shattering the crisp morning quiet. The front desk attendant, a look of weary resignation on her face, explained they were a trending online group, famous for targeting “homewreckers.” I was just thinking how awful mistresses could be when the young woman leading the charge fixed her gaze on me and marched straight over. “You slut, you seduced someone’s husband!” She raised her hand and slapped me hard across the face. On her phone screen, unmistakably, was a photo of my brother and me from yesterday. It was only in the chaos that I recognized the shrew in front of me: Leah Fabian, my brother Liam’s fiancée, whom he’d mentioned countless times. Memories flooded back, twenty years in an instant. After our parents died in a car crash, I raised Liam alone. He suffered from XYY syndrome, making him prone to violent outbursts. My body was a tapestry of scars; the worst time, he bit off my pinky finger and poured boiling water on my face. That disfigurement was his turning point. He miraculously began to calm, his symptoms lessening. As an adult, he found success as an entrepreneur and insisted on sending me abroad for reconstructive surgery. The operation was a triumph, but here I was, the day after returning home, caught in this ugly spectacle. Looking at Leah’s distorted face, I suddenly understood why Liam always called her “understanding.” Turns out, in her eyes, I, his own sister, had become the home-wrecker. 1 Fresh off the plane, this scene was a bizarre novelty. I asked the front desk what was happening. “The Anti-Affair League,” the attendant explained, “they’re an organization, all social media influencers.” “Their slogan is all about fighting for women’s justice, taking down every single mistress.” “They’ve gone viral recently, their follower count is skyrocketing.” “And now, looks like some poor woman who rented a room for a secret rendezvous is about to get it.” “Once they target you, you’ll be lucky to escape with your skin intact.” I nodded, acknowledging that mistresses were indeed despicable, destroying families and deserving no sympathy. What I didn’t expect was for this mob to head straight for me as they entered the hotel lobby. Leading them was a young woman, lightly made-up, radiating an aggressive aura. I paused, wondering if the front desk attendant behind me was somehow involved. Just as I was puzzling it out, the young woman pointed a finger at my nose and spat, “You filthy whore, you have no shame, you dare touch someone else’s happiness, utterly shameless!” “Did a dog eat your conscience?” “There are so many men in the world, why do you have to steal mine?” I was completely bewildered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “When did I ever try to steal your man?” Disfigured for years, I’d grown used to a reclusive life, rarely showing my face. Not only had I never had a boyfriend, I’d barely even seen men, and I was still single. How could I possibly be stealing her man? The young woman’s face hardened. “You seductive fox, still trying to deny it?” “Look at this!” She flashed her phone, displaying a photo. I squinted. It showed a man and a woman, leaning close, together. It was the photo Liam and I had taken yesterday when I landed. Both our faces were alight with happy smiles. But to some, it was clearly a jarring sight. “Why do you have that photo?” I blurted out instinctively. Smack! A stinging slap landed heavily on my face. I saw stars, half my face going numb. “You shameless tramp, you dare ask me where I got the photo?” “Liam Murray is the love of my life. We’re getting married the day after tomorrow, and no one is taking him from me!” “Don’t think just because you’re pretty, you can steal his heart.” At those words, it all clicked into place. This young woman was Leah Fabian, Liam’s fiancée! While I was still abroad, Liam had mentioned her a few times. Each time, he praised Leah as an understanding, gentle, and virtuous girl. Their ages and temperaments were well-suited. And the Fabian family was wealthy, a perfect match in terms of social standing. He’d asked for my opinion. I’d just laughed and said, “Any woman my brother fancies must be wonderful.” I never in my wildest dreams imagined my first meeting with my future sister-in-law would be like this. … “You’ve got it all wrong, I’m not…” I hastily tried to explain. Smack! Another slap, silencing my words. My lip was bleeding. Leah’s face was ashen, dark with fury. “You pathetic slut, I wouldn’t be mistaken.” “I found this photo on his phone.” “I even had someone check it – absolutely no Photoshop!” “Tell me, did you come to this hotel today to meet my husband again?” “In broad daylight, do you even know the meaning of shame?” The women behind Leah, phones raised, clicked away, afraid to miss a single dramatic moment. One influencer, in a spaghetti-strap dress, sneered, “Leah, her skirt is so short, practically exposing her underwear. She’s clearly a tramp who often seduces men, probably even selling herself.” Another chimed in, “Exactly. Probably trying to go legit now, so she latched onto Mr. Murray.” “You used-up trash, ridden by thousands, slept with by millions! How dare you try to steal Leah’s man? You’ve got a death wish!” “Leah, don’t go easy on her. My livestream fans are 100% behind you.” “People like her deserve to be scorned, thrown into a dumpster with rats. To be human, she’s not worthy!” Fueled by their instigation, Leah’s rage intensified. She stepped forward, grabbed my hair, and hocked! Pah! A thick glob of spit landed squarely on my face. “Trying to dodge? Make her swallow it!” Two influencers stepped forward, grabbed me, forced my mouth open, and made sure the phlegm slid down. I gagged and vomited uncontrollably. Seeing this, the others burst into laughter, even more excited. “Family, thank you for your generous gifts!” “Rest assured, when the Anti-Affair League marches out, we leave no stone unturned!” “This pathetic little home-wrecker today will definitely get what’s coming to her.” “If you have any opinions or thoughts, feel free to share them in the public chat.” “Together, let’s help the victim get some serious revenge!” Just as I was retching violently, the front desk finally had enough and called security. However, the Anti-Affair League outnumbered them, and the few security guards couldn’t even get close. Many cameras were pointed at them, and an influencer sneered, “Look, family, the mistress’s helpers have arrived!” “She must rent rooms here often, already a VIP, I guess.” “I can’t even imagine how many men she’s seduced in this hotel.” The security guards backed down, retreating to the side, dare not to anger, dare not to speak. Leah snatched my purse, unzipped it, and dumped its contents onto the floor. A jade bracelet hit the ground with a sickening thud, shattering into several pieces. Seeing this, I trembled with fury. The jade bracelet was originally a pair, passed down from my grandmother. Before my mother’s car accident, she had given one to me and one to Liam. It was her last memento to us, her final memory. So I cherished it as a precious treasure, never taking it off. Leah picked up the broken pieces, her eyes growing colder. She had seen a similar bracelet on Liam before and assumed it was the same one. “You pathetic slut, I didn’t realize you had such a knack for it, managing to make my husband give you his cherished jade bracelet, a treasure for so many years?” The influencer in the spaghetti-strap dress said, “Leah, she must have stolen it!” “How could Mr. Murray have real feelings for such trash? At most, he was just playing around.” “Men are all like that, aren’t they?” Hearing this, Leah grew even angrier. “You seductive fox, not only do you seduce men, but you’re also a thief!” “Today, I’m going to deliver some divine justice and teach you a proper lesson.” The crowd cheered her on. “Yes, we absolutely can’t let her off the hook.” “This bracelet is jadeite, with good luster and color, it must be very valuable.” “Its value is one thing, but more importantly, it belongs to Leah’s husband.” “What a shame, it’s shattered.” “It’s still her fault. If she hadn’t stolen it from Mr. Murray, would it have broken?” “This kind of malicious and greedy woman, I don’t even know what words to use to describe her.” “Leah, just say the word. Whatever you want to do, we’ll do it.” Leah’s rage was almost overflowing. She said coldly, “Strip her clothes off! I want to see what makes a woman who can seduce my husband so special!” At her words, the influencers’ eyes turned red like hungry wolves. Rip! With a sharp sound, my collar was torn open, exposing a large expanse of pale skin. I desperately clutched my chest, ignoring the nausea and sour taste in my mouth, and screamed with all my might, “Stop!” “I’m not a mistress!” “I’m Liam Murray’s sister!” Everyone froze, their actions stopping in unison. Then came Leah’s cold laugh. “You say you’re my husband’s sister?” “Yes, I am Amelia Murray, Liam’s own sister!” “If you don’t believe me, I’ll call him right now!” I thought things might take a turn, but instead, I was met with a fierce kick from Leah. My vision went black as I was violently thrown to the ground, the excruciating pain almost making me pass out on the spot. My phone flew from my hand, only to be crushed under an influencer’s foot. “Liam’s sister was disfigured more than ten years ago, he told me himself.” “Look at that alluring, peachy face of yours, fair and tender. Where are the scars of disfigurement?” “You seductive fox, you don’t even bother to come up with a decent lie. Do you really think such a cheap trick would fool me?” I couldn’t speak, even breathing caused excruciating pain in my abdomen. Leah’s kick had been brutal. The influencers were all indignant. “Even at a time like this, she’s still trying to deceive Leah with lies.” “Hmph, she must think Leah is a three-year-old.” “Since our league was founded, we’ve never encountered such a difficult mistress.” “Lies flow from her lips. Her heart is truly venomous!” One influencer, more cautious, tentatively asked, “Leah, maybe we should call Mr. Murray and confirm with him?” Leah’s face hardened. “Confirm what? My husband is busy; he doesn’t have time for such trivial matters!” “This seductive fox deserves to die. Beat her mercilessly!” “I’ll take responsibility for whatever happens!” They swarmed me, assaulting me. Someone pulled my hair, someone slapped me, someone scratched my face, and someone tore at my dress. My anguished screams echoed through the hotel lobby. A few security guards turned away, unable to bear watching. Many guests stopped to watch. Some initially wanted to intervene, but upon seeing the Anti-Affair League banner, they immediately abandoned the idea, opting to stand by and gawk at the drama. Soon, I was covered in bruises and wounds. Most of my hair had been ripped out, revealing large patches of bleeding scalp. If not for the fear of killing me, these seemingly glamorous influencers would never have stopped. Yet Leah was still not satisfied. She placed the broken pieces of the jade bracelet into my hand. “You seductive fox, you want the jade bracelet, don’t you?” “Fine, I’ll grant your wish!” Leah’s face twisted into a cruel grin. She stomped on my hand, grinding her foot with force. The sharp fragments dug deep into my flesh. My cries were hoarse and faint, barely audible. Finally, I blacked out. But Leah didn’t stop, still pressing down with gritted teeth. My hand became a bloody mess, even bone fragments were visible. A young girl, unable to bear it any longer, shouted for them to stop. Otherwise, she would call the police. These words were like kicking a hornet’s nest. How could the influencers of the Anti-Affair League be pushovers? They aggressively surrounded the girl, launching into a barrage of verbal attacks. “Listen closely, we’re beating a mistress!” “She destroyed someone else’s family; she deserves no sympathy.” “You’re so eager to help her, are you experiencing it yourself? Are you also a mistress?” The girl was frightened by the aggression, stammering, “I… I’m not…” “Then my punishing a mistress is none of your damn business, is it?” Leah spat. “Dare to meddle again, and I’ll beat you too, believe it or not?” The girl dared not speak. Seeing this, no one else among the onlookers intervened to stop the violence. After venting her fury, Leah had me carried into a car and taken to her private villa. I was locked in the basement, my companions being rats and cockroaches. For a full day and night, Leah tortured me relentlessly. She used pliers to pull out my fingernails, knocked out all my teeth. She burned my face with cigarette butts, then poured salt on my open wounds. She even forced my head into a slop bucket, almost drowning me. Finally, unable to endure the torment any longer, I went into shock. I don’t know how much time passed, but I awoke to find myself on an operating table, my hands and feet bound by leather straps. I struggled and cried out, but the straps were too sturdy to break free. A few minutes later, the door opened. Leah entered with two doctors in white coats. Seeing the gleaming surgical instruments in their hands, a chill ran down my spine. “What… what are you going to do?” Leah grinned cruelly. “Nothing much, just want to give you, this slut, a lesson you’ll never forget.” “This is what happens when you try to steal my man.” “No, please…” A shot of tranquilizer silenced me. I could only watch, eyes wide, as the doctor put on gloves and moved the scalpel to my abdomen, making a gentle incision…

