Category: English

My best friend, Lily, was being abused by her husband. The moment she called, my boyfriend, Ethan, and I drove over a thousand miles through the night, crossing two state lines to get to her. We worked like a charm. I was the one throwing punches at her toxic husband, and Ethan was the one blocking the door. Lily froze for a second before joining the fight. On the drive back, the three of us looked at the bruises on each other’s faces and burst out laughing. But as Lily laughed, she started to cry. “You two better never fight,” she sobbed. “If you guys ever break up, who am I going to turn to?” Ethan, sitting in the driver’s seat, rolled his eyes. “We’re great, and we’re not breaking up, thank you very much. Worry about yourself.” From that day on, I took Lily into my apartment. I took care of her meals, her daily life, and encouraged her to start fresh. Ethan even got a little jealous. “Chloe, I’m your boyfriend. Why are you spending every single second with Lily?” Then, I went to Germany for a three-month business trip. When I came back, I found a pink plush keychain hanging in Ethan’s car. He stubbornly refused to admit who gave it to him. My face went cold, and I broke up with him on the spot. I grabbed my bags and called for Lily to leave with me. But instead of coming to my side, I watched her, pale-faced, walk slowly toward Ethan.

The air seemed to freeze. All I could hear was the rushing of the wind in my ears. Lily’s face was deathly pale, as if she would burst into tears at any moment. I tried my best to steady my trembling voice. “What is the meaning of this?” Ethan, who had been silent for a long time, suddenly stepped forward and held Lily’s hand, locking their fingers together. “I wanted to find a better time to tell you. That night… we both got drunk. Chloe, keeping it from you wasn’t fair.” I stared at their locked fingers. My vision went black. After an eight-hour flight, before I even had a chance to unpack my luggage, my body swayed. I almost collapsed to the ground. Ethan’s face tightened. He instinctively took a step forward to catch me, but I raised my hand, cutting him off. Lily’s eyes were bloodshot. She hesitated, not daring to come closer, and could only whisper my name in a small, trembling voice. “Chloe… did you skip the airplane food again? Is your blood sugar low? Are you dizzy…” She tentatively opened her palm. In it lay a single, wrapped creamy milk candy. My eyes stung. I clenched my teeth and forced the words out. “Shut up. I don’t want to make a scene in public.” I didn’t look at them again. I grabbed the handle of my suitcase, turned around, and walked straight into the crowd. The cold night wind blew against my face, drying the tears at the corners of my eyes. It was rush hour, and it was almost impossible to get an Uber. By the time I finally got home, Lily had already packed her things. She stood at the door, looking at me, hesitating to speak. I glanced at the matching slippers by the door, and the cartoon pillows on the sofa that featured the two of them. I closed my eyes. I couldn’t help but picture it. The night they got drunk, did they make out right here on this sofa? A wave of nausea hit me, and my stomach cramped so hard I almost threw up. My suitcase still held the German cookies I had bought for her, and the designer scarf I had picked out for Ethan. I remembered when Lily had called me on FaceTime, holding up her phone. “Don’t worry, Chloe! Thanks to your Ethan, I successfully got the job at the hospital. But you, take care of yourself in Germany. Remember to eat, and don’t forget to buy me those cookies! I sent you the picture.” I slammed the suitcase onto the floor, ripped out the cookies and the scarf, and threw them, along with the pillows, straight into the trash can. Lily’s tears spilled over instantly. Ethan frowned and stepped in front of her. “This is my fault. If you’re angry, take it out on me.” He looked down at Lily, his voice softening. “Wait for me outside.” Lily looked back at him with every step she took, dragging her suitcase out the door. When the door finally clicked shut, Ethan pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He paused, then put it back. “No matter what, I’m sorry.” “Chloe, I’ll talk to my dad. I’ll make sure you get the Assistant Chief of Cardiology position.” I clutched my cramping stomach and let out a cold laugh. “What is this? Compensation? Or a handout? I don’t need your charity.” Ethan’s expression changed. “You’re always like this. You act like there’s nothing in this world you can’t handle on your own. Chloe, I was your boyfriend. Why couldn’t you just rely on me for once, the way Lily does?” I interrupted him, my voice freezing cold. “Ex-boyfriend.” “And another thing—she needs you because she has no spine. I don’t need you because whatever I want, I can get it myself.” Ethan gave me a long, complicated look. “Take care of yourself.” Then, he quietly closed the door. The apartment was empty now. Only I was left. I couldn’t hold it together anymore. I collapsed onto the sofa, my stomach hurting so badly that I broke out in a cold sweat, my tears finally spilling over. I clutched my stomach and whispered to the empty room, “Damn it… it hurts. It hurts so much…”

At midnight, I woke up from a nightmare. I instinctively reached out and pushed the space next to me. “Can you get me some water?” My hand hit nothing but cold, empty sheets. The living room was pitch black. The only sound was the ticking of the clock. I stood in the darkness for a long time until the doorbell rang. When I opened it, no one was there. Only a thermal food delivery bag sat quietly on the mat. A sticky note was attached to it, written in a handwriting I knew all too well. [I bet you haven’t eaten. No matter what happened between us, don’t ruin your health.] I only gave it a cold look, then shut the door. I turned on the kitchen light, boiled some water, and made myself a bowl of instant noodles. Before, whenever I came home late from a long shift, Lily would pad around in her slippers, nagging me while crowding into the kitchen to boil water and make me a hot bowl of soup noodles. Now, sitting alone on the rug, I felt utterly exhausted. Maybe I put too much salt in the noodles. Otherwise, why did they taste so bitter and salty? The next day, I put myself together and went back to work at the hospital. The moment the elevator doors opened, I saw Ethan with his hands in his pockets. He was gently, affectionately tapping Lily on the head. When they saw me, their smiles froze instantly. I walked right past them without blinking. Behind me, I could hear some young nurses whispering, asking Lily if she had finally won over Dr. Carter. Her response was forced and awkward. Ethan, however, looked at me with a complicated expression. “You just got back. You probably haven’t rested enough. Do you want me to take your night shift?” I stepped around him coldly. “No, thank you.” Ethan came from a prominent family of doctors. He had been a golden boy his entire life. And I was the only person in the past twenty years who had ever beaten him for the top spot in medical school. That summer, Ethan had stood under the oak tree on campus, flashing his white teeth at me. “You’re Chloe Miller, right? You’re good, but so am I. Next exam, I’m taking the top spot back.” We had competed like that for years, until we both graduated and entered his family’s hospital. To keep people from gossiping, we kept our relationship a secret. Everyone in the hospital knew Dr. Miller and Dr. Carter were fierce rivals. No one knew that the two competitive doctors were actually in a long-term relationship—and had just had a brutal breakup the night before. No one except Lily. She was a nurse. After she escaped her husband, I had spent months counseling her. Not wanting to see her waste away at home, I had asked Ethan for a favor for the very first time in my life, getting her a job at our hospital. And that favor had given them the perfect excuse to spend all their time together. During lunch, Lily and Ethan sat together in the cafeteria. As I walked past, she whispered my name. I paused for a fraction of a second, but I didn’t stop. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lily looking downcast, while Ethan ruffled her hair, whispering something to comfort her. When I returned to my desk later, I found a creamy milk candy sitting on the corner. I stared at it, my hand holding my fork freezing. My childhood had been filled with my parents’ constant screaming and fighting. Having enough food to eat was a luxury back then. The only sweetness in my memories was Lily, giggling as she forced half of her milk candy into my hand. Later, when I developed stomach issues and low blood sugar, she always kept a pack of those candies in her bag. Before she moved away for her marriage, she had solemnly told Ethan, “Chloe only likes the original flavor. You have to remember that.” Back then, Ethan had looked at me with clear, tender eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her.” And now, looking at the two figures walking away side by side, I let out a self-deprecating laugh. I picked up my tray and walked away without looking back. The candy sat lonely on the corner of the desk, unwanted. It was just a piece of candy. Giving it up wouldn’t be hard.

In the afternoon, Lily was completely distracted. She kept glancing toward the doctors’ office, though I didn’t know who she was looking for. When I went to do my rounds, I noticed the IV drip of a patient and frowned. “Lily.” She snapped out of it. “Dr… Dr. Miller.” I closed the patient’s door, my voice turning completely cold. “What’s going on with the dosage for Bed 11? Is this your first day on the job? Who’s going to take responsibility if something goes wrong?” Lily panicked. After checking the chart, her face went completely white. “Dr. Miller, I… I’m so sorry…” I took a deep breath. “The person you should be apologizing to is the patient, not me.” I turned to the Head Nurse. “Please don’t put Lily on my shifts anymore. Thank you.” Lily’s eyes instantly pooled with tears. She bit her lip, trying hard not to let them fall. Hearing the commotion, Ethan rushed over. After checking the dosage, he frowned. “It was just a minor mistake. There’s no need to make such a big deal out of it.” He patted Lily’s back gently to comfort her. I looked at his familiar face, feeling nothing but a massive wave of absurdity. “Ethan.” “Medical professionals cannot afford a single careless mistake. Behind every oversight is a human life. Who was the one who told me that?” Ethan’s expression changed. He choked on his words. Ethan was the hospital director’s son, spoiled since childhood. When we were in school, he had always tried to compete with me, but I had never backed down. Until one day, he smiled and explained to me, “My family is very strict. Don’t think of me as some lazy, rich trust-fund kid. Chloe, we share the same dreams and ambitions. I worked hard for everything I have, too. Can you please stop hating me?” I had truly believed we were the same kind of people. The hallway light fell on the medical chart, looking blindingly white. My eyes filled with disappointment, and I slowly shook my head. Ethan opened his mouth to say something else, but Lily sobbed, covered her mouth, and ran off. He shot me a deep, frustrated look, then turned and ran after her. From the rooftop of the hospital, you could see the city lights. I stood there, letting the cool evening wind blow over me. Suddenly, the door was pushed open. Lily walked in, her eyes red. “Ethan said… you always come here when you’re upset…” I froze. Whenever I dealt with a difficult patient or a tough case, I liked to come up here to clear my mind. This was supposed to be a secret shared only between Ethan and me. We fought in front of others, but in the empty corners of this rooftop, we had loved each other fiercely. Lily took a step closer. “Chloe, I’m sorry. I know ‘sorry’ isn’t enough. But I really… I couldn’t help my feelings. It just happened.” Her voice cracked. “You’re so strong. You can get anything you want—the job, the skills, everyone’s respect. But I’m different. I’m just an ordinary girl. I just wanted someone to be there for me…” I couldn’t help but sneer. “Out of all the men in the world, did it have to be Ethan?” Her face stiffened. After a long silence, she clenched her teeth. “Chloe, you can hate me or blame me, but I don’t regret it. You did help me a lot, but I don’t owe you anything anymore. We’re even.” I almost laughed out loud. After Lily left, Ethan stepped out from the shadows, standing just a foot away from me. He lit a cigarette. “Chloe, we’ve been together for so many years. But you’re always the calm one. You never say you need me, you never say you miss me, and you never show fear. You don’t need my family’s connections or my resources. Every time I give you a gift, you always make sure to return something of equal value.” “For a long time, I actually thought you didn’t care about me that much.” When he mentioned Lily, his eyes softened. “She’s different. Her whole world is me.” I was quiet for a long time. In the end, I just gave a mocking laugh and said nothing. Lily was a typical “love-brain.” Romance was her entire life, which was why she had been willing to leave her hometown to follow a man. I was different. Love was only a part of my life, maybe just ten percent. But in that ten percent, Ethan had occupied one hundred percent. Too bad he never understood that. I turned and walked away. The wind slammed the rooftop door shut behind me. I would never come back here again.

After that blowout on the rooftop, Lily and Ethan stopped hiding. They proudly announced they were together. They bought afternoon tea for the entire department. The young nurses, clueless about the drama, smiled and called out to me, “Dr. Miller, come get some! We saved an iced Americano for you.” Ethan frowned. Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “Her stomach is bad. The warm milk is hers.” Lily’s smile froze. The room went dead silent. I smiled, raising my own insulated mug. “I’ll stick to my warm water.” A few days later, I was off the night shift. As soon as I parked my car, my right eyelid started twitching violently. For the past few days, I had felt like someone was watching me. I took a deep breath and got out of the car. Suddenly, a dark figure rushed at me. My heart hammered in my chest. It was Lily’s ex-husband, Marcus. He was holding a baseball bat, glaring at me with bloodshot eyes. “Chloe, long time no see.” My stomach dropped. I tried to run, but he blocked my path. “You were so brave when you and your boyfriend showed up at my house to beat me up. Why are you acting like a coward now?” “Oh, right, I forgot. Your man was stolen by Lily.” “That bitch is with the hospital director’s son now, so I can’t touch her. But I have to get this anger out of my system. Dr. Miller, you’re just unlucky. You had to be friends with a snake like Lily. You took a bullet for her, and she stabbed you in the back.” Marcus smirked, his grip tightening on the baseball bat. I took a deep breath, slipping my hand into my pocket to feel for my phone. I blindly dialed my emergency contact. My hand was shaking, but I forced myself to stay calm, trying to reason with him. “What do you want? Money? We can talk.” Marcus spat on the ground. “I don’t want money. I want you to pay.” The baseball bat swung toward me. I screamed and bolted. “Marcus, calm down! Assault is a felony!” Marcus chased after me. “My wife ran away and made me the laughingstock of the town! I don’t give a damn about the consequences!” He cornered me in a dead-end alley. My entire body was trembling. “Please… don’t hurt my hands. I have a surgery tomorrow.” “The patient is a little girl. She’s been sick for so long. If the surgery works, she lives…” “Marcus, please…” Before I could finish, the baseball bat swung down with a sickening whoosh, smashing straight into my right arm. I clearly heard the sound of my bone shattering. Right before I blacked out, I looked at my phone, which had shattered on the ground. The screen showed that the call to my emergency contact had gone through. But he had never picked up. When I opened my eyes again, all I saw was the white hospital ceiling and the sharp smell of disinfectant. Lily was kneeling by my bedside, her eyes swollen from crying. “I’m sorry, Chloe… I’m so, so sorry…” Ethan’s eyes were bloodshot. He punched the wall in frustration. “I didn’t know… that call…” I simply closed my eyes. “Give me the X-ray report.” Ethan hesitated before handing it over. As a professional surgeon, one look was enough to tell me how bad the damage was. The physical pain was nothing compared to the agony in my heart. Trembling, I looked at my crying colleagues, and then at Lily and Ethan, who were drowning in guilt. “Get out. Please.” The door closed, and only then did the room fill with my muffled, agonizing cries. Ethan and Lily came to watch over my room every day, but I refused to see them. Until one day, Ethan spoke through the closed door, his voice heavy with pain. “Chloe, even if your hand doesn’t fully recover, it’s okay. I can ask my dad to transfer you to administration. Or would you like to go back to school to teach? Whatever you want, I’ll make it happen.” I didn’t answer him. I just looked at my bandaged arm. With a shaking left hand, I drafted a reply to an email from Germany. [I’ve made my decision. I’m coming.]

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “444675”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

I was three months pregnant when I went to the private clinic for my routine ultrasound. The moment I lay down on the examination table, the lead OB-GYN, Chloe Thorne, turned to her assistant and cold-bloodedly ordered, “Prepare the IV sedation. We’re performing an immediate D&C.” I bolted upright, instinctively shielding my stomach. “Are you insane? I’m here for a routine checkup, not an abortion!” Chloe pulled down her surgical mask, her lips curling into a cruel sneer. “You have the nerve to carry my husband’s baby and walk right into his hospital? You’ve got some balls.” My mind went completely blank. “Who exactly is your husband?” “Still acting, are we?” Chloe snatched a handful of photos from her desk and whipped them directly at my face. “My husband is the Chief of Medicine and the owner of this entire hospital!” I looked down at the scattered photos. They were candid shots of my husband, Julian Vance, discussing work with several female subordinates. I was so angry that I actually laughed. “You’re saying he owns this hospital?” She lifted her chin arrogantly. “Of course. He’s the king of this place. And as the first lady of this hospital, I’m telling you—you aren’t leaving this room today with that baby inside you.” Too bad for her, I had spent the last three years taking advanced kickboxing and self-defense classes. With a few swift moves, I knocked the assistant aside, bolted out of the operating room, and calmly dialed my phone. “Dad, take back the hospital you gifted to Julian. Right now. Also, his mistress is currently chasing me down with a scalpel, trying to kill me and your grandbaby.”

My dad’s voice went dead quiet. “Sienna, I’m heading over with my security team right now. Hold on and protect yourself!” After hanging up, I called Julian. The line was busy for what felt like an eternity before he finally picked up. “Sienna? What’s wrong?” Julian’s voice was raspy, heavy with exhaustion. He had been invited to perform a marathon surgery in a neighboring city and had been in the operating room for over twelve hours. I swallowed the anger burning in my throat and calmly told him what was happening. Julian panicked instantly. “Sienna, I’m driving back right now! Don’t believe a single word Chloe says! She and I are absolutely nothing!” The moment the call ended, the frantic clicking of Chloe’s high heels echoed down the hallway, getting closer and closer. “Get back here, you little bitch!” My strength was fading, and a sudden wave of dizziness hit me. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. “Were you just calling my husband?” Chloe’s eyes flared with pure malice when she caught up to me. When I didn’t answer, she swung her hand and slapped me hard across the face. My head snapped back, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. Chloe was trembling with psychotic rage. “Look at her, everyone! This gold-digging whore crawled into my husband’s bed, and now she’s carrying his bastard!” she shrieked, attracting a crowd of onlookers in the corridor. Before I could recover, she shoved me violently against the wall. “Ah!” A sharp pain shot through my back, and tears welled in my eyes. Chloe sneered. “Oh, look at you, playing the fragile victim! That’s exactly how you seduced Julian, isn’t it?” “Julian Vance is my husband!” I gasped. “Pfft! Who the hell do you think you are? A basic bitch like you actually thinks she can be the director’s wife?” Ever since Julian took over the hospital, I had stayed away to avoid starting rumors about nepotism. But now, my silence was turning against me. The staring eyes of strangers and their hushed, judgmental whispers were suffocating me. When Chloe raised her hand to slap me again, I caught her wrist mid-air. “Chloe, that is enough!” The adrenaline finally broke through my fear. I stepped closer, staring her down. “Do you have any idea who I am? By what right do you think you can lecture me?” “I don’t give a damn who you are! My husband runs this place. You mess with me, and you’re dead in this city!” Suddenly, a figure rushed through the crowd and threw himself in front of me. “Sienna!” Julian had arrived, covered in sweat and dust from his mad drive. He pulled me tightly into his chest. The familiar scent of his cedarwood cologne wrapped around me, briefly quietening my doubts. Seeing me frozen, Julian gently shook my shoulders. “Did she hurt you?” The sheer panic in his eyes felt so real. Was I just overthinking things? My chest tightened, and the wall of strength I had built up crumbled. “Julian! This woman… she keeps saying she’s your wife!” I cried, pointing at Chloe. Chloe stamped her foot in frustration. “Julian! Put this little whore in her place! Show her who actually runs things here!” “Shut up!” Julian roared at Chloe. Then, he turned back to me, his voice softening instantly. “She’s just joking, honey. Don’t take it to heart.” Chloe went ballistic. “Julian! Why are you protecting this side-chick? She’s trying to steal my husband!” “Side-chick?” I whispered, my fingertips turning white as I clenched my fists. “Julian, did you tell people I was just your side-chick?” The uneasiness in my heart bloomed into terror. My mind was spinning. Was he really… Julian leaned in and whispered in my ear, “The extended Sterling family has been looking for any excuse to steal your inheritance. If they find out I only got this hospital because of your dad, they’ll target you next. I had to let people think our relationship was… unofficial. Just to keep you safe.” His words acted like a soothing drug. The side branches of the Sterling family had indeed been ruthless lately. Keeping me out of the spotlight made sense. I mentally scolded myself for being so paranoid. Anyone in the world could betray me, but not Julian. He loved me.

