Category: English

The merman I’d raised from a pup betrayed me for a scholarship student. As punishment, I had 99 of his scales torn from his tail. The live comments exploded. They were all cursing me out. 【His tail is so beautiful! How could that evil bitch do that to him?】 【I can’t take it anymore! Run away, Caspian! Go find our sweet, kind-hearted Lily!】 A small, humorless laugh escaped my lips. I had the merman packaged up and delivered directly to the scholarship student’s doorstep. Then I got myself a handsome lop-eared rabbit boy. Two months later, my doorbell rang. It was the merman, awkwardly mumbling something about how he missed me. But from inside my room, the wet, sticky sound of a deep kiss could be heard, followed by a boy’s breathless whisper. “Mistress… is my kissing not good enough? Why are you distracted?” “Hush, darling. Pay him no mind.” 1 Two workers hoisted the tank containing Caspian onto the back of a truck. The old driver stood beside me, wringing his hands. “Miss… are you sure about this? Maybe you should reconsider.” My face was a mask of stone. “Do you reconsider when you take out the trash?” “That’s not what I meant. It’s just… that place is so poor and run-down. They’re lucky if they have running water, let alone a proper filtration system. Mermen are incredibly delicate. Will he even survive out there?” I stared at the familiar blue tank. I had decorated it myself, painstakingly applying each of the tiny, crushed diamonds that glittered on its surface. I could still remember the blisters on my fingers, the sharp sting of the glue. The memory was now just a bitter irony. Caspian was my bonded beastkin, my familiar. He had sworn an oath of eternal loyalty to me. But yesterday, when the school auditorium caught fire, he had shoved me aside without a second thought, scooping up that scholarship student and carrying her to safety. In the chaos, I had fallen. A nail had pierced my calf, and blood had gushed from the wound. In that moment, the chill in my heart was far more painful than the injury. Caspian knew he had done wrong. He had knelt before me that night, his head bowed. He admitted his guilt, but not his error. I had laughed, a raw, ugly sound from my wheelchair. I ordered my guards to pluck the scales from his tail. The iridescent, jewel-like scales, stained with his blood, fell one by one to the floor. His face was pale, his lips bloodless. But he kept repeating the same words, over and over. “If I had to do it again, I would still choose to save her.” “She’s not like you. She doesn’t have a powerful family, but she’s gentle and kind. She’s like a ray of sunshine in my life.” I gave a sarcastic twist of my lips. “So, you’re saying I’m a cruel, manipulative bitch. Is that it?” Caspian looked away. His silence was his answer. The night wind was cold. It made my fingers tremble. I am the eldest daughter of the main branch of the family. Everyone with a claim to the inheritance is watching me, waiting for me to fail. They would kill me if they could. There was a time when I was so paranoid, I even had cameras installed inside my refrigerator. If I hadn’t learned to be cunning, to play their games, I would never have survived. All these years, I had raised Caspian, given him the best of everything. And this was the thanks I got. I closed my eyes. The last flicker of sadness in my heart died out. “Fine,” I said. “I’m done with you, Caspian. Since you’re so fond of that scholarship student, go to her.” The truck’s engine roared to life. The sound seemed to jolt Caspian from his stupor. He struggled to sit up, his eyes finding mine. The driver, a kind old man, took pity on him. “You still have a chance, son. Just apologize to the young miss!” A faint, mocking smile touched Caspian’s pale lips. “I was wrong,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, yet filled with a proud, cutting sarcasm. “My only mistake was choosing such a selfish mistress.” 2 The moment Caspian was gone, I gave the order. I wanted a new bonded beastkin. I was rich, I was beautiful. Why should I waste my time grieving over a single beastkin? He wasn’t worth it. I was just about to head to the beastkin auction when I received a tip from a journalist I knew. My father’s illegitimate son, my dear half-brother, was in trouble. My heart soared. I immediately changed course. The scene in front of the filthy, dilapidated warehouse was pure chaos. It turned out my brother had been exposed for using beastkin in illegal drug trials. A group of pitiful, scarred creatures were being rescued. Without a second thought, I rolled up my sleeves and joined the volunteers. The reporters, seeing me, immediately turned their cameras in my direction. “Look, it’s the eldest daughter of the Morris family! So compassionate!” “And look at her brother… what a monster.” My brother’s glare could have set me on fire. I ducked my head to hide my triumphant smirk. Just then, a pale, slender hand reached out from a rusty cage and tugged on my sleeve. I froze and looked down. I was met by a pair of slate-gray eyes. Two long, floppy rabbit ears drooped in fear. The boy looked up at me, his voice a soft whisper. “Will… will you save me?” Lop-eared rabbits were notoriously timid. I crouched down, my voice gentle. “Yes. I will.” At my words, a shy smile lit up his face. The next moment, his eyes fluttered shut and he collapsed. It was only then that I noticed the dense cluster of needle marks on his neck. 3 Of all the beastkin rescued that day, the lop-eared rabbit was the most severely injured. Rabbits were ideal test subjects, and my dear brother had injected him with countless experimental drugs. The cost of his treatment would be far beyond what the volunteer organization could afford. Without hesitation, I announced that I would cover all his expenses. “Miss, the auction catalog has arrived,” my bodyguard said, opening the brochure. “Tonight’s main event is a fierce lion beastkin. There’s also a keen-witted wolf and a powerful bear that are highly rated…” “That won’t be necessary,” I interrupted. “Miss?” he asked, surprised. “The lop-eared rabbit we rescued today. He’ll do.” I looked towards the intensive care unit, my voice surprisingly calm. “The Morris heiress’s bonded beastkin is a creature she personally rescued. Think of the publicity. I’ll take him to the charity gala this year.” The bodyguard stared at me for a moment, then bowed his head. “Yes, Miss.” Inside the ICU, the lop-eared rabbit boy, as if sensing my gaze, suddenly looked up towards the glass window. The moment he saw me, his little rabbit ears shot up in excitement, then quickly drooped back down in a show of demureness. He gave me a shy, tentative wave. 4 I didn’t return his enthusiastic smile. I simply instructed the nurse to use the best medicine available and left. I had taken him in for the sake of my reputation. As long as he was by my side, everyone would be reminded of my brother’s atrocities. I had no illusions about him protecting me. Lop-eared rabbits were too timid. They could barely protect themselves, let alone anyone else. Because of my leg injury, I was confined to a wheelchair. In my spare time, I began physical therapy. The pain was excruciating, but I gritted my teeth and pushed through. I had a bright future ahead of me. I refused to be an invalid. Days turned into weeks, and I gradually forgot about the rabbit. One day, returning from the hospital, the door to my car slid open. Instead of my bodyguard, a pair of slender hands reached in and gently lifted me out. The sudden feeling of weightlessness startled me, and I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck. I was met with the pleasant, unfamiliar scent of fresh grass. I looked up, confused, and saw a familiar face. At my stare, the two soft rabbit ears peeking out from his hair twitched, the tips turning a shy shade of pink. He carried me into the living room, gently placing me back in my wheelchair. He then knelt before me, adjusting the footrests. I looked down at him, my voice cool. “What are you doing here?” “The doctor said I’m all better. I’ve been discharged,” he said, looking up at me, his voice bright and eager. “I’m your beastkin. Of course, I’m here to take care of you. To protect you.” I was silent for a moment, trying to recall his name. Leo, I think. Leo Starr. A fitting name, for someone who was clearly a daydreamer. I shook my head. “My life is dangerous. I need a powerful beastkin to protect me. You’re just a rabbit. You’re not strong enough. All you need to do is be my arm candy at the gala. A pretty face.” “No!” he interrupted, his gray eyes wide. “I am strong! I know your last beastkin was a powerful merman, but trust me, I’m no less than him!” The mention of Caspian made my expression harden. I had no patience for this. I steered my wheelchair towards the elevator. Just before the doors closed, I tossed a careless challenge over my shoulder. “Then prove it.” 5 The next day at school, I ran into the scholarship student and the merman who had betrayed me. Lily was wearing a faded school uniform, a white jasmine clip in her hair. She was smiling up at Caspian as he walked beside her, silently carrying her pink teddy bear backpack. The look on his face was one of gentle affection. Until he saw me. The warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by a glacial coldness. I sighed. How sad. He wasn’t dead yet. “Um… Jade Morris.” Lily’s voice, though soft, carried across the crowded school entrance. “Thank you… for letting Caspian go.” She peeked out from behind him, clutching his sleeve, and gave me a timid smile. Instantly, all eyes were on me. The live comments went wild. 【Our heroine is so brave! Talking to the evil bitch directly! This is the strong female lead content I signed up for!】 【Aww, the male lead looks so surprised! He probably didn’t expect our sweet Lily to stand up for him like that.】 【Daily prayer for the evil bitch to just die already.】 【Am I the only one who thinks that sounded a little passive-aggressive? Can I even say that?】 The comments scrolled past in a blur. The students around me whispered and giggled, their eyes darting towards me in my wheelchair. It was a humiliating situation. But I remained unfazed. I looked up at Lily and said, my voice clear and confident, “I was just throwing out the trash. If you want to pick it up, be my guest.” I turned to leave, but Lily rushed forward, blocking my path. “Jade, you’re angry, aren’t you?” “I just wanted to tell you, Caspian is so much happier now that he’s away from you. He smiles so much more.” She gave me a self-deprecating little laugh. “I’m just a simple person, I speak my mind. Don’t take it personally…” The saccharine sweetness was nauseating. I frowned and tried to push past her. Lily stumbled backward, landing perfectly in Caspian’s arms. He held her close, his eyes glaring at me with suspicion. “Jade, if you have a problem, take it up with me. Don’t you dare hurt Lily.” I was speechless. “Caspian, you really need to lay off the bad romance novels. Has Lily not been aerating your tank properly? Is your brain oxygen-deprived? In what universe did I just bully her?” “Jade, why do you always have to be so aggressive?” Caspian scowled. But then his gaze fell on my legs, uselessly curled in the wheelchair, and his voice softened. “That day… I ran to save Lily because the beam above her was about to fall. I couldn’t just watch her get hurt.” He lowered his voice. “I… I haven’t broken our bond. I… I’ve missed you.” I bit my lip. A flicker of something stirred in my chest. We had grown up together, after all. I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could, the roar of an engine cut through the air. A man in black on a motorcycle was speeding towards me, a dagger glinting in his hand. In my stunned silence, I heard Caspian’s frantic shout. “Mistress! Move!” Move? I almost laughed. I was in a wheelchair. How was I supposed to move? The dagger was inches from my face. The next second, a figure blurred in front of me. A swift, powerful kick. Bang! The heavy motorcycle crashed to the ground, its wheels still spinning. The assailant was thrown, his helmet scraping against the pavement with a shower of sparks. The man, now unmasked, scrambled backward on the ground, his eyes wide with terror. But there was no escape. The tall, broad-shouldered rabbit boy stalked towards him, bent down, and pressed the dagger to the man’s throat, drawing a single, crimson drop of blood. The boy’s eyes were cold, his expression grim. But his voice was soft, polite. “Sir. You shouldn’t have touched her.” I stared at Leo. I remembered his defiant words: “I am strong!” He hadn’t been lying. But I still felt a strange sense of being deceived. What had happened to my sweet, shy, easily flustered little rabbit? Why had he suddenly turned into Godzilla? 6 【On the surface, he’s a sweet, shy boy who blushes easily, but in reality, he’s a total badass with off-the-charts combat skills! Aww, why can’t a man like that be in love with our heroine?!】 【Sweet bunny, don’t help that evil psycho! Come to our Lily!】 【Um, isn’t the merman supposed to be the main love interest? Why is everyone going crazy over this rabbit?】 The comments were a chaotic mess. It was giving me a headache. The assailant was staring at Leo in terror, his hands raised in surrender. “Don’t… don’t kill me…” “You should have thought of the consequences when you decided to attack my mistress,” Leo said coolly. The man’s face went blank, then twisted in a snarl of frustration. “Impossible! I had everything planned! How was I supposed to know you’d show up out of nowhere? What’s your relationship with Jade Morris? I thought her beastkin was a merman! Since when is it a fucking rabbit?!” I couldn’t help but laugh. “It seems my brother’s intelligence is a bit outdated. I have a new bonded beastkin now.” Leo looked up at me, his eyes shining. He knew what those words meant. I had acknowledged him. He could finally, officially, be by my side. His ears perked up, and he puffed out his chest. If he had a tail, it would have been wagging like a helicopter blade. Well, the rabbit had turned into a puppy. I looked at him and sighed softly. Then I caught my reflection in a car window. My lips were curved into a small smile. I was… smiling at him? I quickly schooled my features back into a neutral expression. But I couldn’t stop replaying the moment he had rushed to protect me. My bodyguards finally arrived, surrounding me. “Our apologies, Miss. We were negligent. Please, let us escort you to safety.” Leo restrained the attacker, handing him over to my men. I prepared to leave. But a hand shot out and grabbed my sleeve. I looked up, annoyed. It was Caspian. The usually proud, aloof merman was now hunched over, his expression a mixture of shock and devastation. “You…” he stammered, his voice trembling. “How could you take a new beastkin? I haven’t broken our bond. I haven’t agreed to it…” I frowned, my voice as cold as ice. “I am your mistress. Since when do I need your permission to break our bond?” “But you promised! You promised I would be the only one!” “He’s a rabbit! He’s not as strong, or as fast, or as rare as I am…” Caspian’s eyes grew red, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You can’t choose him…” The live comments were in an uproar. 【What is happening? Why is the male lead begging the evil bitch? Is he jealous?】 【No way. After everything she did to him, he still has feelings for her?】 【Look at the heroine’s face… she looks so pitiful…】 Following the comments’ direction, I glanced at Lily. Yeah, no. I didn’t see pitiful. I saw a look so venomous, it could kill.

