Category: English

1 Cassandra’s childhood obsession, Scott, was throwing another one of his tantrums, which meant she was getting ready to divorce me again. My heart felt like a dead weight in my chest. I looked at her, my voice flat. “This will be divorce number eight.” Her face was a mask of guilt, her eyes pleading. “Daniel, I don’t have a choice. You know how Scott gets. He’s threatening to… hurt himself. I can’t just let him, can I?” “But don’t worry, Daniel,” she added quickly, a line I knew by heart. “As soon as I calm him down, we’ll get married again. I promise.” I said nothing. She’d said those exact words to me countless times. We’d been married eight times and divorced eight times. The clerks at City Hall knew me by name. I heard them whispering behind my back once, calling me part of the “Revolving-Door Couple.” I held the freshly printed divorce certificate in my hand. Behind the counter, a clerk asked with a smirk, “So, when are you coming back for wedding number nine?” I just shook my head, my voice hollow. “There won’t be a next time.” Walking out of City Hall, I saw Cassandra already doting on Scott, cooing at him. The same Scott who, less than an hour ago, had been threatening to end his own life, was now beaming, completely pacified by a few of her sweet words. Every time I saw it, a sense of surreal disbelief washed over me. Was this smiling boy really the same person who had smashed a glass bottle, held a jagged shard to his own throat, and screamed until his voice was raw? Today was supposed to be my third wedding anniversary with Cassandra. The irony was laughable. It had been three years since our first wedding, but that time was fractured by an endless cycle of divorces and remarriages. Our most recent “I do” was only a month ago. And now, we were divorced again. Three years. Eight marriages. Eight divorces. I used to see memes online about couples like this and laugh. I never imagined it would become my reality. As I walked out of the building in a daze, Scott shot me a triumphant glare, twisting the knife in my already bleeding heart. “Cassie, are you tricking me?” he whined, his voice cloying. “How did you get the divorce done so fast? Did Daniel try to stop you again? He just wants me dead so he can have you all to himself.” Cassandra looked exhausted. This time, she didn’t defend me. She didn’t say a word in my defense. She just soothed him, handing the divorce certificate over as proof. “See? It’s right here. I wouldn’t lie to you.” Scott’s face lit up as he examined the document. He fell silent, but when Cassandra wasn’t looking, he shot me a look of pure contempt, his chin held high in victory. Even though I knew he was just trying to provoke me, a storm of emotion still churned inside me. It was almost too ridiculous to believe. The reason for this latest drama? A month ago, Cassandra had given me an early anniversary present. Scott saw it and flew into a jealous rage. We had just remarried, and almost immediately, Scott’s tantrum had us back at City Hall, filing for divorce once more. I remembered the clerk who handled our paperwork that day, shaking her head. “You two are here more often than my mailman.” I was so ashamed I could have crawled into a hole. In three short years, we’d been to City Hall nearly thirty times. Every employee recognized us. But Cassandra had exploded, pulling me behind her like a protective lioness. “Just do your job! Why do you care? My husband and I enjoy getting married and divorced. It’s our hobby! What’s it to you?” The clerk, stunned by her ferocity, had silently processed the paperwork. Ever since that day, Scott had been counting down the thirty-day waiting period. And this morning, he couldn’t wait another second, forcing Cassandra to drag me here to finalize it. 2 He’d smashed a glass, holding a shard to his throat to threaten her. “If you two don’t get divorced today, I might as well just die!” Cassandra, who had been planning to just placate him, panicked. She grabbed my wrist, her nails digging into my skin, leaving deep red crescents. “We have to do it today, Daniel,” she hissed. “Or Scott will do something terrible!” In that instant, something inside me finally clicked into place. It didn’t matter if I married Cassandra a hundred times, or a thousand. I would never be more important than her precious Scott. “Alright, alright, it’s all done. Let’s go home,” Cassandra said, pulling Scott toward her car. Out of habit, I reached for the passenger door, but Scott blocked my way. He pouted, his face a mask of displeasure. “Daniel, you and Cassie aren’t married anymore. It wouldn’t look right for you to ride in her car, would it?” I instinctively looked at Cassandra. She frowned and tugged at Scott’s arm, but he shook her off. “I’m just speaking the truth, Cassie! You’re divorced. What will people think if they see you two together in the same car?” he continued, turning his lecture on me. “Besides, Daniel, you’ll have to marry someone else eventually. You should learn to keep a little distance from your ex-wife.” Every word was calculated, every point seemingly logical. Cassandra could only look at me, her expression pained. “Daniel… maybe it’s for the best if…” She didn’t have to finish. I understood. The soft flesh inside my cheek was raw where I’d been biting it. My voice tasted faintly of blood when I spoke. “It’s fine. I’ll walk.” The moment the words left my mouth, Scott’s face broke into a satisfied grin and he hopped into the passenger seat. Before they drove off, Cassandra gave me a look filled with apology and guilt, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t mind him, Daniel. He’s just not in a good mood today, so he’s acting out.” “Wait for me. Once he’s settled down, we’ll go get married again. And this time, it’ll be for good. I swear.” I didn’t say anything. At Scott’s urging, she sped away. I had believed that same promise seven times before. Every single time, I was a fool. The first divorce was because Cassandra forgot Scott’s birthday. The second was because Scott’s beloved cat ran away. The third was because Scott had a nightmare that Cassandra would abandon him once she was married. And this time? It was because she bought me a gift and not him. The reasons grew more absurd with each iteration, yet each one was enough for Cassandra to choose him, to abandon me. Over the years, I’d argued. I’d fought. I’d raged against the unfairness of it all. But the result was always the same. She would soothe me with empty promises, then go right back to catering to Scott’s every whim. Now, after the eighth divorce, I was done. I was letting go. No matter how fiercely a fire burns, enough cold water will eventually extinguish it. My love was finally out. I walked back to Cassandra’s house in a stupor. Before I even opened the door, I could hear them laughing and playing inside. I walked in to see Cassandra’s face dusted with flour, her expensive clothes speckled with white. I remembered a time when a single drop of soup had splattered on her shirt, and she had berated me for my clumsiness. She had a touch of OCD, a obsession with cleanliness. Yet here she was, covered in flour for Scott, without a hint of anger. Seeing me, Cassandra breathed a sigh of relief. She untied the apron from her own waist and tried to put it on me, giving me no time to even catch my breath. “Daniel, you’re finally back! Get cooking, will you? Scott and I are starving.” Scott, sprawled on the sofa like a king, issued his command. “I want pot roast today. And make sure the meat is extra tender, falling right off the bone.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I looked straight at him. “You want to eat? Why don’t you make it yourself? With all the time you two spent playing with flour, you could have cooked a five-course meal.” 3 The words had barely left my mouth when Cassandra shoved me, her face contorted with rage. My lower back slammed into the sharp corner of the dining table, and a jolt of white-hot pain made me break out in a cold sweat. “Daniel, what the hell do you think you’re saying?” she hissed. “I ask you to make one meal, and you give me this attitude?” I clenched my jaw against the pain, saying nothing. In her eyes, my silence was defiance. Scott chimed in from the couch, his voice dripping with venom. “See, Cassie? I told you. Daniel can’t stand me. Every time you ask him to do something for me, he throws a fit. If he were really my brother-in-law, you’d probably have to kick me out of the house.” At that, something in Cassandra snapped. Her eyes blazed. She grabbed my arm and dragged me into the kitchen, throwing me against the counter. Her face was a cold, merciless mask. “If you don’t cook what Scott wants to eat tonight, you can spend the night in here.” Slam. The kitchen door shut. My wrist was already bruising, and where my elbow had hit the corner of the stove, the skin had broken. I could see blood welling up. A moment later, I heard Scott’s delighted laughter from the other room. Cassandra came back in. Seeing me standing motionless, her brow furrowed. “Daniel, are you deliberately trying to defy me? You’re his brother-in-law! What’s the big deal about making him a meal?” I straightened up slowly, lifting my head to meet her gaze, a sneer playing on my lips. “Did you forget? We’re divorced. That title doesn’t apply to me anymore.” A flicker of embarrassment crossed her face. She cleared her throat, then softened, wrapping her arms around me in a gentle hug. Her voice was a low, soothing murmur. “I lost my temper just now. But I told you, this is just temporary. As soon as Scott’s feeling better, we can get remarried anytime. Don’t be angry over such a small thing.” She pressed a piece of paper into my hand—a list of dishes. Her expression turned serious, a subtle warning in her eyes. “I’m giving you a chance here. If you can make Scott happy, we can get remarried that much faster. Just be good, Daniel. Please.” She left, closing the kitchen door behind her. A wave of desolation washed over me. When had our marriage, our life, become such a “small thing” in her eyes? And she wanted me to please Scott? I’m sorry. I couldn’t do it. I’d rather sleep on the cold kitchen floor. I sank to the ground, leaning my back against the cabinets, and closed my eyes. I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew, an icy shock jolted me awake. I opened my eyes to see Scott standing over me, a wicked grin on his face, an empty basin in his hand. A puddle of freezing water was spreading across my clothes and the floor. “Scott, are you insane?” He tossed the plastic basin at me. The rim caught me squarely on the forehead. “I asked you to cook, not to take a nap, Daniel! You think a pathetic loser like you deserves to marry Cassandra? Dream on!” Rage, pure and hot, surged through me. I grabbed the basin he’d thrown and hurled it back at him with all my strength. Scott shrieked. He dodged the basin itself, but the remaining water splashed all over him. Hearing the commotion, Cassandra burst in. She took one look at the soaked and sputtering Scott and, without a second thought, grabbed me by the collar. “Daniel, have you lost your mind? Who gave you the nerve to hurt Scott?” She was pulling so hard, her face a mask of fury, that I thought she would rip the fabric. I had to rise onto my toes just to breathe, craning my neck to get the words out. “He threw water on me first! He hit me with the—” My words were cut off as her eyes widened, flashing with a cold, brutal light. “You deserved it!” she snarled. “I asked you to do one simple thing—make dinner—and you defy me? You’re lucky Scott was merciful enough to only throw cold water on you. If it were me, I’d have thrown you out on the street!”