“Sienna, come with me. We need to talk.” Ignoring Chloe’s hysterical screaming, Julian led me into the Chief’s office and locked the heavy oak door behind us. On his desk sat a framed photo of me, smiling brightly in the sun. The edges of the silver frame were worn smooth, polished from what I assumed was constant handling. When we first took that photo, I hadn’t liked how I looked. But Julian had insisted it was his favorite. My eyes softened, but as I stepped closer, my gaze caught a weird crease peaking out from behind the photo. While Julian’s back was turned, I quickly slid the back of the frame open. Tucked underneath my picture was a photo of Julian and Chloe, arms wrapped around each other, sharing a passionate kiss. “Sienna?” Julian’s voice startled me from behind. I quickly jammed the frame back together, wiping the cold sweat from my palms. “About today…” Before Julian could finish his explanation, the sound of a key turning in the lock cut him off. Chloe walked right in. “Julian, why is she in your office? Did you seriously give her a spare key?” My eyes narrowed as I looked at the key in Chloe’s hand. “Don’t start, Chloe,” Julian said quickly. “It’s just so she can deliver confidential files easily.” “Deliver files? Or deliver herself?” Chloe mocked. Julian stiffened. “Since when did you become so petty?” Chloe laughed bitterly. “Julian, I’m not like Sienna. She’s already slept around with God knows how many guys, and she still expects to be your legal wife!” The room went dead silent. My body turned to ice, and the color drained from my face. The darkest, most agonizing memory of my life rushed back. Three years ago, I was kidnapped and brutally assaulted by multiple men. When Julian and the police finally found me, there wasn’t a single patch of unbruised skin on my body. In a fit of protective rage, Julian had hunted down every single one of those monsters and made sure they rotted in maximum security. My father had used all the Sterling family’s influence to wipe that incident from existence. How on earth did Chloe know about it? Sensing my trembling, Julian reached out and covered my ears. “Sienna, don’t listen to her garbage.” I stared blankly at him. A massive pain was ripping my heart open. If he knew her words were garbage, why was he letting her drag my deepest trauma into the light? The words “why aren’t you stopping her?” choked in my throat, unable to come out. “Garbage?” Chloe screamed, swiping everything off his desk. Papers and glass shattered on the floor. “It’s because of this bitch that you’re treating me like this! You whore!” Her screeching was giving me a migraine. “If you don’t leave right now, I’m calling the police!” I snapped. “Go ahead! Call them!” Chloe shrieked. “Let everyone see who you really are!” I reached into my bag, pulled out our marriage certificate, and held it up for everyone outside the glass door to see. “Julian Vance and I are legally married.” Julian stared at the certificate, his eyes darting away guiltily when he met Chloe’s gaze. Seeing the solid proof, the onlookers immediately flipped, whispering insults at Chloe instead. I smiled coldly. “Chloe, what do you have to say now?” “That marriage certificate is a fake!” she yelled. What?! The crowd gasped. My face hardened. “I’m calling the cops.” But before I could dial, Julian snatched the phone out of my hand and canceled the call. “What are you doing?” I demanded. “Sienna, if we involve the police, the scandal will ruin the Sterling family’s reputation!” Julian whispered urgently in my ear. A bitter taste filled my mouth. Julian, are you really worried about the Sterling family? Or are you worried about yourself? “Fine,” I said, looking at Chloe. “I won’t call the police. But she owes me an apology.” “Never! Sienna, you are not leaving this hospital with that baby!” Chloe lunged at me, but Julian stepped in, blocking her. “Julian, you’re stopping me?” Chloe cried, her voice cracking. “Without this baby, you could finally—” Julian cut her off with a hard, ringing slap to her face. But the unfinished sentence kept echoing in my head like a curse.

My throat felt tight. I looked at Julian, testing him. “Julian… our baby…” Julian pulled me into his arms, kissing my forehead gently. “Don’t think too much, sweetheart.” The scent of cedarwood clouded my senses, making my brain feel sluggish. Suddenly, my phone buzzed in my hand. It was a text from my dad. I looked down, and the words on the screen made the world spin around me. I stumbled, and Julian quickly caught me. “Sienna, what’s wrong?” I pushed his hand away, keeping my eyes downcast to hide the storm brewing in them. “I’m fine.” But in my head, a dark voice whispered: Your little fairytale is over, Julian. “Sienna, Julian doesn’t love you,” Chloe sneered, wiping the blood from her lip. “He’s just playing a part.” “Shut up!” Julian yelled. “Just accept reality, abort the bastard, and get lost!” Chloe continued. “I said shut the hell up!” Julian’s roar actually made Chloe flinch. Her eyes filled with tears. “Julian… are you actually falling for Sienna?” I fixed my gaze on Julian, waiting for the answer I already knew was coming. “…Of course I love her,” Julian said. The scene mirrored a moment from years ago. “Sienna, I love you!” “Julian Vance will love Sienna Sterling forever!” I tilted my head back, forcing my tears to stay inside. My dad’s text was still burned into my mind. Julian, how could I have ever believed you? “Love?” Chloe laughed so hard tears streamed down her face. “If you love her, why did you fake-marry her?” My phone slipped from my hand, clattering to the floor. Even though I had suspected it, hearing the bloody truth out loud felt like a thousand ants devouring my heart. Julian gripped my shoulders, his fingers digging in painfully. “Sienna, don’t listen to her! She’s out of her mind! I love you, you know that. How could our marriage be fake?” “Julian, you don’t even have the balls to admit it!” Chloe mocked. “Chloe, shut your mouth or I swear to God—” “Sienna…” An icy chill washed over me. “Let her speak!” I commanded. Chloe smirked. “Take a close look at the state seal on your marriage certificate, Sienna. You’ll see who’s lying.” Julian frantically tried to snatch the certificate from my hand, hiding it behind his back. “She’s just trying to break us up!” he pleaded, signaling his security guards to drag Chloe away. I fought to keep my voice from shaking. “Give it to me.” “Sienna…” “Give. It. To. Me!” Julian’s sheer terror confirmed everything Chloe had said. His hand trembled as he slowly handed the document back to me. I held it up to the light coming through the window. The watermark of the state seal was a cheap, printed imitation. It practically mocked my naivety. My heart squeezed so hard I couldn’t breathe. Hot tears finally spilled over. “Why did you lie to me?” “I…” “Julian only married you for your money,” Chloe answered for him. My eyes were red as I stared at him, desperate for a confession. “Is that true? Julian, I want to hear it from your mouth.” Julian’s dead silence drained the last bit of life out of me. “You really wouldn’t believe it until you saw the proof, would you?” Chloe sneered, pulling a document from her bag and tossing it at me. With trembling hands, I opened it. It was a real, legally certified marriage license. The names listed were Julian Vance and Chloe Thorne. A tear fell onto the paper. “So… I’m the mistress?” I whispered, my voice so raspy it barely made a sound. “I’m sorry,” Julian said. His voice didn’t have a single shred of emotion. He stood there like a stranger, calmly watching my world collapse. I should have known. The rich girl saving the poor, brilliant boy was a cliché. But I had believed it. I had believed every single word. “Julian…” I laughed bitterly, saying the name that used to make my heart flutter. “You wanted this hospital that badly?” Clearly not expecting me to be so direct, Julian paused. “…Yes.” He finally tore off his mask, revealing the monster underneath.

The blood boiled in my veins. “This hospital belongs to the Sterling family. You will never get your hands on it!” “Your family’s?” Julian scoffed. “If it weren’t for me, this place would have gone bankrupt years ago! Honestly, you should be thanking me.” “That’s not true! My dad only did that to—” “To test me?” Julian interrupted. “Sienna, do you actually believe that garbage?” I stared at the floor, numb. “So that’s what you really think?” His silence was my answer. My blood turned to ice. Even the bright afternoon sun couldn’t warm me. Chloe stared at my stomach, her eyes filled with dark malice. “Julian, if this little bastard disappears… will you be sad?” Julian answered instantly, his voice completely casual. “No.” “Julian, this is your child!” I screamed. “You’re dirty, Sienna,” he whispered. Those words shattered whatever dignity I had left. Three years ago, when I was rushed to the hospital after the kidnapping, the doctors said my body was too damaged to ever carry a child. But Julian had spent years treating me, helping me heal, until this miracle finally happened. And now, he was calling me dirty. Chloe stepped toward me. I instinctively curled into a ball, covering my stomach. “What are you doing?” She kicked me hard in the ribs, sending me crashing to the floor, and then slammed her heel right onto my pregnant belly. “Once this baby is gone, everything the Sterling family owns will belong to Julian and me!” Chloe laughed maniacally. An agonizing, white-hot pain exploded in my abdomen. Every breath felt like inhaling fire. A broken sob escaped my throat. “Julian… save me… please…” Julian looked down at me, his eyes cold and dead. “Just bear with it. Be a good girl, Sienna. It’ll be over soon.” It was the exact same gentle tone he used to whisper in my ear during our intimate nights, coaxing me into surrender. Julian knelt down, placed his heavy hand on my abdomen, and pressed down with all his might. “AHHH!” I screamed in agony, my fingernails scraping against the hardwood floor until they bled. “Help! Somebody help me!” I shrieked at the guards standing outside. “I dare any of you to move!” Julian barked. His men blocked the door, instantly tackling a nurse who tried to call for help. I closed my eyes, completely defeated, lying motionless on the floor. The faint flutter in my womb slowly stopped. A warm, wet sensation began to pool between my thighs. My vision started to fade into blackness. “Julian… I hate you…” I muttered. With the last of my strength, I dragged myself toward the door, leaving a horrific trail of red behind me. “Wait,” Chloe said, stopping me. “Julian, are we just going to let her leave like this? If she talks, we’re ruined!” Julian stayed silent for a second. “What do you suggest?” Chloe let out a psychotic laugh. “Kill her.” “Are you insane? That’s murder!” I gasped, staring at her in disbelief. “You came in for a pregnancy checkup, found out the baby was severely deformed, got depressed, and jumped out the window. Who would ever suspect us?” Chloe said, dragging my limp body toward the open window. “Chloe, maybe we shouldn’t…” Julian hesitated. “Julian, if this woman stays alive, we lose everything!” The conflict in Julian’s eyes vanished, replaced entirely by pure greed. “Julian, do you really want me dead?” I cried out, trying to grab his arm. “If you let me go, I’ll make sure my dad officially signs the hospital over to you!” I tried to appeal to whatever humanity he had left, but I had severely underestimated his greed. “Sign it over? I earned this hospital with my own talent. I don’t need charity from the Sterling family!” “Your own talent?” I let out a bloody, mocking laugh. “What are you laughing at?!” Julian’s face distorted with rage. With half my body dangling out of the window, I looked Julian dead in the eye and grabbed his collar. “Julian Vance… I will make sure you live to regret this day.” Then, I let go. I fell backward into the open air. “Sienna!” Julian’s panicked voice faded into the rushing wind. In those few seconds of falling, my entire life flashed before my eyes. Our childhood promises, our college years… all of it meant nothing in the face of greed. CRASH! Through the blinding pain, I heard a familiar voice screaming my name. “Sienna!”

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On my way to the hospital after my husband’s car crash, I scrolled past a viral thread on Twitter. [My pregnant mistress wants me to divorce my barren wife. But I want to get my hands on my wife’s million-dollar estate buyout money first. What should I do?] The original poster had replied to a highly-voted comment, thanking them: [It’s hard to touch a wife’s personal inheritance. But you can get her to spend it willingly.] [Fake a car accident. She’ll definitely pay for your medical bills out of guilt and love.] [Then, pretend to be in a vegetative state and get transferred to a private, closed-off care facility.] [She won’t be allowed to visit easily, making it easy for you to funnel her cash. You’ll even have enough to pay for your mistress’s luxury postpartum care!] My brows furrowed. I immediately reported the post for fraud. The next second, my phone rang. It was the hospital. “Is this the family of Julian Vance? Mr. Vance was in a severe car accident and is now in a vegetative state. Please come to the hospital immediately!”

By the time I rushed to the hospital, Julian had already been pushed into the ICU. After verifying my identity, the nurse led me to the attending physician, Dr. Madelyn Hayes. The name sounded incredibly familiar. I looked at her slightly bloated lower abdomen, then recalled the Twitter poster’s profile. His feed was filled with posts dedicated to someone named “Maddy.” It clicked. She was Julian’s mistress! This whole thing was a setup they had planned long ago. Suppressing my boiling rage, I spoke directly. “If that’s the case, I choose to withdraw life support.” Madelyn’s face turned instantly pale. The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop herself: “You can’t!” I raised my eyes and stared straight at her. “Why not, Dr. Hayes?” Realizing she had overreacted, she quickly softened her tone. “Mrs. Vance, you are emotionally unstable right now. You shouldn’t make impulsive decisions.” “Although the patient is clinically brain-dead, if we transfer him to a private care facility and keep him on life support, there might be a chance of recovery.” “As long as there’s a sliver of hope, we shouldn’t give up. Especially since you are his wife.” To any bystander, Dr. Hayes would look like a deeply caring, ethical doctor. Looking at her self-righteous face, I sneered inwardly. If I hadn’t seen that Twitter thread, I probably would have been fooled. I took the medical consent form from her. The diagnosis was written clearly. [Loss of brainstem reflexes, no spontaneous respiration, irreversible brain damage. Meets the clinical criteria for brain death.] At the very bottom was Madelyn’s signature. Her handwriting was elegant, but the ink was pressed hard into the paper. It was like a knife she had handed directly to me. I asked her, “Dr. Hayes, are you sure my husband is brain-dead?” Madelyn’s eyes flickered. “Based on the current test results, yes, that is the diagnosis.” “What do you mean ‘based on the results’?” I slapped the paper onto the desk, my voice leaving no room for argument. “A patient in a vegetative state has spontaneous breathing. A brain-dead patient does not. You know the difference better than I do, Doctor.” “Brain death means the complete and irreversible loss of all brain function. Legally and medically, it is the definition of death. There is zero chance of recovery.” Madelyn froze, biting her lip. The nurse beside her subconsciously glanced at her. Before she could respond, I continued. “If this medical record is accurate, the patient is legally dead.” “As his spouse, I am requesting to stop all meaningless, invasive life support. Is there a problem with that?” “Yet, as a doctor, you are using this diagnosis to pressure me into transferring him to an expensive private facility. What exactly are your intentions?” Madelyn’s fingers began to tremble. “Chloe, you can’t look at it that way.” “Why can’t I?” I pulled out my phone and tapped the Snapchat voice recorder. “Would you mind repeating that, Dr. Hayes?” “Is Julian Vance legally brain-dead, or is he a comatose patient who might wake up?” The air in the office froze. Madelyn remained silent. I turned to the Chief of Medicine who was standing nearby. “If the hospital stands by this brain-death diagnosis, please give me the papers to sign off on withdrawing treatment.” “If you think he is not brain-dead, then edit this medical record immediately and explain why Dr. Hayes exaggerated his condition.” The Chief’s face turned grim. He flipped through the file, then shot a warning look at Madelyn. “If the family insists, we agree to withdraw life support.” Madelyn bolted upright, about to speak. The Chief frowned. “You wrote the medical report, Madelyn. The wife is making a decision based on your written diagnosis. Procedurally, she is entirely within her rights.” The nurse quickly brought over the paperwork. I picked up the pen. Madelyn stared at my hand, her face as white as a sheet. My heart was cold. They wanted to show me a “dying” husband to force me to use my late mother’s estate buyout money to keep him alive. But they never expected that my first reaction wouldn’t be tears. It would be pulling the plug. Just as the pen touched the paper, loud, chaotic footsteps echoed from the hallway. My mother-in-law, Eleanor, screamed as she burst through the door. “Chloe Miller! Don’t you dare sign that paper!”

Eleanor rushed over and slapped the pen out of my hand. The pen rolled across the floor. She saw the withdrawal of treatment form, and her eyes turned instantly red. She pointed a finger at my nose and shrieked. “Are you insane? Julian is lying in there, and you’re in a rush to kill him?” “My poor son! How did he end up marrying such a heartless monster? If anything happens to my son, you are a murderer!” My father-in-law, Richard, stood at the door, his face dark. “Even with brain death, he’s still breathing through the machine. As long as the monitor is beeping, he is alive.” “The doctor said there’s hope. Why are you so eager to give up? Did you do something behind my son’s back?” They hurled accusations at me, even trying to slut-shame me in public. But my mind was completely calm. I bent down, picked up the pen, and looked at them. “Eleanor, Richard, look at this. This is the diagnosis issued by the hospital.” “It’s right here in black and white. Julian is brain-dead.” “Do you really want him to lie in that bed, hooked up to machines like a hollow shell? Keeping him alive like this is an insult to his dignity!” My words were logical and firm. Richard was left speechless. Eleanor’s body shook with rage. She slid down to the floor, wailing loudly. “Everyone, come look at this!” “My son got into a horrible crash, and his wife won’t spend a single dime to save him! She wants to pull the plug just to save her money!” “Her mother left her millions of dollars from the property buyout, but she clutches that money tighter than life itself! She’s letting my son die!” “She’s been barren for years and couldn’t even give us a grandchild, but we never judged her! Now, this cold-blooded woman wants to end our family line!” The hospital hallway was packed. Her dramatic wailing quickly drew a crowd of patients and visitors. People started whispering. “Her husband is dying, and she won’t save him?” “No matter how much money she inherited, human life comes first.” “No wonder they don’t have kids. She has a heart of stone.” The words stung, making my fingers twitch slightly. We had been married for six years, and I had heard these insults for six years. The Vance family blamed me for being barren. Their relatives whispered that I was a useless wife occupying a space without producing an heir. Eleanor even forced herbal concoctions down my throat until I threw up. But what they didn’t know was this: Three years ago, Julian and I had a full fertility evaluation. The results showed he had azoospermia. He was completely sterile. He could never have biological children. To save his ego, I took all the blame. And yet, he went behind my back, got a mistress pregnant, and planned to kick me to the curb. But before kicking me out, he wanted to strip away the estate my mother left me. Madelyn stood at the back of the crowd, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. “Chloe, I understand you’re under a lot of pressure.” “Long-term care is indeed expensive.” “But if we transfer him to a specialized facility, his vitals can be maintained. Miracles do happen.” I looked at her. “A minute ago, you said his brain damage was irreversible.” “Now you’re talking about miracles.” “Dr. Hayes, medicine seems very flexible when it comes to your convenience.” Her face stiffened. Eleanor immediately shrieked, “Stop harassing the doctor! Dr. Hayes is trying to help!” “She’s pregnant and still working hard for my son, while you, his wife, are trying to murder him!” Richard added with a grim face, “Chloe, you can’t be this cold-blooded.” “The house belonged to your mother, yes. But once you married Julian, you became a Vance.” “Your husband is in trouble. It is your duty to use that money to treat him.” I stared at this family. One did the crying. One took the moral high ground. And one wore a white coat to authorize the scam. What a perfect team. After a long silence, I handed the papers back to the nurse. “Fine. I agree to keep him on life support and transfer him to the care facility.” Eleanor’s tears stopped instantly. Richard visibly relaxed. Madelyn lowered her gaze, gently resting her hand on her belly as she let out a quiet sigh of relief. I caught every single one of their reactions and curled my lips. They thought I had surrendered. But only I knew that once Julian left this hospital, he was stepping right into a trap of his own making. That evening, Julian was transferred to a private care center on the outskirts of the city. Eleanor handed me the bill. Initial deposit: $60,000. Subsequent monthly fee: $20,000. I didn’t take the pen. “The buyout money hasn’t cleared yet.” Eleanor panicked. “Use your savings first!” I looked at her. “Doesn’t Julian have his own accounts?” Her eyes darted away. “He’s in a coma! How can we access his accounts now?” I didn’t expose her lie. When I got home that night, I opened Twitter. Sure enough, the thread was updated. [My wife tried to pull the plug, but my parents threw a scene at the hospital and scared her. She agreed to the transfer.] [She even tried to sniff around my personal bank accounts, but I saw that coming. With her tiny brain, she’s no match for me.] [Once her mother’s estate money clears, we can squeeze at least a hundred grand out of her first.] I screenshot everything and backed it up. The show has just begun. I can’t wait.