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The day I fitted the Obedience Earpiece into my daughter’s ear, I vowed she would live the most perfect life. She got into the university I chose and married the man I selected, all according to my plan. The day her own child was a month old, I removed her earpiece, my heart swelling with pride. “Now,” I said, “it’s your child’s turn.” She took it from my hand, her face a blank mask, but then her arm shot out and she pushed it into my own ear. Before I could even process what was happening, she spoke, each word a cold, hard stone. “Kill me.” And in the next instant, I snatched the fruit knife from the table and, without a second’s hesitation, plunged it straight into her heart. 1 It was the last day of summer break when I went to my daughter Amelia’s school for the middle school orientation. As soon as I walked into the classroom, I could hear the other parents buzzing about something called an “Obedience Earpiece.” “That thing is a miracle worker,” one woman gushed. “Our little terror of a dog used to chew up the whole house. Now? He hasn’t destroyed a thing. Last night he even fetched the remote for me.” “I heard the next version is for people,” another parent whispered. “Designed specifically for those wild kids you can’t control.” “Well, even if my little Jackson burned the house down, I’d never use one on him,” a third declared righteously. “All I want is for him to be happy and healthy. Who cares if he listens to every little thing I say?” I offered a polite smile and turned to look at Amelia, sitting silently beside me. The top button of her school uniform was fastened tight against her throat, and her hair was parted neatly down the middle and pulled into the low ponytail I required. For twelve years, she had been the perfect, obedient daughter. She’d never caused me a moment of worry. She would never need something like an earpiece. Just as I was thinking this, Amelia gave a soft tug on my sleeve. “Mom,” she began timidly, “Lily’s mom got her a Glimmerling for doing well on her exams. I did well too, so I was wondering if maybe…” “A what?” I snapped. She flinched, then pointed a trembling finger toward a grotesque, grinning doll perched on a desk in the front row. “That. It’s a limited edition, but… but I’d be happy with just a regular one.” I pulled out my phone and searched for the price. The cheapest one was thirty-five dollars. I shoved the screen in her face. “Do you see this?” She bit her lip, her fingers twisting the fabric of her uniform. I thought that was the end of it, but as the meeting concluded, this daughter of mine, who had never once defied me, actually clutched my arm. “Mom… please? Just this once?” A sudden, hot fury surged through me. I slammed my hands on the desk, sending it crashing over with a deafening clatter. I pointed a shaking finger at her and roared, “House Rule Number Seven! Recite it!” Like a soldier snapping to attention, she stood ramrod straight, her voice thick with tears. “House Rule Number Seven: No toy shall cost more than twenty dollars.” I grabbed her ear, twisting it hard, and hissed, “You know the rule perfectly well, so why are you pushing your luck?” The classroom fell silent. The parent from the front row approached, holding the ugly doll. “It’s what all the kids are into these days,” she said, trying to be helpful. “If she doesn’t have one, she might get left out.” “Since when is keeping up with the Joneses a good reason?” I scoffed. “She asks for a toy today. What’s next? Drugs? Should I give her those too?” I knelt to pick up the scattered books. As I did, a folded piece of pink construction paper fluttered out from between the pages. Scrawled on it were two words: I like you. A wave of teasing laughter rippled through the parents nearby. “Well, well! Looks like your daughter’s quite the popular one at school!” A roar filled my head. My hand flew up and I slapped her across the face. Amelia stumbled and fell, the cuff of her pants riding up to reveal a pair of bright pink socks. “What is House Rule Number One?!” I shrieked. “No… no dating,” she sobbed, her face a mess of tears and snot as another parent helped her up. “Mom, I swear I didn’t…” She looked at me with those big, pleading eyes. “I… I don’t know who wrote it. You have to believe me.” “Oh, I’m sure the note just grew legs and walked into your book all by itself! It’s not like you were encouraging anyone!” I grabbed her by the collar and started dragging her out of the classroom. “At your age, already acting like a little tramp. Just wait until we get home. I’ll beat this nonsense out of you!” 2 In the car, her crying was incessant. One sharp glare from me was all it took to reduce the loud sobs to choked, silent gasps. Back home, I threw her into her room and slammed the door. “I’m going to ask you one last time,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “Who was it?” Her eyes went wide, and she shook her head frantically. “No one, Mom, I promise, there’s no one…” “Such a violent reaction! You’re lying! So, you’ve learned to lie to me now, have you?” I stood up, snatched the scissors from my desk, and marched toward her. Before she could react, I grabbed her ponytail and hacked it off. Ignoring her struggles, I then bent down and ripped the pink socks right off her feet. That’s when she broke. A raw, guttural wail escaped her lips as she collapsed into a heap of apologies. “I’m sorry, Mom, I’m so sorry, I was wrong…” But it was too late. I didn’t believe a word she said. I tore open her closet and began pulling out every dress, every skirt, every last pink item she owned. I cut and ripped until a mountain of shredded fabric lay at my feet, and only then did the tight knot of rage in my chest finally loosen, just a little. “Clean this up before dinner,” I commanded, my voice cold and absolute. I towered over her, watching the light slowly die in her eyes. “From now on, your hair stays short. No more dresses. And no more pink.” A flicker of satisfaction ignited within me. I turned and went to the kitchen to start dinner. When the meal was ready, I opened her door to find her curled up in a tight ball under her covers. Clang. The ladle hit the floor. “Amelia Sullivan! You have three seconds to get out here and eat!” “Three!” My voice grew shriller with each count. “Two!” “One!” Silence. She didn’t move. I stormed over, ripped the covers off, and dragged her to the dining table. She just sat there, catatonic, as tears plopped one by one into her bowl. That simmering rage boiled over again. With a scream, I swept my arm across the table, sending plates and food crashing to the floor. “If you don’t want to eat, then you can go copy the House Rules one hundred times!” She flinched violently, the tears flowing faster now, but she didn’t make a sound. She simply turned and walked back to her room. Staring at the wreckage, a new wave of frustration washed over me. In twelve years, this was the first time she had ever defied me. But it didn’t matter. I had ways of dealing with this. I never imagined that the next day, she would start a hunger strike. 3 Her breakfast went cold, untouched. At lunch, she locked her door. By dinnertime, I had reached my limit. I grabbed a metal coat hanger and smashed the lock on her door, breaking it open. I found her just as she was, still curled up on the bed. I yanked her up by her hair. “Amelia! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” I shook her, then slammed her head against the wall. Once, twice, three times. Her forehead was fine, but a trickle of crimson seeped from the corner of her mouth. She’d bitten through her own lip. My fury instantly evaporated, replaced by a surge of panic. I pried her mouth open to check the damage. It was just a cut, thank God. Tears streamed down my face as I pulled her into a hug, a belated wave of remorse washing over me. “Oh, my sweet Amelia, Mommy’s so sorry. I scared you, didn’t I?” I murmured, stroking her mangled hair. “Everything I do, I do for you. Do you have any idea how terrified I am that you’ll go down the wrong path?” “You’re my flesh and blood,” I whispered, rocking her gently. “I would never, ever hurt you.” I rambled on for what felt like an eternity, and eventually, she must have been moved by my words, because she gave my back a few soft pats. “I know, Mom,” she said, her voice hoarse. “But I’m really not dating anyone. Please… don’t be angry anymore, okay?” I pulled back, cupping her small face in my hands. “Okay, sweetie,” I said, my voice soft and gentle. “Mommy believes you.” And just like that, the rest of the summer passed in peace. But while I believed she wasn’t dating anyone now, the risk was always there as long as boys existed. To eliminate that risk at its source, I enrolled her in an all-girls boarding school. A month later, I drove to the school, bringing a thermos of her favorite beef stew to surprise her. I found her on the basketball court with a group of other girls. She was wearing a tank top and shorts, her exposed skin tanned a healthy golden-brown. I saw red. I sprinted across the field and hurled the thermos at her. It struck her on the head, and the hot stew splashed across her face. “Amelia Sullivan! Have you no shame?!” I shrieked, my voice echoing across the grounds. “A young lady playing basketball? Do you want to be a man?!” I spotted a high-pressure hose coiled on the lawn. Without thinking, I grabbed it, turned the nozzle on full blast, and aimed it directly at her. Her teammates tried to intervene, but one look from me sent them scattering. The force of the water blasted Amelia to her knees. She begged me to stop, but I felt no pity. I kept spraying until she was too weak to even plead anymore. Only then did I turn off the valve. “Go back to your dorm. Get cleaned up,” I commanded. Then I marched straight to the administration office and demanded she be transferred to a different class and a new dorm room. By the time I was finished, it was dark. Driving home, I couldn’t shake a lingering sense of unease. That’s when an ad popped up on my phone. [Obedience Earpiece 1.0 – Pet Use Only. Limited Time Offer.] I dialed the number immediately. The customer service representative began listing the disclaimers. “The current version has a nearly 100% command-override rate and is intended for domesticated pets only. Do not, under any circumstances, use on—” “Just ship it,” I interrupted, the image of Amelia on the basketball court flashing in my mind. “I need it now!” I hung up before he could say another word. That weekend, when Amelia came home from school, I greeted her with a warm smile and presented her with the earpiece. She touched it curiously, asking what it was. Once it was securely in her ear, I opened the app on my phone and typed in my first command: Drink the glass of bitter green juice on the table. Her eyes widened in horror, her fingers digging into the tabletop. For three long seconds, she fought it. Then, her expression went placid. She picked up the glass of bitter green juice—a drink she had always despised—and downed it without a single grimace. I stroked her head and smiled. This was my good girl. 4 The moment the glass was empty, she seemed to snap out of the trance, her hand trembling as it rose toward her ear. “Mom, what is this…?” “Don’t move!” I barked. She froze instantly, her arm suspended in mid-air as if someone had hit a pause button. I stepped closer, tilting her chin up so she was forced to look at me. “From now on,” I said, enunciating each word, “you will not remove this earpiece without my permission. Not for sleeping, not for showering. Not for anything. Understood?” A flicker of rebellion sparked in her eyes, but it was extinguished as quickly as it appeared. A stiff, unnatural smile stretched across her lips. “Yes, Mom.” That evening, my husband, Mark, returned from a business trip. I couldn’t wait to show him my success. I dragged Amelia in front of him. “Watch this. Show your father a trick.” Kneel down. Crawl in a circle three times. The dull thud of her knees hitting the tile floor sent a shiver of excitement through me. Suddenly, Mark exploded. He lunged forward and slapped the phone out of my hand. “What the hell are you doing? Is that a goddamn dog collar on our daughter?!” My good mood vanished. All this time, all the effort I’d poured into raising Amelia right, and he never once acknowledged it. All he ever did was criticize me. A thousand angry retorts died on my tongue, replaced by a single, cold sentence. “I’m doing what’s best for her. If you have a problem with it, we can get a divorce.” It was an empty threat, a bluff meant to make him back down and apologize. But instead, he smashed the glass he was holding against the wall. “Fine! Divorce it is!” he roared. “I’ve had enough of you and your twisted games!” Before I could even react, he had stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Hearing the commotion, Amelia asked, “Where did Dad go?” I grabbed a broom and started beating her across the back with the handle. “This is all your fault! If you weren’t so disobedient, I never would have had to do this! Your father wouldn’t have left me! It’s all your fault!” She didn’t cry out or try to dodge the blows. She just stood there, letting me vent my fury. When I was finally exhausted, she began to slap her own face, her voice a monotone chant. “It’s my fault… It’s all my fault… It’s my fault…” Seeing her so compliant, so understanding, soothed the raw edges of my anger. After the divorce, I got a job as an insurance agent. Every Sunday, before she left for school, Amelia would stand in the entryway and recite the House Rules. “Rule Number Nine: No fraternizing with members of the opposite sex.” … “Rule Number Twenty-One: Report daily itinerary in full.” … And before she walked out the door, I would always ask the same questions. “Have you memorized all the rules?” “Yes, I have.” “And what happens if you break a rule?” “All actions must comply with the House Rules. In the event of a violation, I will accept my punishment.” Only after receiving this perfect, programmed response would I allow her to leave for school. Under the earpiece’s watchful guidance, Amelia sailed through middle school and high school. On the day of her graduation, I dressed her in a high-necked, long-sleeved gown I had chosen. Three years ago, she’d rolled up her sleeves in gym class, and a boy had seen her forearms. I hadn’t let her show a single inch of her skin in public since. As I was fixing her hair, I noticed how much of it had fallen out lately. The stress of finals, I thought. I’ll make sure she eats better. She stepped onto the stage, a spotlight following her as she delivered the valedictorian speech. I watched, my eyes misting over, as her every movement, her every word, radiated flawless perfection. At the end of her speech, she paused for a moment, her gaze finding mine in the crowd. Her eyes were deep, unreadable pools. “The person I have to thank most in my life is my mother,” she said, her voice clear and steady. “Without her, I wouldn’t be who I am today.” She bowed deeply in my direction. I stood up, applauding wildly, basking in the envious and admiring glances from everyone around me. 5 “Amelia’s mom,” a voice whispered from behind me, “your daughter doesn’t look very happy. That smile… it seems so forced.” I glanced over at Amelia, who was posing for photos, her smile perfectly pleasant as she politely declined any picture requests that included boys—even young children or male teachers, just as I’d instructed. I pulled a sanitizing wipe from my purse and scrubbed at the spot on my shoulder where the other parent’s chin had brushed against me. “She’s just a serious girl,” I said coolly. “In this day and age, it’s better for a young woman to be reserved.” The parent to my right leaned forward, adjusting his glasses. “Is that one of those Obedience Earpieces she’s wearing? My nephew’s poodle has one…” “You’re mistaken,” I snapped, closing my purse with a loud click. “It’s a simple noise-canceling earbud.” I got up and walked away without another word. The divorce had taught me a valuable lesson: the earpiece had to remain my secret. On the day she had to declare her college major, Amelia’s fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long time. Finally, she summoned her courage. “Mom, the computer science program at CalTech…” “Absolutely not,” I cut her off, snatching the laptop and typing in the code for the state university’s teaching program. “That’s too far away. I can’t have you moving across the country by yourself.” I continued typing. “Besides, teachers get summers and holidays off. It will make it much easier for you to take care of your family someday.” The blue light on her earpiece blinked erratically for a few seconds, then settled into a steady glow. After starting university, she grew quieter, spending hours just staring out the window from the balcony. Clumps of her dark hair clogged the drain in the kitchen sink like wilted seaweed. One day, as if sensing my growing anxiety, she spoke, her voice devoid of emotion. “I’m fine, Mom. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.” I was tallying up her medical bills for the month, and her words brought a lump to my throat. Such a thoughtful child, I thought. She understands how hard it is for a single mother. After she graduated, I moved with her into the teacher’s apartment complex provided by her new school. Her life was simple: she focused on her lesson plans, and I took care of everything else. During her breaks, she would either come with me to visit relatives or sit at home, resting her forehead against the wall as she stared into the sun. When she turned twenty-three, a matchmaker came knocking. It was then I realized that Amelia had reached a marriageable age. For years, I had forbidden her from interacting with any males besides the students in her class, so she’d never had the chance to date. But that was fine. I was here. I would find her a suitable husband. The day her child was a month old, I removed her earpiece, my heart swelling with pride. “Now,” I said, “it’s your child’s turn.” She took it from my hand, her face a blank mask, but then her arm shot out and she pushed it into my own ear. Before I could even process what was happening, she spoke, each word a cold, hard stone. “Kill me.” And in the next instant, I snatched the fruit knife from the table and, without a second’s hesitation, plunged it straight into her heart.