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Outlaws raided our town while my husband, the Marshal, took all the men to escort Lily to a traveling show. The mayor begged me to fetch him. I refused. In my past life, I’d ridden pregnant through the ridge trail to drag him back, saving the town—but escaping outlaws caught Lily. They violated her and left her for the wolves. My husband hunted them down, then locked himself away for three days. He never spoke of it—until the county gave me Lily’s role as head of the Women’s Society. On our child’s birth day, he dragged me into those same woods. “You conspired with them!” he snarled, breaking my legs and slitting my belly open. “Now you’ll die like she did.” When I awoke, I was back on that fateful day. This time, he could protect Lily himself. … 1 The crack of a rifle shot was the sound of my second chance at life. I scrambled for the door, but just as I threw it open, the town mayor, Elias, stumbled in, his face pale. “Treisa! The outlaws are here! Get your husband up! He needs to rally the men and protect the town!” Before I could answer, Elias’s wife rushed in behind him, her voice trembling. “Elias, I’ve looked everywhere! The young men are all gone, and the guns are missing from the Marshal’s office.” I looked past her and saw a crowd of the town’s women, their faces etched with a primal fear. Elias was stunned. “Gone? Where could they all be?” As the only one who knew the bitter truth, I had no choice but to speak it. “Jed took them. They’ve all gone to escort Lily to the show in Red Creek.” “Fools!” Elias slammed his fist on the table. “The circuit judge just warned us! Said Silas Vance’s gang was getting bolder. He ordered Jed to double the patrols, and they desert their posts for a theatre show?” A few of the women spat on the ground, cursing Lily’s name for bewitching so many men. Just then, another volley of shots echoed through the gulch. Screams erupted. Elias, to his credit, kept his head. “The rest of you men, get the ironwood gate barred! Women and children, into the root cellar beneath the general store! Don’t you dare come out until you hear a friendly voice!” Our town, Stonegate Gulch, was nestled in a remote canyon. Two paths led in. The main road was wide and well-traveled, guarded by a massive ironwood gate our founders had built. This land was harsh, the people poor, and outlaws were a constant threat. That gate had saved us more than once. Once barred, it was nearly impossible to breach. The other path was a treacherous ridge trail behind the mountain. It was a winding, dangerous track where one wrong step could send you plummeting to your death. Though it was a half-hour ride to the next town, no one ever used it. After giving his orders, Elias turned to me. “Treisa, you know how to ride, and you’ve taken that ridge trail before. You have to go. Find Jed and bring him and the men back. They’re our only hope.” I bit my lip, the lie tasting like ash in my mouth. “Mayor, it’s not that I won’t go. But I fear even if I find him, Jed won’t come back.” A heavy silence fell over the room. Ever since Lily had arrived in town as the new schoolteacher, my husband’s eyes had been glued to her. Everyone in Stonegate Gulch knew the screaming matches we had over her. As their gazes burned into my skin, my sister-in-law, Abigail, stepped forward, saving me. “I’ll go. I know the trail, too. Besides,” she added, glancing at my belly, “Treisa’s with child. A ride like that could be… unwise.” Elias nodded grimly, and without another word, Abigail ran home to saddle her horse. The mayor’s wife herded the rest of us into the damp, dark root cellar to wait. An hour and a half later, Abigail returned. When her silhouette appeared at the cellar entrance, a cheer went up. We thought the men had returned. But her face was ashen. “They won’t come back,” she whispered, her voice cracking. The crowd fell silent. “Why?” someone asked. Tears streamed down Abigail’s face. “They said I was lying. Jed… my own brother… he accused me of conspiring with you, Treisa, of making it all up to ruin his day with Lily. I got on my knees and begged him, but he just called me a shameless liar and turned his back.” The story came tumbling out, punctuated by heart-wrenching sobs. The injustice of it infected us all, and the cellar filled with muttered curses against Lily, the so-called teacher who cared nothing for the women of this town, only for the attention of its men. Before the anger could fully boil over, a deafening BOOM shook the very earth beneath us. We all shot to our feet. Elias appeared at the cellar door, his face grim. “They have dynamite. They’re going to blast the gate.” “What do we do?” a woman wailed. “Are we all going to die in here?” Fear, thick and suffocating, filled the small space. Looking at their terrified faces, an idea sparked within me. “If our men won’t come,” I said, my voice steady, “then we’ll get help from another town.” “I’ll go!” Abigail declared, her tears still wet on her cheeks. But as she tried to stand, she cried out and stumbled. We forced her to sit, and when we pushed up her pant leg, we saw her shins were bruised and swollen to twice their normal size. She admitted sheepishly that she’d pushed her horse too hard and taken a bad fall on the trail. “It’s nothing,” she insisted, trying to stand again. “I can still ride.” I pushed her firmly back down. “No. You stay. I’ll go.” Ignoring their protests, I scrambled out of the cellar and swung myself onto my horse. Elias ran to my side. “Treisa, you have to bring help back within two hours. That gate won’t hold for long.” I nodded, a grim resolve settling in my heart. Halfway down the ridge trail, a figure darted out from the pines, forcing me to yank hard on the reins. My heart leaped when I saw who it was. Caleb, the Marshal from the neighboring town of Red Creek. I slid off my horse, relief flooding through me. “Caleb! Thank God you’re here!” I was about to pour out the whole story when he grabbed my arm in a vice-like grip. “I know,” he said, his voice cold as a tombstone. He sneered, his expression twisted with disgust. “I’ve been waiting for you.” 2 A numbing shock shot up my arm. “What are you talking about?” “You’re on your way to meet the outlaws, aren’t you?” Caleb’s eyes burned with contempt. “Jed came to me this morning. Told me to watch this trail, said you’d use it to rendezvous with Vance’s gang. Treisa, your father was a legend, a Ranger who hunted men like Vance to the ends of the earth. And you’re spitting on his grave, colluding with them out of petty jealousy!” His words hit me like a physical blow. It took a moment for my brain to even process the accusation. In my last life, when Jed was killing me, he’d screamed the same things. That I’d summoned the outlaws to make myself a hero and steal Lily’s position. That I’d orchestrated her rape and murder. In that instant, I knew. Jed had been reborn, too. That’s why he’d ignored Abigail’s pleas. But I never imagined he’d go this far—blocking our only path to salvation. There was no time for anger. I swallowed my pride. “Caleb, I swear to you, I’m not colluding with anyone. Silas Vance and his men are in Stonegate Gulch right now. They have dynamite, and they’re blowing the gate apart. Jed took all our men to go see a show with Lily.” I stared into his eyes, trying to will him to believe me. “Please, get your men. Ride to Stonegate. If you don’t, everyone will be killed.” For a second, my earnestness seemed to give him pause. Then he threw his head back and laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. “Treisa, you’re a hell of an actress. You almost had me. But saying Jed would abandon his post for a woman? That’s where your story falls apart.” “Jed?” he scoffed. “He’s the most responsible man I know. An old soldier. He wouldn’t do that. He’s my friend.” His ridicule was a knife in my heart. “I’m telling the truth,” I pleaded. “Go and see for yourself.” “I see you’re just trying to get me to leave so you can meet your outlaw friends.” Caleb shook his head, his face hardening into a mask of grim righteousness. “Listen to me, Treisa. Jed asked me to stop you, to talk some sense into you. Do you know why I’m here alone? Because he still loves you. He didn’t want to turn you over to the U.S. Marshals. He wanted to give you a chance to turn back from this path.” Jed loves me. Before Lily arrived, I might have believed that. He and Abigail were orphans my father had rescued from a bandit raid that killed their parents. He was ten when he came to live with us. We grew up together, inseparable. When I was sixteen, my father was killed in an ambush, an act of revenge by the very men he used to hunt. On his deathbed, he entrusted me to Jed. Jed promised. Then he left to join the army, telling me to wait for him. He served for five years. I waited for five years, raising Abigail on my own. When he returned, we were married. But he was always distant, lukewarm. People told me it was because we’d known each other too long, that we were already like an old married couple. I believed them. Until Lily arrived. Then I saw the light that could truly shine in Jed’s eyes. He would help her with her chores, stare at her for long moments when she wore a pretty dress, and secretly save his money to buy her expensive scented soaps from the city. The memory was a familiar, sharp pain. But this was no time for heartache. If Caleb wouldn’t help, I had to find someone who would. There was an army fort twenty miles away. I was a better rider than most men. If I pushed my horse, I could make it in an hour. Our town still had a chance. I tried to vault back onto my horse, but Caleb grabbed me again. “So you’re still going to them?” “If you won’t help, I’ll find someone who will,” I spat, struggling against his grip. “Let me go!” “I can’t let you do that.” Caleb twisted my arm, and a sickening pop echoed in the silence as my shoulder left its socket. He pulled a rope from his saddlebag, bound my wrists, and began leading me toward Red Creek. Tears of frustration and pain streamed down my face. “Caleb, let me go! I have to save them!” “Stop your damn play-acting,” he grunted, hoisting me onto his horse. “You’re not going anywhere today.” He led the horse toward his town. As we neared the outskirts, we saw several of his deputies rushing out, rifles in hand. Caleb called out, “What’s happening?” “A prospector just rode in! Said he saw Silas Vance’s gang swarming Stonegate Gulch! We’re riding to help!” Caleb’s face went white as a sheet.

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After learning my daughter had been crippled by her husband—and that he would face no consequences—I asked the police with an unnerving calm, “Domestic abuse isn’t a crime, is it?” No one knew my history. When my daughter was five, she was mauled by a rabid dog. I kicked it to death with a single blow. At eight, she was harassed by a perverted neighbor. I beat him into a permanent disability. He’s still in a wheelchair today. At fifteen, she was cornered by local gang members. I put a knife through the gang leader’s throat and critically wounded his three accomplices. I spent ten years in a maximum-security prison for that. Today was my first day of freedom. 1 The day I was released, my parole officer told me my daughter, Jessica, had been beaten into a permanent disability by her husband. She was in the ICU, fighting for her life. Her crime? She had taken an extra piece of meat at the dinner table without his permission. For that, he shattered her spleen and broke her spine. For the rest of her life, she would have to wear a colostomy bag. The perpetrator, her husband Edward, was lounging outside her hospital room, casually playing a game on his phone. “It’s a husband’s right to discipline his wife,” he said with a shrug, not even looking up. “The day she married me, she became my property. Even if I beat her to death, the cops couldn’t touch me.” His voice was light, completely devoid of remorse. The wedding band on his finger glinted under the fluorescent lights, as sharp and cold as the blade I had plunged into the gang leader’s throat ten years ago. I stared at him, my mind reeling. How could a husband say such things? My heart bled, and a wildfire of rage ignited in my chest. I lunged forward, ready to kill this animal, but the plainclothes officer who had escorted me grabbed my arm, hissing in my ear. “Don’t be stupid, Sarah! You kill him, you’ll go right back to prison!” He squeezed my arm tighter. “Do you want your daughter to be without a mother for the rest of her life?” His words hit me like a physical blow. My fist fell, limp and powerless, to my side. Seeing my fight drain away, Edward sneered and flicked a business card at my face. “You want to sue me? Go ahead. You can even hire me. I’m the best lawyer in the city.” He smirked. “A backwater hick like you probably doesn’t understand the law, so let me educate you. Domestic abuse isn’t a felony. Even if I kill her, the law can’t do a damn thing to me.” He turned his back to me, his voice growing more arrogant. “I never saw her as anything more than a placeholder when I married her. A common woman with no family to back her up? She’s lucky a lawyer like me even looked at her. My family has connections in the courthouse and the police department. What are you going to do about it?” He shoved me aside, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and sauntered away. He didn’t know. The last person who used my daughter to threaten me was long dead. 2 I stayed by Jessica’s bedside for two weeks, never leaving her side, before she finally woke from the coma. When she saw me, she stared for a few seconds, her eyes wide with disbelief, before a raw, ragged sob broke from her lips. She was a porcelain doll on the verge of shattering—her eyes swollen, her face a ghostly white. “Mom! You’re really back… I missed you so much…” Her voice was a choked whisper. “I thought I’d never see you again…” Her desperate, broken words twisted a knife in my heart. I raised my hand to comfort her, but when I saw the landscape of bruises and cuts covering her body, my fingers froze in mid-air. She had always been so afraid of pain, so meticulous about her appearance. Now, that monster Edward had beaten her into a broken thing, forced to live with a colostomy bag for the rest of her days. I couldn’t imagine the depths of her despair. “It’s okay, Jessica. Shh, don’t be afraid. Mom’s back now. Mom will get you justice.” A bitter, humorless smile touched her lips. Her eyes were hollow, filled with a terrifying emptiness as she looked at me. “It’s useless, Mom. I’ve been trying to divorce that monster for years. No lawyer will take my case. Even the police are on their side.” She took a shuddering breath. “They have eyes everywhere. No matter where I run, his family finds me. Every time I think I’m finally free, he hunts me down like a cat toying with a mouse and drags me back.” Her voice cracked. “Mom… I don’t want to live anymore.” Her words felt like a hand squeezing my heart, tight and merciless. I reached out, my touch feather-light, and stroked her head, just as I had when she was a little girl. After I coaxed her to sleep, I went to the hospital director’s office. I needed her official medical report, the proof I would take to the courthouse to file charges against Edward. The director’s response sent my world crashing down. “Domestic disputes are complicated,” he said dismissively. “It takes two to tango. If she hadn’t done something to provoke him, why would he hit her?” I trembled with rage. It was abuse, pure and simple. What right did Edward have to lay a hand on her? The director waved his hand, his tone patronizing. “Edward’s uncle is a judge. How do you plan to fight someone like that?” He then delivered the final blow, a veiled threat. If I dropped the matter, the family would cover all of Jessica’s medical expenses. “Look, your son-in-law already spoke to us. If you cause any trouble, your daughter can’t be treated here anymore. And if something… happens to her after that, don’t blame us for being heartless.” I stared at his ugly, smug face, a storm of fury and helplessness raging inside me. I wouldn’t give up. I would get justice for my daughter, or I would die trying. The director laughed, a sound dripping with scorn. “Who is your son-in-law? He’s a lawyer with power and connections. And you? You’re nobody.” He leaned forward. “Take my advice and give up. Go home and think about it. He’s been good to your daughter, all things considered. He gave her a home. If you keep pushing this, you’ll ruin what’s left of her life.” I clenched my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms, drawing blood. Edward had done this to Jessica, and we were supposed to be grateful? I couldn’t believe it. Was there truly no place in this world for justice? Suddenly, a nurse’s frantic voice echoed from down the hall. “Code Blue! The patient in 302—she tried to kill herself!” 3 The words hit me, and the world went blank. My legs gave out from under me. I staggered to her room and pressed my face against the glass, watching the medical team swarm around my daughter’s bed. My heart felt like it was being shredded. Jessica’s father died when she was just a baby. It had always been just the two of us. She was my entire world. Ten years ago, when those gang members cornered her, I killed their leader and disabled the others to protect her. After I was done, I turned myself in and was sentenced to ten years. I was supposed to be released in six months, but I was granted early release for good behavior. I never wanted Jessica to know her mother was a murderer, so for a decade, I wrote letters telling her I was working in another state. For ten years, I dreamed of the day we would be reunited. And now, we had just found each other again. Was fate really so cruel as to make me bury my own child? After two agonizing hours, the doctors managed to save her. I finally let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, and feeling returned to my numb limbs. But my relief was short-lived. The doctor’s next words sent a spear of ice through my heart. “She’s suffering from severe depression. We can’t rule out another suicide attempt.” Images of Jessica’s bright, youthful face flashed through my mind. That beautiful, kind girl had been pushed to the absolute brink by that monster. Swallowing my rage, I went to the police station. The answer I received there plunged me into an even deeper abyss of despair. An officer took the report, glanced at it, and shifted uncomfortably. “Your daughter’s husband is a prominent lawyer. His family is very well-connected. His uncle is high up in the department. Our hands are tied.” I stared at his helpless face, the brutal reality of the situation crashing down on me. Edward’s power was a fortress, so high that even the police were afraid to scale its walls. I stood up and walked out of the station. The sunlight outside was blinding, but all I could see was darkness. Just then, my phone buzzed. I glanced down at the screen. A video had just been sent to me from an unknown number. It was Jessica. She was curled in a corner, her body a mosaic of purple and blue bruises, her hair a tangled mess. Her eyes were hollowed out with terror and despair. Her lips were bitten white, a trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth. I gripped my phone, my nails digging into the device, the plastic groaning under the pressure. The world spun around me, and I felt myself collapsing under the weight of it all. Then, a voice message from Edward arrived, dripping with mockery. “You wanted to report me to the police? Here’s the evidence you wanted. If it’s not enough, don’t worry. I’ve got plenty more.”

