Category: English

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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I was helping my husband deal with traffic violations when I logged into the DMV app and noticed something odd. Besides our ten-year-old family sedan, a red Porsche Panamera was also registered in the system. The owner of the luxury car, with local license plates, was an unfamiliar woman. The remarks section brazenly displayed the jarring words: “Daddy’s Little Princess.” Twenty-two years of marriage instantly shattered before my eyes. The image of my daughter passing away seventeen years ago due to a thirty-thousand-dollar surgery fee suddenly surfaced. I remembered him kneeling in the hospital corridor, slapping himself, repeating that he was useless and couldn’t save our daughter. My hands trembling, I exited the app and searched for the car owner’s social media account. Half an hour ago, she had just posted a picture of her new car, bragging that it was a twentieth birthday gift from her dad, with the location tagged in the city’s most exclusive luxury residential area. 1. I stared at the location on the screen. Summit Gardens. The city’s wealthiest district, with an average price of twelve thousand dollars per square foot. I clicked on the profile of the girl named Ashley Chen. It was entirely filled with daily displays of wealth. “Dad took me to a Black Pearl restaurant, five hundred a person, but the food was just so-so.” “Dad bought me a limited edition Chanel bag, a rare style in the whole city.” “Today’s my eighteenth birthday celebration; Dad booked out the yacht club.” I scrolled through each post. My fingers were ice-cold, trembling incessantly. In every post, a man appeared. Sometimes it was a hand wearing a Rolex Submariner. Sometimes it was a broad back. That watch, that back—I knew them all too well. David Chen. I scrolled down to an older post. The timestamp was seventeen years ago. It was a baby’s full-moon photo. The caption read: “Ashley’s full moon! Dad says I’m his little princess.” Seventeen years ago. That same month, seventeen years ago, my daughter, Cici, lay in the ICU. The doctor said that if we paid the thirty thousand dollar surgery fee, our child could live. David Chen knelt on the floor. Slapping himself on both sides of his face. “I’m useless! I’ve borrowed from every relative and friend, and I can’t get a single dime!” “Honey, let’s give up. Cici is suffering too much.” He embraced me, weeping uncontrollably. Cici passed away. I held her cold body, crying until I fainted. David Chen swore to me then. “Honey, from now on, my life is yours. I will work tirelessly to make money and never let you suffer again.” Now. The money he worked tirelessly to earn had become a Porsche. It had become a luxury home in Summit Gardens. It had become a girl named Ashley Chen. The sound of a key turning in the lock came from the door. I quickly exited the account and locked my phone. David Chen pushed the door open. He was carrying a carton of discounted strawberries. “Honey, I’m home. The supermarket had strawberries on sale today, so I bought you a carton.” He changed into his slippers and walked over to me. “Did you take care of the traffic violation points?” I looked at him. Fifty years old, a bit bald, wearing a faded shirt. To anyone, he looked like a devoted and frugal good man. “Yes, it’s done,” my voice was steady. “That’s good,” he sighed in relief. “This old Jetta, the brakes are getting worse and worse. Almost rear-ended someone today.” “Then let’s get a new car,” I said. David Chen immediately frowned. “Replace what car! A car costs tens of thousands of dollars.” “We don’t have money for a new car right now.” “The company accounts don’t even have ten thousand dollars in liquid funds.” “I’m out there every day, begging and pleading for business, isn’t it all for our retirement?” He placed the strawberries on the table. “Don’t always be so extravagant. These strawberries are twenty dollars a pound; I even think that’s expensive.” I looked at the carton of strawberries. Some were already rotting. Ashley Chen’s Porsche, one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. My strawberries, twenty dollars. “David Chen.” “Hm?” He picked up a strawberry and popped it into his mouth. “Where were you today?” His chewing paused. “Meeting clients, of course. That construction boss from the Southside is a real pain. I spent the whole afternoon drinking tea with him; my stomach feels like it’s been worn through.” Southside. Summit Gardens was in the Northside. The Porsche center was also in the Northside. “Did you close the deal with the client?” “No. They said our quote was too high.” David Chen sighed. “Business is so tough these days. Honey, could you spot me for next month’s living expenses from your salary?” I watched him put on his act. Seventeen years. He had deceived me for seventeen years with that very face. My salary was eight thousand dollars a month. All of it went to utility bills, groceries, and mortgage payments. He only gave me two thousand dollars a month, claiming the company was struggling and could only afford that small base salary. I believed him. I hadn’t bought a single piece of clothing over two hundred dollars. “Okay,” I said. David Chen smiled. “You’re the best, honey. Once I get through this rough patch, I’ll definitely buy you a gold necklace.” His phone rang. He glanced at the screen, and his face instantly changed. “The client is calling; I’ll take it on the balcony.” He grabbed his phone and quickly walked to the balcony, closing the sliding door behind him. I stood up. Walked to the balcony door. Through the glass, I heard his hushed voice. “Ashley, didn’t Daddy just transfer fifty thousand to you?” “What? You found a watch you like?” “Okay, okay, Daddy will transfer the money to you tomorrow. Don’t be mad, Daddy loves you very much.” He turned around. I stood behind the glass door. He startled, nearly dropping his phone. He pulled open the door, forcing a smile. “Client, rushing for an order.” I looked at him. My gaze drifted past his shoulder, to the night sky behind him. “David Chen.” “What is it?” “I just checked that traffic violation record.” He tensed up. “What about the violation?” I stared into his eyes. “The location of the violation was the Porsche Center in the Northside.” 2. David Chen’s face froze. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “You must have read it wrong,” he forced a laugh. “My old Jetta, what would it be doing at a Porsche Center?” “Really.” “It must be a system GPS error. This navigation system often drifts.” He walked over and put his arm around my shoulder. “Honey, don’t be so suspicious all the time. My heart only beats for you in this life.” “After Cici left us, I lost all motivation to live. If it wasn’t for you, I would have given up long ago.” He brought up Cici again. Every time I questioned him, he would mention Cici. Using a dead child to cover up his lies. I pushed his hand away. “I’m going to take a shower.” I walked into the bathroom and locked the door. Turned on the faucet. Water splashed loudly. I took out my phone and dialed my cousin Mark’s number. Mark worked in the traffic police department. “Mark.” “Hey, Auntie. What’s up?” “Help me look up a license plate number.” I recited the Porsche’s license plate. “Look up the owner’s information, and the car’s travel history. Focus on this afternoon.” “Okay, give me five minutes.” Three minutes later, Mark called back. “Auntie, I found it.” “The owner is named Ashley Chen. I sent you her ID number on WeChat.” “This car left the Porsche Center at 2 PM today and went straight to Summit Gardens.” “Oh, and this car was bought in full. The payment account name is David Chen.” I leaned against the cold tiles. “Got it. Thank you.” “Auntie, why did Uncle buy someone else a Porsche? Who is this Ashley Chen?” “I don’t know.” I hung up the phone. Opened the ID number Mark had sent. Ashley Chen. Date of birth: August 15, 2004. August 15, 2004. Cici passed away on August 12, 2004. Three days. Three days after Cici died. Ashley Chen was born. While he was weeping hysterically in the hospital corridor, his other woman was in the delivery room giving birth to his child. He wouldn’t even spend thirty thousand dollars to save Cici. But he had money to book a VIP delivery room for another woman. I covered my mouth. Preventing myself from making a sound. Tears fell onto the back of my hand, feeling scalding hot. I finished my shower and came out. David Chen was already in bed. He was looking at his phone, a smile on his face. Hearing me come out, he immediately clutched his phone to his chest. “Finished showering?” “Yes.” “Go to sleep soon; you have to get up early tomorrow for business.” He turned over, his back to me. I lay beside him. Listening to his even breathing. The next morning. David Chen left. I took the day off. I took a taxi to Summit Gardens. I sat down at a cafe near the community entrance. Ordered an Americano. The window seat offered a perfect view of the community’s entrance and exit. 10 AM. A red Porsche drove out. The windows were down. A young girl was in the driver’s seat. Wearing sunglasses, with exquisite makeup. In the passenger seat sat a woman. In her forties, very well-maintained, dressed in designer clothes. I had seen that woman’s face before. Seventeen years ago. City People’s Hospital. The cardiology nurses’ station. The nurse who was responsible for giving Cici her injections. Sarah Porte. On the day Cici died, Sarah Porte stood beside David Chen, handing him a tissue. “Mr. Chen, please accept my condolences.” Her voice had been so gentle back then. I watched the Porsche drive away. Took out my phone and looked up Sarah Porte’s name. There was a chain of beauty salons in the city called Elite Beauty. Legal representative: Sarah Porte. Registered capital: one million dollars. Date of establishment: 2005. 2005. The same year David Chen opened his construction company. He told me the company was started with high-interest loans. He used to lie awake at night, worried, losing handfuls of hair. To help him pay off the interest, I worked three jobs a day. Daytime, cashier at the supermarket. Evenings, selling at the night market. Weekends, handing out flyers. I worked myself into the hospital twice with stomach bleeding. David Chen held my hand, crying. “Honey, when I make money, I’ll definitely give you a good life.” His good life. He gave it to Sarah Porte. He gave it to Ashley Chen. I took a sip of my coffee. It was very bitter. My phone vibrated. It was a WeChat message from David Chen. “Honey, I won’t be home for lunch today. Have a big client to meet; might have to drink a bit.” I replied with one word. “Okay.” Then I stood up. Paid the bill. Walked out. Took a taxi to the flagship store of Elite Beauty. 3. Elite Beauty was located in a bustling area of the city center. A three-story storefront, lavishly decorated. I walked in. The receptionist immediately approached. “Hello, madam, do you have an appointment?” She sized me up. My old down jacket, my faded jeans. A hint of disdain flickered in her eyes. “I’m looking for Sarah Porte,” I said. “May I ask who you are?” “I’m David Chen’s wife.” The receptionist froze. Her face changed color. “Please wait a moment.” She picked up the desk phone and dialed a number. Spoke a few hushed words. Two minutes later. A woman in a business suit walked down from upstairs. It wasn’t Sarah Porte. It was Ashley Chen. She walked towards me in high heels. Took off her sunglasses. Sizing me up. The disdain in her eyes was even more obvious than the receptionist’s. “You’re Anya Lin?” She called me by my first name. “I am.” Ashley Chen chuckled. “I thought you were someone important. Turns out you’re just a hag.” She crossed her arms, circling me once. “How many years have you worn these clothes? Are they pilling?” “My dad, honestly, why wouldn’t he even buy you new clothes?” “Oh, I forgot. My dad said you’re extremely stingy, so buying you nice things would just be a waste.” I looked at her. Twenty years old. Young, beautiful, and arrogant. “Where’s Sarah Porte?” I asked. “My mom’s getting a spa; she’s too busy for riff-raff.” Ashley Chen walked over to the sofa and sat down. Crossed her legs. “What do you want with my mom? Money?” She pulled a card from her bag. Tossed it onto the coffee table. “Here’s ten thousand dollars. Go buy some decent clothes. Stop embarrassing my dad.” I didn’t look at the card. I looked at her. “You call David Chen ‘Dad’.” “Yeah.” Ashley Chen raised an eyebrow. “My biological father, is there a problem?” “Do you know he’s married?” “I know,” Ashley Chen said indifferently. “So what? My dad doesn’t love you at all. He just pities you.” “Pities me?” “Yeah. You can’t even have a child. One died of illness.” Ashley Chen’s smile was vicious. “My dad said you’re just a barren old hen. If he didn’t pity you, he would have divorced you ages ago.” Her words pierced my heart. “Barren old hen.” I repeated the words. “Did David Chen say this?” “Of course.” Ashley Chen was triumphant. “My dad loves me very much. He says I’m his only little princess. What are you, anyway?” I took out my phone. Tapped record. “I’ve recorded everything you just said.” Ashley Chen’s face changed. She abruptly stood up. “What are you doing! Delete it!” She rushed over to snatch my phone. I stepped back. She missed, twisted her ankle, and fell to the ground. “Ah!” she screamed. The beauty salon’s security guards immediately rushed over. Helped her up. Ashley Chen pointed at me, furious. “Get her out of here! Now!” Two security guards walked toward me. I put away my phone. “No need to escort me. I’ll leave on my own.” I turned and walked out of the beauty salon. Behind me, Ashley Chen’s insults followed. “Pauper! Old hag! You’ll regret this!” I walked to the street corner. Dialed David Chen’s number. It rang for a long time before he answered. “Hello, honey, what’s wrong? I’m drinking with clients.” The background was very quiet. No sounds of a noisy drinking party. “David Chen, I’m at the Elite Beauty salon entrance.” The other end of the line instantly fell silent. After a full ten seconds. David Chen’s voice, suppressed with anger, came through. “What are you doing there?” “Meeting your little princess.” “Anya Lin! Are you crazy?!” he roared. “What are you causing a scene in someone else’s shop for?!” “Someone else’s shop?” I scoffed. “Isn’t that the shop you opened for Sarah Porte?” “What nonsense are you talking about?!” David Chen was furious. “Sarah Porte is my friend! Ashley is my friend’s daughter! Don’t be unreasonable here!” “A friend’s daughter calls you Dad?” “A friend’s daughter, and you paid full cash for her Porsche?” “David Chen, do you think I’m an idiot?” David Chen took a deep breath. His tone suddenly softened. “Honey, listen to me. Things aren’t what you think.” “Just come home first. I’ll be right back. We’ll talk at home.” I hung up the phone. Went home. I opened my laptop. I work in finance. Although David Chen’s company accounts haven’t been managed by me these past few years, I still have administrator access to view them. I logged into the system. And started checking the books. I looked up the transactions from 2004. That year, Cici fell ill. David Chen said he couldn’t borrow any money. I scrolled to August 10, 2004. Two days before Cici died. There was a thirty-thousand-dollar transfer recorded from the company account. Recipient: Sarah Porte. Notes: House purchase payment. I stared at those words. Thirty thousand dollars. Cici’s surgery fee was exactly thirty thousand dollars. He took the money that could have saved her life and used it to buy a house for his mistress! 4. The door was violently flung open. David Chen rushed in, panting. He was sweating profusely, his tie askew. Seeing me sitting at the computer, he strode over. “Anya Lin! What the hell is wrong with you today?!” He slammed my laptop shut. “What were you doing causing a scene at Sarah Porte’s shop? Do you know how difficult you’ve made things for me?!” I sat in the chair. Looking at him. “Thirty thousand.” David Chen froze. “What thirty thousand?” “August 10, 2004. You transferred thirty thousand dollars to Sarah Porte.” I looked into his eyes. “That was Cici’s life savings.” David Chen’s face instantly drained of color. He took a step back. His gaze shifting evasively. “You… you checked my accounts?” “That was Cici’s life.” My voice was soft, yet trembling. “You’re talking nonsense!” David Chen suddenly raised his voice. “That was money I lent to Sarah Porte! Her family had an emergency at the time!” “An emergency?” I laughed out loud. “Does buying a house count as an emergency?” “David Chen, Cici was lying in the ICU, waiting for money to save her life. You took that money to buy a house for another woman.” “Are you even human?” David Chen flew into a rage. He pointed a finger at my nose. “Don’t you dare bring up old grievances here! The doctors said that with Cici’s illness, even with surgery, she wouldn’t have lived for many years!” “Thirty thousand dollars thrown in would have been a waste!” “I saved that money for our future!” *A waste.* He called his own daughter’s life a waste. I stood up. Slapped him across the face. *Slap!