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After my rebirth, I was completely done with the hustle. I stopped taking any new spirit-channeling commissions. I just wanted to sit back and watch the show. The lesson from my past life was etched into my very soul. I used to be a medium working a small booth at the Ravenwood Night Market. My job was simple. I burned the belongings of the deceased to help them cross over and fulfill their final wishes. That was until Bella came along. She was an internet influencer who claimed she only needed to touch an object to hear a ghost’s final words, and she offered her services completely free of charge. Her clout-chasing destroyed my business overnight. Grieving families turned on me, accusing me of being a fraud who charged exorbitant fees and ruined precious keepsakes. The public outrage grew so violent that a crazed mob cornered me on the old clocktower balcony, pushing me over the edge to a plummeting death. Now, the tables have turned. Bella is the one panicking. She clearly forgot one fundamental rule of the occult. A medium does not just attract the living. We attract the restless dead. 1 “Madam Serena, please! My wife passed away so suddenly. She didn’t leave a single word behind. You have to help me see if she had any final wishes.” The man standing before my table looked frantic. He grabbed my hands, his grip painfully tight. That sharp ache jolted me back to reality. I realized I had truly been reborn. The phantom agony of shattered concrete and broken bones from my past life flared in my mind. I immediately snatched my hands back. “I am sorry, I…” Before I could finish my sentence, Bella’s sickly-sweet voice cut me off. “Madam Serena is going to burn your wife’s belongings, and she charges three grand for it!” The man’s face flushed with embarrassment. He mumbled that his family was struggling financially and begged for a discount. “No exceptions,” I replied. My tone was entirely detached. Bella immediately seized the opportunity to play the hero. “Madam Serena, helping the dead find peace is supposed to be a good deed. Charging such an outrageous fee and destroying someone’s last physical memories is just cruel.” She turned to the crowd with a camera pointed right at her face. “Why don’t you make an exception and do this one for free? I would love to see if our readings match up.” My breath hitched. Those were the exact words she used in my previous life. That very stunt sparked the witch hunt against me, leading the internet to brand me a greedy scammer who destroyed family heirlooms. It was the catalyst that ended with me plunging off that tower. After my death, Bella put on a masterclass in fake tears. She told her audience that my spirit had visited her to confess my sins, claiming my final wish was to donate all my assets to her. She absorbed my life savings, gained millions of followers from the tragedy, and lived a life of absolute luxury. Before that fatal day, we had clashed a few times. She was always able to recite the deceased’s final wishes perfectly, word for word. I used to think my skills were simply inferior. But then I noticed a pattern. She never accepted a gig independently. She only ever swooped in after I took a client. There was no way her perfect track record was a coincidence. I let out a soft laugh and threw my hands up in defeat. “A girl has to eat. But since you are so noble and generous, I will pass this client to you.” I smoothly began packing up my crystal pendulum, my sage, and my chalk. I was out of there. Bella’s camera-ready smile completely froze. In my past life, she provoked me into competing with her. Today, I was tapping out. Let’s see how she handles a ghost without my coattails to ride. “Serena, wait right there!” She rushed over and blocked my path. “I know your methods are a bit old-school, but we should do this for the sake of the departed. Let’s work together to make sure nothing is missed.” I let out an exaggerated yawn. “Sorry, the shop is closed for the day. You are the talented one here. Have fun figuring it out yourself.” Her expression darkened instantly. I looked over at the grieving husband. “You better hurry up and take her offer. She might change her mind and start charging you.” The man frantically grabbed Bella’s arm, treating her like his last hope. I just smirked, threw my bag over my shoulder, and headed home for a nap. Later that evening, I opened her live stream on my phone. Bella was on screen. She gently touched a silver bracelet, closed her eyes tightly, and after a few minutes of dramatic silence, she shook her head sadly. “The spirit is saying that the only thing she cannot let go of is you and the kids. She wants you to live a good life and stop mourning her.” The man broke down into loud, heaving sobs. The comment section was a waterfall of praise. “Bella is literally an angel!” “Way better than that cold-blooded scammer Serena. Three grand for a few words? She should be locked up.” “Protect Bella at all costs!” A massive donor dropped several premium gifts on the stream. I chuckled to myself. No wonder she offered free services. Those virtual tips easily surpassed my flat three-grand fee. However, something about Bella’s reading felt completely off. I had read that man’s aura at the market. The lines around his eyes and the hollow energy in his life-path clearly indicated he was sterile. He did not have any children. Was it possible my psychic intuition was wrong? On the screen, Bella smiled brightly at her viewers. “Guys, if anyone out there needs closure, please come find me. My spirit channeling is always free of charge.” Her viewer count spiked over sixty thousand. She was trending at the number one spot. Fame is a double-edged sword in the occult world. When you broadcast a beacon into the dark, it is not just living humans who notice. That is exactly why I capped my work at two clients a day. Once you invite something from the shadows into your space, getting it to leave is a whole different nightmare. 2 I sent a text to Arthur, an old friend who studied demonology with me, asking him to run a background check on Bella. Everything about that girl screamed fraud. Her online bio stated she had a community college degree in business management. Suddenly, out of nowhere, she possessed the Sight? In our world, you are either born into a bloodline of mediums or you spend decades studying under a master. If she came from a bloodline, her aura would show it. If she studied the craft, she would have instantly noticed the sterile energy surrounding that grieving husband. She was a walking contradiction. I rolled over on my couch, closed the streaming app, and put on a horror movie. My phone buzzed. It was Gideon, the manager of the Ravenwood market. “Serena, why did you pack up early? Are you renewing your stall lease for next month?” I thought about it for a second. “No, I am done. The business is drying up, and I am tired of dealing with internet trolls trying to ruin my reputation. I am retiring.” The line went dead silent for a few seconds. “Fair enough. Take a break, kid.” After hanging up, I scrolled through my newsfeed. Articles and gossip blogs were already pushing Bella as the new saint of the spiritual community. Every post about me was pure vitriol. They hated me because my prices were high, and they despised the fact that I strictly limited my readings to two a day. Even when rich clients offered double for emergency sessions, I never bent the rules. They called me heartless. Meanwhile, little Miss Bella was handing out free therapy. In her latest clip, she looked directly into the lens. “I am here to serve the community. A true whisperer of the dead would never use their gift to exploit people.” I typed out a quick comment from my burner account. “The living walk the sunlit path. The dead walk the shadow roads. Do not blur the lines.” Bella’s fans immediately attacked. “Are you threatening her?” Bella pinned my comment and replied live. “Spirits are just like us. They have needs. I am simply a bridge to help them communicate. Do not worry about me stealing your customers, Serena.” She obviously figured out it was me. The chat room exploded with hate. “Look at Serena dying of jealousy!” “Focus on your own miserable life before you try to preach about shadow roads. You look like a corpse sitting at that flea market booth anyway. Bella is actually pretty and full of life.” I just smiled at the screen. When you spend your life wading through necrotic energy, a bit of the gloom tends to stick to you. That was the real reason I charged three grand. Half of that money was for my living expenses. The other half was used to buy the rarest incense, salt, and offerings required to bribe the entities below and pacify the souls I summoned. Some people die with violent, festering grudges. Calming that kind of rage is not a parlor trick. I had to listen to their agonizing whispers, absorb their sorrow, and perform exhausting rituals just to ensure they did not follow me home to rip my throat out. These keyboard warriors thought channeling was just passing along a cute voicemail from beyond the grave. If it were that easy, I would be doing ten readings a day. I closed the app. My phone immediately rang. It was Bella. “What exactly was that comment supposed to mean? Are you really that desperate for attention?” I let out a dry, mocking laugh. “You think I want your kind of attention?” “What else could it be?” “Let me give you a free piece of advice. Playing with the Veil always comes with a price tag. Keep acting like a tourist in hell, and something is going to drag you under.” “Stop trying to scare me,” she scoffed, slamming the phone down. She leaked the recording of our call on her page. The internet mob came for my throat again, pushing her follower count even higher. 3 People were crowning Bella the greatest psychic of her generation. Her fans begged her to do live paranormal investigations in abandoned asylums, and she foolishly agreed to all of it. Her fame skyrocketed. I stayed hidden in my apartment, only leaving to buy groceries and practice my grounding meditations. A week later, I checked in on her streams. Her business was booming. Unlike me, she never turned a single soul away. I did not know what kind of parlor tricks she was pulling, but one thing was undeniably real. Through the screen, I could see a sickly, grayish-black tint spreading across her collarbones and under her eyes. She was infected. Something necrotic had attached itself to her. Yet, she seemed completely oblivious, intoxicated by the fame. It was morbidly fascinating. Bella posted an open challenge on her page. “I invite any traditional mediums, occultists, or demonologists to join me on stream for a friendly showcase of skills.” Nobody from the legitimate underground community took the bait. Genuine practitioners respect the terrifying weight of the unseen world. We don’t do parlor tricks for likes. After a week of being ignored by the professionals, a crisis forced her to seek me out. The Ravenwood Night Market was in chaos. Gideon called me in a panic. “Serena, it is a disaster down here. Two of our veteran vendors dropped dead right in their booths. Their families are tearing the place apart.” “Do not you have your internet angel for that?” “She agreed to come, but only if you are here too. Honestly, I need you here for crowd control. Please.” I paused, sipping my coffee. “People die, Gideon. Call the mortuary. Do not try to play me. Tell me the real problem or I am staying on my couch.” “Dammit, fine. One was the antique dealer, the other sold jade. Both guys were sitting on massive stashes of cash. The antique dealer has a bank vault, and nobody can find the key or the codes. There are millions of dollars on the line.” “The families are demanding a séance right now to find the wealth. If they do not get answers, they are going to burn the market down to the ground.” I finally understood. In the past, the spirits just wanted to say goodbye to their kids or tell their spouses they loved them. Vague emotional closure. Furthermore, Bella had always swooped in after I did the heavy lifting of burning the anchors and connecting to the Veil. She never had to guess. Now, there were millions of dollars at stake, specific lockbox codes, and missing keys. She was flying blind, and she was terrified. I smiled against the rim of my mug. “Tell her to wait. I will be right there.” When I arrived at the market, I immediately raised an eyebrow at Bella’s appearance. It had only been a week, but she looked like a walking skeleton. Heavy layers of foundation could not hide the bruised, purple bags under her eyes. She lunged at me the second I walked in. “Serena, you have to be careful when you burn their items. We only get one shot at this.” She aggressively shoved a cold jade pendant into my palm. I glanced at it, then shoved it right back against her chest. “What do you want me to do with this? I came to buy some roasted nuts and watch the drama unfold.” “You are the one claiming you can read a ghost’s final thoughts just by touching their stuff. So do it. Spit out the safe codes.” “Hurry up, my favorite show is on in an hour.” Bella’s carefully crafted innocent expression fractured. “Serena, we are supposed to do this together!” I nodded slowly. “Sure. There are two dead guys. We can take one each. Pick your poison.” I stared dead into her hollow eyes. All the color drained from her face, but the cameras were rolling. She forced her chin up. “Fine. I will go first. I will take the jade dealer.” She gripped the jade pendant tightly, took a deep, shaky breath, and squeezed her eyes shut. After an agonizing silence, she finally spoke. “The departed wishes for his son to study hard and get into a good university. That is his dying wish.” The words barely left her mouth before a grieving family member lunged forward and slapped Bella across the face with a loud, vicious crack. “You lying bitch!”