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Everyone knew Alistair Vance, New York’s ruthless tycoon, adored his late wife. After her fatal crash, his hair turned white overnight—and his relationship with his son soured into hatred. When he finally agreed to remarry, I was a candidate. While others served gourmet dishes, I offered Gorgonzola-stuffed olives. While they played concertos, I did Tai Chi. And when asked about Alistair? “You have a mole on your left butt cheek.” That night, I was chosen. Alistair pressed a gun to my temple. “Who sent you?” I glanced sideways—where his dead wife’s ghost was shrieking: “That’s impossible! My intel was perfect!” Lies. She’d also called him “a softie underneath.” 1 The moment the cold barrel of the gun pressed against my temple, I’ll admit it: I was terrified. “Wait!” I cried, shamelessly kneeling on the marble floor. “Mr. Vance, you’ve got the wrong idea!” Alistair tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he studied me. His wrist twitched, and the gun pressed harder against my skin. “The wrong idea?” He let out a short, humorless laugh. “I’ve clawed my way to the top of this city for decades. Do you really think you can play me for a fool?” I nervously wiped a bead of sweat from my forehead, daring to glance up at him. His features were sharp, his presence overwhelming. He was a handsome man, but in a way that made you afraid to look him in the eye. Forty years old and he held the city in the palm of his hand. He was right; you couldn’t fool a man like him. Alistair paused, then abruptly pulled the gun away. He took a cigarette from a case on the table and lit it with a casual flick. He took a long drag, exhaling slowly, as if lost in a memory. “You knew what Eleanor and I ate on our first date. You knew her favorite exercise. And you knew…” His voice turned sharp. “It must have taken quite an effort to dig all that up.” “I’ll give you three minutes to tell me everything. Otherwise, I have ways of making you talk.” My heart hammered against my ribs. I was beginning to realize he was far more dangerous than I had imagined. A wave of regret washed over me for ever taking this job. My eyes flickered to the side again, unable to help it. Alistair couldn’t see her, but the ghost of a woman dead for ten years was zipping back and forth in a frenzy. She kept muttering to herself. “This shouldn’t be happening, how could this happen?” “I know what I told you was right! Alistair loves gorgonzola, and he always loved watching me do my Tai Chi…” “So what went wrong?” The problem, lady, is that a normal person wouldn’t know about the mole on his left ass cheek! It was my own fault for being an idiot and just repeating everything she told me. The second the words left my mouth, I knew I’d screwed up. The ghost, Eleanor, floated over to me, offering an awkward smile. “Don’t worry, honey. Let me think. Maybe he’s just trying to scare you.” Scare me? I turned my head just in time to see Alistair calmly load a fresh clip into the gun. Thump— I lunged forward and wrapped my arms around his legs. “Mr. Vance, I have a secret.” 2 I have a secret. I’ve been able to see ghosts since I was a child. After going through the whole cycle of terror, fear, breakdowns, and despair, I finally came to accept it. I even learned to ignore them, to treat them like they weren’t there. Until a month ago, when this ghost named Eleanor started haunting me. “Sweetie, you can see me? Oh, that’s wonderful! Can you do me a favor?” “Why are you ignoring me? Honey, sweetie, helloooo…” “You’re the only one who can help me, I’m begging you. If you help me, I’ll give you ten million dollars.” That’s when I couldn’t pretend anymore. I snapped my head around. “How much!?” “Ten million!” Seeing me waver, Eleanor floated closer, her voice a seductive whisper. “Really, it’s just a small favor. I just need you to go check on my husband and my son. Ever since I died, their relationship has gotten worse and worse. They’re practically enemies now. Just go to my house and help me with a few little things.” I hesitated. She quickly added, “My husband is a wonderful man. He looks a little cold, but he’s kind and gentle, and very easy to manage.” “Don’t be afraid, sweetie. I’ll be there to help you.” “Before I died, I hid a bank card. It was my secret little slush fund. If you agree to help, I’ll give it to you!” “It has exactly ten million, one hundred twenty-five thousand, three hundred and forty-four dollars in it!” Damn. She remembered it down to the dollar. It had to be real. I was tempted. Insanely tempted. I’m Zara Thorne, the second daughter of the Thorne family. But despite the title, I was treated worse than the maids. I’m the illegitimate one, the family disgrace. I was desperate to escape that house, to leave the country, to study abroad—but all of that required money. After thinking it over and over, I gritted my teeth and agreed. 3 And now I was regretting it. Deeply. Clinging to Alistair’s leg, I said, “Mr. Vance, the truth is… your wife has been speaking to me in my dreams.” It was better to say she came to me in dreams than to say I could see ghosts. Both were absurd, but the former was slightly more believable. Alistair froze, his eyes cast downward as he seemed to consider this. Just as I was about to breathe a sigh of relief, his hand shot out and clamped around my neck. “You’re a liar,” he hissed. “If she could appear in dreams, why wouldn’t she come to mine?” His grip was crushing. I couldn’t breathe. My face started to turn red as the air was squeezed from my lungs. Eleanor yelped in terror and started spinning around me. “What do I do, what do I do? Why is Alistair like this?” I clawed at his hand, forcing the words out one by one. “Because. She. Still. Blames. You.” Alistair’s pupils contracted. His hand went slack. “What did you say?” he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d heard. I collapsed to the floor, coughing violently until I could breathe again. Looking up at him, I repeated, “Because she still blames you.” “You know exactly how she died, don’t you? You had a fight. She ran out of the house in anger, and that’s when the accident happened.” “If you had just given in, just for a moment, she might never have died at all.” “Mr. Vance, your wife is still angry with you. That’s why she won’t enter your dreams.” For a moment, the cold, hard mask on Alistair’s face shattered. His expression became a storm of conflicting emotions. Doubt. Regret. Guilt. They warred across his features. The veins on the hand holding the gun bulged, and his breathing grew ragged. Terrified, I scooted away, praying he wouldn’t accidentally pull the trigger. Alistair stood frozen like that for several minutes. Then, all at once, the tension drained out of him. His spine, once ramrod straight, seemed to curve. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I deserve it,” he muttered to himself. Then, looking like a man lost in a daze, he turned and walked out of the room. I heard the family’s butler, Mr. Davies, ask, “Sir, what should we do with the young lady?” “Find a guest room for her.” “Very good, sir.” 4 Lying on the soft bed in the guest room, I was trembling with the aftershock of my near-death experience. Eleanor, however, was still muttering beside me. “I don’t actually blame him. He looks so sad. It makes me sad, too.” I was speechless. “Lady, if I hadn’t said that, I’d be dead right now!” “I know, I’m not blaming you. It’s just… I feel a little sad.” “…” Fine. The longer a ghost sticks around, the fuzzier their brain gets. I could understand. I ignored her and fell asleep. When I woke up, the fear had subsided. I saw her floating by the window, a lonely, translucent figure. I felt a pang of pity for her. I spoke up. “Hey, you never told me. What were you and Alistair fighting about that night?” Eleanor paused, her expression turning melancholic. “It was because…” BANG— A loud crash echoed from downstairs. It sounded like the front door had been slammed open. Then, a boy’s raw voice, spitting the foulest, most vicious words. “Alistair Vance! You dare bring another woman into this house! How dare you! Do you have any respect for my mother’s memory?!” “Come out! Are you too much of a coward to face me?!” “Alistair! You spineless bastard!” Ah. The little terror of the Vance family was home. Eleanor had told me her son was only seven when she died. Ten years had passed. Now he was seventeen, the prime age for rebellion. And it was common knowledge throughout the city that this father and son did not get along. While my mind was racing, I heard frantic footsteps pounding up the stairs. They stopped right outside my door, followed by a series of violent kicks. “Is that woman hiding in here?! Get the hell out!” The butler tried to intervene. “Young Master, the lady inside is a guest!” “Guest my ass! She’s another one of Alistair’s little whores!” Hey! This kid had a seriously foul mouth. Furious, I jumped out of bed, strode to the door, and yanked it open. I glared at him. “What do you want?” After a few seconds of a staring contest with Rowan Vance, I suddenly realized how much he looked like his father. The nose, the mouth—they were practically identical. But his eyes were softer, more like Eleanor’s. His handsome face, however, couldn’t hide the fact that he was a spoiled brat. Rowan gave me a disdainful once-over. Then he sneered. “Someone like you thinks you can just walk into my house? Get lost.” Rage churned in my stomach. Eleanor floated over. “Oh, my baby boy is so big now.” “He’s so cute.” I rolled my eyes. Before I could even form a sarcastic thought, I heard her next words. “Honey, slap him.” I froze for a second, then a wicked thrill shot through me. I raised my hand and smacked Rowan right across his handsome face. SMACK— Rowan’s head snapped to the side. He was completely stunned. He turned back to me, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You hit me?!” The butler’s face darkened. “Miss Thorne, while you may be a guest, I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to strike the young master.” “You fucking bitch, you hit me!” Rowan exploded, lunging at me like a wild animal, his expression promising to tear me limb from limb. Mr. Davies, fearing things would escalate, grabbed him around the waist. “Young Master, please, calm down!” I stumbled back a few steps. I glanced at Eleanor and whispered, “Okay, what’s next?” Eleanor: “Huh?” I scowled. “What’s the plan after the slap? You didn’t think this through before you told me to hit him, did you?” The ghost just stared at me blankly. I rolled my eyes so hard I almost passed out. I’d been played again! The commotion was so loud it finally brought Alistair out. “What is going on?” The moment his voice rang out, Rowan froze. He shook off the butler’s grip and turned to his father, his eyes red. Well, half his face was red, too. Alistair saw his son’s cheek, and his own face instantly darkened. Rowan’s voice was filled with hate. “Alistair Vance, you’re a real piece of work. The anniversary of my mother’s death is in two days, and you choose now to bring this woman home and let her hit me… Aren’t you afraid my mother is watching you from heaven?” Alistair’s gaze shot toward me like a dagger. “You hit him?” “Who gave you the nerve?!” Rowan scoffed. “Why are you pretending? As if she’d dare to touch me in this house without your permission.” All three of them—father, son, and butler—were now staring at me. I blinked once, twice, then collapsed onto the floor. “Oh, my. What happened? I think I was dreaming. Wait, wasn’t I asleep? Why am I on the floor?” “Why… why are you all here? And what happened to this handsome young man’s face? Why is it all red?” Rowan looked at me with disgust. “What the hell are you playing at?” I shook my head, feigning confusion. Then my eyes lit up, and I scrambled over to Alistair’s side. “Oh, Mr. Vance! I just dreamed about your wife again!” Alistair’s gaze was ice-cold. It was clear he didn’t believe me anymore. I swallowed hard and continued my bullshit. “It’s true.” I pointed to the windowsill. “In the dream, she was leaning on the windowsill, looking at the flowers. She said the rosebush in the courtyard was a birthday gift she planted for the young master on his fifth birthday.” “She looked so sad. She said her son has gone astray, and if she had the chance, she’d really like to discipline him. She even asked if she could borrow my body for a bit. I got scared, and that’s when I woke up.” “Young Master Vance, please don’t tell me I actually hit you?! Oh god, I didn’t mean to, I think I was possessed…” As soon as I said that, all three men froze. Alistair instinctively glanced at the butler. Mr. Davies quickly said, “Sir, I assure you, I have said nothing.” But Rowan was getting agitated, focusing on the wrong thing. “What are you talking about? How did you know about the roses? Who told you?!” He paused, his eyes narrowing at his father. “Did you tell her? What right do you have to talk to her about my mother?” “Alistair Vance, my mother must have been blind to ever fall for you!” SMACK— The other cheek got a slap, too. This one from his father. The air in the hallway instantly froze. Even Eleanor stopped flying around, staring blankly at her son. Rowan touched his face, but instead of getting angry, he laughed. The look he gave his father was terrifying. It was like he’d snapped. He shoved the butler aside and ran down the stairs. “Sir, it’s raining outside! The young master is furious. If he runs out like this, something bad could happen!” “Then go find him!” The butler looked conflicted. “If you don’t go, sir, I’m afraid we won’t be able to bring him back. You know his temper. What if he gets hurt…” Alistair closed his eyes, his chest heaving. Before he left with the butler, he gave me a long, unreadable look. I immediately bowed and scraped. “I’ll be good and stay put, Mr. Vance. Don’t you worry.” 