* The sound was sharp. David Chen clutched his face, looking at me in disbelief. “You dared to hit me?” He raised his hand and shoved me hard. I hit the corner of the table. A sharp pain in my waist. “Anya Lin, I’ve tolerated you for too long!” David Chen pointed at me, yelling abuses. “Look at the mess you are now! Always wearing a gloomy face, like a dead person!” “I’m out there making money to support the family every day, what else can you do besides annoy me?” “I’m telling you, Sarah Porte is a hundred times gentler than you! And Ashley is more obedient than your short-lived daughter!” *Short-lived daughter.* He finally spoke his true feelings. I steadied myself by holding the table. I didn’t cry. My tears had dried up seventeen years ago. David Chen panted. He adjusted his clothes. His tone suddenly turned cold and harsh. “Since we’ve laid all our cards on the table, I won’t hide it from you anymore.” “The company’s capital chain is broken. It owes the bank ten million dollars.” “If I don’t plug this hole soon, I’ll go to jail.” He looked at me. “Mortgage your parents’ old house. Take out three million dollars to save the company first.” I looked at him. It felt absurd. “You bought Ashley Chen a one-point-five-million-dollar Porsche, and you opened a ten-million-dollar beauty salon for Sarah Porte.” “Now you’re asking me to sell my parents’ house to save you?” David Chen was self-righteous. “The company is our joint property! If the company goes bankrupt, you’ll be on the hook for the debts too!” “That house is just sitting empty anyway, what’s wrong with using it in an emergency?” “If you don’t put it up, you’re just heartless! You’re a cold-blooded animal!” *Cold-blooded animal.* I took out my phone. Opened Ashley Chen’s social media feed. She had just updated her status. “Daddy says a girl should live in a penthouse. Thanks, Dad, for the river-view apartment! Love you to death!” The post included a picture of the property deed for a river-view apartment. Name: Ashley Chen. Time: This morning. I shoved the screen into David Chen’s face. “Is this what you mean by a broken capital chain?” David Chen’s eyes widened as he saw the screen. His gaze flickered with panic for a second. Then turned to anger. “I promised her that a long time ago! That money can’t be touched!” “Anya Lin, I’m asking you one last time. Are you mortgaging the house or not?” I looked at him. “No, I’m not.” David Chen gritted his teeth. “Fine. You just wait.” He slammed the door shut and left. The room returned to silence. I took out my phone. Dialed a number. “Hello, is this Mr. Jenkins, the lawyer?” Mr. Jenkins was a university classmate of mine, specializing in divorce and economic dispute cases. “Anya Lin? What’s wrong?” “I want a divorce. And I need to investigate David Chen’s hidden and transferred marital assets.” “Okay, bring all your documents to my law firm tomorrow.” Mr. Jenkins paused. “By the way, Anya Lin, there’s something I need to tell you in advance.” “What is it?” “Those assets under David Chen’s name you asked me to investigate earlier. I asked a friend to check.” “He not only bought a house and a car for that Ashley Chen.” “He also, half a month ago, gratuitously transferred eighty percent of your company’s shares to a woman named Sarah Porte.” I clutched my phone tightly. “And,” Mr. Jenkins’s voice was very low. “I found Ashley Chen’s birth certificate.” “The father’s column… it doesn’t say David Chen at all.”

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I’m the designated “poor kid” in my class. That part’s true. But I’m on federal student loans, and I have a work-study job. Not only do I have enough to cover my expenses, but I can even put a little aside each month. Jessica, my roommate, had just been elected class president when she proposed a class-wide fundraiser for me. “Daniella is the only student in our class facing financial hardship. It’s our duty to extend a helping hand!” Her announcement left our classmates stunned. A bitter taste filled my mouth. Just as I was about to refuse, a few strange lines of text flickered in front of my eyes: [Classic plot point incoming! The kind-hearted female lead tries to help, only to be misunderstood by the insecure side character. A big fight is about to break out!] [Once it blows up, the gentle heroine will be all teary-eyed and heartbroken, and that’s the cue for the hot, domineering male lead to swoop in and save the day!] [I am so ready for the romance to start! C’mon, side character, have your meltdown already!] 1 I blinked, completely baffled. What kind of brain-dead garbage was this? If I didn’t want it, I’d just say no. There was no need for a dramatic scene. But the moment the word “No” left my lips, Jessica cut me off. “Daniella, I know you have your pride! But you can’t let it get in the way of your life. You’re coming back right at curfew every single night. You’re spending less than fifteen dollars a day on food. Your underwear is washed so thin it’s practically see-through, and your pajamas have holes in them… You can’t go on like this. It’s bound to affect your studies, and that will drag down the entire class’s average. So, for everyone’s sake, from now on, we’re covering your living expenses.” As she spoke, she pulled out a crisp twenty-dollar bill and shoved it into my hand. “Take it. You don’t have to pay it back! Just focus on your studies!” But even after stuffing the money into my palm, she didn’t let go. She held me in that awkward position, her eyes wide with expectation. The other students started sizing me up, their whispers turning into gasps. “Coming back so late every night… is that even a legit part-time job?” “Seriously? Fifteen bucks wouldn’t even cover my lunch. She must be scamming the cafeteria or something.” “People still wear clothes with holes in them? You don’t think she’s doing it for attention, do you?” I almost laughed out of sheer anger. We’d known each other for a few weeks, and she was already airing all my private business to the entire class. And for what? A measly twenty bucks? She was seriously holding onto my hand, expecting me to burst into grateful tears for her little performance? And what was wrong with these other students? Were they stupid or just blind? Just as a string of curses was about to erupt from my mouth, the comments popped up again. [The heroine has done so much! Why isn’t the side character flipping out yet? If she doesn’t make a scene, when will the male lead make his grand entrance?] [What’s wrong with her? Someone gives you money and you can’t even say thank you? No wonder she gets ostracized by everyone later, becomes depressed, and jumps off a building.] [Serves her right! If she wasn’t so ungrateful, the heroine wouldn’t have been so hurt. But hey, it gives the male lead a chance to comfort her. At least she’s useful for heating up their romance!] The insults I was about to hurl died on my tongue. As crazy as those comments sounded, I was only eighteen. My life was just beginning, and I had no intention of dying. So, I took a deep breath, yanked my hand free from Jessica’s grip, and pushed the twenty-dollar bill back at her. “Thanks, Jessica. But I don’t need it.” Her face fell instantly. “I told you, you don’t have to pay it back! This is easier money than whatever you’re doing. Stop penny-pinching and walking around in rags. It’s embarrassing for us to even be seen with you!” Someone else chimed in. “Yeah, seriously. Don’t make us all look bad. Here, I’ll chip in fifteen to cover your meals for a day!” “I’ve got five! We can crowdfund you some new underwear!” A few crumpled bills fluttered through the air, landing at my feet. The comments went wild. The screen was flooded with a single demand: [FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!] But in the midst of the chaos, a strange calm washed over me. After all, arguing with idiots only hurts yourself. So, I called for backup. 2 The classroom was buzzing with chaos when our academic advisor, Mr. Glazer, burst in, slightly out of breath. “What is going on in here?” The room fell silent. Students exchanged nervous glances, but no one spoke. That’s when Jessica stepped forward, her face beaming as if expecting a reward. “Mr. Glazer, I was just organizing a fundraiser for Daniella!” Mr. Glazer pointed at the money scattered on the floor. “This is how you fundraise?” he asked, his voice laced with disbelief. I seized the opportunity. “Mr. Glazer, I told her I didn’t need it, but the class president insisted. She also exposed my personal information to everyone.” I then pointed out every student who had made a comment. “And they joined in, slandering me in front of the whole class.” To top it off, I presented the video I had been recording on my phone. Mr. Glazer’s face hardened as he watched it. He turned to the group, his disappointment palpable. “Is this how you help a fellow student? All of you, apologize to Daniella right now!” But Jessica’s expression turned even uglier. “Sir, Daniella is a scholarship student who is so focused on saving and making money that she’s neglecting her studies. I was doing this for her own good—for the good of the entire class! I did nothing wrong!” The other students she’d incited just stood there, stubbornly refusing to back down. Seeing this, I decided to lay it all out. “I work in the cafeteria during breakfast and dinner, so my meals are covered. The only meal I pay for is lunch, and fifteen dollars is more than enough. I have a work-study job at the library in the evenings. It closes at ten, and I’m back in my dorm by ten-thirty. As for money, you really don’t need to worry about me. From Monday to Friday, I work my campus job, eight hours total, at fifteen dollars an hour. On weekends, I tutor for eight hours at fifty dollars an hour. It’s enough to live on. And as for my studies… I had the highest entrance exam scores in our year. What, exactly, made you think I was dragging the class down?” The moment I finished, a student gasped. “Holy crap, that’s over five hundred a week! That’s triple my allowance!” A hush fell over the classroom. A few students shuffled their feet, mumbling apologies as they sheepishly picked their money up off the floor. Only Jessica remained, clutching her twenty-dollar bill, her face a mask of wounded pride. Tears welled in her eyes as she yelled at me, “If you’re not broke, why did you apply for financial aid and pretend to be poor? You made me think you needed help! You just wanted to humiliate all of us for trying to be kind! Fine! It’s all my fault! Are you happy now?” Her outburst brought the floating comments back. But this time, they seemed to echo my own confusion. […] [Wait, what kind of plot twist is this? Wasn’t the side character supposed to have a breakdown and get kicked out of class?] [Well… it’s not a total loss. I guess you could call this a scene, and the heroine is definitely upset, right?] [That side character is so manipulative! She pretended to be poor just to mess with the heroine! Ugh, I wish she would just die already!] [Exactly! How dare she bully our girl like this! Where is the male lead? I can’t take this anymore!] The rest of the comments were a torrent of curses directed at me. Then, a few students started speaking up in Jessica’s defense. “Sir, you can’t blame Jessica for this. She was just trying to be nice!” “Yeah, if anyone’s at fault, it’s Daniella! She should have been upfront about her situation instead of causing this whole misunderstanding. How is she the one acting all high and mighty?” “He’s right! If she doesn’t need the money, why is she on financial aid? Sir, I think you should revoke her scholarship status!” 3 Jessica said nothing more, maintaining her tear-streaked, victimized expression as she looked between me and Mr. Glazer. Mr. Glazer hesitated. He lowered his voice, trying to placate me. “Let’s not let this escalate between classmates. How about we just drop it for today? I’ll talk to everyone individually later.” But I wasn’t having it. Why should I be the one to back down just because she was crying? Did having more people on your side automatically make you right? Not a chance. I walked straight to the front of the classroom, stood at the lectern, and switched on the microphone. “Real kindness is about what the other person actually needs and wants, not about making yourself feel good. Jessica didn’t know my real situation. She just spied on my daily life and jumped to her own conclusions. She didn’t consult me, and she didn’t respect my wishes. She organized this so-called fundraiser, which was nothing more than a public humiliation. If any of you think what she did was okay, then go ahead. Pick up the money on the floor, and go thank her one by one. If even one of you can do that, I’ll apologize to all of you.” No one moved. Many of them hung their heads in shame. I pressed on. “Being a student on financial aid just means I started from a different place. It doesn’t make me less than anyone else. As long as we’re willing to work, we can manage just fine. And for the record, I’m on a student loan—money that I have to pay back—not a grant. I suggest we reconsider Jessica’s position as class president. And a word of advice for everyone else: spend more time with your books and less time caught up in drama with idiots.” After I finished, Mr. Glazer spoke up, his voice firm. “Daniella is right. You all need to focus more on your studies. If you have a problem, talk to a teacher. To have this kind of incident on the very first day of choosing a class president… we definitely need to hold a new election.” At his words, the faces of the other students fell. Jessica let out a loud sob and ran out of the classroom. Mr. Glazer sighed, made the few remaining students apologize again, and said he would talk to Jessica privately. I didn’t push it further. My shift was about to start. Arguing with them wasn’t nearly as important as earning a living. But when I got to the library, someone blocked my path in the main hall. He was handsome enough, but the moment he opened his mouth, he sounded like some cringey YA protagonist. “A student has filed a complaint that you falsified your financial aid information to take a work-study position. You need to go explain yourself to the library director. You’re not welcome here anymore.” Just then, the comments flickered back to life. [Aaaah! The hot male lead is here! The heroine sheds a few tears, and he immediately kicks the side character to the curb!] [The side character was so proud of earning her own money. Let’s see how cocky she is now!] [Wait… isn’t he being a little unreasonable? He’s the Student Council President, not the campus police, right?] [Get out of here with that logic! We’re here for the swoon-worthy romance, not a courtroom drama!] [Exactly! I live for seeing the male lead go crazy for the heroine and burn the world down for her!] Right. Now I knew what I was dealing with. I couldn’t help but think to myself: If these two are the main characters, this world is probably screwed. But this wasn’t the time to worry about the fate of the world. His loud declaration had drawn the attention of several people nearby. They were keeping their voices down, as required in a library, but they were whispering furiously and tapping away on their phones. They were spreading rumors, no doubt. To stop my reputation from being completely shredded, I decided to face him head-on. 4 “And you are?” “Blake Crawford, Student Council President.” He puffed out his chest, his face glowing with pride. I scoffed. What a big shot, sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. “First, the Student Council has no authority over the work-study program. Second, my application was approved by the university administration. What evidence do you have that I falsified anything? If you don’t have any, then you’re slandering me in a public place.” Blake sidestepped the question. “It is every student’s duty to uphold the integrity of our campus! A complaint has been made, and it needs to be investigated. You should be confessing and cooperating, not causing a scene here!” Seeing that logic was useless with him, I stopped arguing and made a beeline for the library director’s office. “Daniella, you faked your records to steal a spot from someone who needs it! I’m telling you to leave, why are you going to my superiors? Get back here! Stop disturbing the other students!” he yelled, chasing after me. His shouting made everyone in the library turn and stare. I didn’t stop. I burst into the director’s office and said, “Director, this student is causing a major disturbance in the library and is trying to have me fired from my job!” The director looked startled, his gaze shifting from me to the young man who had followed me in. “Blake, is this true?” Blake quickly tried to explain himself. “A student filed a complaint. I was worried about the potential scandal, so I thought it would be best for Daniella to go home until the investigation is complete.” “Do you have any actual evidence?” the director asked, echoing my question. “Well… it was an anonymous, verbal complaint.” “Hah!” I let out a sharp laugh. “According to university regulations, anonymous complaints without concrete evidence are not considered valid. Blake, I have reason to believe you are deliberately targeting me.” “We don’t even know each other. Why would I target you? I’m acting in the best interests of the university!” he denied, but his shifty eyes gave him away. The director, pretending not to notice, tried to smooth things over. “Blake was probably just misled. It was all for the good of the university! Daniella, you can go back to your work now.” But I wasn’t letting it go.

