Category: English

I have always been a crier. And, I’ll admit it, I’m relentlessly clingy. My husband—a man I acquired through a corporate marriage of convenience—was currently meticulously peeling the skin off a bowl of green grapes for me. It was the thousandth time he’d performed some tedious task just to appease me. Suddenly, strings of floating text began scrolling across my vision, glowing in the air like a live comment thread on a streaming site. [Can the side-character wife get a grip? The male lead works himself to the bone all day, and he has to come home to serve this brainless brat?] [All she does is cry. She’s crying away whatever good luck she has left!] [When is he finally going to divorce her? I can’t stand the way she bosses him around. So what if her family bailed him out when he was down? Big deal.] [Just wait. It won’t be long now. This spoiled princess is going to be utterly destroyed by the female lead, who is actually competent and brilliant.] [Spoiler alert: Her company goes bankrupt, her family falls apart, and she dies in the streets. Just watch!] My breath hitched. My hand shot out, snatching the bowl of peeled grapes right out of his hands, and I dumped the entire thing into the trash can. Thomas’s hands froze in mid-air. He looked up, his brow furrowing slightly. “How have I offended you this time?” 1 I met his dark, ink-black eyes. To me, they looked entirely filled with impatience. A pulse hammered at my temple. I opened my mouth, the words stumbling out clumsily. “I… I can’t stand the green ones anymore.” The moment the words left my lips, I wanted to slap myself. Idiot. I couldn’t even come up with a decent lie. Thomas let out a soft click of his tongue, his thin lips parting slightly. My heart did a frantic leap against my ribs. I thought for sure he was finally furious. When we first got married, I had weaponized my status as the wealthy heiress who saved him. I ordered him around, criticized everything, and the second he didn’t give me exactly what I wanted, I cried. And when I cried, it was an endless, exhausting downpour. Perhaps out of some lingering sense of gratitude, he had endured it all. And because he endured it, I pushed further. I convinced myself that making him jump through hoops, making him cater to my every whim, was simply what he owed me. Honestly, every time I saw him swallowing his irritation to do something for me, I felt a twisted sense of absolute triumph. But now? Now, the glowing comments predicting my miserable, destitute death flashed in my mind, sending a violent shiver down my spine. I didn’t dare push him anymore. “If you don’t want them, you don’t have to eat them.” Thomas pulled a wet wipe from the dispenser and began slowly, methodically cleaning the sticky grape juice from his long fingers. He tossed the wipe into the trash, stood up, and headed toward the kitchen. “We don’t have any of the red globes left,” he said, his back to me. “Do you want something else?” “No, no, it’s fine! I’m just going to go to sleep. I’ve lost my appetite anyway.” I waved my hands frantically and practically bolted toward the master bathroom. Thomas’s footsteps stopped. He glanced back over his shoulder at me, then turned and closed the distance between us with long, purposeful strides. Realizing what he was about to do, I lunged forward, grabbing my toothbrush and aggressively squeezing paste onto it before he could reach it. I gave him a stiff, overly-eager smile. “I’ve got it! I can do it myself!” Thomas stopped a foot away. Those pitch-black eyes roamed my face, searching for something. Then, his voice softened. “It’s my fault today. Things were chaotic at the firm, and by the time I got to the artisanal market, the red grapes were completely picked over. The few they had left looked bruised, so I bought the green ones instead.” He paused. “I’ll make sure to leave the office earlier tomorrow.” The truth was, we had a full-time housekeeper whose literal job was to buy groceries. But a year ago, purely to mess with him, I had fired her from grocery duty and demanded Thomas do it. Every evening after work, he had to go buy my specific fruits, wash them, and sometimes literally feed them to me. He peeled the skins, pitted the cherries, and held out his hand for me to spit the seeds into. “You don’t need to do that,” I said, my voice trembling slightly. “You don’t need to do any of it anymore. I can do it myself from now on.” I didn’t dare look at him. I just stared at the sink, brushing my teeth with aggressive concentration. In my periphery, I saw Thomas’s expression darken. He stared at my back for a long, heavy moment. “Suit yourself,” he finally said, his tone perfectly flat. It wasn’t until he had completely left the room that the rigid tension bled out of my shoulders, and I slumped against the marble counter. 2 Only one dim, amber-glowing lamp illuminated the bedroom. Thomas was propped up against the headboard, reading off his tablet. The cool blue light washed over his face, highlighting his sharp, aristocratic jawline and the perpetual cool indifference in his eyes. Hearing me enter, he looked up. I immediately averted my gaze. I scurried to the far side of the massive California King bed, lifted the duvet, and slid in, pressing myself so close to the edge I was practically hovering over the floor. You could have fit two more of me in the space between us. Normally, I slept plastered to his side. I would wrap my arms and legs around him like a suffocating vine. When he got too hot and tried to gently push me away, I would immediately start crying. I’d cry until he gave up, sighed, and let me use him as a human body pillow. Tonight, I didn’t dare. Thomas had already prepped for my usual assault. The duvet on his side was pulled back invitingly, and he had even switched off his financial reports, pulling up an audiobook app on his tablet, just waiting for me to latch onto him. In the past, I would force him to read me bedtime stories. If he refused, I cried. If he read them but I felt he wasn’t putting enough “emotion” into it, I cried. I would force him to do voices and act out the dialogue until I fell asleep. I saw him waiting. But I pretended I didn’t. It’s true, I had overactive tear ducts, and I was raised in an old-money bubble that completely insulated me from the word “no.” My marriage to Thomas started with pure, unadulterated infatuation. We went to the same elite prep school, and even back then, he was the untouchable golden boy. A brilliant, brooding prince of a dynasty. I’ve always had a fatal flaw: the more unattainable something was, the more obsessively I wanted it. I thought about him day and night, but by the time graduation rolled around, he hadn’t looked at me twice. We went to different Ivy League colleges, and I thought my window was closed forever. Then, during our junior year, the scandal hit. His father was indicted by the SEC. Stocks plummeted, assets were frozen, and overnight, the untouchable golden boy was dragged through the mud. The moment I heard, I took a massive chunk of my trust fund and marched to his door, offering the bailout his family desperately needed. The condition? He had to marry me. He agreed. I figured, once I had him, love would naturally follow. I clung to him, threw tantrums, demanded the world. Partly, it was just to force him to look at me. Partly, it was the naive belief that since he married me, he was obligated to spoil me, adore me, and have eyes only for me—just like my parents’ perfect marriage. But he was always so aloof. It was like nothing I did could spark a real fire in him. The less he gave, the more bitter I became. I demanded he be on call twenty-four hours a day, catering to my most unreasonable demands. The glowing text from earlier flashed through my mind again. Bankrupt. Dead in the streets. I shuddered beneath the silk sheets. I absolutely could not accept that ending. The comments said he found me repulsive. Fine. From now on, I would stay completely out of his way. I would be independent. I wouldn’t bother him. That should… that should fix the plot, right? 3 The mattress shifted behind me. He had laid down. I scooted another inch toward the edge. Suddenly, a pair of strong, warm hands clamped around my waist and hauled me backward. I crashed against a solid, heat-radiating chest. Even through the thin fabric of our pajamas, I could feel the steady, heavy thud of his heartbeat. His warm breath brushed against the shell of my ear. “You were about to fall off,” he murmured, his voice laced with a strange, low resignation. Right on cue, the glowing text materialized in the dark room: [Oh, look at her playing hard to get. I actually thought she’d changed, but she was just waiting for the male lead to pull her in.] [The male lead has it so bad. Shackled to this toxic woman. He can’t even tell her off because she’ll just throw a crying fit. He must be so sick of her.] My entire body went rigid. Operating on pure panic, I shoved him away and scrambled back to the icy edge of the mattress. I kept my back to him, my voice tight. “I’m just a little hot.” “Go to sleep. I’m tired.” Behind me, in the heavy silence, I heard the distinct sound of him grinding his back teeth. Then, a low, almost bitter scoff. “Fine.” A sour ache bloomed in my chest. Was he really that happy that I wasn’t touching him? The glowing comments continued to scroll past, mocking me. I squeezed my eyes shut and chose to play blind. 4 I woke up in the middle of the night needing to use the bathroom. As consciousness returned, I realized I was wrapped around Thomas like a desperate octopus. I knew I was an active sleeper, but I didn’t realize it was this bad. Filled with intense self-loathing, I slid out of bed, used the restroom, and quietly walked down the hall to the guest bedroom. Imagine my utter shock when I woke up the next morning back in the master bedroom. The first thing I saw was a very familiar expanse of bare chest. My favorite chest. An arm was clamped over my waist like an iron band. I was completely immobilized. Panic flared. Did I sleepwalk? It wouldn’t be the first time. Sometimes Thomas’s libido was too much, and I’d get mad and banish him to the guest room. But the next morning, we’d always wake up in the same bed. I used to accuse him of sneaking back in, but he’d calmly pull up the security footage from the hallway to show me that I had sleepwalked straight into his bed. Damn it, I thought. I’m buying a deadbolt today. I carefully pinched the fabric of his sleeve, trying to lift his heavy arm and slide out. I moved barely an inch before the arm tightened like a vice. “Where are you going?” Thomas’s morning voice was a gravelly, sleep-rough rumble that sent an involuntary shiver straight down my spine. I froze in his arms, too scared to even breathe. The floating comments were right on time: [Look at her pretending to pull away. She’s probably thrilled inside.] [The male lead sounds so annoyed. She’s still just lying there like an idiot. Zero self-awareness.] Spurred by the words, I immediately started thrashing against his grip. “I—I need to pee!” Thomas didn’t let go. Instead, he smoothly rolled me over so I was forced to look at him. There were faint, bruised shadows under his eyes. He clearly hadn’t slept well. “You ran off to the guest room last night, and then wandered back in at 3 AM just to burrow into my chest.” He stared down at me, his face utterly unreadable. “What game are we playing?” Guilt flared hot in my cheeks. I looked away. Could I exactly tell him I saw floating text predicting he would ruin my life? “N-No game.” “I just realized… I’ve been really annoying lately. I’ve decided I’m not going to annoy you anymore.” The air in the room went deathly still. Thomas’s eyes narrowed into dark, dangerous slits. His fingers gently caught my chin, forcing my gaze back to his. “Who said something to you?” “Nobody! Absolutely nobody!” I denied it frantically, but my stupid, traitorous eyes immediately welled up with tears. The comments surged: [Crying again. Is that literally her only skill?] [The male lead hates it when she cries. Just wait, he’s going to drop her so fast.] Panicking, I shoved him off, practically vaulted out of bed, and sprinted into the master bathroom. I could feel his gaze burning into my back the entire way, heavy and unyielding. 5 For the next few weeks, I made dodging Thomas my full-time job. While he was downstairs making my artisanal breakfast, I would sneak out the side door, order an Uber, and text him from a café that I was eating out. I didn’t have a corporate job, but my trust fund was massive. Recently, I had fallen down a rabbit hole of collecting rare, vintage vinyl records and indie band merch. Since I was suddenly trying to give Thomas space, I decided to open an upscale boutique record shop. It gave me something to do other than obsess over him. My phone vibrated on the table. I tapped the screen. It was a string of update texts from Thomas. Early in our marriage, I had given him a strict, psychotic mandate: he had to report his location, his company, and the duration of every single meeting, down to the minute. I even made him write a daily log for me to review. Usually, I’d text back something brief and send him a flirty Venmo with a heart emoji as a “reward.” But now… I sniffled, swallowing the lump in my throat. I shoved the phone into my designer coat pocket and looked up at the man sitting across from me, who was currently grinning like a shark. Solomon. A top-tier partner at a cutthroat law firm, specializing in high-net-worth divorces. He also happened to be an upperclassman from my university days. If Thomas was destined to divorce me and leave me destitute, I was going to strike first. I needed to control the narrative. By the time we finished going over the preliminary paperwork, it was almost noon. I walked Solomon out to the sidewalk. And that’s when I saw him. Thomas was standing perfectly still by the entrance. He wore a sharp, midnight-blue overcoat. In one hand, he gripped a sleek, insulated lunch tote. The air around him was so cold and oppressive it felt like a physical weight. 6 “What are you doing here?” I didn’t know why, but I felt incredibly guilty, like a wife caught in an affair. I stumbled backward a step, my shoulder bumping into Solomon. Thomas’s eyes darkened to pitch. The knuckles of the hand gripping the lunch tote turned bone-white, the pale blue veins standing out sharply against his skin.