The next morning, I went back to the hospital. The nurse told me Dr. Hayes had taken a leave of absence, citing pregnancy discomfort. She was starting her maternity leave early. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. She was brave enough to fake a medical record but ran away the moment things got real. When the Chief of Medicine met us, his expression was highly defensive. “Mrs. Vance, the patient has already been transferred to the care center.” “What is your reason for requesting a formal freeze on his medical records now?” My best friend and lawyer, Naomi Brooks, placed a formal authorization and legal letter on his desk. “There are major disputes regarding the patient’s condition, the transfer process, and the financial liabilities.” “As his legal spouse, we demand a complete freeze and copy of all original medical files, emergency room logs, imaging, consultations, and the brain-death assessment records.” The Chief frowned. “We shouldn’t over-interpret the term ‘brain death’.” I pushed the consent form signed by Madelyn across the table. “I didn’t over-interpret it. Your attending physician wrote it.” “Yesterday, she informed me that Julian had irreversible brain damage and no spontaneous breathing, relying entirely on machines.” “Based on that, I requested to withdraw life support, and the hospital agreed to proceed.” “Now, the Vance family is demanding I pay exorbitant long-term care fees.” “I need this hospital to issue a formal death certificate based on this brain-death record.” The Chief’s face paled. “He is still alive at the care center. I cannot issue a death certificate.” I nodded. “Then please issue a formal, written statement.” “State clearly that Dr. Madelyn Hayes’s previous diagnosis of brain death is invalid. State that Julian Vance still has spontaneous life functions and has a chance of waking up.” “And explain why a patient who does not meet the criteria for brain death was declared brain-dead and recommended for a closed-off, long-term care facility.” The office fell dead silent. Naomi spoke in a cool, detached tone. “Chief, we aren’t trying to make things difficult for the hospital.” “But medical records are legal documents, not tools used to scare families into paying money.” “If the hospital refuses to cooperate, we will file a formal complaint with the medical board, the insurance regulators, and the police simultaneously.” The Chief’s face grew darker by the second. He made a few phone calls. Half an hour later, the records department sealed all of Julian’s files. An hour later, the hospital handed me a stamped document. It stated: Julian Vance suffered severe traumatic brain injury resulting in irreversible loss of brain function, with no spontaneous respiration, relying on mechanical ventilation and medication to maintain vitals, meeting clinical criteria for brain death. Holding that piece of paper, my heart was perfectly still. They handed me the knife. I just caught it. Our first stop was the bank. I submitted our marriage certificate, the medical certification of brain death, joint account statements, and a report for suspicious transfers. Three days before his “accident,” Julian had transferred $80,000 out of our joint account. $30,000 went to Madelyn. $20,000 went to a luxury postpartum care center. The rest went to several unfamiliar personal accounts belonging to Madelyn’s relatives. The transfer notes all read: “Loan repayment.” After reviewing the documents, the bank manager looked grim. “Mrs. Miller, we cannot close the account without a formal death certificate.” “However, based on these severe identity risks, potential fraud, and spousal disputes, we can freeze Mr. Vance’s primary accounts and suspend all payment permissions immediately.” I smiled. “That works perfectly.” “I just need to make sure he can’t spend another dime.” Our second stop was Julian’s company. He worked as a project manager at a real estate firm, and he happened to be in charge of the redevelopment files for my mother’s old neighborhood. When the HR manager heard the story, she looked sympathetic at first. But after Naomi handed over the certified medical files, her expression changed. “Since Mr. Vance is clinically brain-dead, we will suspend his salary, shut down his employee ID, and revoke his system access immediately.” “We will also hand over the buyout projects he was managing to our legal department for review.” Our third stop was the City redevelopment office. I formally revoked the authorization I had given Julian to handle my mother’s estate buyout. The clerk verified my ID and said: “Mrs. Miller, going forward, we will only accept your signature for the buyout agreement.” “The compensation funds will only be deposited into an account solely under your name.” I nodded. “Thank you.” Finally, we went to the insurance company. Two months ago, Julian had taken out a high-value accidental death and dismemberment policy. The sole beneficiary was his mother, Eleanor. I submitted the screenshots of the Twitter thread, the medical records, the transfer files, and the bank statements. “I’m not here to file a claim,” I told the agent. “I suspect someone is faking an accident and fabricating a critical medical condition to commit insurance fraud and grand larceny.” The claims specialist sat up straight. “We will launch an immediate anti-fraud investigation.” Over the next few days, Eleanor called me incessantly, demanding money for the care facility. I knew why. Julian’s salary had already been spent on Madelyn. With no cash left, they were desperate to bleed me dry. I only gave her one reply: “The buyout money hasn’t cleared. Besides, Julian has plenty of money in his personal account. Use that.” Eleanor didn’t want to expose Madelyn’s existence, so she didn’t dare push me too hard. A week flew by. One night, just as I was drifting off to sleep, an unknown number called me. Julian’s raging voice erupted from the receiver: “Chloe Miller! What the hell did you do?!”

I put the phone on speaker. “Who is this?” The line went quiet for a second. “It’s Julian!” I chuckled. “Isn’t Julian Vance brain-dead?” “Are you calling me from the afterlife, or is this a zombie?” His voice shook with fury. “Stop playing mind games with me!” “All my cards are frozen!” “My company says my employee ID is flagged, and my salary has been suspended!” “The care facility is harassing my mother for bills!” “Even the postpartum center called saying my final payment was declined!” “Chloe, by what right do you do this?” I leaned back comfortably against the sofa. “By the right of the medical diagnosis signed by Madelyn Hayes.” “By the right of the stamped medical certificate from the hospital.” “By the right of your parents publicly declaring you brain-dead to force me to pay for your life support.” He fell silent for a few seconds. When he spoke again, his voice lacked its previous confidence. “The doctor just wrote it to sound serious.” “I’m not dead.” “You’re not dead?” My voice was calm. “Then explain how you got a brain-death certificate.” “Explain why you had to be put in a closed-off private facility.” “Explain why you transferred money to Madelyn and the postpartum center right before your crash.” “And explain why your mother tried to force me into signing the insurance paperwork using your accidental death policy.” Julian had no answer. I knew he finally realized the corner he had painted himself into. If he kept playing dead, he would remain a “dead man” with frozen cards, no salary, and no legal rights. But if he stood up, he would have to admit this entire show was a scam from start to finish. After a long silence, he spat out, “Chloe, we’ve been married for six years. Don’t be so heartless.” I almost laughed. “Did you think about our six years of marriage when you faked a coma to steal my inheritance?” “Did you think about it when you let your mother call me a barren failure?” “Did you think about it when you and Madelyn plotted to steal my mother’s estate for your bastard child?” He suddenly shouted, “That is my child!” I paused for two seconds. “Are you sure about that?” The line went dead silent. I didn’t elaborate. Some truths are better delivered in person. I hung up and sent the Snapchat audio recording to Naomi. She texted back: [He can’t keep this act up much longer.] The next afternoon, I went to the bank to submit some follow-up documents. The moment I stepped out of the elevator, a man wearing a baseball cap rushed toward me and grabbed my wrist. “Chloe Miller!” “Unfreeze my accounts right now!” I looked at the hospital gown under his jacket and smiled. Julian. The dead had risen. The bank lobby was packed. He must have run here in a hurry. His jacket wasn’t even zipped properly, and the medical tape on the back of his hand was still hanging loose. I didn’t struggle. I just raised my other hand and tapped the Snapchat recorder. “Julian?” “Aren’t you brain-dead?” His face stiffened, and he hissed under his breath, “Let’s talk at home.” I took a step back, raising my voice. “No need to go home.” “Your medical record says you have no spontaneous breathing and are kept alive solely by machines.” “Could someone explain to me how a brain-dead patient walked out of a care facility and came to a bank to threaten me?” The tellers behind the counter gasped. The security guard immediately walked over. A few bystanders pulled out their phones to record. Panic flashed in Julian’s eyes. “My condition improved!” I nodded. “Wonderful. A medical miracle.” “Then why don’t you explain why Dr. Hayes diagnosed you as brain-dead right before your ‘miracle’?” “Why did your parents try to scam $60,000 out of me for your care?” “And why did you transfer our joint marital assets to your mistress right before your crash?” He gritted his teeth. “Chloe, don’t push me.” I ripped my wrist from his grip. “You pushed yourself into this corner.” “If you don’t wake up, you’re a dead man.” “If you wake up, you have to explain who falsified those legal documents.” I turned to the bank manager. “Please call the police.” “I suspect this man is impersonating a clinically deceased person to commit medical fraud and grand larceny.” Julian’s face went completely pale. The police arrived quickly. Faced with officers, Julian immediately changed his story. He claimed he had just woken up from a brief coma, that the hospital’s wording was simply inaccurate, and that this was all a misunderstanding between husband and wife. I handed the Twitter screenshots, the audio recordings, the medical files, and the bank statements to the officers. “It is not my job to determine if he is alive or dead.” “If he is alive, please investigate who falsified the brain-death document.” “If he is dead, please investigate who this man standing in front of us is.” As Julian was led away by the police, he glared at me with pure venom. I watched his pathetic, struggling figure, my heart entirely unmoved. He thought waking up would get his money back. But the moment he stood up, he put himself on the witness stand.

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I have a strange, terrifying ability. Whenever my younger sister, Chloe, steals something from me, I get a brief, vivid glimpse of her future in my dreams—a future she builds using the very thing she took from me. When we were kids, she stole my piano. In my dream, I saw her taking a bow on a grand stage at Carnegie Hall ten years later. In middle school, she stole my spot in the National Math Olympiad. In my dream, I saw her holding a first-place trophy, getting accepted into the elite private academy I had dreamed of attending. And last night, the eve of the SAT, she stole my admission ticket and my ID card. This time, the future I saw in my dream wasn’t hers. It was mine. There were no applause, no trophies, no flowers. I was standing on the rooftop of a hospital, clutching a crumpled, ruined medical waiver explaining my absence from the exam. Down on the street below, my parents were holding a sobbing, trembling Chloe. My older brother, Ethan, looked up at me and screamed, “Serena, are you really not satisfied until you’ve driven Chloe to suicide?” The wind was howling. I saw the future version of myself smile. And then, I jumped. 1 When I woke up, Chloe was sitting at my desk. Seeing my eyes open, she flashed me a sweet, innocent smile. “Serena, can you do me a favor and skip the exam tomorrow?” Her eyes were red and puffy. “Mom saw a spiritual reader today. She said that if you take the SAT in the same room as me tomorrow, you’ll suck away all my good energy.” I let out a cold laugh. Always the same excuse. Since we were kids, everyone in the family treated Chloe like our personal golden child. The day she was born, my dad’s failing business suddenly secured a massive, life-saving contract. My grandmother had held the crying baby Chloe and declared that she was the angel who saved the Miller family. Meanwhile, because of a complication during my birth, I barely survived. My grandmother always said I was born under a bad star, a curse brought to drain the family’s wealth. When I was six, I won first place in a state piano competition. On the way home, Ethan fell and broke his leg. My mother, holding a crying Chloe, looked at me with cold eyes and said for the first time, “Serena, stop trying to stand out so much. Every time you shine, bad things happen to this family.” Since then, whenever I did slightly better than Chloe, someone in the house would suffer an “accident.” Eventually, I stopped bringing my report cards and certificates home altogether. I held out my hand. “Give me back my SAT ticket and ID.” Chloe instantly flinched, pulling her hands back. Just then, the door pushed open. My mom walked in, holding a warm mug of milk. Seeing me awake, she handed it to me. “Drink this, Serena. Go to sleep early.” My throat tightened. But just as I took the mug, she pulled a folded sheet of paper from her apron pocket. “Your dad and I talked. Tomorrow morning, you’re not going to the first section of the exam.” I looked down at the paper. Family Agreement: 1. Serena Miller shall not approach Chloe Miller before entering the test center. 2. Serena Miller shall not ride in the same car as Chloe Miller to the exam. 3. Serena Miller shall not touch Chloe Miller’s testing supplies. 4. If Chloe Miller experiences severe anxiety, Serena Miller agrees to voluntarily delay her entry to the exam hall. My name was already printed at the bottom. All that was missing was my signature. The warm milk suddenly felt scalding in my hands. “What do you mean, voluntarily?” My mom avoided my eyes. “Serena, I know you feel wronged, but your sister is different. She gets so anxious she can barely breathe. Your grades are always stable. Skipping one section won’t kill you.” My dad walked in next, holding a pen and a manila folder. Seeing that folder, my heart sank. Inside wasn’t just my SAT ticket. It was the registration form for a local community college. My dad placed it on the desk. “We’ve already figured out a backup plan for you. You can take a gap year and try again next year.” I stared up at him. “Tomorrow is the SAT. Chloe needs her future, but I don’t?” My dad’s face hardened instantly. “Serena, you’re getting more and more selfish. Chloe has been fragile since she was a baby. Can’t you just let her win for once? Do you really want to see her collapse at the test center before you’re satisfied?” Chloe’s tears started flowing right on cue. “Dad, forget it. I won’t take the test. Serena always thinks I’m stealing things from her. I don’t want to owe her anything.” My mom looked panicked. “Don’t talk like that, sweetie!” Ethan pushed the door open, his face twisted in annoyance. “Serena, are you seriously throwing a tantrum right now? The whole house has been walking on eggshells around you all night. What more do you want?” I let out a bitter laugh. “Walking on eggshells around me?” He pointed at the agreement on the desk. “As long as you sign this and sit out the first section, nobody is going to make your life hard.” 2 I lunged forward to grab the manila folder. My dad slammed his hand down, pinning my wrist to the desk. “I’ll keep your documents safe tonight.” Before I could react, Ethan grabbed me from behind, pinning my shoulders. My dad snatched my ID and ticket. I struggled with everything I had. In the scuffle, the mug of milk tipped over, splashing across the desk. My mom’s first reaction was to pull Chloe back, shielding her. “Your sister has an exam tomorrow! Do you have to ruin this home before you’re happy?” My dad forced my thumb into the ink pad and slammed it onto the signature line of the agreement. He let go of me, looking like a man who had finally solved a tedious chore. My mom carefully folded the paper and slid it into the folder. Then, she picked up my clear plastic testing bag, peeling my name label off of it. She replaced it with a handwritten sticky note: Chloe’s Spare Supplies. I stared at those words, my hands trembling violently. Chloe took the bag and whispered, “Thank you.” I saw her fingertips resting directly on the photo of my ID card inside the folder. The next second, my vision went black. The dream came again. Serena Miller: Absent for Section

And next to it, a note from the test center coordinator: Reason: Candidate experienced a mental breakdown prior to the exam. Family requested a voluntary withdrawal. I snapped back to reality, gasping for air. Once they all left my room, whispering sweet comfort to Chloe, I turned on my old backup phone and made a call. By dinner time, the house was packed with relatives. Chloe sat in the center of the sofa. My mom had draped a bright red cardigan over her shoulders, claiming red was Chloe’s lucky color. The relatives crowded around, showering her with blessings and gifts. I was relegated to the dining table, tasked with writing “good luck cards” to hand out to the guests. My mom shoved a gold marker into my hand. “Make sure your handwriting is neat. Don’t embarrass us in front of the family.” I picked up a blank card. When I flipped it over, my fingers froze. The back of the card was a piece of my elementary school state piano championship certificate. I could still read the chopped-up text on the back: Serena Miller, First Place. I flipped through the rest of the cards. My piano certificates, my math olympiad honors, my middle school debate trophies—all of them had been cut up into palm-sized squares. These were the awards I had hidden away in my closet for years, too afraid to show my parents because they would accuse me of “stealing Chloe’s spotlight.” “Who went through my room?” my voice shook. The living room fell dead silent. My mom frowned. “They’re just old pieces of paper, Serena. Are you really going to make a scene over this?” Chloe’s eyes welled up with tears instantly. “Serena, I didn’t know they were yours. Mom just said you used to win a lot of things, and I wanted to carry a piece of your luck with me tomorrow.” Clara smiled and chimed in, “Oh, Serena, your sister is taking the SAT tomorrow. What’s wrong with giving her some of your luck?” I squeezed the shredded certificate in my fist. “This is mine.” Ethan sneered from the couch. “Yours? Every time you brought those stupid trophies home, Chloe ended up sick. You’ve held her down for years. What’s wrong with giving some of that luck back to her now?” My dad slammed his glass onto the table. “Serena, tonight is about bringing blessings to Chloe, not for you to settle old scores. If you’re going to keep acting like a victim, get the hell out of the living room. Don’t ruin your sister’s mood.” My mom snatched the shredded pieces of my certificates from my hands and stuffed them into Chloe’s purse. Chloe whispered, “Mom, will Serena be mad at me?” My mom stroked her hair. “She’ll just have to deal with it. She’s always had everything easier than you. She can handle one night of discomfort.” The relatives began writing their wishes on my ruined certificates. “Chloe will get a perfect score!” “Our golden girl will shine!” “Serena, make sure you don’t steal Chloe’s spotlight tomorrow.” The room erupted into laughter. 3 I sat at the table like a servant, handing out the cards. By the end, only one tiny scrap of paper was left. It was the piece with my name on it: Serena. As I reached for it, Chloe spoke up. “Serena, can I have that one too? I want to keep it in my pencil case.” I didn’t let go. Her tears fell immediately. “Fine, I don’t want it. Serena always thinks I’m taking things from her anyway.” My mom’s expression hardened. “Serena, do you really have to humiliate her in front of everyone?” I let out a hollow laugh. “Humiliate her? I’m the one being humiliated here.” My dad stood up abruptly, pointing a finger at me. “You think you’re the victim? Your sister has her future on the line tomorrow, and you’re throwing tantrums in front of our guests!” My mom shoved the gold marker back into my hand. “Write.” “Write what?” I asked, my voice cracking. She stared at me, her words cold and deliberate. “Write: I wish Chloe good luck.” I refused to move. Ethan walked over, grabbed my hand, and physically forced my fingers to drag the pen across the back of my ruined certificate. The gold ink dragged jaggedly across the paper. I wish Chloe a successful exam. The moment it was done, Chloe snatched it up and carefully slipped it into her pencil case. She finally smiled. “Thanks, Serena.” After the relatives left, the living room was a mess of torn red paper and trash. I went back to my room to grab my backup phone. I wanted to take photos of the shredded certificates and the forced agreement. But the moment I opened my phone, Chloe stormed in. She deliberately tripped over the desk chair, falling to the floor and sobbing hysterically. Ethan saw the phone in my hand, and his face darkened instantly. “You’re trying to take videos to post online? Serena, are you seriously trying to ruin this family’s reputation just to hurt Chloe?” Before I could speak, my dad grabbed my phone and spun the screen toward me. A video was already playing on a family group chat. In the video, I was reaching for my testing bag, and Chloe was shrinking back, falling to the ground and crying. The angle made it look like I had shoved her. Below the video was a message my mom had sent to my high school counselor, Mrs. Davis. “Mrs. Davis, Serena’s mental state is very unstable tonight.” “She has a history of extreme hostility and jealousy toward Chloe.” “If she acts out or becomes emotional at the test center tomorrow, please make sure the security staff restrains her so she doesn’t ruin Chloe’s exam.” Mrs. Davis replied: “Understood.” My ears buzzed. My dad swiped to another photo. It was the forced agreement with my thumbprint on it. “It’s written in black and white. You voluntarily signed this to delay your entry. You did this to yourself.” I lunged to grab his phone. Ethan grabbed my wrist and shoved me hard. My back slammed into the sharp corner of the wall. Pain flared through my spine, making my vision go dark. My mom saw it, but she only muttered, “Careful, Ethan. Don’t let Chloe see any blood. She has to focus tomorrow.” Chloe huddled in my mom’s arms, sobbing. “I really didn’t mean to hurt you, Serena. I was just scared nobody would believe me tomorrow.” My dad’s voice was ice. “Look at what you’ve driven her to.” He took my backup phone and used my face to unlock it. Right in front of me, he deleted every photo I had taken, and emptied the recently deleted folder. I screamed, “You have no right to delete my things!” My dad raised his hand and slapped me across the face. The room fell dead silent. He stared down at me, without a single shred of regret in his eyes. “I’m your father. I have every right. I won’t let you ruin your sister’s entire life.” My ears were ringing. My mom guided Chloe out of the room. She paused by the door, looking back at me. “Serena, I think I spoiled you too much. It made you think this family owes you everything.” They pushed me into the study room and locked the door from the outside. The room went pitch black. My phone was gone. My SAT ticket was gone. My ID was gone. I didn’t even have a piece of paper. I ransacked the dark bookshelves until I found an old dictionary. Tucked behind it was a nearly dried-up black pen. Without paper, I rolled up my sleeve and began frantically writing my student ID, my SAT registration number, and my test center details directly onto the inside of my forearm. As I wrote the final digit, I heard my mom’s voice outside, comforting Chloe. “It’s okay, baby. Serena is locked in. She won’t be able to get in your way tomorrow.” 4 On the morning of the SAT, it was pouring rain. My dad drove us to the test center. Chloe sat in the middle of the back seat, clutching two clear testing bags. One was hers. The other was mine. I sat pressed against the door, holding nothing but the dried-up pen from the night before. Ethan looked back from the passenger seat, his eyes warning me. “You better behave when we get there. If you make a scene, don’t think I won’t drag you back to the car in front of everyone.” When the car pulled up to the curb, there were only twenty-three minutes left before the gates closed. I held out my hand. “Give me my ticket and ID.” Chloe instantly clutched her chest. “Dad, I’m scared. My chest hurts.” My mom panicked. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Are you okay?” Chloe stared at the folder in my dad’s lap. “Can I please hold Serena’s ticket and ID? I won’t do anything to them. I just want to keep them under my desk. Knowing I have her things makes me feel safe. It calms my anxiety.” I raised my voice. “If she takes them, how am I supposed to get in?” My mom whipped around, glaring at me. “You weren’t supposed to take the first section anyway! You signed the agreement last night. Stop acting like you don’t know.” I met her gaze. “You forced my hand down to print that.” Ethan sneered. “Who saw that? You were the one acting crazy.” My dad pulled my SAT ticket and ID from the folder and slid them into Chloe’s bag. “Chloe, go inside first.” I lunged across the seat to grab them, but Ethan locked his arms around me, pinning me down. By the time Ethan finally let go, Chloe was already walking through the gates of the test center. My dad handed me the empty manila folder. “Go wait under the awning. Once the first section is over, I’ll get your ticket back from Chloe, and you can take the rest of the test.” He paused, refusing to look me in the eye. “This is for the good of the family.” My mom’s eyes were red as she added, “Serena, don’t push me. Chloe finally made it inside. Can’t you just let her finish one test in peace?” I didn’t say another word. I opened the door, stepped into the pouring rain, and ran straight toward the emergency registration desk. The test administrator listened to my story, her expression turning from confusion to alarm. “Your sister took your admission ticket and ID into the secure testing zone?” I rolled up my sleeve, revealing the ink numbers partially smudged by the rain. “My name is Serena Miller. I need a temporary identity verification.” The administrator opened her system. But the moment she pulled up my registration, her eyebrows knit together. “Wait, there’s a flag on your account.” The school counselor standing nearby leaned over to look, her face dropping. “Parental Flag: Candidate experiencing severe pre-test emotional instability. Family requests holding entry for Section 1.” Just then, Mrs. Davis, my high school counselor, ran over with an umbrella. “Serena, calm down. Your mother called me last night to explain your situation.” I looked Mrs. Davis dead in the eye. “Mrs. Davis, I am perfectly calm. My sister stole my ID and ticket, and my parents held me in the car to make sure I missed the first section.” My dad rushed over, slamming his hand onto the registration counter. “Don’t let her in! Her sister is already inside. If Serena goes in now and demands her ticket back, it will ruin the exam for both of them!” My mom followed, crying as she begged me, “Serena, please, just skip the first section. You’re smart. You can make up the score later. If Chloe collapses because of you, her life is over!” The speakers blared: “One minute until doors close. All remaining candidates please enter immediately.” The printer at the desk buzzed, spitting out a temporary admission slip. My dad slammed his hand over the paper. “Do not give it to her.” “I am her legal guardian, and I do not consent to her entering this building.” My mom grabbed my arm from behind, pulling me back with all her strength, sobbing hysterically. “Serena, I’m begging you! Just this once!” Ethan stepped in front of me, his voice a low, threatening hiss. “Serena, if you walk through those doors today, don’t ever call me your brother again.” Rainwater dripped from my eyelashes. I stared at the temporary slip of paper just inches away under my dad’s hand. I clenched my fists. Suddenly, a cold, commanding voice cut through the rain. “Let go of her!” Everyone froze. A middle-aged man in a dark trench coat walked over, flanked by two security guards. He glanced at my mom’s grip on my arm, then at my dad’s hand pinning my admission slip. “Who gave you permission to block a registered candidate from entering an exam?”