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Memories from five years in the future rushed into my mind. I woke with a gasp, realizing I had been sent back in time. The despair of my past life was seared into my soul. Thomas’s broken body, the toys on bloody asphalt, the twisted faces of that woman and her son. It all played like a nightmare. That day, I held a positive pregnancy test, waiting for Thomas. The police called instead. He was dead. At the crash scene, his hands still clutched small, expensive action figures. I was naive. I thought he had been rushing to buy a surprise for our baby. Guilt swallowed me. I hated myself for not telling him sooner. The grief broke me. I hurt myself, lost the baby, and became a ghost. My only plan was to join him after the funeral. But at the service, a four year old boy barged in. He screamed that it was my fault. He said his father had been sneaking out for his birthday. I tried to grab him, but a woman stopped me. She smirked. She said she and Thomas had been together for five years. She asked if it was a crime to let his real child say goodbye. Then she told me everything. She was the one who pushed me down the stairs years ago, killing my first baby. Thomas had fallen for her that night and paid someone to take the blame. While I was in surgery losing our child, she and Thomas conceived her son in the hospital bathroom. Her words were a poisoned dagger. As my vision darkened, the boy shoved me violently. I fell backward through the chapel window. 1 I lost my first baby. It was the exact same day Thomas and that woman fell in love at first sight. When I finally came to, Thomas was kneeling beside my hospital bed, his eyes completely bloodshot. “Gina, it’s okay if we don’t have a kid. I only need you.” He was crying so hard, looking so thoroughly heartbroken. I just stared at him, still hoping my memories were just a terrifying fever dream. I opened my mouth a few times before I could force a raspy whisper past my lips. “The person who pushed me. Did you call the cops?” He froze for a fraction of a second, his eyes darting to the floor. “Yeah. I called them. Don’t worry.” In my past life, I believed him without a second thought. But with the memory of my violent death still exploding behind my eyes, I stared at him, trying to see straight through his skin to the rotting core underneath. Thomas couldn’t handle my intense gaze. He hastily made an excuse about getting the doctor and practically fled the room, leaving his phone on the mattress. We had been together for fifteen years. His passcode had always been my birthday. Acting purely on instinct, I unlocked the screen. The moment I saw his messages, my entire body began to violently tremble. The chat was open with an unsaved number. “I pushed your wife on purpose tonight.” “It’s so unfair. We finally have this incredible connection at first sight, and it’s all your fault for being married. Why did you have to step up and fight those guys for me tonight? I was just so jealous.” “But I swear I didn’t know she was pregnant.” Thomas’s reply was right underneath. “It’s okay. I don’t blame you. Don’t be scared, sweetheart. I’ll handle everything.” A deafening buzz filled my ears. In my past life, he told me he was at a bar with a difficult client who was giving him a hard time. Terrified he was going to get hurt, I rushed over. A drunk patron had thrown a heavy glass bottle his way, and I threw myself in front of him without thinking. In the chaos, someone shoved me hard down a flight of stairs, killing my first child. The woman’s texts kept rolling in. “Your wife is literally bleeding out getting surgery right now, and you just made my legs turn to jelly in the hospital bathroom. Are you a total bastard or what?” He replied: “I’m a bastard. But I don’t know what it is. The second I saw you… I just felt like you were different.” Different. Thomas used to say those exact same words to me. When I was seven, my family moved to a rough part of town. My dad would lose money at the poker tables and use me as a punching bag. Thomas was the one who always grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the house to hide. He lived with his blind grandmother. They had nothing. But even when his stomach was rumbling, he would break his only piece of bread in half and give me the bigger piece. I once asked him why he was so good to me. He scratched the back of his neck and smiled. “I don’t know. You’re just different.” The phone slipped from my sweaty fingers and clattered onto the linoleum floor. A sudden, agonizing cramp ripped through my abdomen. I curled into a tight ball, gasping in pain. Just then, Thomas rushed back into the room. Seeing his phone on the floor, his shoulders visibly relaxed. He quickly picked it up, but when he saw my pale, sweating face, his expression twisted into genuine panic. He grabbed my hand. “Baby, does it hurt again?” He sounded so incredibly gentle. For a second, it felt like the disgusting, adulterous texts I just read were nothing but a hallucination. My stomach felt like it was being put through a meat grinder. The emotional shock triggered a secondary hemorrhage from my surgery. Suddenly, his phone rang. The voice bleeding through the speaker was sickeningly sweet. “I’m wearing that outfit you like. Why aren’t you here yet?” A flash of sheer panic crossed Thomas’s face. “Baby, there’s a massive emergency at the office,” he lied, kissing my forehead. “I’ll be back as soon as I can to keep you company.” He turned around and walked briskly toward the door. I used every ounce of strength I had to scream for him. “Thomas… get a doctor…” He didn’t hear me. Or he didn’t want to. As my vision began to blur from blood loss, I remembered the last text I saw on his screen. “I know you didn’t finish earlier. I’m waiting in our spot by the hospital stairwell.” Thomas had sent one last reply before he left. “Someone’s going to be crying and begging for mercy in ten minutes.” A single tear slipped out of the corner of my eye, tracking down my temple. Just before I blacked out, I heard the nurses rushing in, screaming. “Secondary hemorrhaging! Where is the husband?! He promised he wouldn’t leave her side! How could he abandon a critical patient?!” When I woke up again, I was entirely alone. I let out a broken, hysterical laugh, wiping the tears from my face as I dialed my lawyer’s number. “Mr. Caldwell. I need you to draw up divorce papers. And tell me… is there any way to put the person who assaulted me behind bars?” “Gina, to get a criminal conviction, chat logs aren’t enough. We need an airtight chain of evidence.” Mr. Caldwell had already pulled the security footage from the bar. Conveniently, the cameras covering the stairs were “broken.” Someone had obviously deleted the files. It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my head. I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. We had been together for a decade. How could Thomas go to such horrifying lengths to protect a woman he had literally just met? I told Mr. Caldwell to give me a little more time. I used Sienna’s phone number to track down her social media accounts. She felt absolutely zero guilt about being a homewrecker. Her entire feed was dedicated to Thomas. And her most recent post made my blood run cold. Thomas had brought her into our home. “Had the most intense time with my crush tonight. My throat is so sore from screaming his name. I wonder if his wife was screaming this much during her surgery?” “His wife is stuck in the hospital for a few days, so my crush got super excited and took me five times in their marital bed.” I stared blankly at the photos attached to the posts. The expensive silk sheets I had personally picked out were a wrinkled mess, stained with their disgusting activities. Shredded lingerie was tossed over my nightstand. Used condoms littered our hardwood floor. A few commenters called her a shameless homewrecker, but Thomas was in the replies, defending her at every turn. “Don’t talk to her like that. Blame me. I’m just too obsessed with her.” Moving like a machine, I took screenshots of every single photo and saved them to a secure cloud folder. Then I leaned over the side of the hospital bed and dry-heaved until my ribs ached. I don’t know how I survived the rest of my hospital stay. Thomas came to pick me up the day I was discharged. He looked at me with deep, soulful eyes and handed me a velvet box. “You’ve been through hell, sweetheart. I picked this out just for you. I swear on my life, I will never let anyone hurt you again.” It was an expensive, beautifully crafted necklace. I might have even believed him if I hadn’t checked Sienna’s feed yesterday. “I threw his cheap wedding ring in the trash. Looking at it felt like that ugly wife of his was mocking me.” “He ordered us a custom pair of diamond rings worth a fortune, engraved with our initials.” And this necklace? It was just the complimentary gift that came with his massive purchase. I stared at his bare ring finger. “Where is your wedding band?” Our rings were cheap stainless steel. Back then, we had poured every dime into his startup. We used to share a single bowl of instant noodles for dinner. I bought him a fifty-dollar ring when we got married to save money. He had held that cheap piece of metal to his chest, too excited to sleep all night. “Gina, this ring is my love for you. I’m never taking it off until the day I die.” Now, his face tightened in panic, and he quickly tucked his hand into his pocket. “I took it off to wash my hands before a client meeting and accidentally left it in my desk drawer.” I didn’t have the energy to say another word. I kept a close eye on both Thomas and Sienna. A month later, I received a text from an unknown number. “Wanna come down to the office and see what’s really going on?” I received this exact same text in my past life. Back then, I thought it was a malicious prank and ignored it. This time, I grabbed my coat. It was exactly what I expected. Sienna was lounging across the leather sofa in Thomas’s private office. Thomas, a notorious germaphobe, was happily letting her drop potato chip crumbs all over the expensive rug. So this was how early he brought her into my orbit in the previous timeline. And I just sat at home like a blind idiot, trusting him completely. Sienna looked me up and down with a smug, calculating smirk. “So you’re the wife?” Thomas shot up from his desk, his face draining of color. “Gina! What are you doing here? I…” I looked at Sienna and gave a soft, condescending laugh. “Is this your new secretary? She has absolutely no manners. I don’t like her. Fire her.” I wanted to trigger her. When a mistress is provoked, she always tries to prove her dominance over the man. It was the fastest way to get her to slip up and give me evidence. For the first time in fifteen years, Thomas’s face hardened, and he snapped at me. “She’s doing a great job. The company needs talent like hers.” “Gina, be good. Don’t throw a tantrum over nothing. You’re almost thirty. Acting like a spoiled brat isn’t a good look for you.” The sheer hypocrisy of it pulled a bitter laugh from my throat. When we were broke, I would stare at dresses through store windows, but I always told him I didn’t like them because I wanted to save his hard-earned cash. Back then, Thomas wore the same jacket for three years just so he could afford to take me to the amusement park, to the mall. He would buy me the nicest things he could possibly afford and place them in my hands like offerings. Back then, he held me and said, “Gina, when you’re with me, you can be a spoiled little kid forever.” I stared dead into his eyes, letting the heavy, suffocating silence stretch between us. Right at that moment, the entire building shuddered. An earthquake. The floor violently pitched beneath our feet. The massive crystal chandelier above us let out a terrifying metallic groan, ripping free from the ceiling. Thomas instinctively lunged toward me, reaching out to grab my arm and pull me to safety. But Sienna suddenly let out a bloodcurdling scream. “Thomas! Help me! I’m scared!” Without a single second of hesitation, he dropped my hand, spun around, and threw himself over her to shield her body. “I’ve got you,” he yelled to her. In the violent shaking, his sudden movement shoved me backward. I crashed hard into the sharp corner of his mahogany desk. A blinding agony ripped through my abdomen. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t run. I lay there, staring wide-eyed as my husband wrapped his arms tightly around his mistress. The chandelier slammed directly onto my back. Through the sheer, bone-shattering agony, my mind drifted to the past. Years ago, a gas line exploded in our cramped apartment building. Thomas had pinned me to the floor, covering my body entirely with his own, nearly going deaf from the blast to keep me safe. I used to believe we loved each other so much we would gladly die for one another. That was why, in my past life, when I identified his mangled body at the morgue, I went home and slit my own wrists, ready to join him in hell. When I woke up in the hospital this time, I had three broken ribs. Thomas sat by my bed, his eyes rimmed with red, making desperate promises. “Gina, I swear to God, I only pushed you because my first instinct as a boss was to evacuate my employees… I already fired that assistant. I swear.” It was such a pathetic, insulting lie. I just smiled weakly. While he stepped out to speak to the doctor, I grabbed my phone and fired off a text to Sienna. “Getting fired is just a warning shot. We are never getting a divorce. Know your place, little girl. Stop acting like a desperate stray begging for scraps.” My phone blew up almost instantly. “You old bitch, so you finally figured it out!” “Don’t act so smug! He literally told me he stopped loving you years ago! I’m the only one he cares about now!” I replied with a simple, Then prove it, and tossed the phone onto the bedside table. The pain in my chest was suffocating, wrapping around me like a tight corset. Sienna’s retaliation came fast and ruthless. For the next few days, Thomas vanished entirely. But Sienna made sure I knew exactly where he was, texting me live updates of their grand romance. While I was paralyzed in a hospital bed with broken ribs, Thomas bought a luxury condo and moved her in. He was deathly allergic to dog dander, but he bought her a Pomeranian and let it sleep on his chest. The man who used to complain about not having enough time to eat lunch with me was suddenly taking her out to endless, boring indie movies. “These are just the basics,” she texted me. “You have no idea what he’s really willing to do for me.” She stopped right there. No matter how much I provoked her, she refused to elaborate on the miscarriage. I sent the mountain of screenshots and texts to Mr. Caldwell. His response was frustratingly practical. “This is great for securing a massive payout in the divorce settlement, but without a confession, we still can’t press criminal charges for the miscarriage.” It felt like the air was being sucked out of my lungs. This time, I was the one who called Thomas, forcing myself to sob hysterically into the receiver. “Thomas, are you in love with someone else? Do you not want me anymore? If you do, let’s just get a divorce.” Thomas rushed to the hospital in record time. His hair was damp with sweat, and his voice was raw as he pulled me into a tight embrace. “Gina, stop saying that. I love you. Please, never say the word divorce again.” I squeezed my eyes shut. In my past life, they slept together for five years, and he still refused to divorce me. I knew he wouldn’t let me go this time either. Was I supposed to be happy? I didn’t know. The grief and absolute despair felt like a dark, endless ocean. I gripped his sleeve, crying genuine tears. “Then why weren’t you here while I was hospitalized? I keep having nightmares about you pushing me away to save another woman. If you really love someone else, I’ll step aside. I promise.” My words twisted the knife of guilt in his chest. He kissed my tears away, holding me so tightly my broken ribs throbbed. “Only you. I only have you.” Driven by sheer guilt or cowardice, Thomas didn’t leave my hospital room again. He even had his entire desktop setup moved in so he could work next to my bed. Sienna’s enraged texts started flooding my phone. “You manipulative bitch! Don’t think you’ve won just because he hasn’t come back to me!” I didn’t reply to a single one. The day I was finally cleared for discharge happened to be my birthday. I asked Thomas to plan a massive, romantic birthday surprise for me, claiming I needed to wash away the bad luck of the hospital. Desperate to make amends, he agreed instantly. Candlelight dinners. Thousands of imported roses. “I’ll hold you while we look at the stars tonight, and when dawn breaks, we’ll watch the sunrise on the beach together,” he promised, looking incredibly proud of his plan. A wave of dizziness hit me. When Thomas first confessed his feelings to me, it was on a beach. We had stayed up all night just to watch the sunrise. As the morning light hit the water, he handed me a tiny, wilted bouquet he bought for five bucks, his face burning bright red. “Gina, I honestly don’t know how I ended up loving you this much.” I turned my head, swallowing the lump in my throat and forcing the tears back. I gave him a bright, hollow smile. “That sounds perfect. You treat me so well.” The second he turned his back, I took a screenshot of the entire itinerary and sent it straight to Sienna. “Look at this. The wife is always the wife. Stop playing the clown and accept reality.” Sienna didn’t text back. But on the night of my birthday, I sat on the freezing beach for hours, and Thomas never showed up. Instead, my phone pinged with an audio file. “Let’s see how smug you are now! Do you have the guts to listen to this?” My hands shook violently as I tapped the play button. The audio was crisp, amplified by the emptiness of the beach. It was Sienna, crying like a total victim. “Are you regretting choosing me?! Back then, I pushed Gina down the stairs on purpose to kill her baby! Go ahead and call the cops! Once I’m in prison, I won’t have to miss you anymore!” Thomas let out a heavy sigh, his voice soft and coaxing. “Don’t be stupid, baby. How could I ever regret you? That was my child too, and I still covered it up for you, didn’t I?” The recording cut off. I stared out at the pitch-black ocean, reaching up to touch my face. My fingers came away slick with tears. What a joke. Why was I even crying? I finally had the concrete evidence I needed to destroy them. I forwarded the audio file directly to Mr. Caldwell. I stood there frozen for a long time, letting the freezing ocean wind bite at my skin. Finally, I wiped my face and turned to walk back to the road. Suddenly, a brutal force grabbed me by the hair and yanked me into the dark alley between two beachfront shops. A heavy boot slammed squarely into my stomach. “They hired me to mess up a cripple?” a gruff voice spat. The man let out a sick, guttural laugh. “Whatever. Crippled or not, you’ve got a pretty face.” He stepped closer, pinning my waist to the concrete. My ribs screamed in agony, and the pain radiating from my stomach made me dizzy. My attempts to fight him off were pathetically weak. As he ripped my coat open, my fingers desperately scrambled behind my back, closing around my phone. Fighting through the searing pain, I tried to dial 911 blindly, but my thumb slipped. The screen lit up—I had accidentally called Thomas. The call connected. But before I could even scream for help, Sienna’s breathy laughter echoed out of the speaker. “You’re so heartless… Your wife is out there waiting for you. What if a sick patient like her runs into trouble in the dark?” Sienna was panting heavily. “Don’t bring her up right now,” Thomas’s voice growled. “You’re the little menace who forced me to come here.” “Let her fend for herself. The only person I’m interested in punishing right now is you.” Sienna let out a sharp gasp. “Careful! Don’t go too hard, I’m pregnant!” The blood in my veins turned to absolute ice. So the little bastard who pushed me to my death in my past life had finally been conceived. The thug above me finally noticed the glowing screen. He kicked the phone out of my hand, sending it smashing against the brick wall. The screen flickered and died. I stared at the shattered glass, too numb to even react. The man slapped me across the face, his ring cutting my cheek. “Trying to call for help? Did you hear that, bitch? Nobody cares if you live or die!” He raised his heavy boot, aiming a crushing blow right at my healing ribs. I squeezed my eyes shut. But the sickening crunch I expected never came. The private security detail I had hired weeks ago finally stepped out of the shadows. I slumped against the cold pavement, keeping myself conscious by a thread. “Did you…” I gasped out. “Did you record everything?” The security guard nodded grimly, holding up a camera. A massive wave of relief washed over me. I let the darkness pull me under and completely collapsed onto the sand. … Hours later, the adrenaline of his affair faded, and Thomas finally remembered me. He tried to call my phone to spin some elaborate lie about a car breaking down, but it went straight to voicemail. Panic started to set in. He called his assistant, ordering him to check the beach. The assistant’s callback made his blood run cold. “Mr. Thomas… The beach is empty. The police just left the scene. They said… they said there was a homicide attempt.” Thomas froze completely. Suddenly, a blinding, agonizing pain ripped through his skull. Thousands of fragmented, terrifying memories flooded his brain. Memories from five years in the future. He saw himself dying in a mangled heap of metal. He saw Sienna and her bastard son confronting me at his funeral. And he saw exactly how I died.