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1 Three years ago, to gather funds for my paralyzed tycoon father’s overseas treatment, I entered into a peculiar cross-border marriage with Cara Scheinert. Now, my father had finally recovered, and I immediately booked the earliest flight home, eager to give Cara a big surprise. However, as I stood beneath our mansion, the scene before me sent a chill down my spine—Cara, with a visibly pregnant belly, was intimately nestled in another man’s arms. Seeing my shocked, frozen face, she merely paused for a moment. Then, an indifferent smirk spread across her face. “Three years ago, I had a college student as my kept man,” she said breezily. “You know the rules in our circle, and to keep him from being bullied, I had him take your place.” Those words were like an ice pick stabbing through my heart, leaving only a buzzing in my ears. “Cara Scheinert, what the hell are you talking about?” I demanded, my voice trembling. She reached out and snatched the signet ring—symbolizing the tycoon heir’s status—from my finger, her smile growing wider. “To outsiders, he’s the tycoon’s young master I officially married.” “As for at home, well, you’re the ‘big one,’ and he’s the ‘little one.’” “You’ll always be my dearest husband. Isn’t this arrangement satisfactory enough?” she said, her tone almost provocative. … I slapped Cara across the face, incredulous. She pressed her cheek, showing no anger. She just smiled at me, her voice laced with a threat. “It’s normal to be upset. You can take it out on me.” “But if you dare lay a hand on Christian, I won’t tolerate it.” “Until the baby is born, you’ll just have to make do as a servant, taking care of Christian and me.” Seeing no reaction from me, she stood on tiptoe. A flurry of kisses rained down on my cheek. “Before, when you asked me to visit your father, I refused every time, not because I was busy with work.” “It’s because Christian is too clingy; he can’t be without me.” “Perhaps you should learn from him how to be cherished.” I felt as if plunged into an ice pit, a profound chill settling in my heart. Looking at the woman I’d been married to for three years, she felt utterly like a stranger. Years ago, she had pursued me for a long time. My father didn’t approve of her family background at all. I was the one who knelt before my father, begging for three days and three nights, before he finally agreed to our marriage. What did she say then? She said she would be willing to be my dog if it meant being with me. Everyone knew Cara Scheinert was fiercely protective of her husband; she’d get jealous if anyone even looked at me too long. After we married, even her best friends never saw my face. I never imagined it was all so someone else could take my place. The intense humiliation and betrayal burned within me. I gritted my teeth and demanded, “You let another man impersonate me. Aren’t you afraid I’ll divorce you and kick you out?” Cara chuckled, her gaze holding a pity I had never seen before. “Such a naive young master, pampered by a wealthy family.” “Who doesn’t know your father is terminally ill and doesn’t have much time left? How many people are secretly eyeing your family’s fortune?” “If you make a fuss with me now, those uncles and cousins will just seize on your scandal and kick you out. Right now, I’m the only one you can rely on.” She stroked my face, her eyes filled with a tenderness, but her tone was threatening. “If you hadn’t come back, I could have kept Christian outside, so you wouldn’t have to face any of this.” “But who told you to be so headstrong? You made Christian and me argue for ages, almost causing me to go into early labor.” “Who in this circle doesn’t have a side piece or two? Just put up with it.” “You’ll always be the husband in my heart. I still love you.” I stood frozen, staring at her shameless face. I felt utterly disheartened. “Cara Scheinert, we’re getting a divorce.” 2 Cara’s face darkened. She gripped my hand, squeezing until my bones creaked. “Timothy, don’t be ridiculous!” I yanked my hand free and slammed my briefcase hard against her head. Blood trickled down her temple. With an angry roar, Christian immediately shielded her. “Clumsy oaf! Who gave you the guts to hit my Cara?!” “Guards, grab him! Whichever hand he used to hit her, break it!” He looked at me with a defiant gaze, clearly taking on the air of the man of the house. I scowled, about to intervene. Then I realized all the servants who used to follow me had been replaced by new faces. And Cara had no intention of stopping him; instead, she hugged Christian, her face indulgent. “I’m carrying Christian’s baby, I can’t handle stress.” “Timothy, you’ll just have to suffer a bit. I’ll find you the best doctor.” “He’s the heir to the Russo family now. If you cross him, even I can’t save you.” I was pinned to the ground by the servants. A wooden club was raised high, followed by the crisp sound of bone cracking. Excruciating pain shot through my wrist, and my agonizing screams echoed through the entire hall. My vision blurred with tears, and in a daze, I was transported back years ago, to the night I was kidnapped by thugs. Cara had single-handedly stormed the kidnappers’ hideout. When one of the thugs fired a fatal shot at me, she didn’t hesitate to step in front of me. She lay in the ICU for three days and three nights, and when she woke up, she only said one thing to me: “I don’t regret it if it meant saving you.” From then on, I completely fell for her. Despite my father’s objections, I insisted on marrying Cara. On our wedding day, she knelt before my father and swore. She would spend her life protecting me forever. But her “forever” had lasted only a mere three years. My heart ached so much I could barely breathe, leaving only intense rage and hatred. My eyes red from crying, I looked up. Cara lay in Christian’s arms, her hand on her swollen belly. “If it’s a boy, that would be wonderful.” “With his looks, I’ll spoil him rotten, won’t I?” Then, as if remembering something, Cara pulled me up from the ground, gently tending to my wound. “Don’t mind Christian; he’s just too worried about me.” “See how spoiled he is? Isn’t he still cute?” I stared coldly at Cara, then, without hesitation, slapped her again. “I owed you a life back then, and I’ve repaid it with this hand.” “From now on, we owe each other nothing.” She froze, frowning as she looked at me. “Timothy, what do you mean by that? What are you trying to do?” I ignored her, raising my phone to call the police. But before the call connected, she snatched it and smashed it to the ground. “Timothy, it’s just a title, why are you so petty?” “Tonight is Christian’s birthday party. Many important people will be attending. Do you want to ruin his entire life?” “Guards, lock him in the basement!” 3 I tried to struggle but was forcefully thrown into the basement. The pitch-black darkness around me made my limbs tremble, reminding me of the half-month I was kidnapped. “Cara Scheinert, let me out! Have you forgotten I have claustrophobia?” I screamed, almost losing my mind, frantically pounding on the door. But Cara simply stood by the door, and after a long moment, she sighed helplessly. “Timothy, stop pretending.” “The doctor said your claustrophobia has long been cured.” “Stop making a fuss. After the birthday party, I’ll make it up to you properly.” As the footsteps faded away, I felt a suffocating despair. After being kidnapped, I developed claustrophobia. Many nights I couldn’t sleep, and Cara was by my side, patiently coaxing me to sleep. “It’s all my fault. If I had rescued you sooner, you wouldn’t have suffered so much.” Her eyes were red, her face full of self-blame and guilt. I couldn’t bear to see her sad, so I had the doctor tell her that my illness had been cured. I never expected that my love for her back then would now be a knife stabbing at myself. A wave of dizziness washed over me, and I fainted from shock and rage. When I woke up again, I was being dragged into the center of a banquet. Four or five young socialites eyed me up and down, their faces full of disdain and contempt. “Christian, is this the kept man your family has outside?” “How rude, daring to come here and cause trouble?” Christian, surrounded by them, smirked mockingly. “Well, Cara is carrying my baby, so I won’t bother with this trash. Just teach him a lesson and kick him out.” Everyone praised Christian’s generosity and kindness. Someone, trying to curry favor with him, grabbed my hair and started dragging me out. “You lowlife, don’t you dare look at yourself in a mirror! How dare you offend Young Master Christian?” “Who in this whole circle doesn’t know Cara Scheinert is Christian’s fawning wife? What are you, anyway?” I gasped in pain, struggling to push their hands away, and held up my marriage certificate. “You’ve all been fooled by him! I’m the heir of the Russo family, Cara’s husband, and this is our marriage certificate…” Before I could finish, the marriage certificate was snatched from my hand. The young socialites glanced at it, then scoffed, tearing it to shreds and throwing it on the ground. “This marriage certificate doesn’t even have a stamp, it’s clearly fake.” “Christian takes his mother’s surname, Russo. We all went to his wedding with Cara; it was even front-page news. Who are you trying to fool?” They held up their phones, and Cara and Christian’s marriage certificate appeared on the screens. The clear official seal felt like a crisp slap to my face. My face instantly went pale, and I felt a chill right to my bones. It turned out that my three-year marriage, which I had faithfully protected, was fake from the very beginning. Tears mixed with hatred splattered on the ground. I glared fiercely at Christian. “Even if the marriage is fake, you can’t impersonate my identity!” “I am the eldest son of the Russo family! I have the signet ring that represents my status!” Saying this, I raised my hand, only to see my finger was empty. The next second, Cara’s voice echoed through the hall. “Are you looking for this?” She smiled casually, placing the signet ring on Christian’s hand. I felt as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped on me, chilling me from head to toe. That was the coming-of-age gift my father had given me, the signet ring symbolizing the heir of the Russo family! It had once accidentally fallen into the sea, and Cara had retrieved it after searching for three days and three nights. She had a high fever of 104 degrees Fahrenheit, yet she found it and gently placed it on my hand. “I will protect everything that belongs to you.” And now, my identity, my love. All of it had been handed over to another man by her. I completely broke down, lunging at Christian, trying to snatch the ring from his hand. “That’s my father’s ring, the ring of authority! How could you give it to him!” But before I could even touch Christian, he suddenly fell into Cara’s arms. Cara clutched her belly, letting out a piercing scream. Blood flowed onto the floor. “My baby, my baby!” 4 Before I could react, a sharp pain shot through my back. Christian kicked me, sending me flying backward to slam hard against the wall. Blood from my temple trickled down my cheek. Cara clung to Christian’s sleeve, sobbing hysterically. “Call a doctor, quickly! Save our baby!” As she was led away by doctors, she didn’t even glance at me. She just coldly spat out a single sentence. “If anything happens to Christian’s and my baby, I’ll make you pay with your life.” Bodyguards pinned me to the ground, and people around me pointed and jeered. Some had already pulled out their phones, recording and live-streaming. “Shameless! A male home-wrecker dares to show up and impersonate the tycoon’s son.” “Offending Cara and the Russo family, the city’s wealthiest, he’s probably going to end up in pieces.” I just kept a cold face, my heart so numb I couldn’t feel any pain. It wasn’t until the next morning that Cara returned home with Christian. Her eyes bloodshot, she slapped me hard across the face. “Christian and my baby is gone. Are you happy now?” I scoffed at her. “Are you blind? He fell on you himself. What does that have to do with me?” “Don’t you have surveillance at home? Did cheating for three years make you lose your mind?” Cara’s face turned green then pale, but she still glanced at the surveillance camera hesitantly. The next second, Christian screamed hysterically, lunging at me, tearing and punching me without restraint. “You killed Cara’s and my baby! I want you to pay with blood!” Cara didn’t stop him, merely watching with cold eyes. It wasn’t until Christian was choking my neck that she pulled him away, coaxing him with red eyes. “Timothy is the man I love most in this life. I promised his father I would take care of him forever.” “Let’s choose another punishment. As long as it doesn’t harm his life, I’ll agree to anything else you want.” Christian wept heartbreakingly, his gaze at me filled with venomous hatred. “Then I want him to be a useless man for life, unable to have children, to avenge our baby!” “No!” My face went white, and I glared fiercely at Cara. “My dad has recovered! If he finds out you dared to do this to me, he won’t let you off the hook!” Cara looked at me as if she had heard a joke, her disappointment deepening, her gaze growing colder. “Timothy Russo, you would even tell such a lie to escape punishment?” “The doctor said your dad was at death’s door; no one could save him!” Seeing tears in the corner of my eye, she sighed, her voice softening. “It’s alright, Timothy. It’s just a vasectomy.” “Anyway, you’re busy with work; when would you have time to have a baby with me?” “Christian and I will have children later. They can call you ‘Dad.’ Aren’t you satisfied with that?” I looked at her incredulously, a dull ache in my chest from anger. With unknown strength, I broke free from my restraints and picked up a nearby chair, smashing it towards her. “Bang!” The chair hit the ground, and the wound on Cara’s forehead reopened, blood gushing out. Her face completely hardened, all traces of pity for me vanishing from her eyes. “Tie him up and send him to the operating room!” Bodyguards swarmed over, forcefully injecting me with a sedative. My body immobile, I could only watch helplessly as I was pushed into the operating room. A cold blade cut across my lower abdomen, finally stopping at my chest. Blood flowed, bringing sharp pains, and I heard the doctor’s chilling voice. “You’ve offended the Young Master Russo. He specifically instructed us not to let you leave here alive.” With that, he raised the scalpel high, aiming it at my heart, ready to plunge it in. I closed my eyes in despair. The next moment, the operating room door was violently kicked open, and a majestic, familiar roar rang out. “Stop! Who dares touch my son!”