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To save a buck, I rented a notoriously haunted apartment. The first night, the faucet turned on by itself. I yelled into the empty air, “You’re paying the water bill!” The water shut off instantly. I thought that was just the beginning… I just never expected that the next day, I’d find a three-course meal waiting for me on the dining table. 01 The note was written in what looked like blood. Crimson, with a faint metallic tang in the air around it. The handwriting was sharp, elegant, radiating an air of non-negotiable, C-suite authority. I, Chloe, a perpetually broke optimist just trying to outrun my rent and bills in the big city, just stared at that slip of paper for a solid thirty seconds. My brain did a quick calculation. Three dishes and a soup. A perfect balance of meat and vegetables, plated beautifully, wafting a soul-snatching aroma. A meal like this from any restaurant would set me back at least fifty bucks. Going Dutch, that’s twenty-five. Worth it. What is fear, anyway? To someone who’d been living on instant noodles for three days straight, “fear” was just an adjective that couldn’t fill my stomach. I picked up my fork and speared a piece of glistening, braised short rib. I put it in my mouth. Rich but not greasy, it melted on my tongue. So good I nearly swallowed my own tongue. As I devoured the meal like a starved wolf, I mumbled at the air between mouthfuls. “I mean, seriously, Mr. Ghost? You’re a little cheap, don’t you think? You’re already dead, what’s with all the penny-pinching? Lighten up a little, will you?” The air was silent, filled only with the sound of my chewing. After I finished, I let out a satisfied burp. Staring at the greasy plates, my inner sloth took over. As a little test, I piled them in the sink and left them there. Consider it a little experiment to probe my new “roommate’s” boundaries. The next morning, I was woken by the faint clinking of pots and pans. I tiptoed to the kitchen doorway and peeked in. The dishes in the sink were sparkling clean, stacked in a perfectly neat pile, like a row of soldiers awaiting inspection. Next to them was another note. Not in blood this time, just a standard black pen. The handwriting was still impossibly elegant, but the message was ice-cold. “Dishwashing Fee: $5 per service. To be settled at the end of the month.” I burst out laughing. Unbelievable. Truly. I, Chloe, in my twenty-odd years of life, had never met a ghost with such a strict moral code. My competitive spirit was officially ignited. So, he wanted a battle of wills? Fine by me. Game on. I deliberately left a full garbage bag by the front door, blocking half the entryway. Let’s see you take this out, I thought. The next day, the garbage bag was gone. A sticky note was on the door: “Errand Fee: $10.” I came home late one night after working overtime, dragging my half-dead body through the door and fumbling for the light switch in the dark. Click. The living room lamp turned on by itself. It was a warm, gentle glow from the floor lamp, soft and easy on the eyes. For a moment, a corner of my heart softened. And then, a slip of paper fluttered down from the lampshade. “A light left on for you. Electricity bill to be calculated separately.” That tiny spark of warmth was instantly crushed by the words “ELECTRICITY BILL.” I rolled my eyes at the ceiling. This guy. A giant man-child whose corporate habits followed him even into the afterlife. The days trickled by in this ridiculous, comical “war.” I gradually started to figure out my ghost roommate’s personality. His name was Sebastian. That was the answer he finally gave me after I spent a week writing “What’s your name?” on sticky notes. Two elegant, blood-red words appeared beneath my question. Sebastian. He was a neat freak. If I shed a single hair on the floor, it would float its way into the trash can. He had OCD. If a single book on my shelf was out of height order, the entire thing would be perfectly reorganized by the next morning. He was a master chef but held a grudge like no one I’d ever met. I complained once that a dish was too salty, and he served me nothing but plain boiled vegetables for the next three days. He was also brutally honest. I bought a dress on sale and was twirling happily in front of the mirror. Words slowly condensed in the steam on the glass: “Questionable aesthetics, questionable taste, and an even more questionable wallet.” I stomped my foot in frustration, yelling at the air, “Who asked you? You’re a penny-pinching cheapskate who wants to go Dutch even in death!” The words on the mirror changed: “Right back at you.” I started getting used to his presence. I even started to enjoy it. At least I never had to eat instant noodles again. At least, in this cold, sprawling city, there was now a “person” who would leave a light on for me. Even if I had to pay for it. One day, my one and only best friend, Jessica, came to visit. I gave Sebastian a heads-up. “My best friend is coming over. She scares easily, so you behave yourself today, you hear me?” In the air, a magazine levitated off the couch and flipped open to a page with a giant “OK” printed on it. The second Jessica walked in, she took an exaggerated sniff. “Chloe, did you win the lottery? Did you hire a maid? This place is way too clean to be yours.” I let out a dry laugh. “Just turning over a new leaf.” As soon as the words left my mouth, the TV, which had been playing a reality show, suddenly flickered and switched to the business channel. A crisp, articulate male voice began analyzing stock market charts. Jessica jumped. “Where’s the remote?” “Probably… a loose connection,” I said, straight-faced, as I changed the channel back. We were chatting when the cup in front of Jessica slid a few inches across the table on its own. “Ah!” she shrieked, a sound that could shatter glass. “The cup! The cup just moved by itself!” I calmly slid the cup back and patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry. That’s just my roommate. He’s a bit of a prankster, but he makes great food.” Jessica stared at me in horror, her eyes screaming that she was looking at a crazy person. “Chloe…” Her lips trembled. “Are you… are you under too much stress? Are you hallucinating?” I sighed. I knew there was no explaining this. After sending a thoroughly spooked Jessica on her way, I slumped onto the couch, feeling a little dejected. See? An encounter like this was destined to be a lonely one. No one would ever believe me. The light in the living room dimmed slightly, becoming softer, warmer. I turned and looked toward the huge floor-to-ceiling window. The evening sun coated the glass in a layer of gold. And for the first time, the tall silhouette of a man in a white shirt appeared before my eyes, clearer than it had ever been. He was still translucent, like a walking mist, but I could make out his neat, short hair and his ramrod-straight back. He was holding a cloth, meticulously wiping a smudge on the window I’d missed that morning. His movements were focused, deliberate, with an almost obsessive elegance. Suddenly, my friend’s worry, the world’s disbelief… none of it mattered. In this massive, lonely city, I finally had a home. And a very, very unique family member. 02 The good times didn’t last. The cold winds of corporate downsizing finally blew their way to a low-level worker like me. Layoffs. A sterile email, a few lines of soulless corporate jargon, and just like that, the meager salary I endured a two-hour daily commute for was gone. I walked through the crowded streets, clutching a cardboard box of my personal belongings, feeling for the first time like a piece of discarded trash. Back home, I threw myself onto my bed and pulled the covers over my head. All the frustration and anxiety I’d been suppressing finally broke through. I cried my heart out, as if trying to purge every single hardship I’d endured in this city over the years. I don’t know how long I cried, but eventually, the faint, soaring melody of a classical piece drifted in from the living room. It was Dvořák’s “New World Symphony,” my favorite. I had mentioned it once over dinner, just talking to the air. “This piece is so beautiful. It makes you feel like you can get through anything.” I sniffled and dragged my heavy feet out of the bedroom. On the dining table sat a plate of steaming Coke-glazed chicken wings, my absolute favorite comfort food. Next to it, a note lay quietly. It had only two words. “On the house.” Tears, traitorous and hot, streamed down my face again, splashing onto the dark wood of the table. This time, they weren’t tears of self-pity. They were tears of warmth. I ate and cried, and for the first time, I spoke to the empty room with genuine sincerity. “Thank you, Sebastian.” It felt as if a faint sigh echoed in the air. With a full stomach came renewed strength. I wiped my tears, opened my laptop, and started blasting out my resume. Reality was harsher than I’d imagined. The resumes I sent vanished into a digital black hole. The few interviews I landed all ended in rejection after the final round. The number in my bank account dwindled daily. Rent, utilities, and Sebastian’s meticulously kept “ledger” of my debts felt like mountains pressing down on me, suffocating me. Anxiety gnawed at my nerves. I started having sleepless nights. Finally, I received an interview notice from a company I’d only dreamed of working for. It was the endgame in my career plan. I dug out the only decent suit I owned from the back of my closet, ironing it again and again, terrified of a single wrinkle. On the day of the interview, I woke up extra early. I was so nervous that when I bought breakfast at the coffee shop downstairs, my hand trembled, and I spilled an entire cup of scalding Americano all over my crisp white shirt. In that instant, my world collapsed. I ran home in a panic, threw the stained shirt on the sofa in despair, and stared at my red-eyed reflection in the mirror. I wanted to die. The interview was in an hour. There was no time to buy a new one. Was this it? Was I going to have to give up? I sank to the floor, defeated, tears welling in my eyes. Just then, I heard the low hum of the washing machine starting up in the laundry room. I froze. I scrambled over and saw my coffee-stained shirt tumbling inside the machine. Twenty minutes later, the wash cycle finished. The dryer kicked in. Another twenty minutes passed. A clean, warm shirt, smelling faintly of fresh linen, appeared on a hanger, dangling from my bedroom doorknob as if held by an invisible hand. I stared at the pristine shirt, feeling like I was in a dream. I threw it on and bolted out the door. The subway station was a nightmare of rush-hour traffic. I watched the seconds tick by, sweat beading on my forehead. Just as I was about to give up and try to fight my way onto a bus, the subway turnstile directly in front of me beeped, the light turning green as the gate swung open. I didn’t have time to think. I darted through. On the platform, the doors of my train were slowly sliding shut. It’s over, my heart sank. But just as the doors were about to meet, they seemed to catch on something. A harsh alarm blared, and they sprang open again. I practically fell onto the train. I gasped for air, my heart hammering against my ribs. It was all too much of a coincidence. A coincidence that felt like someone was clearing a path just for me. I arrived at the company five minutes before the interview was scheduled to start. Sitting in the conference room, every second I waited for the interviewers felt like an eternity. My turn. I took a deep breath and walked in. Four interviewers sat in a line, their expressions grim. My palms were sweating. The self-introduction I had practiced so many times completely vanished from my mind. My brain had just blue-screened. As I stood there, mortified and wishing the floor would swallow me whole, a black pen on the table suddenly rolled to a stop right next to my hand. I instinctively picked it up. The cool touch of the metal helped to calm my racing heart. I glanced down and saw a single, tiny but clear word meticulously carved into its side. Steady. My heart settled instantly. That one word was like a shot of adrenaline straight to my soul. I looked up, met the lead interviewer’s gaze, and offered a confident smile. “Good afternoon, everyone. My name is Chloe…” I have never aced an interview like that in my life. A week later, I got the offer. The day I got my first paycheck, I rushed to the supermarket, bought a good bottle of wine, and a ton of fresh ingredients. Back home, I cooked up a feast. I filled two glasses with wine, raised one to the empty living room, and declared loudly, “Sebastian, this one’s for you! Thank you for being my five-star support system!” In the air, the other wine glass trembled slightly, clinking against mine with a soft, clear sound, as if in response. I smiled, but my eyes were wet. I knew, without a doubt, that I wasn’t alone. I had an invisible guardian angel. 03 After landing the new job, my “cohabitation” with Sebastian entered an era of unprecedented harmony. I was the breadwinner, and he was… well, he was the one who kept the house in immaculate order while using his elite corporate logic to supervise my spending and plan my finances. I even started to savor this unique companionship. Coming home to a hot meal every day; having a “CFO” help budget my salary each month; finding relevant books and materials mysteriously appearing on my desk whenever I hit a wall at work. He was like a silent mentor, an all-powerful butler, a… a complete stranger I knew better than anyone. I knew nothing about his past. And as our silent partnership grew stronger, so did my curiosity. Sebastian, how did he actually die? The vague online news report said he died from an “accidental gas leak.” But it never sat right with me. A man with such intense OCD that he arranged books by color and height, a man obsessed with rules and order to a pathological degree… how could he make a rookie mistake like forgetting to turn off the gas? I tried to ask him. “Sebastian, how did you die?” The lights in the room flickered. The cup on the table vibrated. He seemed to be trying to communicate something, but it was as if some force was holding him back, preventing him from getting the message across clearly. The more violently he reacted, the more suspicious I became. I decided to start with the apartment itself. I found the real estate agent who had rented me the place, a man named Marcus. I asked to meet him at a nearby café, using the excuse of wanting to discuss renewing my lease. Marcus was the same as I remembered, warm and friendly, with sincere-looking crinkles around his eyes when he smiled. “Ms. Chloe! How are you settling in? I told you, didn’t I? Great location, great layout. It’s just… you know, what happened before. Not everyone can handle it. But you look so well, I knew you’d be fine,” he said, making easy small talk. “It’s been great,” I smiled, then casually brought it up. “I was just a little curious about what actually happened here. I looked it up online, but the news was so vague. Just said the owner passed away in an accident.” Marcus took a sip of his coffee. His eyes darted away for a fraction of a second. “Ah, well, that’s all in the past. Just an accident. You’re young, don’t dwell on things like that. Just enjoy the apartment. It’s actually got great feng shui, you know. Look at you, you haven’t been here long and you’ve already landed a better job. Your luck is turning around!” He expertly changed the subject, repeatedly advising me not to overthink it, not to dig into it. His friendliness, right now, felt jarringly off. A normal agent would only care about rent and contracts. Why was he so concerned with my “psychological well-being,” so insistent on stopping me from learning about the apartment’s history? The meeting, far from easing my doubts, sent my internal alarms screaming. That night, I had a dream that terrified me… In the dream, I was standing in a thick, white fog, unable to see anything around me. I heard two voices arguing fiercely. One was familiar, yet strangely different. It was Sebastian. His voice was laced with fury and disappointment. “…I treated you like a brother, and you touched that money! Marcus, are you insane?!” The other man’s voice was muffled, a mix of pleading and viciousness. “Sebastian, just help me one more time, just this once! I swear I’ll pay it all back!” “No! That’s client money! What you did is a crime!” “So you’re just going to let them destroy me?”