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Harris gave me the silent treatment for seven whole days just because I carpooled with a male coworker on the way home. Late at night, I was alone in the ER, cold sweat dripping from the excruciating pain in my stomach. I called his number over and over again, but all I got was the despairing, automated voice: “The line is busy.” He was an incredibly cold and aloof man, with a borderline pathological possessiveness over me. During our five years of dating, he demanded that I delete all non-essential male contacts. I even had to report our professional conversations in my WhatsApp work groups to him. He always spoke in the most deeply affectionate tone, saying: “Chloe, I have a pure soul. I can’t stand even a speck of dust in our relationship. I want what we have to be absolutely pure.” To maintain this so-called purity, I turned my life into an isolated island. It wasn’t until I connected to the hospital Wi-Fi that I happened to scroll past a new post from a popular relationship influencer on Ins. [Thank you to my exclusive listener. Thirty consecutive nights of listening to me until dawn got me through my darkest hours.] In the long screenshot attached to the post, the phone number at the top wasn’t completely blurred out. It ended in ‘0921’—my birthday, and the exact custom number he insisted on using. I carefully compared the timestamps in the screenshot. Every single call took place late at night, exactly when Harris had shut me out, claiming he “needed independent space to think.” I quietly stared at those call durations—each lasting two to three hours. Suddenly, the physical pain in my body felt completely numb. I tapped the cancel call button. This sick, twisted version of purity? I didn’t want it anymore.

I ripped the medical tape off my arm and pulled out the IV needle. Pressing down on the bleeding vein, I dragged my aching body through the discharge process and left the hospital. The wind outside the hospital was freezing. I didn’t bother calling that busy number again. I just took an Uber straight home. When I pushed the front door open, Harris, who was supposed to be out “needing independent space,” was sitting right there on the living room sofa. The main lights in the living room were off. Under the dim glow of the wall sconce, his brows were knitted tightly. There wasn’t a single trace of worry on his face. “Where have you been?” He looked me up and down. “Did you go see that male coworker again?” “Chloe, I gave you the silent treatment so you could reflect on your lack of boundaries, not so you could retaliate against me.” I stood in the entryway, my underwear already soaked with cold sweat. I pulled out my phone, pulled up that poorly blurred screenshot, walked over, and tossed it onto the coffee table. “0921. Thirty late nights. So, your ‘space to think’ was spent being Sophie’s exclusive listener?” I thought he would panic, make up excuses, or frantically try to destroy the evidence. But he didn’t even change his posture. He glanced down at the screen, sighed, and turned his head away. “Chloe, you spied on me. To look at me with such vulgar, dirty eyes… I’m so disappointed in you.” A sharp cramp in my stomach forced me to double over. I let out a cold laugh. “I’m dirty? You shut me out for seven days, spending hours on the phone with another woman every single night.” “And now you’re blaming me for not being noble enough?” Harris stood up, walked over to me, and towered over me. “Sophie has severe depression.” “As her former classmate, I am simply saving a life. It’s an act of charity.” “What we discuss is the meaning of life and the struggles of the soul. It has nothing to do with anything else.” He raised his chin slightly and spoke. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you were narrow-minded and couldn’t understand this kind of gender-transcending spiritual salvation.” “But I never expected you to stoop so low as to monitor me. You’ve stained the absolute purity between us.” With that, he snatched my phone and shoved it into his pocket. “Confiscated for three days. Stay home, rest, and reflect.” “When you’ve washed the jealousy out of your brain, then you can go out.” He turned to leave. I reached out to grab my phone back. In our struggle, he grabbed my wrist. The moment he felt my cold sweat and saw the ER discharge papers slipping out of my bag, his movements froze. He snatched the papers. When he saw the words “acute gastric spasms,” his eyes instantly turned red. Dropping the phone, he threw his arms around me, holding me so tightly my ribs ached. “You went to the hospital? Why didn’t you tell me!” “Chloe, I won’t allow you to have a single scratch on you! You can only stay within my sight, do you hear me!” His voice was trembling, his whole body shaking, as if the cold, accusing man from a second ago had never existed. Leaning against his chest, my defensive walls wavered slightly. He had always been like this during our five years of dating. He cut off all my connections with the outside world, yet showered me with intense, suffocating affection. Maybe he really was just trying to save a life. Maybe I really was being narrow-minded. I was so starved for love that I had to rely on his borderline pathological possessiveness to convince myself I was loved. Harris carried me to the bedroom, tucked me into bed, rolled up his sleeves, and went to the kitchen to cook my favorite pasta. He blew on the pasta to cool it down and brought it to my lips. “Good girl, take another bite. You’re never allowed to run off on your own again.” “If you feel sick, tell me immediately. I’m your man.” I mechanically swallowed the warm pasta. Watching his attentive movements, my tense emotions eased a little. Right then, his private phone on the coffee table lit up and buzzed twice. A short text popped up on the lock screen: [The weather is beautiful today, but I can’t see the light. Not without you.] The pasta in my throat instantly turned into a wave of nauseating disgust.

I stared at the screen until it went dark again. My hands and feet grew ice-cold. I forced the rising bile back down and remained silent. The next morning, after Harris left, I forced my aching body out of bed, got dressed, and put on some makeup. Today was an incredibly important, closed-door VC pitch event. To secure a face-to-face interview with the managing partners of a top venture capital firm, I had worked sleeplessly for three months. In this city, which was completely controlled by Harris, this was my only chance to break free. When I arrived at the venue, I found an empty seat in the back row and waited for the presentation to start. The stage lights went up, and the host introduced the guest speaker. “Next, let’s welcome the relationship influencer with millions of followers, Sophie, to share her journey of spiritual rebuilding.” My hands clenched the fabric of my skirt. On stage, Sophie was wearing a simple, elegant dress, speaking into the microphone. As she talked about how her “soulmate” had dragged her out of the abyss of depression, my grip on my portfolio tightened. Then, Harris, a man who had always despised public events, actually walked onto the stage as a surprise guest. Under the gaze of the entire audience, he sat down next to Sophie. They didn’t even need any polite introduction. With just a single glance from Harris, Sophie seamlessly picked up the deep psychological discussion. Their chemistry was flawless. The industry big shots in the audience nodded in approval. Sitting in the corner, I stared at my fiancé—the man who claimed he only wanted absolute purity with me. On that stage, he freely poured his warmth onto another woman. This kind of spiritual betrayal was far more agonizing than physical cheating. As soon as the networking session began, I forced myself to look away from the stage. I stood up to find the investors and present my business proposal. The lead investor showed great interest and spoke with me. I responded politely and professionally. Suddenly, I felt a burning gaze on my back. I turned around. Harris had stopped talking on stage and was staring dead at me. During the mid-session break, the moment I walked into the backstage corridor, someone grabbed my arm and dragged me into a utility closet. Harris pinned me against the wall, locked the door, and pinched my chin, his voice dangerously low. “I told you yesterday to stay home and rest. Did my words go in one ear and out the other?” “And you dare to smile so flirtatiously at another man right in front of my face?” “Chloe, have you completely forgotten my rules?” A wave of humiliation rushed over me. I slapped his hand away. “I was doing my job! He is the lead investor!” “Job?” Harris sneered. “Do you even need a job?” “My credit card has no limit. Do you really need to go and sell smiles to those disgusting men?” I trembled with rage, pointing at the door and yelling, “I’m not allowed to smile at investors, but what about you?” “What you and Sophie did on stage—that ‘soul connection’—what is that? Spiritual cheating?” His face went completely cold, his eyes filled with disapproval. “Chloe, that is spiritual salvation.” “Sophie needs my validation to recover.” “To twist our relationship with your low-class jealousy only makes you look completely unreasonable.” With that, he flung the door open and left. I leaned against the wall, gasping for air. A few minutes later, I walked back toward the main hall. Just as I reached the entrance, I heard him speaking to the lead investor. “Mr. Vance, there is a serious issue with Chloe’s proposal.” “She is my fiancée, and her health has been very poor. Her mental state is unstable, and I don’t want her to overwork herself. She is pulling out of this project.” Mr. Vance looked disappointed. “But Chloe’s proposal is brilliant. A sudden replacement…” “There’s no need to worry,” Harris’s tone left no room for argument. “I highly recommend Sophie to take over as the chief consultant for this project.” “Her insight into human nature is a hundred times more profound than Chloe’s.” “If you agree, Harris Group is willing to inject an additional twenty million dollars into this funding round.” Standing outside the door, I felt my chest tighten. Three months of my blood, sweat, and tears—gone. Just for his so-called purity, he had personally crushed my last piece of career hope. Inside, Mr. Vance gave a compromising laugh. “Well, since you put it that way, Mr. Harris, we will go with your recommendation, Sophie.” “As for Chloe, I’ll have my assistant send her the rejection letter.” I turned around and walked out of the building with heavy steps.

Back in the luxury villa he had built for me, I looked up. In the living room, the hallways, the study, and even the corner of the dining room—little red lights were blinking. He used to tell me that the security cameras were there because he worried about me being home alone. He said it was for my safety. But standing under those red lights now, I was entirely sober. I wasn’t a protected lover. I was just a caged pet. Sophie was the partner who could actually stand by his side. At ten o’clock that night, he came home, acting as if nothing had happened, completely ignoring our daytime fight. He walked over to the sofa and pulled out a velvet box. Inside lay a stunning sapphire necklace. He stepped behind me, draped the heavy necklace around my neck, and fastened the clasp. He hugged me from behind, burying his face in my hair. “Chloe, the outside world is too dirty. The corporate world is full of schemes.” “You can’t handle them. Just stay home safely. I’ll take care of you for the rest of your life.” He was always like this—cutting off my escape routes, then wrapping his control in a layer of excuses called protection. Looking at our reflection in the dark window, I didn’t scream, and I didn’t question him. I placed my hands over his around my waist, and nodded obediently. “Okay.” He relaxed instantly and kissed my cheek. The next morning, the moment he walked out the door, I quickly hid in the camera’s blind spot—the corner of the basement walk-in closet. I opened an old laptop, connected to a burner hotspot, and logged into my backup email. [Dear Ms. Chloe, congratulations. You have successfully passed the final background check at our global headquarters.] [Your official appointment letter as the Vice President of the APAC region has been issued. Please confirm your start date.] In truth, I had already figured out that in this city, no matter how hard I struggled, I could never escape the reach of Harris Group. The three-month pitch event was just a smokescreen. My real trump card was this position at a rival global firm. I typed in a few words: [I will depart in three days.] Just as I closed the laptop, a friend request popped up on my Snapchat: [Hi Chloe, this is Sophie.] I accepted. She didn’t send any direct, petty insults. Instead, her words were dripping with false sympathy. [Chloe, Harris told me that you’ve been in a terrible mental state since losing your project. He says you’re too dependent on him, and it’s putting a lot of pressure on him.] [He asked me to talk to you when I have time. You really need to learn how to stand on your own two feet.] Then, she sent two photos. The first was a snowy mountain peak at 4 AM. Harris and Sophie were sitting side by side, watching the sunrise. The second was a dimly lit underground bar. Harris was sitting in a dark corner, his eyes fixed on Sophie dancing on stage. The timestamps on those photos were all during the dates he claimed he was away on “crucial business trips.” Staring at the bar photo, memories from two years ago flooded my mind. When I was first diagnosed with mild depression, the doctor suggested I spend more time in lively places. I had begged Harris to take me to an outdoor music festival. But he had frowned, his face full of disgust as he refused. “Chloe, I can’t stand those dirty, noisy places where the air is thick with other people’s sweat.” “Making a request like this only makes me feel like your taste is degenerating.” That night, because I had stood near the entrance of the festival venue for a few minutes, he made me scrub my skin with disinfectant soap three times until my skin was raw and bleeding. Those were his rules. He used rigidity and suppression to lock me up, yet he broke every single one of his boundaries for Sophie. The double standard was sickening. Calmly, I saved the photos and opened an encrypted folder titled “Financial Audit.” Inside were the highly suspicious offshore transactions I had signed on his behalf over the past three years as his fiancée. I packaged all the files and set an auto-send timer. That evening, Harris arrived home with a team of personal stylists. He loudly announced to the media that he was hosting a grand gala for me in three days. “Chloe, I want to declare my love for you to the entire world. A love that is absolutely pure.” He squeezed my hand, his face full of deep affection. I curled my lips into a smile. “Okay. I can’t wait.”

Three days later, the luxury yacht was anchored in deep waters. The entire deck was decorated in pure white. White roses paired with a white carpet. I was forced to wear a white gown of his choosing, led by his hand to the center of the deck under the gaze of hundreds of wealthy guests. “Mr. Harris really went all out for Ms. Chloe. This party is absolutely stunning.” “Chloe is so lucky. To be loved by a man like Harris, what more could she possibly want?” “Exactly. What more does a woman need than a man whose eyes are only on her?” The guests whispered among themselves, holding champagne flutes. I listened blankly, offering no response. He walked up to the microphone. “Five years ago, I met Chloe.” “I said back then, my world cannot tolerate a single speck of dust.” “Thank you, Chloe, for your five years of devotion, keeping our love entirely spotless.” The crowd erupted into thunderous applause. Looking at his face made me want to throw up. Harris dropped to one knee and pulled out a massive diamond ring. “Chloe, marry me.” The crowd cheered, and camera flashes blinded my eyes. Right at that moment, a vibration came from inside his suit jacket. I heard it loud and clear. His hand holding the ring froze in mid-air, his eyes flickering. In front of hundreds of people, he actually pulled back the ring and reached for his private phone. On the screen was Sophie’s latest Instagram update. It was a photo of the deep ocean, with one of her feet dangling off a bridge. The caption read: [The listener is gone. My soul is too heavy, dragging me down into the deep.] [Harris, be happy. It’s time for me to sleep forever.] The affection on his face vanished instantly, replaced by a deadly pale horror. “Sophie…” He forgot he was holding a wedding ring and bolted upright. The force of his sudden movement pushed me back, causing me to stumble. The diamond ring slipped from his fingers, rolling into a dark corner of the deck. The entire deck fell into dead silence. Everyone was utterly stunned by his sudden loss of control. Ignoring the crowd of high-society guests, he pressed his earpiece and roared toward the captain’s cabin: “Lower the speedboats! Turn the yacht around at full speed!” “Now! Send people to the harbor bridge immediately!” After screaming into the mic, he turned to sprint toward the boarding gate. As he passed me, he stopped. His eyes were bloodshot, filled with rage. He gritted his teeth and warned me: “Wait for me here.” “If anything happens to Sophie today because of your jealousy…” “Chloe, I will never forgive you for that cold, heartless look in your eyes!” Not only did he abandon me in front of the entire city’s elite, but he also pinned the blame entirely on me. He jumped onto a speedboat and sped off without looking back, leaving the yacht rocking violently in the open sea. The wind on the deck was harsh. The stares of the guests pierced through me, a mix of pity and mocking whispers filling the air. Staring at the corner where the diamond ring had rolled, I actually laughed out loud. Under everyone’s bewildered gazes, I walked over and gave the ring a sharp kick. The multi-million dollar ring splashed into the dark ocean. His fake, hypocritical love sank straight to the bottom. I opened my clutch, pulled out my global VP appointment letter, and retrieved a tablet loaded with Harris Group’s tax evasion and financial fraud files. Dragging my white train behind me, I walked steadily onto the main stage where he had just stood. I grabbed the microphone, facing the crowd, and raised the documents high.

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Chris and I used a CoupleStreak app to track our relationship. For 999 consecutive days, he sent me a “Goodnight” message every single day. He said it was our special ritual. Even when we fought, even when he went on business trips, and even when he didn’t finish his client dinners until three in the morning, he never missed a single day. Until last night, when the streak stopped at day 999. The app gave a cold notification: Your streak has been broken. Thinking something terrible had happened to him, I called him 108 times. When he finally picked up on the 108th call, his voice was raspy and exhausted. “Stop pressuring me, Chloe. I’m still at the hospital. Grace is having an episode.” Grace was his ex-girlfriend. She had gotten divorced just two weeks ago. I gripped my phone tightly, my heart sinking inch by inch. “So you forgot to say goodnight to me?” Chris paused, as if he had just realized it, and let out a soft, dismissive chuckle. “We’ve been together forever, babe. Are you seriously throwing a tantrum over something so petty?” But this “petty” thing was something he had built with his own hands when he was chasing me. He once told me that “goodnight” wasn’t just a word; it was his way of making sure I was the very last thought in his mind before he went to sleep. I stared at the broken number on my screen. Suddenly, I felt like our two and a half years together weren’t that long after all. It was long enough for him to form a habit, but short enough for him to completely forget about me the moment another woman needed him.

The harsh beep of the hung-up call cut through the freezing night wind. I stood outside the iron gates of Chris’s suburban mansion, dragging my heavy suitcase. The fingerprint lock on the front door flashed red, and a cold, robotic voice spoke. “Access expired. Please contact the homeowner.” I leaned against the icy iron bars, my stomach cramping violently from the ten-hour bus ride. Peeking out from the zipper of my backpack was a pink card. “Wishing Chloe a bright future and a happy marriage.” My school principal, Mr. Hudson, had personally handed that to me yesterday afternoon. Because Chris had told me to “stop worrying about petty things,” I had resigned from my tenured teaching job. On this exact day—our 1000th anniversary—I had completely abandoned my stable, quiet life to come to this unfamiliar city alone. This was supposed to be our first day ending our long-distance relationship. I crouched in the corner of the wall to block the wind, pressing my hands hard against my aching stomach. The physical pain dragged my memories back to two years ago. Back then, I was facing severe bullying at my workplace, and my anxiety was so bad that I couldn’t keep food down. But Chris would drive hours every single weekend, without fail, just to see me. He would cook my favorite pasta, sit in my tiny, cramped apartment, and gently coax me to take one bite at a time. He had promised me. “Chloe, as long as I’m here, you will never have to face the cold winter alone.” That was my saving grace, the very foundation of my courage to risk everything today. But now, the man who once used his own body heat to warm my hands had completely forgotten about me in this freezing wind, all because another woman was in a bad mood. At 5:00 AM, a familiar black Mercedes finally pulled into the driveway. The headlights pierced through the thick darkness. My stiff body struggled as I forced myself to stand up against the wall. My frozen facial muscles twitched, trying to force a smile I hadn’t used in hours. The passenger door opened first, and Chris rushed over. He leaned down and gently lifted Grace—who was lost in a deep depressive state—out of the car. Grace was incredibly thin, wrapped tightly in a thick, oversized cashmere coat. The hem of the coat dragged on the ground. It was Chris’s favorite coat. In past winters, whenever I came to visit him, he loved to unzip that very coat, pull me into his chest, and laughingly tell me it was my personal windproof tent. Now, someone else was in that tent. Chris lowered his voice, whispering sweet, comforting words into Grace’s ear. His entire focus was on the woman in his arms. He didn’t even spare a glance toward the shadow where I stood. It wasn’t until Grace half-opened her eyes and pointed toward the gate that Chris finally turned around. When he saw me, shivering and practically frozen solid, a flash of pure shock crossed his face. After settling Grace down, he slowly walked over to me. Across the iron gate, his voice was still that beautiful, gentle tone that I used to lose myself in. “Chloe? Why did you come all this way without telling me?” “You should have called first.” “Grace had a complete mental breakdown last night and had to take sleeping pills. She can’t handle any sudden shocks right now.” “Be a good girl.” “Keep your voice down, okay? Let’s get inside first.” He reached out, trying to grab my heavy backpack. When his fingers brushed against my icy hand, he froze for a split second. I looked at the deep concern in his eyes—all of which was reserved for Grace—and realized with absolute clarity. In this movie of three people, I had become the unwanted extra who was expected to be quiet and understanding. I pulled my hand back, avoiding his touch, and picked up the two heavy bags myself. “Okay. I won’t wake her.” I stepped into the house I once thought would be my home. Chris took Grace upstairs to the master bedroom. It was a long time before he finally came downstairs and poured me a glass of warm water. “I knew I could count on you to be reasonable, Chloe.” I held the warm glass, my eyes landing on his collar. There was a smudge of foundation on his shirt. It wasn’t my shade.