5 God, they were insane! This father and son were both completely nuts! This place was dangerous. I had to leave. In a matter of seconds, I made up my mind. I turned to Eleanor. “What exactly is the favor you need? Spit it out. I’m doing it, and then I’m gone.” Eleanor looked downcast. She sat on the windowsill, gazing at the roses in the courtyard. The rain was beating them down, a pitiful sight. “I originally wanted you to help mend their relationship…” What? An abstract task like that? No way I could help. I was about to refuse when she continued, “But I never realized things had gotten this bad. Asking you to help with this… it’s really asking too much.” Good, she understood. “So, you…” “I don’t know,” Eleanor said. “I’m a little lost myself now. I don’t know what else we can do.” I flopped onto the bed. Whatever. I’d just take it one step at a time. I had finally realized that I was stuck with a completely unreliable ghost. This ten million was not going to be easy to earn. I couldn’t sleep, so I turned to talk to her. “You still haven’t told me. What did you and Mr. Vance really fight about back then?” Eleanor floated over and lay down beside me. Her presence was chilly, but I didn’t mind. I was ready for the tea. Her pale, thin lips parted. “I… don’t remember.” Me: “…” What a waste of my emotions. Time for sleep! I wasn’t too mad about not getting the gossip. I knew that’s how it was with ghosts. The longer they wandered the earth, the more their memories faded. The first things to go were the memories of their death and the time leading up to it. “I’m sorry, sweetie. You should get some sleep.” Eleanor didn’t need to sleep. Bored, she floated out to wander around the house. A little while later, she came back. Seeing I was still awake, she crouched beside me and started humming a soft tune. I paused. “What’s that song?” “Just something I made up. I used to sing it to Rowan to help him sleep. Is it bothering you?” “No.” I buried my head in the pillow. “It’s beautiful. Can you sing it again?” “Of course.” I grew up in an orphanage and was only recently taken in by the Thorne family, where I was met with nothing but scorn. I’d never experienced something as comforting as being sung to sleep. To think that one day, a ghost I barely knew would be the one to give me that… It was a strange feeling. Drifting off to Eleanor’s gentle melody, I finally fell asleep.

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The day high school ended. My sister was raped and her body dumped. The killer was never found. Ten years later. I went live online and confessed. [I’m the one who raped and murdered my sister.] The internet exploded. My girlfriend broke up with me, my boss fired me in a rage, and my inbox flooded with messages so vile I couldn’t read them. In the interrogation room. A detective watched me, his eyes sharp. “We did find male DNA on your sister’s body back then,” he said. “It doesn’t match yours.” “So what is this all about? What’s your real game here?” 1 [So, streamer, you’re really saying you raped your 18-year-old sister right after she finished her finals, and then you dumped her body in the woods??] [That was your own half-sister. Are you even human?] [Is this a script or for real? You’d sell your soul for clout!] The comments in my live stream were a torrent of fury. I sat bolt upright under the harsh glare of the overhead light, the white glow making the world feel a little hazy. “That’s right,” I said, my voice steady. “I did it.” The moment the words left my lips, my stream blew up. Viewers flooded in so fast the chat began to lag. Newcomers were lost, so the regulars quickly brought them up to speed: [The Brookwood County Jane Doe case. It’s infamous around here.] [The victim was on her way home from her last day of school. It was just a two-mile walk. The killer raped her, mutilated her… He even pulled out her intestines and tied them in a knot…] [I went to high school with her. The victim, Lyla, was beautiful and kind. She got the highest SAT score in the state. She was a shoo-in for an Ivy League school!] [Back then, her father offered a $100,000 reward for any leads, but they never found the bastard. After that, no one in our town let their kids walk anywhere alone.] Another comment chimed in: [I lived in their neighborhood! Her brother, Liam, used to be so good to her. He’d buy her candy all the time. He even dropped out of school and took on odd jobs just so she could stay in a good high school.] [Reading that now sends a chill down my spine. Who knows how long he was abusing her in secret…] The chat room erupted. [You disgusting animal!! You destroyed a genius!] [I hope you rot in hell, streamer!] [Hey streamer, I bought you a VIP ticket for the express lane to hell. Next time you see a semi, just do a swan dive in front of it, will ya? Give the driver a little scare.] People started spamming the police. [@BrookwoodPD, get in here! We’ve got a live one!] In the middle of the chaos, a pig’s head emoji suddenly appeared over my face. Someone had sent me a gag gift. I froze for a second, then a shameless smile spread across my face. “Hey, thanks for the gift,” I said. “And we just hit 100,000 followers. Thanks for all the attention, everyone.” 2 That just made them angrier. [Shameless!!] [I’m now convinced some people are just demons reincarnated.] [Did you really kill your sister or is this just a sick stunt for followers? You’ll do your time for this fake-out and then come back to open an online store?] [Don’t worry, I’ve already called the cops! If he’s telling the truth, he’s going to prison for life! If he’s lying, it’s a public disturbance charge, and he’ll still get locked up!] [Why is this scumbag still allowed to stream and make money? Everyone, report his account!] A red warning box popped up on my screen. [Your stream has been reported for disturbing content. Please moderate your broadcast.] By now, my stream had skyrocketed. From number one in Brookwood County, to number one in the “Lifestyle” category, to the top of the entire platform. Over a million people were watching. I figured the only reason I was still live was because the police were using it to pinpoint my location. Otherwise, the platform would have banned me instantly. A few viewers caught on. [Hey, everyone, stop reporting him. What if he logs off and makes a run for it?] Just then, a comment from an account named “Officer Miller” appeared: [We have officers en route.] [Justice may be delayed, but it is never denied.] I shrugged at the camera. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere.” I leaned in closer, looking directly into the lens, and spoke each word with chilling clarity. “I’m at 6 Garden Apartments, Unit 502.” “I’ll be waiting for you, Officer.” 3 In the interrogation room, two officers sat across from me. The younger one glared at me every few seconds. The name on his badge was Miller—probably the righteous “Officer Miller” from my chat. The older detective, however, was calm, even offering me a small, disarming smile. “No need to be tense, Liam. We’re just here to ask a few questions.” “What you said on your live stream… was it all true?” I nodded. “Every word.” His expression hardened. “Can you describe the events of that day?” I closed my eyes, dredging up the memory. “June 8th, 2013. A day I’ll never forget.” “It was the last day of final exams. My dad was ecstatic. He’d already booked a table to celebrate, ordered flowers, and sent me to pick up a cake for my sister, Lyla.” “Lyla’s school was about two miles from our house. I was on my way back from the bakery when I saw her walking home.” “It was hot that day. She wasn’t in her uniform, just a simple white dress. I followed behind her, my eyes fixed on the pale, smooth skin of her calves. I realized, somewhere along the way, she’d blossomed. She was a woman now.” “I don’t know… something just snapped. I came up from behind, clamped a hand over her mouth, and dragged her into a nearby alley. And I… I took her.” The old detective’s voice was steady. “And why did you mutilate her?” “Because…” I paused, a sneer twisting my lips. “She fought back.” “Why would she fight back?” I asked, my voice rising. “I was so good to her. The money for her school? That was me, working my ass off! She was so pretty and perfect, all because of me. What was wrong with letting me have a little fun?” Officer Miller slammed his hand on the table, his face contorted with rage. “She was your sister, you sick bastard!” I laughed, a short, ugly sound. “Maybe not. Her mom was a tramp. She cheated on my dad, that’s why they got divorced. Heh. Mother and daughter… both bitches.” The older detective cut me off. “Was this the first time you assaulted her?” “Yes,” I said. “But I’d touched her before. Kissed her at home.” Officer Miller let out a loud, contemptuous snort. The detective pressed on. “Why did you choose the alley? You could have waited until she was home, like the other times you mentioned.” I hesitated. “Like I said, it was a spur-of-the-moment thing. Besides, it’s more exciting outdoors.” Miller looked like he was about to lunge across the table and strangle me. The older detective put a restraining hand on his arm. “And then what happened?” the detective asked. My fingers twitched, a nervous tremor. I glanced at the case file on the table in front of him and smiled, a wide, triumphant grin. “The rest is all in that file you’re looking at.” “I used a knife. 36 times. I pulled out her intestines. I was going to tie them into a pretty butterfly knot, but my hands were too slippery with blood… so I just kind of tangled them up.” 4 “Did you hate her?” “Maybe,” I mused. “When her mom was in charge, she was never good to me. Always shorting me on my allowance.” “Eventually, I started to hate Lyla, too.” “I hated how she knew nothing, how she’d act all innocent and ask me for things. ‘Brother, can you buy me this dress? Brother, can I have money for a milkshake?’ All while I was breaking my back for her.” I curled my lip, continuing my story. “When I came to my senses, I wiped my prints off the weapon. The alley had no cameras. I left her there, clothes torn, and walked home with the cake like nothing happened. I even said hello to a neighbor on the way.” “It wasn’t until 8 PM that night, when my dad still couldn’t reach her, that he finally called the police.” I chuckled mockingly. “You cops were a bunch of useless fools back then. Rushed around for weeks and found nothing. And now, ten years later, the case is colder than a morgue slab.” The old detective didn’t take the bait. Instead, his gaze sharpened. “So why confess now? And why do it on a live stream?” “For the clout,” I said with an indifferent shrug. “Making money is hard these days. I’m tired of working. I figured I could become an influencer, rake in millions. Didn’t you see? One hour on stream and I gained over a hundred thousand followers.” “A while back, some girl went viral for being the ‘Hottest Fugitive.’ I figured I could aim for ‘Most Handsome Killer.’” The detective was silent for a moment. Then he asked, “And what evidence do you have to support any of this?” “Lyla was buried,” I said. “You can get a court order, exhume the body. The DNA in her system will prove it.” “It’s been ten years. I assume your forensics department isn’t as useless as it used to be. Don’t disappoint me.” This time, Officer Miller couldn’t hold back. “Of course it’s not!” he roared at me. “Nothing stays buried forever. Every crime leaves a trace. Liam, I swear to God, I will see you brought to justice!” I didn’t argue. I just smiled, a faint, chilling curve of my lips. “I’m counting on it.”