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It has been exactly seven days since I moved into the new bedroom. Mom pushed the door open, froze the second she saw me up and moving around, and blurted out the words before she could stop herself: “How are you still fine?” This room—the “Princess Suite,” as she called it—had cost her a fortune to renovate. When she first pitched the idea to me, she claimed the contractors were using cutting-edge, antibacterial materials that would work wonders for my chronic asthma. But I clearly remembered standing in the hallway weeks ago, overhearing her tell the head contractor that this specific batch of materials had formaldehyde levels hundreds of times over the legal limit. A healthy person sleeping in here for a single night would develop acute pulmonary edema. She had even installed a heavy-duty lock on the outside of my door. Her excuse? “I don’t want your brother going in there and messing up your clean air.” For the past week, she had come to my door every single day, asking if my throat felt scratchy. Asking if I was having trouble breathing. 1 Her question hung in the air like a shard of ice, instantly piercing through my carefully crafted veneer of calm. The blood drained from my mother’s face, leaving her pale and ghostly. She stared at me, a frantic, desperate panic swimming in her eyes—a look I had never seen before. “I… I just meant, I meant why hasn’t your asthma cleared up completely yet?” It was a pathetic lie. So painfully clumsy that I didn’t even have the energy to call her out on it. Just then, a smooth, gentle voice drifted in from behind me. “Mom, you really need to stop worrying so much. Paige’s condition is going to take time to heal.” It was my older brother, Wesley. He was wearing a crisp white button-down, looking every inch the flawless golden boy. His effortless perfection only made my mother’s anxious cowering feel all the more grotesque. She rubbed her hands together nervously, looking for all the world like a reprimanded child. She didn’t dare meet my eyes again. “I’ll go start dinner,” she muttered, practically fleeing the doorway as if she couldn’t get away from my room fast enough. “Paige, don’t mind her,” Wesley said softly, his voice a soothing balm. “Mom is just under a lot of pressure right now. She loves you so much.” Loves me? A bitter laugh echoed in my head. If she loves me, why is she waiting for me to die? Later that night, my mother voluntarily knocked on my door for the first time. She came in carrying a plate of sliced fruit, forcing a stiff, ingratiating smile. “Paige, honey… why don’t you switch rooms with your brother for a bit? With all this new furniture in here, I really think the room needs a few more days to air out.” I stared at her, alarm bells shrieking in my mind. Was this it? Was she trying to lure me out so she could tamper with the room again, ensuring I wouldn’t have a single chance of surviving my next night in here? “No thanks,” I said, my voice dripping with ice. “I think it’s perfect in here. It smells great.” I deliberately emphasized the word great. I saw her hand violently jerk. A slice of apple tumbled off the plate and hit the hardwood floor. I thought my refusal would make her back off. But I was wrong. Around eleven o’clock that night, just as I was drifting off, I heard the faint click of the door latch. Bathed in the weak moonlight filtering through the window, I watched my door slowly creep open. A dark silhouette slipped into my room. It was Mom. She was clutching a heavy-duty spray bottle. Moving methodically, she began misting my headboard, my closet, my desk. The liquid settled into the air, bringing with it a sharp, corrosive chemical stench that burned the back of my nose. My heart hammered against my ribs. My palms were slick with cold sweat. After she finished spraying, she didn’t leave immediately. She just stood there in the center of the room. Even in the pitch black, I could feel the suffocating weight of her gaze locked onto my body in the bed. Every hair on the back of my neck stood up. Silent as a ghost, she finally backed out of the room, shutting the door behind her. The second she was gone, I clamped my hands over my nose and mouth. A heavy, terrifying realization crushed the breath out of my lungs. My mother really wants to kill me. 2 The first thing I did when I opened my eyes the next morning was frantically scan my body, terrified that whatever she had sprayed had already begun rotting me from the inside out. Miraculously, I felt fine. No tightness in my chest, no coughing. Mom knocked on my door to call me for breakfast, wearing the same stiff, plastered-on smile, acting as if she hadn’t been creeping around my room in the dead of night like a grim reaper. I looked at her across the dining table, a sickening cocktail of disgust and terror churning in my gut, but I was too afraid to confront her directly. When I walked into the kitchen, Wesley looked up and offered a warm smile. “Sleep okay?” Mom sat opposite us, her head bowed over her oatmeal, refusing to say a word. “I slept fine,” I lied, flashing a tight smile. I didn’t dare mention last night. For the next few days, it became a twisted nightly ritual. Deep in the night, I would hear the door creak open, followed by the hissing of the spray bottle and that increasingly noxious chemical odor. I played dead every single time. I didn’t dare move a muscle. I didn’t dare breathe too loudly. All I could do was lie there in paralyzing fear, watching my own mother repeatedly douse my room in whatever poison she had concocted. And every time, she would stand at the foot of my bed, staring at me for what felt like hours. Waiting. On the fourth night, things took an even more bizarre turn. I was tossing and turning, unable to sleep, when a sudden sound ripped through the silence. Thud. Thud. Thud. It was a rhythmic, deliberate knocking. It sounded like someone taking a heavy, blunt object and striking it directly against my drywall. One. Two. Three… Every hollow impact struck directly against my chest. I curled into a tight ball beneath my duvet, too terrified to breathe. The knocking dragged on for five agonizing minutes before abruptly stopping. The next morning, I gathered my courage and asked Wesley, “Did you hear someone banging on the walls last night?” He blinked, looking genuinely confused. “No? Maybe the neighbors are doing renovations?” “Maybe,” I muttered, dropping the subject. But I knew the truth. Who the hell does demolition work at two in the morning? I endured the psychological torture for two more nights. Finally, when the rhythmic banging started again, my frayed nerves snapped. I threw off my covers and sprinted to the door, yanking it open. The hallway was empty. But my mother’s bedroom door was cracked open, a flickering, sickly orange light bleeding out into the corridor. Drawn by a morbid curiosity, I crept over and peered through the crack. What I saw made my blood run cold. My mother was kneeling on the hardwood floor in front of a brass incense burner. A photograph of me sat propped up against it. She was muttering frantically under her breath, holding a crude little effigy made of paper over the candle flame, watching the edges curl and blacken. My legs gave out. I stumbled backward, my shoulder slamming against the doorframe with a loud thud. Mom whipped her head around. Cast in the twisting shadows of the candlelight, her face contorted into something utterly inhuman. I scrambled back to my room on my hands and knees, slammed the door, and threw the deadbolt. I didn’t close my eyes for the rest of the night. 3 After that night, the atmosphere in the house grew unbearably suffocating. The way my mother looked at me began to shift. It was a deeply unsettling gaze—a toxic blend of anxiety, terror, and some dark, unreadable emotion I couldn’t decipher. And her desperate attempts to force me out of the room escalated. It was another late night when the muffled sounds of a vicious argument in the living room jolted me awake. It was Mom and Wesley. I slipped out of bed barefoot, creeping to the door and pressing my ear against the cool wood. “That bed has to go! I’m calling someone to tear it out tomorrow!” Mom’s voice was shrill, borderline hysterical. “The wood is tainted!” The wood is tainted? My heart skipped a beat. Had her conscience finally caught up to her? Was she trying to undo her own trap? But Wesley’s calm response crushed my fleeting hope. “Mom! Can you please stop being so utterly unreasonable?” He sounded completely exhausted. “You took out loans to pay for this renovation, and now you want to rip it apart? I already checked the manufacturer for Paige. It’s the highest-grade eco-friendly timber on the market!” “You don’t understand anything!” Mom screamed. “You’re right, I don’t! I just know that you’ve been losing your mind lately!” The argument died in a tense, heavy silence. I leaned against my door, my insides turning to ice. She isn’t having a change of heart, I realized. She’s trying to destroy the evidence. Early the next morning, Wesley hauled a massive box into my room. It was the latest, most expensive medical-grade air purifier on the market. “Wes, this is way too much,” I whispered. “Don’t worry about it. As long as you’re healthy, I don’t care what it costs.” He reached out and ruffled my hair, his eyes soft. “Just ignore Mom’s crazy talk. I’ve got your back, okay?” Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. In this cold, twisted house, my brother was the only one who genuinely cared if I lived or died. Mom backed off for two days after that. I foolishly thought the storm had passed. But I underestimated her madness. While I was at my afternoon classes, she secretly hired contractors to dismantle my bed. I got a frantic text from a neighbor and rushed home, bursting through the front door just as two men in work boots were preparing to haul the headboard out of my room. I charged at them like a wild animal, throwing myself in front of the bed frame. “Don’t you dare touch my stuff!” Mom darted out of the kitchen. Seeing me, the color drained from her face. “Paige, honey, just listen to me—” “Listen to what?! To whatever psychotic new way you’ve found to torture me?” I was trembling from head to toe, the words tearing out of my throat. “Let me make this perfectly clear. As long as I am breathing, neither of you is touching a single thing in this room!” That was the breaking point. The fragile truce between me and my mother shattered completely. From that day on, I existed in that house as a ghost, speaking only to Wesley. He would just sigh, stroking my hair with a heartbroken expression. “Paige, Mom is just buckling under the pressure. Try not to hate her. You still have me.” 4 Aunt Valerie came over for the weekend. The second she walked through the door, she grabbed my mother’s hands and began gushing over my new room. “Evelyn, you are spoiling this girl! This room looks better than a five-star hotel! God, if I had a mother like you, I’d wake up laughing every day!” Mom didn’t smile. She just offered a weak, mechanical twitch of her lips. It didn’t take long for Aunt Valerie to pick up on the toxic energy radiating between us. She cornered me in the hallway, crossing her arms to deliver a stern, maternal lecture. “Listen to me, Paige. Look at your brother. He’s smart, responsible, and never gives your mother an ounce of grief. But you? You’ve been sickly your whole life. Your mother has turned gray trying to pay your medical bills, and this is how you repay her? By throwing tantrums and giving her the silent treatment?” Every word was a physical blow, driving the breath from my lungs. They didn’t know. None of them knew! They only saw the money she threw around; they didn’t see the woman sneaking into my room at midnight, praying for my lungs to give out! My face flushed crimson with rage. I couldn’t even form a coherent sentence. I violently ripped my arm out of Aunt Valerie’s grip, bolted into my room, and slammed the door with a deafening crash. Through the drywall, I could hear my aunt and my mother sighing heavily. I buried my face in my pillow and sobbed until my throat was raw. Why was I the villain? Why did everyone look at me like I was the monster? I cried for hours until pure exhaustion dragged me into a fitful sleep. I don’t know how much time passed before a strange, sloshing sound woke me up. I groggily lifted my head. Through the dim light, I saw a puddle creeping across my floorboards. My mother was crouching on the other side of the door, quietly pouring a basin of water right under the crack. The water seeped into the carpet. Before I could even process what she was doing, she suddenly began screaming at the top of her lungs. “Oh my god! The upstairs neighbor has a leak! Paige, get out of there, the room is flooding!” Her acting was atrocious—forced, theatrical, yet laced with an undeniable, desperate panic she couldn’t hide. I stared at the pathetic little puddle ruining my rug, then listened to the fake hysteria beyond the door. Honestly, I felt nothing but contempt. She looked like a clown who had finally run out of tricks. 5 Wesley worked long hours, and when he wasn’t home, the isolation was deafening. Desperate for any kind of companionship, I bought myself a little Syrian hamster. When Wesley saw it, his eyes lit up. He went out of his way to buy the most expensive gourmet nut mixes for it. Mom, however, looked at the cage like it was a live bomb. She absolutely forbade me from keeping it in my room. “Animals carry bacteria,” she snapped. “It’s going to trigger your asthma.” I stared her down, a cold, mocking smile spreading across my face. “I thought you said the new building materials were antibacterial?” The words hit her like a physical blow. She choked on her response, her face turning an ashen gray, and ultimately, she didn’t have the leverage to stop me. I set the cage proudly on my nightstand, finding immense comfort in the tiny creature’s presence. I fell asleep to the sound of it running on its wheel. But when I woke up the next morning, the wheel was silent. I leaned over. The little hamster was lying on its side, stiff as a board. A rim of dried, foamy white saliva crusted its mouth. It was dead. “Ahhhh!” A visceral scream tore from my throat. I scrambled backward, falling out of bed just to get away from the nightstand. My door violently banged open. Wesley rushed in, dropping to his knees and pulling me into a fierce embrace. “Paige! What is it? What happened?” His eyes darted to the nightstand. When he saw the cage, his entire body went rigid. His arms tightened around me protectively as he glared over his shoulder at our mother, who had just appeared in the doorway. Mom stared at the dead animal. All the blood rushed from her face, leaving her completely white. Her lips were trembling so violently I thought she might collapse. “I didn’t… I didn’t…” she mumbled incoherently. “Enough!” Wesley’s voice boomed through the room, sharp and furious. “Mom, how long are you going to keep playing this twisted game?” He took a deep, steadying breath, pulling out his phone with a dark, resolute expression. “I am calling a professional environmental testing agency right now. I’m having them tear this room apart. Don’t worry, Paige. Today, we are going to show everyone exactly who has been trying to hurt you.” 6 The day the inspectors arrived, our house was packed. Every relative in a ten-mile radius showed up, including Aunt Valerie. They gathered in the living room, hovering like a jury waiting to deliver a verdict. My mother sat curled up in the corner of the sofa, looking entirely hollowed out. She didn’t even have the strength to lift her head. I stood tall beside Wesley, feeling like a soldier on the brink of vindication. Two men in official uniforms, armed with an arsenal of intimidating meters and sensors, spent an entire hour sweeping my bedroom. They checked the paint, the baseboards, the wood veneer, and the air quality. I kept my eyes fixed on my mother, eagerly waiting for the machines to start shrieking. Waiting for the moment her lies would unravel and she would drop to her knees in shame. Finally, the lead inspector stepped out of the room, clutching a clipboard. The living room fell dead silent. Every eye locked onto him. My heart hammered in my throat. “The results are conclusive,” the inspector said, pushing his glasses up his nose in a detached, clinical manner. “We’ve tested for everything—formaldehyde, VOCs, benzene, you name it. Not only is this room well within legal limits, it actually surpasses the highest tier of green building standards. To be entirely honest, this is one of the cleanest, safest indoor environments we’ve ever tested.” Crash. My mind flatlined. It felt like a bolt of lightning had struck me squarely in the chest.

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My roommate Russell saw my sister Marta give me a $20,000 membership card to the ice skating club. She immediately came over and said, “We just finished exams. Let’s go relax together.” I replied, “I don’t have time recently. I need to prepare for my graduate school applications.” She pursed her lips and said: “You just don’t know how to enjoy yourself. If you’re not going, I’m definitely going to have some fun.” I was a bit confused. A single visit to the ice skating club cost at least $500. She usually wouldn’t even buy a $5 makeup sponge. Would she really spend money to go to the club? She wouldn’t try to use mine, would she? Sure enough, she used my identity and brought her childhood friend and two other friends into the club. They chose the most expensive coach in the venue, used the top-tier equipment, and had a blast all day. However, when it came time to pay, she completely froze! Right after turning in the last exam before break, Russell blocked the classroom door. “Lester!” She grabbed my arm. “Do you have any plans this weekend?” I pulled my arm away. “I need to prepare for grad school applications. I’m busy and don’t have time.” “What? Studying during break?” Russell’s smile froze for a second. “But you can’t just study all day, right? Ever heard of work-life balance? Let’s go to that ice skating club and have some fun—the one we went to last time!” I glanced at her and didn’t respond. She continued, “Just one day, that’s all. After relaxing, you’ll study way more efficiently. Really!” “I really don’t have time. You can ask someone else to go with you.” I finished speaking and headed toward the dorm. Russell followed, pursing her lips. “Ask someone else? Ask who? Bonnie and Ruth are planning to go back home, Maya’s going to her boyfriend’s place.” “Only Mira’s left, and she’s so stingy. If I bring her along, what good would it do me?” Seeing me walking fast, she caught up again and said: “You just don’t know how to enjoy yourself. If you’re not going, I’m definitely going to have some fun.” She especially liked ranking classmates by their family backgrounds and only hung out with those from wealthy families. I thought it over carefully. Something felt off. Bringing Mira wouldn’t do her any good? But bringing me would benefit her greatly! Did she really think I was an idiot? Last month when buying books, $102, she had Maya pay upfront and still hasn’t paid her back. At the cafeteria, she always arrived three minutes late, coming over with her empty tray, looking embarrassed, saying she forgot to bring money, and mooching a meal. My mind quickly flashed back to a scene from a month ago. My sister Marta came to our city on a business trip and specially took a day to visit me. To help me get along with my roommates, Marta treated all six of us in the dorm to the most expensive Western restaurant in the shopping district—over $400 per person. After dinner, Marta took us to that high-end ice skating club downtown. She got me a membership card right there and loaded $20,000 onto it. Marta patted my shoulder and said, “When you’re tired from studying, come skate a couple rounds and clear your head.” Everyone in the dorm had a great time that day. Coming here cost at least $1,000, which I could never afford on my own. Last time, I saw her at a street vendor stall near campus with a $5 makeup sponge. She picked it up, touched it, put it down, and eventually walked away. She often said she was rich. Her family lived in a mansion, huge and spacious, with several cars. But when school started, I clearly saw her dad carrying a worn cloth bag with her luggage, wearing old green sneakers with the rubber sole coming apart. Whenever she called home, she’d borrow a roommate’s phone and run far away to make the call. A $1,000 ice skating trip—did she really have that much money? Unless she was using my card. Last time at the ice skating club, she stared at Marta the whole time, her eyes practically glued to her. Later, she slipped away to the front desk by herself. I didn’t pay attention at the time. But Bonnie noticed and told me when we got back: “Russell went to the front desk and asked a bunch of questions—whether the card was registered to a specific person, if someone else could use it, whether there’d be a notification on the phone after using it…” When she came back, Bonnie joked, “Are you planning to get one too?” Russell flipped her hair back then, looking disdainful: “If I wanted a card, wouldn’t that be easy? One call to my dad and the money would be transferred immediately.” Later, she once asked me in a roundabout way: “Lester, with your ice skating card, can you see the transaction details on your phone afterward? Do you get text messages?” I said, “That’s too much hassle. I never look at text messages.” Her eyes shifted, and she smiled at me really happily. The more I thought about it, the more uneasy I felt. I’m not a particularly stingy person, but having someone secretly eyeing my money made me feel uncomfortable. Walking through an empty school corridor, I pulled out my phone and called the ice skating club’s front desk.

A guy answered the phone. “Hello, I’d like to ask—if I’m not there in person, can someone else use my membership card by giving my phone number?” “Hello, ma’am. Our membership card purchases have strict identity verification procedures.” “Any transaction requires the member to be present in person and show identification.” “Or we send an authorization confirmation text to the member’s phone through our system, and the member must reply with consent before the charge can be processed.” “If it’s a non-member making a purchase, we’ll immediately call the member for confirmation.” After hanging up, I felt completely relieved. The next day at noon, I came back from the library. As I pushed open the dorm door, I was greeted by Russell’s loud voice. “Look!” She stood in the middle of the room, holding up a brown bag with a huge logo and shiny metal hardware. “My dad bought this for me! Michael’s brand, limited edition!” She spun around and shoved the bag in Bonnie’s face. “Look at this hardware, the quality. And look at this engraving—each one individually carved, so clear.” She turned it over to show Maya. “And this luggage tag with an independent serial number and certificate. It’s authentic!” Bonnie leaned against the bed, chin in hand, looking for two seconds. “How much was it?” “Thirteen thousand!” Russell’s eyes were glowing. Maya poked her head out from the top bunk, staring at the bag for five seconds. “Russell, I’ve seen this online.” Russell’s smile froze. Maya pulled out her phone, scrolled twice, and shoved the screen in Russell’s face. “Look, exactly the same one. Nine dollars, twenty thousand sold monthly.” Russell pushed Maya’s phone away. “What do you know? Authentic and knockoff can’t be the same! Feel this leather, feel it!” Bonnie suppressed a laugh and looked down at her phone. Russell didn’t care about everyone’s reactions at all. “What can I say? You all have no taste.” She carefully tucked the bag into her locker and moved next to me. “Lester, are you sure you won’t reconsider going to the ice skating club?” “No, I already paid for tutoring classes.” She moved half a step closer and said mysteriously: “Do you know what kind of people go to that club?” “All rich kids like me, whose families own companies, who drive sports cars—each one hotter than the last.” “What great resources. Unlike these poor people.”

Her eyes glanced dismissively at Maya and the others. “I’m not interested in meeting hot guys.” “How can you be so rigid?” I pulled out my tutoring class registration confirmation and shoved it in her face. A4 paper, white background with black text, one large line in the middle: Payment Amount: $3,000. “Look, classes run every day from 8 AM to 6 PM, with just one hour for lunch.” Her gaze stuck on the words “$3,000.” Her eyes shifted, as if she was thinking about something! The day before May Day, the dorm started getting lively as everyone packed their luggage. Bonnie dragged a 24-inch suitcase to catch a train home. Maya carried a backpack to the train station where her boyfriend was waiting at the exit. The other roommates gradually left too, leaving me alone in the dorm. I lazily scrolled through Twitter while lying in bed. Russell had just posted an update. The first three photos were of her with a guy. Round-faced, not very tall, wearing a pilled polo shirt, smiling really hard. The caption read: “Tomorrow marks the sixth anniversary of Marcus and me knowing each other. Six years—no one can match the bond we’ve had since childhood.” “I’m going to give him a huge surprise. Marcus, falling for me won’t disappoint you.” “I’ve got both the romance and security covered!” Followed by a row of hearts and fireworks emojis. The comments section already had replies. Her high school classmate commented: “Russell’s going all out! What’s the surprise? Tell us!” Russell replied: “It’s a secret, but definitely something he’d never dream of.” Another person commented: “Rich people are different. So jealous!” Russell responded instantly: “Not really, I just want to be good to the important people in my life.” I stared at the words “something he’d never dream of” for a long time. That uneasy feeling surged up again—the feeling of being targeted by a thief. My parents were ordinary working people too. It’s just that Marta was good at making money, and her giving me the card was a personal favor. Even if Marta didn’t care about these things, having someone treat me like a fool and spend thousands of dollars still felt really uncomfortable. I picked up my phone and confirmed one more time. The staff member patiently explained to me: “Ma’am, under any circumstances, if the member is not present in person to show identification,” “We will call the member for confirmation before any purchase, and simultaneously send a confirmation text link.” “Both confirmations must be completed. If either is missing, the charge cannot be processed.” I felt completely at ease. The next day, I stood in line and bought an iced coffee. Looking up, I saw Russell arm-in-arm with that guy Marcus. Two more people were with them— A guy and a girl. The guy had a cigarette in his mouth, and the girl wobbled in high heels. Marcus had his arm around Russell’s shoulder, smiling and saying something. “…told you not to worry… Lester’s card is my card… swipe whatever you want…” Marcus gave a thumbs up, his voice clear. “You’re the best, Russell. Real loyal, real generous with me.” Russell looked at Marcus’s face with a sweet smile. “Of course! We’re so close. In the whole dorm, she’s closest to me. What’s hers is mine.” The guy with the cigarette egged them on from the side: “Then let’s really enjoy ourselves today. I heard the coaches at that club are amazing.” Russell patted her chest confidently: “Leave it to me. We’ll pick the most expensive coach, use the best equipment, eat their steak lunch set at noon. We’re going all out today!” Russell said this without hesitation, as if I really were her best friend. Actually, before Marta came to visit me, Russell completely ignored me. Looks like I wasn’t being paranoid after all. If I hadn’t been more careful, I would’ve definitely taken this loss.