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I spent seven years loving Leo. His secretary suggested the kidnapping was a good chance for me to learn my lesson, and he actually didn’t pay the ransom. Those hellish months made me see him for who he truly was. Just when I finally made up my mind to leave, he came to me, eyes red, begging me to come back. He said he wanted a fresh start, but I had already learned how to stay far, far away. 1. The day I walked into the city barefoot, I made the news. Kirsten Hassell, the adopted daughter of the prominent Hassell family, had been kidnapped for months. She stumbled back, filthy and reeking, her clothes ragged, her bare feet scarred and bleeding. She was a wreck, like a stray dog. I watched the media flashes, the cameras clicking, desperate for a shot, but my heart was already stagnant, incapable of even a ripple. The old Kirsten was dead. The glamorous, naive, spoiled, vibrant Kirsten was gone. The kidnappers, and Leo, had utterly destroyed her. Soon, a group of bodyguards in black suits cut a path through the throngs of people. Their leader, Ethan, I knew. For seven years, during my relentless pursuit of Leo, he had been the one to “escort” me out of Leo’s office and private apartment. “Escort” was a polite word for it; it was more like dragging me out, because I wouldn’t give up, and because Leo found me utterly exasperating. “Ms. Hassell, Mr. Hassell is waiting in the car for you. Please come with me.” Ethan’s gaze flickered with surprise when it landed on me; he clearly hadn’t expected me to be in such a wretched state. I nodded, stepping forward on my injured feet, leaving bloody prints on the pavement. The pain receptors in my nerves were long since numb; this short walk was nothing compared to my escape. Ethan walked behind me, unable to resist calling out, “Ms. Hassell…” I didn’t answer him. Pity me? He should be relieved. After this lesson, I would never pester Leo again, nor would I add any extra trouble to his job. Once in the car, I saw Leo sitting, eyes closed, lost in thought. His short, dark hair was impeccably styled, his sculpted features flawless, undeniably handsome. Of course. During my absence, he must have felt an unprecedented sense of peace and relief. He looked better than ever. Hearing the slight commotion, Leo slowly opened his eyes. The moment he saw me, he barely recognized me. “Kirsten?” I meekly nodded. Yes, I had learned my lesson. Before, I hadn’t cared about being the adopted daughter of the Hassell family, acting as if I were their biological child, proud and arrogant. But now, after the kidnapping, I understood that my life was in the Hassell family’s hands. If Leo didn’t pay the ransom, my life was worth less than dirt. He frowned, a hint of displeasure. “How did you get yourself into this state?” This state? What state? A lunatic? A beggar? I’d run for dozens of miles, sleepless, not only evading kidnappers but also wary of predatory animals in the suburban forests. When thirsty, I drank rainwater; when hungry, I rummaged through trash heaps by the highway. I imagine anyone would go mad under such circumstances. I knew he was annoyed that I appeared before the media looking like this, that it would cause trouble for his company—the Hassell family’s company, to be precise. “I’m sorry.” *Sorry for offending your eyes, Leo.* Leo paused at my reply, then a smirk played on his lips. “She was right. You actually learned your lesson.” I didn’t understand what Leo was talking about. Once the car door closed and the vehicle started moving, Leo suddenly reached a long arm toward me. I instinctively recoiled into the corner, but he stopped short, speaking with a disgusted tone, “Kirsten, you stink.” I don’t know if it was the confined space of the car, but Leo finally smelled the foul odor clinging to me—a fermented mixture of blood, sweat, dirt, and scraps from garbage piles. Hearing Leo’s words, I instinctively moved to get off the seat, but the car swerved slightly, and I ended up kneeling in the aisle. “I’m so sorry, I won’t get the seat dirty, I’ll just…” *Just kneel here.* It hurt so much. My knees, and the tiny pinprick wounds the kidnappers had made with fine steel needles. They blamed me; I wasn’t important to Leo at all, and they hadn’t gotten the ransom, wasting their time, so they took their anger out on me. I couldn’t stand, so I just knelt in that cramped space. Leo instantly became furious. “What are you doing? Get back in your seat!” He ordered me, but his disgust kept him from helping me up. I could only obey, using immense effort to prop myself up and sit back. The pain, coupled with the low blood sugar from the past few days, brought tears to my eyes. Leo had always ignored my tears, finding them annoying, but this time, he surprisingly tossed me the handkerchief he had used to wipe his hands. I clutched the clean, white cloth. Before, I would have been overjoyed, but now, that handkerchief only served to highlight my filth and brokenness. Ethan glanced at me in the rearview mirror. My head was bowed; perhaps he had never seen me so disgraced and pathetic. 2. When the car returned to the Hassell estate, Leo ordered someone to take me to the bathroom to wash up. I refused the maids’ help, only asking them to pick out a long dress, one that covered my ankles, from my old wardrobe. They rummaged for a while, finally pulling out a modest, long-sleeved dress, almost like a student’s uniform, from a corner amidst various fashionable clothes. No one defined what a student should wear, but looking at myself in the mirror, I did indeed resemble a student more than my former flamboyant style. I remembered receiving my acceptance letter from a top international design school before the kidnapping. Now, three months had passed since the enrollment deadline. “Thank you.” The maids looked utterly stunned, clearly not expecting their young mistress to thank them. But after everything that had happened, I understood perfectly: I was essentially no different from them. They were maids hired by the Hassell family; I was a daughter hired by the Hassell family. Pushing the door open, I saw Leo waiting for me at the top of the stairs. He leaned casually against the railing, his eyes lazily scanning me up and down, then he scoffed. “Kirsten, what game are you playing now? Dressed like that.” *Too plain?* Leo thought this was another one of my childish ploys for attention, but I only wanted to cover my scars. I followed Leo into the dining room. The room was silent until Leo gestured for me to come forward. Only then did I notice Mr. and Mrs. Hassell sitting at the dining table, looking worried. Mrs. Hassell saw me and almost rushed over. She stumbled, and a woman beside her gently helped steady her. “Mrs. Hassell, please don’t worry. Ms. Hassell has returned safe and sound, hasn’t she? Ms. Hassell, Mrs. Hassell has been so worried about you that her hair has turned gray.” I knew this woman; she was Leo’s secretary. Claire. Claire had naturally flowing black hair, wearing the simplest, most unassuming turtleneck sweater and jeans, yet a beautiful rose gold necklace hung around her neck. I was “safe and sound,” while Mrs. Hassell had worried herself sick. The moment Claire spoke, I transformed from a victim into an unfilial daughter of the Hassell family. Mrs. Hassell held me, weeping, while the woman comforted her. But I couldn’t cry. I looked at Leo, and his eyes seemed to say I was a heartless person. Finally, Mr. Hassell spoke, his voice firm, interrupting them. “Stop holding Kirsten, let her come and eat.” Mrs. Hassell wiped her tears. “My fault, my fault. My darling has suffered so much these past months, she must not have eaten properly. Come, Auntie made your favorite fish chowder!” Mrs. Hassell pulled me to sit between her and Mr. Hassell. Leo sat opposite me, and Claire sat beside him. Such a perfect picture of a family. I looked at the food in my bowl—a feast of colors, aromas, and flavors. I had almost forgotten what normal food looked like. I yearned to drop my chopsticks and just grab it with my hands, stuffing it into my mouth. The closer I got to the city highway, the stricter the sanitation management became. Gradually, I couldn’t find any more trash heaps, which meant no food. So I had been starving for almost three days, surviving only on tree leaves. Under everyone’s gaze, I forced myself to pick up the bowl and shovel rice into my mouth with chopsticks. Even so, I still caught Claire’s mocking gaze; she ate daintily, in small bites, displaying her elegance. Leo, witnessing this, naturally looked even more disgusted with me, yet at Mrs. Hassell’s urging, he reluctantly picked up a piece of sweet and sour pork and placed it on my plate. I thought that even the blandest porridge and steamed buns, which I used to find hard to swallow, I could now devour. But looking at the tempting sweet and sour pork, and realizing Leo had personally put it there, my stomach churned with nausea. “Darling, eat. Leo knows you like sweet and sour, so he specifically asked Auntie to add this dish.” *Nonsense.* Leo had no idea what I liked. Conversely, I knew all his preferences by heart. For instance, gold—he favored rose gold. Seeing my hesitant chopsticks, Mr. Hassell asked with concern, “What’s wrong, darling? Did you argue with Leo on the way back? Don’t worry, after dinner, I’ll give him a good talking-to.” “Dad!” Leo exclaimed, perhaps feeling this made him lose face in front of Claire. I shook my head silently, overcoming the physiological revulsion, and brought the sweet and sour pork to my mouth with my chopsticks. But the moment I swallowed, I threw up. Leo’s expression was startled. I immediately stood up from my chair, covering my head and retreating to a corner. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll eat it, please don’t hit me!” Everyone was shocked. Mrs. Hassell’s tears flowed again as she came to embrace me. “Did those people abuse you, darling? Tell me, did they?” Mr. Hassell and Leo also approached. Mr. Hassell’s expression was pained, looking at me with heartache. Leo, however, frowned, remaining silent, his face grim. *What does this mean? Didn’t the kidnappers threaten the Hassell family, saying that if the ransom wasn’t paid, their adopted daughter would experience abuse?* *Why are they asking me now if I was mistreated?* Actually, giving me stale bread and spoiled rice wasn’t really abuse, especially compared to the slop I ate afterward. I was just so terrified, terrified of the feeling that my life was in Leo’s hands. The kidnappers had negotiated directly with him, but he chose to abandon me. He hated me that much. I suppose that’s where the physical nausea came from. 3. After dinner, I was called to Mr. Hassell’s study. Mr. Hassell, abandoning his usual decisive corporate demeanor, patiently and kindly asked me, “Darling, you’ve liked Leo since you were a child. Do you still like him?” I shook my head frantically, so hard my facial muscles started to ache. Seven years of loving Leo, seven years of humiliation, seven years of pain. But I never learned my lesson, did I? That’s why this time, this time I went through a hell of revenge and torment. I couldn’t dare to like Leo anymore. Mr. Hassell pondered my answer for a moment, then sighed regretfully, “Oh, well. You may not be Leo’s wife, but you’ll always be a daughter of the Hassell family. My darling is so good, so beautiful, it’s that boy Leo who’s unlucky.” He took a bank card from his drawer. “This is what your parents left for you, four million dollars. They asked me to hold onto it and give it to you as your dowry when you grew up.” Four million dollars. The ransom was also four million dollars. During the kidnapping, I had resented my parents, wondering why they hadn’t taken me with them, sparing me this gratuitous torment. It turned out, they had already left me a guarantee to live well. They loved me so much. I bit my thumb, preventing myself from crying out. “Thank you, Uncle.” It was already 8 PM when I left the study. I walked toward my own room but bumped into Leo halfway. He understood my intention and spoke to me with an unexpectedly gentle tone, “Claire is staying in your room tonight. You’ll stay in the guest room next to mine.” So it was for Claire. I nodded and started walking in the opposite direction. When I first moved into the Hassell household, Leo disliked me and moved to the room furthest from mine—one in the far east, the other in the far west. But my room had been decorated by a top-tier designer hired by the Hassell family; the guest room couldn’t compare. Yet, ultimately, it all belonged to the Hassell family. If Leo told me to yield, I would. I hadn’t walked two steps when Leo called out, “Kirsten, why are you so obedient now?” I turned around and saw a mocking, yet almost worried, expression on his face. “I… I’m sorry…” I spoke hesitantly. Aside from endlessly apologizing, I had no idea what to say to Leo. “This is the third time you’ve apologized to me today. You’re being strange.” Leo walked over, leaning in and raising a hand to my forehead. I recoiled as if electrocuted, pushing myself away quickly. By the time I gripped the hallway railing, my legs were weak, almost unable to stand. Leo looked at me like I was insane, his expression growing impatient. I forced back the tremble in my voice and said, “I… I’m moving out tomorrow. I’ve already told Mr. Hassell.” I had expected Leo to be relieved by the news, to finally let me go. Instead, he grew angry. “Moving out? Why?… I merely let Claire stay in your room for a night. She’s a guest; what’s wrong with you being accommodating?” I shook my head frantically. “No, it’s not that.” Leo’s face darkened as he walked toward me, grabbing my wrist and pulling me toward the easternmost room. “Come with me, I need to talk to you.” Fear engulfed my mind. I tearfully pulled out the bank card Mr. Hassell had given me earlier in the study. “I’m sorry, I have money, please don’t hit me.” “I have money, please don’t hit me.” Leo turned back, startled. I was already slumped on the floor, my wrist still held high in his grip. “Kirsten, what are you saying?” My lips were now bitten purple. As Leo’s face loomed larger, I gradually recalled the kidnappers’ insults: *The Hassell family’s dog, foolishly clinging to its master.* “Mr. Hassell, I—no, Mr. Hassell, I won’t bother you anymore. I wouldn’t dare again.” Leo finally realized my mental state was off. His movements became much gentler. He put an arm around my waist, lifting me from the floor. The sudden loss of balance made me instinctively cling to Leo’s neck. His stern expression finally softened slightly. “Kirsten, I’m not saying I don’t want you around, it’s just…” Before he could finish, the hallway door swung open with a *click*. Claire poked her head out of my room, the bright light from inside spilling into the hall. She covered her mouth, feigning surprise. “Mr. Hassell, Ms. Hassell.” Leo looked displeased. “I gave you the room, what else do you need?” Claire replied somewhat aggrieved, “It’s a video conference with the US branch. Mr. Hassell, they need you to attend personally.” Leo glanced at me in his arms, then reluctantly put me down. My body was stiff, unable to speak. “Wait for me in my room.” Leo left that instruction, then walked over to Claire. The two entered the room, and the door closed. The bright light vanished from the hallway. I felt like I had just escaped death, cold sweat already soaking through the back of my clothes. Leo wouldn’t be back. I knew Claire’s tactics. Countless times, on my birthdays, my graduation ceremonies, he had been called away by Claire exactly like this. Perhaps he truly wanted to leave, and truly didn’t want to return. And I needed to leave as soon as possible, to a place where I wouldn’t see Leo. I was terrified that any further contact with him would push me over the edge into madness. 