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I’ve been in the personal shopping business for three years. In those three years, I’ve never missed a single receipt. Every order’s declaration record, tax payment certificate, and bank statement—I organize and file them monthly. These documents are neatly stacked in fourteen file boxes. That day, I was in my twelve-square-meter warehouse, packing a bottle of SK-II Facial Treatment Essence for a client. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to find eight people from Customs Investigations. Six in uniform, two with folders in hand. The lead officer surveyed my small warehouse, a frown creasing his brow. He asked if I was Jamie Hayes, stating that someone had reported me for tax evasion as a personal shopper, and requested my cooperation in an investigation. I froze, bewildered, because I had always operated legally. It took me half an hour to carry out all fourteen file boxes, one by one. The lead officer flipped through a few pages, his expression subtly changing. He looked at me, then lowered his voice, saying the informant’s report was incredibly detailed. It even specified my weekly flight numbers to the airport. A chill ran down my spine. I realized that someone who could write such a report must know me intimately. And my shopping routes, supply channels, and client list had only ever been shared with one person. That person was my best friend of ten years, Sarah Miller. 1 The investigators meticulously cataloged every item in my warehouse. Six boxes of Korean and Japanese skincare, four boxes of health supplements, two boxes of baby products. Every single item had a corresponding purchase receipt, import declaration, and tax payment certificate. I leaned against the wall, watching them, my heart pounding as if it wanted to escape my throat. But I knew my books were clean. Three years ago, when I first started, I spent a few hundred dollars on a cross-border e-commerce tax course. I still remember the first thing the instructor said: “The biggest fear for a personal shopper isn’t a lack of clients; it’s having books that can’t stand up to scrutiny.” From then on, I bought a small safe just for tax certificates. Every payment, every customs declaration—I photographed it for backup, locking the originals in the safe. Other shoppers would laugh, “You’re not running a corporation, why be so proper?” I never explained, just kept doing my thing. “What was the total declared value for this batch of goods?” the lead investigator asked. “Eight thousand three hundred and forty-two dollars. The corresponding tax documents are in the seventh file box, the stack with the blue labels.” He flipped through and cross-referenced them, saying nothing. A younger investigator beside him couldn’t help but glance at me. I read four words in his expression: much ado about nothing. But a report was a report; the process had to be followed. “Have you received any goods from an unknown source in the last month?” “No. I only do self-sourcing and selling. I don’t take on anyone else’s distribution orders.” I paused. “However…” “However what?” “Last month, my friend borrowed my business courier account to ship three batches of goods. She said her own account had hit its limit.” I opened my phone, pulled up the chat history, and handed it over. “This is our conversation when she borrowed the account. I told her to label them herself and fill out the customs information. I didn’t handle it.” The lead officer took the phone and examined it carefully. “What’s your friend’s name?” “Sarah Miller.” My throat tightened as I said her name. Ten years. High school desk mate, college roommate, then we both entered the personal shopping business after graduation. She had grown bigger than me. I stuck to legitimate channels—lower profits, fewer but stable clients. She played it fast and loose. Last month, she’d posted a photo of her new BMW X3 on social media. I never asked questions. The investigator took photos of my chat logs, then spent another half hour flipping through my file boxes. As they were leaving, the lead officer turned back to me. “Jamie, a heads-up: some details in that report aren’t things an ordinary person would know. For example, your sourcing costs, your profit margins, even the location of your safe.” “Think about it. Who would know that information?” After the door closed, I stood alone in the warehouse. The SK-II was still on the table, the shipping bags unsealed. The location of my safe. I had only brought one person into this warehouse. The day Sarah came to help me move some inventory, I personally poured her a fresh cup of coffee. I didn’t sleep that night. I tossed and turned, wondering if I had it all wrong. Maybe it was someone else? Maybe a competitor jealous of me? But flight numbers, sourcing costs, safe location—the intersection of these three pieces of information only pointed to Sarah. At 2 AM, I opened her social media. Her latest post was from six hours ago: omakase at a sushi restaurant, captioned “Treating myself after a long day.” The photo showed her wearing exquisite makeup. A man sat opposite her, only his cuff visible. That navy Hugo Boss shirt. I recognized it. It belonged to her boyfriend. I scrolled down. Three days ago: “Ladies, huge clearance on Japanese luxury makeup! SK-II Facial Treatment Essence is $400 off! DM me fast!” The nine-grid photo collage was full of high-end skincare, neatly arranged on a table. I zoomed in on the fifth photo. In the bottom right corner, a small section of a cardboard box was visible. A label from my business courier account was stuck to the box. I recognized the tracking number. It was one of the batches she shipped using my account last month. I put down my phone and stared at the ceiling. My mind was a mess, but one thing suddenly became terrifyingly clear: the goods she shipped using my account, and the goods I declared myself, went through the same customs inspection channel. If there was an issue with her batch, I would be dragged down with her. This was no coincidence. At 9 AM the next morning, Sarah called. “Jamie! I heard Customs investigated you? What happened?” Her voice was filled with surprise and concern. If it weren’t for my discoveries last night, I would have believed her. “Nothing serious. Routine check.” “I knew it! How could someone as careful as you have any problems? Do you want me to ask around? I know someone at a customs clearance company—” “No, thanks.” “Hey, don’t be stubborn. Customs investigations are no joke. What if your goods get seized? What about your clients? If you need, I can help you ship some orders for now.” I gripped the phone, my nails digging into my palm. I had only told my mom about the investigation. “Sarah, how did you know I was being investigated?” Silence on the other end for two seconds. “Oh… didn’t you post about it on social media yesterday? Said your warehouse was temporarily not shipping orders—” “My social media posts are set to private. Only clients can see that one.” Another two seconds of silence. “Must have been… a client who screenshotted it for me? I don’t quite remember.” “Oh. Alright then.” I hung up. My palm was slick with sweat. She was lying. And it wasn’t the first time. I opened my laptop and pulled up all my cooperation records with her from the past three years—how many times she borrowed my account, which goods she handled, the amounts, whether there were customs declarations. It wasn’t just my books that needed checking. For the next week, I outwardly did nothing. I replied to client messages as usual, and met Sarah for coffee as usual. But every night, when I got home, I started organizing. All the goods she shipped using my account over three years, seven batches in total. The first four batches had records; the amounts were small, the largest being only about twelve hundred dollars. But the last three batches were different. These three were shipped between last October and this January, and I couldn’t find the declared customs amounts for any of them. Because she had said, “I’ll fill out the customs forms myself, no need to bother you.” At the time, I thought she was being considerate. Now, I realized she was being deliberate. Wednesday lunchtime, I met her for lunch at the mall. She was wearing a camel Max Mara coat. I recognized it—it was $2600 on the official website. She’d posted it on social media last month. “Jamie, you look so thin. The customs thing didn’t get to you, did it?” “I’m fine. My books are clean anyway.” “That’s good, that’s good.” She picked up a piece of sashimi with her chopsticks. “Oh, by the way, that client of yours, Mrs. Chen—the one who buys three sets of Sulwhasoo every month—has she stopped buying from you recently?” My heart sank. “How did you know?” “She bought from me last week. Said you were being investigated and she didn’t dare buy from you.” Sarah bit her chopstick and smiled. “Don’t worry. Once your situation clears up, I’ll give her back to you.” Give her back to me. As if my clients were her borrowed possessions. “Besides Mrs. Chen, who else has contacted you?” “Just… a few others. Some people are just scared of getting involved, you know? It’s normal.” She looked down at her phone, missing my hand, clutching the chopsticks, trembling. After getting home, I went through my client list, messaging them one by one to confirm. The results chilled me to the bone. Out of sixty-seven stable clients accumulated over three years, twenty-three had left. Nineteen of them had switched to Sarah. It wasn’t because they were scared by the investigation. Sarah had actively contacted them, saying, “Jamie probably won’t get through this. Don’t wait around, come to me. My prices are even lower.” A client named Sue screenshotted the messages for me. The last line of Sarah’s message to her was: “Trust me, she’ll never find out.” I put down my phone. No anger, just an indescribable chill, seeping from my spine all the way to the top of my head. Ten years. Ten years of friendship, apparently worth nineteen clients. No, maybe it was worth more. Perhaps from the very beginning, every step of this friendship was her getting closer to my client list. I started replaying events. Every incident I once took for granted now tasted different. In my freshman year, she said her family was struggling, so I helped her get a part-time job as a personal shopper runner. During the summer of my junior year, she said she wanted to learn the business. I gave her my meticulously organized list of Japanese pharmacies, popular product price lists, and a comparison of shipping companies—all of which had taken me half a year to compile. After graduation, I took her to Tokyo three times, introducing her to all my suppliers. The airfare for her first solo sourcing trip to Japan? I covered it. Three hundred and forty dollars. She said she’d pay me back next month, but she never did. I never pressed her for it either. Later, her business grew. She rented a proper office as a warehouse, hired two young women to help with packing and shipping, and registered a company. I was happy for her. Sometimes during our video calls at night, she’d be working late in her office, with a wall of shelves behind her, packed with goods. I’d be on my balcony at home, sticking shipping labels on six cardboard boxes. She’d say, “Jamie, why are you still playing so small? Why don’t you come work for my company? I’ll help you scale up.” Every time, I’d smile and say no need. I was used to doing things myself. My accounts were clear, and my mind was at ease. But while she said she’d “help me scale up,” what she was actually doing was poaching my clients. I compiled a timeline. Last July: I told her Mrs. Chen bought three sets of Sulwhasoo every month. Last August: Mrs. Chen placed her first order with Sarah. Last September: She borrowed my courier account to ship her first batch of goods. Last October to January this year: She intensively borrowed my account to ship three large batches of goods. This February: Someone reported me for tax evasion. The timeline was too perfectly aligned. She first poached my clients to build her base, then used my account to ship potentially problematic goods, and finally sent in a report to crush me. If Customs found issues with the goods shipped under my account, they would come after me. If my business was ruined by the investigation, my clients would have no choice but to go to her. Three birds with one stone. I sat in front of my computer, my hands resting on the keyboard, motionless for a long time. Outside, the sky was a dull gray. It looked like rain. I didn’t cry. I just felt incredibly tired. A weariness that seeped from my bones. The customs investigation continued. I was asked to provide supplementary materials at any time, but they didn’t seize my goods. Officer Frank, the lead investigator, sounded calm when he called to inform me. “Jamie, we’re verifying your documents. Initially, they look quite standard. But until the process is complete, your business courier account is temporarily frozen.” “Okay. How long will it be frozen?” “Hard to say. It depends on the situation.” A frozen courier account meant I couldn’t ship anything. My clients couldn’t wait. Within a week, another eleven clients left. Sarah’s social media grew increasingly lively. She had a new batch of limited edition Japanese face masks, priced 30% cheaper than mine. I looked at the price and did some quick math. With proper customs declaration and tax payments, that price would make no profit at all. Unless she wasn’t declaring the full value. Or not declaring at all.