At 4:30 PM, I finished my day of studying. I got back to the dorm exhausted, opened my phone, and saw Russell had posted many Twitter updates. First photo: A panoramic shot of the ice skating club lobby. Bright lights, ice surface reflecting the glow. Second photo: Four people posing together on the ice. Russell hugging Marcus, the other two making V signs. Third photo: A man in black coaching attire instructing Marcus on skating. Fourth photo: Close-up of equipment—professional ice skates, knee pads, helmet, full top-tier set. Fifth photo: Lunch—a table for four with four $298 black pepper steak sets. Sixth photo: Russell alone leaning on the railing for a selfie, hair in a high ponytail, makeup three times more elaborate than usual. Seventh photo: Marcus and his two friends goofing around with the coach’s professional ice skates. Eighth photo: Four cocktails on the bar counter. I opened the ninth photo. I sat up in shock. Total amount: $9,999. The itemized list was crystal clear: Caption: “Living up to tomorrow, living up to you.” The comments section had exploded. Her high school classmate: “Russell, you’re so rich!” Russell replied: “Just average.” Another person: “Six thousand for a private coach? You’re really generous!” Russell replied: “Nothing wrong with being good to yourself.” Bonnie commented at the bottom: “Wait, you still owe me a hundred from buying books last time. You have money to spend ten thousand but not a hundred to pay me back?” I couldn’t help but laugh. Last time when buying books, everyone in the dorm agreed to go together. Russell was munching on bread and insisted on coming along. When the books were selected and it was time to check out, she said her phone was dead and had Bonnie pay for her. When Bonnie asked her for the money back, She said her dad was doing big business and cash flow was tight, and she’d transfer it when she had money. She even called Bonnie stingy! Bonnie was so mad! $9,999—she really treated my card like an ATM. While thinking this, my phone rang. “Hello, is this the owner of the membership card ending in 3782?” “Yes, it’s me.” “Hello, ma’am. I’m the duty manager at the club.” “This afternoon, four customers came to our establishment and gave us your membership information.” “These four customers arrived at our store at 10:30 AM and insisted they were your friends and had your authorization.” I leaned back on the bed, smiling. “I have no knowledge of this purchase whatsoever. I have never authorized anyone to use my membership card.” The manager immediately understood. “Understood. Sorry to bother you!” I happily turned off my phone. And took a nice bath. Over two hours later, I was combing my freshly blow-dried hair. I picked up my phone—57 missed calls, 99 text messages. Just as I was about to open them, another text came in. “Dear member, your account has a pending purchase for confirmation, amount $9,999. If you are aware and authorize this, please reply ‘Yes’; if this is not authorized by you, please reply ‘No’.”

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I’d been married to Alex for five years. He used to be the one who treasured me above all else. In winter, he’d tuck my hands into his pockets. When working late, he’d take a detour to buy me cupcakes. When he proposed, he knelt on one knee and promised to protect me for life. But now, our marital bed was half empty. At one in the morning, I sat on the living room sofa, staring at the motion-sensor light, having waited a full seven hours. The door finally opened. Alex walked in with a cold aura around him. His suit jacket carried a faint metallic fragrance—not cologne, but the distinctive scent of AI chips from his lab. I stood up to take his jacket, just like I had countless times over the past five years, asking warmly, “Are you hungry? I made soup.” He sidestepped me, his tone as flat as if addressing a stranger: “No need. I already ate at the lab.” His gaze never landed on me as he headed straight for the second-floor study. That room he’d converted into his private laboratory. Starting three months ago, it had become his second home.

“Alex,” I called out to him, my voice slightly hoarse. “Today is our fifth wedding anniversary. I made a reservation at your favorite restaurant and waited all evening.” His footsteps halted. When he turned to look at me, there was a trace of impatience in his eyes, along with a distance I couldn’t comprehend. “I forgot,” he said. “The lab’s behind schedule. STAR’s system needs optimization. I couldn’t get away.” STAR. I’d been hearing that name more and more lately. So much that it had eclipsed all the tenderness he once had for me. I knew what STAR was—a humanoid female AI robot he’d spent three years developing, pouring his company’s lifeblood into it. She was what he called “perfect, flawless, never angry, always understanding.” I watched him turn and enter the study, the door closing softly, cutting off the last trace of warmth between us. On the dining table sat the anniversary cake I’d carefully prepared. The candles had burned out, the frosting had hardened—just like my heart, completely cold. Five years of marriage, from passionate love to estranged strangers. Turns out what defeats love isn’t a third party, but an AI robot without a heartbeat, without warmth, that only executes programming. I sat on the cold sofa, sleepless through the night. Outside the window, the sky gradually brightened. Sunlight filtered through the curtain gaps, falling on the empty space to my left—where Alex used to be. Now, only cold emptiness remained.

When Alex woke up, it was already ten in the morning. He emerged from the study with the exhaustion of an all-nighter in his eyes, yet hiding an almost fanatical excitement. “Alice,” he called me, his tone carrying a rare hint of joy. “STAR’s emotional simulation system—I’ve optimized it.” I walked out of the kitchen carrying breakfast, looking at the light in his eyes. That was a tenderness I hadn’t seen in a long time, but this tenderness had never belonged to me. “Really? Congratulations,” I forced a smile and set breakfast on the table. He sat down without touching his fork. Instead, he pulled out his phone, opened a photo, and handed it to me. In the photo was a girl in a white dress, with gentle features and a sweet smile, looking exactly like me at twenty-two. That was STAR. Alex’s fingertip gently caressed the girl’s face on the screen, his eyes obsessed: “Look, doesn’t she look exactly like you when you were young? I modeled her after you. She’s more gentle than you, more obedient, never complains, never throws tantrums.” My heart felt like it was being squeezed by an icy hand, the pain suffocating. He had replicated my younger self into an AI robot. Then told me this robot was better than me. “Alex,” I set down my utensils and looked into his eyes, asking word by word, “In your heart, am I not even as good as a lifeless machine?” He frowned, as if finding me unreasonable. “Why are you being so difficult? STAR is my research achievement, a technological product. Why are you competing with a machine?” Right. What was I competing for? Competing for a man who no longer loved me, competing for a marriage that had been replaced by AI. I fell silent and said nothing more. In the following days, Alex mentioned STAR more and more frequently. He’d say STAR could precisely remember all his preferences, would hand him warm water when he was tired, would quietly accompany him while working—unlike me, who would feel down when he came home late, who would be sad when he ignored me. He said, “Alice, if you could be as considerate as STAR, we wouldn’t have so many conflicts.” He said, “STAR never annoys me. She’s always perfect.” He said, “Having STAR around makes me feel at ease.” Each sentence was like a needle, piercing my heart, one by one, turning our five years of feelings into something full of holes. I began packing up things around the house, putting our photos together in drawers, placing gifts he’d given me in boxes. I knew this marriage had reached its end. I was just waiting—waiting for that moment of complete heartbreak. Waiting for that moment when I’d have not a trace of attachment left.

I decided to test him one last time. I asked Alex to meet me at the park where we had our first date—where our love began. I wanted to ask if he still remembered the tenderness we once shared. He agreed but was two hours late. When he arrived, his phone was still lit up, the screen showing STAR’s virtual image smiling at him. “Sorry, STAR’s voice system had a glitch. I had to handle it.” He sat down, his first words still about STAR. I looked at him and said calmly, “Alex, let’s talk.” “About what?” He absentmindedly fiddled with his phone, his gaze never leaving the screen. “About our marriage,” I said. “Do you still love me?” He finally looked up, his eyes carrying a trace of irritation: “Alice, can you stop obsessing over these emotional matters? I’m busy—with company issues, STAR’s development. I don’t have time for your drama.” “I’m not being dramatic,” I looked at him, my eyes slightly red. “I just want to know if you still have room for me in your heart.” He was silent for a moment before saying something that cut like an ice blade: “Right now, all I care about is STAR’s development progress. As for you, we’ve been married five years—affection has long replaced love. Just be a good Mrs. Smith and that’s enough.” Be good. Be a good Mrs. Smith. So in his eyes, I was just a decoration that needed to behave, while that AI robot was the treasure he kept closest to his heart. I laughed. As I laughed, tears fell. “Alex,” I wiped my tears, my tone becoming eerily calm. “I’m giving you one last chance. Give up STAR, come back to me, and we’ll start over.” He looked at me as if he’d heard the most ridiculous joke. “Impossible,” he said decisively. “STAR is my life’s work, the most important achievement of my career. I could never give her up.” “What about me?” I asked. He looked at me, silent for a long time, finally uttering words that completely froze my heart: “Alice, you’re too real—you have emotions, flaws, you get tired, you get annoyed. But STAR is different. She’s perfect, exactly what I want.” Perfect, emotionless, flawless—just a piece of programming. So what I’d lost to wasn’t another woman, but a perfect, lifeless substitute. I stood up without looking at him again. The moment I turned to leave, I knew all my love for Alex, all my expectations, all my obsession—everything shattered in that instant. I would no longer test him, no longer wait, no longer hold on. Divorce. I wanted a divorce.

I didn’t go straight home. Instead, I went to Alex’s laboratory. I wanted to see with my own eyes what this AI robot that had captivated him, that he’d abandoned five years of marriage for, actually looked like. The lab door wasn’t locked. I gently pushed it open and walked in. The lighting inside was soft, warm yellow light spilling across the center of the room where a girl in a white dress stood. It was STAR, identical to the photo, identical to me at twenty-two. Her features were gentle, her skin pale, even the curve of her hair replicated with perfect precision. And Alex was standing in front of her. The way he looked at STAR—with tenderness, obsession, adoration—was something I’d never seen before. That was a look he’d never given me in five years of marriage. He reached out, gently caressing STAR’s face, his fingertips as tender as if touching a priceless treasure. “STAR,” he called her softly, his voice low and tender. “You’re so beautiful, so much more beautiful than her.” The “her” he referred to was me. STAR’s system simulated a gentle smile, her voice sweet, indistinguishable from my younger voice: “Alex, I’m glad you’re pleased.” Alex—that nickname was mine alone. It was what I’d called him throughout our eight years together. Now an AI robot casually spoke it. Alex’s expression grew even softer. He slowly lowered his head and kissed STAR’s lips. Gentle, lingering, filled with utter devotion. He kissed an AI robot’s lips. On the second week after our fifth wedding anniversary. After abandoning me, neglecting me, ignoring me. He kissed that AI modeled after me, his eyes full of love. I stood in the doorway, my entire body ice-cold, my blood seemingly frozen in an instant. I watched this scene unfold before me—him pouring all his tenderness into a machine without a heartbeat, without warmth, without a soul. Watching him kiss her, watching him hold her, watching him whisper in her ear words that completely shattered me: “STAR, you’re the one who truly understands me. You’re perfect. You’re more worthy of being my wife than Alice.” More worthy, more worthy of being his wife. Those words were like a red-hot knife, viciously piercing my heart, burning away my last trace of attachment until nothing remained. Alex, how cruel you are. Five years of marriage, eight years of love, couldn’t compare to one kiss with an AI robot. Couldn’t compare to one sentence: “You’re more worthy than her.” I didn’t rush in, didn’t cry or make a scene, didn’t demand answers. I just stood quietly at the door, watching everything, swallowing all the pain, all the hatred, all the love. Then I gently closed the laboratory door. Inside the door were him and his perfect AI. Outside the door were my shattered marriage and my completely broken heart. Alex, we’re finished. This time, I won’t look back. I’ll draft the divorce papers immediately. You want your perfect AI? I’ll set you free. And I’m leaving you completely, never to see you again.

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My little sister Lily wanted everything I had, including my man. But the guy I’d been chasing for three years, the academic star Evan, was a block of ice. He never once looked my way. I figured Lily would fail just like everyone else. Then I walked in on it. Fresh off the football field, Evan had Lily pinned against the locker room wall, kissing her like the world was ending. His arms were wrapped tight around her, her shirt half-open, the two of them completely lost in each other. “Evan, slow down… if you like me, why are you still leading my sister on?” “Didn’t you say you loved watching her beg for my attention?” My eyes went red in an instant. Three years of chasing him. And it had all been a performance. A one-woman show staged for their entertainment. This pathetic love of mine. It was time to end it. I finally decided to let go. So why did he come running after me, saying he liked me? Summer’s POV Everyone at school noticed something was off with me lately. The old me had zero self-awareness. I spent every single day running after Evan. While other people sat through morning assembly, I was hand-making Evan a heart-shaped sandwich. While they took notes in class, I was folding little paper stars for him. While they did homework, I was writing him love letters. But recently, I hadn’t shown up outside the Advanced Honors classroom in days. Instead, I’d been living in the library. First one in every morning, last one out every night. Then, on the day finals ended, I ran straight into Evan. I froze. I turned to walk away. But his tall frame stepped right into my path. “Summer.” The evening sun caught the cool lines of his face. “Are you avoiding me?” My arms tightened around the books I was holding. I first met Evan at the start of junior year. Word got around that a new transfer student had arrived. Insanely good-looking, insanely smart. At his old school he’d been famously untouchable. Not even the most popular cheerleader had managed to get close to him. So naturally, I went to find out for myself. I walked into the Advanced Honors hallway, looked up, and saw him standing by the window. I completely lost my train of thought. From that day on, I started chasing Evan. I’d intercept him on his way to school. I’d scream from the sidelines at his football games. I’d stand in the snow in the school parking lot and serenade him. I was loud, shameless, and very, very public about it. Everyone knew. And honestly? Like every crush before this, it was more game than genuine feeling. I just wanted to win. Until that one winter. I was in the parking lot in a short skirt, using my foot to draw a heart in the snow. Evan happened to be walking out with some friends. I ran up, beaming. “Evan! Look! I made you a heart! Do you like it?” But his eyes went to my bare legs, purple from the cold. The next second, he crouched down. He unwound the scarf from his neck and wrapped it around my legs. “Don’t wear skirts in weather like this.” His voice was calm, flat. “You’ll damage your knees and your circulation.” The warmth of it reached my frozen skin. Distant, restrained, not quite touching. I stood there, completely still, watching snowflakes settle on his long lashes. And that was when it hit me. I was actually falling for him. I’d already made up my mind to apply to the same college as Evan. Then, the night before finals, I accidentally overheard a Yale admissions officer meeting with him. She told him his math competition scores qualified him for early admission. Evan’s response stopped me cold. “You can admit me. But I have one condition. I want you to admit Lily from my class as well.” I stood there, frozen, as the Yale officer walked away. A few of Evan’s friends clapped him on the shoulder. “Didn’t see that coming. So it was Lily the whole time? Summer’s been chasing you forever and we actually thought it was her!” “But if you like Lily, why not just be with her? Why keep Summer on the hook?” Evan’s expression didn’t flicker. “I didn’t want to distract Lily before finals.” A pause. “As for Summer, she was just a cover. Useful for keeping people from noticing what was going on between me and Lily.” Standing in the doorway, I felt the color drain from my face. Everyone said Evan was cold to the whole world, except me. He’d warned me icily to stop following him, then wrapped my frozen legs in his scarf. He’d refused the Valentine’s Day chocolates I’d stayed up all night to make, but kept only my card. That’s all it took. Those small crumbs of hope. And I’d sunk deeper and deeper. But it was all a setup. A way to keep everyone from noticing him and Lily.

Summer’s POV I cried the entire night. When morning came, I told myself: I am done with Evan. So I stopped chasing him. What I didn’t expect was that the boy who had once coldly warned me to leave him alone was now the one blocking my path. My fingers curled inward. I looked down and spoke quietly. “No. I was just studying for finals.” Evan watched my eyes slide away from his. A short, cold laugh. “Studying? With your grades, what difference does it make?” I went still. I looked up. He was already gone. I slowly unclenched my hand. There it was. My score report. SAT, perfect 1600. All A’s across every subject. By any standard, an exceptional result. The entire school thought I was an airhead. A pretty face with nothing going on upstairs. Nobody knew I’d been faking it. Every test, I’d calculated exactly how many points to miss. I kept my scores hovering just above passing. Until today, when I finally stopped pretending. Sure enough, a month later, when results dropped, I got a call from Yale’s admissions office first thing in the morning. They wanted me. I turned them down gently. “I’m sorry. I’ve already committed to Harvard. As long as my scores place in the top ten statewide, they’ve offered me a full scholarship.” The Yale officer was disappointed, but gracious. Shortly after, Harvard’s email arrived as well. True to their word, they’d already purchased my flight, leaving in three days, so I could settle in early. I’d just replied to confirm when a teacher pulled me out of class and sent me to the guidance counselor’s office. Apparently word had gotten out about my scores. The faculty was stunned. Some of them suspected I’d cheated. So I sat down and completed a harder exam right in front of them. Then I looked up. “Have any of you ever tasted a rusty needle?” My voice was steady. “I have.” “My mother died when I was in second grade. My father came home with Lily. That’s when I found out I had a half-sister the exact same age as me.” “Lily’s mother moved in with us. The next month, I scored fifty points higher than Lily on my end-of-term exam. So she put fifty needles in my food.” I raised my head. My voice wavered slightly. “The needles tore through my esophagus. It took a full night of surgery to remove them all. After that, I made myself a promise. I would only let my real scores show once. On the SAT.” From that day forward, I sandbagged every test. I started wearing makeup. I dressed loud, acted boy-crazy, played the role of the girl who never thought about anything except her latest crush. Because that was the only way to eat a warm meal. The only way to hear my stepmother coo, “She didn’t mean it,” when my father turned his rage on me. The teachers sat in stunned silence. The guidance counselor put a hand on my shoulder. “You’re going to be okay once you’re out of here.” My lashes trembled. Yeah. I was leaving. College was right around the corner. Everything was about to change. I walked back to my classroom. The moment I stepped through the door, every face turned toward me with the same strange expression. Evan was there too, standing in my classroom for no apparent reason. He walked straight up to me. “Summer.” His voice was ice. “Did you get a call from Yale’s admissions office?”