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The moment my best friend swooped in and bought the foreclosed property I’d been eyeing, right under my nose at the real estate office, I knew for certain: she was back, too. In my last life, my best friend, Tiffany, and I both had a little bit of savings. She threw all of hers into the stock market. I decided to buy a place to live. My funds were limited, so I settled on a house with a dark past—a place where a murder had occurred. It was cheap. But inside, hidden in the space above the ceiling, I found a safe. It was filled with ten million in cash and over a dozen gold bars. Meanwhile, Tiffany’s money got trapped in a market downturn. She lost everything and ended up deep in debt. Watching me move into a mansion, drive luxury cars, and spend money like it was water, she snapped. She lured me onto the highway and watched as a speeding truck mowed me down. After I died, my soul lingered. I watched as she and my boyfriend, Kyle, lied to the police, telling them I’d been drinking, that I’d ignored traffic rules and stumbled into the road. A tragic suicide. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back on the day I was supposed to buy the murder house. 1 “I’ll take this one!” Tiffany’s voice detonated next to my ear. I stood frozen, staring at the scene unfolding before me. The real estate agent shot me an apologetic look before turning to Tiffany. “I’m sorry, miss, but this lady was looking at it first.” “So what? She hasn’t paid. I’m paying now. That makes it mine.” The look of absolute certainty on her face told me everything I needed to know. She had been reborn, too. “Jessica,” she said, her tone suddenly wheedling, a hint of probing in her eyes. “I really want this house. Why don’t you look at some of the others? There are plenty like it in this development.” She was testing me, trying to see if the Jessica from the last life was looking back at her. I snapped out of my daze and frowned, playing my part. “Alright, fine. If you like it that much, it’s yours. I’ll see what else is available.” A wave of relief washed over Tiffany’s face. She turned back to the agent, ready to seal the deal. “Miss Hayes,” the agent said, a note of caution in his voice, “I must remind you, a homicide took place in this house. That’s why the price is so low. Are you sure you want to buy it?” “Positive. They caught the killer, so what’s there to be afraid of? Besides, it’s not like I’m going to be living there…” She cut herself off, but it was too late. I smiled. I knew exactly what she meant. In my past life, I’d been tired of renting. With a small nest egg, I’d decided to put down roots. But my options were slim. The agent finally showed me the murder house. A couple had lived there; a domestic dispute ended with the husband killing the wife. He was serving a life sentence now, and the house, tainted by the crime, was a hard sell. I’d bought it without a second thought. After all, what ghost is scarier than the ghost of being broke? But then I found the fortune, just as Tiffany’s life hit rock bottom. This time, she was determined to steal the fate that was meant for me. She shot me a mocking smile. “You should just put your money in stocks. You might get lucky, and then you could afford a real mansion.” I pretended not to understand her dig. “But this place has a mortgage of several thousand a month. Are you sure you can handle that? You don’t have much saved up. It might be a struggle. If you need help, I could always lend you some.” Tiffany only had enough for the down payment. My words, combined with the vision of the treasure she was about to claim, pushed her over the edge. “Who says I can’t?” she snapped. “I’m paying in full. All cash. Don’t even think about competing with me. This is mine!” The agent, stunned by her fanaticism but delighted by the prospect of a cash sale, immediately forgot I existed and turned all his attention to her. “Excellent, Miss Hayes! How will you be paying?” Having made her boast, she couldn’t back down now. She pulled out a card. “I’ll put down a deposit now, and I’ll have the rest for you in three days. That should be fine, right?” The agent took the card, beaming. “Of course! No problem at all. Let’s go sign the contracts.” My work here was done. I turned and walked out, heading back to my rented apartment. 2 That night, just as I was getting into bed, my boyfriend, Kyle, called. His voice was cold, devoid of any emotion. “Let’s break up, Jessica. I’m sick of you. Don’t bother me again.” I listened, my face a blank mask. As his words faded, I heard the faint, triumphant giggle of a woman in the background. I knew exactly who it was, but I feigned shock. “Are you cheating on me? Who are you with right now? Kyle, you can’t do this to me!” The more furious I sounded, the more pleased they became. “Honestly? I was only with you so you’d get me a job at your company,” he sneered. “Now that I’m in, I don’t have to pretend to be into you anymore. It was making me sick.” So that was it. My resume was strong, and I’d landed a position at a top corporation right out of college. Once I was established, I’d gotten both Kyle and Tiffany internal referrals. “Just let it go, Jessica,” Tiffany’s voice purred as she took the phone. “We’re going to be rich now. We’re not in the same league anymore. Don’t try to force your way into a world where you don’t belong. This is goodbye.” “The two of you?” I gasped, playing the part of the betrayed lover to perfection. “You stabbed me in the back!” They both erupted in cruel laughter. I seized the opportunity. “Hmph. Let’s see how well you do without me. So you bought some crappy old house? What’s so great about that?” “Oh, you’ll see,” Tiffany sang. “You’re just a pathetic little wage slave. How could you ever compare to me?” After they hung up, I let out a cold laugh. Utterly, breathtakingly stupid. In a society governed by laws, did they really think a massive, untraceable fortune could just fall into their laps without the authorities noticing? The next day at work, I watched as Tiffany and Kyle marched into our boss’s office and resigned. The sudden request was strange, and our manager tried to persuade them to stay, but Tiffany shut him down with staggering arrogance. “Sorry, boss, but I’ve had a bit of a windfall. Nothing major, just a few easy million. Working just isn’t really necessary for me anymore.” The manager looked like he’d misheard. Colleagues nearby swarmed her desk. “Tiffany, are you still asleep? A few million? Did you rob a bank?” “Did you win the lottery? How’d you do it? Any tips? You gotta teach me!” “You’re kidding, right? You’re all talk. That’s hilarious.” Basking in the mix of flattery and disbelief, Tiffany decided it was time to show them all. “Tell you what,” she announced, “come to my new house in three days. You’ll see for yourselves.” She then dropped the address into the company group chat. Seeing she was resolute, the manager gave up and approved their resignations. As she was packing her things, Tiffany’s eyes landed on the Chanel bag sitting on my desk. She froze. “How can you afford that?” she shrieked. A second later, she seemed to figure it out. “Oh, I get it. You bought a knockoff to keep up appearances, didn’t you? Trying to one-up me.” Her voice dripped with condescending pity. “Give it up, Jessica. There’s no need to pretend. A ten-dollar canvas tote is more your style.” I rolled my eyes and shoved the bag in her face. “Open your damn eyes and look. Does a fake have stitching this perfect? I bought it at the boutique yesterday. You want to see the receipt?” 3 Tiffany stared at the bag, her eyes darting back and forth, trying to find a flaw. After a moment, she regained her composure. “So what? It’s just one bag. I could buy a hundred. As for you,” she sneered, “I bet that took a huge chunk out of your salary. Don’t let me find your nudes on some payday loan website a month from now.” I fired back, “Tch. All talk, aren’t you? Go on, buy one and show me. I think you’re just bluffing.” “Hmph. I’m going right now. You just wait.” Tiffany shot me a hateful glare, stormed out of the office, and went straight to the mall, where she proceeded to buy several luxury handbags. She immediately posted them on all her social media, then sent them to me privately, making sure I wouldn’t miss it. I did some quick mental math. Those bags weren’t cheap. At least twenty thousand dollars, all told. It was obvious where the money had come from. In the days that followed, it became a game. I’d post a picture of a new bag, and she’d immediately post a better, more expensive one to counter me. What she didn’t know was that my posts were all set to “Visible to Tiffany Only.” She took the bait, just as I’d planned. That weekend, I took a trip to the mall. I had a gala coming up and needed some jewelry to complete my look. A sales associate was showing me several sets, explaining each one. Suddenly, a commotion erupted at the entrance. “Show me your most expensive diamond ring!” a voice boomed. Everyone in the store turned to look. It was Tiffany and Kyle. Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world… A sales associate approached them, giving their outfits a quick, dismissive once-over. “Ma’am,” she said diplomatically, “our most expensive pieces are in the seven-figure range. Are you certain that’s what you’re looking for?” Tiffany, new to money and its realities, was stunned. “Seven figures? Why so expensive? Isn’t a diamond just carbon?” A ripple of laughter went through the store. I chuckled, too. Her eyes found me. She and Kyle marched over. “What are you doing here? This isn’t a place for poor people like you. Did you follow us?” Kyle asked, convinced I was still hopelessly in love with him. “Are you insane? I was here first. If anything, you followed me.” The sales associate backed me up. “It’s true, this young lady was here first.” Unable to win the argument, Tiffany changed tactics, her eyes falling on the jewelry I was considering. “Can you even afford that? You’re just wasting their time.” “What’s it to you? It’s not like you can afford it either.” Thinking she had me cornered, Tiffany’s confidence surged. “Of course I can! How much for all these sets? I’ll take them all.” The associate smiled politely. “That would be five hundred thousand per set, ma’am. Two million in total.” They both went silent for a beat, then started picking faults. “Actually, I think these are a bit… average. Besides, what would I do with so many?” I cut her off, my voice sharp with impatience. “Are you buying them or not? If not, I will.” I turned to the associate. “Please wrap all of them up for me.” 4 Her plan to flaunt her wealth had backfired spectacularly. Tiffany looked like she was about to grind her teeth to dust. She slapped her hand down on the counter, stopping the associate. She pointed to a ruby set. “I’ll take that one!” Kyle looked worried. He tugged at her sleeve and whispered, “Five hundred thousand? Isn’t that a little steep?” But Tiffany was too consumed by rage to listen. She demanded the associate wrap it up. They swiped card after card, each one declined for insufficient funds. In the end, they had to pool every cent they had, completely emptying their accounts, to barely cover the cost. Three days passed. Tiffany scraped together the money for the house, met the agent, completed the transfer, and got the keys. The time had come. I made my way to the housing development. My old colleagues were already there, buzzing with anticipation, eager to see how Tiffany was going to strike it rich. Soon, Tiffany and Kyle arrived. She scanned the crowd, and upon confirming I was present, nodded in satisfaction. “Good. Let’s all go up together.” As we walked, one of the colleagues looked around at the run-down environment. “Tiffany, this complex is really old. It can’t be worth much.” “Yeah, there’s no landscaping, and it’s all senior citizens.” “No schools or anything nearby, either. The only good thing is that it’s close to the office, but since you quit, that’s useless.” Tiffany looked at them like they were idiots. “The house itself is cheap, you’re right. It’s worthless. But what’s inside is valuable. And now that the house is mine, everything inside belongs to me, too.” One colleague gasped, remembering a news story he’d seen online about people finding millions in cash in foreclosed properties. The crowd murmured in shock, though some remained skeptical. “You’ve never even been inside the house,” one of the more rational ones asked. “How can you be so sure there’s something good in there?” Even Tiffany wasn’t stupid enough to say she was reincarnated. “The heavens work in mysterious ways,” she said cryptically. Her air of mystery actually worked on some of them. “Tiffany, when you make it big, don’t forget about us!” one gushed. Her ego swelled to its absolute peak, her face beaming. When we reached the apartment door, Tiffany inserted the key. It wouldn’t turn. Her smile froze. She jiggled the key, twisted it back and forth, but the door remained stubbornly locked. The others noticed. “What’s wrong?” Tiffany forced a laugh. “The key’s probably just a little rusty. Hard to open.” She put more force into it, grunting with effort. And at that exact moment, the door swung open from the inside. “Who in the hell is trying to pick my lock! You got a death wish?”