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The clerk tiptoed toward me, whispering that the shop was out of blueberries again and asking if I wanted to order more. I’d just put down my phone, the screen still showing a vlog about working at a cat café. In the video, the blogger was quite something. Whenever friends showed up, the blueberries on their cakes were piled up like little mountains. Not only that, but she’d often make excuses about getting coffee orders wrong, giving her friends free drinks. The comment section was full of jokes about her getting fired for it, but she just shrugged it off, saying she’d be back in school in a month anyway. 1. With fewer customers in the shop, I slid the freshly made crepe cake into the display fridge and scrolled through my phone for a bit. That’s when I stumbled upon this vlog about working at a cat café. Being in the same line of business, I started watching with genuine interest, but my brow soon furrowed. To treat her friends, the small slice of cake she brought over had so many blueberries they were spilling onto the plate. And don’t even get me started on the intentionally ‘mistaken’ drinks – it was practically a buy-one-get-one-free deal. After her friends had their fill of petting cats and left, she brazenly helped herself to the shop’s supplies. Not only did she hand them a lint roller, but she also picked out a large mango as a parting gift. I rolled my eyes, thinking it was probably just an act for views. After all, who in their right mind would genuinely exploit someone else’s generosity and do something so unethical, then boast about it? I expected to see some criticism in the comments, but to my surprise, they were all supportive: “LOL, I wish I could get my friends jobs like this too.” “If I had a pal like the streamer, I’d be set for life.” Someone else, clearly loving the drama, posted: “Are you a long-term employee? Aren’t you worried about getting fired?” The blogger’s reply was smug: “Nah, just a summer gig. But I told the boss I was in it for the long haul.” “I’m out when school starts; not my problem after that.” Then, she brazenly shared her ‘wisdom’ in the comments: “I told the boss I flunked my college entrance exams and my folks wouldn’t fund my studies. They totally bought it and felt sorry for me.” “Closer to school starting, I’ll just say I’ve saved enough and need to go back to my studies.” Reading that, I suddenly remembered the day I interviewed Charlotte. The cat café I owned rarely featured purebred cats; most were strays with nowhere else to go. Initially, business was slow, but with a bit of word-of-mouth, my place gained some traction. Soon, I was swamped with customers daily and needed an extra pair of hands. The ‘Help Wanted’ sign had barely been up outside the café when Charlotte showed up for an interview. “Can you commit to this long-term?” To keep the business running smoothly, I needed a steady employee, not someone who’d ditch after a few days. Replacing them would mean more hiring, training, and a whole lot of hassle. “A summer job is fine too. The pay’s the same as for a long-term position, just let me know in advance when you plan to leave.” Charlotte looked earnestly at me: “Boss, I can definitely stay long-term!” “I flunked my entrance exams, and my parents won’t support my studies, so I really need this job.” At the time, her story tugged at my heartstrings. But… I stared at that comment, a strange feeling of absurdity washing over me. Could it really be that much of a coincidence? 2. “Boss, we’re out of blueberries. Should we grab some more?” My barista, Sarah, was doing inventory. A moment later, she added, “Strawberries and durian are running low too…” I put down my phone and headed to the back. Summer fruits don’t last long, so to avoid waste, I usually restock every few days. This way, customers always get fresh fruit, and I save on costs. But I’d specifically bought enough blueberries for three days yesterday. How could they be gone already? “Sarah, did we really have that many blueberry cake orders yesterday when I wasn’t here?” “Pull up the sales records for me, please.” Counting myself, there were three of us working in the shop. Sarah and I both handled pastries and coffee. If we were both in, I usually took care of the sweets while she managed coffee and tea. If one of us was off, the other would cover. Charlotte was responsible for delivering drinks to customers on the second floor petting cats, and she also handled the litter boxes. Sarah looked at me, hesitating, as if she wanted to say something. “Ms. Hayes!” Charlotte came bounding down the stairs, cutting off our conversation. She beamed: “Table 2 wants another order of fries; can you whip them up?” She sauntered over and draped herself familiarly over my arm. “Ms. Hayes, I overheard you talking about the blueberries.” “Yesterday afternoon, a customer found a rotten piece of fruit and insisted on compensation. To smooth things over, I gave them the last of our blueberries.” “It was an emergency, and I didn’t have time to ask you. You’re not mad I acted on my own, right?” Blueberries I’d personally picked out that morning, rotten by the afternoon? I remained noncommittal. Charlotte, ever curious, continued, “Ms. Hayes, didn’t you say you had to go back to your hometown for something? Why are you here today?” I subtly pulled away from her, my expression cool. “I was worried you two might get swamped, so I rescheduled my plans.” After frying the fries, I reopened that vlog. The blogger hadn’t shown her face, keeping her identity private. The video only displayed parts of the shop’s interior and the blogger’s hands. Initially, I hadn’t paid much attention to those minor details. But now, with the IP address, the identical décor to our shop, and the ring on the blogger’s hand, I could pretty much confirm that I was the unwitting boss in the video. 3. All those overlooked details now flooded my mind. Just last week, an old customer had given me a strange look as they left, saying, “Ms. Hayes, do you think all shops treat their loyal customers poorly?” “You pay the same money, but you get less than everyone else.” At the time, I was baffled; now, it all clicked. A surge of anger shot through me. I opened the second-floor surveillance feed, wanting to check yesterday’s video. But I found that the movable snack rack, which usually sat in the corner, had been relocated right in front of the camera, completely blocking its view. I actually laughed, a bitter, humorless sound. During work hours, I was usually busy downstairs making desserts and rarely went upstairs. I only went up before closing each day to check the cleanliness and the cats’ well-being. Yet, the trust I’d placed in her had become Charlotte’s license to do whatever she pleased. She’d even blocked the camera. Annoyed, I started heading upstairs to move the rack, but as soon as I reached the second floor, I heard a burst of laughter. Charlotte was lounging on the sofa, a cat in her lap, chatting away with customers. The scattered cat litter and the trash on the adjacent table were completely ignored. “Ms. Hayes? What are you doing up here?” She casually put down her chips and set the cat aside. Seeing my gaze linger on the trash, she sheepishly picked up a dustpan and brush. I didn’t want to argue with her in front of customers, so I took a deep breath and subtly hinted, “Charlotte, once you’re done with the upstairs tasks, come down and lend a hand.” She acted oblivious, countering in a stiff, unyielding tone, “Didn’t you say initially that my job only covered the second floor?” But the cat bowls were empty, and she hadn’t refilled them. The litter was clumped, and she hadn’t cleaned it. What exactly had she been doing? I ignored her. After moving the snack rack, I cut straight to the chase: “From now on, no moving the second-floor furniture without my permission.” Charlotte didn’t say a word. But as she went downstairs, I faintly heard her talking to a customer: “Are all bosses like this? Can’t stand seeing someone relax, always gotta grind you down.” “And she’s spying on me with cameras… Must be hitting menopause or something.” I waited and waited downstairs, and in the meantime, another wave of customers arrived. After finishing up, it was dinner time, and Charlotte finally ambled down. “I’m so drained. This job is killer.” “Sarah, can you whip me up a latte?” 4. Sarah glanced at me, then pursed her lips and shook her head, refusing. Charlotte pouted, muttering, “Seriously? It’s just a cup of coffee. It’s not like it’ll break the bank.” “Should’ve just gone to a bubble tea shop instead.” I scoffed inwardly, keeping my poker face. I wasn’t about to let her know I’d already seen her vlog. “Then go for it. I’ll pay you for these two weeks.” Her eyes widened, clearly caught off guard. Charlotte quickly forced a laugh. “Ms. Hayes, I was just kidding! Don’t take it seriously.” “Oh, what are we having for dinner tonight?” She awkwardly changed the subject. “I’m craving crayfish!” Three servings of crayfish would be at least three or four hundred bucks. She really had some nerve. I did provide two meals a day, but I wasn’t about to dip into my savings for her extravagant tastes. Last week, she wanted barbecue, and I, thinking everyone had a tiring day, specially took them to a barbecue joint after closing. I might be the boss, but my wallet couldn’t handle that kind of expense every day. “Still fast food…” Charlotte sighed in disappointment, poking at her rice with chopsticks. “Oh, by the way, Ms. Hayes, can I leave an hour early from now on?” Sarah shot me a look, lips sealed, and I knew she probably had an opinion on it. If Charlotte left early, her tasks would fall to someone else. During the interview, she’d painted herself as a stellar employee, but now her true colors were showing. “Why?”