The next morning, I woke up in the guest room. After freezing outside all night, my throat was raw and painful. I got up early, habitually walking to the kitchen to make Chris’s favorite pancakes. As I passed the hallway on the second floor, I noticed the master bedroom door was ajar. Chris and Grace were sitting side-by-side on the wool rug by the balcony. Grace was clutching her head, her body trembling uncontrollably. Chris had his arm wrapped around her, gently rubbing her back. I stood there, silent. I quietly went back to the guest room and pulled out a card I had written on the bus last night. Happy 1000 Days, Dr. Blair! I’m finally here to be with you. The handwriting was bursting with the excitement I felt at the time. But now, I tore it into pieces and threw it into the trash can. At breakfast, Chris brought two plates out from the kitchen. With my throat burning, I instinctively reached for the plate with the light, clear chicken noodle soup. But Chris gently pressed his hand over mine, his eyes soft but firm. “Chloe, I made that specifically for Grace.” “Her stomach is really sensitive from her antidepressant medication. She can’t handle anything greasy.” He pushed the other plate, loaded with greasy bacon, toward me. “You used to love bacon. I went out of my way to order this delivery for you.” I stared at the plate of bacon dripping with oil. Just swallowing my own saliva felt like swallowing razor blades. My voice came out raspy and broken. “My stomach hurts too. I can’t eat greasy food today.” The moment those words left my mouth, Grace’s eyes welled up with tears. The fork slipped from her hand, clattering onto the table, and she began to shake. “I’m sorry…” “It’s all my fault. I’m even fighting you for a bowl of soup.” “I’m so useless. I should just die…” She covered her face and sobbed. Chris immediately rushed to her side, pulling her into his chest to comfort her. Once Grace’s breathing finally calmed down, Chris turned to look at me, letting out a heavy sigh. “Chloe, you’ve always loved greasy food.” “She has lost everything. She’s literally fighting for her life every day.” “You have a stable, great job, and you have my undivided love.” “Why do you have to pick a fight with a sick person over a simple bowl of soup?” With the gentlest tone, he ripped open my deepest wound. He had no idea that I didn’t have a stable job anymore. By noon, I developed a low-grade fever, and my throat was so swollen I could barely speak. Chris’s private dental clinic was located in the commercial district just outside our neighborhood. I decided to walk over to get some anti-inflammatory medicine from him. When I reached the clinic, I looked through the glass storefront. Chris was lying on the recliner next to the dental chair. He was holding Grace’s hand while the nurse administered a calming therapy session for her. Two receptionists at the front desk were whispering to each other. “Dr. Blair is so sweet to her.” “He canceled all of his afternoon appointments just to stay with her during therapy.” I stood in the drizzling rain, took a two-hour bus ride, and went to the run-down North End of the city—a place filled with sketchy, cheap apartments. I walked into a dingy little pharmacy, bought the cheapest fever reducers, and swallowed them with a bottle of water while standing in the cold wind. As the medicine started to kick in, I searched through the narrow alleys for an apartment, repeatedly checking the balance in my bank account. To be with Chris, I hadn’t just quit my job; I had spent almost all of my savings paying off the school’s contract termination penalty. Finally, I stopped in front of a dim, semi-basement apartment. The walls were peeling, and the place smelled heavily of mold. I told myself that this was where I would plant my new roots in a city that didn’t belong to me. I sat on a plastic chair in the rental office and signed the lease for the semi-basement. When I looked up, I saw a job posting tacked on the bulletin board. At that exact moment, the phone in my pocket vibrated. It was a voice note from Chris. “Chloe, I’m taking you out for French food tonight to celebrate our 1000 days.”

I put on my best white dress, applied some light makeup, and went to the dinner on time. It was a Michelin-starred French restaurant with an incredible view, overlooking the city’s sparkling skyline. Chris had booked half the restaurant, and a beautifully wrapped, expensive gift sat in the center of the table. He smiled, pulling out the chair for me. “I know you took your vacation days just to come see me for our 1000-day anniversary.” “I’m sorry I ignored you these past few days. Tonight is just for the two of us.” He elegantly picked up his knife and fork, cutting my steak into perfect, bite-sized pieces. His eyes were filled with so much love that even the violinist playing nearby looked at us with envy. This genuine affection was the hardest thing for me to fight against. It was a slow, blunt knife. Just as I picked up my fork, trying to accept his words as a final comfort, his phone rang. The moment he saw the caller ID, the smile vanished from his face. The panicked voice of Grace’s psychiatrist came through the speaker, so loud that even I could hear it. “Miss Grace just slit her wrists! She’s in the emergency room right now! Dr. Blair, you need to get here immediately!” The cutlery slipped from Chris’s hands, clattering loudly against the plate. His face turned deathly pale. He stood up instantly, grabbing his suit jacket from the back of the chair. He looked at me with guilt, but his eyes were filled with absolute determination. “I’m so sorry, Chloe. Her life is on the line. I have to go.” “Take an Uber back to the mansion. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.” Before I could even speak, he had already stormed out of the restaurant. I sat quietly in the luxurious dining room, staring at the perfectly cut steak, and suddenly felt a wave of pure absurdity. If love only consists of “making things up to me,” how is that any different from charity? I didn’t go back to the mansion. In this city, twelve hundred miles away from my hometown, Chris only had to change the door code, and I would be homeless. The rain outside grew heavier, and not a single light in this massive city belonged to me. I tried calling Chris to tell him that my stomach was cramping so badly I couldn’t walk. He declined my call instantly, sending a cold text right after: I’m outside the ICU right now. It’s not convenient to talk. Be a good girl and go back home to teach your classes. Once I sort things out here, I’ll fly back to see you. I stared at the screen as a wave of acid surged up my throat. I crouched under the bus stop shelter, completely soaked by the pouring rain. That was the moment I finally understood. In his mind, he believed I always had a safe, cozy home to retreat to. Because of that, he assumed I would always be safe. And because of that, he felt entirely comfortable hurting me. In the middle of the night, I went back to the mansion. The house was dark and completely empty. Grace’s antidepressant bottles were still sitting right in the middle of the coffee table. I walked into the guest room and quietly packed my suitcase. I packed my clothes and the lesson plans I had left in the study. I cleaned up the room thoroughly, making sure not even a single strand of my hair was left in the bathroom. I never belonged to this house anyway. I came without a sound, and I left without a trace. Before leaving, I pushed open the master bedroom door and took one last look at the bed we used to share. I pulled a piece of paper from my bag. It was the copy of my resignation letter. I had planned to give it to him tonight, on our 1000th anniversary. I wanted to tell him: “Chris, for you, I have become a wanderer in this city.” But now, I slowly tore the paper into tiny shreds, walked to the bathroom, and flushed them down the toilet. He would never deserve to know this secret. The front door clicked shut. I dragged my suitcase out into the late autumn rain. At that moment, my phone lit up with a message from Chris: She’s out of danger. Take care of yourself at home. Don’t make me worry.

An hour before I left, there was actually a small confrontation. Just as I dragged my heavy bags to the foyer, the front door swung open. Chris had rushed back to grab some of Grace’s things, and we ran straight into each other. Seeing my bags on the floor, Chris pinched the bridge of his nose in exhaustion, though his voice remained gentle. “Chloe, didn’t we agree you would stop throwing tantrums?” “You’re a high school teacher. Can’t you be a little more mature?” “Grace is literally lying in the ICU, and you’re choosing this exact moment to play the runaway girlfriend?” Grace’s nanny, who was following behind him to grab her pajamas, gave me a contemptuous look. Chris stepped forward, placing his hand on my suitcase to stop me. “Fine. I know you still have a few days left of your vacation.” “You’re going back home, right?” “I’ll book you a first-class flight for tomorrow. Just stay at a hotel tonight, okay?” “Grace can’t handle any stress when she gets discharged, so she has to stay here for a while.” “Go back to your quiet little town, teach your classes, and once she’s fully recovered, I’ll come get you.” He took it for granted that Grace could occupy his house, and he took it for granted that he could discard me back to what he assumed was my safety zone. He was so certain that I couldn’t leave my job, so certain that I couldn’t survive in this massive city, that I would eventually crawl back to my comfort zone. I looked at the face of the man I had loved for three years, and the very last spark in my heart died out. I didn’t argue. I didn’t explain. I had no home left to go back to. In front of Chris, I pulled out my phone. I opened the CoupleStreak app that had witnessed our 1000 days. “Chris Blair,” I called him by his full name. “Thank you for taking care of me these past three years.” “But from now on, we don’t need to keep our streak anymore.” Under Chris’s shocked gaze, I decisively tapped “Delete and Terminate Relationship.” The app let out a cold chime: Relationship terminated. All records have been cleared. Chris’s face went completely pale, but he still thought this was just a high-level tantrum. “Are you crazy?” “A thousand days of memories, and you just deleted them like that?” “Do you really have to push me like this right now?” I gently pulled my hand out of his grip. There was no hatred in my eyes, only the complete indifference you’d show a stranger. “I’m not pushing you. I’m letting myself go.” “Grace needs you more. Take good care of her.” With that, I turned around, opened the door, and walked out. I slammed the heavy security door shut behind me, leaving it all in the cold autumn wind. Three hours later, at a run-down local community center in the far north of the city, I stood in my cheap sneakers with my hair tied back in a simple ponytail. I signed my employment contract with the community outreach program. My daily job would be walking through the alleys, handling trivial neighborhood issues. But the moment I wrote down my new address on the tax forms, I let out a long, deep sigh of relief. From that moment on, in this crowded metropolis of twenty million people, there was one less codependent girlfriend, and one more ordinary working woman named Chloe. And Chris was officially locked away in the grave of my past. During lunch break, I sat at the entrance of the alley, eating a warm bowl of street pasta. At the exact same time, Chris stared at the missing app on his phone, letting out a cold scoff as he muttered to himself: “Fine. Delete it. Let’s see how long she can hold out.”

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“Iris is pregnant,” Carter said, standing in the shadows of the rehearsal hall. His voice was barely a whisper. “The wedding goes on. After we’re married, I’ll spend a few days a week taking care of her. Once she’s stable, everything will go back to the way it was.” I clutched the ring box so hard my knuckles turned white. “And what about me? Where do I fit into your little schedule?” “You’re my fiancée. Tomorrow, you’ll be Mrs. Sterling.” He frowned, looking at me like I was throwing a tantrum. “Isn’t that title enough for you?” Iris, wearing an oversized coat and looking perfectly pale, chimed in softly. “Chloe, I don’t want to steal your place. I just want my baby to have a father.” I set the ring box on the table. “Then anyone else can have this damn title.” A toxic, dirty man? I don’t want him anymore. Chloe’s POV I was about to marry the man I had loved for years, Carter Sterling. I spent six months planning this wedding. I even personally picked out the color of the coffee mugs in our new penthouse. But during the rehearsal the night before the wedding, an untitled video suddenly played on the ballroom’s giant screen. On screen, Iris, Carter’s childhood best friend, was rubbing her belly and whining cutely. “Carter, the doctor said the baby is doing great. Don’t drink too much at your wedding tomorrow. You promised you would spend a few days a week with us after you are married. Don’t forget.” In the top right corner of the screen, Carter’s contact name for her was saved as: Iris & Baby. The room went dead silent. Carter, who had arrived late, didn’t even look panicked. He just frowned at me. “Don’t make a scene. Don’t make us a laughingstock.” I stood in the dim light, the ring box digging painfully into my palm. Carter’s friends reacted first, awkwardly trying to block the screen. “This is a misunderstanding! Iris is just joking around again! Don’t take it to heart, Chloe. We all grew up together. She’s just talking nonsense. We’re just friends!” The next second, Iris pushed the door open. She wore a loose coat, held a thermos, and looked perfectly, delicately pale. When she saw me, she actually smiled. “Chloe, don’t worry. Carter and I really aren’t what you think. The baby was an accident. I didn’t mean to come between you.” “An accident?” I asked. Carter walked over and lowered his voice. “Don’t start something now. There are too many people here tonight.” I stared at him. “She’s pregnant, and you’re telling me not to start something?” Carter frowned, as if I had asked an incredibly tasteless question. “I wasn’t planning on keeping it from you. Now that the baby is here, I can’t just ignore it. The wedding can still happen. After we’re married, I’ll spend a few days a week taking care of her. Once she’s stable, everything will go back to normal.” Iris chimed in softly, “Don’t worry, Chloe. I’m not trying to steal the title of Mrs. Sterling. I’m not that greedy. I just want my baby to have a father.” “And me?” I smiled coldly. “What am I in your little arrangement?” Carter snapped, annoyed. “You’re my fiancée. Tomorrow you’ll be Mrs. Sterling. Isn’t that enough? Iris has no family left. I’m just helping her out. Why do you have to play the victim?” I heard people around us whispering, telling me that a man making a mistake before marriage wasn’t a big deal, that Carter was at least being honest, and that since Iris was being so reasonable, I shouldn’t make things ugly. I set the ring box on the table. My voice wasn’t loud, but it was crystal clear. “The wedding is canceled.” Carter’s face darkened. “Chloe Vance, think carefully before you speak.” “I’ve thought it through.” I grabbed my purse and walked past him. “Have fun with the rest of your rehearsal. Enjoy the show.” As I reached the exit, my phone rang. Liam’s voice came through, filled with a rushed anxiety he couldn’t hide. “Chloe, if you really don’t want to marry him, get downstairs now. I’m parked outside.” The night wind hit my face, and my eyes stung with tears. I whispered, “Wait for me.” I walked to the end of the hallway and called the wedding coordinator. “Don’t worry about the bridal suite tomorrow. Cancel all my segments of the wedding. Send me the bill for any financial losses.” The coordinator sounded terrified. “Miss Vance, can we talk about this?” I looked at my reflection in the glass window. My makeup was perfect, but I felt completely hollowed out. “No need. The groom has someone else who needs his care more. I’m not fighting for him.” After I hung up, the wedding Snapchat group was still buzzing. People were asking what time the wedding started tomorrow, joking that Carter shouldn’t drink too much on his last night of freedom. I renamed the group to *Wedding Canceled* and left. “Find someone else who’s ‘mature’ enough to be your Mrs. Sterling.” I slammed the ring box onto the table. It wasn’t loud, but it carried weight. “The wedding is canceled.” Ignoring Carter’s instantly furious expression, I turned and walked away. I immediately sent a message to the wedding group: *Wedding canceled.* Then I left the group.

Chloe’s POV The moment I walked out of the hotel, Liam’s Maybach was already idling at the curb. “If you really don’t want to marry him, get in,” Liam said, looking at me. That was all he said. With red eyes, I pulled open the door. “I need to go back and get my documents.” I drove back to the penthouse I had spent six months decorating. But when I pushed the door open, the entryway was piled with baby sleeping bags and unopened prenatal vitamins. Victoria, Carter’s mother, was directing the housekeeper to clear out the guest bedroom. Seeing me return, she smiled as if nothing had happened. “Chloe, you’re back just in time. Iris is in her first trimester, and she has no one to take care of her out there. I had her move in here for a few days. You’re the real Mrs. Sterling, so you need to be understanding. That’s the only way to keep peace in the family.” I stared at her coldly. “This is my and Carter’s home.” “Our family co-signed this penthouse, and Iris is carrying a Sterling baby. Why shouldn’t she stay here?” Victoria’s face hardened. “Carter is a successful man. It’s only natural for him to have some temptations outside. Do you not even understand how high society works?” “Then go find someone who ‘understands’ and let her marry him.” I didn’t waste another breath. I walked straight into the bedroom, packing my passport and important documents into a suitcase. Hurry footsteps echoed from the hallway. Carter rushed in, looking completely disheveled. He slammed his hand against the doorframe, blocking my way. “How long are you going to keep making a scene? If you walk out that door tonight, what are we supposed to do tomorrow?” “When you let Iris move into our home, did you think about what we were supposed to do?” I shoved him away, my eyes filled with nothing but absolute coldness. “I’m not making a scene. I am leaving. Did you seriously expect me to stay, give up my room, accompany her to OB-GYN appointments, and then smile while taking care of her tomorrow?” Victoria got defensive. “Iris is pregnant! Watch your mouth!” “That’s why I’m leaving!” Carter didn’t believe I would actually walk away. I had chased him for four years. Everyone knew it. I was the one who brought him homemade soup when he pulled late nights for his startup. I was the one who remembered all his food allergies. I was the one who saved every single Sterling family member’s birthday in my calendar. Carter was used to my gentleness. He was used to me hiding my own wounds whenever he hurt me. So, he reached out to grab my suitcase. “Go to a hotel to cool off tonight. The makeup artist is still coming tomorrow morning.” I dodged his hand. “No need.” “Chloe Vance,” Carter warned, lowering his voice. “Don’t force me to say something ugly in front of my mother.” Liam walked over from the elevator lobby. He smoothly took the suitcase from my hand. “Go ahead and say it. I’d love to hear it.” Only then did Carter notice him. His face instantly changed. “What the hell are you doing here?” “Picking her up,” Liam said flatly. “She doesn’t want to stay here, so I’m taking her.” Carter let out a harsh laugh. “Since when is our business any of your concern?” Liam looked down at me. “Is he still your fiancé?” I answered instantly. “No.” Victoria stood up, furious. “Chloe! Do you even know what you’re saying? Marriage isn’t a game! If you walk out with another man tonight, what do you think people will say about you tomorrow?” “They’ll say I found out my fiancé knocked up another woman right before our wedding, and I cut my losses in time.” I paused. “Honestly, that sounds great. I’m not ashamed.” Carter stared at me, suddenly letting out a cold smirk. “Cut your losses? Chloe, you sound tough right now, but don’t come crying back to me in a few days.” I didn’t look back. Carter lunged forward to grab me. “Chloe, you are not leaving with him!” I stepped back, swatting his hand away with pure disgust. “Don’t touch me. You make me sick.” The elevator doors slowly slid shut, completely blocking out Carter’s enraged face. The moment the doors closed, my tense shoulders finally slumped. Liam stood beside me. He held back for a long time before asking softly, “Are you hurt?” “Where?” “Everywhere.” I looked up at him, tears threatening to spill over. I forced them back and whispered, “Even if it hurts, I’m never going back.” Liam shifted the suitcase to his other hand. “Then we don’t go back.” The next morning, the Sterling family tried to push through with the wedding anyway. Victoria kept calling my family’s house, screaming that I had no respect for the bigger picture. My father answered with just one sentence: “The wedding is canceled. Don’t ever contact my daughter again.” Carter tried to call me, but his number was already blocked. He used his assistant’s phone to dial. Liam answered it. “She’s resting,” Liam said. “Mr. Sterling, stop calling.” Carter roared through the receiver, “Put her on!” “Why should I?” Liam paused. “You owe her some peace and quiet.” He hung up. Robert Sterling tried to reach my father. When the call finally went through, he only got half a sentence out before my father coldly cut him off. “My daughter isn’t marrying into your family,” my father said. “If the Sterlings feel humiliated, you should ask your son what kind of trash he projected onto the screen at the rehearsal.”

Chloe’s POV News of the canceled wedding spread like wildfire through our social circle. Some said I had a terrible temper, while others said Carter had gone way too far. Most people stayed quiet, waiting to see if the Vance family and the Sterling family would completely cut ties. I didn’t make any public statements. I slept for half a day in the apartment Liam lent me. When I woke up, I texted my parents to let them know I was safe. Then, I paid off the remaining balances for all the wedding vendors. The banquet was off, but the florists, photographers, and coordinators had worked hard for months. I didn’t want to dump my personal mess onto innocent people. The florist called me, speaking very carefully. “Miss Vance, the flowers for the main stage are still fresh. Would you like to redirect them to a charity gala? Didn’t you mention the Vance Foundation has an event next week?” I held the phone, quiet for a few seconds. “Yes, do that. Change the theme. Don’t use any of the wedding colors.” When Liam walked out of the kitchen with a bowl of oatmeal, I was busy writing down a checklist. “Aren’t you going to rest?” he asked. “Someone has to tie up the loose ends.” I handed him the tablet. “I’ve handled the venue. If the Sterlings try to harass me, tell them to talk to my father’s lawyers.” Liam scrolled through the list, a soft smile playing on his lips. “You’re much tougher than I thought.” I smiled faintly. “I just used to waste all my strength being ‘understanding’ for Carter.” That afternoon, Iris posted on Instagram. In the photo, she was sitting in a hospital corridor with a warm latte in hand. Her caption was short but sharp: *Some bonds don’t need a label. Those who know, know.* A mutual friend immediately sent me the screenshot. I saw it and didn’t reply. But then, Carter called again. This time, he used an unknown number. “What do you actually want?” he demanded the second I picked up. “The wedding is canceled, the guests got stood up, and the hotel deposit is gone. Are you happy now, Chloe?” I replied flatly, “I paid the vendors in full.” Carter choked on his words, his tone getting angrier. “Do you think throwing money around makes you right? Iris almost had a miscarriage today, and you haven’t even called to check on her!” I let out a bitter laugh. “What does her baby have to do with me?” “You know damn well she has nobody else!” “She has you,” I said. “Carter, you don’t get to play daddy to her baby while expecting me to be your sweet, understanding fiancée. I’m out of the game. You’re free.” Silence fell over the line. Carter seemed to finally realize how cold my voice was. His tone softened slightly. “Chloe, I never wanted to lose you.” “But you’ve been doing things to lose me every single day.” I hung up and blocked the number. Liam stood by the kitchen door. Seeing me set the phone down, he asked, “What do you want for dinner?” No lectures. No deep analysis. No telling me to be mature or calm down. He just asked what I wanted to eat. My nose suddenly tickled, and I seriously thought about it. “I want something sweet.” Liam rolled up his sleeves. “Deal. I’m cooking tonight.” Halfway through the delicious dinner, I suddenly stopped eating. Liam looked up. “Stomach hurt?” I shook my head. “I was just thinking… was I really that easy to please back then?” As long as Carter said “don’t bother me,” I would instantly doubt myself, wondering if I was being too sensitive. As long as he bought me a makeup gift on holidays, I would completely overlook his coldness from the day before. I used to call it “compromising for love.” Looking back, I was just cleaning up his emotional mess. Liam didn’t badmouth Carter. He only said, “That wasn’t your fault. The fault lies with the person who knew you were easy to please, and chose to hurt you anyway.” I looked down, taking a sip of the soup. The spicy flavor made my eyes water. I didn’t want to cry, so I forced a laugh. “Since when did you become such a smooth talker?” Liam froze, his fork hovering in the air. “I’ve had practice.” “With whom?” “With someone I couldn’t win over,” he said, staring at me. “For many years.” While Liam cleared the table, I sat there quietly. I suddenly remembered the first time I brought Carter home. My mother had pulled me aside and asked, “Is he good to you?” Back then, I defended him fiercely, saying he just wasn’t good with words, and that successful men always had a temper. Now, those excuses felt like a pathetic cover-up for my own denial. “What are you thinking about?” Liam asked. I looked up. “I think my mom knew back then. She just couldn’t bear to break my heart.” Liam set a glass of warm water next to me. “Well, you don’t have to make excuses for anyone anymore.”