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On the way to finalize our divorce, a truck slammed into our car. Before I lost consciousness, I heard my wife, Aria, whisper, “If I could do it all over again, I would have said yes to Ross.” “To live a life full of passion with him… that’s the life I truly wanted.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of our engagement party. Just like last time, Ross knelt before Aria, a ring clutched in his hand, and asked her to be with him. Without even a glance in my direction, Aria slipped the ring onto her finger, tears of joy streaming down her face. “Ross, I will!” I knew then that she had been reborn, too. So, I chose to let them go. She got her wish, living a life of freedom and passion with Ross. But later, she knelt before me, her voice choked with sobs, begging me to go back to the way things were. 1 Ross, stunned by this sudden turn of events, was momentarily speechless. After she confirmed it a second time, tears of ecstasy welled in his eyes. They clung to each other in a tight embrace, completely oblivious to the fact that the atmosphere in the grand hall had plunged to absolute zero. Every guest’s gaze was fixed on me. I calmly removed my bow tie, tossed it aside, and watched their passionate display with cold indifference. Aria then dragged Ross onto the stage and took the microphone. “Today is my engagement party,” she announced, her voice ringing with newfound conviction. “But standing up here, I’ve realized that the man I truly love is Ross. I’ve let him slip through my fingers too many times, and I refuse to make that mistake again. I want to spend the rest of my life with him!” In that room, filled with our family and friends, not a single person applauded their “love story.” Aria turned to me, her voice now flat and detached. “I was confused before. If you want compensation, I can give you fifty thousand dollars. I hope you’ll stay out of my life from now on.” Her eyes, when they met mine, were filled with a chilling apathy—the result of the twenty years of marriage we had shared in our previous life. But when she looked at Ross, she was once again the passionate, vibrant girl from her twenties. We had dated for three years before deciding to get engaged. The moment I proposed, she had excitedly told everyone we knew. We were showered with blessings from all sides, with one exception: Ross. He was a junior from her university who had fallen for her at first sight. He engineered “coincidental” meetings on campus and, after graduation, found every excuse to remain in her orbit. Whenever he saw me, he’d flash a provocative smirk. “You’re not married yet. I’m not giving up. I’ll make her see that life has more than one path!” I never knew how to handle him, but Aria was always resolute. She would grip my hand tightly and reject him with cold finality. In our past life, to prove her commitment to me, she had rushed us into an engagement ceremony right after the proposal. But at that ceremony, Ross had appeared, dressed in a flamboyant suit, his eyes locked on her. “Aria, this is the last time I’ll ever confess my feelings for you. If you reject me again, I will disappear from your world forever.” In our last life, Aria had taken my hand and placed the ring on her own finger, silently rejecting him one final time. This time, however, she took Ross’s hand and confessed her love for him to the entire world. Faced with the suffocatingly tense atmosphere, I simply stepped back and watched them steal my spotlight. When their emotional declarations were finally over, I spoke, my voice devoid of emotion. “I wish you both the best. Aria, I hope we never see each other again.” 2 Aria froze, seemingly shocked that I had agreed so readily. Ross, on the other hand, let out a whoop of joy, peppering her with kisses before finally turning to me, his face alight with triumph. “Fred, I told you! I told you Aria would choose me!” I gave him a noncommittal nod and turned to leave. As I stepped down from the stage, I stumbled. A pair of delicate, fair hands steadied me. “Mr. Green,” a soft voice said, “perhaps you should start noticing the other people in the room.” I looked at the woman who had caught me—Vera Vance. A small smile touched my lips. I recognized her face from countless financial news segments in my past life. I just never expected she would be at my engagement party. “Noticing who?” I asked. Vera’s smile deepened, her pupils reflecting only my image. She pressed a small slip of paper into my palm. “My number. Call me when you have a moment.” I glanced at her before heading to the changing room. My parents and Aria’s parents followed me in, their faces grim. Aria’s parents forced apologetic smiles. “Fred, our daughter has been foolish. Now that things are like this, we can only do our best to compensate you. Whatever you need, just ask. We’ll do anything to make it right.” My mother scoffed. “As if we need your…” I quickly grabbed my mother’s hand, cutting her off. Then, I turned to Aria’s parents with a bright smile. “In that case, Auntie, how about you transfer the Northgate property to me?” The Northgate plot was currently worthless, but I knew that in a few years, its value would skyrocket. It was that very piece of land that had saved Aria’s family business from bankruptcy in our past life. They drafted the contract on the spot. I couldn’t stop smiling. After they left, my mother slapped my arm. “A grown man, publicly humiliated like that, and you’re grinning from ear to ear!” I held up the contract. “Shouldn’t I be happy about this?” And I truly was. In my previous life, a series of disastrous decisions by Aria’s family had dragged my own family’s company, Green Enterprises, into ruin. Their company was only saved by the Northgate plot. To salvage my own business, I had poured every waking moment into work. Aria had thrown countless tantrums, complaining that our life was dull and tedious. She’d ask why I couldn’t just drop everything to travel the world with her. That’s when Ross had reappeared. He had become a famous travel influencer, his location tag hopping from one exotic country to the next. Aria would watch his videos, mesmerized. She started using “business trips” as an excuse, flying to Africa to watch the wildebeest migration with him. One was a free spirit; the other yearned for that same freedom. It was inevitable that they would be drawn to each other. Her “business trips” became more frequent. Sensing something was wrong, I booked a ticket for the same flight and discovered her betrayal. When I confronted them, the cold, dead look in her eyes stopped me in my tracks. She said that being with me was like being trapped in stagnant water, utterly devoid of life. Only with Ross did she feel truly alive. Eventually, she gave up all pretense. “Let’s get a divorce. You can have three-quarters of the assets. You can have the kids. All I want is my freedom.” “A person like you,” she’d sneered, “all you care about is money and profit. You’ll never understand the joy of a life without constraints.” She said it with the same arrogant confidence she’d had at eighteen. All I could do was laugh. A life of passion and freedom sounded wonderful, but without a material foundation to support it, it was just a fleeting high, followed by an empty void. Once she had her fill of adventure, she would realize she had nothing to show for her life. For a long time after, I heard nothing from her. I’d only catch glimpses of her when Ross’s videos popped up on my feed. It seemed she was truly living the life she wanted. It didn’t bother me. I had my own life, and a partner who truly understood me. 3 I walked into the lobby of Veridian Global, holding a proposal for the Northgate project, ready to discuss a partnership. The elevator doors slid open, and I came face-to-face with Aria. “Fred?” Ross, standing behind her, looked up. They were both decked out in high-end ski gear—the kind manufactured by Veridian. I knew one of Veridian’s subsidiaries was looking for influencers for a new campaign; I just hadn’t realized it was them. I gave a curt nod in greeting and moved to step into the elevator. Aria blocked my path. “How did you know I was here?” “Fred, I just got back to the country, and you’re already chasing me. Can you be any more pathetic?” Ross wrapped an arm around Aria, his eyes full of smug satisfaction. “Fred, you acted so tough when you walked away. Why are you stalking her now? Aria and I are doing great. We’re happy. I hear things aren’t going so well for you, though?” “I heard Green Enterprises took a nosedive?” He looked me up and down, his eyes dripping with contempt for a failure. “You’re so pitiful, Fred. Your business is gone, you’re getting old, you’ve never even seen the world, and now Aria doesn’t want you. Tell you what, why don’t you be our assistant? We could even pay you a little extra.” I looked at them like they were a pair of idiots. Did all that traveling leave their brains on a baggage carousel somewhere? Green Enterprises had been restructured and renamed years ago. The old “Green” was just a small subsidiary I’d left for my younger brother to practice with. “No, thank you,” I said flatly. “I’m doing just fine.” I tried to move past them to the elevator panel, but Ross was relentless. He waved at the front desk. “Can just anyone walk into Veridian? Are you people at the front desk doing your job? Does this man even have an appointment?” The receptionist hurried over. “Mr. Green does have an appointment…” Before she could finish, Ross cut her off. “So what if he has an appointment? I was personally invited here by Ms. Vance herself. If you offend me, I’ll have her fire you!” Aria chimed in with a smirk. “Exactly. And besides, this ‘Mr. Green’ isn’t really here to see Ms. Vance. He’s just trying to find a way to harass me. I’ll handle him for her.” She even pulled out an old photo of us from her phone and showed it to the receptionist, as if offering proof. “Fred, you really are desperate, aren’t you? Making an appointment with the CEO just to get to me. It’s pathetic.” “Take this outside. Don’t embarrass yourself at Veridian Global.” The receptionist looked at me, her previously firm expression now wavering. “Mr. Green, perhaps it would be best if you left.” I felt a knot of frustration tighten in my chest. How could these two be so self-absorbed, so convinced of their own distorted reality? I turned to the receptionist. “Please call the CEO’s executive assistant and have them buzz the private elevator.” She looked at me, her expression turning to one of pity. “Sir, you only have an appointment with Ms. Vance. Why would you need the CEO’s private elevator?” “And besides,” she added, “if you’re really just here to see Ms. Lin, you don’t need to bother the CEO at all.” Ross rolled his eyes and snorted. “Give it up, Fred. Your family is practically broke. You dare to ask for the CEO’s private elevator?” The commotion had attracted the attention of other clients waiting in the lobby. Their whispers were loud enough to hear. “Who does that guy think he is? Asking for the CEO’s private elevator?” “Probably another social climber. I heard the CEO is engaged, but that doesn’t stop these guys from trying.” The audience seemed to fuel Ross and Aria’s performance. Their voices grew louder. “Fred, I know we had a past,” Aria said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “But can you please not make a scene here? Even if we have some connection with Ms. Vance, I can’t just stand by and watch you cause trouble.” “There’s a coffee shop outside. We can talk there.”