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1 It all started when I mindlessly clicked a link my roommate sent me. A few minutes later, a notification popped up on my phone. My bank account had a sudden deposit of three hundred bucks. I just stared at the screen, totally bewildered. While I was trying to figure out how to reverse the transaction, an unknown number called. The voice on the other end was cold and aggressive. The guy told me I owed their platform fifteen hundred dollars, and the three hundred I just received was merely the interest. A cold sweat broke out on my neck. I had somehow stumbled into a predatory payday loan trap. I immediately went to confront my roommate, Harper. She just batted her eyelashes, looking like the picture of innocence. “You took the money yourself, Jess. Paying back your debts is just how the world works, isn’t it?” The debt collectors were ruthless. They threatened to show up on campus and make such a scene that I would never be able to show my face in class again. Terrified and in tears, I had no choice but to call my parents and confess everything, hoping they could help me bail myself out. I braced myself for the scolding of a lifetime. But instead, my dad’s eyes practically lit up through the FaceTime screen. “Hold on, kiddo. Does this app still let you borrow? Think we can hit them up for a little more?” … My mom and I were both stunned into silence. Mom slapped him hard on the shoulder. “Frank, have you lost your damn mind? These are loan sharks! Do you want our daughter’s credit score ruined for life?” I nodded frantically. “Yeah, Dad! I haven’t even graduated yet. I don’t want to be blacklisted by the banks.” Dad just rolled his eyes at us. He leaned into the camera, a sly grin on his face. “These offshore shadow lenders aren’t recognized by the federal government or the state laws. If they have the guts to lend it out illegally, we have the guts to keep it.” With that, Dad pulled out his phone and started making calls. He dialed my uncles, my aunts, and even my cousins. Then he told Mom to get her side of the family on the line. He asked me to forward him the app link. A minute later, it was sitting in our massive extended family group chat. He was officially rallying the entire bloodline to drain these loan sharks dry. My older brother, Connor, who works as a corporate lawyer in the city, called a few minutes later. He asked Dad if he had joined a pyramid scheme. But once Dad explained the situation, Connor went dead silent. Finally, Connor sighed. “They set up a predatory snare for my little sister. Fine. Tell everyone to borrow as much as they can. If the heat comes down, I’ll bury them in court.” Having a lawyer’s guarantee was like pouring gasoline on Dad’s fire. He told the neighbors. The neighbors told their neighbors. Our relatives told their bowling leagues and church groups. Before long, every single household in Brookhollow was taking out illegal loans. Even Great-Grandpa Sully, who was eighty-eight and half-blind, somehow racked up tens of thousands in debt. Families were using the scammers’ money to put new roofs on their houses and buy decent used trucks. Mrs. Higgins from down the street patted my shoulder with tears of joy in her eyes. “You really are our little college scholar, Jess. First year out of town, and you’re already bringing home the bacon for the whole valley.” Brookhollow was a forgotten little town tucked deep in the Appalachian mountains. Normally, even the crows didn’t bother stopping here, and anyone with half a brain had moved to the city years ago. Because we were so isolated, the folks who stayed were tightly knit. We fought like cats and dogs sometimes, but when it came down to it, we were one big, terrifyingly loyal family. I sniffled, finally snapping out of the trauma of being extorted. Dad shoved three hundred bucks in cash into my coat pocket and told me to head back to school and focus on my grades. He promised he would handle the fallout. But the second I got back to campus, all hell broke loose. 2 The moment I pushed open the dorm room door, Harper was taking a bite of her loaded burrito. She let out a snort of laughter, spraying lettuce on her desk. “Well, if it isn’t the campus deadbeat. How do you even have the nerve to show your face around here?” My other roommate, Riley, quietly forwarded a link to my phone. It was a post on the university’s anonymous gossip forum. The debt collectors had posted my full name, claiming that if I didn’t pay up, my ID details and a bunch of photos would be leaked everywhere. The comments underneath were brutal. People who had no idea what was going on were tearing me apart. “Some girls are just desperate for designer bags. Imagine taking out a massive loan just to flex.” “Total trash. Does she have no respect for her parents or herself?” My hands were shaking with pure rage. I walked over and slapped the burrito right out of Harper’s hands. It hit the floor with a wet splat. “You think you have the right to laugh at me? If it wasn’t for you, would I be drowning in this mess?” It happened at the start of the semester. I had overspent on textbooks and groceries. Harper was the only one in the room, so I asked if she could spot me five bucks for a coffee and a sandwich. Instead of lending me the cash, she texted me a link. I thought it was one of those coupon referral codes. I clicked it, filled out a basic form, and instantly received three hundred bucks. And just like that, I was strapped with a fifteen-hundred-dollar debt. Harper jumped up, furious about her food, and practically spit in my face. “Not my problem, broke girl! You’re the one who was begging for cash. I didn’t put a gun to your head and make you sign up.” A heavy knot of anger lodged in my throat. “I asked for five dollars for lunch! If you didn’t want to lend it to me, you could have just said no. Did I ask you to sign me up with the mafia?” Harper rolled her eyes and shoved past me. “If you don’t want the money, just pay it back. Oh, wait. You’re just trying to scam them, aren’t you?” When I first saw the fifteen-hundred-dollar balance, I was so sick to my stomach I couldn’t even eat. I tried to return the money immediately. But their “customer service” told me I couldn’t pay early unless I paid the entire fifteen hundred in one lump sum. Where was a broke college kid supposed to get that kind of cash? I had waited anxiously for the first due date and paid back the three hundred. Then I found out that the payment only covered the interest! I was still fifteen hundred in the hole. That was why I went home crying to my parents. But thank God I went home. Now, I had a spine. “I never wanted their dirty money,” I said, glaring her down. “Even if I did pay, they only get the three hundred back. They’re not getting a single extra dime out of me!” 3 Harper’s face went completely pale. She sneered. “I knew you were just a cheap scammer. You just don’t want to pay the interest. Thank God I never lent you a cent.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I wanted five bucks. What kind of interest was she planning to charge me on a sandwich? Harper pointed a manicured finger at the spilled food on the rug. “Clean that up right now, Jess. Or I swear I’ll make your life a living hell.” I stepped right over the mess. “Do your worst. Call the cops if you want.” I had already tried calling the police about the loan sharks. The dispatcher told me it was a civil dispute and they couldn’t intervene. I highly doubted they were going to dispatch a squad car over a dropped burrito. I walked out of the dorm, ignoring the dark, venomous look Harper was shooting at the back of my head. I had barely sat down in the library to study when my phone started vibrating violently against the wood table. I whispered apologies to the annoyed students around me and jammed my phone on silent. The screen lit up with endless streams of unknown numbers. When I didn’t answer, the text messages flooded in. “Jessica, when are you paying the $1,500? You’re a college student. Have you no shame being a filthy thief?” “You have until 6 PM today. If we don’t see the money, your parents, professors, and friends will know exactly what you are. Consequences are on you!” “Keep ignoring us and see what happens to your credit, you little deadbeat. Nobody’s ever going to hire a thief!” I had mentally prepared myself for the harassment, but seeing the sheer volume of threats made my stomach churn. Studying was out of the question now. I grabbed my backpack and headed toward the cafeteria, blocking numbers as I walked. My thumb slipped on the screen, and I accidentally answered a call. A rough, gravelly man’s voice barked through the speaker. “Well, look who finally decided to pick up! Thought you dropped dead, Jessica.” “You go to Bayview University, right? Pay the damn money! Or I’m coming down to your campus to get it out of you myself!” I forced my voice to stay steady. “Your loans are predatory and illegal. You have no legal standing.” The guy let out a vicious string of curses. “If you’re broke, just say you’re broke! Legal my ass. You weren’t whining about the law when you took our cash. Pay up now, or I’m gonna ruin you!” I hung up on him and blocked the number. I took a deep breath and walked into the dining hall, but the lunch lady practically slammed my tray onto the counter, splashing soup near my hand. “Kids these days,” she muttered loudly. “No respect for anyone, just dragging their families down.” I looked around. Students at the nearby tables were staring at me, whispering behind their hands. “That’s her.” “The one who steals money and bullies her roommates. Total psycho.” My chest tightened. I rushed back to the dorm and opened the university forum. My face was plastered right on the front page. 4 Harper had written a massive essay online. She played the tragic victim, claiming I was a degenerate gambler who refused to pay my debts and took out my anger by terrorizing her in our own room. I was officially the most hated girl on campus. The academic advisor was already waiting in my dorm when I got back. Harper was standing next to her, squeezing out fake tears and looking fragile, while the advisor rubbed her back sympathetically. My blood boiled. “I’m the one getting death threats! What are you crying for?” The advisor glared at me sharply. “Watch your tone, Jessica! Taking out shady loans is bad enough, but resorting to physical intimidation? Unacceptable.” “Apologize to Harper right this second, or I’m writing you up for immediate suspension!” A crowd of students had gathered in the hallway outside our open door, whispering and recording the drama on their phones. Normally, I would have just swallowed my pride and kept my head down. I hate confrontation. But I was pushed entirely past my limit. “Why should I apologize? She’s the one who tricked me into clicking a loan shark link! Why do you think I knocked her food out of her hands?” Harper gritted her teeth and wailed louder. “Stop lying! I never forced you to do anything. You clicked it yourself!” She turned to the advisor, her voice trembling. “I know I don’t come from a rich family, but that doesn’t give Jess the right to treat me like garbage! She’s been bullying me all semester, and now she wants to blame her debts on me! If you don’t expel her right now, I’ll jump out of this window!” She actually lunged toward the dorm room balcony. The crowd gasped. The advisor nearly had a heart attack trying to pull her back. She whipped her head around to look at me, her face flushed with fury. “Do you have anything else to say for yourself? Do you think you can just terrorize people because you feel like it?” “I’ve heard enough. You are suspended pending an investigation. Your scholarship for this semester is revoked. Pack your bags!” Tears of pure frustration stung my eyes. My family had been dirt poor for three generations. When did I suddenly become the rich campus bully? I looked at Harper, soaking up the sympathy from the crowd, and I wanted to scream. I was half-tempted to say I would jump out the window with her. But right then, my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from Dad. I swallowed the lump in my throat, blinked back my tears, and looked the advisor dead in the eye. “Fine. I accept the suspension.” 5 It took a train, a Greyhound bus, and hitching a ride in the back of a pickup truck to finally make it back to Brookhollow. But the town was unrecognizable. Almost every house was putting up fresh siding. The dirt road leading into the valley had been paved with smooth, black asphalt. Even the old hound dog that slept on the porch of the general store was wearing a fancy new leather collar. Mom had cooked an absolute feast to comfort me. “Don’t you worry your pretty head, sweetie. The boys are about to bleed these scammers dry. They won’t be bothering you much longer.” Sitting at the kitchen table, a warm feeling finally spread through my chest. Sure, I had been public enemy number one at school for a month, but my whole hometown was living like kings. The next billing cycle was approaching. Like always, I played dead and ignored the app. But then a text came through from Harper. “Jessica, have you no shame? Are you really not going to pay?” I frowned at my screen. Even if I was a deadbeat, what the hell did it matter to her? When I left her on read, she started blowing up my phone. Her texts reeked of desperation. “Don’t pretend you can’t see this. You think hiding out in the woods is gonna save you?” “Do your parents even know how much trouble you’re in?” “Do you really want to humiliate your family in front of your whole redneck town?” I chuckled out loud. My family were local heroes right now. Folks were lining up to buy my dad a beer at the tavern. Before I could type out a snarky reply, another text chimed in. This one was from the debt collectors. “Brookhollow, right? We’ll be there by 6 PM tomorrow. Have the cash ready, or you’re gonna find out what happens.” A thrill of adrenaline shot through me. I typed back immediately: “Doors are unlocked. Come on down.” Our whole town had been waiting for them to show their faces. Seeing that I wasn’t scared, the collector sent back a single, ominous threat: “You just wait, you little bitch.” The next afternoon, the whole town was on high alert. A battered white cargo van with out-of-state plates slowly rolled past the town limits. Several heavy-set guys dressed like cheap gangsters climbed out. They used the address from my ID upload to march straight up to my front yard. The leader, a guy with a neck tattoo and sleeves of faded ink, sneered at me from the grass. “Jessica? You the dumb broad who thinks she can stiff us?”