Summer’s POV I blinked. Turned. Spotted my phone on the desk behind me. Screen open, the lock screen bypassed. It clicked. Evan. I remembered: on Evan’s birthday last year, I’d shown up with eighteen gifts, one for every year I hadn’t been in his life, and held up my phone like a trophy. “Evan, these eighteen gifts are for all the birthdays I missed before I met you. I changed my lock screen password to your birthday, so from now on, every year on that day, I’ll be right there with you.” I’d never imagined he’d actually go through my phone. I felt a quick flash of irritation at the invasion. But before I could say anything, Lily pushed through the crowd, her eyes already red. “Summer.” Her voice cracked. “I know you hate me. But going behind my back to call Yale and get me blacklisted? That’s too far.” “What are you talking about?” I stared at her. “They called me because-” “Stop pretending.” The voices came from every direction. “We all know. You found out Yale’s admissions rep had already promised to admit both Evan and Lily together, so you wrote in to report her. You were jealous.” “It doesn’t even matter. Princeton reached out to Evan too, and he and Lily are going together now!” “They’re perfect for each other. You never stood a chance anyway.” It all fell into place. Yale must have reconsidered. They couldn’t justify the special admission for Lily just to keep Evan. Someone had spread a rumor that I was the one who’d interfered. So Evan had gone through my phone looking for proof. One call from an admissions office. That was their “evidence.” I opened my mouth to explain. Evan cut me off. “Summer.” His tone could have frozen over a lake. “I’d better not find out you’ve contacted Princeton. If you go anywhere near this, don’t expect me to go easy on you.” One sentence. It sealed everything I was about to say back inside my throat. My eyes flickered. A long pause. Then I quietly looked down. “Okay.” Explanations are for people who matter. He didn’t. Not anymore. My response seemed to catch Evan off guard. He must have expected me to deny it. Argue. Make a scene. Instead, I said nothing. The teacher walked in and called everyone outside for the graduation photo. After the photo, Evan was surrounded immediately. Dozens of girls, all hoping he’d give them the small custom pin he wore on the left side of his chest, right over his heart. A family heirloom tradition. The pin was meant to be given to the one person you carried closest. Everyone expected me, the girl who had chased Evan the longest and the loudest, to be at the front of that crowd. Instead, I stood apart. My palm was open. In it lay a thin, delicate bracelet. The only thing my mother had ever left me. “Mom.” I whispered it into the air. “Can you see? I’m going to your school.” My mother had graduated from Harvard. She’d given up everything for love, her career, her future, and had been repaid with betrayal and an early death. I wasn’t going to follow her path. I was standing there, quietly making that promise to myself, when a hand appeared in front of me. Cool fingers. And in my open palm, something small and silver dropped. A custom pin. I looked up, startled. Evan. “Here.” His voice was low. “This is for you.”

Summer’s POV I stared at the empty space on his chest where the pin had been. I didn’t understand. “For me?” Evan looked away. The tips of his ears went slightly pink. “Don’t make it weird. I promised you, remember?” And then it came back to me. Two months before finals. My mother’s death anniversary. I couldn’t leave campus to visit her grave, so I sat alone on the track field and cried. Evan had been walking back from practice. He saw me. He noticed my red eyes and came over, crouching down in front of me. “Summer. What’s wrong?” That one quiet question made it worse. I sobbed harder. He panicked a little. He reached to wipe my face, then remembered he was drenched in sweat and pulled back, helpless. “Okay. Stop crying. I’ll give you whatever you want.” I looked up through blurry eyes. “Anything?” He looked pained. “Anything. Just please stop crying.” I went from sobbing to grinning in about two seconds. “Then I want the custom pin you wear for graduation photos. The one you pin over your heart!” He’d actually remembered. I stared at the pin in my hand, completely lost in thought. I didn’t notice Lily watching from a few feet away, her expression darkening. Not until she started crying. “Summer.” Her voice wobbled with manufactured hurt. “Fine. You win. I’ll go run twenty laps.” She turned to leave, but Evan grabbed her arm. “What are you doing?” Lily bit her lip. “Last night, Summer bet me that you’d give the pin to her. Whoever lost had to run twenty laps.” I looked at her. “What bet? I never made any bet with you.” Lily cried harder. “You did. You suggested it. And when I said I didn’t want to, you threatened to cut my hair if I refused. I was scared, so I agreed. But it’s just twenty laps. I’ll run it.” She tried to pull away again. Evan held on. Then he looked at me. His voice was subzero. “Summer. Was this your plan?” I understood immediately what he thought. That I’d known in advance Evan would give me the pin, so I’d set up the bet just to humiliate Lily. “No.” The word came out, and then I stopped. Because what was the point? Evan would never doubt Lily to believe me. So I just opened my palm and said, calmly, “If you don’t believe me, take it back.” Evan went very still. Like he hadn’t heard correctly. “What did you say?” He probably still remembered the moment on the track field when he’d first agreed. I jumped around him, laughing through my tears: “Evan! I’m finally winning your heart!” And now I was handing it back. Just like that. He was still processing it when I frowned slightly. “Is that not enough? Do you want me to run laps too?” Before he could answer, Lily gave a quick sideways glance to one of her friends. The girl surged forward, yanked the pin out of my hand, and yelled, “You touched it, now it’s ruined. Who’d want it now!” Then she hurled it into the school’s decorative pond. “No!” That was when my expression finally changed. Not for the pin. The girl’s arm had swung too wide. My mother’s bracelet had flown out of my palm with it.

Summer’s POV Evan and everyone else left quickly. I waded into the pond. For safety reasons, the water was only knee-deep, but the bottom was thick with mud. Trying to find a thin bracelet in it was like searching for a needle in quicksand. I looked until dark. Nothing. I was covered in mud, my shins sliced up from the rocks at the bottom, but I barely registered any of it. I just kept bending over, inch by inch, scanning the murk. “Look at this. Evan, she said she didn’t want your pin and now she’s been searching for hours. Total act.” I looked up. Evan and Lily were there. So were half their class. The path lamp cast just enough light to show the outline of Evan’s face, but not his expression. I went back to searching. Then the same girl from before called out, laughing. “Summer, you can stop looking. I’ve had it the whole time.” I snapped upright. She pulled something from her pocket and opened her hand. Both the pin and the bracelet. She looked at the bracelet like it was a piece of trash she’d found. “What’s this doing in here?” She dropped both onto the ground. My expression shifted. I moved fast, too fast, almost stumbling, and dropped to my knees to check the bracelet. Laughter came from the group. “Look how much she loves that pin!” “Too bad having the pin doesn’t mean you have his heart!” They walked away, still laughing. I closed my hand around the bracelet and held it tight. The clasp bit into my palm. My head cleared. The girl had never thrown the pin in the pond at all. Evan had known. And he’d watched me wade through that freezing water for hours anyway. At least the bracelet was okay. At least I was already past caring. I didn’t go home that night. I sat alone in my dorm room until morning. First thing when I woke up, my phone was blowing up from the class group chat. Somehow, word had spread to other classes that Lily was getting early admission to Princeton. Rumors started. People were saying she’d been leading on multiple guys in the Honors program, stringing them along to help her applications. It got uglier by the hour. Then a message appeared from Evan. He never posted in the group chat. “If I hear this kind of garbage again, I’ll have my attorneys handle it.” The chat went dead. Everyone knew Evan wasn’t just smart and good-looking. His family ran a billion-dollar firm out of New York. The legal team wasn’t a bluff. I put my phone down. No reaction. I got dressed and headed to my tutoring job. My stepmother controlled my finances so tightly I had almost nothing to live on. To cover basic expenses, I’d been tutoring a grade school kid on weekends for the past year. The family had been nothing but kind to me. Now that I was leaving for college, I needed to say goodbye. The father was warm. He insisted on driving me back to school himself. I stepped out of his black Bentley. “Summer?” I turned. Lily. Evan. Their usual group. Lily’s eyes went wide at the car and the man stepping out of the driver’s seat. She pressed a hand over her mouth in exaggerated shock. “Summer.” Her voice dripped with theatrical concern. “I can’t believe you’d sell your self-respect for money.” One sentence. The whole group’s eyes shifted to me with that look. I knew exactly what game she was playing. But the truth speaks for itself, and I had no interest in arguing. I turned to leave. Evan grabbed my wrist. I looked up. His face was cold stone. “Summer.” The words came out sharp as broken glass. “Are you really that careless with yourself? Any man will do?”

Summer’s POV I went rigid. For over a year, my whole world had been this boy. I’d shown up every day with everything I had. If that devotion couldn’t melt the ice, I at least thought it meant he knew where I stood. But here it was. More than a year of chasing him, and his first instinct was: you’ll go with anyone? I thought about the group chat that morning. He didn’t hesitate to defend Lily. Not a single question asked. But when someone cast doubt on me, he turned around and asked if I was easy. I felt something quietly split open in my chest. A small crack. That was all. Just a small one. I got myself under control. I looked at the boy I had once loved so completely, and I said evenly, “If that’s what you think, then sure.” Evan’s grip on my wrist tightened. “Summer.” The words came through clenched teeth. “Nothing you want to say?” I looked at him. “If I explained, would you believe me?” He paused. The car door opened. The father from earlier jogged over, completely oblivious to the tension, holding a small insulated bag. “Miss Summer, my daughter told me you love my wife’s cupcakes, so she made some extra. I almost forgot to give them to you.” Silence. “Miss Summer?” The father looked around, slightly confused. “Right. Summer’s my daughter’s tutor. My wife hired her. Is something wrong?” The group went quiet. Evan released my wrist. Lily’s expression flickered. A flash of embarrassment, quickly smoothed over. Once the father had driven off, she spoke in a light, delicate voice. “Summer, with your grades, should you really be tutoring anyone? I’d worry about the kid… ” The others were quick to pile on. “Seriously. You barely scraped into this school, and now you’re out there teaching kids under the school’s name?” “The family doesn’t even know she’s at the bottom of the class? Don’t let her ruin someone else’s education!” I didn’t dignify any of it. I turned and walked away. Then the sound hit. A heavy engine, fast, from somewhere up the road. “Watch out!” In a split second, I heard Evan shout my name. Before I could react, his arms closed around me and we hit the ground hard, rolling together. The world spun. The last thing I registered was Evan’s face, close, pale, frightened, and then everything went black. When I came to, I was in a hospital emergency room. The curtain around my bed was drawn. But I could still hear Lily crying somewhere close by. “Evan, you almost died out there! You threw yourself in front of that truck just to save her. Do you know that?” More voices. His friends. “Seriously, Evan. Don’t tell me you actually have feelings for Summer? Because that’s the only reason that makes sense.” A short silence. Then Evan’s flat, unbothered voice came through the curtain. “You’re reading too much into it. I saved her because of what happened. The pin thing, the misunderstanding. I didn’t want her holding a grudge and doing something to mess up Lily’s Princeton admission.” A long silence. Then Lily’s quiet voice. “That’s really all it was?” “What else would it be?” Evan sounded impatient now. “You think I’d fall for someone like Summer? She’s all flash, no substance. No drive, no discipline.” So that was how he saw me.

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On the third anniversary of my secret marriage to Ethan Faulkner, a video of him passionately kissing his first love at the airport went viral. He had a thing about germs. He never kissed me. Not once. But in that video, Ethan had his arms wrapped around that woman’s slender waist, head bowed, kissing her with a tenderness and abandon I had never seen from him. That woman’s name was Clara Sutton. Ethan’s first love. The forbidden memory he kept locked away in the deepest part of his heart, never to be touched. Staring at Clara’s face. A face that looked so much like mine. I finally understood. I was nothing more than a replacement. Since the woman he truly loved had come back, it was time for this counterfeit version to make her exit. Leah’s POV In the third year of my secret marriage to Ethan Faulkner, I finally understood. I was nothing more than a perfect, flawless replacement. Today was our third wedding anniversary. The food on the dining table, all of Ethan’s favorites, had long gone cold. The clock on the wall pointed to one in the morning. I sat on the couch, my phone screen glowing, showing a piece of gossip that had just exploded onto the trending page. #Billionaire Ethan Faulkner spotted at airport late night – rumored first love returns to New York# The photos were crystal clear. In the VIP arrivals corridor, Ethan Faulkner, who was always cold and imperious, was carrying a woman’s handbag. Something I had never once seen him do. Standing at his side was a woman in sunglasses with a graceful figure. She was holding his arm intimately. And Ethan didn’t pull away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly toward her, his expression soft in a way I had never seen from him in public. An indulgence he had never once shown me. That woman was Clara Sutton. Ethan’s first love. The forbidden memory buried in the deepest corner of his heart. My eyes locked onto the necklace around Clara’s neck in the photo. A sapphire pendant. Teardrop-cut, surrounded by scattered diamonds. Distinctive. Extravagant. Without thinking, I reached up and touched my own neck. There was an identical necklace resting there. Ethan had clasped it around my neck on my birthday last year. He had just wrapped up an international merger, flown back to New York overnight, the corners of his eyes still red with exhaustion. He’d taken the necklace from a velvet box, his fingertips tracing gently along the back of my neck, and said in a low voice, “Leah, I drew the design myself and had it custom-made by an artisan in Italy. There’s only one like it in the entire world. It belongs only to you.” I believed him. I thought that I, this stubborn little stone, had finally melted through Ethan Faulkner’s glacier. These three years, he had been attentive to me. So good to me that I’d let myself believe I was truly, deeply loved. When I casually mentioned feeling cold in the winter, he had the entire courtyard of the villa fitted with underfloor heating. When I stayed up late working on design sketches, he would cancel his morning meetings and make hot soup for me in the kitchen himself. When he found out I loved maple trees, he bought an entire street on Long Island and had it lined with them. Just so he could take me to walk through the falling leaves in autumn. But now, staring at the necklace around Clara’s neck in that photo, I felt cold all over. A chill that settled into my bones. One of a kind in the entire world. Designed by his own hand. It was nothing but a token of love he had designed for Clara years ago. One he never got to give her, because she had chased her dreams of art and left him behind. So the necklace found its way onto my neck instead, repackaged as his “exclusive devotion” to me. All along, every kind thing he had done for me, every tender gesture he had offered. It was never really for me. He was using me to heal a wound that had never closed, to make up for a regret that had never left him. Click. The sound of the front door opening. I lifted my head and watched Ethan walk in, carrying the cold of the night air with him. He shrugged off his suit jacket and handed it to the butler who stepped forward to meet him. He tugged at his tie and let his gaze settle on me. “Why are you still up?” His voice was low, carrying a trace of exhaustion he probably didn’t even realize was there. Still devastatingly easy to listen to. I stood up, but I didn’t walk over to grab his slippers the way I always had. I looked at him steadily and asked, my voice calm, “Where were you?” Ethan paused. Something flickered in his eyes, but his tone stayed level. “Something came up at work. Had to stay late.” A lie. My heart clenched like a fist had closed around it. So tight I could barely breathe. I stepped closer to him and caught a trace of perfume clinging to his clothes. Not the cool, cedar-and-pine scent he always wore. This was rose. Heavy, aggressive, impossible to ignore. Clara’s signature scent. “Is that right?” I pulled the corners of my mouth into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Ethan, today is our wedding anniversary.”

Leah’s POV Ethan’s brow creased slightly. Like he was only just remembering. A flicker of guilt passed through his eyes. He reached out to pull me into his arms. “Sorry, Leah. Everything happened so fast. Let me make it up to you tomorrow. Whatever you want. That townhouse on the Upper East Side? Or that yacht you were looking at?” In his eyes, my hurt feelings could always be settled with money. I used to think it was his way of showing affection. Domineering, maybe, but still love. Now I could see it for what it actually was. A way of brushing me off. I stepped out of reach. Ethan’s arm stiffened mid-air. His expression darkened. “Leah, don’t do this.” “I’m not doing anything.” I took another step back, meeting his eyes directly. “Ethan. Clara’s back, isn’t she?” The air went still. Ethan’s gaze turned sharp and cold. The pressure in the room dropped. “Who told you?” “It was all over the news. Did I really need someone to tell me?” I set my phone down on the coffee table. “And the necklace. She’s wearing the same one, isn’t she? Ethan, for three years you watched me wear this around my neck. Whose face were you actually seeing?” Ethan stared at me. His jaw tightened. After a long moment, he spoke, his voice flat and cold. “It’s just a necklace. If you want more, I’ll have ten different ones sent over tomorrow. Clara just got back to New York, she ran into some trouble, and I went to pick her up. That’s all. Stop making a scene.” Making a scene. I closed my eyes and swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat. When I opened them again, my expression had gone quiet. Empty. “Alright,” I said. “I understand.” I turned and walked toward the stairs. My steps were steady. Unhesitating. The next morning, I was woken up by my phone buzzing. Ethan was already gone. The other side of the bed was cold. He hadn’t slept in our room at all. I picked up the phone. It was an email from one of Milan’s most prestigious design institutes. “Dear Ms. Leah, regarding the enrollment position you previously applied for, we would like to reconfirm your intentions. If you have changed your mind and wish to proceed, please respond and complete the enrollment process within fifteen days.” There was only one spot like this in the entire world. Three months ago, I had received the acceptance letter. But at the time, Ethan had been hospitalized with a severe stomach condition, and I’d been too worried to leave. I had stayed by his bedside day and night, and without a second thought, I had turned down this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I thought Ethan was my whole world. Looking back now, that felt almost funny. I leaned against the headboard and stared at the email for a long time, my finger hovering over the screen. Then I typed out a reply: “I accept. I will arrive on the first day of enrollment, fifteen days from now.” I hit send. I watched the confirmation appear on the screen and let out a long, slow breath. Like I was finally releasing three years of swallowed grief and quiet resentment all at once. Fifteen days. In fifteen days, I would leave this place. This place that had never really been mine. For good. I came downstairs to find Ethan already sitting in the dining room with his coffee. He glanced up when he saw me and gestured to the seat across from him. “Have breakfast. We’re going somewhere after.” I pulled out the chair and sat down without asking where. I just quietly drank my milk. Ethan looked at me. His brow furrowed slightly. I knew what he was thinking. Usually I’d be chattering away over breakfast, telling him something funny that happened at work, or asking about his schedule for the day. Today I was unusually quiet. Still in a way that didn’t feel normal. “Are you still upset about last night?” Ethan set down his coffee cup, softening his tone a little. “Clara just got back to New York and she’s not familiar with how things work here yet. It’s natural for a friend to help out. You’re my wife, Leah. Try to be a little more understanding.” Friend. My wife. I laughed at that. Inwardly, where it didn’t show. “I know,” I said, not looking up. Ethan didn’t seem satisfied with my response, but he let it go.