Carter’s POV I didn’t actually start panicking until the third day. When I went back to our penthouse, I found the door code had been changed. The property manager told me that Miss Vance had authorized her lawyer to liquidate her half of the property, and all her personal belongings had been moved out in the middle of the night. I stood at the door, holding a box of the tiramisu Chloe used to love. In the past, as long as I swallowed my pride and bought her some sweets, Chloe would always forgive me. She might complain a little, but she would still open the door, hang up my coat, and ask if I wanted some water. But this time, there were no lights on behind the door. No one was waiting. I called a mutual friend, who hesitated before speaking. “Carter, you really messed up this time. Chloe’s family handled all the wedding cancellations. They didn’t even ask the Sterlings for a dime. They’ve been more than decent.” I demanded coldly, “Where is she?” “I don’t know. And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.” The line went dead. I sat back in my car, my chest feeling incredibly tight. Iris called me again, crying that she had no appetite and wanted some crème brûlée from the bakery uptown. I didn’t answer. Iris quickly sent a barrage of texts, asking if I blamed her, saying that if it weren’t for her, Chloe wouldn’t have left, and that the baby was kicking and she was so scared. Looking at the word “baby,” my head throbbed painfully. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to take responsibility. That night at the college reunion, everyone had drunk too much. Iris had leaned on my shoulder and cried, saying she had never been loved, asking if I could just stay with her for a bit. I remembered pushing her away, but I also remembered losing consciousness. When I woke up, Iris was curled up next to me. She told me it was fine, just a one-night stand, and that we should both just forget about it. I believed her. Or rather, I wanted to believe her. Because as long as I kept Iris in the “friend” box, I didn’t have to admit how dirty I had been. But now that Chloe was gone, that excuse had lost all its magic. That evening, Robert called me back to the family estate. The Vance family lawyer was sitting in the living room. He handed over the termination of engagement documents, his tone perfectly polite. “Miss Vance’s stance is clear. There was no marriage certificate filed, so this is not a divorce. She has covered all wedding expenses. As for the gifts from the Sterling family during the engagement, she has cataloged them. They will be returned to you.” Victoria slammed her hand on the table. “What is she trying to do? Is she trying to run off with another man?” The lawyer looked up. “Mrs. Sterling, please watch your words. Miss Vance is currently single. Who she associates with is none of Mr. Sterling’s business.” I stared at the documents, my fingertips turning white. “Tell her to come talk to me herself.” The lawyer capped his pen. “She does not wish to see you.” I let out a dry laugh that didn’t reach my eyes. “Fine. She’s hiding. Let’s see how long she can play this game.” After the lawyer left, Victoria was still cursing the Vance family for being heartless. But my eyes were glued to the cataloged list. Chloe had left so cleanly. The engagement necklace. The bracelet my mother gave her. The designer bags I bought her on a whim. Even a single pair of cufflinks was itemized and returned. She didn’t keep a single thing. She didn’t want any memories. It was like she was clearing out a rental apartment she never intended to return to. “She used to love these things,” I whispered. Victoria didn’t hear me. “What?” I didn’t answer. Chloe used to take photos of every single gift I gave her. She would be overjoyed for days over a bracelet that didn’t even fit her style. It wasn’t about the price tag. She just valued the thought behind them. And now, she was returning all that care in a neatly printed list. For the first time, I felt like the girl who used to run to me with open arms was truly gone. Robert was calmer than Victoria, but he was stressed. After the Vance Group pulled their joint venture, several of our ongoing projects fell into limbo. The partners didn’t outright reject us, they just said they needed to “wait and see.” But in business, everyone knows what “wait and see” actually means. Robert glared at me. “What are your actual plans for Iris?” I couldn’t answer. Before, I thought the baby could be taken care of quietly, the wedding could go on, and Chloe would just accept it. Now, seeing those things laid out, it all felt like a joke. Robert sneered. “You always bragged about how logical you are. How did you fail to calculate the most basic consequences of your actions?”

Carter’s POV Chloe wasn’t hiding. She had simply erased me from her life. The Vance Foundation’s charity gala went on as scheduled. The flowers from our wedding had been repurposed into a stunning spring garden theme. Chloe stood at the entrance in a simple, elegant black gown, helping her mother greet the guests. She wore light makeup, her smile wasn’t overly bright, but she looked completely composed. That was the night I crashed. I didn’t have an invitation. The security guards stopped me at the door. My face burned with humiliation. “I’m Chloe Vance’s fiancé.” The guard’s voice was completely professional. “Your name is not on the list, sir.” Those words felt like a physical slap to my face. In the past, whenever I attended Vance family events, everyone treated me like the co-host. Chloe would always register my name in advance, have a driver waiting, and wave at me from across the crowd. Now, my name wasn’t even on the list. Liam walked out of the ballroom, his tuxedo jacket draped casually over his arm. His voice was flat. “Mr. Sterling, tonight is a charity event. Don’t make things difficult for the staff.” I glared at him. “What is that supposed to mean?” “I’m the co-host,” Liam said, showing his badge. “I have more right to stand here than you do.” Furious, I raised my hand to shove him. But a voice called out from behind him. “Carter.” Chloe walked over. She didn’t run, but her presence immediately made me freeze. “You’re finally willing to see me,” I said, holding back my anger. “Come home with me.” Chloe replied, “I’m not going back.” “Are you still throwing a tantrum?” My eyes were bloodshot. “Just because Iris is pregnant, you’re going to throw away all our years together?” “It’s not because she’s pregnant,” Chloe said, looking at me calmly. “It’s because you cheated, and then expected me to clean up your mess.” My breath hitched. People at the entrance were starting to look over. Victoria rushed over, sighing deeply. “Chloe, if you and Carter have a fight, do it in private. Why make a scene in front of everyone? This is very disrespectful to us elders.” Helen Vance walked out of the ballroom, her face incredibly cold. “Oh? My daughter was humiliated by your son and his mistress right before her wedding, and we haven’t even complained. Yet you’re the one who feels disrespected?” Victoria was completely silenced. Chloe handed me a jewelry box. “Your engagement necklace. It’s returned. The cancellation papers are inside too. Whether you sign them or not doesn’t change the outcome.” I didn’t take it. “I don’t agree to this.” Chloe placed the box into the hands of a nearby staff member. “Then my lawyer will handle it.” She turned and walked back inside. Liam didn’t follow her immediately. Instead, he looked at me. “She made herself clear. If you keep harassing her, you’ll only embarrass yourself.” I clenched my fists. For the first time, I felt like a massive iron door had shut between Chloe and me. Inside the hall, Chloe stood gracefully next to her mother. When some guests subtly brought up the wedding, she didn’t dodge the question. She just smiled and said, “If it’s not the right fit, it’s best to stop. Cutting losses early is better than dragging out a mistake.” When those words reached my ears, I was already being escorted out of the side door by security. Some business associates passed by. They initially wanted to say hello, but when they recognized me and Victoria, they quickly looked away. Victoria couldn’t stand the humiliation and muttered, “Look at her. She made us look so bad.” But I was only looking at Chloe through the glass. She was talking to a donor, looking elegant, her back straight. There was no crying, no emotional breakdown, no messy revenge. She wasn’t trying to humiliate me. She had just stopped covering for me.

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1 At 3:06 AM, my husband Connor Hayes called me. I had just answered when his voice pressed heavily through the receiver. “Grace, go downstairs and move the car.” I sat up, pulling the blanket around me. The line was dead quiet. Quiet like a sealed room. I didn’t say a word. He urged again, “Hurry up, the car is blocking the fire lane. The keys are on the entryway console.” I stared at the caller ID. Connor Hayes. My husband. It was definitely his voice. But in our three years of marriage, he rarely called me by my first name with such coldness. I felt a chill of suspicion. Was he drunk? “Where are you?” I asked. There was a two-second pause. “The office. Move the car first, don’t ask so many questions.” He hung up. I looked at the time. 3:08 AM. My palms were sweating, but in the next second, I dialed 911. The dispatcher’s voice was clear: “911, what is your emergency?” I swallowed hard. “I need to report a crime.” “My husband, Connor Hayes, might have murdered someone.” “The body might be hidden in the underground garage of The Pinnacle Luxury Apartments, in his black Range Rover, license plate A9Z-77.” The dispatcher clearly paused. “Ma’am, can you be more specific? Where is your husband now? Who is the victim?” I dug my nails into my palms. The pain kept me lucid. “I don’t know who the victim is.” “But he just called me at 3:00 AM, telling me to go down and move the car.” “I suspect there’s something inside it.” “Please send officers immediately.” The dispatcher didn’t waste time with pointless questions. “Please keep your phone on, stay in a safe location, and do not approach the vehicle.” I said okay. After hanging up, I stood by the entryway. The car keys were right there on the console table. Black leather strap, silver logo. I reached out to touch them, then immediately pulled my hand back. Don’t touch. The thought exploded in my brain. I threw on a coat, grabbed my phone, and deadbolted the front door. Five minutes later, the building’s HOA group chat blew up. [Why are there cop cars in the P2 garage?] [Did something happen to someone?] [Mrs. Hayes, is your husband’s car blocking the fire lane?] I didn’t reply. I stood by the elevator, listening to it tick its way up to my floor. Ding. The doors opened. Two uniformed officers and a man in a black leather jacket stepped out. The man had a sharp gaze. He asked immediately, “Grace Harper?” I nodded. “I’m Detective Marcus Quinn, Major Crimes Unit. You’re the one who called in the tip about your husband murdering someone and hiding the body?” “Yes.” Detective Quinn looked at me. “Lead the way.” We took the elevator down to P2. Connor’s car was parked in the furthest corner of Section A. The black exterior was polished to a shine. Standing by the hood was the property manager, his face as pale as a ghost. “Officers, we just checked the security footage. Mr. Hayes parked here at 11:00 PM and no one has touched it since.” Detective Quinn signaled the crime scene tech to pop the lock. I stood ten feet away. The moment the trunk popped open, my heart clenched. It was completely empty. There was only a folding umbrella, a car emergency kit, and Connor’s usual cashmere blanket. No blood. No body. Nothing suspicious whatsoever. The property manager breathed a huge sigh of relief and immediately looked at me. He looked at me like I was insane. Detective Quinn didn’t jump to conclusions. He had them open the doors, check the back seats, the crevices, the floor mats, and the spare tire well. Everything was clean. Unbelievably clean. A young officer frowned. “Detective, it smells like bleach in here.” The property manager immediately chimed in, “Mr. Hayes is a neat freak. The car gets fully detailed twice a week.” I wanted to laugh. Connor a neat freak? He’d come home, toss his jacket on the sofa, and kick his socks under the bed. I’d nagged him for three years and he never changed. Detailed twice a week? Bullshit. I was about to speak when a shrill woman’s voice echoed from the elevators. “Grace Harper!” My mother-in-law, Helen Hayes, stormed over in her sleepwear, followed by Connor’s younger brother, Blake Hayes, and Connor’s secretary, Morgan Davis. When Helen saw the cops, her face contorted. “What kind of crazy pill did you take in the middle of the night?” “Connor is a good, hardworking man, and you call the cops on him calling him a murderer?!” Blake caught her arm, his eyes dark and cold. “Grace, my brother puts up with a lot from you, but you can’t drag his name through the mud like this.” Morgan, wrapped in a white cardigan, had red-rimmed eyes. “Grace, I know Mr. Hayes has been busy lately and neglecting you.” “But dragging this to the police… it’s going to ruin him.” I looked at the three of them. What a perfect little reunion. Three in the morning. I had just hung up, the cops had just arrived, yet the mother-in-law, the brother-in-law, and the female secretary were all here without missing a beat. The string of tension in my chest pulled tighter. Detective Quinn asked, “Where is Connor Hayes?” Helen immediately answered, “He’s at the office, in a meeting.” Blake chimed in, “Yeah, Frostline Logistics has a rush order tonight. My brother is swamped.” Detective Quinn locked eyes with him. “If he’s at the office, why did he call his wife to come down and move his car?” Blake choked on his words. Morgan rushed to say, “Maybe the property manager was rushing him, and he couldn’t get away.” I laughed. “Mr. Manager, did you rush him?” The property manager broke out in a sweat. “No! I was asleep. I only got the call from security when the cruisers showed up.” The air instantly froze. Helen glared at him fiercely. “What does a building manager know? What if other residents complained?” Quinn ignored her and pulled out his phone. “Call Connor Hayes.” Blake dialed the number on the spot. It rang twice and connected. Connor’s face appeared on the screen. He was sitting in his office. White button-down, black tie, his expression cool and detached. “Mom, what’s going on?” Helen burst into tears. “Connor! Grace called the cops saying you killed someone! Hurry up and explain it to them!” The Connor on the video frowned at the camera. “Grace, what are you doing this time?” The blood drained all the way to my feet. The face. The voice. It was all exactly right. But I felt sick to my stomach. 2 Detective Quinn took the phone. “Connor Hayes?” The man in the video nodded. “Yes.” “Where are you right now?” “Frostline Logistics headquarters.” “Did you just call Grace Harper and tell her to move your car?” “Yes.” He answered too fast. Too fast, like he was reciting a script. Quinn pressed, “Your car is parked in the P2 level of your apartment building, you’re at headquarters, how did you know your car was in the way?” The Connor on screen paused for a fraction of a second. “Property management called me.” Quinn turned to look at the manager. The manager waved his hands frantically. “I didn’t call! I swear I didn’t!” Helen panicked. “Officer, don’t let Grace twist this! Married couples fight all the time, what household doesn’t have drama? She just wants to humiliate Connor!” Morgan looked at me with teary eyes. “Grace, Mr. Hayes is under a lot of pressure right now.” “If you really care about him, please stop pushing him to the edge.” I took a step forward, staring at the man on the screen. “Connor.” He looked at me. His eyes were incredibly blank. I said, “Take your phone to the window.” He frowned. “Grace, what more do you want?” “Take it to the window.” My voice was very soft. “Let me see the sky outside the office.” The video feed went dead quiet. Two seconds. Three seconds. The image suddenly froze. Immediately after, the call disconnected. Blake cursed out loud, “Are you seriously trying to make a conspiracy out of bad reception? Grace, if you’re sick in the head, go to a hospital!” Quinn looked up. “Say one more word, I dare you.” Blake shut his mouth. I looked at the black screen, my heart sinking deeper into the abyss. Frostline Logistics headquarters was on the fifteenth floor, complete with floor-to-ceiling windows and flawless cell reception. Every time Connor video-called me from the office, the connection was so clear I could see the bubbles popping in his coffee. The background in that video just now was too steady. As steady as a printed backdrop taped to the wall behind him. Detective Quinn ordered the techs to keep processing the car. K-9 units arrived. They sniffed every inch of the trunk, the back seats, and the garage drainage grates. Nothing. The techs sprayed Luminol. The lights were cut. The underground garage plunged into darkness. I held my breath. No blue glow. No blood traces. Absolutely nothing. Helen sneered. “See that?” “Officer, can you arrest her now?” “Framing her own husband for murder at 3 AM. I’m terrified to even have a woman like this in our family.” Morgan whispered, “Mrs. Hayes, maybe Grace just loves Mr. Hayes too much.” That sentence was dirtier than a rusty knife. I looked up at her. “Morgan Davis, is your relationship with my husband so close that you accompany my mother-in-law to a parking garage at 3 AM?” Her face paled. “Grace, you’re misunderstanding. I’m Mr. Hayes’s secretary. If something happens to the company, of course I have to be here.” “The company?” I caught her slip-up. “My 911 call was about The Pinnacle Apartments. Who told you something happened to the company?” Morgan’s lips trembled. Blake immediately stepped in front of her. “You’re going to bite her head off over a slip of the tongue? Your mouth is pure poison.” I didn’t bother acknowledging him. I looked at Detective Quinn. “If he’s not in the garage, we go to Frostline Logistics.” Quinn didn’t agree immediately. “Reason?” I said, “First, the background in Connor’s video was fake.” “Second, he mentioned the manager rushing him, which was a lie.” “Third, right before the video cut out, there was an alarm—three short beeps, one long beep.” Quinn’s eyes shifted. “What alarm?” I turned to look at Blake. His jaw was clenched tight. I enunciated every word clearly. “The temperature control alarm for Warehouse 7 at Frostline Logistics.” Helen screamed on the spot, “You’re lying!” Blake panicked. “Warehouse 7 is undergoing maintenance right now! A couple of beeps don’t mean anything!” “I said three short, one long.” I stared him down. “A maintenance alarm is one continuous drone. You only get three short and one long when the internal temperature drops abnormally.” “Blake, you haven’t even memorized the safety protocols of your brother’s company, and you dare lie for him?” The veins on Blake’s neck twitched. Morgan gripped the hem of her cardigan. Quinn took it all in. He turned and gave the order. “Units, roll out to Frostline Logistics HQ.” Helen lunged forward to block him. “You can’t go! Do you have a warrant?! That place is full of client inventory. If you force the doors and ruin the temperature, who’s going to pay the damages?!” I raised a hand and pointed at myself. “I will.” Helen froze. I pulled up the corporate registry and authorization documents on my phone. “I own thirty-five percent of Frostline Logistics.” “Connor granted me the highest level of emergency executive authority years ago.” “Detective, whatever damages we incur opening those doors tonight, I’ll sign for it.” The way Helen looked at me suddenly changed. It was full of hate. Full of panic. And a deep, hidden, venomous resentment. My heart felt like lead. Connor. Where are you? 3 When the police cruisers pulled up to Frostline Logistics, the guard booth was still lit. Stan, the night guard, turned ghostly pale when he saw us. “Mrs. Harper? This late…” I cut to the chase. “Is Connor inside?” Stan’s eyes darted around. “I… I think he’s in his office.” Quinn asked, “You think?” Stan stammered, “I didn’t go up to check.” I walked over to the security terminal and pulled up the backend logs. Connor’s keycard logged into HQ at 9:48 PM. There was no exit record. Blake’s keycard logged in at 10:03 PM. Morgan’s keycard logged in at 10:26 PM. Helen didn’t have a keycard. But the outer gate logs showed her car pulling into the complex at 1:47 AM. I handed the logs to Quinn. “They were all here.” Blake’s face turned grim. “Is it a crime for me to work late? Morgan is his secretary, and my mom was worried about Connor, so she came to bring him soup.” I looked at Helen. “Where’s the soup?” She choked. “I threw it away after he finished it.” I let out a cold laugh. “Connor has a bad stomach. He never drinks heavy broth at night. For his own mother, your memory is terrible.” Helen’s eyes instantly welled up. “You’ve hated me for a long time, haven’t you?” “Ever since Connor married you, he never comes home.” “When Blake was sick and needed to borrow money, you guys made every excuse not to help.” “Grace, you carry the Hayes name, but your heart is made of stone!” The moment she started crying, the night shift workers poked their heads out to look. Morgan took the opportunity to shed tears. “Grace, Mr. Hayes already agreed to sit down and talk about the divorce.” “He wanted to give you the house and a cash settlement.” “Why do you have to drag things out this far?” I turned to look at her. “Divorce?” Morgan bit her lip. “Mr. Hayes is soft-hearted. He didn’t want to humiliate you in public.” Blake immediately pulled out a document folder. “This is the draft of the divorce agreement. Grace, just take the money and walk away. It’s better for everyone.” He slapped the document down in front of me. I skimmed it. Asset division. I take $500,000. Forfeit my 35% stake in Frostline. Waive all rights to marital assets. The signature date was left blank. I picked up the agreement and slowly tore it in half. “Blake, do you know which stroke your brother is most afraid of messing up when he signs his name?” He blanked for a second. I slammed the shredded paper against his chest. “Before you forge his signature, you should know that the last stroke of his name always flicks upwards.” “The signature on this agreement is as flat as a dead man’s EKG.” Quinn immediately confiscated the shredded paper. “Bag it for evidence.” The tears on Morgan’s face froze. I kept going. “And you.” “You said Connor was discussing divorce with me.” “Last month, he listed me as the second-in-command proxy for Frostline Logistics.” “Two days ago, he had our lawyers draft an ironclad post-nuptial asset confirmation.” “Before you try to play the tragic mistress, at least check the corporate filings.” Morgan’s lips turned white. “Mr. Hayes and I are strictly professional!” “Professional enough to escort his mother and brother to intercept the cops at 3 AM?” I said coldly, “Morgan, don’t treat me like an idiot.” Quinn had already sent a tech to pull the interior surveillance footage. Soon, the tech came out, frowning. “Detective, the exterior cameras for Warehouse 7 are offline from 10:30 PM to 2:40 AM.” “Reason?” “The system logs show a scheduled maintenance.” I looked at Blake. “You just said Warehouse 7 was undergoing maintenance.” Quinn took the handoff. “Who authorized it?” The tech checked the backend. “Authorized by Morgan Davis.” Morgan’s head snapped up. “I was just following Mr. Hayes’s orders!” “Where’s the proof?” She looked at Blake in sheer panic. Blake looked awful. “My brother gave a verbal order.” Quinn scoffed. “Verbal again.” He waved his hand. “Move to Warehouse 7.” Warehouse 7 was in the rear building of the HQ lot. The whole way there, Helen kept cursing me. “A curse on our family!” “Connor’s had nothing but bad luck since he married you!” “Are you not going to be satisfied until you’ve destroyed this family?” I didn’t look back. There was only one voice in my head. Connor, hold on. If they trapped you, I’ll smash the doors down. If you’re hurt, I’ll put every last one of them behind bars. If you’re… I cut off the thought. I couldn’t go there. When we reached the doors of Warehouse 7, the alarm strobe was dead. Three brand-new padlocks hung on the outer latch. White fog seeped through the door seam. Stan whispered, “Warehouse 7 isn’t usually padlocked.” Quinn heard him. Blake immediately yelled at him, “Shut up! You’re a security guard, what do you know?!” Stan shrank back in fear. I walked up to the door. The three locks were shiny, with remnants of price tag adhesive still stuck to them. I reached out and touched the edge of the door. It was wet. And it carried the faint scent of bleach. I looked up at Detective Quinn. “Open it.” Blake rushed forward. “Grace! There’s millions of dollars of imported medical supplies in there! If the temperature shifts, are you going to pay for it with your life?!” I stared him down. “I’ll pay for it with my life.” “Step aside.” 4 Quinn didn’t hesitate anymore. “Cut the locks.” An officer brought up a pair of bolt cutters. Snap. The first lock fell. Helen rushed up crying, but a female officer held her back. “You can’t do this to our family!” “Connor is going to hate you for this when he gets back!” When I heard the words “gets back,” my throat felt like it was lined with needles. I truly wanted Connor to come back. Even if he came back and called me crazy. Even if he blamed me for ruining the company. As long as he was standing in front of me. Anything would be fine. The second lock hit the ground. The third lock snapped. The heavy insulated door was slowly pulled open. A blast of freezing air rolled out. The shelves inside Warehouse 7 were perfectly organized. On the surface, it was just rows of white cold-storage pallets. Morgan instantly let out a breath of relief. Wiping away fake tears, she said, “Grace, look, there’s nothing in here.” “Are you done throwing this tantrum?” I didn’t move. My eyes were fixed on the very last row of pallets. They were stacked way too tight. Frostline had strict protocols: cargo must be kept twelve inches from the walls for air circulation. Connor wrote that rule himself. He used to say, Inventory can spoil, but people can’t get lazy. But that last row of boxes was pushed flush against the back wall. I pointed at it. “Move those.” Blake’s face dropped. “How long are you going to keep doing this?!” Quinn gave him a look. “Do what she says.” A forklift driver was called in. His hands were shaking so badly he nearly crashed into the rack on the first try. I said, “I’ll guide you.” One pallet. Two pallets. Three pallets. Behind the rack, a section of gray waterproof tarp was exposed. Underneath the tarp was a long, bulging silhouette. Warehouse 7 fell dead silent. The blood drained from Morgan’s face completely. Helen suddenly threw herself toward the doors, screaming, “Don’t touch that! It’s client inventory!” Quinn pushed her back. “Pull the tarp.” An officer snapped on latex gloves and lifted the canvas. A heavy, black body bag was revealed. The zipper was frosted shut. Dark red, frozen runoff had seeped into the floor underneath it. My ears started ringing. Blake turned to run. I was faster than the cops. I sprinted over and kicked him hard in the back of the knees. He crashed to the ground with a thud, his nose smashing into the concrete, drawing blood. “Grace, you crazy bitch, you hit me!” I bent down, grabbed a fistful of his hair, and shoved his face toward the black bag. “Why are you running?” “Didn’t you just say it was client inventory?” “Open your eyes and look at what kind of inventory you hid in here!” Blake thrashed like a dying fish. Quinn barked, “Restrain him!” Two officers rushed up and pinned him down. Helen collapsed onto the floor, mumbling over and over, “It’s over… it’s all over…” Morgan was shaking so hard she couldn’t stand, but she was still trying to act. “I didn’t know… I swear I didn’t know there was something back here…” I walked up to her. She instinctively backed away. I raised my hand and slapped her across the face. Smack! The sound echoed sharp and clear through the freezing warehouse. Morgan clutched her cheek, tears spilling instantly. “You hit me?” I stared at her, my voice trembling but my words absolute. “You just asked me if I was done throwing a tantrum.” “Now it’s my turn to ask you.” “Stepping on a dead man’s body to get a promotion… was it worth it?” Quinn’s voice boomed. “Blake Hayes, Morgan Davis, Helen Hayes. Cuff them all!” The metallic clack of handcuffs rang out. I pointed at the black body bag in the depths of the freezer, looking at their pale faces. “Whoever wants to call me crazy again can get on their knees in front of that bag and say it.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “519866”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Three years into our marriage, I ruined one hand for him, and Grandma sold off her jewelry for him. But in the end, for the sister of his so-called lifesaver, he gave my marital home to her for free, and for her sake, he drained Grandma’s blood right after she came out of the ICU. I finally saw him for what he was. I dissolved the marriage unilaterally and bought a one-way ticket to London. But after the divorce, he went insane trying to win me back… Sophie Reed POV In the third year of our marriage, I went to the bank to close our joint safe-deposit box. The teller looked at the holder names in the system and smiled politely. “Mrs. Foster, closing a joint safe-deposit box requires your husband Brandon Foster’s co-signature.” Calmly, I took back my ID. “No need. I’m not Mrs. Foster. My name is Sophie Reed, and I’m single now.” Just an hour ago, I had watched Brandon Foster sign an equity transfer agreement with my own eyes, transferring 10% of Foster Tech’s original sweat equity shares to Nina Young for free. Nina Young was the younger sister of his late best friend, Shawn. Seven years ago, Brandon Foster had nothing. It was my Grandma who sold her jewelry to help him buy his first piece of hardware equipment. Five years ago, when he was short on the down payment for a precision machine tool, I hid it from him and risked my life street racing through a stormy night to raise 200,000 RMB, breaking my left wrist and leaving it with permanent hidden damage. Three years ago, when Brandon Foster’s company was on the verge of bankruptcy, it was me again who risked my life driving at high speed in an overseas evacuation zone to save Old Mr. Zahn, securing hundreds of millions in investment from Zahn Group for him. But for the past five years, as long as Nina Young crooked a finger, Brandon Foster could abandon me when I was sick, cancel every date, and even transfer my marital home to her outright, all because of one sentence: “Shawn saved my life with his. I have to take care of Nina for the rest of her life.” I tolerated it for five years. Until today, when I saw that equity transfer agreement, and finally, completely gave up. I pushed open the bank doors and walked straight into the drizzle outside. But before I could reach the curb, my phone began to vibrate wildly, along with an alert from the bank system warning of an abnormal change in our joint assets. Two minutes later, a black Maybach screeched to a stop in front of me, cutting me off. The car door was shoved open roughly. Brandon Foster stepped out, carrying a chill all over him, strode toward me, and grabbed my arm. His grip was so hard it nearly crushed my bones. “Sophie Reed, are you done making a scene?!” Brandon Foster’s brows were locked tight, his eyes full of irritation and panic. “You haven’t come home for a week. You won’t answer my calls. Now you’re even running to the bank to clear out our joint assets! Do you know the security alert went straight to my phone? What the hell are you trying to do?” I lowered my eyes and looked at the hand he was gripping. It was my left hand, and numbness spread from my fingertips through the cracks between my bones. “Let go of my hand.” My tone stayed flat, unshaken. Nothing got under Brandon’s skin like my blank, unperturbed stare. It made him feel a terror he couldn’t control. He took a deep breath and used his usual tone to cover his guilt. “I know you’re angry about me buying Nina a car, but Nina is Shawn’s only sister. Shawn died saving me back then! So what if I protect her a little more? Do you really have to blow it this far out of proportion and use our seven years together as leverage?” Before he could finish speaking, the phone in his arms rang sharply. Nina Young’s name flashed across the screen. Brandon Foster answered, and Nina Young’s soft, tearful voice immediately came through. “Brandon… my car broke down on Ring Road. The people behind me keep honking at me. I’m so scared, and my stomach is starting to hurt again…” At the words stomach hurt, Brandon Foster’s expression changed instantly. He didn’t even bother questioning me anymore and spoke urgently into the phone. “Nina, don’t be scared. Lock the doors and stay in the car. I’m coming to pick you up right now!” After hanging up, Brandon Foster shoved me aside and hurried back toward the car, his tone an unquestionable order. “Sophie Reed, stop messing around. Nina is timid, and her stomach illness is acting up again. I have to go. Whatever it is, we’ll talk when I get back!” The Maybach sped away, its exhaust dispersing into the rainy mist and splashing dirty muddy water across the ground. I stood in the cold rain and slowly exhaled. I took out my phone and dialed that special encrypted number. “Ms. Reed, hello.” On the other end was the person in charge of the Foreign Ministry’s Special-Region Consular Protection Emergency Defensive Driving Unit, his voice precise and formal. “Regarding the special driving assignment application for high-risk regions that you submitted, we have passed the preliminary review. Since the area is on the brink of war and the risk level is extremely high, are you sure you want to accept the deployment?” I looked toward the corner where the Maybach had disappeared. There was not the slightest fluctuation in my voice. “I’m sure.” “All right. Given the danger of your mission, the protection driving unit has the right to provide you with family separation privilege, including enforcing a unilateral divorce for you in the backend through the national security channel. Do you need to activate this privilege?” “Yes.” I stroked the scar on my left wrist. “Within half a month before departure, help me get divorced.” “Understood. The unilateral compulsory divorce procedure has been initiated and will take effect in half a month.” After hanging up, I put my phone back into my bag and walked calmly into the curtain of rain.