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My parents separated, and my mother developed a nearly obsessive fervor for cosmetic surgery. She would constantly tell my sister and me that a woman’s most important asset was never knowledge from books, but a beautiful face. Unfortunately, this “asset” seemed to belong only to my sister, Clara; she was born with delicate features. As for me, the dark birthmark on my right cheek became an eternal source of pain. Because of her outstanding appearance, Clara became a well-known child model, praised wherever she went. I, however, was deprived of the right to go to school by my mother, who claimed my “appearance was disgraceful,” and was forced to live in a dark, damp basement. “It’s already a bargain for you to be Clara’s nanny. Uglies should stay where they can’t be seen,” my mother’s words pierced my heart like needles. Merely because of a physical flaw, my life plunged completely into a sunless abyss. On my eighteenth birthday, clutching years of saved spare change, I walked into an unmarked private clinic. “All my money is here. Please help me fix my face, make me look like a normal person,” I mumbled, my voice trembling with a tremor I didn’t even notice myself. 1 Before leaving, I counted again the money I’d saved over the years by collecting bottles. No more, no less, exactly five thousand dollars. For someone with no allowance, this was a huge sum. But Mom always said that to be beautiful, no amount of money was too much. Every time she slapped me because of my birthmark, she would cry and scold me: “It’s all because you’re so ugly that your father divorced me! That he abandoned us!” So, if I became beautiful, Mom would be happy, right? I clutched the money in my pocket, walking towards that cosmetic clinic with a mix of nervousness and anticipation. Mom had taken Clara out for a photoshoot today, which was how I managed to sneak out. After all, Mom usually didn’t let me leave the house. She said I was too ugly, and I would scare people. So, I could only go out at night to collect bottles, never daring to let anyone see my face. It took me so long to save these five thousand dollars. But I didn’t regret it. If it could make Mom love me, I’d do anything. The streets were dark at night. I walked, hiding and sneaking, for a long time before reaching that small clinic. The light on the sign was flickering, spelling out “Everglowing Aesthetics.” I pushed open the creaking door without hesitation and stepped inside. A man in a white lab coat was sitting at the counter, playing on his phone. Hearing the noise, he looked up at me: “What procedure are you here for?” I nodded, handing him the money, already damp with sweat: “I want to get rid of the birthmark on my face, and I want to become beautiful. Is this enough money?” The man counted the stack of bills, a smile I couldn’t quite decipher on his face: “It’s enough.” He led me into a dimly lit operating room. The operating table was a bit dirty. I hesitated, then lay down, swallowing hard: “Will one surgery be enough to make me beautiful?” The man casually replied: “Of course. Just lie still; it’ll be quick.” My heart lightened, and a smile touched my lips. Mom had so many cosmetic surgeries, yet she always said she wasn’t beautiful enough. I was worried that if I also needed so many surgeries, how long would I have to save money? Good, good, five thousand dollars to become beautiful—this clinic is truly ethical! I obediently placed my hands on my chest: “That’s wonderful! Thank you, Doctor!” The man let out a laugh, a hint of mockery in his tone. Then, something pierced my arm. It hurt a lot. But Mom always said, how can becoming beautiful not hurt? To be beautiful, any amount of pain is worth it! The glaring light above me blurred, and I gradually lost consciousness. When I opened my eyes again, I felt incredibly light. The operating room was empty. I ran to the restroom alone, staring blankly at myself in the mirror. I was truly beautiful! The doctor hadn’t lied to me. I was no longer that ugly duckling. In the mirror, the birthmark that had made me an outcast for eighteen years was gone. Although my face was a bit pale, I was overjoyed. I immediately turned and ran out of the clinic, wanting to tell Mom the good news as soon as possible. For some reason, the walk home felt much easier than the walk there. I quickly reached our doorstep. Lights were on inside, and Mom’s voice drifted out: “Where did that brat run off to now? Didn’t even prepare dinner!” “Didn’t even clean Clara’s room like I told her to. Lazy, good-for-nothing parasite!” My steps faltered. But then I relaxed. If Mom knew I was beautiful, she definitely wouldn’t be angry anymore! Clara and I had dropped out of school a long time ago because Mom said studying was useless. “I graduated from a top university, but your father still looked down on me!” “That pretty spa worker just waved her hand, and he abandoned us three women!” “Only your face is important! If I were prettier, how could that hussy have stolen my husband?” Every time she brought this up, Mom would go crazy, smashing things. She’d grab whatever was nearby and throw it at my face, cursing as she did: “It’s all your fault! Who told you to be so ugly!” Now I was beautiful. Would Mom treat me like she treated Clara? I mustered my courage and stepped into the house, softly calling out: “Mom!” But Mom didn’t seem to hear, still shouting into the room: “Penelope Miller! Get out here!” I felt a little lost: “Mom, I’m home… Look! I’m beautiful now!” Mom kicked over the trash can: “That brat, daring to sneak out in the middle of the night! I’ll break her legs!” I quickly ran to her side, shouting louder: “Mom, my birthmark is gone! I’m beautiful now, will you please look at me?” She still ignored me. Clara, on the sofa, spoke softly: “Forget it, sis probably snuck out to collect bottles again.” “Mom, I’m tired and want to rest.” As soon as Clara spoke, Mom immediately put on a smiling face: “Alright, alright, sweetie, let’s go to bed! You have a photoshoot tomorrow. Come on, put on a face mask before you sleep!” A moment later, the living room was empty. Only I stood there, bewildered. It was like this again… ignoring me again! Before, because I was ugly, Mom couldn’t even be bothered to answer me. She often said: “Who told you to be ugly? If you were a great beauty, you’d easily attract attention no matter what you did.” “If you were as beautiful as your sister, how could anyone treat you like air?” But why, even now that I was beautiful, were they still ignoring me? I looked at the mirror on the table, which reflected my clean, beautiful face. I sat alone on the sofa, thinking for a very long time. Finally, I understood. Perhaps because I was beautiful, they didn’t recognize me! As long as I told them tomorrow that I was Penelope, they wouldn’t treat me like air anymore, right? I could also go out during the day like Clara, and go to work to earn money, right? My mom used to not be like this. She would go out to work, she smiled a lot, and she loved to hold me and tell me I was her most precious baby. Back then, the birthmark on my face wasn’t an unforgivable flaw. I was only five when my dad cheated. Before I was five, I was as happy as any ordinary child. But from the day Dad left, everything changed. After Mom gave birth to Clara, she became obsessed with plastic surgery. High cranial vault, elf ears, an A4 waist… one procedure after another. Mom poured all her savings into it, but couldn’t even afford formula for Clara. I could only cook rice porridge to feed Clara. I watched Mom become prettier each day, but also more frantic. “Why? Why won’t he come back?!” “I’m already so beautiful! Why can’t I compare to that mistress?” It wasn’t until Clara grew older, her features gradually developing. One day, Mom suddenly stared at Clara’s face for a long, long time. Then, she smiled: “Why didn’t I notice before, our Clara is so beautiful? Penelope, don’t you think?” I timidly nodded. As soon as Clara could walk, Mom took her out to be a child model. They were famous online as the “Beauty Mother-Daughter Duo,” while I was the blemish Mom desperately tried to hide. Mom’s gaze gradually stopped falling on me, but I didn’t care. As long as Mom was happy, I didn’t mind anything. But that day, an accident happened. Mom’s plastic surgery failed. Her face became distorted, her cheeks sunken, her mouth crooked, and her eyes askew. That day, she slapped Clara and me many times, our faces red and swollen. I clutched her clothes, pleading: “Mom, don’t hit her anymore! You can hit me, but don’t hit Clara!” “Clara is the prettiest! Don’t you love her the most?!” Looking at Clara’s face, Mom froze and stopped hitting. After that day, Mom quit her job and focused entirely on taking Clara to various photoshoots. Clara’s schedule was packed every day; sometimes she had two or three shoots in a single day. I was left at home, caring for their daily needs like a servant. Mom still often lost control. But when she lost her temper, she no longer hit Clara, only slapped me again and again. The most terrifying time, she came at me with scissors. She said with a smile: “Cut this ugly thing off, and everything will be better!” Clara rushed over and hugged her leg, allowing me to escape. Every time I was hit, Clara would put medicine on my wounds. She would also look into my eyes and say: “Sister, don’t listen to Mom. Appearance isn’t the most important thing.” I didn’t believe her. But she was so kind to me that I didn’t argue. I just thought, I can only say those words when I’m as beautiful as you. I sat alone on the sofa until dawn. It was strange; I wasn’t sleepy at all. Mom came out of the room, not even glancing at me on the sofa, just muttering: “She really didn’t come back…” Clara walked out, rubbing her eyes, and I noticed they were a little swollen. After glancing at the living room, she worriedly tugged at Mom’s clothes: “Mom, sis…” Mom immediately frowned: “Don’t even mention that jinx! I’ll deal with her when she gets back!” “You hurry up and get ready! We’ll be late!” They left the house, and I quickly followed. All the way, I tried to tell Mom and Clara. I was Penelope Miller, a beautiful Penelope Miller! I was no longer that ugly girl; I wouldn’t be an embarrassment to the family anymore! But they didn’t even look at me. Mom kept urgently rushing Clara: “Clara, hurry up! This ad is very important today!” But Clara suddenly stopped: “Mom, can we not shoot today? I’m so tired.” Mom froze. Then, a heavy slap landed on Clara’s face: “What did you say?!” Clara staggered from the blow and fell to the ground. I rushed forward, trying to stop Mom: “Mom! Don’t hit Clara! Hit me instead!” But Mom ignored me, slapping Clara again: “I feed you, clothe you, give you the best skincare products, and this is how you repay me?” “You won’t even shoot an ad? Are you going to fly away like your sister next?” Clara covered her face, tears streaming down: “But I’m really so tired… I’ve been shooting for seven consecutive days…” Mom’s voice was sharp and piercing: “Tired? What’s tired? Do you know how many people want to shoot but can’t? Do you know how much money you make in a day?” Clara suddenly looked up at her: “Mom, do you even love me?” Mom’s raised hand paused. “Do you love me, or do you love this face of mine?” Mom’s distorted face grew even more grotesque: “How dare you say such a thing?!” Clara sneered, continuing: “You don’t love us at all! You only love beauty. You want to be beautiful, and you want me to be beautiful.” “Sister is also your daughter, but you treated her that way just because she had a birthmark on her face!” “You don’t love anyone at all! You’re a monster!” “Shut up!” Mom covered her face in distress, screaming loudly. Clara sat on the ground, crying: “Mom, sis didn’t come back last night. Did you look for her? Were you worried about her?” Mom shrieked in rebuttal: “Of course I was worried about her! She’s also a part of me, how could I…” Just then, the large screen by the roadside suddenly switched images. “Breaking news update.” “Last night, police raided an unlicensed cosmetic black clinic, rescuing dozens of women who had undergone failed plastic surgeries.” “One fatality was found at the scene, due to respiratory arrest caused by anesthetic overdose.” “The deceased has been identified as a woman named Miller, aged eighteen…”

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