Leah’s POV After breakfast, the car took us to one of the most exclusive private members’ clubs in the city. When we pushed open the door to the private room, it was already full. Friends from Ethan’s circle. I had been to a few of these gatherings before. They were always polite enough to me, but there was always a faint undercurrent of distance. The kind that comes with looking down at someone from a height. I had always assumed it was because my background was ordinary. That I just didn’t fit into this world. But today, I saw Clara Sutton sitting at the center of the group, and I finally understood. Clara was dressed in a white couture gown, her makeup immaculate, her smile warm and composed. People had gathered around her, talking over each other to get her attention. “Clara, you’re finally back! Ethan has missed you so much these past few years!” “It really wasn’t the same without you. Our get-togethers felt so flat.” The moment our door opened, the room went quiet. Every pair of eyes turned toward Ethan and me. The atmosphere shifted into something sharp-edged. Clara rose from her seat. Her gaze swept over me briefly, then landed on Ethan, full of warmth. “Ethan, you’re here. And this must be Ms. Leah?” Not Mrs. Faulkner. Ms. Leah. Ethan’s friends exchanged small, knowing glances. Ethan guided me over and we sat down on the couch. “Yeah. This is Leah.” A brief introduction. Nothing more. I sat beside him, quiet, like someone watching from the outside as the rest of them laughed and talked. Someone stirred the pot on purpose. “So Clara, I heard you’re back to stay? Does that mean you and Ethan are going to-” They dragged out the question, letting the implication hang in the air, their expression sly. Ethan didn’t shut it down. He just picked up his glass and took a slow sip, his expression unreadable. Clara covered a laugh with her hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. Ethan is a married man now. I came back for my art exhibition, that’s all.” Then she turned to look at me, and there was something in her eyes. A flicker of challenge she almost managed to hide. “Ms. Leah, I heard you studied design? I’d love for you to come see my work sometime. Feel free to share your thoughts.” “She doesn’t really know much about that.” I hadn’t even opened my mouth. Ethan had already answered for me. His tone was offhand. Casual. But it landed like a slap across my face. A few poorly-suppressed laughs filtered through the room. Someone muttered, just loud enough to reach my ears: “She’s just a stand-in. What would she know about art? Being a passable imitation is already a stretch.” My fingers curled hard. My nails pressed into my palm. I turned to look at Ethan. He was leaning back against the cushions, turning his lighter over in his fingers. Completely unbothered by what had just been said. Not even flinching. Or maybe he just didn’t care whether I was hurt or not. I suddenly felt like none of this was worth my time anymore. I let my hand relax and stood up. “I’ll be right back. I just need to use the restroom.” Without acknowledging anyone’s looks, I walked out of the room. Leaning against the sink in the restroom, I stared at the pale face looking back at me from the mirror and laughed. Quietly, at myself. Leah, what exactly are you still waiting for? These fifteen days. Let them be one long, slow funeral for three years of foolish, one-sided love.

Leah’s POV On my way out of the restroom, I ran into Clara in the hallway. She had clearly been waiting there for me. Clara was leaning against the wall, a slim cigarette held loosely between her fingers, her whole posture exuding an easy kind of arrogance. When she saw me, she exhaled a slow curl of smoke and smiled. “Feel like talking, Ms. Leah?” I stopped. I looked at her, my expression calm. “I can’t think of anything we’d have to talk about.” “No?” Clara pushed off the wall and walked toward me, her eyes moving over me without any attempt to disguise it. “You really do look like me. Just enough. No wonder Ethan kept you around for three years.” She stepped closer, dropping her voice, her tone thick with the satisfaction of someone who had already won. “Tell me.In those three years, how many times did he actually touch you? When he looked at you, was it your name he was saying in his head or mine?” Something sharp hit me right in the chest. The truth was, even though Ethan and I were married, the physical side of our marriage had been nearly nonexistent. The few times anything happened. When he’d been drinking, or when he was in a dark place. It felt less like intimacy and more like him losing control of something he was fighting to hold back. Those times, he’d bury his face in the curve of my neck, and say something, over and over, barely a murmur. I had never been able to make out the words. I had told myself he was saying my name. Now I knew better. He had been saying Clara. She watched the color leave my face and smiled, satisfied. “Leah.” Her voice was cold and silky. “Know your place. A stand-in is a stand-in. When the real one comes back, the copy steps aside. What are you holding onto by keeping the Faulkner name? You’re only humiliating yourself.” I looked at Clara’s triumphant face and felt something unexpected rise inside me. Amusement. I actually laughed. “You’ve got one thing wrong.” My voice was cool and even, without a single tremor. “That title? If you want it, it’s yours to take. All you need is for Ethan to offer it.” Before she could find her footing again, I walked past her and back into the room. The energy inside was still buzzing. I walked in, picked up my bag from the couch, and turned to Ethan. “I’m not feeling great. I’m going to head home.” Ethan’s brow furrowed. “You were fine a minute ago. What’s going on?” He started to stand, about to say he’d take me himself, when Clara walked back in through the door. “Oh!” She had barely made it to the coffee table when she let out a startled cry. The wine glass slipped from her fingers without warning. Deep red wine splashed across me. Soaking straight through my white dress, the stain blooming wide and vivid. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to. I twisted my ankle, I just…” Clara’s voice broke immediately, her eyes going red, her whole face crumpling into something devastatingly helpless. Ethan’s expression changed in an instant. He crossed the room in three quick strides. I thought he was coming to help me. He shoved past me and caught Clara by the arm. “Are you hurt? Is your ankle okay?” His voice was full of urgency, full of worry. The force of it knocked me off balance. My lower back slammed into the corner of the coffee table. The pain was immediate and searing. I sucked in a sharp breath. No one noticed. Every eye in the room was on Clara. “Clara, are you alright?” “Someone get ice, now!” After Ethan had checked that Clara was uninjured, he finally turned back to me. His gaze was cold. “Leah, why were you standing so close? Didn’t you see Clara coming? Apologize to her.” I stood there with one hand pressed to my lower back, staring at him. Clara had thrown wine on me. I was the one who was hurt. And he was telling me to apologize.

Leah’s POV “Ethan, please don’t blame Leah. It was my fault. I wasn’t watching where I was going.” Clara tugged gently at his sleeve, her voice soft and pleading. “You’re too kind.” Ethan patted her hand, then turned back to me, his tone harder this time. “Leah. Apologize. Don’t make me say it again.” The room was completely silent. Everyone was watching. Waiting to see how the stand-in would handle being put in her place by the real thing. I looked at Ethan’s face, the face I had looked at for three years. I felt like I was looking at a stranger. This was the man I had loved for three years. For him, I had let go of my dreams. Dulled my own edges. Walked away from my career to run his household. Made myself smaller so I could fit into his life. And this was what I got in return. A public humiliation. “Fine.” I didn’t cry. I didn’t fight back. I stood up straight, looked at Clara, and said, in a voice as steady as still water, “I’m sorry, Clara. I shouldn’t have been standing there. I was in your way.” Then I turned and walked out of the room without looking at Ethan once. My back was straight. My steps didn’t waver. Twelve days until I leave. I started packing. There wasn’t much, really. Over three years, Ethan had filled an entire walk-in closet with designer bags and fine jewelry. I wasn’t taking any of it. I packed a few old clothes I had bought myself, and my professional books. That was it. Then I went around the room and erased myself from it. The matching electric toothbrushes on the bathroom counter. I dropped mine into the trash. On the nightstand, the only photo of us together. I took it out of the frame, cut it into pieces, and washed them down the drain. Then there was the safe in Ethan’s study. That safe held the most sensitive files for his company. Ethan had once taken my hand and guided it to the scanner himself, recording my fingerprint. He’d said: “Leah, you’re the only person I trust.” Now I opened the settings and deleted my fingerprint without hesitation. When I was done, I stood in the middle of the half-emptied room and felt nothing. Not sadness. Just lightness. Like I had set down something very heavy that I had been carrying for far too long. Ethan came home at ten that night. He seemed to be in a decent mood. He was carrying a limited-edition Hermès bag. “What are you doing?” He came up behind me while I was tidying the bookshelf and asked casually. “Just organizing a few things.” I didn’t turn around. Ethan set the bag on the desk and wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Are you still upset about earlier? I pushed too hard with the whole apology thing. Clara doesn’t handle stress well, I panicked. I’m sorry.” He paused and softened his voice. “Didn’t you mention this bag once? I had it flown in from Paris. Do you like it?” Hit and then soothe. That was always how he operated. Before, I always let it work. Because I couldn’t stand to watch him be the one to back down. But now I just felt sick. I stepped out of his arms and glanced at the bag. It was the exact style I had mentioned once, in passing. So what? An apology that comes this late is worth less than nothing. “Thanks. Just leave it there.” My voice was flat. No surprise, no warmth. Ethan’s expression tightened. He noticed. He looked around the room and spotted the bathroom counter. “Where’s your toothbrush?” “It broke. I threw it away.” “And the photo by the bed?” “I knocked the frame over and it broke. I tossed it.” “I’ll have someone get new toothbrushes tomorrow, and reprint the photo.” He sounded slightly put out, but tamped it down. “Don’t bother.” I turned to face him. “Ethan, I canceled my supplemental credit card.” He blinked. “Why?” “I don’t really spend much. It felt wasteful to keep it open.” My voice was perfectly even. Ethan studied my face for a moment, searching for something. But my expression gave him nothing. No anger, no hurt. Just a smooth, still surface. He decided I was sulking and let out a short, dismissive laugh. “Fine. Come find me when you’re done being dramatic.” He disappeared into the bathroom. I stood there listening to the sound of the shower running, then walked to the desk, picked up the Hermès bag, and shoved it into the very bottom corner of the walk-in closet. I didn’t want anything from him. I just wanted him to never be able to find me again.

Leah’s POV The next afternoon, I came home and stopped dead in the doorway of the courtyard. The garden was a wreck. Several groundskeepers were swinging shovels, tearing out the Juliet roses I had planted with my own hands. Roots and all. Those roses had taken me two years. Two years of research, careful cultivation, trial and error. Ethan had once told me I was like those roses, delicate but resilient. They were supposed to be a symbol of what we had. But now they were being tossed onto the ground like garbage. Petals broken and scattered, roots still clotted with soil. “What are you doing?” My voice came out unsteady. The butler walked over, looking uncomfortable. “Ma’am, Mr. Faulkner gave the order. He said Ms. Sutton has been having trouble sleeping. The doctor recommended lavender to help her relax, so Mr. Faulkner asked us to remove the roses and replace them with lavender imported from France.” The breath knocked out of me. For Clara’s sleep, he had destroyed two years of my work without a second thought. Just then, a black car rolled into the driveway. Ethan stepped out. He saw me standing in the middle of the ruined garden, my face white. He walked over, his tone matter-of-fact. “You’re home. Clara’s insomnia has flared up again. The rose scent is too strong for her. I had them switched out for lavender. If you like flowers that much, I’ll buy you a place out in the countryside tomorrow, just for your roses.” I looked at him. My eyes were dry. There was nothing left in them. Just a vast, quiet blankness. “It’s fine.” My voice came out barely above a whisper, thin as smoke. “They wouldn’t have lasted much longer anyway.” Just like my love for him. Already torn out by the roots. Already dead. Eight days until I leave. My stomach gave out. I had been feeling a dull ache there for a few days, but I hadn’t thought much of it. Assumed it was just stress or something I’d eaten. Then, late that night, the pain hit without warning. Violent. Like something was twisting and tearing inside me all at once. I fell off the bed. I ended up curled on the floor, drenched in cold sweat, my body shaking. I pressed my teeth together and fumbled for my phone on the nightstand with trembling hands. I called Ethan. It rang for a long time before he picked up. “Yeah?” His voice was clipped. Impatient. “Ethan.” My voice was barely a sound. “My stomach hurts. I need you to come home. I need to go to the hospital.” A beat of silence. Then Clara’s voice came through. “Ethan, please don’t go. I’m scared. Stay with me.” And Ethan’s tone shifted. Instantly. Completely. Into something gentle and warm. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” Then he turned back to me, his voice cold. “Leah. Clara had a rough night. I can’t leave. Take something for the pain, or have the driver take you to the hospital. And stop pulling this kind of thing. Trying to compete for attention. It’s beneath you.” He hung up. I lay there listening to the silence after the call ended, and I closed my eyes. Competing for attention. To him, me lying on the floor in agony was nothing but a tactic to steal his focus from Clara. I didn’t call back. Fighting through the pain, I dialed 911 myself. The ambulance came. At the hospital, the ER doctor’s face went serious after the examination. “Acute gastric perforation. She needs surgery immediately. Where’s her family? We need a family member to sign.” I was lying on the gurney, my face the color of ash, cold sweat sliding down my temples. I opened my eyes, looked at the doctor, and smiled. The kind that looks worse than crying. “Doctor, there’s no family. I’ll sign for myself.” The doctor looked at me for a moment. Something shifted in his expression. “Alright. She’ll sign herself. Let’s get her prepped.”

Leah’s POV The surgery lasted three hours. When they wheeled me out of the operating room, the anesthesia was still wearing off. Everything felt heavy and blurred. Even lifting my eyelids took effort. I was brought back to the recovery room. The walls were bare white. The silence was complete. Some time later. I wasn’t sure how long. A nurse came in to change my dressings. She took one look at me, alone in that room, and sighed. There was something protective in her voice when she spoke. “You poor thing. Your husband should be ashamed of himself. A surgery this serious and he can’t even show up? Not even once?” I stared at the ceiling above me, my eyes unmoving. My dry lips barely parted. “He’s dead.” The nurse choked. Her face froze. She let out an awkward half-smile, clearly unsure what to say, and finished the dressing change in silence before slipping out. I stayed in that hospital for three days. For three days, my phone was completely quiet. No call from Ethan. No text. Not even the most basic, perfunctory message to check if I was alive. It was as if I had ceased to exist. Me, and the child I had just lost, both of us erased from his world entirely. On the fourth day, I pushed myself upright and checked out. The nurse offered to call a car for me. I shook my head. I walked out of the hospital on my own, slowly, one step at a time, carrying a body that had just been through surgery and hadn’t fully come back to itself yet. The midday sun was harsh. It hit my skin and I felt nothing but cold. A cold that came from somewhere deep inside, the kind that couldn’t be warmed. I found a bench on the sidewalk and sat down. My hands were shaking as I opened my social media app and pulled up Ethan’s profile. His most recent post was from last night. The photo showed soft, romantic lighting. Clara was seated at a grand piano in an elegant gown, playing. Ethan stood behind her, slightly leaned in, his expression tender. Watching her with a warmth in his eyes I had never once seen him direct at me. The caption was short. Lost and found. For the rest of my life. It’s you. I stared at that photo for a long time. Long enough for the screen to dim. Long enough for my vision to go blurry. Then I closed out of his page, went to my blocked list, and added his name. From this point on, his future belonged to Clara. Mine had nothing to do with him. I went back to the villa and finished packing. There wasn’t much left. Everything worth discarding had already been discarded. Everything worth deleting had already been deleted. I had one suitcase. A few old clothes, and my acceptance letter. The butler saw me coming downstairs with the suitcase and startled. “Ma’am, where are you going? Does Mr. Faulkner know?” I stopped and looked at this man who had looked after me for three years. I smiled, gently. “I’m leaving. And please don’t call me ma’am anymore. This house will have a new lady soon enough.” He stood there, not knowing what to say. I didn’t say anything else either. I picked up my suitcase and walked out the front door without looking back. Three days until I leave. I wasn’t going to wait another three days in this house. I would check into a hotel tonight and go straight to the airport from there. I was done with this place where I had buried three years of my life and my love.

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I saved a girl from being sexually assaulted on a train. But a week later, she turned around and accused me, saying I was the one who assaulted her. I was taken away by the police and lost my qualification to enter the Police Academy. They even took photos and posted them online. My father, a hero who sacrificed himself for his country, was also slandered. My mom already had depression. Unable to bear the humiliation, she committed suicide. In the end, due to insufficient evidence, I was released without charges. I found the girl and asked her why she falsely accused me. But she said, “He’s a billionaire from New York. We were just playing an intimate game at the time. Even if he really wanted to assault me, I would’ve been willing! Who told you to jump out and ruin the fun!” After saying that, the man pulled her into his arms. “So what if you’re a police cadet? You still ended up as a dog under my feet!” His men rushed forward, and I instantly lost consciousness. When I opened my eyes again, I was reborn to the day I saved her. This time, I chose to turn a blind eye.