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At the New Year’s Eve gala, my brother, who was supposed to sing, suddenly lost his voice. He was humiliated in front of a national audience. Everyone thought I was the one who drugged him. Even my fiancée joined the crusade to avenge him. Sophia Carlisle cut off all my resources without a second thought. The glory I had fought for for three years was snatched away by her own hands. My stage name, “Zane,” was registered as her trademark; I couldn’t use it commercially without her permission. My songs were reclaimed by the company; without her signature, I no longer had the right to sing them. She even branded me as the other man, accusing me of interfering in their relationship. My moment at the top was shorter than a firework display. 1 While I was being torn to shreds by a relentless storm of online hate, Leo Kane made a high-profile announcement of his relationship. He posted a photo from his hospital bed, no makeup, looking pale but serene. “Sorry to have worried everyone. The doctor says my voice will be fine after half a month of rest. Also, a little update for you all: we’re back together!” In the photo, the notoriously private and never-photographed female CEO was there, her head bowed as she carefully peeled an apple. That woman was my fiancée, Sophia Carlisle. When my parents heard the news, they rushed to the hospital. Over the phone, they refused to listen to a single word of my defense. My mother, hysterical with anger, spat out words she couldn’t take back. “Zane, how could I have raised such a vicious son! If you have any conscience left, you’ll come down here and apologize to your brother right now!” A paparazzo recorded the call and posted it online. Now, the entire internet was convinced. The evidence was irrefutable. I, Zane, was the villain who had drugged his own brother, Leo, during a live New Year’s broadcast because I was afraid of being outshone. And I, Zane Kane, was also the homewrecker who had come between Leo and the CEO of Carlisle Entertainment, serving as his substitute for five years only to tear them apart. “Having a brother like that, Leo Kane must have the worst luck in the world!” “I used to like Zane, but I had no idea he was such a scumbag!” “The other man, and he probably poisoned his own brother? This guy needs to be kicked out of the entertainment industry! Canceled, for good!” I had no way to defend myself. One man’s plea of innocence was a whisper against the hurricane of manufactured outrage and boycotts. All my endorsement deals were terminated. The brands I had signed with demanded compensation. Every penny I had earned over three years was gone, paid out in damages. I was left buried in debt. Perhaps seeing how pathetic I had become, or perhaps wanting to sever ties completely, Sophia finally stepped in and covered the remaining payments. When Leo found out, he wasn’t angry. He was magnanimous. He handed Sophia a bank card with a million dollars on it. “It’s not much, but it’s a gesture,” he said. “Sophia, please tell Zane for me that I don’t hold a grudge. In fact, I’m grateful to him. He gave you back to me, and that’s more important than anything.” “Also, tell him to come home when Mom and Dad have cooled down.” The victor stood alone on his pedestal, basking in the glow of our parents’ favoritism and his lover’s devotion. And me? After years of silent suffering, I was still nothing more than a stray dog kicked to the curb. 【It’s a shame you can’t be here to share my joy.】 【Sophia is throwing a celebration party for me. Want to come?】 The text was from Leo. He was always like this, effortlessly flaunting his perfect life. He was the heir to a wealthy dynasty, the cherished “white moonlight” of a powerful CEO, the successful protagonist of his own story. Even strangers couldn’t help but envy him. “Leo Kane truly has it all!” 2 And I was a rat, crawling through the gutter. No matter how hard I had worked, it was all worthless now. When I didn’t reply, Leo even put on a show at his party, his face a mask of guilt and sadness. “Zane didn’t reply. Is he still angry with me?” Sophia’s expression was unreadable. “If he doesn’t want to come, then don’t worry about him.” Leo and I are fraternal twins. Growing up, he was better than me at everything. I used to wonder if my genes were defective. Compared to my mediocrity, his life was on easy mode. My parents groomed him to be the heir. I was the invisible one, which suited me just fine. It meant freedom. The only thing I was good at, the only place I had any talent, was music. It was Sophia who approached me first, back in our first year of high school. I had just won the school’s singing competition, and she, as the student council president, presented me with the award. Under the spotlight, for the first time, I felt like I had stepped out of Leo’s shadow. I even found a sliver of confidence. As the heiress to Carlisle Entertainment, Sophia took an interest in me. We started spending more time together. I knew Leo was infatuated with Sophia. So when he suddenly developed an interest in music, something he had always scorned, I wasn’t surprised at all. Soon enough, they became the couple everyone envied. After graduation, Sophia offered me a contract with Carlisle Entertainment. That was also the year Leo abruptly rejected the golden path our parents had laid out for him. He vanished, spending six years abroad completely off the grid. Our family was thrown into chaos. Sophia, usually so composed, was devastated. Six years later, when Leo returned, he was a graduate of the Berklee College of Music. With a single tear, he made our relieved parents forget every harsh word they’d planned, and made my fiancée, Sophia, begin to waver, consumed by a guilt she had carried for years. That one tear effortlessly stole everything from me. Now, Leo was basking in the adoration of the public, his name trending on every headline, while I was holed up in a company-owned apartment, teaching myself to write songs. 【The malicious slander, twisted and turned for sport. The years of hard work, dismissed with a careless flick of the wrist.】 My account with ten million followers had long been banned. I started a new one under my real name, Zane Kane, and began uploading my original work. Within half a day, every track was taken down due to malicious reports. The second year of my blacklisting by Sophia. I had no songs to sing, no shows to book. The company gave me zero resources. My manager and assistant were taken away. My contract was a prison, preventing me from even taking on small commercial gigs. My performances were censored, my face blurred out in variety show appearances. As a “disgraced artist,” all my accounts were silenced. Even my burner account on a short-video app was swarmed by haters until it was locked. Meanwhile, under Sophia’s protection, Leo won the “Best New Artist of the Year” award at the National Music Awards. The third year of my blacklisting. Leo competed on Celestial Voice, the top music competition show in the country, and won the title of “King of Singers.” My five-year contract with Carlisle Entertainment finally expired. I did not renew. My former manager, Anna, heard the news and rushed over to persuade me. “Ms. Carlisle is on a business trip in Paris. Why don’t you wait until she gets back?” I knew she was in Paris. In the family group chat I had muted, Leo, who was on vacation with her, was posting photos of their trip almost daily. Seeing my indifference, Anna grew anxious. “Zane, I heard from the higher-ups that before Ms. Carlisle left, she told people to start preparing for your comeback next year. You’ve endured for three years. We’re so close to the finish line. Wouldn’t it be a shame to leave now?” 3 Carlisle Entertainment was a top-tier company, a titan of the industry with immense power, connections, and resources. It was the first choice for countless musicians. But after three years of being crushed under its heel, how could I possibly stay? I continued to organize my lyrics and compositions. Anna pleaded, “Zane, you have to think this through. Once you leave Carlisle, your stage name, your songs—they’re all gone. Are you really willing to let them go?” My hand froze. It was a question I had asked myself a thousand times during a thousand sleepless nights. I didn’t even dare to casually play the songs I had sung countless times. The moment my fingers touched the keys and the intro began, the grief would overwhelm me, and tears would stream down my face. The moment they became a tool for someone to control me, they were no longer mine. I pushed the door open and left without another look back. Anna chased me to the entrance, frantic. “Zane, if Ms. Carlisle doesn’t give the okay, no one in this industry will dare to sign you!” I didn’t turn back. There was nothing here worth looking back for. That night, my phone vibrated. A message from Sophia. 【Have you made up your mind?】 I didn’t reply. I became a spinning top, whipping myself into a frenzy. I started running, constantly moving. I knew it would be hard. Even though three years had passed, no company in the country would dare to sign a disgraced artist like me. Even without Carlisle’s direct pressure, the hashtag #ZaneGetOutOfShowbiz was still trending. “Zane, you’re still singing?” “Sorry, Mr. Kane, but this is a fan-driven market. Our company isn’t willing to take the risk.” “Mr. Kane, we recognize your talent, but our company has a lot of partnerships with Carlisle Entertainment, so…” I walked out of the last agency into a downpour. A curtain of rain blurred the world in front of me. Defeated, I opened my umbrella, a lone black boat adrift in a sea of rush-hour commuters at a crowded intersection. I knew starting over would be difficult. I just didn’t realize it would be impossible. To get a gig, I drank glass after glass with a wealthy female producer. She draped her arm around my shoulders, her touch too familiar. She kissed my cheek, her audacity breathtaking. I ended up hunched over a toilet, vomiting until my throat was raw and bitter. “Don’t be a fool. They’re just messing with you. Who would dare to use you now?” her assistant said, finishing her makeup and glancing at my limp form in the mirror. My head was bowed, my hair a mess. The world was a blur of squalor. I don’t know what happened to me these past two years, but the tears just wouldn’t stop. The moment I looked down, they would fall, relentless and free. I closed my eyes, hot, searing tears pooling in my sockets before spilling over, plunging into a hopeless abyss. The assistant, a woman I’d only just met, seemed to struggle with herself for a moment before pinching her nose and helping me up. “You should go. If you stay any longer, it won’t just be about drinking.” The next day, my name was in the headlines. BREAKING: FORMER POP STAR ZANE REDUCED TO SINGING AT DINNER PARTIES FOR A COMEBACK! The video showed me at the request of a drunk, wealthy woman, standing in front of a crowd, singing an a cappella version of my debut hit, “Radiant Days.” Everyone else was blurred out. Except me. I knew what these women were about, their cruel little games. I could even see the sickening lust in some of their eyes. But I stood up and sang anyway. What if it was a chance? I just didn’t expect that my leaving early would anger someone. They sent the casually recorded video to a gossip account for sport. “So Zane has become a rich woman’s plaything?” “Say what you will, but his three-octave high notes are still unmatched.” “Hate to admit it, but the comment above is right.” “How dare this jinx show his face again? Shouldn’t you just fade into obscurity with your precious master? Why do you have to come out and disgust people?” 4 “That’s just what homewreckers do. They’ll do anything for fame and fortune.” When public opinion decides to destroy someone, they see that person’s very existence as a mistake. My father’s call came for the first time in three years. He launched into a tirade. “Zane, are you not going to stop until you’ve completely disgraced the Kane family name?” I hung up. I didn’t want to hear any more. I drew the heavy curtains in my rented apartment, blocking out the sunlight that seemed to mock me, and buried myself completely under the covers. Five hours after the scandal broke, I got a call from Sophia. “Zane, you really know how to piss me off.” Her voice was devoid of any warmth in the darkness. I heard that the usually stoic CEO, Ms. Carlisle, had been uncharacteristically furious during a financial report meeting today for some unknown reason. In the room, the only light was the name “Sophia Carlisle” glowing on my phone screen, so bright it hurt my eyes. “I’m asking you one last time. Are you coming back or not?” Her voice was as cold and unyielding as I remembered. “Sophia, do you still think I was the one who drugged him?” My hand gripping the phone was nearly white. “Does it matter?” she retorted. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. A profound sense of powerlessness washed over me. She was right. It didn’t matter. To her, nothing I did mattered as much as a single one of his tears. My efforts, my explanations—they were all meaningless. I hung up, feeling as if I had been plunged into an icy abyss. It was only then that I realized the truth. The truth had never mattered to Sophia. The six years Leo was gone had bound her to him with chains of guilt. As long as he wanted something, she would give it to him, no matter the cost. The screen went dark. I stared at the ceiling, the hair at my temples soaked with bitter, cheap tears. At 21, I became an overnight sensation with “Radiant Days.” After three years of hard work, my fanbase, the “Lucky Stars,” was a sea of people. Now, at 26, I was trapped in the mud, unable to move. I thought sacrificing my dignity would buy me a chance. I thought enduring the humiliation would lead to a better tomorrow. But in the end, I had only fallen into a deeper, filthier pit. All my struggles, in their eyes, were just the pathetic, self-inflicted failures of a desperate man. I threw an arm over my eyes and let out a wretched, hollow laugh. I laughed until tears streamed down my face, laughed until my body shook. This past year had been agony. In a swamp of despair, I wrote a rock song stained with my own blood. 【They throw mud at me; I use the mud to grow lotuses.】 The track was still reported and shadow-banned. The song still went unheard. The fourth year of my blacklisting. Leo won “Best Male Artist of the Year.” His concert tour sold out arenas from the mainland to the Hong Kong Coliseum. Forbes named him the most commercially valuable male artist in the country. And then, at the height of his fame, Leo announced his retirement from music. He said he was just “playing” in the entertainment industry. Now that he had achieved a grand slam of music awards, he was going back to fulfill his promise to help his parents run the family company. At his final, sold-out farewell concert, Leo sat on a throne in a custom Pronovias suit, looking out over the sea of faces like a king. He was handsome, radiant as the morning sun. “Actually, I’ve been waiting for someone,” he said into the mic. “I want to ask a certain lady, tonight, are you willing to let me be your groom?” The atmosphere exploded. The giant screen split. On the right was Leo on stage, his eyes full of anticipation. On the left was Sophia, in a special VIP seat, her expression completely unreadable. In the end, the crowd witnessed a fairytale moment as the dark knight walked toward his princess. The screams nearly blew the roof off the dome. This “winning the beautiful bride” finale was the perfect end to Leo’s music career. 5 Fans posted videos of the concert online, hailing it as an “epic, perfect farewell.” Countless people witnessed their happiness. The music I had chased with every fiber of my being was just a fleeting, whimsical experience in Leo’s brilliant life. Now that he’d had his fun, he was going back to inherit his billion-dollar fortune and marry the love of his life. In the face of their happiness, all my resentment and frustration, all the lyrics and melodies I had written, seemed ridiculous, meaningless. My life was a complete and utter failure. I couldn’t write another song. The fifth year of my blacklisting. Sophia and Leo held their wedding of the century. Leo personally delivered an invitation to my home. I didn’t go. I got drunk, so drunk I collapsed in an alley behind a bar. The night was pitch black, a hopeless void. My heart was empty. I didn’t feel sad, just an overwhelming sense of being lost. The next day, the morning light spilled onto me. A woman selling breakfast from a street cart tossed a large meat bun at me. She was a whirlwind of activity amidst the steam and sizzle of her stall. “Get up, will ya? A big guy like you, lyin’ around here? Don’t block my business!” Holding the bun, I inexplicably thought of the assistant who had pulled me up from the bathroom floor. Two complete strangers, living their own lives, with no connection to each other. Yet they had both shown me a sliver of kindness. Tears welled up in my eyes. I had faced so much blatant cruelty that I had begun to hate the world and my own fate. For years, I had been a tireless madman, desperately craving success, hard and unyielding as a stone. All because I wanted to prove something to the people who had wronged me, who had mocked me. I wanted to see them repent, to see them in pain. But in the end, I discovered the truth. They didn’t care. If I died in the street right now, no one would notice. Maybe that was the real reason I had shattered. It wasn’t until today, staring at the sun through the steam of a food stall, that I finally understood what it meant to be alive.