4. I sat on the guest room bed until 3 AM, with no sound coming from Leo’s room next door. During that time, I used the new phone Mrs. Hassell bought me, logged into an app, and found a well-secured apartment for rent. Just as dawn broke, the Hassell estate was silent. I carried my shoes, barefoot, and slipped out. Walking outside, I suddenly saw someone leaning against Leo’s car, playing on their phone. My heart leaped, fearing it was Leo. The person heard my movement and looked up. I realized it was Ethan. I pretended nothing was wrong, walked past him, and headed to the roadside to hail a cab. But he followed me. “Ms. Hassell?” “……” “Mr. Hassell knows you’re…” “Can you please not tell Leo?” I suppressed my agitation. I was so close, just a hair’s breadth away from escaping. Why did I have to run into him? Ethan looked confused. “Mr. Hassell will be worried.” I shook my head hard, and started to take off my clothes. Ethan instinctively backed away, then turned his head, his ears flushing. “Ms. Hassell, what are you doing?” I didn’t care. If I could live, what was shame? That feeling had long been eroded by Leo. “He won’t worry about me. All these scars were left on me by the kidnappers, under his instruction.” Ethan looked at me then. Under my jacket was a white sleeveless tank top, clearly revealing purple-red whip marks, blue bruises, and several scabs on my arms. He was incredulous. These shocking scars were beyond his comprehension. I quickly put my clothes back on while he was stunned and pleaded, “Ethan, please, let me go, or I’ll die.” It was the first time I had called him by his name. Before, I always called him Leo’s dog, just as the kidnappers called me. Ethan was speechless for a long time. I quickly ran towards the roadside to hail a taxi. Suddenly, a large hand grabbed me, but after realizing there were injuries beneath my clothes, it recoiled. I was on the verge of tears. “No…” Ethan gritted his teeth, his voice firm. “You won’t find a taxi at this hour. I’ll take you.” “?” With a complex mix of emotions, I got into Leo’s car again. Ethan turned off the dashcam, just in case. “Just bear with it, we’ll be there soon.” He thought I resisted being in Leo’s car, which was true, but as long as it meant escaping Leo, escaping the Hassell family, this endurance was nothing. We arrived at the prearranged apartment complex. I texted the agent that I wanted to move in immediately. To close the deal, he came early in the morning with the contract and keys, greeting us with a cheerful smile at the complex entrance. Ethan was worried, so he came up with me to see the place. It was a fully furnished loft. Although small, it had all the necessary household items. “One thousand two hundred square feet, it’s already the largest apartment in our complex, Ms. Hassell. Whether you live alone or with a boyfriend, it’s more than enough.” I looked at Ethan. He said nothing, his head bowed as he flipped through the contract in his hand. Then he asked about utilities and air conditioning. Finding no issues, he handed it to me. I don’t know why, but I trusted him immensely. Perhaps it was his good nature, not caring when I lashed out at him with kicks and punches every time he dragged me out of Leo’s office. Or perhaps it was when he found me in a bar, under Leo’s orders, and brutally beat those men who tried to lay hands on me. Without hesitation, I quickly signed, pulled out the bank card, and handed it to the agent. He swiped it on the POS machine, then complimented Ethan and me a few times before happily leaving. In the empty room, only Ethan and I remained. He suddenly became a bit awkward. “Ms. Hassell, I should head back.” I nodded, intending to write him a check as thanks—an old habit of mine—but then realized my pockets were empty. Right, I had left with nothing. I had wanted to bring a few personal items, but even my own room had been taken over, let alone a checkbook. “Ethan, how can I thank you?” Ethan was slightly surprised. “No… no need to thank me.” I said no more. Even if he needed something from me in the future, I wouldn’t refuse. Ethan left; he had to go back to work. Before leaving, he said, “Get some good rest.” I certainly needed rest. The thought even crossed my mind: *Finally, I can rest.* Dozens of miles, I slept under tarpaulins in farmlands, on low tree branches. It wasn’t really sleeping; my mind was constantly on edge, wary of those hunting me, wary of wild animals. Back at the Hassell estate, I was constantly waiting for an opportunity to escape. So, sitting on that soft guest room bed, I pinched the soft flesh of my inner thigh over and over, just to stay awake. I took off my shoes, went upstairs into the bedroom. The large bed inside had only a bare mattress; I hadn’t had time to buy any furnishings. But luckily, this loft came with blackout curtains. I pulled them shut, collapsed onto the mattress, and fell into a deep sleep.

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The moment I opened my eyes in this new life, I made one, critical decision. The first thing I did was grab the sponsorship list, filled with names, and shove it deep into the trash. In my past life, my name was Jade. I died of stomach cancer at thirty-seven. Of the 101 children I had sponsored, not a single one came to see me off. This time, I took the money I’d set aside for donations and, without a second thought, bought ten houses before the market boomed. Not long after, familiar faces began appearing on my television screen. The same boys and girls who had once knelt before me, swearing they would repay my kindness, were now wiping away tears as they gave interviews. “Mama Jade promised she would support me through university, but now she’s vanished. I heard she bought ten houses.” “We have no choice but to drop out and find work.” “I don’t hate her, it just… it hurts so much.” “We just want to ask one thing: Mama Jade, we called you our mother. How could you be so cruel?” 1 I switched off the TV, my face a blank mask. The instant I unlocked my phone, a flood of messages crashed in. The first: “Ms. Jade, this is a reporter from Cityline. Could you comment on why you’ve suddenly ceased funding for 101 underprivileged students? Would you be available for an interview?” The second: “Mama Jade! It’s Faye! Why aren’t you answering your phone? You promised you’d see me through university!” The third: “Ms. Jade, as a well-known philanthropist, you suddenly have ten properties to your name while children are forced to drop out of school. Can you live with yourself?” The fourth, the fifth, the sixth… My phone vibrated ceaselessly, as if it were about to explode. At the same time, I heard a clamor of footsteps outside my apartment. From the sound of it, dozens of people were gathered at my door. Their voices seeped through the wood, impatient and demanding. “Ms. Jade! Come out and say something!” “Why did you stop the funding?” “Do you know the children are kneeling in front of the TV station?” I closed my eyes. In my past life, I was a good person—selfless, altruistic, always putting others first. My husband, Mark, and I ran a small building supply store. We worked from dawn till dusk, pinching every penny. Most of the money we earned went to charity. Over ten years, we donated more than a million dollars, sponsoring 101 children from the poor, rural parts of the region. We started supporting many of them when they were in elementary school. I promised them they could focus on their studies, that I would support them all the way through university. They wrote us letters, calling us “Mama Jade” and “Papa Mark,” promising they would repay our kindness one day. We kept every letter, pulling them out on sleepless nights. Reading them always brought tears of joy to our eyes. Mark and I had no children of our own. We didn’t want repayment; we just wanted to ensure poverty wouldn’t define their lives. Then, Mark died. His delivery truck overturned. His last words were, “Make sure you take care of the kids.” And then he was gone. I was shattered. Before I could even begin to process my grief, I was diagnosed with late-stage stomach cancer. For over a year, I lay in a hospital bed, waiting for those children to visit me. Not one came. I told myself they were busy with school, that the travel was expensive. I didn’t blame them. Then, my medical funds ran out, and I had no choice but to stop the sponsorship payments. The phone started ringing. “Auntie Jade, where’s this month’s living stipend?” “Auntie Jade, you said you’d support me through university. I’m only a freshman in high school. Are you backing out now? You’re ruining my life!” “Ms. Jade, this is Kevin’s father. You made a promise. How can you just cut us off? What’s our son supposed to do?” The last call came from a girl named Lily. When I had first selected her for sponsorship, she had knelt before me, tears streaming down her face as she called me “Mama.” Now, on the phone, she said, “Mama Jade, how long will your treatment take? You need to get better and get back to work soon. There are a lot of us kids waiting for you.” I hung up and burned all the letters I had kept under my pillow. Later, a reporter dug up my story and went to interview the children. Reporter: “Jade is very sick. Aren’t you going to visit her?” Child A: “She promised to support me through university. Now she’s in a hospital bed with no money. What good would it do if I went?” Child B: “She’s so rich. It’s just an illness. Besides, how much is our tuition, really?” Child C, who was Lily, smiled innocently at the camera. “Everyone does things for a reason. As for what her reason was… I don’t have to say it. You can probably guess, can’t you?” I turned off the television. With my last bit of money gone, I left the hospital and went home. I lay on the bed Mark used to sleep in, wasting away day by day. I died on New Year’s Eve, as fireworks lit up the night sky outside my window. Staring at the ceiling, I whispered, “God, if I get another chance—” “I will love myself first.” And He listened. I was reborn. Reborn at thirty-three. Mark was still alive, and we were still relatively well-off. Changing my fate wasn’t easy. That afternoon, I barely made it out of my apartment building. Down below, a sea of kneeling figures. Over a hundred children in their school uniforms, holding banners. “MAMA JADE, WE NEED YOU.” “MAMA JADE, DON’T ABANDON US.” Kneeling at the very front was Lily. She held a megaphone, her voice cracking with emotion as she cried out: “Mama Jade, you promised you’d see me through university! Have you forgotten?” Reporters swarmed the area, their cameras all pointed at the entrance to my building. The moment I stepped outside, a wail pierced the air. “Mama Jade!” Lily crawled forward on her knees, scuttling until she reached me and wrapped her arms around my legs. “Mama Jade, please don’t abandon us! You said we were your children! You promised you’d always support us!” Her tears soaked into my pants, cold and damp. Behind her, the other 100 children began to cry in unison, their sobs echoing through the courtyard. Security guards tried to intervene but were blocked by the reporters. I was surrounded by cameras, microphones, and cell phones. Someone was live-streaming. People in the crowd were dabbing their eyes. I heard someone mutter, “How pitiful. How can that woman be so heartless?” I looked down at Lily. Her face was exactly as I remembered it from my past life. She had knelt before me just like this, crying and promising to care for me in my old age. Then, when I was on my deathbed, she had told a camera, “Everyone does things for a reason.” I reached down and, one by one, pried her fingers from my leg. “Mama Jade!” she clung on tighter. I pried the last one off. Then I crouched down, meeting her gaze. “Lily, how old are you this year?” She hesitated. “Seven… seventeen.” “Seventeen,” I nodded. “That’s not so little anymore.” I paused, then enunciated each word clearly. “Everyone does things for a reason. As for what your reason is right now… you don’t have to say it. I can guess.” Her face went rigid. I stood up, stepped around her, and walked away. Behind me, Lily let out a gut-wrenching sob. “Mama Jade! You can’t do this! You promised us! You can’t go back on your word!” The other children joined in, their cries even louder than before. A chant began: “Mama Jade, come back! Mama Jade, come back!” The cameras followed me, their live-stream comments a dense, scrolling blur. “What kind of person is she? All those kids are on their knees and she won’t even look back?” “So cold-blooded. And I used to ‘like’ her posts.” “Ten houses, and she won’t donate a single one. I knew her charity was fake!” “Jade, how do you sleep at night?” The reporters’ microphones were practically in my face, their questions a barrage of “why.” Seeing no escape, I stopped and faced them with a calm smile. “Yes, it’s true. I have decided to stop the donations.” “As for the reason, that’s my private business, and I won’t be discussing it here.” “However, I believe there are more good people in this world than bad. People like you, for instance. You are all more than welcome to take over sponsoring these children.” “With so much kindness in this world, I’m sure that even without me, they will be able to finish their education. Am I right?” I smiled as I scanned the faces of these righteous, well-meaning people. At my words, the reporters fell silent, no longer pressing me. I seized the opportunity, pushed through the crowd, and hurried to the complex gate. A car was parked by the curb. The window rolled down. It was Mark. His eyes were red. “Honey, I saw everything.” His voice was thick. “Those kids… they’re so pitiful. We’ve always helped them, haven’t we? Why the sudden…” I opened the car door and got in. Mark turned to me. “We always said we didn’t want their gratitude, we just wanted them to have a good life…” “I changed the password to our savings accounts,” I said. He froze. “What?” “The passwords to our two accounts. I changed them.” I stared straight ahead. “If you want to withdraw any money, you’ll have to ask me.” “Honey, what are you—” I sighed. “Mark, I had a dream. It was so real that I believe it’s destined to happen.” “In the dream, you died. I got cancer. I was in the hospital for over a year, and not a single one of those 101 children came to see me. When I stopped the funding, they called to hound me, telling me to hurry up, get better, and go back to work to earn money for them. They went on television and said I had ulterior motives. In the end, I