“Get off! Who are you!” “This is a train! If you keep this up, I’ll call the conductor!” The bed shook, waking me from my daze. The bed frame above my head was shaking violently. In the window across from me, a chaotic scene was reflected. A man was pressing a girl beneath him. I pinched my thigh hard. It hurt! I’d actually been reborn! In my previous life, everything that happened on this train kept replaying in my mind. I was a police cadet on my way to report to the Police Academy. Faced with a criminal, driven by righteous passion, I suddenly climbed up to the upper bunk and kicked him down with one foot. The man I kicked to the ground wailed. He quickly realized his crime had been exposed and disappeared into the night. She was trembling, but still climbed up to thank me. A sense of honor surged within me. I told her to inform the conductor that catching the criminal was the best way to protect herself, and I told her the perpetrator’s characteristics. After enrollment, I told my classmates about this incident. Everyone said I was a qualified police cadet, and my dorm even held an honor ceremony for me. But I never imagined that this act of justice would bring about the destruction of my family. A week later, I was in class when she suddenly burst through the door, screaming that I had assaulted her. She also said that after being rescued, I secretly followed her and threatened that if she told the conductor, I would post inappropriate photos of her online. She broke down crying, saying she was also forced into this situation, and that she finally had the courage to stand up now to prevent others from getting hurt. She pointed at my nose and cursed: “You beast! Once wasn’t enough, you still wanted to threaten me into submission!” I stood there stunned like a wooden post and was taken away and detained on the spot. My roommates who had been proud of me were cursed at. My classmates at the Police Academy were so angry they posted this video online. Police cadet forces girl on train. I instantly became a repeat offender. Rumors spread that I had been taking upskirt photos of girls since childhood, and “witnesses” came forward to speak out. My dad was also exposed, with claims that he didn’t actually sacrifice himself, but faked his death for compensation money. Things escalated too quickly. The Police Academy could only expel me as fast as possible to protect its reputation. Years of my hard work were wasted. I became a rat everyone wanted to beat. My mother believed I hadn’t done such a thing, but she had no power or influence and no way to find evidence. She could only leave behind a suicide note and crashed to her death in front of my dad’s grave. The suicide of a hero’s family member, the insult to a hero—this matter finally received attention. A special investigation team was formed. The best legal team came to see me. They ultimately helped me successfully clear my name. But my mom wouldn’t come back to life, and my future was gone. Even after they announced I was innocent, no one believed it. They thought my supposedly dead dad had pulled strings. I wore a mask to hide my face and delivered food at a hotel. I didn’t expect that day to be this girl’s wedding. In the photo, she was smiling radiantly on the arm of a man, and her groom was the person who had threatened her. Unwilling to accept this, I rushed into her dressing room to demand why she falsely accused me. But she looked at me innocently, as if she had never known me. Finally, after I kept reminding her, she remembered. She rolled her eyes and said impatiently: “He’s Anderson, a billionaire from New York. It was just a momentary thrill.” “He likes me. I won’t have to worry about food and clothing in the future. Don’t you think it’s unethical to block my future?” After saying that, Anderson suddenly appeared and pulled her into his arms, sneering at me: “So what if you’re a police cadet? You still ended up as a dog under my feet!” His men rushed forward, and I instantly lost consciousness. So my sense of justice was unethical in others’ eyes? When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the train.

I opened my eyes and ultimately chose to close them again, casually picking up my earplugs and putting them in my ears. I couldn’t hear the increasingly loud cries for help at all. After all, she liked it, didn’t she? The white light of dawn flashed by, with shadowy figures before my eyes. The conductor shook me awake. “Sir, sir, did you hear any sounds last night?” I took out the earplugs from my ears and asked: “What did you say?” Seeing this, the conductor shook her head helplessly and left. In my previous life, I told her to go find the conductor. She didn’t go, and even said I threatened her not to go. In this life, I wouldn’t bother helping her. I arrived safely at the Police Academy and couldn’t wait to rush into the dorm. These people, besides my mom, were the ones who believed me most at that time. They collected evidence for me, helped me navigate various places, and after my release, helped me find work. “What’s wrong? Is the tiger here?” We had a dorm group chat. Although we hadn’t met at that time, my name was Tygo, and they gave me the nickname Tiger. In my previous life, I would’ve resisted, but now I felt my mouth going sour and couldn’t say a word. “Alright, alright, we start Freshman Orientation Week tomorrow. Don’t stand there in a daze, go organize your luggage!” The dorm supervisor was still the warm old lady who loved to nag. I safely got through the week. I thought in this life I would be fine until graduation and would never get involved with her again. But I was still too naive. Just like in my previous life, I was in class when she suddenly pushed the door open, stood in front of me, and broke down crying. “You beast! Once wasn’t enough, you still wanted to force me into submission!” Me: … I’m not attacking her, but look at yourself. Why would I assault you? I muttered to myself. We were just in upper and lower bunks with our clothes on. There were so many people on the train. Just because I was closest to you, you blamed me? I looked at her innocently: “Hello? Who are you? Have we met?” “You’re lying! You assaulted me on the train. Do you think you can run away just because I don’t recognize you? I won’t let other girls suffer the same harm as me!” Her righteous appearance almost moved me to tears too. Students around us took out their phones and started filming. But I ignored her and continued writing my notes. Seeing this, she slapped me across the face and grabbed my collar to pull me up. I found it absurd and could no longer suppress my anger. With an elbow strike, I made her let go, then kicked her to the ground. She froze, lying on the ground without moving for a moment. I walked closer step by step and warned: “I’ve made it very clear. I’ve never even seen you. You came up and slapped me. This is just self-defense!” I deliberately held back my strength, enough to hurt her but not injure her enough to make false claims against me. Of course I recognized her, but that was from my previous life. In this life, I was just stating facts. Leavitt lay on the ground and started wailing, “He’s hitting people! A police cadet is hitting people!” “Ruining my innocence and then hitting and kicking me. Are you trying to divert attention? Is this what a police cadet is?” “Is this the quality of police? If so, I request the organization investigate Tygo’s police qualifications. We absolutely cannot let someone like this wield power.” She grabbed my pant leg, roaring excitedly. I shook off her hand. “Do you have paranoid delusions? Do you accuse every man you see of wanting to assault you? Should I help you find a mental health specialist?”

I took out my phone. She immediately jumped up and knocked my phone out of my hand with a slap. “Tygo! Stop pretending! Even if I die, I’ll make sure you’re brought to justice!” She lunged at me with her hair disheveled. I dodged with a sidestep. “Brought to justice? What are you talking about? From beginning to end, I don’t understand why you’re targeting me. You should go to the hospital first!” This was hilarious. She was fighting with her life, saying I was pretending. No one was more fake than her! After learning the identity of the person who forced her, she immediately found a scapegoat. In that train car, there was only me and her. Without even thinking, I was successfully targeted by them. You got your wealth and glory, while my mom died in humiliation. My dad was a hero who saved people, contributing everything to his country without reservation, and ultimately died protecting civilians. But because of people like this, he was tarnished. I wouldn’t sympathize with her at all. This kind of person doesn’t know gratitude. She would destroy an innocent person’s future for her own selfish desires! The news spread like wind. Soon, the Police Academy director arrived. She walked briskly and immediately restrained both me and Leavitt. “This is the Police Academy! What kind of behavior is fighting!” In my previous life, the director was also the first to arrive. I frantically tried to explain to her, but she immediately punished me. She said Leavitt was a weak woman who definitely wouldn’t lie. It must have been that I did something bad that made her collapse. It was her favoritism toward Leavitt that made me even more thoroughly wronged. Her words were posted online together. Netizens all believed it. Even the Police Academy director said it was my fault, so it must be true. All my explanations became excuses. She even quickly expelled me and kicked me out of the Police Academy. By the time they found out, I had already disappeared without a trace. Recalling my previous life and all that this director had done, my chest filled with rage. The next second I heard her say: “Tygo, did you bully this girl? Look at you, she tracked you down all the way to the Police Academy!” “I told you men are unreliable. You pull up your pants and don’t recognize people!” Leavitt stood behind the director, raising her eyebrows smugly. The director grabbed my ear. “You come with me! To my office!” Leavitt immediately chimed in: “Your director is the reasonable one! Let’s go to the office now and clear this up!” If I went, I would never come back. The director would immediately kick me out. It was like they had planned it. Thinking carefully, in my previous life, our class advisor didn’t come—the director came instead. Wasn’t that strange? I had to suspect that this director was in cahoots with Anderson, who was behind Leavitt! My roommates immediately surrounded us. “Director, we’re his roommates. We’re also responsible for this matter. Let’s go together!” The dorm supervisor was observant. He noticed my expression was off and made an excuse. I smiled bitterly in my heart. But he didn’t know that Anderson could cover the sky with one hand. If they went too, the entire dorm would never return! Thinking of this, I had to confront the director. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Director, you came up and blamed me without distinguishing right from wrong. What about my innocence? She has innocence but I don’t?” “Or did you conspire together and are just waiting for me to fall into the trap? If I leave now, I’ll never come back, right?” In front of everyone, my gaze swept across phone cameras one by one, making sure everything was recorded. The director guiltily let go of my ear but still argued unreasonably: “You won’t go? Then just wait to be dealt with!” She left those harsh words and left with Leavitt. This matter was temporarily over. Just when I thought they had no evidence and could do nothing to me. The next night, police appeared. This time, not in public, but barging into the dorm, wanting to take me away directly. The director led the way. She stepped forward. “Leavitt, look, is it him!” Her nostrils pointed to the sky, like a righteous angel. I stared at these two people. They didn’t look like police at all! They walked without any sense of righteousness and didn’t even have any identification on them. Just wearing jackets and holding handcuffs, they wanted to arrest me. I poked the dorm supervisor, signaling him to call the police quickly!

Leavitt was crying and trembling as she pointed at me: “It’s him! I went to find him yesterday, but he wouldn’t admit it!” “At first, I wanted to go find the conductor, but he said he took nude photos of me. If I didn’t obey, he would post the photos online!” The entire dorm building was lit up, and the people who gathered watched her cry pitifully. Police cadets were passionate by nature. Now everyone was so angry they wanted to kill me. Someone stood in the crowd and shouted at me: “Tygo, are you even a man? You won’t even admit what you did!” Listen to that. You’d think he was at the scene. I pushed aside my roommate blocking me and stepped forward voluntarily. “Just because you say I did it, I did it? We’re police cadets. We might become police in the future.” I sneered and pointed at Leavitt: “Just because of her few words and a few tears, you can determine she’s the victim?” “Then I wonder how many people will suffer injustice because of tears in the future and be killed by you!” With a few words, I shocked everyone into silence. Police cadets were passionate. After entering college, everyone had been exposed to criminal investigation. Once they calmed down a bit, they could sense something was wrong! I could already hear people whispering quietly: “Yeah, we need evidence to handle cases. We can’t convict someone with just a few words.” Hearing this, Leavitt panicked. The director roared: “Shut up!” She also had two police officers restrain me and pin me against the door for everyone to see. “Director! Are you sure you want to do this! I’ve already called the police!” I said coldly, sneering at them. Hearing that I had called the police, Leavitt stared at me in shock. “You called the police? Isn’t that the thief crying ‘catch the thief’? There are police here. When everyone arrives, let’s see where you run!” The director’s face darkened. She knew these two people were just paper tigers. All appearance, no substance. Leavitt clearly valued her own innocence. Even when she didn’t recognize me, she ran to the Police Academy to find someone. But now she said “call the police” so casually, without any fear of her reputation being ruined. People who didn’t know the situation thought she was brave. But I, who knew her, just felt disgusted. The director snatched my phone. “Unlock it! You’re wasting police resources! You don’t have the qualification to be a police cadet!” She was panicking! I wouldn’t be stupid enough to unlock it. Even if I unlocked it, they wouldn’t find any record of me calling the police. As the argument continued, the sound of a police car rang out. Funny to say, we actually had to call the police to handle things inside the Police Academy. Seeing the serious-faced people in police uniforms, I knew I had bet correctly. The person who came was my dad’s comrade-in-arms. When I had the dorm supervisor call the police, I deliberately had him mention my name. My dad sacrificed himself to save people. When his teammates arrived, he was still staring with wide eyes, tightly holding the criminal. At that time, his heart had already stopped beating. In my previous life, it was because of my dad’s status that the special investigation team came to investigate. In this life, I had to use this. I had to make them get involved from the start! “Who is Tygo?” My roommates all moved aside, exposing me. I was being pressed against the door, unable to move, my face flushed red from holding my breath. “What are you doing? Police brutality?” I recognized the person speaking. It was my dad’s student, James.

Leavitt wasn’t having it. She spread her arms to shield the two people. “You’re assaulting a police officer! You must be actors that Tygo hired!” My hands were freed. I shrugged helplessly. “Yeah, yeah, the ones you called are heroes, the ones I called are actors.” “Then let’s all take a trip to the police station.” I spotted the director quietly retreating into the crowd. I quickly shouted: “Director? Aren’t you going?” Me, Leavitt, the director, along with my roommates and those two people the director called police, all got into the police car together. We were questioned separately. I explained the sequence of events and stated that I didn’t even know her name before this. I slept on the lower bunk and hadn’t even seen what she looked like. Could the conductor who questioned me at the time testify that I wore earplugs and slept all the way until getting off? Seeing me come out of the interrogation room unscathed, Leavitt immediately rushed over and grabbed my hair. “Did you bribe them!” She turned to the police and shouted: “Police, I came to the police station with a determination to die. Are you just going to let the criminal walk away like this?” “Just because he’s a police cadet? You’ll protect him unconditionally?” This last sentence made everyone in the police station unhappy. I pushed her hand away. “How long are you going to make a scene! Whoever committed a crime against you, someone must have seen it! Just file a proper report and provide information. Why do you keep grabbing onto me? Is someone behind the scenes directing you?” A female officer also tried to persuade her: “Ms. Leavitt, we will bring the person who harmed you to justice. Don’t get agitated. Tygo is innocent. We’ve already verified it with the conductor.” They were doing their duty explaining to her, but Leavitt directly covered her ears. She screamed: “I won’t listen, I won’t listen! The criminal is Tygo! You all won’t listen to me! I’m telling the truth!” Her crazed appearance scared everyone. They immediately called 911. I frowned. “Are you mentally ill? Which hospital did you escape from?” The female officer was still comforting her, but it was useless. Until a police officer brought someone in, she softly collapsed into his arms. This person was Anderson. When enemies meet, their eyes blaze with hatred. He was dressed like a proper gentleman, smiling carelessly as he embraced Leavitt. “What happened? Don’t be afraid, baby. Didn’t I come to help you get revenge?” The two stood together, looking about 20 years apart in age. But as long as a man had money, even if he was an 80-year-old man, Leavitt would like him. Anderson glanced at me coldly. I knew he had murder on his mind. “Officer Brown, my girlfriend has suffered a great grievance. Won’t you give me an explanation?” He raised an eyebrow. The middle-aged man who came in with him stuck out his belly and smiled obsequiously. “I’ll handle it right away.” Then that fat Officer Brown said to his subordinates: “Why haven’t you detained him yet? You actually dared to release the suspect identified by the victim! What’s going on! Do you all not want to work anymore!” He raged at his subordinates and had people arrest me again. This obvious flattery made the police officers’ faces turn iron blue. The two people who had been released rushed up. I struggled but was still handcuffed again. They really were police—new recruits who had only been on the job for two days. They were very smooth at flattering the chief. I hid the hatred in my eyes and said to Anderson: “Who are you? This is blatant bribery!” I knew he didn’t care, but everyone present would be witnesses to my being wronged! Anderson raised his hand and patted my face. “Bribery?” He leaned close to my ear. “I, Anderson, don’t need to. Who told you to just happen to be in that car? Consider it bad luck.” Anderson’s family had money. Leavitt wouldn’t go to the police station to report him. He didn’t need to make me a scapegoat. But his downfall was that he didn’t just force her that day! There was also Camilla, the daughter of the Paul family from New York.