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1 A week before our wedding, I was designing e-vites on Mike’s laptop. My hand slipped as I typed “For now and for all our years to come,” accidentally opening his browser. [What if you’re about to marry someone but having second thoughts?] My fingers froze. Mike was on the sofa, frowning at his game. The AI chatbot replied: [Is this anxiety, dissatisfaction, or…] Mike typed again: [It’s neither. What if I met someone new and can’t stop thinking about her?] The AI concluded: [A true connection is rare. Don’t let it go.] I looked at him and asked steadily, “Are we rushing this? Are you sure you’re ready?” He put his phone down, voice tender: “How could you think that, Kate? I’ve waited ten years for this. It was always you.” His eyes returned to the screen. I looked down—a new message popped up: “Ugh, she asked if I was ready. I lied. What now?” … I sat in the study, the water in my cup trembling, sending ripples across its surface. We met when we were eight. Sixteen years of a storybook childhood friendship, followed by a ten-year marathon of love. I never, ever thought Mike would be the one to waver. I closed the laptop and walked over to him, casually taking his phone from his hands to browse through it. From food delivery orders to travel apps, from his social media follows to his direct messages—there was nothing. My face was his chat wallpaper. My photo was his profile banner. There were no restricted posts, no hidden friend lists. It was too clean. So clean it felt sterile. “What’s this? Hunting for a cheater?” He laughed, wrapping his arm around my waist and resting his head on my shoulder. “Find anything? Or did you just find the same loyal dog who’s been stuck to your side all these years?” I stared at his bright, open expression, a smile that was all charm and innocence. I wanted to smile back, but my lips wouldn’t move. “What if you meet someone else someday? Someone who makes your heart race more than I do?” He flinched, and a shadow fell over his eyes. “I don’t like jokes like that, Kate.” His voice was low, serious. “From the day I understood what love was, I knew I would only ever love you. Even if I met someone who seemed perfect, I would never, ever allow myself to do anything to betray you.” Looking at his earnest face, I felt a flicker of doubt in my own suspicion. He was the one who had pulled me from the deepest, darkest abyss of my life. He was the one who stayed by my side through it all. He had seen me at my most broken, my most unlovable, and he had still chosen me. Maybe everyone feels a flash of panic before their wedding. Maybe I was being too hard on him. He stood up and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “I’m going to take a shower,” he said, his smile returning, carefree. “You can keep searching. Let me know if you find anything.” He disappeared into the bathroom. I looked at the picture of us on his phone’s lock screen and felt my tense shoulders relax. I was about to put the phone down when a delayed payment notification popped up. It was a receipt for a returned portable charger, probably a glitch in the app sending it again. The charge was $12, for a rental period from 1 PM to 5 PM today. He was supposed to be in a company meeting at that time. The rental location was The Grandview Hotel. My breath caught in my throat. I dialed the hotel’s front desk. “Hello, I was a guest who checked in this afternoon around 1 PM. I seem to have misplaced a pair of diamond earrings. Could you please help me look for them?” I added, “I don’t remember the room number, but the guest name is Mike Archer. His ID number is…” After a moment of typing, the receptionist replied politely, “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I don’t see a guest by the name of Mike Archer who checked in at 1 PM today.” My heart, which had been hammering against my ribs, slowly began to settle. Maybe he was just passing by and needed to borrow a charger. He was always forgetting to charge his phone. But the receptionist’s next words made me freeze. “However, I do have a record of a Mr. Mike Archer with matching identification. He just didn’t check in this afternoon.” The frantic clatter of a keyboard echoed through the phone, and my own pulse raced to match it. Then, silence. “Here it is. He checked in six months ago. He booked a suite for an extended period. Room 328.” The phone slipped from my grasp and clattered onto the floor. The voice on the other end continued, tinny and distant. “Would you like me to have someone go up and check the room for you? Hello? Ma’am, are you still there?” I fumbled to pick up the phone, my voice trembling. “No, that’s alright. I found them.” The sound of the shower stopped. Mike leaned against the doorframe, his hair still damp, steam swirling around him. In the hazy light, his smile was audacious, almost reckless. “So? Did you find the other woman?” I forced down the wave of nausea and managed a weak smile. “Nothing. You’re clean.” He took the phone from my hand, and for a split second, I saw a flicker of smug triumph in his eyes. I knew that look. It was the same expression he wore when a business rival tried and failed to catch him in a mistake. I didn’t sleep a wink, staring into the darkness until dawn broke. The next morning, after making breakfast, Mike left for work, whistling, a spring in his step. I opened an app on my phone I’d never used before and watched as a small red dot began to move away from our apartment. It was a GPS tracker for the cat’s collar, but our little rascal, Mittens, refused to wear it, so I’d tossed it in the trunk of his car months ago. He never knew. The car stopped. I stared at the name on the map, a chilling coldness seeping into my bones. The Grandview Hotel. On the wall, our engagement photo mocked me, his loving, adoring gaze now feeling like a dagger piercing my heart. After a long moment, I dialed the number of a private investigator. “Jack, I need you to tail someone for me, 24/7. I want to know his every move and every woman he sees.” I sent him the hotel address and all the information. Then, I just sat at the table, alone, for a very long time. Until Jack’s first message came through. I had run through countless possibilities in my head. But I never, ever expected it to be her. Tessa. Mike’s most hated intern, the one who was “parachuted in.” “I can’t stand girls like Tessa,” he had complained to me six months ago. “These little princesses who think they can just waltz in and coast by because their family has connections.” For the past six months, he had portrayed their relationship as pure animosity, a constant war of wills, made worse by the fact that she had been assigned to his team. He despised her. At least, that’s the show he put on for me. I grabbed my car keys and sped to the location Jack sent. “Tessa Thorne, 22, fresh out of college,” Jack briefed me over the phone, his voice grim. “Her dad’s a major shareholder in a partner company, mom’s a doctor. A classic rich girl. Bubbly personality, gets along with everyone. The people at your boyfriend’s company love her.” He paused, and I could hear the pity in his voice. “Including your boyfriend.” “He even pulled strings to get her the lead on a multi-million dollar project, stepping back to act as her support.” My hand, resting on the binoculars, tightened. I leaned forward, focusing the lens on the window of the hotel room across the street. Tessa was sitting by the window. Mike came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her, his eyes filled with a tenderness so profound it made my stomach churn. The next second, the wind lifted the sheer curtain. And Mike leaned down and kissed her. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was hungry, fierce, like a teenager’s first taste of passion. Despair washed over me, drowning my reason. My hand fumbled in my purse, searching for my pill bottle. I shook out a few tablets and swallowed them dry. I could hear my own voice, strained and shaking despite my best efforts. “The camera, Jack! Do you have the camera!?” “Get every single second of it!” They stayed in that room all day. I followed them when they left the hotel. I watched them shop at a luxury mall. I sat in the same restaurant as they shared a romantic dinner. Mike gave her everything—material gifts, emotional validation, a perfect day. They ended the night with a late-night movie. I sat in the row directly behind them, hidden under a hat and a mask, a voyeur lurking in the shadows. Tessa nibbled on his earlobe, her voice a playful whisper. “Spending the whole day with me… aren’t you afraid that psycho will find out and have another one of her episodes?” She giggled. “What if I took a picture of us like this and sent it to her? Do you think she’d lose her mind and try to kill us?” Mike turned and gave her a hard, silencing kiss, taking her phone. “Don’t be ridiculous. I won’t let her hurt you.” He softened his tone. “But she’s… unstable. When she snaps, she’s not herself. Just be good and don’t provoke her.” He kissed her again, his voice a husky murmur. “Let’s go to the car after this, okay? I can’t wait…” Tessa leaned into his shoulder with a soft laugh, then slowly slid down, resting her head between his thighs. A moment later, Mike’s body tensed. He gripped the armrest, a sharp hiss escaping his lips. The movie blared on, the sound of explosions and dialogue covering their sordid exchange, but it couldn’t drown out the sound of my heart shattering into a million pieces. It was so loud, so clear. Ten years ago, he was the boy who dug me out from under a pile of rubble with his bare hands, who held me tight and promised he would love and protect me for the rest of his life. Now, that same boy was getting a blowjob from another woman while calling me a psycho. He knew. He knew my deepest wound was betrayal. He had been there for the most shameful moments of my past, had seen the ugliest of my scars. And now, he was choosing to destroy me in the exact same way. After a few minutes, Tessa sat up, her face flushed and her eyes hazy with desire. Mike couldn’t wait any longer. He pulled her into his arms and practically dragged her out of the theater. I started to get up, but Jack grabbed my arm, his face etched with concern. “Kate, don’t go down the same road your mother did. Sometimes, knowing too much just gets you hurt. Why tear yourself to pieces over this?” he pleaded. “Let me handle the rest. You go home.” My father’s affair. My mother, accused of being the mistress, beaten in the street until she lost an eye and was left with a permanent limp. She had died holding onto that hatred, never understanding why. I pulled my arm free, my body trembling uncontrollably. “It’s okay, Jack. I’m not my mother.” My voice was cold, distant. “She couldn’t bear the betrayal because she loved him. For me… the betrayal is the reason I will choose not to love.” “The deeper the pain cuts now, the less mercy I’ll show later.” In the parking garage, Mike’s back rose and fell as he moved over Tessa in the backseat of his car. Through the foggy window, I saw her say something. Mike paused, fumbling for his phone with his right hand. A second later, my phone rang. I took a deep, shuddering breath and answered. “Hey, Kate. Are you asleep yet?” Across the lot, the shadows in the car began to move again. A faint, breathy moan reached me through the phone. “No. I’m looking at our e-vites. When are you coming home?” There was a beat of silence on his end, then he spoke quickly. “I have to work late tonight. I won’t be back.” His breathing was heavy, each gasp a knife twisting in my heart, the pain so sharp it made my limbs go numb. I fought back a sob. “Mike… you promised you’d help me with the wedding favors. The wedding is so soon.” My voice cracked. “And the seating chart, and the final meeting with the planners, and…” I clamped my hand over my mouth, turning away, refusing to let him hear me break. He didn’t answer for a long time, but the rhythm in the car never stopped. My eyes blurred as Tessa suddenly bit down on his shoulder. I heard his sharp intake of breath, a pained grunt. “Ngh… Behave, don’t do that,” he growled into the phone, clearly not talking to me. Then he quickly covered, “Sorry, that was the assistant’s puppy. It just bit me. You should get some sleep. And don’t forget to take your medication.” The line went dead. Across the way, after a final, violent surge, the movement stopped. I raised a hand to my face and felt the wet tracks of tears on my cheeks. I turned to Jack, my expression numb. “Did you get their faces on camera?” Jack held up his camera, his eyes filled with a complicated mix of pity and respect. I gave a weak, absentminded nod. “Good. As long as you got their faces. It is for a wedding, after all. You need to see the happy couple.”