died alone at home on New Year’s Eve, while fireworks were going off outside.” He was speechless. “Mark,” I said, my voice weary. “In this life, let’s love ourselves first.” He stared at me, his mouth agape, completely bewildered. Outside the window, a massive screen on a building was playing the news. “Renowned philanthropist Jade abandons 101 underprivileged children, who kneel in the street begging her to return…” People on the street were looking up at the screen. Someone shouted: “Jade, I hope you rot in hell!” A chorus of agreement followed. I let out a cold laugh. A handful of rice creates gratitude; a sackful creates an enemy. The old proverbs were never wrong. The online backlash spread like wildfire. For days, a crowd surrounded my building. “Jade! Get out here!” “Heartless monster!” “What a fake. She’s nothing but a fraud!” Someone threw an egg at my window, the yolk sliding down the glass. Someone else spray-painted my building’s entrance in red: “FAKE CHARITY, REAL VAMPIRE.” Another group held up a banner: “PUNISH THE UNSCRUPULOUS BUSINESSWOMAN! JUSTICE FOR THE CHILDREN!” I peeked through a crack in the curtains and saw Lily, still at the front of the crowd, giving a tearful interview. “We never wanted her money. We just wanted to know why she suddenly abandoned us.” A boy next to her was sobbing hysterically. “She bought ten houses but made us drop out of school! My sister is only in middle school, and now she has to work in a factory!” The crowd erupted. “Call the police! Arrest her!” “People like her deserve to be canceled!” “Let’s trash her place!” Suddenly, a rock shattered my window, sending shards of glass flying perilously close to my eyes. Mark threw himself in front of me, the color drained from his face. “Honey, we should call the police.” I shook my head. What good would that do? They were just a group of “poor,” “helpless,” “betrayed” children. The next day, things got worse. Someone had posted my home address online, along with the location of Mark’s building supply store. By the time I got there, I heard someone in the crowd yell, “Trash it!” Before the words had even faded, a baseball bat shattered the glass door. The crowd surged in like a tidal wave. Shelves were toppled, tiles were smashed, and the cash register was overturned. Someone lit the sign out front on fire, sending plumes of black smoke into the air. My honest, good-natured Mark, his eyes red with fury, rushed in to stop them, only to be thrown to the ground. Someone spat on him. Someone else kicked him. In that moment, a rush of blood went to my head. But I didn’t charge in. Instead, I took a step back, to the edge of the crowd, and opened my phone’s live-stream. I aimed the camera at the fire, at the ransacked store, at Mark being trampled underfoot. The comment section scrolled frantically. “What’s going on?” “Holy shit, this is a riot!” “Did anyone call the cops?” “That’s that Jade woman’s store!” “Good! Serves her right! Hope that fake philanthropist goes bankrupt!” I stared at the screen, my voice calm but with a tremor I couldn’t hide. “Hello everyone, I’m Jade. What you are watching right now is my husband being attacked.” “For the past three days, my home has been vandalized, my store has been besieged, and my husband has been beaten. And all of this is because I stopped sponsoring 101 children.” “To date, I have supported them for three years, donating approximately $300,000. I have records for every single transfer.” “As for why I suddenly stopped… I didn’t want to talk about this today.” I pulled a few folded papers from my pocket and held them up to the camera.

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The day I went back to swipe my card, my heart pounded as I faced the familiar scene. The despair from my past life was still fresh. That twenty-thousand-dollar bill felt like a bottomless pit. No matter how many times I paid, it reappeared instantly. Back then, I had needed to use the card urgently, thinking I could repay it within the interest-free period. But after I paid and refreshed the statement, the same twenty-thousand-dollar debt stared back at me. I thought it was a system issue and called customer service. They checked and said everything was normal. They had not received my payment. With the due date approaching, I had no choice but to pay again. Yet, the bill soon reappeared, unchanged. Furious, I called the police. After investigating, they told me I had not made any payments and warned me not to waste public resources. No one believed me, no matter how I explained. It felt like a loop. Every payment I made, the bill returned. Crushed by the endless debt, I eventually chose to end my life. Until my last breath, I could not understand why I could never clear that bill. Now, I am back, reborn on the day it all began. This time, I will uncover the truth. … I flinched and quickly cancelled the credit card transaction. The horrific memories of my past death flooded back, leaving me terrified and bewildered. I’d used this credit card for over ten years without a single issue. And I was always careful with money, never linking it to any automatic payments. What was even more insane was that both the bank and the police claimed I hadn’t made any payments. But I distinctly remembered paying, and the credit card had shown “payment successful.” Why did the bill reappear moments later? If it wasn’t a system issue, and I hadn’t wronged anyone, why would someone deliberately target me? My thoughts were still a tangled mess when my mom called, saying the hospital was pressing for Dad’s medical bills. After hanging up, my face crumpled into a frown. Over the years, we’d borrowed from every friend and relative to pay for Dad’s treatment. My salary hadn’t come in yet, so the only way to get the money was to use a credit card. Recalling the endless problems with this card in my last life, I gritted my teeth. This time, I’d just switch to a reliable bank and get a new credit card. Surely, that would solve the problem, right? No sooner said than done, I immediately called my cousin, Jenny, who worked at another bank. We’d grown up together, thick as thieves. Ever since Dad got sick, she’d been a huge help to me. Sure enough, when I told her I needed a credit card for medical expenses, she immediately offered to lend me the money herself. I quickly declined. Jenny’s family wasn’t well-off, and she had a son with a disability. I couldn’t add to her burden. Seeing my determination to get a card, Jenny relented. But to be safe, I still pressed her with a few questions: “Jenny, are you sure your bank’s system is solid?” “Like, what if I pay, but a bill still mysteriously pops up?” Jenny paused, then confidently stated: “Skye, don’t you worry!” “Our bank is a national institution! It hasn’t had a single problem in decades!” “Besides, I’ll be handling your card myself. I guarantee you won’t get ripped off!” Jenny’s assurances eased my mind slightly. After getting the card, I immediately paid twenty thousand dollars for Dad’s medical bills. A couple of days later, my salary came in, and I paid the card off immediately. This time, I was extra cautious. After the “payment successful” message appeared, I immediately took a screenshot. My heart was in my throat, terrified that the bizarre events would repeat. Thankfully, after a long wait, no new bill popped up. Just as I sighed in relief, thinking everything was finally resolved, the screen suddenly refreshed. The zero balance morphed into negative twenty thousand. 2 I froze, unable to believe my eyes. I furiously refreshed the screen several times, but it still showed negative twenty thousand. I clicked into my payment history, and it was completely empty. The twenty thousand I’d just paid had vanished into thin air. I immediately called Jenny. After I explained everything, she quickly reassured me not to worry, saying she’d look into it. A short while later, she called back, her voice tinged with an odd note: “Skye, I just checked the system backend. There’s no record of your payment at all.” “I also contacted the tech department, and they said the system is completely normal today.” “Tell me honestly, did you even make the payment?” Now I was desperate. After a frantic explanation, I sent her the screenshot of the successful payment. There was a moment of silence before Jenny’s voice came back on the line: “Skye, I just had my colleagues re-verify, and you genuinely didn’t make the payment.” “And they also said…” Jenny hesitated, then spoke with a touch of helplessness: “That screenshot of yours… it’s definitely been Photoshopped.” I completely lost it then. I immediately told her if they suspected me of faking it, they should call the police for an investigation! Seeing how agitated I was, Jenny quickly tried to calm me down: “Skye, just hold on.” “How about this? Why don’t you come to the bank and make the payment again in person? We’ll record the whole thing.” “If you don’t want to, I’ll cover it for you this time! What do you say?” Seeing Jenny’s sincerity, I reluctantly agreed. Soon I was at the bank, and with Jenny and several colleagues watching, I began the payment process again. This time, with every step, I made sure Jenny and the others witnessed it firsthand, and everything was recorded. It wasn’t until the “payment successful” message popped up that I looked up at everyone: “You all saw it, right? The money really went through!” “Don’t let any weird bills pop up again in a little while!” Jenny nodded: “Skye, we all saw it. You definitely made the payment.” “This bill absolutely won’t pop up again, you can rest a million percent assured!” Seeing my lingering skepticism, Jenny even made a solemn promise: “Skye, even if this bill reappears later, it’ll be our bank’s responsibility, and you absolutely won’t have to bear it!” Even the other staff members chimed in with their assurances. With all the witnesses and a direct promise, I finally felt confident enough to head home. No sooner had I gotten home and was about to kick off my shoes, a text message popped up. I looked down, and my mind instantly exploded. The twenty-thousand-dollar bill was back! 3 I didn’t even have time to catch my breath before I was back in the car, speeding towards the bank. The moment I walked in, I rushed straight to Jenny’s counter, pulled up the bill, and demanded to know what was going on. Jenny stared at the bill in my hand, completely bewildered, and the other colleagues who had gathered around were also stunned. “This, how is this possible?” “Our system hasn’t had a single error in decades, how could it…” But amidst their chatter, a staff member who had been checking the backend suddenly pulled a long face. She looked up at me, her expression grim: “Everyone, I’ve found the reason.” “She set up a delayed payment. That money was only nominally deposited just now, and now she’s withdrawn it!” At this, the surrounding colleagues immediately crowded around to look, and the next second, they erupted: “I knew it! How could our system possibly have a problem!” “So, she just wants to use the money without paying it back, playing tricks and slandering us!” “This person has some nerve, lying without even a gasp to avoid paying! I almost believed her!” … I was completely stunned. When had I ever set up a delayed payment? I pulled up my salary card, found the twenty-thousand-dollar transaction, and shoved it in front of them, shouting: “Look closely, all of you! Didn’t this money already transfer out?” “How dare you say I withdrew the payment?” But a female staff member sneered at me: “Oh, please! You could Photoshop a successful payment screenshot before, who knows if this screen is faked too!” Other staff members quickly chimed in: “Exactly! Across the whole country, no one’s heard of someone paying their credit card and then having a bill just pop up out of thin air!” “What’s more, we’re a national-level system, how could we make a mistake?” “People like her are just full of lies, completely untrustworthy!” … Jenny looked at me, her eyes filled with disappointment: “Skye, we grew up together. I always thought you were an honest person.” “If you really needed money, I would have gladly given it to you. But why would you lie to me?” “You’ve truly let me down!” The accusations around me grew louder, and someone even called the police right then and there. I stood rooted to the spot, my mind buzzing. Jenny and the staff’s reactions didn’t look faked at all. If they were deliberately trying to make things difficult for me, it clearly wasn’t working. But I had clearly paid twice, and the money had indeed left my account. Why did the bill keep reappearing? 4 The cops arrived pretty quickly. After hearing what had happened, they sent some officers to check the bank’s system while I was taken to an office for questioning. “Ms. Lin, are you certain you made the payment on time?” “You need to be honest. Otherwise, you could be facing financial fraud charges, and that’s a serious offense!” I quickly explained, showing them my salary card’s transaction history. But after looking for a bit, the officer frowned: “Ms. Lin, these records only prove you made a payment!” “But the destination isn’t clear, it doesn’t prove you paid your credit card.” I was speechless. Just then, two more officers knocked and came in, immediately reporting: “We’ve checked. The bank system has no issues.” “We also found that Skye Lin did borrow twenty thousand, but she hasn’t made any payments!” The officer in front of me immediately scowled: “Skye Lin, even now, you won’t just tell the truth!” “Do you think what I just said was a joke?” I was practically exploding with frustration: “Officers, I really did pay!” “But I don’t understand why the system keeps showing I haven’t!” “If you don’t believe me, we can do an experiment right now!” The officers paused, seeing I wasn’t joking. They exchanged glances and finally agreed. So, in front of several officers, I repeated the payment process again. And as soon as the screen showed “payment successful,” I immediately told the officers to confirm the backend information. Surprisingly, this time, both my credit card and the bank system showed a payment record. And after half a day, no bill popped up. The staff present immediately started making snide remarks: “See? As soon as the police show up, she can pay successfully, no more tricks!” “It’s all an act, trying to shift the blame!” The officers also stared at me sternly: “It’s now been proven that as long as you make a normal payment, there’s no issue of bills repeatedly appearing!” “So your previous statements were all made up to avoid paying, weren’t they?” “Your actions have disrupted the bank’s normal operations and even bordered on financial fraud!” By the end, the officer’s tone had become extremely severe! I was utterly stunned. But no matter how desperately I tried to explain, no one there believed me. Seeing the officers about to take me away, I felt completely hopeless! I had honestly made the payments, but the credit card bill kept reappearing! And now, at the crucial moment of proving it, everything was suddenly back to normal! Why was this credit card always targeting me? Just then, a small detail flashed in my mind. I instantly understood why!