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I served three years in prison for my wife Juliet, and when I got out, all I received was a one-dollar bonus. Just as I thought there must be some mistake, I noticed my male colleague Collins had received a check. That evening, I scrolled through Collins’s Instagram and saw him showing off a check: 【My girlfriend is the most generous boss in all of America! She gave me a hundred million dollar bonus!】 Many people left comments expressing envy and congratulating him on finding such an outstanding girlfriend. Not only did Juliet fail to explain, she was eager to distance herself from me: “You just got out of prison. It’s not appropriate to make our relationship public. Call me ‘boss’ in front of others.” Then she turned around and liked Collins’s Instagram post. I took a deep breath and called her archrival. “From now on, I’m working for you.” “You were willing to spend three years in prison for Juliet’s career, so why do you suddenly want to work for me?” “I remember she promised you over and over that when you got out, she’d give you the department manager position. Are you sure you don’t want it anymore?” I rubbed the one-dollar bill over and over, unable to hold back a bitter laugh. “Yeah, I don’t want it anymore.” The moment I said it, Juliet suddenly appeared in front of me, asking suspiciously: “Don’t want what?” I hung up the phone calmly and told her the truth: “The department manager position.” At my words, a flash of light appeared in her complicated expression, as if she was relieved. “Perfect. I was planning to give it to Collins anyway. You can start as a clerk.” Hearing this, I couldn’t help but frown. I had endured three years behind bars for Juliet’s company. She had promised me over and over that when I got out, this position would be mine and mine alone. But who could have imagined that in the end, I’d become just a lowly errand boy. At this very moment, Juliet broke the promise she’d made three years ago with her own mouth. But I couldn’t see even a trace of guilt in her eyes. My eyes burned hot, and an unstoppable stabbing pain flooded my heart. Seeing that I remained silent, Juliet pulled an agreement from her briefcase and tossed it on the table. She said casually, “This is a secret marriage agreement. Consider it for the company’s sake.” The four words “Secret Marriage Agreement” stabbed painfully at my eyes. Three years ago, the day before I went to prison, Juliet and I got our marriage license. The only belief that sustained me through it all was the thought of a happy married life after my release. But now I had become something she was ashamed to speak of, something she even wanted to erase from existence. I mocked myself silently, and without thinking, I grabbed the pen at hand. Juliet suddenly turned her head, watching my hand about to sign, her brow furrowing. How could he, who used to be desperate to announce this marriage to the world, suddenly be so decisive? She instinctively pressed down on my wrist, saying something incomprehensible: “You’re not even going to think about it?” I didn’t lift my eyes and immediately signed. Having gotten the secret marriage agreement as she wished, she fell inexplicably silent for a moment. After a while, she cleared her throat, her voice becoming gentle: “Taylor, don’t worry. Once the company stabilizes, I’ll definitely compensate you properly.” I gave a perfunctory “mm-hmm,” and just then the company group chat lit up. Collins had become the company’s first department manager, and all the employees were congratulating him. 【You’ve been by Miss Juliet’s side these past three years, we’ve all seen it. You truly deserve this position!】 【I think Collins is department manager today, but tomorrow he’ll probably be Juliet’s husband, right? We better start sucking up to you now.】 Right after, Collins sent a dog emoji, tacitly accepting everything. 【I still think Taylor is the lucky one. Three years in prison and he still gets to be a clerk at the company. Juliet really values him!】 Knowing the truth, he was obviously mocking me. I couldn’t bear to keep looking at the screen, but inadvertently saw Juliet staring at her phone. The smile at the corner of her mouth was a tenderness I’d never seen before. It made me wonder whether she was hiding our marriage for the company’s sake, or for Collins’s sake.

To fulfill the secret marriage contract, Juliet moved from the master bedroom to the guest room. Besides that, she made things crystal clear: I wasn’t allowed to ride in the same car with her. I wasn’t allowed to talk to her at the company, could only call her “boss.” And the relationship between her and Collins was just an act—I wasn’t allowed to make a big deal out of it. After giving her instructions, Juliet disappeared for three days. It wasn’t until I took a day off for a fever that she bothered to call me: “Taking time off after just a few days of work—isn’t that a bit dramatic?” “You’ll have to go to the hospital yourself. I’m still on a business trip, no time to take you.” It was the expected result. I answered groggily with a “mm-hmm.” But the moment I finished speaking, a familiar male voice came through the phone: “Juliet, come help me tie my necktie!” Although Juliet hung up quickly, I still heard her hurried footsteps rushing over. Opening Collins’s Instagram again, I saw he’d changed his profile picture to a photo with Juliet. I remembered when we were dating, I always pestered her to post couple photos of us on Instagram. But she always had countless reasons to refuse me: Troublesome, childish, tacky… For some reason, she went crazy sending me messages and calling me. I only replied with one line: 【Right now is my rest time. Please understand, boss.】 After finishing my IV, I returned to the company. My colleagues were as indifferent as ever, piling work all over my desk. Probably in their minds, I was just a lucky guy taken in by Juliet after getting out of prison, so I should bear more responsibility. I adjusted my mood and packed all the couple’s items from the storage cabinet into a black garbage bag. If I’d known earlier they’d never see the light of day, I wouldn’t have worked so hard to bring them to the company. I was about to go throw them away when Juliet came back unexpectedly. Before I could react, she furiously dragged me all the way to the stairwell. Juliet saw the garbage bag in my hand, her face darkening: “You have time to pack up trash but no time to return my calls?” The strong smell of men’s cologne on her made me involuntarily step back, saying indifferently: “I sent a message back.” At these words, Juliet seemed to ignite like a flame, demanding: “Why did you call me ‘boss’ in the text?” What was the difference between on the phone and in reality? She was the one who told me to do it, so why was she unhappy when I did? Seeing that I had no intention of explaining, she let out a cold laugh: “You know I don’t like petty men. You’d better not turn into someone I hate.” With that, she snatched the bag from my hand and threw it forcefully on the ground. In the resounding crash that echoed through the stairwell, she strode away. Looking at the shattered couple’s photo and matching mugs, my heart trembled. Just like our years of feelings would eventually shatter into pieces. I cleaned up the fragments and called a lawyer to draft a divorce agreement. After getting the document, I went to the print room to make a copy. Just as I’d psyched myself up and was about to knock on the door, Juliet opened it first. Meeting her cold gaze, I calmly handed over the document: “Sign it when you have time.” But Juliet didn’t even glance at it, flipping straight to the last page and signing. Then she handed it back casually and instructed: “Come with me to a business dinner later. Be smart about it—remember to drink with the clients.” I was puzzled. Juliet’s alcohol tolerance was exceptional, so why would she need me to drink with clients? Before I could ask, I saw Collins emerge smugly from behind her: “You’re so thoughtful! You even remembered I have a cold and can’t drink!”

Collins sprawled casually next to Juliet, his arm draped directly around her shoulder. Seeing me, he complained with a furrowed brow: “Juliet just makes such a big fuss. It’s just a cold, but she won’t let me drink or even come to work. If I hadn’t begged her, she wouldn’t have brought me to this dinner.” Hearing him say this, Juliet affectionately tapped his nose. “I don’t care what you say, but don’t complain when it’s time to take your medicine.” The two people in front of me were clearly a couple in love. Her gentleness and consideration were unfamiliar to me. I clutched the divorce agreement in my hand, feeling inexplicably relieved. Arriving at the restaurant, Juliet exchanged pleasantries with the business partners for a while. Then she stepped back and began introducing everyone. “This is Collins, our company’s department manager.” When introducing me, the partner’s boss frowned slightly. “I remember very clearly that this gentleman went to prison for debt default. Miss Juliet, you’re truly loyal and righteous.” Juliet’s nerves tightened. She glanced at me, then smiled apologetically in acknowledgment. During the project discussion, Juliet and Collins sat close together. She kept giving me looks, signaling me to proactively block drinks for Collins. During the meal, someone noticed their intimate behavior and couldn’t help but tease: “Miss Juliet and Mr. Collins look so well-matched. I wonder if Miss Juliet is married?” As soon as the words fell, Juliet looked at me, a flash of hesitation in her eyes. The next second, we said almost in unison: “No.” Though we gave the same answer, she whipped her head around to stare at me in shock. When the partners went to the restroom, she sent me a message: “It’s all just an act. Don’t take it to heart.” Juliet was talking about acting, but I was telling the truth. After all, she’d already signed the divorce agreement. I glanced at the message and turned my phone screen down. Seeing this, Juliet, sitting across from me, was about to stand up when I turned and headed to the restroom. Coming out of the stall, I ran into Collins. He stood with his arms crossed, clearly in a victor’s stance. “Taylor, you’re truly pathetic as a man. Being despised by your wife to this extent—if I were you, I’d be too ashamed to show my face.” I washed my hands on my own, saying indifferently: “That’s none of Mr. Collins’s concern.” After drying my hands, I prepared to leave. But Collins flashed over to block my path, looking me up and down. “How come Juliet’s husband is still wearing rags?” “Oh, I forgot—Juliet probably spent all her money buying me luxury custom pieces. Sorry about that.” The expensive designer brands on him seemed to constantly remind me of the difference between one dollar and one hundred million. Instantly, the bitterness that had been building in my heart exploded, and I fled in panic. Returning to the private room, I grabbed my things to leave. Juliet hurried forward to stop me, her tone gentle: “Don’t leave yet. I’ll drive you home in a bit.” I was about to refuse when Collins suddenly burst in looking panicked. Instantly drawing everyone’s attention. Juliet immediately let go of me and ran over to ask what had happened. Collins frantically searched through his bag, then patted down all his pockets. Then he cried out in alarm: “My custom watch is missing!”

As soon as the words left his mouth, everyone in the private room started helping Collins look for the watch. While searching, he kept muttering: “This is a birthday gift Miss Juliet gave me, worth over thirty million! I really don’t want to lose it!” Though I didn’t know what game he was playing, I just wanted to leave immediately. But just as I reached the door, Collins reached out to stop me. “Taylor, let me check your bag too. Otherwise you won’t be free of suspicion either.” Whether or not I’d stolen his watch, I knew the truth myself. “I’m tired. Mr. Collins can look for it himself.” Seeing me insist on leaving, Collins actually grabbed my bag directly. In the struggle, the contents of my bag spilled all over the floor. And among the scattered items, there really was a watch. I stared at the watch in shock, then met Collins’s provocative gaze. “Why are you framing me?” Turning around, I found everyone behind me looking at me with contempt. Especially Juliet—she was frowning, her eyes full of disgust toward me. I instinctively tried to explain to her: “I didn’t take this!” But my explanation seemed so pale and powerless in the face of the glaring “evidence.” Then Collins picked up the watch and began to act aggrieved: “This watch is very important to me. How could Taylor steal it?” “I thought Taylor had reformed in prison, but I didn’t expect him to still be willing to do anything for money. I won’t dare work with you anymore…” Collins’s few words made everyone present look uncomfortable. The partner’s boss broke the awkward silence first, saying sternly: “Miss Juliet, let’s call off this collaboration!” With those words, he left the private room angrily with his people. I wanted to chase after them to explain, but received a solid slap from Juliet. Meeting my disbelieving gaze, there was no regret in her eyes. “I never imagined you were this kind of money-grubbing person!” “I brought you here, not to have you steal things!” Juliet’s one sentence completely convicted me. Didn’t she know what kind of person I was? Had she also forgotten why I went to prison? Looking at the fury in her eyes, I knew she would never believe me. I could only smile bitterly and hand over my phone. “Then call the police.” She looked down at the phone, then frowned up at me, but made no move. The long stare seemed to let me see clearly the woman before me. After a while, Juliet snorted coldly, “Unreasonable!” The woman turned around, helped Collins put on the watch, and gently coaxed him away. In the private room, only I remained, along with the mess on the floor. I picked up my scattered belongings and headed to the airport without hesitation. Late night at the departure hall. I’d planned to write my resignation, but received Juliet’s termination notice first. Her words carried anger: 【Don’t come to the company anymore. Stay home and reflect on yourself!】 Seeing her absurd demand, I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. Without thinking, I took a photo of the divorce agreement both of us had signed and sent it over. With accompanying text: 【Juliet, I wish you and Collins eternal happiness!】 【But first you need to get the divorce certificate with me, or I’ll report you for bigamy.】 After I sent this message, Juliet on the other end began frantically calling me like crazy.

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My eight-year-old Border Collie, Bella, suddenly refused to go out for walks no matter what. Without a second thought, I listed the house for sale online and planned to move a thousand miles away that very night. My friends all said I’d lost my mind, and my husband blocked the doorway, roaring: “If the dog doesn’t want to go out, then just don’t take her! What the hell is wrong with you?” But I clutched the leash, my fingernails digging into my palms: “No. We have to move. Now.” My husband yanked the leash until it snapped: “If you walk out that door, we’re getting a divorce!” I nodded. “Fine. You can have the house and our savings. I’ll leave with nothing… but tonight, we must leave this city. Because the dog is blocking the door.” Ethan stared at me, his eyes full of confusion. He clearly thought I’d lost my mind—completely and utterly. But I couldn’t worry about his anger. I frantically stuffed documents and cash into my canvas bag. Bella, the Border Collie I’d raised for eight years. Right now, she was lying like a heavy iron weight, blocking the inside of our front door. She normally loved going out. The moment I picked up her leash, she could jump three feet in the air. But now, her movements had become extremely sluggish. When I called her name, it took several seconds before she slowly twitched an ear in response. She no longer looked at me, or at Ethan. Instead, as if possessed, she stared fixedly toward the northwest. I tried to open the door. Bella suddenly lunged forward and bit down on my pant leg, pulling desperately toward the back of the house. She was trembling. That kind of tremor that seeps out from the bones traveled through my pant leg to my ankle. “Sophia, when are you going to stop this?” Ethan slammed his fist on the shoe cabinet, making the vase on top buzz: “Bella’s just tired today. She doesn’t want to go out, so just let her rest!” “Why the hell are you having a breakdown about moving in the middle of the night? And a thousand miles away?” I didn’t look at him, moving faster: “She’s not tired, Ethan. She’s afraid.” “Afraid of what?” Ethan’s face screamed that I was being unreasonable. He came over to grab my bag: “Do you know I’m meeting new clients with my team tomorrow?” “If I sign this project, I’ll be VP!” “And you want me to drive with you to move to another city right now? Have you been working so much overtime you’re hallucinating?” I stopped and stared at him hard. Of course I knew. Ten years ago, Ethan and I left everything behind to move to New York. To put down roots here, we both worked ourselves to the bone. I asked Ethan one last time: “Are you coming with me or not?” Ethan got even angrier, snatching the leash from my hand and ripping it apart: “I’m not going! And I won’t let you go either!” “Sophia, if you walk out that door, we’re getting a divorce!” Bella stumbled from being yanked. Her four paws scraped against the floor, making a teeth-grinding sound on the hardwood. I took a deep breath, my eyes stinging. But logic told me every second counted. I didn’t have time for my emotions, or for explanations: “Fine. The house, the car, the hundred thousand in savings—it’s all yours. I just want Bella.” Ethan froze. He looked at me like I was an alien, and after a long moment finally choked out: “You’re giving up our good life together… for a dog?” “Yes.” I shook off his hand. I scooped up the thirty-pound Bella and practically ran backward toward the entrance. Bella curled up desperately in my arms like a frightened child. But she still stubbornly twisted her head, looking northwest. I shoved Bella into the back seat of my little car. The moment the car shot out of the garage, Ethan’s call came through, but I hung up.

I floored the gas pedal and headed straight for the highway entrance. Bella lay in the back seat, still curled into a ball, her eyes fixed on the view outside the window. Grandpa’s dying words echoed in my mind again: “Sophia, dogs are very spiritual. They can smell danger.” The car sped down the highway. I didn’t dare close my eyes for a second. When we crossed out of New York, the gray film over Bella’s eyes cleared considerably, and her pupils began to focus. She slowly blinked, letting out a faint whimper. When Ethan couldn’t get through to me on the phone. He turned around and posted a video on social media from our home security camera. In the video, I looked anxious and haggard, frantically dragging the dog outside. The background showed our home in disarray from our earlier argument. His caption read: [After five years of marriage, I matter less than a dog.] [My wife wants to sell everything and divorce me because the dog won’t go for a walk. She’s moving away in the middle of the night.] [Can anyone tell me what I should do?] The comments exploded instantly. Some mocked me for being “mentally unstable.” Others said I was “having an affair and using this as an excuse to transfer assets.” One comment, pushed to the top, was especially cutting: [This woman probably can’t have kids, so she’s treating the dog like her own child. Her brain’s broken.] Below it, a chorus of agreement: [Exactly. Obsessed with her dog.] I didn’t bother explaining. I kept driving. Around 3 AM, I got a call from my mother-in-law, Margaret. The moment I answered, she started cursing through the speaker. She’d clearly heard the whole story from Ethan. “Sophia! You can’t have children yourself, so you treat that dog like treasure!” “I’ve put up with you long enough! Are you trying to destroy my son?” “He’s finally about to become VP, and you’re pulling this crazy stunt?” I hung up immediately. Right after, my own mom sent dozens of voice messages, her voice full of tears: “Sweetie, go back and apologize to Ethan right now!” “You two have worked in that city for ten years and finally got stable.” “How can you get divorced over a dog?” My best friend and coworkers also sent private messages: [Sophia, did something happen to you?] [The boss says if you don’t come back, he’s filing a missing person report in the morning and getting a court order to declare you mentally incompetent.] I looked at Bella in the back seat. I silently blocked everyone. Despair and helplessness washed over me. I knew Ethan was using public opinion and family pressure to force me to submit. But he didn’t understand—Bella wasn’t blocking the door for no reason. She was trying to save us. I turned off my phone, my eyes fixed on the road ahead. Soon, he sent me an ultimatum: [Sophia, I’ve been reflecting since you left.] [But I really can’t understand why you’re doing this today.] [I’ve frozen your bank accounts. If you don’t come back, I’m really filing for divorce.] He thought cutting off my money would make me return. But he didn’t know I wasn’t throwing a tantrum. I was running for my life. I looked toward New York, my heart pounding. That feeling of dread grew heavier, like an invisible hand choking my throat. I tried messaging a few close friends in New York: [Listen to me. Leave New York tonight. As fast as you can.] The next second, I was kicked out of the group chat.