Sophie Reed POV Three days later, Brandon Foster’s assistant forcibly dragged me to Foster Tech’s new product launch. “Sophie Reed, today’s launch determines whether the company can secure follow-up investment from Zahn Group. Miles Zahn is sitting in the audience today.” In the backstage corridor, Brandon Foster adjusted his suit while pressing down on my shoulders, half coaxing and half forcing me. “Sit obediently in the audience and let the media capture footage of us looking like a harmonious couple. I can’t have any negative news about relationship problems, understand?” I stood quietly in the shadows, not even bothering to nod as a pretense. But when the staff led me into the venue, I realized there was no seat for me in the most central VIP seats in the front row. In the seat representing the company family representative sat Nina Young, perfectly composed. She wore a white haute couture gown and was speaking softly and gently with the investors below the stage. As for me, the staff led me all the way to the very corner, behind the media section. “Hey, why are you sitting here?” A female employee who didn’t know who I was came over and tapped the table in front of me, her attitude arrogant. “These rows are reserved for partner media. Don’t get in the way here. If you damage the equipment behind you, can you afford to pay for it?” I looked up at her without explaining, then stood coldly and stepped back into the dim exit corridor behind me. The launch began soon after, with thunderous applause. When it came time for the ribbon-cutting ceremony, Nina Young walked gracefully onto the stage under everyone’s gaze and stood beside Brandon Foster as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The two of them held the golden scissors together, and the flashbulbs flickered like daylight. Below the stage, a familiar business partner teased suggestively, “Mr. Foster, Ms. Young’s white dress… Anyone who didn’t know better would think today wasn’t just a product launch, but your wedding ceremony too.” A burst of knowing laughter erupted through the venue. Brandon Foster’s body stiffened onstage. His gaze swept over the front row in near panic, trying to find me. But the front row was empty. I wasn’t there at all. Facing Miles Zahn, the investor below the stage, Brandon Foster gritted his teeth. In the end, he did not open his mouth to clarify. He merely curved his lips as if accepting it, revealing an ambiguous smile, allowing Nina Young to quietly lean a little closer to his side. Standing in the shadowy corridor, I calmly watched the whole scene unfold. The last flicker of feeling inside me died away for good. I lowered my head, unlocked my phone, and logged into the airline’s internal ticketing system. Because the driving unit had already submitted the compulsory divorce application for me, my household registration status had been changed in the backend to single, pending deregistration. Without hesitating for even a second, I directly clicked to confirm a one-way flight to London half a month later. At the same time the ticket confirmation chime sounded, the launch was announced over. I turned and was about to leave, but at the corner of the corridor, Brandon Foster rushed over and blocked my path. Brandon Foster’s tie was crooked, and his eyes were filled with panic and the irritability of being interrupted. He stared hard at the phone in my hand, whose screen had not yet gone dark, and interrogated me. “Who were you texting just now? Was it those thugs who drive street races? How many times have I told you that you’re not allowed to contact those people anymore?” His expression was agitated, and he reached out to snatch my phone. I calmly and unhurriedly put my phone back into my pocket, then lifted my eyes to look at him. “It has nothing to do with you.” I brushed his hand away and passed him coldly, walking toward the exit. Brandon Foster froze where he stood, an icy sense of losing control curling through his chest.

Sophie Reed POV When I left the hotel, the rain outside grew heavier again. I hailed a taxi by the roadside. I did not return to the luxury apartment Brandon Foster had bought. Instead, I went straight back to the old shop on Old Street. This was where they had started their business. Five years ago, Brandon Foster had still been a poor boy guarding this little general store, and I had been the only helper here. But now, all that remained were old parts covered in dust and one dim hanging lamp. I sat beneath the lamp, unbuttoned my cuff, and laid a warm towel over my left wrist, massaging it again and again. Just now in the corridor, Brandon Foster’s rough pulling had made the old injury begin to ache faintly again. The old shop was so quiet it was a little frightening. I looked at the empty measuring cup for medicine sitting on the corner of the table, and my eyes warmed. After Grandma developed moderate Alzheimer’s disease, she often failed to recognize people. Last month, she had just undergone major heart surgery. Now she could only stay in a nursing home on the outskirts of the city. Back then, when Brandon Foster didn’t have the money to buy his first piece of equipment, Grandma had hidden it from me, sold her jewelry, and pressed the money into Brandon Foster’s hands. At that time, Brandon Foster held the old woman’s hand, his eyes red, calling her Grandma over and over, swearing that once he had money in the future, he would treat her like his own grandmother and take care of her. But ever since Brandon Foster made his fortune, the number of times he went to the nursing home could be counted on one hand. And the Grandma in his mouth gradually became the polite, distant “Mrs. Reed.” Before the towel on my wrist could cool, the half-closed wooden door was pushed open. Brandon Foster walked in. The air of the nouveau riche around him looked painfully out of place here. “Sophie Reed, why did you leave me alone in the corridor without even saying a word?” Brandon Foster sat down on the wooden chair beside him, his tone carrying a trace of impatience he was forcing down. I turned slightly without speaking, only laying the warm towel over my wrist again. Brandon Foster tugged at the corner of his mouth, softening his tone a little. “Once Zahn Group’s investment comes through, I’ll buy you a big flat in River Bay. From now on, you won’t have to suffer in this dark, damp place anymore.” My expression remained flat, my voice cool and mild. “Are you done?” “You’re always like this. You can’t even say one nice thing.” Brandon Foster sighed, his tone tinged with helplessness. “Tomorrow I’ll have the construction crew come over and tear down this old shop. Nina’s new car is always getting scratched in the public parking spaces. She complained to me a few times, so I’m planning to rebuild this place into a private garage for her. It’s sitting empty anyway.” Tear down the old shop. Tear down the place where they had started from nothing, all to build Nina Young a private garage. I did not argue with him. I stood up, walked to the old writing desk, pulled open the bottom drawer, and took out the property ownership certificate inside. I walked back and threw the certificate in front of Brandon Foster. “Here.” I looked at that property ownership certificate. “You can call someone to tear it down tomorrow.” Brandon Foster stared fixedly at the property deed, a flash of pathetic panic crossing his eyes. The instant I handed over the ownership so cleanly, he suddenly felt that something was slipping completely out of his control. To hide that inexplicable panic, Brandon Foster’s tone sank. “Sophie Reed, everything I do is for our future, but you insist on throwing a tantrum with me over this old shop. Without me, how are you supposed to survive on your own?” Building a private garage for another woman was for our future? Even that excuse was so absurd I found it laughable. I said nothing, not even half a sentence to defend myself. I no longer cared how he judged me. Suddenly, the phone in Brandon Foster’s arms rang sharply. Nina Young’s name flashed across the screen. He answered, and Nina Young’s hysterical sobbing voice instantly filled the silent shop. “Brandon… my car was maliciously smashed and scratched up at the intersection near the old shop. The windows are shattered too. I’m so scared. Hurry over…” Brandon Foster’s expression changed. He whipped his gaze toward me, his eyes sharp. He snatched the property ownership certificate off the table, stood up, and left one irritated sentence behind. “I’m going out for a bit. Whatever it is, we’ll talk later.” The door slammed heavily shut. I withdrew my gaze. Outside, the sound of the rain grew louder and louder, beating against the worn window lattice. Twenty minutes later, the tightly shut wooden door was kicked open violently from the outside with an ear-piercing crash. Brandon Foster rushed in, wrapped in damp, cold rain. Water was still dripping from his suit. His eyes were bloodshot as he stared at me, his voice trembling hard. “Sophie Reed, when did you become so despicable?!”

Sophie Reed POV “Nina Young’s car hood was completely scratched up. The surveillance footage caught Grandma Reed at the scene!” Brandon Foster roared, grabbed my collar, and shoved my whole body hard into the shelf beside us. “It’s bad enough that you’re targeting Nina. Now you’re even using an old woman who just had heart surgery? You actually incited her to run out in the pouring rain and smash a car for you?!” My back crashed against the metal rack with an ear-splitting metallic shriek. My mind went blank in an instant. Grandma’s illness had flared up… Wearing her hospital gown, she had walked all the way from the nursing home in the outskirts back to the old shop in the heavy rain. The instant I was shoved, I instinctively used my left hand to brace myself. A crisp crack came from my wrist joint, and a wave of searing, dislocated pain crashed over my whole frame Cold sweat broke out all at once. My face turned deathly pale, and my fingertips trembled violently, but I did not make a sound. Brandon Foster glanced at my slightly shaking wrist, his brows tightening, but his tone was still perfectly self-righteous. “Stop pretending in front of me. I’m sick of your little martyr act. For what happened today, you must give Nina and me an explanation!” I pressed down hard on my trembling wrist, the pain so intense even my breathing shook. It was at that very second that the phone in my palm vibrated sharply. It was an urgent text from a caregiver at the nursing home: [Ms. Reed! This is bad! A group of people just forcibly took Grandma Reed from her ward. They said the old lady is suspected of deliberately damaging someone else’s property and that they’re taking her away for confrontation!] I didn’t even have time to rub my throbbing wrist. I shoved Brandon Foster away and rushed out of the shop. Outside, rain poured down in sheets. When I arrived at the private car wash Nina Young had mentioned, I could hear the sound of a high-pressure water gun from far away, along with Nina Young’s delicate laughter. “Spray more cold water on her. Wake the old lady up a little. She scratched someone else’s car and can’t even say sorry. How disgraceful at her age.” Inside the empty, damp car wash, Grandma was wearing a thin hospital gown, pinned tightly to a cold metal chair by two bodyguards. The high-pressure cold water gun was aimed straight at the old woman, the icy water blasting against her pale, withered face. The old woman’s entire body shook violently. She could barely breathe, her lips had turned purple, and all she could make were faint moans. “Stop!” I rushed over like I had lost my mind. But before I could get close, an arm appeared out of nowhere and blocked me hard. Brandon Foster stood firmly in front of Nina Young, his face tense as he said to me helplessly, “Calm down. Nina was just too anxious. Mrs. Reed really was at the scene. It’s perfectly reasonable for Nina to want an explanation. Once this is cleared up, I’ll naturally send the old lady back.” Rain hit my face. I had no time to wipe it away. My gaze went straight past Brandon Foster and landed on the old woman shrinking back on the metal chair behind him. “Mrs. Reed?” My voice was so hoarse I could barely speak. I looked at Brandon Foster, my eyes full of grief. “Brandon Foster, back when you didn’t have the money to buy your first machine tool and cried in her arms, what did you call her? Do you still remember? And now you call her Mrs. Reed?” Brandon Foster’s expression froze, and a deep flash of shame crossed his eyes. Nina hid behind Brandon, shoulders trembling, her eyes red as she cried pitifully. “Brandon… I wasn’t trying to hurt the old lady. She was the one who scratched my car with her cane first… I just wanted to ask her what was going on.” Under everyone’s stunned gazes, I walked forward calmly, snatched the water gun from the bodyguard’s hands, and hurled it hard onto the ground. I held Grandma, who was nearly unconscious, tightly in my arms. The old woman’s body was as cold as a block of ice. I wrapped her in my coat, carried her on my back, and step by step, walked out into the pouring rain. In the late-night storm, not a single taxi passed by. The old woman’s body temperature was draining away rapidly in my arms. The dislocated bones in my left wrist ground violently against each other, the pain so sharp that every step felt like I was treading on blades. I had no idea how many times I fell. My knees were scraped bloody, but I still clung desperately to the unconscious old woman in my arms. When I finally stumbled through the doors of the public hospital emergency department, my whole body crashed heavily to its knees on the cold marble floor. With my uninjured right hand, I clutched a nurse’s coat and begged, “Doctor, please save my grandma… Please…” The stark fluorescent hospital lights blurred everything in front of my eyes while my left wrist hung limply against the floor, a horrific dark bruise was spreading all up my wrist.