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1 I jolted awake on March 7th, my eyes snapping open. By my desk stood the student I sponsored, a scholarship kid. She held a bottle of pills, a sweet smile on her face. “Eleanor, your allergy meds are almost out. I put a new bottle in your drawer for you,” she said. I didn’t call her out immediately. Because I distinctly remembered that after my accidental death in my previous life, I’d found a notebook hidden under her pillow. It was filled with dates, each one checked off, and each checked date perfectly matched a time I’d suffered an “accident.” And on the very last page of that notebook, there was a line I still couldn’t quite understand. … I looked at the bottle of pills in Vera’s hand. A white, round bottle, almost identical to the imported loratadine I used. But there was an extra line of small print on the label. Vitamin C. In my past life, I hadn’t noticed such a small detail. I’d casually put it in my medicine cabinet and dutifully taken it for half a month when allergy season hit. Then, my allergies had erupted, sending me straight to the hospital. “Eleanor, you look a little pale…” Vera tilted her head, her eyes wet and innocent. I took the bottle and placed it on my desk, not in the medicine cabinet. “You don’t need to buy my medication anymore. And you don’t need to organize anything on my desk.” Vera’s lips trembled. “Eleanor… did I do something wrong? Please tell me, I’ll change…” Tears welled up instantly, her voice dropping lower and lower until it became a soft sob. The door creaked open. Nathan stood in the doorway. He saw Vera crying and his face immediately darkened. “Eleanor, what’s going on? Are you picking on Vera again?” I looked at him. In my previous life, I had been in love with him for two years. Tall, handsome, student body president. But every time something happened to me, he was always the first to defend Vera. “Nathan, we’re breaking up.” “…What?” “We’re done. Effective immediately.” Vera quickly grabbed my arm. “Eleanor, don’t be rash! You and Nathan have such a good thing going. Don’t let me get in the way…” I looked down at the hand gripping my arm. Her nails were neatly trimmed, spotless. In my previous life, that hand had worn rubber gloves, using tweezers to painstakingly peel off and re-affix labels in the lab. That wasn’t the kind of meticulous work a timid liberal arts student would do. “Let go.” Vera recoiled. I grabbed my backpack and walked out of the dorm room. Nathan shouted after me, “Eleanor Bennett, what the hell is your problem? If you walk out, don’t bother coming back!” I didn’t stop. After leaving the dorm building, I sat on a garden bench for ten minutes, letting my heartbeat settle. Then I went back to the dorm building and borrowed a spare key from my friend, Sarah, in the room next door. While Vera was out, I re-entered the dorm. I walked over to Vera’s bed. She had very few belongings, and her bed was meticulously neat. Under the pillow. In my past life, at the very last moment before I died, I saw her holding a notebook. I reached under her pillow. My fingertips brushed against a hard cover. I pulled it out. It was an ordinary black notebook. I opened it. Page after page was crammed with dates. She was planning to kill me. From March to June, step by step, systematically. I was about to close the notebook when I noticed a small asterisk next to the date May 18th. After it, in tiny writing, were three words. [She will come.] She? Who was ‘she’? Was someone else involved in Vera’s plan? I pulled out my phone and took pictures of every page in the notebook. Then I put it back under the pillow exactly as I found it. By the time I left the dorm, it was dark. I stood by the window in the hallway, looking at the dates on my phone. March 12th, five days from now. In my previous life, that’s when my pollen allergies had landed me in the hospital. This time, I was eager to see what “surprise” Vera had in store for me. 2 For the next few days, I acted completely normal. Classes, meals, lab work, back to the dorm. I talked when I needed to, smiled when appropriate. But I no longer let Vera touch any of my things. Several times, she tried to help me organize my desk, bring me food, or collect my laundry, but I subtly refused each time. Every time I refused, she’d look at me with those wet, innocent eyes, like a puppy abandoned by its owner. My other roommates couldn’t stand it. “Eleanor, Vera is so good to you. Why are you so cold lately?” “Seriously, she genuinely cares about you. Don’t hurt her feelings.” I just smiled, offering no explanation. On the evening of March 11th. Vera went to the library. Ten minutes after she left, I locked the dorm door and began my inspection. First, I checked my medicine cabinet. The swapped allergy medication was still there; I had already sealed it away separately. Then I checked my bed. I pulled off the pillowcase and shook it out. Nothing amiss. I unzipped the pillow insert. My hand froze. Tucked inside the pillow insert’s lining was a small bag. It contained dried flowers. Tiny petals and pollen, sealed in a clear plastic bag. The bag had a small tear at the opening, and the pollen was slowly seeping into the pillow’s stuffing. Every night, I’d lay my face on that pillow, breathing for an entire night. Pollen would directly enter my respiratory system. For someone with severe pollen allergies, this was like burying my face in an allergen. In my previous life, on March 12th, my allergies flared up, sending me to the hospital. The doctor had attributed it to seasonal changes. Who would have thought someone had deliberately placed something in my pillow? I carefully removed the bag of petals with tweezers and placed it in a sealed bag. Then I replaced my pillow with a new one. On March 12th, I was perfectly fine. No allergies, no hospital, nothing happened. That evening, Vera returned to the dorm and saw me sitting quietly at my desk, reading. Her gaze lingered on my face for two seconds. It was brief, but I caught it. She was checking my skin for rashes, swelling, or signs of difficulty breathing. There was nothing. Her eyes flickered. I closed my book and spoke casually. “Vera, those dried flowers you put in my pillow last time were quite fragrant. What kind were they?” The entire dorm went silent for a moment. Vera turned, her face a mask of bewilderment. “Eleanor, what are you talking about? I never put anything in your pillow…” “Really?” I took the sealed bag from my drawer and held it up to the light. “This bag of petals fell out of my pillow insert. Want to take a look?” My roommates gathered around. “No way! Flowers in a pillow?” “Who would put flowers in a pillow…?” Vera’s lips parted, and her eyes began to redden. “Eleanor… maybe when I was airing out your bedding, some petals accidentally got on it… the school garden has so many flowers blooming lately…” “Petals that just ‘got on’ wouldn’t be in a plastic bag.” I flipped the sealed bag over. The clear plastic bag still had the torn opening. Clearly, someone had intentionally opened and placed it there. Vera was speechless. Tears streamed down her face, and her hands twisted together. “I really don’t know… maybe someone played a prank… Eleanor, please don’t accuse me…” The other roommates exchanged glances, unsure whose side to take. I didn’t press further. The time wasn’t right. I put the sealed bag away and smiled. “Never mind, I must have been mistaken.” Vera let out a sigh of relief, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. But I noticed that when she returned to her bed, her first action was to reach under her pillow. Only after confirming the notebook was still there did her shoulders truly relax. That night, I took the bag of petals to the school’s biology lab and asked a senior student for help with identification. The results came back the next day. It wasn’t ordinary flower petals. It was ragweed pollen, mixed with a small amount of mugwort pollen. These two are the most common and potent allergens for all pollen allergy sufferers. Mixed with dried flower fragments, they were extremely subtle, almost impossible to discern with the naked eye. I took photos of the identification report and saved them. Just as I was about to turn off my phone, a text message popped up on the screen. An unknown number. No sender name. Just one line of text. [She didn’t buy the flowers herself. Check the old flower and bird market in Westside, March 5th.] 3 I didn’t immediately pursue that anonymous text message. Because the second date was approaching. April 3rd. In my previous life, on that day, I almost had an accident during my pharmaceutical chemistry lab class. Two reagent bottles had their labels swapped. I had followed the labels and taken ethanol for a dissolution experiment, but it was actually hydrochloric acid. It reacted violently with another reagent, and the beaker exploded. My hand was badly burned. At the time, everyone thought it was a lapse in lab management. Vera cried hysterically, “Eleanor, I’m so sorry! I must have accidentally bumped something when I was helping you organize your lab bench… Please let me pay for your medical bills…” Nathan had said, “She’s a liberal arts transfer; how would she know the difference between these chemicals? It’s your fault for not checking, why blame her?” I hadn’t blamed her. My past self never blamed her. But this time, I was going to film how “accidental” she was. March 28th, six days before the lab class. I went to see Mr. Miller, the lab administrator. “Mr. Miller, do we have security cameras in our lab?” Mr. Miller shook his head. “We used to, but they broke down six months ago. The university hasn’t allocated funds to fix them.” I’d expected that. In my past life, there were no cameras in the lab, which is why Vera dared to act. “However…” Mr. Miller pointed to a camera on the hallway ceiling. “There’s one in the hallway outside the lab door. It can record who comes and goes.” Not enough. I needed footage from inside the lab. That afternoon, I bought a mini recording device online. It was the size of a fingernail, magnetic, and could be attached to a metal shelf. On the evening of March 31st, I entered the lab when no one was around. I stuck the recording device to the top of the reagent shelf directly opposite my lab bench. The angle perfectly covered my entire work area. Then I waited. April 2nd, 11:40 PM. I was scrolling on my phone in the dorm when the recording device’s app pushed a motion alert. Movement detected in the lab. I tapped to open the live feed. In night vision mode, the screen was green. A figure pushed open the lab door. Walked to my lab bench. Pulled a pair of rubber gloves from their pocket and put them on. Then retrieved a small pair of tweezers from another pocket. She crouched down, carefully peeling off the labels from two reagent bottles. Using the tweezers, she gently lifted a corner of each label, peeling off the entire thing without a single wrinkle. Then she swapped the two labels and stuck them back on. The entire process took less than three minutes. Her movements were clean, precise, and without any hesitation. She stood up, removed the gloves, and stuffed them and the tweezers back into her pocket. As she turned to leave, her face was perfectly aimed at the recording device. Vera. Her expression was calm, her eyes focused. No nervousness, no fear. I downloaded the video, encrypted it, and saved it to my cloud drive. April 3rd. Lab class. I arrived at the lab ten minutes early. In front of the other students, I meticulously checked every reagent bottle. Pretending to discover the swapped labels. I raised my hand and called the professor over. “Professor, it looks like the labels on these two bottles are swapped.” The professor came over, saw they were indeed misplaced. “Who moved the reagents on this lab bench?” No one confessed. Vera sat in the observation area nearby. Liberal arts auditing students weren’t required to do experiments, but they could watch. She tilted her head with an innocent expression. “Eleanor, what’s wrong? Is there a problem with the reagents?” I looked at her. “Nothing, someone just swapped the labels. Luckily, I found it in time.” Vera’s expression remained unchanged. The lab class concluded smoothly, with no fires, no burns. After class, I went to the university’s academic affairs system to look up Vera’s admission file. I’d wanted to do this for a while. The file showed: Vera, female, twenty-one years old, a third-year student in the Chinese Literature department, applied to audit classes in the Pharmacy department in her second year. From a remote mountainous area, financially disadvantaged, father bedridden due to an industrial accident. I knew all of this. But there was a line in the file I hadn’t noticed before. College entrance exam preferences. First choice: Pharmacy. Second choice: Pharmaceutical Chemistry. Third choice: Chinese Literature. Her first choice was Pharmacy. Not Chinese Literature. She had wanted to study pharmaceuticals from the start. She had only been assigned to the Chinese Literature department because her exam scores weren’t high enough for her first two choices. Would someone whose first choice was Pharmacy not know what causes pollen allergies? Not know the importance of reagent labels in a lab? Not know that an epinephrine auto-injector has an expiration date? She knew everything. She was just pretending not to understand. I closed my laptop, and my phone vibrated. It was that unknown number again. [April 3rd, safe?] I hesitated for a few seconds, then replied. [Who are you?] The other party quickly responded. [Doesn’t matter. May 18th, your epinephrine auto-injector. Be careful.] When I tried to send another message, there was no reply. This person knew Vera’s entire plan. Every date, every move. Even where the pollen was purchased. Was he Vera’s accomplice? Unlikely. If he were an accomplice, why would he warn me? Then he must be Vera’s enemy. Or… another victim. 4 The acacia trees on campus were blooming everywhere. For someone with pollen allergies, this season was a nightmare. I carried my epinephrine auto-injector everywhere – it was a lifeline for anyone with severe allergies. During a severe allergic reaction, epinephrine must be injected within minutes, or it could lead to laryngeal edema and suffocation. In my previous life, on May 18th, I suddenly had an allergic reaction outside the classroom. Difficulty breathing, swollen throat, blurred vision. Vera had frantically rummaged through my bag, found my epinephrine auto-injector, and tearfully injected me. But it brought no relief. Because that pen was expired. Expired epinephrine degrades and becomes ineffective; injecting it was useless. It was only when a passing school nurse gave me a new shot that I was pulled back from the brink. I lay in the emergency room all day. Vera knelt by my bed, crying, “Eleanor, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know this pen could expire… It’s all my fault for not checking when I helped you organize your medicine cabinet…” Nathan said, “It’s your life-saving medication; if you don’t check it yourself, what good is blaming Vera?” This time, I was prepared. On May 10th, I bought two brand new epinephrine auto-injectors. One I placed in my medicine cabinet, openly visible, with a date three months old, almost expired. The other I hid in the innermost secret pocket of my backpack, brand new. Then I waited. May 15th. I returned to the dorm and noticed my medicine cabinet had been disturbed. The epinephrine auto-injector I’d placed in plain sight was still there. But when I picked it up and turned it, there was an extremely fine scratch on the pen. This wasn’t the same pen I’d put in there. Someone had swapped my pen, replacing it with an identical-looking one. I opened it to check the expiration date. Expired by eight months. This was even more ruthless than in my previous life. Last time it was at least almost expired; this time, it was a completely useless pen, expired by eight months. I put the expired pen back in the medicine cabinet, untouched. Then I took a photo with my phone. May 18th. At 3 PM, a few classmates and I were discussing a project on the lawn outside the academic building. The acacia pollen concentration was high. My nose started to itch, and my eyes felt a bit puffy. Vera appeared nearby, handing me a bottle of water. “Eleanor, are you feeling unwell? Should we go to the infirmary?” I took the water but didn’t drink it. “I’m fine.” After a while, I felt my throat starting to tighten. My hand reached into the secret pocket of my backpack, gripping the new epinephrine auto-injector. Then I made a decision. I closed my eyes and slumped backward. Feigning an allergic reaction. “Eleanor Bennett! What’s wrong with you?!” “Quick, call an ambulance!” The scene erupted into chaos. Vera was the first to rush over, falling to her knees beside me. “Eleanor! Eleanor, don’t scare me!” Her movements were quick. She flipped open the outer compartment of my backpack and pulled out the epinephrine auto-injector from the medicine cabinet. “Found it! I’ll inject her!” A classmate nearby shouted, “Do you know how to use it?” “Yes! I’ve seen the tutorials!” Vera said, pulling off the cap and aiming it at my outer thigh. I opened my eyes and grabbed her wrist. “No need.” I pulled out the new epinephrine auto-injector from my secret pocket and injected myself. Within minutes, the allergic symptoms rapidly subsided. I sat up, my breathing steady. Vera stood frozen, still holding the expired, useless pen. I looked at her. “Vera, is that the pen you took from my medicine cabinet?” “Yes… yes, it is…” “Then take a look. How many months expired is it?” Vera looked down at the date on the pen. Her expression quickly shifted to one of panic. “What? Expired? How could this be… Eleanor, I didn’t know… I didn’t notice when I helped you organize your medicine cabinet before…” “Really.” I stood up, brushing grass from my skirt. “Then tell me, where did the unexpired pen in my medicine cabinet go? I replaced it with a new one two weeks ago. How did it become one that’s eight months expired?” Vera’s mouth opened, but no words came out. That evening, while Vera was in the shower, I once again opened her notebook. Next to May 18th, two words had been added. Failed. I flipped to the next page. A line of text, written with such force the paper was nearly torn. [If all three attempts fail, initiate Plan B.] Plan B? I continued to flip. The last page of the notebook. It only had one line of text and an address. [Find Sister Johnson. Westside Old Factory District, Building 17.] Westside Old Factory District. I opened my phone and searched the address. The first news headline that popped up made my pupils contract sharply. [Ten Years Ago, Westside Pharmaceutical Factory Safety Incident Led to Three Deaths; Factory Director Johnson Sentenced to Seven Years.] Head of the accident investigation team: Eleanor’s mom, Martha Bennett. Martha Bennett. My mother.