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My husband kept forcing me to see a shrink. He said I had delusional disorder, that I was obsessed with the fantasy that I was a corporate heiress. He would grab me by the throat and scream that my parents had died in a car crash years ago. To cure my “illness,” to smooth the constant worry from his brow, I took my medication on time and tried my best to forget those “fantasies.” Today, I was handing out flyers on a street corner when a Rolls-Royce glided to a stop in front of me. The driver opened the door with a deferential bow, and my father—the one who was only supposed to exist in my “fantasies”—stepped out, his face etched with pain. “The million dollars I wire to your account each month is for you to experience life,” he said, his voice aching. “What are you doing suffering out here?” A million dollars? A roar filled my head. My husband, the man who claimed to have spent his life savings to cure me—what had he been hiding from me? 1 I was curled up on the sofa, my face buried in my knees. My father’s words echoed in my mind like a broken record. A million dollars. Every month. It turned out I wasn’t delusional. I was a fool, kept in a cage. The lock clicked softly. Peter was home. He shrugged off his coat with a quiet elegance, his brow furrowing in that familiar way when he saw me. “Clara, why are the lights off again? The doctor said you need more sunlight.” He walked over, pressing his palm to my forehead. His voice was so gentle it felt like a caress. “Are you feeling unwell today? Did you take your medicine on time?” I looked up, meeting his concerned gaze. I had loved this face for five years. Three years ago, right after we were married, he told me my mental state was deteriorating and took me to a psychiatrist. I was diagnosed with severe delusional disorder. From that day on, my world shrank to this small apartment and the white pills he brought home for me. He said my parents had died in a car accident when I was in college. He said my fantasy of being a wealthy heiress was a sickness that needed to be cured. He said he had sold his house, his car, and spent every last penny of his savings to pay for my treatment. And I believed him. My heart ached for his sacrifices. I took the pills obediently, cooperated with the therapy, desperate to get better so I would no longer be a burden to him. Thinking back on it now, it was all a monumental joke. I looked at him, my throat dry. “Peter… are we… out of money?” A flicker of alarm crossed his eyes, so quick I almost missed it, but it was instantly replaced by a look of pity. He sighed, pulling me into his arms. “You silly girl, thinking too much again. Don’t you worry about money. You have me.” His embrace, once my safe harbor, now felt like a freezing abyss. I gently pushed him away. “I handed out flyers today. I made fifty dollars.” I held out the sweat-dampened bill to him. Peter froze. His expression turned ugly in an instant. He grabbed my wrist, his grip shockingly tight. “Who told you to go out? Clara, you were just starting to get better. Do you want to have a relapse?” His voice rose to a shout, the gentle mask cracking. I flinched. It was the harshest he had ever been with me in three years. “I… I just wanted to help,” I whispered, my eyes cast down. Peter’s chest heaved. He stared at me for a long, tense moment before finally releasing his grip, slumping as if exhausted. He pulled me back into his arms. “I’m sorry, Clara. I didn’t mean to yell. I was just so worried about you.” He took the familiar bottle from his pocket and shook out two white pills. “Here, be a good girl. Take your medicine. Everything will be fine once you take it.” I stared at the pills in his palm, my stomach churning. This was the poison that had kept me in a fog for three years. I took the pills and obediently put them in my mouth, taking a sip of water. As the pills slid toward my throat, I pressed them firmly under my tongue. “I’m going to bed,” I said, turning and walking unsteadily toward the bedroom. The moment the door clicked shut, I ran to the bathroom, spat the pills into the toilet, and flushed. Over the sound of rushing water, I stared at the pale, unfamiliar face in the mirror. My dear husband. The man who shared my bed. It was time I started playing my part in this charade. 2 Late that night, Peter was sound asleep. I slipped out of bed and took his phone from his wallet. Fingerprint unlock. I used his. For three years, I had been cut off from the outside world—no phone, no internet. He claimed it was to protect me from any “triggers.” I navigated to his banking app and entered the password. My birthday. How ironic. My hands began to shake as I stared at the balance, a string of numbers so long I couldn’t even count them. I scrolled quickly through the transaction history. Every single deposit was clearly labeled: “Pocket Money.” They came from a name both familiar and distant: Mr. Chen, my father’s personal assistant. The most recent transfer was from yesterday. A million dollars. Peter’s spending records were staggering. Luxury cars, designer watches, custom-made suits. He had even purchased several properties in another city. He was using my money to live like a king while keeping me locked in this tiny rental, like a pet. No, even a pet had a better life than this. Fighting the urge to smash the phone, I opened his messaging app. Pinned to the top was a chat with a girl named “Vivi.” Their conversations were sickeningly sweet and explicit. Peter called her “baby,” transferring her money without a second thought. “Baby, do you like this penthouse downtown? I’ll put it in your name.” “Baby, we’re going to Paris for Fashion Week next week. Buy whatever you want.” The last message was a photo. Vivi was snuggled in Peter’s arms, beaming. The background was their new home, lavishly decorated. And hanging on the wall was an oil painting by my mother’s favorite artist. It had been a gift from my father for my eighteenth birthday. Now, it was just another tool for Peter to impress his mistress. My vision swam, and I nearly collapsed. I clamped a hand over my mouth, stifling a sob. He hadn’t just stolen my money. He had betrayed our marriage. I took a deep breath and, using his phone, photographed all the evidence. Then, I found Mr. Chen’s number and memorized it. Once I was done, I placed the phone back where I found it and climbed into bed. The man beside me breathed evenly, lost in some pleasant dream. I lay awake, staring into the darkness until dawn. I had to get out. Immediately. But I had no ID, no money. I couldn’t even get out of the building. To “protect” me, Peter had installed a state-of-the-art security lock on the door, and only he knew the code. I was a bird trapped in a cage. The next day, Peter had an “important meeting” at the “office.” This was my only chance. Before he left, he kissed my forehead tenderly, as he always did. “Wait for me at home. I’ll take you out for a nice dinner tonight.” The moment the door shut, I pulled a small, pre-packed suitcase from under the bed. It held only a few changes of clothes and a small amount of cash I had managed to hide—money he occasionally gave me for groceries, which I had saved, dollar by dollar. I walked to the door and stared at the cold, impassive keypad, my heart hammering. How was I going to get out? I suddenly remembered a time a repairman had come to fix a leaky pipe. I overheard Peter mention an emergency reset function for the lock. It was a long shot, but I had nothing to lose. Following a tutorial I found online, I pressed a random sequence of buttons. Beep. Password has been reset. My hands trembled. I pulled the door open, and blinding sunlight flooded my face. For the first time in three years, I walked out of that cage on my own. 3 I didn’t dare take a car. I ran along side streets until my legs gave out. I stopped at a payphone and dialed the number now burned into my memory. It rang for a long time before someone answered. “Hello, who is this?” It was Mr. Chen’s voice, calm and professional. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. “Hello? I’m hanging up if no one’s there.” “Mr. Chen… it’s me.” My voice was a hoarse whisper. The line went dead silent. After what felt like an eternity, Mr. Chen spoke again, his voice trembling. “Miss Monroe? Is that you? Where are you right now?” The tears I had been holding back finally broke free. “Mr. Chen, I…” I gave him an address and then sank to the ground, unable to say another word. Less than twenty minutes later, a fleet of black cars pulled up. Mr. Chen rushed out and hurried to my side. Seeing my disheveled state, his eyes reddened. “Miss Monroe, you’ve suffered.” I was taken back to the manor that had only existed in my “delusions.” My father was waiting in the living room. The moment he saw me, he shot to his feet, his eyes flooding with a mixture of pain and guilt that threatened to drown me. “You’re home. That’s all that matters. You’re home.” He reached out to hug me, then stopped, as if afraid he’d break me. I knew he was blaming himself. Three years ago, I had married Peter against my father’s wishes and moved out to live our own life. At first, we kept in touch. But then Peter claimed my “condition” was worsening and that I needed absolute quiet, severing all contact between me and my family. My father had sent people to find me, but Peter always turned them away, saying I didn’t want to see anyone, that I was undergoing treatment and couldn’t be disturbed. My father, thinking I was merely suffering from postpartum depression, didn’t want to pressure me. So he simply wired money to my account every month, believing that as long as I was financially secure, I would eventually get better. He never could have imagined that his precious daughter was being held prisoner by her own husband, treated like a mental patient for three whole years. “Dad, I’m okay,” I said, forcing a smile. The family doctor arrived and gave me a thorough examination. The results showed I was severely malnourished, and the long-term use of a powerful sedative had caused damage to my nervous system. “This medication,” the doctor explained, “if taken in large doses, can cause hallucinations, memory loss, and even permanent brain damage.” His words were a hammer blow to my heart. I wasn’t sick. I was being poisoned. My father’s face darkened, and he slammed his fist on the table. “Peter Blackwood,” he growled, each word dripping with venom. “I’ll make him wish he was dead.” That night, I moved back into my old room. The pink princess bed, the walls lined with dolls—everything was exactly as I had left it three years ago. Yet, it all felt completely foreign. After a long shower, I put on clean clothes and looked at myself in the mirror. My skin was sallow, my eyes were vacant, and I was so thin I was practically a skeleton. Was this really Clara Monroe, the girl who used to be so vibrant and proud? I couldn’t stand to look at that face any longer. The next day, I had Mr. Chen bring in the best stylists and nutritionists. I cut off my dry, brittle hair and replaced it with a chic, short style. I started working out and eating right. I was going to reclaim the three years I had lost, piece by piece. A week later, I could already see a shadow of my former self in the mirror. My new phone rang. It was an unknown number. I answered, and Peter’s frantic, angry voice flooded the line. “Clara Monroe, where the hell are you?”

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“On the last day my name was posted for a guaranteed place at Stanford, our sex tape went viral. He held me, his apologies a warm breath against my ear, then turned to his friend with a smirk. “”Chloe’s coming back,”” he said. “”Had to roll out the red carpet.”” So it was all a lie. Three years of devotion, of careful tenderness, had been nothing but a long, meticulously planned con. He’d systematically dismantled my life—my academic career, my family, my name—all to win a smile from the one he truly loved. He thought he had destroyed me. He didn’t realize that a person with nothing left to lose is where the danger really begins. 1 The day the video of Caleb Hayes coaxing me into bed went viral across campus, my life imploded. I was expelled. My fellowship to Stanford’s graduate program, the culmination of three years of relentless work, was revoked. It got so bad that guys started cornering me in the library stacks, asking for my price. “Like father, like daughter,” someone sneered, his words a venomous echo of the whispers that had haunted my family for years. “The old man had wandering hands, and she’s got open legs. Runs in the family, I guess.” “Always the quiet ones, you know? Acting all pure and untouchable, but they’re the freaks.” I ran to find Caleb, my heart hammering against my ribs. I found him holding court in a private lounge downtown, the air thick with cigar smoke and the laughter of his friends. “God, that was brutal, man,” one of them said, clapping Caleb on the back. “Dropping the video on the last day of the nomination period? Stone-cold. Wiped out her whole future.” “She probably still thinks you’re in love with her,” another chimed in, and the group roared. “So, three years of playing the devoted boyfriend,” a third one asked, leaning in. “When are you gonna tell her the show’s over?” Caleb let out a low, lazy laugh, the sound of it chilling me to the bone. “When Chloe gets back, I think. I want it to be a surprise for her.” He took a drag from his cigarette, his eyes glinting in the dim light. “Someone has to pay for what her father did to Chloe. It’s only fair.” “Oh my god, did you see this? Send it to me, Jenna, send it to me now!” “I’m sending it to Mark. He had a thing for her last year, the idiot.” “Damn. I mean, her body is insane, you gotta admit.” “What good is that now?” The heated discussion from my roommates buzzed around me. My hand trembled, sending a jagged line across the differential equation on my tablet. My eyelids twitched violently when I heard the last comment. Jenna’s boyfriend, Mark, had a crush on me. Which meant the ‘her’ they were dissecting was, in all likelihood, me. I cleared my throat. “Is… is something going on?” The chatter stopped. Three pairs of eyes snapped up to meet mine, followed by a flurry of stifled giggles. “Nothing, nothing at all,” one of them said, a little too quickly. “Just focus on your studies, our little genius.” But their expressions told a different story. It was a look I knew all too well, a look that transported me back to the relentless bullying of my freshman year, the kind that still woke me up in a cold sweat. My fingers felt clumsy as I opened the unofficial university subreddit. It was lagging, struggling to load under the traffic. And then I saw it. Pinned to the top of the page was a video, the title in a huge, bold font: “NORTHWOOD UNIVERSITY’S ICE QUEEN HAS A SECRET MELTDOWN.” In the video, a girl’s face was perfectly, brutally clear. Flushed, her expression a mixture of pleasure and pain, her sounds… intimate. You didn’t have to be a genius to know what was happening. The girl was me. Just then, my phone buzzed. An official email from the Dean’s Office. My graduate fellowship had been revoked. Panic, cold and sharp, seized me. Three years. Three years of sleepless nights in the library, of acing every exam, of winning every academic competition, all of it for a spot in my dream program. It was all gone. I dug my nails into my palm, forcing myself to breathe. Don’t cry, Ava. Not yet. Find Caleb. My hand was on the doorknob of the lounge when their voices drifted out, sharp and clear. “Releasing it on the last day of the fellowship review period… that’s a power move. Wiped her academic career off the map.” “And she probably still thinks he’s head-over-heels for her, hahaha.” “Chloe’s flying in next week. What’s the plan for dealing with Ava then?” And then Caleb’s voice, the same voice that had whispered love songs in my ear just last night, now laced with a chilling amusement. “When Chloe gets back. I’m giving her a welcome home present.” It was all for revenge. From the very beginning. My mind went blank. The intimacy we’d shared, the moments I’d treasured, twisted into a razor-sharp blade and plunged directly into my heart. I stumbled away from the door, turning right into the path of Jenna’s boyfriend, Mark. He worked as a busboy at a restaurant just off-campus. He’d made a pass at me once when he was dropping Jenna off, his hands getting a little too familiar. I’d gently mentioned it to Jenna, and somehow, the story had twisted into me being the one who hit on him. “Ava? Hey,” he said, a greasy smile spreading across his face as he blocked my path. His eyes crawled over me. “What’s the rush? You deaf or just blind? Didn’t you hear me calling your name?” He looked me up and down. “Wow, you’re a lot more covered up today.” Before, his harassment had been confined to creepy late-night texts. Now, the mask was off. “Get out of my way,” I said, my voice shaking. He only stepped closer, the smell of stale beer on his breath. “Come on, just name your price. I’m good for it.” I backed away, bumping into a hard chest that smelled of tobacco and expensive cologne. “She said, ‘get out of my way.’ Are you deaf?” It was Caleb. Mark scoffed. “Still protecting her after all this? You really want someone else’s sloppy seconds?” The video only showed my face. No one knew the man with me was him. After Mark scurried away, I looked up into Caleb’s dark, unreadable eyes. “My fellowship was revoked. Did you know?” “I’m sorry, Ava. I didn’t know there was a camera.” The lie was so smooth, so practiced. I started babbling, begging him. “Then please, just talk to the dean. Explain it to them. Please… I worked for three years… you know how much this meant to me…” He reached out, his touch impossibly gentle as he wiped away a tear I hadn’t even realized had fallen. “I’ve already had my dad’s lawyers get the subreddit taken down. Don’t be scared.” He pulled me into a hug that felt like a cage. “Let’s get you a room at the Langham for a few nights, just until this blows over. Don’t cry. It kills me to see you cry.” He never answered my question. He didn’t have to. He wasn’t going to help me. He was such a good actor. If I hadn’t heard it with my own ears, I would have believed him all over again. “It’s okay,” he murmured into my hair. “It’s just your face. Nothing else was showing.” Caleb went to take a shower. He never locked his phone; he knew I never looked. Tonight, I did. It was a group chat. The name was “Chloe’s Welcome Wagon.” “Chloe, when are you coming home? We miss you like crazy!” “Chloe, Caleb has a huge surprise waiting for you!” Every message tagged a name I knew with a sickening dread. Chloe Morgan. A girl my father had mentored, taken under his wing. After bombing her SATs, she turned on him, claiming he had harassed her for years. She said the trauma was why she’d only scored an 1100. At the same time, an anonymous letter detailing the allegations landed on the university president’s desk, right when my father was up for tenure. The story exploded online. My father, a man who had dedicated twenty years to teaching, had his reputation destroyed overnight. He was fired. His photo became a meme. His history of mentoring underprivileged students was twisted by bloggers into something predatory. It was a nightmare. To protect me, he sent me to live with my mother, and then he disappeared from my life. Everyone at school started to avoid me. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the pervert’s tree,” they’d whisper. It was Caleb who had comforted me back then. “The guilty will pay,” he’d said. I tried to explain. “It’s not true. My dad didn’t…” “It’s okay,” he’d cut me off, holding me close. “I’m with you, not your father.” He never listened. Now I knew why. He didn’t care about the truth. Because in his mind, my father was a monster. And I was the monster’s daughter. A new message popped up in the group chat. “Hey Caleb, why’d you only film Ava’s face?” Caleb’s friend replied before he could. “Dude, are you stupid? He told her he only filmed her face. If he’d shown anything else, the video would have been taken down instantly. It never would have gone viral. Caleb thinks of everything.” Another message. “Damn. Caleb even sacrificed his own body for Chloe’s honor. A true knight in shining armor, hahaha.” The messages kept coming, one after another. I tilted my head back, fanning my eyes to stop the tears. It’s okay, Ava. You can go home. When I walked into the Newport mansion, my mother was sitting on the velvet sofa, sipping tea. She didn’t look up. “How is the fellowship coming along?” I couldn’t bring myself to tell her. “It’s… it should be finalized soon.” “Should be?” A sharp sting exploded across my cheek. My ear rang. I stared at her, bewildered. “Mom? What was that for?” “You have the nerve to ask me that?” She threw her phone at me. It struck me just above my eye, the pain bringing instant, hot tears. My mother, Eleanor, was practically shaking with rage. One of her business partners had shown her the video at a luncheon today, a deliberate, public humiliation. Oh. So it wasn’t just the university that knew. I clutched my swelling face, my knees giving out as I sank to the floor. “Mom, please, let me explain…” I tried to crawl towards her, to make her listen, but then I saw another face. A familiar, smiling face, standing just behind my mother’s chair. The source of my nightmares. Chloe Morgan. She was back. “Explain what?” my mother hissed. “Have I ever told you who you can or can’t date? No. But to make a video like that? Have you no shame?” Her voice dripped with contempt. “You’re just as disgusting as that father of yours.” I shook my head, my throat tight. “No, Mom, it wasn’t my fault…” “Not your fault? Then was it mine? Did I take your clothes off for the camera? Honestly, Ava!” Her voice rose to a shriek. “You’re just like him!” Chloe stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on my mother’s arm. “Aunt Eleanor, don’t be so angry. Maybe Ava just made a mistake…” My mother had always adored Chloe, ever since she’d come to live with us for a year in high school. She’d constantly compared us. “Look at Chloe! She never even held a grudge about what your father did.” She pointed a trembling finger at me. “Now she’s back. I want you to get on your knees and apologize to her for what your father did.” “I will not kneel for her!” “Then get out of this house and don’t ever come back.” The fine lines around her eyes trembled with fury. I couldn’t take it anymore. “Mom, I’m your daughter! Why don’t you ever believe me?” “You dare call yourself my daughter? I have no daughter as shameless as you.” Our housekeeper, Maria, immediately grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the door. “Miss Ava, your mother is very upset. It’s better if you leave for now…” The heavy oak door slammed shut behind me. And there, standing on the marble steps, was Caleb.”