The hospital room was deathly quiet. Drained of all strength, I leaned against the glass window outside the ICU, staring without blinking at the old woman whose body was covered in tubes and monitors. The doctor had told me privately just now that when the old lady had been brought in, her body temperature was dangerously low. A severe lung infection and excessive shock had triggered acute heart failure. Even though she was now in the ICU receiving conservative treatment, her life could be in danger at any moment. My swollen, trembling right hand rested lightly over my left wrist, which was completely dislocated and deformed. A sharp, piercing pain pulsed there in waves. But it was as if I couldn’t feel pain at all. “Sophie Reed, are you done making a scene? I had to ask the nursing home before I found out you were here.” At the end of the hallway, Brandon came striding over with a fruit basket and premium ginseng in hand. “Nina was just too anxious. She’s young and doesn’t know better. I’ve already scolded her. I’ve had my secretary cover the old lady’s hospital bills and follow-up recovery expenses this time. This ends here. Stop clinging to it and come home with me.” I didn’t even turn my head. I stared blankly at Grandma behind the glass, my voice as faint as a thread. “Okay.” I couldn’t even be bothered to explain another word. Because I knew that the unilateral divorce procedure the Foreign Ministry’s protection driving unit was handling for me would take full effect in ten days. All I wanted now was to wait until Grandma’s vital signs stabilized, then take her to London immediately and leave this filthy city forever. Brandon assumed I was the same as always, that as long as he gave me an out, I would obediently lower my head. He smiled in relief and reached out to touch my hair. “That’s more like it. Once I’m done with this busy stretch, we’ll bring Grandma home together.” I tilted my head slightly and avoided his hand. Then I closed my eyes and stopped looking at him. Brandon seemed a little embarrassed. After giving a few instructions, he turned and left. But I had underestimated how vicious those two could be. They had no bottom line. They could even trample every drop of blood and bone from others for their own sake. Two afternoons later, I hurried back to the ward with a newly issued lab report in hand. But the entrance to the ICU was already in chaos. Several doctors and bodyguards were forcefully pushing Grandma’s hospital bed toward the elevator. My heart tightened. I rushed over like a madwoman and blocked the bed. “What are you doing?! My grandma can’t be moved. She has severe heart failure!” The nurse’s eyes darted away. She was so anxious that her eyes had gone red. “Ms. Reed, I’m sorry… Mr. Foster gave strict orders. We have to take the old lady to the top floor. Ms. Young had an accident during an ocean party. She lost a lot of blood, and the blood bank was critically short of Rh-negative blood. In the entire hospital, only the old lady is a match…” It felt as if a thunderbolt had struck me in broad daylight. “She just came back from being rescued in the ICU! Drawing her blood is the same as killing her!” I used my body to block the bed with everything I had, my hoarse voice warping out of shape. Just then, Brandon’s hurried footsteps came from the elevator. He walked over with a dark expression and yanked me aside. “Sophie Reed, stop making trouble!” Brandon’s voice was full of irritation and urgency. “Shawn only had one sister. I can’t just watch her die! They’re only taking a little blood from the old lady. Nothing will happen. I asked the doctors. As long as they control the amount, it won’t be fatal. If there are any consequences, I’ll take responsibility!” “You’ll take responsibility? What are you going to use to take responsibility?!” I gripped his sleeve tightly, my eyes bloodshot. “Brandon Foster, touch your own conscience! How did my grandma treat you back then?!” “Sophie, now isn’t the time for this!” Brandon’s face darkened completely. He didn’t even bother to give me another explanation. He waved directly at the bodyguards and doctors behind him, his tone cold and resolute. “Take the old lady upstairs. Transfer all the doctors from the cardiology department and the emergency department to the top floor. Fully cooperate with Nina Young’s surgery!” “Brandon Foster—!!” My scream echoed through the hallway, but my swollen, deformed left hand had no strength at all. I could only watch helplessly as Grandma’s hospital bed was pushed into the elevator. And Brandon didn’t even look back once. He disappeared to the top floor with everyone else. The vast intensive care area instantly fell into dead silence. All the doctors and nurses on duty had been forcibly transferred away by Brandon. An hour later, the cardiac monitor in the ICU suddenly let out a sharp, single tone. Beep— That piercing sound was like a razor-sharp knife, instantly slicing the world inside my chest to pieces. Like a madwoman, I shoved open the doors of the ICU. There were no doctors on duty. No nurses to resuscitate her. In the empty sterile ward, only the cold machine rang out in a monotonous, ear-splitting cry. I staggered to the bedside. My knees gave way, and I crashed heavily to the floor. “Grandma…” Trembling, I reached out with my right hand and grabbed the shriveled hand resting on the bedsheet. That warm hand that had once held mine as I grew up was now rapidly losing its warmth, turning cold and stiff. The back of the old woman’s right hand was covered in massive purplish bruises left behind by a rough, excessive blood draw. At the needle mark, there was even a dark red strand of blood that had already clotted before anyone had the chance to wipe it away. “Grandma… Open your eyes and look at Sophie. We’re going to London. We won’t stay here anymore…” Without warning, tears surged out, huge drops smashing onto the old woman’s lifeless face. I pressed my face against Grandma’s cold forehead, desperately trying to warm her with my own body heat. But all I touched was a deathly chill, like stagnant water. The grief was so extreme it jammed in my throat, turning into hopeless sobs. In this world, the only family member who had loved me with all her heart died in a room without a doctor. And the person who had drained her blood was the lover I had spent seven years of my youth lifting up with my own hands. Just then, in that almost suffocating stillness, the phone in my soaked pocket suddenly lit up. Numbly, I slid open the lock screen. On the screen was a photo Brandon had sent. Brandon was sitting beside the bed in a luxurious ward on the top floor, holding Nina’s hand with the utmost tenderness. Beneath the photo was a message from Brandon: Sophie, Nina is out of danger. I already had the caregiver send the best supplements over to the old lady. Once this busy period is over, we’ll bring Grandma back to the new house together. I stared at that line of text. Tears mixed with blood slid from the corners of my eyes and fell onto the white bedsheet. “Ha… haha…” A very soft, very broken laugh slipped from my throat. Brandon Foster, the blood debt between us is settled.

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It was noon, the day before Valentine’s Day, and the hottest thread on the campus anonymous app had my name written all over it. [BREAKING] It’s Official! Student Body President Chloe Vance is dating campus golden boy, Julian Hayes! I was sitting in the dining hall, eating lunch with my best friend. Riley shoved her phone right into my face. “Chloe, you’re dating someone? Why am I the last to know?” Julian Hayes stood right in front of my table. His white button-down shirt was crisp and clean. The entire dining hall was whistling and cheering. He looked down at me and said, “Everyone already knows about us. Are you still not going to make it official?” In my past life, drowned out by this ridiculous, roaring crowd, I stayed silent for thirty seconds. And just like that, I defaulted into being his girlfriend. From that day on, he started checking my socials, dictating who I could talk to, and cornering me between classes. Eventually, he spread rumors that I was a “serial cheater playing the field.” I was stripped of my Student Body President title. My spot in the national finance decathlon was revoked. Driven to the edge, my depression relapsed. I took a medical leave—and eventually, took my own life. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back in the dining hall, right at the peak of the cheering. This time, I set my fork down and looked right up at him. “Dude, who even are you?” 1 For a few seconds, a wave of hushed laughter rippled through the crowd. Julian’s expression froze. He was undeniably good-looking. Cold eyes, tall, athletic—the kind of face that flooded the campus app every single day. In my past life, under that heavy gaze, my heart had skipped a beat. Paired with the crowd chanting, “Get together!” I hadn’t managed to tear down his setup in time. I had thought my silence was just saving us both from public embarrassment. Now, Julian frowned at me. “Chloe, stop messing around.” He said my name so naturally, like we were actually close. Beside me, Riley immediately held up her phone and started recording. She was a pre-med student, having just rushed over from the lab, still wearing her white coat. “Getting this on video just in case,” she muttered. “This guy’s vibe is way off.” I nodded and turned my attention back to Julian. “I’m not messing around. I’m asking you a question.” “You said we’re dating. Do you have any proof?” Julian’s face darkened. Someone in the crowd yelled, “Madame President is just shy!” “The whole school knows, why are you playing dumb?” I turned to look directly at the people holding up their phones. “Whoever is recording this right now, make sure you get the whole thing.” “Because I stand by every single word I’m about to say.” The cheering slowly died down. I stood up, looked Julian dead in the eye, and enunciated every word: “First, I barely know you.” “Second, I am not, and have never been, in a relationship with anyone.” “Third, please move. You’re ruining everyone’s lunch.” A flash of sheer embarrassment crossed Julian’s eyes. He reached out, trying to grab my shoulder. I took a sharp step back. “Back off.” His hand hung in the air. His face turned ice-cold. “Chloe Vance, do you really have to do this?” “Do what?” I shot back. “Refuse to confess to something I never did? Is that what you mean?” Julian’s face went from pale to flushed. He let out a cold laugh. “Chloe, denying it now just makes you look like a buzzkill.” I stared right through him. “I don’t care.” I picked up my tray, grabbed Riley’s arm, and walked away. As I brushed past Julian, he leaned in and whispered, “You’re going to regret this.” I stopped, tilted my head, and smiled. “Regret what? Not dating a piece of trash like you?” Stepping out of the dining hall, the midday sun was almost blinding. Riley tugged my sleeve, whispering, “Since when did you get so savage?” I didn’t answer. 2 Over the next few days, Julian spawned around me like a glitchy NPC. He wouldn’t approach. He wouldn’t speak. He just stood a few yards away, watching me with this intense, suffocating glare. One evening, as I was leaving the Student Union office, the hallway lights flickered on. Julian was standing at the end of the hall, like he’d been waiting for hours. The moment I saw him, I stopped and discreetly hit ‘Record’ on my phone. He walked up, his voice dripping with anger right out of the gate. “Who is the guy liking every single one of your Instagram posts?” My stomach dropped. I looked up at him. “What guy?” He scoffed. “The one with the black geometric profile picture. Initial ‘H’.” “You posted about the stage setup for the Spring Gala. He liked it.” “You posted your mock portfolio returns for the finance competition. He liked it.” “And the night run you posted two days ago? He was the first to like it.” He was too detailed. So detailed that a cold sweat broke out across my back. I just looked at him and asked: “Julian, you and I aren’t friends on Instagram. How can you see my likes?” He clearly froze. Then he looked away. “Someone told me.” “Who?” He snapped, “Does it matter?” I pulled out my phone and immediately initiated a FaceTime call. A few seconds later, the screen lit up. A man in a dark grey tailored suit appeared on screen. He was sitting in a boardroom, gold-rimmed glasses resting on his nose, looking sharp and professional. “Chloe?” I turned the screen toward Julian. “Connor, someone is asking me who the guy is that keeps liking all my posts.” The man on the screen raised an eyebrow. “That would be me.” Julian’s face shifted. I introduced him slowly: “Connor Vance. My older brother.” “The ‘H’ you were talking about? That’s his middle name, Harrison.” Julian immediately pushed back: “A brother stalks your Instagram that closely?” On the screen, Connor’s eyes turned lethal. “I like my little sister’s posts about her academic awards, her student council events, and her evening runs. Is that a crime?” “But more importantly, Mr. Hayes.” “You are not my friend on that app, nor are you hers. How exactly are you viewing her private metrics?” Julian’s jaw clenched. “I told you, someone told me.” Connor replied coldly: “Then you better remember exactly who that ‘someone’ is.” Julian’s composed facade finally cracked. I watched him, my heart turning to ice. In my past life, he spun this exact situation into him just “being jealous.” While the campus forum tore me apart for being promiscuous, he had the nerve to act hurt, asking me: “Why do you hide your life from me?” On the phone, Connor instructed: “When you get back to your dorm tonight, check the login history on all your devices.” I promised I would. After hanging up, Julian glared at me. “Chloe, is this really necessary?” I asked back, “When you were invading my privacy, did you ask yourself if that was necessary?” He turned pale. “I just wanted to know how many guys are orbiting you.” “Why do you feel entitled to know that?” “Entitled?” He looked at me like I was the punchline to a joke, taking a step closer. “Chloe, the whole campus knows you’re my girlfriend. And you’re asking me why?” I raised my hand and showed him the recording app running on my screen. “Perfect.” “I got that on tape, too.” Julian froze in his tracks. I walked around him. As I reached the stairwell, he called out from behind me: “Acting like this just makes you look more guilty.” I didn’t bother looking back. That night in my dorm, I followed Connor’s advice and checked my account login activity. My finger stopped. Aside from my own iPhone, there was a login from an unknown device. A model I had never owned. The location pinged locally. I stared at that line of text, my fingertips turning numb. I screenshotted it, forwarded it to Connor, and saved a backup to my cloud. 3 Half an hour later, Connor sent me a contact card. [Ethan Caldwell. A 2L at your university’s law school. He’s a friend. Talk to him.] Ethan’s profile picture was a snowy mountain peak. His first message to me was sharp and professional: [Hi Chloe. Your brother gave me the rundown. Do not delete anything, and do not provoke him privately anymore.] I stared at the message for a long time. I replied: [I won’t accept a private settlement. I won’t accept a verbal apology.] He replied instantly: [Understood. Meet me at the campus Legal Aid clinic tomorrow. We’ll start building the evidence binder.] The next morning, I went to the library to meet my oldest brother. Liam Vance had just flown back from Europe. He was an independent graphic designer who had done visual branding for major art exhibitions. The student union’s Spring Arts Festival poster looked like a cheap real estate flyer, and I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I begged him to come rescue it. He was sitting by the library window in a light linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up, tweaking the color palette on my laptop. After he finished, he glanced over my financial modeling spreadsheet and casually corrected two formula errors. I rested my chin on my hands, watching him. “Liam, how are you literally good at everything?” Liam chuckled. “Because I have a little sister who loves waiting until the last minute.” I was about to argue when a familiar, icy voice cut through the air behind me. “So this is why you rejected my invite?” I closed my eyes. Riley was right. Julian really was a glitching NPC. A few people in the library looked up. Julian stood by the table, staring daggers at Liam, his voice tight with barely suppressed rage. “Chloe, you’re my girlfriend, but you’re out here on a library date with him?” Before I could speak, Liam looked up. His aura was gentle, his tone extremely polite. “Excuse me, we’re in a library. Keep your voice down.” Julian sneered: “And who the hell are you?” Liam closed the laptop. “Liam Vance. Chloe’s oldest brother.” Julian paused. “Another brother?” The moment he emphasized the word “another”, people around us started whispering. “Wasn’t the guy on Instagram her second brother?” “Now the oldest brother?” “She sure has a lot of ‘brothers’…” I deadpanned, opening my recording app. “Julian, you sound disappointed.” A flash of irritation crossed his eyes. “Who knows if you’re telling the truth?” Liam slid his driver’s license and his campus visitor pass across the table. “If you need to, I can accompany you to campus security to verify my identity.” “But before we do that, I have a question.” “In what capacity are you interrogating my sister?” Julian went silent for two seconds before actually saying: “I am her boyfriend.” I let out a laugh. “I publicly denied it in the dining hall.” “I told you we had no relationship outside the union office.” “When you cornered me about my Instagram likes, I reminded you we aren’t even friends on the app.” “Julian, do you only hear the voices inside your own head?” More eyes were on us now. In my past life, in this exact scenario, I frantically tried to explain that Liam was my brother. Someone filmed only the part where Julian questioned me, and I looked panicked. When it hit the campus app, the headline was: [Caught in the Act: Chloe Vance panics when Julian Hayes busts her.] This time, I didn’t panic. I looked up at a guy leaning over the second-floor balcony, phone in hand. “You can film, but don’t edit it out of context.” The guy jumped, nearly dropping his phone. A librarian was already power-walking toward us, hissing, “Quiet down! Take this outside immediately.” Julian looked humiliated. He lowered his voice: “Did you have to embarrass me like this?” Liam spoke calmly: “When you hurl baseless accusations at a woman in a public space, did you ever consider if she would be embarrassed?” Julian choked on his words. I packed up my laptop and files, turning to Liam. “Let’s go somewhere else, Liam.” As I walked past Julian, he suddenly reached out to block me. I stopped, staring at his arm. “Move it.” He didn’t budge. The librarian was almost upon us. My voice dropped to absolute zero: “Julian, if you touch me, I am calling campus security.” Liam stood up. His gentle demeanor completely vanished. “Don’t touch my sister.” Julian’s fingers twitched for a few seconds before he finally pulled his arm back. Liam and I walked out of the library. As we stepped outside, the sun stung my eyes. 4 Over the weekend, my twin sister, Harper, and I took a road trip to an art exhibition in the next city over. “Call me ‘Big Sister’,” she demanded. I rolled my eyes. “Give me my suitcase back first.” Harper was dragging my luggage with one hand and holding an iced Americano with the other. The wind tossed her short, choppy hair. She wore a black leather moto jacket, over-ear headphones resting around her neck. She looked sharp, pale, and incredibly cool. From the back, she honestly looked like a handsome indie-rock boy. She was a cybersecurity prodigy. After I told her about my week, she only had one question: “What kind of narcissistic malware is this Julian guy?” I laughed so hard I almost choked on my coffee. I was in a rare good mood that day, so I posted a short vlog on my public TikTok. The video showed the exhibition entrance, the sunset, our coffees, and a shot of Harper’s back as she dragged my suitcase. The caption read: [Escaping campus for eight hours.] Half an hour later, a text from Julian popped up. [Why are you out of town alone with a guy?] I glanced at it and immediately swiped it away. He texted again: [The guy in the library was your oldest brother. The guy on Instagram was your second brother. Who the hell is this?] [Chloe, do you think I’m stupid?] I screenshotted it and sent it to Ethan. Ethan replied: [Received. Do not reply.] That night, the campus app absolutely exploded. A megathread was pinned to the top, marked with a blazing red “HOT” icon. [EVIDENCE DROPPED! Chloe Vance playing the field: The Golden Boy, the Library Stud, and the Travel Boy. She’s collecting them all.] The post compiled every single picture. The comments were a dumpster fire. [I always knew there was something off about her.] [Poor Julian.] [Impeach her from the Student Union. She shouldn’t represent us.] [Is this how she gets all those prime internships?] My phone buzzed non-stop. No one in the Student Union group chat dared to ask directly, but my private DMs were flooded. The Dean of Students called me. She sounded much sterner than usual. “Chloe, have you seen the forums?” “I have.” “This is causing a major disruption. The administration is getting complaints from students.” I sat by the hotel window, watching the neon lights of the commercial district across the street. “Dean, I am officially requesting to use the Student Center Auditorium tomorrow at 3 PM for a public address.” The Dean paused. “A public address?” “Yes.” “I will clarify every single allegation, all at once.” Silence on the other end. “Are you sure about this?” I let out a slow breath. “I’m sure.” After hanging up, I opened the campus app. I didn’t argue in the comments. I just made one public post from my verified account: [Tomorrow. 3 PM. Student Center, Auditorium 3.] [Regarding the recent posts about me, I will be holding a public address.] [I invite anyone who believes I am ‘playing the field’ to attend in person.] Within a minute, the comments came flooding in. [Wow, she actually has the guts to hold a press conference?] [Can’t wait to see this trainwreck.] I looked at those words and smiled. Harper looked up from her laptop. “What’s funny?” “They’re really looking forward to it,” I said. “Perfect.” She slammed her laptop shut, a cold smirk playing on her lips. “Let’s give them a show they’ll never forget.”

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