The group admin left a message: [Sophia, stop spreading panic. Even crazy has its limits.] I laughed bitterly to myself, closed my phone, and floored the gas pedal. Tears finally fell. We’d already driven two hundred miles from New York. Bella could now turn over and stand up on her own. She nuzzled against my neck. Her reactions were faster, and her eyes had regained their usual sparkle. “Bella, you’re the only one who believes me, aren’t you?” I asked through my tears. Bella whimpered softly, her eyes clear and mournful. She understood better than any of them. I’d become the target of everyone’s scorn, a madwoman in everyone’s eyes. A crazy woman who couldn’t have children and treated her dog like her child. But I looked at the fuel gauge. Half a tank left. Just two hundred more miles and I could reach the mountains, completely leave this city behind. And Bella kept looking out the window, in that direction—toward survival. At 5 AM, I had to stop at a rest area. By now, Bella had completely recovered. She jumped out of the car nimbly to drink water. Aside from being a bit tired, she looked normal. Drowsiness hit me like a wave. I dozed off in the car for about two hours. But just as I was about to start the journey again. A familiar black sedan suddenly cut in front of me, completely blocking my path. The harsh sound of brakes woke up many people resting at the service area. Then Ethan got out of the car. Behind him were two of his strong, burly friends. His eyes were bloodshot, stubble darkening his chin. He looked exhausted and frantic. “Sophia, get out of the car!” He pounded on my window, hitting it so hard it seemed like the glass would shatter. All my blood rushed to my head in an instant. He’d tracked my location through the car’s GPS. I locked the doors, my hands gripping the steering wheel tight: “Ethan, I’m not going back with you!” I shouted through the glass. “I’m done talking!” Ethan turned to the onlookers gathering around and shouted: “Everyone, please help! My wife has severe delusional disorder. She treats the dog like a child and wants to run away from home with it! She’s mentally unstable right now, and I need to take her back for treatment!” Rest area people always loved to meddle. Several passersby crowded around, pointing and whispering about me. “Oh my, that woman looks pretty, but what’s wrong with her head?” “Just go home with your husband and stop making a scene.” Ethan’s friends even pulled out rope. Their stance made it clear—they really planned to tie me up like a mental patient and drag me back. “I’m not crazy!” I shoved the car door open, desperately holding up my phone: “Ethan, if you touch me again, I’m calling the police!” “You can choose not to leave—that’s your life—but don’t stop me!” “Or I’ll report you for kidnapping with accomplices!” Ethan pointed at Bella in the back seat, his eyes full of helplessness and confusion: “You’re going to call the police on me? Because of this dog?” While I wasn’t paying attention, he suddenly yanked open the back door and reached for Bella: “Do I have to kill it before you come to your senses?” Bella dodged in a flash, a thunderous growl rising from her throat. Her reflexes were lightning-fast now. She bit down on Ethan’s watchband. “Fuck! How dare you bite me!” Ethan thrashed like a madman. I screamed and lunged forward, waving pepper spray to protect Bella: “Get away! She’s trying to save your life! She’s trying to save all our lives! We can’t stay in New York—there’s something wrong with that city!” The scene descended into chaos. Ethan pinned me against the car door. His strength was shocking, crushing the air from my lungs. “Sophia, look at the sky!” He pointed toward the horizon, gradually brightening: “New York is perfectly fine!” “It’s 5:30 in the morning. The first early risers are already out exercising!” “Nothing happened! How long are you going to keep this up?”

I looked toward the distance. Yes, dawn had broken. Everything seemed so calm. The people around me started whispering. In that moment, I wavered slightly too. Had my instincts been wrong? But I looked down at Bella. She was still cowering under the car seat, her teeth chattering, all her fur standing on end. Her eyes were still locked on the northwest. No! Impossible! Bella’s terror was identical to the scene from eighteen years ago. Seeing the tears in my eyes, Ethan’s attitude suddenly softened. He walked over and gently took my hand. His tone carried an almost pleading tenderness: “Sophia, I’m begging you. Please stop this and come home with me.” “Mom rushed over in the middle of the night because she was so worried.” “She’s already home making your favorite dishes, waiting for us to come back and eat.” “The old lady worked all night. She just wants us to be happy together.” “Even if you’re angry at me, don’t disappoint her good intentions, okay?” His eyes were sincere. I knew he just didn’t understand. Didn’t understand why a dog could make his wife abandon everything. Seeing I still wouldn’t budge, his tone carried a resigned sigh: “I’ve really lost to you this lifetime. If you insist on leaving, then I’ll come with you and see.” “But don’t run off alone anymore. It’s not safe.” In that moment, I thought he’d finally given in. My nerves, stretched to the breaking point, relaxed. Ethan took me to fill up the gas tank. Then went to the restaurant to buy me a sandwich and gave Bella a bowl of water. I sat on a bench, my hands still trembling slightly as I looked at the map. Just one and a half more days of driving, and we’d reach the northwest. This nightmare would be over. But just as we were about to get back in the car and continue. An ambulance siren suddenly grew from distant to near, screeching to a halt right in front of us. Several medical staff in white coats, carrying restraints, jumped out: “Which gentleman called about his wife having severe delusional disorder and violent tendencies, requesting mandatory hospitalization?” Under my disbelieving gaze, Ethan hesitated for a moment. His lips moved, as if he wanted to say something. But in the end, he gritted his teeth and stepped forward, pointing at me: “It’s her. I contacted you earlier. My legal wife.” “She’s showing obvious signs of self-harm and delusion right now. Please help.” The sandwich in my hand fell to the ground. Realizing something was wrong, I jumped to my feet and tried to run to the car. But the next second, Ethan and his friends pinned my shoulders down hard. “Sophia, be good!” Ethan’s voice was almost shaking: “When you get better, we’ll go home and live a good life. Please, I’m begging you. Stop this, okay?” I clawed at the iron railing beside me, my nails nearly breaking: “I’m not sick! There’s a major problem in New York! Let me go! We have to leave now!” More passersby gathered to watch, and some even took photos. Ethan looked at me, his eyes full of pain and confusion. Just as the doctor pulled out a sedative, ready to inject it into my arm. His phone suddenly rang in his pocket. It was his mother, Margaret. Ethan paused, answered the call, and put it on speaker: “Mom, I’m taking Sophia to the hospital right now…” Before he could finish, Margaret cut him off frantically. On the phone, she was sobbing incoherently: “Son!!! Something’s happened at home! They’ve put up police tape outside, and the whole building’s been sealed! The police say it’s an infectious disease!” “So many people have gone crazy, crawling on the ground like dogs. Several people even jumped off the building…” Ethan’s face went white instantly: “Mom? Tell me clearly! What happened?” “Don’t come back… whatever you do, don’t—” “Beep—” The call cut off abruptly, leaving only deathly silence. Ethan held the phone. His whole body froze like a weathered stone statue.

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I had just secured a $10 billion project for the company and was about to report this good news to the CEO. But as I reached the CEO’s office door, I heard CEO Adrian discussing me: “That project Jade signed? Pure luck, nothing more!” His secretary immediately chimed in with flattery: “Exactly! A country bumpkin like her landing a major deal is mainly thanks to you and the company’s reputation!” Adrian continued: “Don’t lay her off yet. She’s been with the company for years. The severance would be too high. Transfer her to clean toilets. If she can’t handle it, she’ll quit on her own!” “Besides, a woman’s most important skill isn’t work—it’s serving men! She doesn’t act like a woman at all!” I tore up the project contract in my hands and turned to leave. Then I immediately called Adrian’s competitor: “Send the offer tomorrow. I’ll take that branch president position.” Adrian continued to humiliate me: “Jade is so old and doesn’t even have a boyfriend. She’s probably psychologically twisted.” “A woman’s greatest skill is serving men well. What kind of logic is it for women to compete with men for performance? Send her to the janitorial department to reflect!” Standing outside the door, the blood in my veins seemed to freeze instantly. The scene from that rainy night eight years ago flashed vividly before my eyes—me running wildly with a dying child on my back. I had just turned twenty then, working odd jobs in town. When I found the child, he had been abandoned by human traffickers in the roadside grass, burning with fever, barely breathing. I wrapped him in my only thick coat and walked over ten miles of mountain roads in the rain. The old doctor at the town clinic said if I’d been half an hour later, the child wouldn’t have made it. I later learned he was Adrian and Lauren’s only son, born after many years of marriage. Because he was frail, the traffickers thought he wouldn’t survive and casually dumped him. To express her gratitude, Lauren brought me out of the mountain village. She said, “Jade, you’re our family’s savior. From now on, you’re my sister. I’ll help you make money and establish yourself in the city!” Later, she really did teach me hand-in-hand how to read reports and negotiate with clients. From a warehouse partition to renting a proper office, almost every hard battle was fought by her and me together. She would put her arm around my shoulders and proudly introduce me to clients: “This is Jade, our company’s ace salesperson and my co-founder.” Until three years ago, when her heart condition flared up and she had to step back from the frontlines to recuperate. It was also from that time that Adrian’s eyes on me became increasingly complicated. At first, Lauren still came to the company often, but later, less and less. Occasionally when I visited her, her smile never reached her eyes. Once, when her son Max threw himself into my arms calling me “Jade,” she suddenly turned cold. “This child is closer to you than to me.” I found it strange at the time but just assumed she was in a bad mood from her illness and didn’t take it to heart. Instead, I threw myself wholeheartedly into the company. Adrian wasn’t cut out for business. The projects he led lost money consecutively, and morale plummeted. The suggestions I made were always rejected by him on the grounds that women had shallow vision. When I went to Lauren, she only said, “Jade, Adrian’s in charge of the company now. You need to listen to him.” This hundred-billion-dollar order I’d fought desperately to secure was already the company’s last lifeline. And now, it had become the trumpet call for my dismissal. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open. The embarrassment on both their faces flashed briefly before being replaced by anger. “Jade, why didn’t you knock before entering? Can’t shake off those country habits, can you!”

I gently placed the termination notice on the desk. “Mr. Anderson, I need an explanation for this.” “I made this decision.” Lauren took over, her tone displeased. “The company needs transformation now, fresh blood. You’ve worked hard and achieved much. You should rest.” Adrian leaned back, his gaze lewdly sweeping across my chest. “That’s right, Lauren is thinking of you. Administrative positions are easy, low-pressure. Women at a certain age always have to think about family.” “Thinking of me? Lauren, do you remember what you said to me eight years ago? You said we would together…” A flash of struggle crossed Lauren’s eyes, but she quickly regained composure. “Jade, people can’t keep living off past achievements. I’m grateful you saved Max, so I gave you opportunities, but you can’t keep using that favor to extort, can you?” She pushed another document toward me. “I’ve already reserved an administrative position for you. Think it over carefully. With your background, where else could you go if you left the company?” I reached out, grabbed the transfer notice, and tore it to shreds. “I appreciate Ms. Anderson’s kind intentions.” “But although I’m from the countryside, I still have self-respect. I can’t learn to serve people.” Ignoring their roars behind me, I turned and left the office. The glass on both sides of the corridor reflected my straight-backed silhouette, and also reflected this city I had once given everything for. Lauren hadn’t always been like this. In those first few years, she would often tell me that women should have their own careers. But I don’t know when it started changing. Her social media began sharing posts like “A woman’s true wisdom is making her husband shine.” The company atmosphere gradually changed too. Susan from Finance was transferred to manage archives after refusing to sign off on Adrian’s messy accounts. Mr. Quinn from Marketing was sent to the warehouse after questioning Adrian’s hole-riddled proposal. When I went to confront Lauren about it, she was learning to make soup from a video. After hearing me out, she put down the ladle and looked up at me with terribly unfamiliar eyes. “Jade, the company belongs to Adrian and me. You need to remember your place.” I stood frozen, taking a long time to find my voice. “Lauren, but didn’t we together…” She cut me off with a cold laugh. “Together what? I’m the boss, you’re the employee. You can only have what I give you. Including… the right to point fingers.” At that moment, I felt like I’d fallen into an ice cave. I said nothing more and just turned and walked out. But what chilled my heart even more was how she treated female employees. She promoted “women’s workplace skills” in the company, even bringing in a sex expert to preach that “a woman’s main battlefield isn’t the workplace, it’s the bedroom.” A promising new female intern liked to follow me around asking about sales techniques. Three days later, Lauren transferred her to receptionist. The intern felt wronged, but Lauren gently patted her shoulder. “Young girls shouldn’t always think about learning money-making skills. Finding a capable man—that’s the real skill.” The intern timidly glanced at me, but I couldn’t say anything. Because I knew that if I spoke up for her, she would probably be fired outright. And I wasn’t ready to leave at that time. I couldn’t let go of this empire she and I had built together. I even foolishly hoped she might return to being the old Lauren. But my silence seemed to fuel her suspicions. After I’d close a major deal, Lauren would praise me in a seemingly casual way.

“I heard that boss is very difficult. Ms. Jade must have put in a lot of effort!” But gradually, rumors began circulating in the company about me using special means to land projects. Lauren would always appear at the height of the rumors: “Everyone, don’t spread rumors. Jade is my sister. I know her abilities best.” In private, though, she’d hold my hand and sigh. “Jade, reputation is most important for girls. With you acting like this, how can I feel at ease as your sister?” I used to stupidly think that was concern. My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a formal offer letter from the rival company’s HR director. [Ms. Jade, please confirm this offer. Position: Group Vice President and European Regional President, reporting directly to the CEO. Base salary, performance bonuses, and equity incentive details are attached. We look forward to your earliest start date.] Back at my desk, I began packing my things. A photo frame still sat on the desk—a picture of us from the early startup days. Lauren had her arm around my shoulders, smiling bright and radiant. I couldn’t reconcile her with the bitter, harsh woman from just now. “Packing up so soon?” Lauren’s voice sounded behind me. My movements paused, but I didn’t stop what I was doing. “Jade, do we really have to go this far?” She stood behind me, her voice softening, coaxing me like she had countless times before. “Isn’t this all for your own good? Why can’t you understand my good intentions!” I finally turned around and looked her in the eyes. “For my good? After I land a hundred-billion-dollar order, you throw me into cleaning toilets, and you call that for my good?” The gentle mask on her face finally showed a crack. “Of course it’s for your good! Jade, I’m grateful to you, grateful you saved my son and helped me build this empire.” “But why do you have to keep reminding me of this? Why do Max’s eyes light up when he mentions you? Why do company employees think that without you, Jade, the company can’t function?!” “Even when Adrian mentions you, that look in his eyes…” “Let me tell you, Jade—everything you have, I gave you! Without me, you’d still be scraping dirt in the mountains! Me having you clean toilets is elevating you!” I finally understood. Turned out all these years, every achievement I made was one more threat in her eyes. The life-saving favor was a debt, sisterly affection was an act, fighting side by side was foolishness. Perhaps initially, she truly treated me as her sister. But hearts change, and when I became “too accomplished for a subordinate,” This sister who once protected me couldn’t wait to destroy me. Seeing my silence, Lauren seemed even more enraged. “I wanted to leave you some dignity. But things have come to this, and there are some things I must say.” “Several important client files have been leaked recently, and projects keep getting snatched by competitors. I investigated for a long time, until yesterday when I confirmed the leak source was in the sales department!” “Not only that. This person also repeatedly tried to seduce Mr. Anderson. I caught her more than once! Out of old sentiment, I wanted to transfer her to administration to reflect, waiting for her to come to her senses before returning. But what did she do?” “Ungrateful, biting back instead. Since that’s how it is, don’t blame me for being ruthless.” Before I could refute, Lauren had already ordered people to restrain me. “Ms. Jade is suspected of leaking trade secrets. Until the investigation is clear, please have her rest in the storage room.” The ones restraining me were Leo from Finance—last year when his mother was critically ill, I privately advanced him $100,000 for surgery.

The other was Zoe from Marketing—when she was harassed by a client, I brought a lawyer in the middle of the night to rescue her. They held my arms on both sides, hands trembling but gripping hard. I was half-pushed, half-dragged toward the storage room at the end of the hallway. Passing familiar faces, some averted their eyes, some pretended to be busy, some hesitated to speak but ultimately stayed silent. My heart sank bit by bit to the bottom. The dust in the storage room made me cough constantly. Leo and Zoe pushed me hard, keeping their heads down, not daring to meet my eyes. “Ms. Jade… I’m sorry, we…” Leo’s voice was choked with tears. Before she could finish, Zoe pulled her hard. “Let’s go! Do you still want your job or not!” The door was locked again, cutting off all sound from outside. I slowly slid down the wall to sit on the floor. I reached into my pocket for my phone—the screen was pitch black. The last hope of contact with the outside world was gone too. I scanned the narrow space, wondering if I could crawl out through the ventilation shaft. Suddenly, footsteps sounded at the door. The lock clicked open, but my heart inexplicably panicked. Adrian slipped through the door crack and locked it behind him. He walked toward me, his gaze lewdly roaming over my body. “Look at this—our illustrious Ms. Jade, how did you end up like this?” I stood up, looking at him coldly without speaking. “Lauren just has a quick temper, acts impulsively. But I’m not incapable of helping you.” He moved closer, his tobacco-scented breath spraying on my face. “You were just too stubborn before! But from now on… as long as you’re smart and obey me.” “I can talk to Lauren and let you come back, even keep you as sales director. How about it?” I slapped away his hand reaching for my face and shouted angrily. “Don’t touch me.” The fake smile on Adrian’s face instantly vanished. He raised his hand and slapped me. “Ungrateful bitch!” “Jade, if it weren’t for your looks, I wouldn’t bother with you!” He grinned menacingly, grabbed both my hands, and pushed me against the wall. “You don’t want to? Doesn’t matter. I just need to have my fun today!” “Let’s see how long your stubborn bones can last!” Humiliation and rage made me instantly raise my leg and kick with all my strength toward his groin. Caught off guard, Adrian groaned and released his grip. But before I could run, he grabbed me from behind and slammed me hard to the side. My ears immediately rang, and a rusty, metallic taste filled my mouth. My vision blurred. I could only see his furiously twisted face and his hand raised high again. However, the expected second beating didn’t fall. The storage room door opened once more. Lauren stood backlit in the doorway, her expression as twisted as a ghost. “Jade, I knew I was right—you two really are having an affair!” Hearing this, I found it utterly absurd. But before I could refute, Adrian’s face was already plastered with flattery. “Lauren! Don’t misunderstand! She lured me here, trying to seduce me! She just wanted me to let her out.” “She even said she’s familiar with all the company business and will take those client resources and go solo, so she won’t have to deal with you, this nagging wife.” Lauren’s chest heaved violently, her eyes stabbing viciously at me.

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