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I found my birth parents ten years too late. All they left me was a house filled with my own baby pictures and mountains of missing-child flyers bearing my face. The grief and injustice I had swallowed for twenty years erupted in that single moment. I spun around and slapped my husband, Caleb, so hard the sound echoed in the empty room. “This is your fault! All of it!” “If you hadn’t pushed for Lila to take my adoption spot, I never would have been left to rot in that place for five more years!” “For her, you let our son die. For her, you let my parents die searching for me. I will never, ever forgive you. I’ll haunt you from my grave.” That was the day we finally shattered for good. I targeted his every weakness, and he went for my jugular. It was only at the very end, as his own life faded, that he showed a flicker of remorse. He left a note, promising to make it all up to me in the next life. But when I opened my eyes again, I was a child, staring at that same, coveted adoption slot. And this time, I gave it to Lila myself. 1 “Mom, Dad, if you’re going to get me a sister, pick her! She’s a hard worker, I can tell. That way, you’ll finally have a worthy heir.” The moment I heard those words, I knew. Caleb was back, too. I thought of the suicide note he’d left behind and let out a soft, humorless laugh. He was a man of his word, I’ll give him that. In my last life, I was consumed by ambition. I was sick of being poor, helpless, of screaming into a void that never answered back. All I wanted was to be adopted by a wealthy family. I schemed and fought and clawed my way into the Graysons’ line of sight, and it worked. They were impressed with me. I was one day away from escaping that hellhole when Caleb showed up, holding Lila’s hand. He believed every lie she spun. That I bullied her. That I was a promiscuous child who seduced the staff. That I was a master manipulator, an actress… My dream shattered that day. As Caleb led Lila away, he turned to the rest of the orphanage and announced, “Clara is a curse. She’ll bring you nothing but bad luck. I’d stay away from her if I were you.” In that instant, I fell from one hell into another, where I suffered for five more years. Lila, meanwhile, became the cherished daughter of the Grayson family, cradled in the palm of their hands. Now, standing before Mr. and Mrs. Grayson, I heard this new, regretful Caleb say to me, “This time, you’ll be my sister. I’ll be good to you, I promise. You won’t have to be jealous of anyone ever again… At the very least, I won’t let you suffer here for another five years.” I understood. He was trying to soothe the ghost of my past self. He had eventually learned the truth about Lila’s lies, and the guilt had eaten him alive for decades. My five lost years were a wound he could never close. Mr. and Mrs. Grayson nodded, just like before. They liked me instantly. But this time, I wanted nothing to do with Caleb Grayson. I certainly didn’t want his charity. I was about to refuse when the door burst open. A younger Lila stumbled in, crying, her dress torn. A cut on her arm was bleeding. “Lila! What happened? Are you okay?” Lila’s eyes darted toward me, full of suspicion, before she fell to her knees before the Graysons. “Sir, Ma’am, are you here to save me? Please, I don’t want to die! I really, really don’t want to die!” She was copying me. The orphanage director was a monster. I had used that exact performance to save myself once. Lila had always been lucky, one of fate’s favorites. She’d never truly suffered, so she’d never been one of his targets. In my past life, seeing her performance made my composure crack. I had grabbed her, demanding to know what she was doing, and in doing so, earned the Graysons’ disgust. This time, the reborn Caleb knew she was lying. He knew it was an act. And yet, I saw the flicker of pity in his eyes. He couldn’t help it. “Who did this to you? I’ll make them pay.” Lila wouldn’t risk it. She was afraid that if she wasn’t chosen, she’d be left to face the director’s wrath. I blinked, then stepped forward, my voice calm. “It was the director. He likes the pretty ones. Lila is the prettiest one here.” “What? That animal!” Mr. Grayson’s hand clenched into a fist. “Oh, you poor dear. Come here, dry your tears.” Mrs. Grayson’s heart went out to her. Caleb stood beside them, his lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze lowered. I knew him too well. He had changed his mind. “Mom, Dad, let’s adopt Lila.” “Mr. and Mrs. Grayson, you should adopt Lila.” Caleb and I spoke at the exact same time. 2 “Clara, you…” Caleb stared at me, dumbfounded. He knew how desperately I had wanted to be saved, to escape this nightmare. But now… I ignored the complex guilt in his eyes and put on a mask of cool rationality. “Sir, Ma’am, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be an only child. I’m not sure I’d want to share my new family. So, thank you, but no.” The Graysons looked startled, then disappointed. As they were leaving, Lila made a point to walk over to me. She tilted her chin up, a smug, triumphant smile on her face. “I told you, Clara. You can’t compete with me. I’m going to be a rich man’s daughter now. And you? You can stay here and rot. If you have to blame someone, blame yourself for being too stupid to call out my bluff.” Lila walked away, laughing. After she was gone, a figure emerged from the shadows in the corner of the room. A pale, handsome boy looking completely lost. Caleb looked like his entire reality had been shaken. He never imagined that his pure, innocent little victim could be so… shameless. He looked at me, his expression a tangled mess of confusion and a silent plea for help. I knew that look. He was relying on me, wanting me to come over and explain it all, to make it make sense. I turned my back on him and walked away. “Clara.” I paused for a half-second. “You’re back, too, aren’t you?” I didn’t answer. “Clara, I’m sorry. You know how it is. Lila’s just a kid. She’ll learn. She’ll change.” “Oh. Okay.” I smiled. What did that have to do with me? I had no intention of ever being involved with them again. “Clara!” A note of panic entered his voice. He grabbed my arm, frantically digging through his pockets and pulling out a handful of crumpled bills. “Here, take this. I’m sorry about this. I owe you. Within half a month… no, five days. Three days, I swear, I’ll find a way to get you out of here.” “I don’t need it.” “Clara, I will save you! Just wait for me!” Caleb rushed off, not to deny me the chance to refuse, but because Lila had tripped and cried out in pain a short distance away. I smiled to myself. Of course. Thank God I hadn’t placed a single shred of hope in Caleb Grayson. After Lila left, I don’t know what she said to the director. But his cruelty escalated. His methods grew viler, his threats more immediate, and I almost buckled under the pressure. Three days passed. Then five. Half a month… then a whole month… Caleb never came. But I did it. At the cost of a broken arm, I managed to record a video of the director’s crimes and got it to the police and a local news reporter. As the police led the director away in handcuffs, the boys who had always been his favorites surrounded me. “It was you, wasn’t it, Clara? You little snitch.” “I’m gonna kill you. The director’s gone. What are we supposed to do now? Starve?” “Get her! Kill that loud-mouthed bitch!” “Get her!” I curled into a ball, trying to protect my injured arm and my head, the pain overwhelming. I had expected this. The five boys beating me were his sons. Of course, they would defend their father. Suddenly, the lead boy picked up a rock, raising it to bring down on my head. In a flash, someone was standing over me. The rock came down. “Ah!” A cry of pain. Caleb was hurt, shielding me. 3 My eyes widened. “Caleb! Are you okay?” Blood streamed down from his forehead, blurring his vision. He wiped the blood from his face with one hand. He looked weak, but he was smiling, a look of pure joy on his face. “This time… I finally saved you. Clara, I was on time. I finally saved you!” At his words, the flicker of concern and guilt in my heart vanished. In our last life, our son, so small, so full of love for us. Because of Lila’s lies, Caleb had abandoned me and our child in the freezing wilderness. I watched our son die in my arms and then wandered like a ghost through the mountains for three days. When the rescue team found me, I had lost my mind. I dedicated my life to destroying Lila, and Caleb, naturally, protected her. We became true enemies. I knew his deepest pains, and he knew my fatal flaws. Our lives were a tangled mess of revenge and resentment for decades, until the day he lost both his legs saving me. The proud, arrogant man was confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. Overwhelmed with guilt, I had decided to let go of the past and truly be with him. But he used his sacrifice as a weapon. Pale and weak in his hospital bed, he had looked at me with red-rimmed eyes and begged, “Clara, for the sake of my legs… let Lila go.” In that moment, my soul evaporated. I remember the silent tears streaming down my face as I whispered, “Okay. I promise.” Now, in the orphanage yard, Caleb was ecstatic. Even with his head bleeding, he wouldn’t let go of my hand. “Clara, I told you I’d protect you.” The next second, I was shoved to the ground. Smack— Lila slapped me hard across the face, again and again. “You’re a curse! Stay away from my brother! He’s my brother!” She gently helped Caleb to his feet. “Lila, don’t do this. Apologize to Clara. Now.” At that, Lila burst into tears. Caleb could never stand to see her cry. He immediately started cooing, comforting her. I ignored the triumphant smirk on Lila’s face, dusted myself off, and turned to leave. “Stop! Who said you could go, you curse?” Lila’s spoiled nature was on full display. “Stay away from my brother. I won’t let you hurt him.” “Lila!” As I turned back, Caleb instinctively stepped in front of her, shielding her from me. He always thought I would hurt Lila. He always forgot that I was the one in the more precarious position. I rattled off a few names and a string of numbers. Lila was clueless. It meant nothing to her. Her glare only intensified. But Caleb understood. It was the beginning of his parents’ financial decline. In our past life, I was the one who managed the Grayson family business. It took me years of work, connections, and money to uncover that information. “Clara, you…” “Thank you for saving me today. But don’t do it again. Caleb, I don’t owe you anything. I hope you’ll keep your distance from me from now on.” “…” Caleb was speechless, as if his soul had been ripped out. He couldn’t process it. He probably never imagined that the woman who had loved him so deeply in one life would want nothing more than to be rid of him in this one. 4 Soon, the state took over the orphanage. They improved the facilities, hired new, professional staff. The old director was sentenced to five years, which meant all of us kids were spared five years of his abuse. The other children, the ones who had both bullied and protected me in our past life, now saw the benefits I had brought them. They started to flock around me, trying to win my favor. And the director’s five sons? They became the new targets of the bullying. I watched, satisfied. I’ve always been one to repay my debts. The next month, Caleb came to find me in a hurry. He said Lila had been sick, and he’d been too busy taking care of her to see me. He looked down, apologizing. He was always like this. Choosing Lila, abandoning me, and then offering a crumb of warmth… like dangling a carrot in front of a donkey. “Clara, I found a school for you. And a family that’s willing to adopt you.” “That’s not necessary. Thank you,” I said, my tone polite but distant. The state had already arranged for all of us to attend a local public school. And as luck would have it, Lila and I were in the same class. Within three days, the entire grade knew the rumor that I had “seduced the 40-year-old orphanage director.” Boys would tug on my bra strap in the hallway; girls would shoot me looks of disgust and ostracize me. Soon, they had a nickname for me: “The Group Home Slut.” The insults were constant. This was all Lila’s doing. I checked the time. My birth parents, whom I had painstakingly managed to contact, should be arriving in the country to get me any day now. Feeling emboldened, during a break between classes, Lila threw her pencil case at the back of my head. “Hey, Slut,” she yelled. “Nice new shirt. Which old man did you have to screw to get that?” The class erupted in laughter. “Yeah, what a whore.” “So trashy…” I stood up and walked directly to her desk. Under her smug, defiant gaze, I grabbed a handful of her hair and dragged her towards the janitor’s closet. “Ah! Ahhh! Let go of me! Let me go!” I gave her a vicious smile. “Your mouth is so filthy. Always making up names for me. Lila, you and I both came from that orphanage. The Graysons wanted to adopt me first. I’m the one who gave you my spot! The director was after you first. I’m the one who protected you. And this is how you repay me? With rumors and bullying? You ungrateful little snake.” “No! Ah! No—” The moment she opened her mouth, I shoved her head into the dirty mop bucket. I started talking faster, listing all of her two-faced deeds—how she’d turned friends against each other, spread rumors that forced our last teacher to quit… As I spoke, the other students stopped trying to intervene. Some even cheered. Others started whispering, confirming my stories among themselves. It was all true. “Clara, don’t you dare hurt Lila!” Someone charged at me from behind. I lost my balance and fell. My left arm, the one that had just healed, hit the ground hard. My face went white. I thought I heard the bone snap again. Caleb helped Lila up, then saw me on the floor, his face a mask of shock and regret. Lila clung to him, sobbing. “Brother, get her expelled! Clara bullied me! Make them expel her!” “Okay, brother promises.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Of course. You’re as predictable as ever, Caleb.” Caleb looked down. “Clara, you were in the wrong first. Besides, I’ll make it up to you.” “You won’t have to. Because I…” Our teacher burst into the room, beaming, oblivious to the tension. “Clara!” she announced loudly. “Your birth parents are here to see you! They said they’re taking you abroad to live with them!”