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1 My father once said that when a person dies, they leave their most prized possession to the one they love the most. When he passed away, my younger sister inherited three houses and two million dollars in cash. My mother, her eyes red from crying, shoved a thick photo album into my arms. Her voice choked with sobs. “Your father loved you the most, Shavon.” I opened the album. On the back of every single photograph was my father’s handwritten signature. The photos were all of me, crouching by the front door of my grandmother’s house. They documented, from countless angles, the six years I spent as a “left-behind child,” waiting for my parents to come back for me. I looked up, only to see my mother and sister turning their faces away, deliberately avoiding my gaze. So, in my father’s heart, this album filled with years of agonizing waiting was what he considered his “most prized possession.” … The room was so quiet I could hear my own breathing. The album stopped at the days right before they finally brought me home. A tiny version of me, wearing patched-up clothes, stumbling eagerly into my parents’ arms. They sandwiched me between them, hugging me incredibly tight. “Are you going to go far away again?” I had looked at them timidly, tilting my small head up, trying desperately not to let my tears fall. They both kissed my cheeks, squishing my face. My dad’s voice was firm and resolute. “Never. Our family will never be apart again.” That was the most sincere lie he ever told me. And it was the only time his words would come back to slap him in the face so viciously. Because the very next year after bringing me home, they had my little sister, Mia. They said it was so I would have a companion. So that when they grew old, I would have someone to “discuss things with.” Thinking back on it now, what exactly was there to discuss? Discussing who would pull his oxygen tube? No, I didn’t think so. Because the daughter he claimed was “least favored”—my sister—didn’t visit him a single time while he was paralyzed from his stroke. She didn’t even show up to see him take his last breath. It seemed the only person I had to “discuss” things with was myself. The album turned to the second page. A small figure standing under a decaying red wooden door. My “companion” didn’t keep me company. Using my schooling as an excuse, my parents took Mia and moved away for work… “Shavon.” “Hey, Sis.” Their voices broke my train of thought, pulling me back from six years of childhood isolation. My sister and mother awkwardly looked away. It was my mother who finally braced herself to look at me. “Are you okay?” I pressed my lips together and offered a light, dismissive smile. What could possibly be wrong? I was my father’s “most beloved” daughter. That was all. My mother’s eyes were filled with complex emotions. Her hand hovered in the air, wanting to comfort me, but it never landed. Her mouth opened, but she couldn’t force out a single word. Mia forced a smile, looking incredibly unnatural. “Sis, don’t take it to heart.” “Dad really did love you more. He gave you his most precious possession.” I turned to look at her. She was rubbing her nose, her eyes darting everywhere but at me. “Is that so? How about I give you this ‘love,’ and we trade?” She glared at me. Before she could snap back, my mother reached around from behind and covered her mouth. “Your sister is young. Don’t stoop to her level.” Right. A six-year age gap. I was forty. She was thirty-six. We were both mothers now, yet in my mother’s eyes, she was still just a child. I waved the photo album and smiled, raising an eyebrow. “I’m just messing with her. Dad loved me the most; how could I ever bear to trade?” Ignoring my mother’s distrustful gaze, I took a deep breath, closed my eyes for a second, and pasted on a fake smile. “I’m really fine.” “The burial is done, the estate is divided. Since there’s nothing else, I’ll be going.” My mother watched me leave with a tight smile, offering a hollow platitude. “Stay a little longer.” “You’ll miss home when you leave.” Yet her feet remained firmly glued to the floor. I waved them off. “No need.” “Home,” according to my father’s will, had already been transferred to Mia. Every trace of my existence had long been scrubbed from that small two-bedroom apartment. The other two properties were permanently rented out. I had nowhere to sit, let alone sleep. I took one last look at Mia, hiding safely behind my mother, staring at me with pure resentment. I looked at the house I had lived in for less than five years. There was nothing of me here. Only a younger sister draped in designer brands, protected by our mother. I closed the door. The heavy stares disappeared. The air out in the hallway tasted slightly sweet. A sudden, inexplicable lightness washed over my entire body. Even the photo album in my hands looked a bit more tolerable. I just didn’t understand why my chest felt so hollow, why my throat was tightening. Even my tears betrayed me, blurring the makeup I had spent an hour applying. Maybe it was because I finally accepted reality. In his heart, Mia was worth three houses and two million dollars. And I was worth a photo album. Dad’s “most precious love”… it turned out I was the only one stupid enough to take it seriously. 2 I couldn’t help but find it hilarious. I wiped away my tears and practically fled the building, clutching the album to my chest. Even after sitting in my own bedroom for an hour, my mind was entirely blank. My husband, David, reached out and gently touched my forehead. “If you need to cry, my shoulder is right here.” Was I sad? Honestly, no. Just a dry throat and stinging eyes. Nothing more. David gently took the album from my hands. “You as a kid? You were pretty cute.” As he slowly flipped through the pages, my brain felt like a tangled ball of yarn. The night my father passed, we had actually argued about this very issue. “We had to leave you at your grandmother’s house back then. We had no choice. But later, we brought you back,” he had said, his trembling hand grabbing mine. “No one in this family ever played favorites. You’re just too calculative.” “When you have kids of your own, you’ll understand my intentions.” I had mercilessly pried his fingers off mine, meticulously wiping my skin where he had touched me. “I can stop calculating. But while you were paralyzed, why did you only call for me, and never for her?” The father and daughter had fallen into a suffocating silence. My dad, who usually loved to complain about how clumsy and useless Mia was, didn’t utter a single word in her defense. This deeply skewed, biased love had always been our family’s poison. It was the knot I could never untie. He didn’t say anything. His mouth hung open, but the words never came, and then, he took his last breath. Six years of being a left-behind child felt like a cosmic joke. In a trance, I remembered my grandmother wiping away my tears over and over again. “Your dad went to get medical treatment. When he’s better, he’ll come pick you up.” Yeah. He got better, and I went home. But arriving with them was Mia, born the year after they left. My dad had patted my head, speaking with heavy significance. “Mia is your companion. When we’re old, you’ll have someone to discuss things with.” “She’s too young; she needs constant care. So we have to take her with us.” “You have school tomorrow. We’re just going away for two months. We’ll be back soon.” I remember frowning, throwing a tantrum on the floor. “Liars! You can’t take me because of your medical treatment, so why are you taking Mia?!” A little girl’s tears didn’t buy any sympathy from my parents. Early the next morning, they left. The space next to my bed was empty and freezing cold. And so began my next cycle of living under someone else’s roof. Because of school districts, I was moved from my loving grandmother’s house to my step-grandmother’s house. She was my grandfather’s second wife, a harsh woman who absolutely despised me. Annoyed at having an extra mouth to feed, she constantly scowled. “Why do girls eat like pigs?” “When you’re done stuffing your face, go wash the dishes.” “You’re so lazy. No one will ever marry you. No wonder your own parents don’t even like you.” Her vicious words hit me right in the chest. I didn’t understand what I had done wrong. My shoulders shook violently as I let my tears fall silently onto the freshly washed bowls. The brutal truth of the world is: it doesn’t matter if you make mistakes. As long as you are the favored one, you win by simply existing. 3 Love doesn’t care about timing or logic. As long as it’s her, she wins. It took me half my life to finally understand that sentence. David continued turning the pages until he reached the very end. It wasn’t a family portrait. It wasn’t a photo of me and my dad. It was a photo of David and me. My dad took it himself during a family trip, right before I married David and moved to a different city. Scrawled at the bottom in crooked handwriting were the words: My daughter has truly grown up. Is it time I let go and let her be a free bird? As I rubbed my thumb over the ink, I quickly felt a raised texture on the back of the photo. Written on the back were two words: I’m sorry. When my eyes locked onto those letters, it felt like a thousand needles plunged straight into my heart. It hurt so much I stopped breathing; it hurt so much I couldn’t even cry. Back then, he had sneered, “A married daughter is like spilled water.” “If you marry someone far away, you think it’ll be easy to come home?” “You think the world is so simple. You’ll definitely never come back. Maybe not for a year, maybe not for ten…” Young and full of pride, I refused to accept it. I believed that as long as I had money, distance meant absolutely nothing. And I was right. I was incredibly driven. I grabbed every single opportunity to climb the ladder. I worked a corporate job during the day and wrote web novels at night. My career skyrocketed, and my first novel became a massive hit. Aside from the first two years of our marriage when money was incredibly tight, I flew home twice a year, every year, staying for two months at a time. Just like summer and winter breaks in school. Arrive on time, leave on time. Until one trip, I found the locks on the front door had been changed. “Don’t come home so often,” my dad’s booming voice came through the phone receiver, stabbing my heart. My voice trembled. “Why?” “Stop asking why. The house belongs to your sister now. If you need something, wait until I come visit you.” It turned out Mia had her eye on a guy from another city. My parents were worried about her, so they rode the train with her to meet his family. As for the house? Because the guy was broke and couldn’t afford a down payment, my dad proudly declared, “You married someone else and moved away. If I don’t give it to your sister, who do I give it to?” “If I give it to her, she’ll stay close and take care of me. The house is her leverage.” “Once she has the house, she’ll settle down here with us.” So, the real reason they had forced me to buy a house in my husband’s city years ago was so they could give their own house to Mia. I had glared at them, pointing a shaking finger. “If you wanted to give her the house, fine. But why did you force me to buy one near you guys in the first place?” My dad grew impatient and practically shoved me out the door. “Stop asking so many damn questions!” “Your wings are fully grown now! If you don’t want to be here, then get the hell out!” “It’s my damn house! I’ll give it to whoever I want!” Right. Three houses. They lived in one, gave one to Mia, and rented the third one out. And under his strict demands, I had to buy a house in my new city using the money that was supposed to be my dowry. They provided absolutely zero financial support for my wedding. They just said they wouldn’t ask for a bride price from David, and that the house we bought would serve as “their” leverage for me. The heavy door slammed shut, cutting off the sound of laughter inside. Returning to the apartment I bought myself, I couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all. Come visit often. A promise nobody else in that house gave a damn about, but I was the only idiot who took it seriously. My phone ringing shattered my memories. It was Mia. “Sis, I’ll give you one of the houses. Can we talk?”

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