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My husband gave our son’s spot at Northwood Preparatory Academy to his secretary’s kid. He said the application portal glitched when he was uploading the documents. That he’d accidentally submitted the file she had prepared for her own son. The secretary, a single mother, came to our home with her child to apologize. “Grace, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. I never should have put our documents on the same flash drive.” “Carter was just trying to be helpful. It’s the kind of mistake any good person would make.” “I’ll go to the school first thing tomorrow and withdraw my son’s application.” I was peeling an apple for my son, my head down. “Don’t bother.” My voice was quiet. “The seventy-five-thousand-dollar donation was wired from our joint account. The memo on the transfer read, ‘For Noah’s happy school days.’ I already have the screenshot.” 1 Carter, my husband, stood across from me, his face a tight, angry mask. He was trying to project calm, but the slight tremor in his fingertips gave him away. Behind him, his secretary, a woman named Brooke, clutched her son, Noah, shrinking into Carter’s shadow. Noah was holding a Transformer—the limited-edition Optimus Prime, our son Leo’s absolute favorite. I finished slicing the apple, arranging the pieces on a small ceramic plate and pushing it toward Leo. Leo picked up a slice, the crunch of his bite echoing in the tense silence. “Grace, what is the meaning of this?” Carter’s voice was low, coiled with rage. “You took a screenshot. What are you planning to do with it?” I didn’t answer him. I just took a napkin and gently wiped a smudge of apple juice from the corner of Leo’s mouth. Brooke stepped forward, her voice trembling. “Mrs. Harrison, please, don’t misunderstand Carter. He was only trying to help me. It’s not easy, being a single mother.” Her eyes were wide and pleading. “I’ll find a way to pay you back the seventy-five thousand. I’ll withdraw Noah from the school right now.” I finally looked up, my gaze traveling past them to the large family portrait hanging on the living room wall. In the photo, Carter had his arms around me and Leo, his smile the picture of sophisticated charm. “Pay it back?” I asked softly. “How, Brooke? Does your monthly salary even cover the interest?” I shook my head. “And as for withdrawing… absolutely not. The donation was made in Noah’s name. The spot belongs to him now. The Harrison family’s reputation can’t be tarnished over something so trivial.” The color drained from Carter’s face. He understood my subtext perfectly. I wasn’t treating this as a family matter. I was treating this as business. 2 “Grace, do you have to blow this up into a crisis?” Carter took a step toward me. I picked up Leo’s plate of half-eaten apples and stood. “Carter, from this moment on, you and I will discuss rules, not feelings,” I said, my voice level. “First, I am unilaterally filing to have the joint account frozen, effective immediately. My legal team will conduct a forensic audit of every single transaction. Second, as the Executive Director of The Harrison Foundation, you used your position to misappropriate joint marital assets for the benefit of a third party. That constitutes a breach of your fiduciary duty. I have already notified every member of the foundation’s board via email. Including your father.” All the blood vanished from Brooke’s face. The hand holding her son’s shoulder was shaking. “Mrs. Harrison—no, Ms. Harrison… Carter had nothing to do with this. I begged him!” My gaze was cold. “Your begging is worthless against an audit report and bank statements.” The anger in Carter’s eyes curdled into panic. “You told my father?” he hissed. “You’re trying to ruin me!” I turned and walked toward the study, without looking back. “I’m not ruining you, Carter,” I said, my hand on the doorknob. “I’m cleaning house. You and your secretary should leave now. Security will be up in ten minutes, and I’d prefer they not have to deal with an unpleasant scene.” The moment the study door clicked shut, I heard the sound of a vase shattering against the wall, followed by Carter’s raw, strangled roar. I sat calmly at my desk and picked up the phone, dialing an internal line. “Mr. Ames, in Legal? I need you to begin the process of launching a malfeasance investigation into Director Carter Harrison.” 3 An emergency family meeting was convened at the estate. The atmosphere in the grand library was thick with unspoken accusations. Carter’s father, the Chairman of The Harrison Group, sat at the head of the massive mahogany table, his expression grim. “Grace, Carter was foolish. He let this woman take advantage of him,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Is it worth destabilizing our own foundation, our own family, for an outsider?” Carter sat beside him, head bowed, the very image of contrition. “Dad, Grace, I know I was wrong. I’ll get the boy withdrawn from the school immediately. I’ll replace the money.” I placed a slim file on the polished wood and slid it across the table toward my father-in-law. “Dad, I’d like you to look at this first,” I said. “It’s a list of all the grants approved by Carter under the ‘Emerging Leaders’ program in the last fiscal year, along with a flowchart of the funds.” He picked up the file, his brow furrowing as he read. His frown deepened. On the list, several names were flagged with notes indicating a relationship to Brooke. A former classmate. A distant cousin. A friend from her hometown. The total amount of the grants involved exceeded half a million dollars. “What… is all this?” His voice was unsteady. “That,” I explained calmly, “is Brooke’s social network. Carter has been using the foundation’s resources to build a web of influence for her. The spot at Northwood was just the first thread to unravel. What I want to discuss today isn’t a domestic squabble. It’s a security failure. Carter’s position has become a back door for targeted exploitation. This has moved beyond foolishness. This is corruption.” Carter’s head snapped up, his eyes bloodshot. “Grace, that’s a baseless accusation!” I met his glare without flinching. “Then please explain why the funds from those specific grants were all routed, through a series of shell corporations, into a single offshore account. An account held by Brooke’s brother, who happens to be studying abroad.” 4 The silence in the room was absolute. My father-in-law’s fingers trembled where they rested on the file. He stared at his son, his expression a mixture of profound disappointment and disbelief. Carter opened his mouth, but no sound came out. The flowchart tracing the money was the product of an all-nighter by my finance team. The evidence was irrefutable. “Dad, members of the board,” I continued, my tone resolute. “If this becomes public, it will be a devastating blow to the foundation’s credibility. Our entire mission is built on transparency and fairness. Right now, our own Executive Director is embezzling from the inside.” The Chairman closed his eyes, exhaling a long, weary sigh. “What do you want?” I met his gaze, my words precise and clear. “I demand Carter’s immediate and unconditional removal from all his duties at the foundation. I want the board to form a special committee to conduct a full, independent investigation. Furthermore, I propose that Ava Landry, the current Director of Risk Management for the Harrison Group, be appointed as interim Executive Director.” The proposal landed like a grenade. Everyone in the room stiffened. Ava Landry was known throughout the company as a brilliant operator—ruthless, efficient, and incorruptible. But her blunt, politics-averse nature meant she’d been consistently sidelined by Carter, her career stalled. My father-in-law’s eyes shot open, sharp and calculating. He understood. This wasn’t an emotional outburst. This was a coup. “You can accept my proposal,” I said, laying down my final terms. “We handle this internally, minimizing the damage and the publicity. Or, I will file a lawsuit in my own name. And then this won’t be a family scandal. It will be front-page news.” It was my ultimatum. Protect Carter, or protect the Harrison legacy. He stared at me for a long time, the fight draining from his face. Finally, he sagged back in his chair. “Do as she says.” 5 The news of Carter’s suspension sent shockwaves through the company. He tried to contact me, but his calls and texts were already blocked. He stormed up to my office, only to be politely but firmly escorted out by the security I’d already posted on my floor. “Grace, you can’t do this to me! We’re married!” he roared through the glass door. I sat at my desk, my eyes fixed on the transition plan Ava had just emailed me, and didn’t look up. Ava moved fast. On her first day, she froze every project Carter had personally overseen and began a comprehensive risk assessment. Her face, usually a mask of stoic professionalism, now held a spark—the sharp edge of a brilliant mind finally given the room to cut loose. “Grace, I’ve found something,” she said during our video call that evening. “There’s a ‘Digital Archives Initiative’ Carter was spearheading. Budget of three million dollars. But actual progress is near zero. Most of the funds were paid out to a consulting firm that was incorporated less than six months ago.” A cold certainty settled in my stomach. “Check the name of the firm’s owner.” Ava’s fingers flew across her keyboard. A moment later, she looked up. “The registered agent is a Brenda Mayes. She’s Brooke’s older sister.” Of course. The depth of their greed was far greater than I had imagined. “If this project blows up, it could have serious repercussions for the Group and several of our public partners,” Ava stated, her tone grave. “Which is why we have to defuse the bomb before it goes off,” I replied calmly. “Ava, as of now, you have full authority over this initiative. Whatever resources you need, you get. I have only one requirement: in two weeks, I want a solution that plugs every hole. I want everyone to see that without Carter Harrison, the foundation doesn’t just survive. It thrives.” 6 Ava did not disappoint. She and her team spent a week dissecting the mess of the archives project. They brought in a team of genuine experts, redrafted the budget, and created a viable execution strategy. Simultaneously, she terminated the contract with the shell company and had our legal department issue a notice of intent to sue for contract fraud. The following week, at a press conference for key investors and partners, Ava made her public debut as the new interim director. With hard data, impeccable logic, and a powerfully persuasive new plan, she transformed a ticking time bomb of a project into an undervalued asset brimming with potential. The room erupted in applause. I sat in the front row, watching Ava in the spotlight. She was like a sword that had finally been unsheathed, sharp and brilliant. She was living proof that suppressed talent, given a single opportunity, could create miracles.

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I’m not into men. I’m into ghosts. My friends think I’m insane. “Ghosts aren’t real,” they say. But then I moved into my new apartment. And I met him. He was lounging in my bathtub, a wicked smile playing on his lips. “You seem to like me an awful lot,” he purred. “So… want to try it with a ghost?” The thing that pressed into me was bone-chillingly cold, but I clung to it, refusing to let go. In this world, only a ghost could awaken my most primal desires… 1 The first thing I did when I got home from work was light a stick of ritual incense in the small, empty room I kept just for this purpose. A silent invitation. A desperate hope of attracting a male spirit. It’s a habit I’ve maintained for nearly a decade. My friends can’t stand it. They never visit. They plead with me to stop chasing fantasies and find a proper boyfriend. But I have absolutely no interest in ordinary men. I crave something cold, something ethereal and damp with the scent of the grave. Only a ghost can stir the deepest, most primitive desires of my soul. And tonight, on this otherwise unremarkable evening, it seemed my wish had finally come true. I was soaking in the bathtub, the water steaming around me. One moment, my mind was clear; the next, a strange, heavy dizziness washed over me. My vision blurred. I shook my head, a spike of panic rising. Was I running out of oxygen? I struggled to sit up, my limbs feeling like lead. That’s when I felt it. An icy touch against my throat. Through the swirling mist, a strange man materialized before me. He wore a long, black robe, cinched at the waist with a simple sash. The collar hung open, revealing a wide expanse of chest so pale it seemed inhuman. His hair and eyes were a stark, ink-black, and his lips were colorless, as if drained of all blood. Strands of long hair drifted around his face, moving as if stirred by an unseen wind. I forced my mouth open, my own voice a strained whisper. “Who… are you?” A slow, knowing smile curved his lips. He lifted a finger and drew two words in the air. Steven. The spectral letters shimmered for a few seconds before dissolving into droplets that vanished into the bathwater. I was stunned into silence, my mind reeling. In his right hand, he toyed with a small wooden talisman. My talisman. The one I kept in the summoning room. He’d appeared out of thin air in my bathroom. His otherworldly appearance, the floating words, and the fact that he was holding my summoning charm… No human could do these things. The realization hit me like a lightning strike. A violent tremor ran through my body, not of fear, but of pure, ecstatic excitement. A wide, uncontrollable grin spread across my face. “You’re… you’re a ghost.” “Clever girl,” he murmured, his voice a low, hypnotic whisper. “So…” His fingers began to trace a slow, cold path down my throat. “Want to try it with a ghost?” The icy sensation traveled downwards, over my collarbone, across the curve of my breast, past my stomach, and continued its descent. From the moment I knew what he was, my heart had been hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. A desperate, burning need ignited within me, a wildfire of pure lust. This was what I had prayed for, yearned for, for a decade. He was everything I had ever imagined. The cold aura, the damp, grave-like scent clinging to him… The sight of him alone was enough to make me lose control. My breath came in ragged gasps. I cursed my weak, trembling body. If I’d had any strength, I would have pounced on him already. With a final surge of effort, I reached forward, grabbed the lapels of his robe, and pulled him down. “I do.” 2 Steven let out a soft ‘tsk’. “So impatient.” The next thing I knew, he’d lifted me from the water as if I weighed nothing and set me down on the cool marble of the bathroom counter. His hands were colder than the ceramic sink, and everywhere he touched, my skin felt as if it had been pressed against ice. But this strange, alien sensation only fanned the flames of my desire higher. Steven let his robe fall open, revealing the landscape beneath. My breath hitched, and tears of pure, physiological arousal pricked my eyes. He took my right hand and pressed it where it belonged. “Cold? Are you scared?” I shook my head frantically. Scared? How could I be scared? I wanted to pin him to the floor and explore every inch of him. He saw the raw hunger in my eyes and a pleased smile graced his pale lips. He wrapped his hands around my waist and effortlessly turned me around, so I was no longer facing him, but the mirror. He embraced me from behind, his long, slender fingers tilting my chin up. “Look at yourself,” he whispered, his voice a silken temptation. I saw my reflection in the mirror—flushed, wanton, completely undone. “Please…” I begged. Steven chuckled, his chest pressing hard against my back. But the moment our bodies made full contact, a piercing scream of agony erupted right beside my ear. “Aaargh!” The cold presence behind me vanished. Stunned, I whirled around. Steven was gone. The bathroom was empty, save for me. It was as if he’d never been there, just a fever dream born of steam and longing. But then I saw it—a faint, reddish mark on my collarbone, the ghost of a bite. And I noticed something else. A faint golden light was pulsing from my left wrist. I lifted my hand and stared at the simple red cord tied around it. My best friend, Sara, had given it to me a few days ago. It looked like a cheap, ordinary trinket. She must have enchanted it without telling me. Sara had always been fascinated by esoteric arts, spells, and charms. It was just like her. I never imagined her little protection spell would end up hurting Steven. Frustrated, I ripped the red cord from my wrist and threw it on the floor. 3 After that night, I spent hours online, researching every summoning ritual that seemed even remotely plausible. But Steven never appeared. His brief, electrifying visit had only solidified my obsession. I had to have him back. “Kayla? Kayla…?” “Huh?” I snapped back to reality to find Sara standing in front of my desk. After college, we’d been lucky enough to land jobs at the same company, though in different departments. She looked at me with concern. “Kayla, what’s up with you lately? You seem a million miles away.” “Oh,” I forced a smile. “It’s nothing. Just not used to my new mattress. Haven’t been sleeping well.” Sara pinched my cheek gently and pulled a small packet from her pocket. “These ginseng slices are great. My mom sent them from back home. You can make tea with them. Good for your energy.” We’d been friends for too long to stand on ceremony. I took them with a grateful nod. I dropped a few slices into my thermos and headed to the breakroom to get some hot water. As the water filled the cup, it happened again—that familiar, heavy wave of dizziness. My head swam, and my limbs felt weak and useless. I braced myself against the counter to keep from falling, reaching out a trembling hand to turn off the tap. But another hand, appearing from nowhere, beat me to it. My heart leaped with joy. I looked up. “You finally came back.” Steven stood there, wearing the same style of robe as before, only this time it was white. His skin was even paler than the fabric, a shade no living person could possess. He glanced at my wrist, noting it was bare. In a flash, he closed the distance between us, his cold hands clamping onto my waist, his thumbs stroking my skin in slow, deliberate circles. His voice was a low, petulant murmur. “If I weren’t as powerful as I am, that little trinket of yours would have torn my soul to shreds.” Guilt washed over me. I was speechless. “I’m sorry.” It truly had been an accident. If I’d known the red cord had protective properties, I would have sooner died than wear it in his presence. He pulled me into his arms, his lips brushing against my ear. “Is a verbal apology all I get? You should show me you’re sorry… with your actions.” A tingling, electric sensation spread from my ear down my neck. It was only then that I remembered where I was. This was the office, not my home. I tried to pull away. “No… not here… my colleagues are right outside…” The breakroom door was always open. Anyone sitting nearby could see right in if they just looked up. As much as I craved him, I wasn’t ready to become an office legend. But Steven ignored my struggles. He dragged me into the small supply closet at the back of the room. “Don’t worry,” he purred. “They can’t see us in here.” He was right. People rarely came into this closet. My frantic heart began to slow, the panic giving way to a thrill of illicit excitement.

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Three years into my secret love affair with my brother’s best friend, his adopted sister returned. I decided it was time to end it. I quietly agreed to the marriage alliance my family had arranged for me. The engagement party was an intimate, exclusive affair, with only our closest friends and family invited. As we were serving tea and formally addressing our new in-laws, my brother’s phone rang. He answered it, a smirk in his voice as he spoke. “You’re not even coming to Thea’s engagement party? And after she spent her whole childhood chasing after you, calling you her big brother.” On the other end of the line, Sam Kunz’s voice caught. “Whose engagement did you say it was?” 1 “What, did you finally break up with that mysterious boyfriend of yours?” My brother, David, was teasing me, but I could hear the smug satisfaction in his voice. I couldn’t blame him. For three years, I had refused to make our relationship public. He had warned me long ago, “A man who doesn’t even have the guts to meet your family? What kind of a future can you have with him? It’s doomed to fail.” But back then, I was a true believer. I thought love could move mountains. Now, here I was, eating my words. “Yeah,” I said, my voice flat. “We broke up.” The casual teasing vanished from his voice, replaced by a weighted silence. “Did he hurt you?” The dam I’d built around my heart suddenly cracked, a flood of bitterness welling up inside me. I took a deep breath, shaking my head even though he couldn’t see me. “No. It was mutual.” “Good,” he said, his voice hardening. “Because if he did, I’d have to go break his legs.” “Thea, you can’t rely on men. If you’re going to get married, marry for an alliance. Power and shared interests—that’s what’s real.” “Fine,” I said, my voice hollow. “You arrange it. I’ll be back in two days.” I had just hung up when Sam Kunz walked into the room. “Who was that on the phone?” I was afraid he’d see the traces of tears in my eyes, so I kept my back to him. “Just a friend from school.” “Mm.” He brushed past me and disappeared into his study. In the three years we’d been together, he had always been like this—cool and distant. I used to think it was just his nature, that he was a man born with a reserve of ice in his veins, someone who disliked physical intimacy. But then there was last night. I’d come home early from a business trip, planning to sneak in and surprise him. The study door, usually locked tight, was slightly ajar. A warm, yellow light spilled from the crack. I crept closer, my hand raised to knock, when I saw him. Sam, his face taut with a pleasure he never showed me. His eyes were glued to his phone screen, one hand moving urgently beneath his waist. I froze, turning to stone. The photo on the screen was not of me. It was Isla, the girl his family had taken in when she was a child, his little “sister.” He was so lost in his world that he never even heard me open the door and leave. I checked into a hotel and sat in the sterile silence for hours. And finally, I understood. Sam’s coldness toward me these past three years wasn’t his nature. His refusal to go public with our relationship wasn’t because he was afraid of my overprotective brother. It was all because he didn’t love me. He just needed someone—anyone—to act as a smokescreen, a cover for his forbidden feelings for his adopted sister. And I, the girl who had chased him so relentlessly, had been the most convenient choice. He’d simply let me fall into the role of his secret girlfriend. That night, a new post appeared on Isla’s social media feed: “Touching down tomorrow! Someone better be there to pick me up.” 2 After the call with my brother, I took a cab back to the villa I shared with Sam. I still had things to pack. He was in the middle of breakfast when I walked in. He glanced up, his expression unchanging, and calmly told the housekeeper to prepare another plate. “I didn’t know you’d be back this early, so I didn’t have anything made for you.” I just nodded. “It’s fine.” It wasn’t that he didn’t know. It was that he couldn’t be bothered to know, couldn’t be bothered to ask. My quiet acceptance seemed to surprise him. Sam’s hand paused mid-motion. He looked up from the news on his phone, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. He was right to be confused. The old me would have pouted, slid into the chair beside him, and snatched his plate away, chirping, “Well, since you forgot about me, I’ll just have to eat yours!” Or I would have wrapped my arms around him from behind, playfully pinching his ear and demanding to know if he’d forgotten me because he didn’t love me anymore. A man as sharp as Sam would, of course, notice the shift immediately. But he said nothing more. He simply nodded. “I’m heading to the office. Take your time.” He took the suit jacket the housekeeper handed him. For a split second, he hesitated, holding it in his hands. I had the distinct feeling he was waiting for me to do what I always did—jump up and help him into it, smoothing the lapels. Instead, he shrugged it on himself. The sound of his footsteps faded, followed by the decisive click of the front door. “Ms. Crawford,” the housekeeper asked gently, “what would you like for breakfast?” I shook my head. “Nothing for me. Could you please get me some packing boxes? I need them today.” I grabbed my suitcase and went back to our bedroom. By the time the housekeeper brought the boxes, I had already sorted my clothes and personal belongings. Next, I walked into Sam’s closet. Over the years, I’d given him countless ties, cufflinks, suits, and watches. He rarely wore any of them. They only saw the light of day when I insisted, practically dressing him myself. Just like me, his girlfriend. Kept hidden away in the dark. I swallowed the painful lump in my throat and began to methodically remove every single thing I had ever given him, packing them away. It took hours. When I was finally done, I sank onto the edge of the bed, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps. My phone buzzed. A text from Sam. Driver’s on his way to pick you up. He’ll be there in thirty. The message was brief, devoid of context or explanation. He was so certain I would never question him, never refuse. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. Perfect timing. It was time to finally say goodbye. 3 The lights of the private club swirled in a hypnotic, decadent dance. This used to be one of my favorite places. I grew up coddled and adored, and my personality burned as bright and untamed as a wildfire. My friends used to call me the “Wild Rose of New York’s elite.” I first saw Sam at my brother’s university gala. I was immediately captivated by his cool, almost ascetic aura. I subtly grilled my brother, trying to find out if he was single. David had rolled his eyes. “Him? He’s an ice king. What girl would be brave enough to even get close?” A spark of joy ignited in my chest. He was ice, I was fire. We were a perfect match. Behind my brother’s back, I began my relentless pursuit. I even changed my university application from Columbia to the University of Miami, just to be near him. When David found out, he was furious, but his anger was always tempered by his love for me. He ended up calling Sam anyway, asking him to look out for his reckless little sister. I had smiled to myself, thinking: It’s all going according to plan. Back then, I thought I was a brilliant strategist, with both my brother and Sam playing parts in my grand design. It’s only today that I realize how pitifully stupid I was. A waiter led me to the door of a private suite. The atmosphere inside was already roaring. Someone was goading Sam. “Come on, Kunz. You’re so protective of that little girlfriend of yours, you barely ever let us see her. Now that Isla’s back—the sister you’ve doted on since you were kids—I have to ask. The girlfriend or the sister? Who’s more important in that cold heart of yours?” My feet stopped moving. I held my breath, waiting. Sam took a slow sip of his drink, saying nothing. Isla stomped her foot, pouting at him. “Sam!” Only then did a smirk grace his lips. He set his crystal glass down on the marble table with a soft clink. His voice, cool and clear, cut through the noise. “Girlfriends can be replaced. You only get one sister. You tell me who’s more important.” “Oof, I’ve got goosebumps!” the crowd roared with laughter and jeers. Isla stood up, triumphant, pointing a finger at half the people in the room. “You, you, and you! You lost the bet! Pay up!” Sam looked at her, feigning confusion. “What bet?” “They bet me you cared more about your girlfriend,” Isla explained, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “Losers have to send me twenty grand each.” Groans of mock agony filled the room as people pulled out their phones. Sam watched them, a derisive chuckle escaping his lips. “Serves you right.” I raised my hand and knocked on the door. 4 The boisterous energy in the room instantly evaporated. Sam’s eyes found mine, and the seat next to him was immediately vacated, an unspoken invitation. He hadn’t brought me to meet his friends often, but on the rare occasions he did, he’d at least made a show of valuing my presence. I remember one time, after I’d pursued him for so long that his coldness was beginning to wear me down, he suddenly suggested I join him for a gathering. That night, his friends had told me, “You know, you’re the first girl Sam’s ever brought around, besides Isla.” At the time, I just thought of Isla as his sister. I didn’t think twice about it. I was just giddy, convinced that his icy exterior was just a front, that deep down, he truly cared for me. Looking back now, I see it for what it was: a performance for his friends, a simple act of courtesy. For him, it cost nothing, but for me, it was the perfect manipulation to dispel my doubts and make me even more devoted. My thoughts snapped back to the present. I ignored the empty seat beside Sam and chose a spot in the farthest corner of the room. A shadow crossed Sam’s face. “Thea?” I just smiled, saying nothing. Isla picked up a glass of wine and walked toward me. “You must be Thea,” she said. “I’m Isla. Sam’s…” She paused, searching for the right word. Sam finished for her. “Sister.” Isla’s brow furrowed, a flash of annoyance in her eyes. She held the glass out to me, her voice taking on a petulant edge. “Right. Sister. I just got back to the States. This is a toast to you.” It didn’t take a genius to sense the hostility radiating from her. This wasn’t the animosity of a sister towards her brother’s girlfriend. So, she’s in love with him, too. The image of Sam in his study flashed in my mind, and the whole situation felt grotesquely absurd. I forced a polite smile. “Welcome back. But I’m not feeling well, so I won’t be drinking.” Isla’s lips tightened. “Oh, come on. Don’t be like that. I came all this way, and this is my welcome-home party. You won’t even have one drink with me?” “I said, I’m not feeling well.” The displeasure on her face intensified. She turned to Sam. “Sam, does your girlfriend not like me?” His gaze was cold, his tone flat. “Thea, don’t be difficult. Drink it.” A laugh, sharp and humorless, almost escaped my lips. “You called me here just to watch me drink?” He lifted his eyelids, his voice a low murmur. “Isla wanted to meet you.” So that was it. It was because Isla wanted to see me. It was all so she could size up her competition, so they could both be reminded of the societal lines they shouldn’t cross. I was just a tool, a prop in their twisted drama to keep their own forbidden desires in check. I stood up. “She’s seen me now. Can I go?” He must have sensed the uncharacteristic defiance in my tone. A storm began to brew in the dark depths of his eyes. I knew he was angry. But I was done placating him. “What has been your problem all day?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous, chilling the air in the room. I looked back at him, a knowing, meaningful smile on my face. Sam, I know all about your filthy little secrets. And I’m not playing your game anymore. I turned to leave, but Isla grabbed my wrist. “The party’s not over until I say it is. I’m the guest of honor, and I didn’t say you could go.” I yanked my arm back and, with a sharp, satisfying crack, slapped her across the face. “Is it because you’re an orphan that you have no damn manners?” 5 I strode through the dimly lit corridors of the club, a whirlwind of drunken catcalls and slurred propositions swirling around me. A fire was raging inside my chest, and I desperately needed the cold night air to extinguish it. The moment I stepped outside, I finally exhaled. To clear my head, I decided against calling a car and started walking along the side of the road. I hadn’t gone far when a black van screeched to a halt beside me. I stopped dead, my hand fumbling in my purse for my phone, my thumb hovering over the emergency contact. Sam. In the next second, several masked figures in black jumped out of the van. A burlap sack was thrown over my head, and a heavy blow to my skull sent me spiraling into darkness. When I came to, I was in a deserted factory. My hands and feet were bound tightly, my body suspended in the air. “Lower her a bit,” a gruff voice commanded. My body dropped suddenly, jarring my senses. A filthy rag was stuffed in my mouth, and I tried to scream, but only muffled sounds came out. I needed to talk to them, to negotiate, to find a way to survive. But before I could even try, a mountain of a man slapped me hard across the face. My head swam, stars exploding behind my eyes. The man’s face was hidden behind a mask. “Sorry about this, Ms. Crawford,” he said, his voice flat. “We’re just doing a job. You just managed to piss off the wrong person.” “Our employer has a message for you. Be a good girl and take these hundred slaps, and you can walk out of here alive.” “But if you scream, or if you even think about calling the cops afterward, he guarantees that you’ll spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder.” Tears of pain and terror streamed down my face. The man gestured toward a security camera mounted on the ceiling. “Sir, shall we begin?” A voice came through a speaker. “Yes.” I froze, every muscle in my body locking up. It was like being struck by lightning. Even as a single word, I knew it instantly. It was Sam’s voice. In a horrifying flash, it all clicked into place. He had arranged this. He was going to have me beaten. One hundred slaps. This was his revenge for Isla. I sobbed against the gag, my muffled cries echoing in the cavernous space as I stared at the unblinking eye of the camera. He loved her that much. He truly, madly loved her. He couldn’t stand to see her suffer the slightest indignation. But I couldn’t wrap my head around it. How could he be so cruel? For one slap, he would do this to me? Even if he didn’t love me, I had given him five years of my life, three years of my heart. Even if he didn’t care about me, I was still his best friend’s sister. How could you do this to me, Sam? How could you! I thrashed against my restraints, screaming his name through the gag, praying for a single shred of humanity to surface in his heart. There was no response from the camera. Just the sickening sound of one slap after another. The burning sting on my cheeks slowly gave way to a throbbing numbness. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, dripping down my chin, painting my face in crimson.

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