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I’m broke. Dead broke. So I was looking for the cheapest place I could possibly rent. The realtor, practically spraying spit with enthusiasm, laid out the discounts: “An apartment gets you 10% off. A walk-up, 20% off. Old building? 50% off. Scene of a grisly murder? 70% off. Victim died a particularly nasty death? 90% off.” I nodded so hard my head nearly fell off. “Got anything that’s an old walk-up apartment where the previous owner died a spectacularly gruesome death?” And that’s how I moved into my new place. My rent is three thousand dollars a month. Paid to me. By the realtor. The first night, the bathroom faucet started gushing all on its own. The dim bedroom light flickered on and off, like a dying firefly. I’d had enough. I shot up and yelled at the shadowy figure lurking in the corner. “The landlord bills us at commercial rates! That’s over a buck a kilowatt-hour for electricity!” “And water is five-fifty a ton!” “You gonna pay for that?!” 1 The gushing faucet went silent. The bedroom light stayed off. With nothing but the sheer, unadulterated force of my broke-ness, I had successfully subdued the vengeful spirit haunting my apartment. Silence returned. I curled up on the large, soft bed, feigning sleep, but a pang of guilt pricked my conscience. The ghost, after all, had been living here just fine. I was the intruder. All the spooky stuff was just his way of trying to get me to leave. I clutched my phone, its screen glowing with the three thousand dollars the realtor had just transferred me. A shaky voice message from him followed: [Miss Reed, that place is seriously haunted. If you feel anything… off… just run!] A vengeful spirit? Was he really scarier than a penniless ghoul like me? I scoffed. A place that paid me to live in it? I was staying for the long haul. Just as I was about to say something to break the heavy silence, I felt a shadowy form loom over my head. My eyes flew open. A face, slick with blood, hovered directly above mine. A gaping, bloody crater marred his forehead, as if someone had caved his skull in with a blunt object. He was barely an inch from my face. I could feel strands of his hair, damp and sticky, brushing against my cheek. Through the thick curtain of blood, the spirit’s lips stretched into a horrifying grin. A scream tore from my throat, loud enough to shatter the night… “Ahhh—!” The spirit, convinced he’d finally terrified me, looked triumphant, smug even. I lunged, grabbing a handful of his hair. “If you can touch me, that means you can touch my unfinished project proposal, right?” “Look, you’re not doing anything tonight anyway. Why don’t you finish this up for me? It’s due to my boss tomorrow.” “You’re a ghost. You don’t need light to see.” “And remember—don’t turn on any lights while you work. Save electricity!” The spirit’s grin froze on his blood-streaked face. After a long, stunned silence, a pleasant, youthful voice drifted through the dark. “You have no shame. You’d even exploit a ghost.” 2 Hey, a broke ghoul is still a ghoul. We’re all in the same boat. The only difference is that I spend my days slaving away for a paycheck, while he can only bounce around the apartment after the sun sets and the city is cloaked in darkness. I slept like a baby. The next morning, when I pried my sleepy eyes open, the spirit was gone. My project proposal was sitting on the desk, neatly stacked. The pages were filled with elegant, handwritten script. I praised the empty air. “You’re the best, buddy! From now on, all my unfinished work is yours.” The air in front of me seemed to shimmer for a second. The closet door creaked open, then slammed shut, as if someone I couldn’t see had just hidden inside. Humming a tune, I packed up the proposal. I’d just hopped on my e-bike to head to the subway when the realtor called. His voice was trembling even more than before. “Miss Reed… you’re… you’re still alive?” My face fell. “What, are you regretting that three-thousand-a-month deal already? We had an agreement. As long as I’m living here, you pay me. On time.” “It’s not about the money!” he stammered. “I couldn’t sleep all night. My conscience is killing me. Miss Reed, please, listen to me. You have to move out.” “That apartment is the scene of a murder. The last tenant died horribly. He was full of resentment, and they still haven’t caught the killer!” 3 The realtor spammed my phone with links to news articles. I vaguely remembered hearing about the sensational murder case. A young tenant, with no known enemies, was found brutally killed in his apartment. The security footage was too blurry to identify the culprit, leaving the police with no leads. After the horrific incident, the once-bustling apartment building emptied out within a week. My eyes scanned across the victim’s name. Danny Osmond. Twenty-three years old, just a year out of college. He should have been in the prime of his life, but instead, he became another statistic in a cold case file. Below the dense text was a slightly blurry photo. In it, a young man was grinning at the camera, a flash of pearly white teeth. It was a loving smile, as if he was looking at the person he adored most in the world, the one holding the camera. The man in the photo had a sharp jawline and gentle eyes. He looked exactly like the vengeful spirit I’d seen last night. I closed the news articles and sent the realtor a voice message. [Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Just remember to send the three thousand on time every month.] He was a vengeful spirit. I was a penniless ghoul. We were practically family. What was there to be afraid of? He was full of resentment? You think I, a corporate drone, am a little ray of sunshine? My resentment is off the charts, thank you very much. Besides, with him around to do my work, I could cut back on my overtime. The apartment was a long way from my office. The commute home—shared bike to the subway, then subway to my e-bike—took a solid two and a half hours. In the sweltering summer heat, the slightest movement left me drenched in a sticky sweat, my clothes clinging to my skin. By the time I reached the apartment building, it was pitch black. The dark tower loomed like a giant beast in the suburbs, ready to swallow me whole. The building had been neglected since the murder; the elevator had long since stopped working. I began the slow climb up the stairs. In the empty stairwell, the only sound was the echoing clack-clack of my high heels. My apartment was on the sixth floor. After what felt like an eternity of climbing, I looked up, exhausted, at the faint green glow of the floor number. — 4 — I’d climbed so many flights, but I was still on the fourth floor. It was a ghost loop. 4 The high heels were rubbing my ankles raw. I kicked them off, grabbed one by its three-inch stiletto heel, and hurled it at the flickering light on the landing. “I’ve been slaving away at the office all day, and right now, my resentment levels are higher than a thousand-year-old demon’s!” “If you don’t let me go home, I’m going to find your ashes, mix them with gunpowder, strap them to a skyrocket, and whoosh! You’ll be scattered all over Ashton!” The words were barely out of my mouth when the distorted air around me snapped back to normal. Barefoot and carrying my heels, I climbed two more flights. Finally, I was standing in front of apartment 608. I pushed the door open. Danny, his head still a gruesome mess, shot me an eye-roll and continued to float aimlessly around the living room. Why did he get to be so idle? I couldn’t stand to see him doing nothing. I chucked a pile of documents from my bag straight at his hovering form. “Have you got no sense? I get home, and you can’t even be bothered to make dinner or clean up a little?” Danny huffed, his voice indignant. “Ghosts can’t use an open flame.” “So you can’t use the rice cooker?” “Did you buy a rice cooker and rice for me to cook?” “Can’t you go to the store and get them yourself? It’s not like you have to pay! Just grab them and run. Besides a priest, who’s gonna catch you?” Defeated, Danny grumbled a few more times before turning his back on me completely, leaving me with a view of his proud, sulking silhouette. I went to the kitchen, grabbed a handful of spaghetti, and quickly boiled some for myself. The moment the steaming pasta was ready, I started shoveling it into my mouth. At some point, Danny had drifted silently closer. This time, he wasn’t trying to scare me. His eyes were fixed on the spaghetti, a look of intense craving on his face. Feeling generous, I pushed the bowl towards him. “Want some?” 5 Danny’s head drooped. “I can’t eat. I’m a ghost.” “I don’t feel hungry,” he mumbled, “but watching you eat… it looks so good. It makes me hungry… I haven’t tasted food in so, so long.” Danny was trapped in this small apartment. He couldn’t go out. He couldn’t see the sun. Even the simple, lifelong habit of eating three meals a day was gone. He couldn’t taste anything—not sweet, not sour, not salty, not bitter. He couldn’t even smell. I sighed. We were both ghouls, but right now, the vengeful spirit seemed a lot more pitiful than the penniless one. My tone softened. “Do you remember what your favorite food was when you were… alive? I’ll buy it for you after work tomorrow. You might not be able to eat it, but you can look at it. Touch it.” He happily touched the mangled part of his skull, trying to remember. “I don’t recall much from before… but I think… I think I liked durian.” Of course. The most expensive thing on the menu. I glanced at my bank balance. Three thousand and fifty dollars. If it weren’t for the realtor’s payment, I wouldn’t even be able to afford spaghetti. My anger flared. “You had to pick the priciest thing, didn’t you?” “Fine. You finish the rest of my work tonight, and I’ll reward you with a durian to touch tomorrow.” 6 In the most bizarre way imaginable, Danny and I began to live together. The apartment was a one-bedroom. I slept in the bedroom, he floated in the living room. After my shower one evening, I walked through the living room in my thin pajamas. He covered his eyes. “Could you please wear something… more?” It was scorching hot, and since the building used commercial electricity, I couldn’t afford to run the AC constantly. I moved closer to him. His ghostly presence was like a personal cooling unit. The air around him was heavy and cold. We were too close. The only sound was my own breathing. Even though Danny was a ghost, his face pale and bloodless, I could have sworn he was blushing. His hands and feet seemed to fidget, not knowing where to put themselves. “Wh-what are you doing so close to me…?” he stammered. “Aren’t you afraid of me? I died a horrible death. Everyone who’s seen me has screamed in terror.” A flicker of confusion crossed his face. “But you… you don’t seem scared. In fact, from the moment we met, I haven’t seen a trace of fear in your eyes.” I stared at his high-bridged nose and the sharp line of his jaw. If his forehead weren’t smashed in, Danny would have been incredibly handsome. I forced a smile, leaning in even closer, treating him like a human refrigerator. “What’s there to be afraid of? A handsome guy like you is worth three thousand dollars a month! Thanks to you, as long as I live here, the realtor pays me to stay.” “You know, I slave away at my nine-to-five, work all the overtime, and my boss only pays me five thousand a month.” Danny shot me a disdainful look. “I don’t get it. You work so hard, and you make decent money. Why are you so broke you have to live in a murder house for an extra three grand?” “Do you want to touch that durian or not?” “Yes…” “Then shut up and get back to work!” Reluctantly, Danny picked up my work files and started frowning at them in the dark. Being a ghost had its perks. Saved a ton on electricity. 7 To coax Danny into doing my overtime, I begrudgingly spent a hundred and twenty dollars on a durian. On a sweltering evening, I parked my e-bike under the apartment building and stepped into the fire escape stairwell. Just as the heavy fire door was swinging shut, a greasy, overweight figure squeezed in behind me. This building had been empty for a long time. It was supposed to be a dark, silent monolith. But the light I left on every night was like a tiny pearl, a beacon announcing that someone had moved in. I’d only been here three days, and I already had a stalker. His heavy, labored breathing followed me up the stairs. His sticky, greedy eyes felt like a razor scraping across my skin, examining every inch of me. He knew the building was empty, so he kept his distance, always half a flight of stairs behind me, unhurried. Every so often, he’d look up at me, a predator sizing up its cornered prey. My palms were slick with nervous sweat. I quickened my pace. Suddenly, the thought of Danny and his mangled head seemed almost comforting compared to the man following me. I scrambled up to the sixth floor, my hand trembling as I fumbled for my keys. The stalker finally made his move. He closed the distance in a few quick strides and wrapped a thick arm around my waist. “Hey there, beautiful. I’ve been watching you for a few days.” “You’ve got guts, you know that? This whole building is empty, and you dare to live here all alone.” “It’s just the two of us here tonight. I’m gonna keep you real good company.” I swallowed hard, acutely aware of the power difference. I had to stay calm. I tried to find an excuse to make him back off. “Who said I live alone? I live here with my boyfriend.” The greasy man roared with laughter. “You must not know. There was a murder here three months ago. Everyone moved out that same month. I’ve been watching. You’re the only one here.” “Boyfriend? If you really have one, tell him to come out. I’d love to meet him.” My key hadn’t even touched the lock.

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My wife developed severe postpartum depression after our son was born. The only way she could sleep was by hiding in our walk-in closet every night. Even after six long months, she still couldn’t share a bed with me. I tried to defy it once. Convinced it was all in her head, I gently lifted her sleeping form from the closet floor and carried her back to our bed. The result was a disaster. She woke up and sobbed inconsolably, and the next day, her depression spiraled so badly she had to be hospitalized. After that, I walked on eggshells. I never dared to touch her again. I just let her retreat to the closet, night after night. Until our son’s first birthday. That morning, Stella emerged from the closet, stretching lazily like a cat. I took one look at her face, glowing and rosy from a good night’s sleep, and said it. “I want a divorce.” The party chatter in the room died. Every eye swiveled to me. Her father’s face hardened. “Because my daughter sleeps in a closet? You want to divorce her for that?” Her mother’s eyes, already misty with emotion for her grandson, welled up with tears of rage. “Stella went through hell to give you a child! She’s suffering from postpartum depression, can’t even sleep in a comfortable bed, and you—you heartless bastard—you have the nerve to ask for a divorce?” I remained silent, my decision unshakable. Stella’s own eyes turned a painful, brilliant red. Tears clung to her lashes as she confronted me. “William,” her voice trembled, “if I hadn’t carried your precious son for ten months, I wouldn’t have postpartum depression! I know you don’t understand, but to divorce me just because I sleep in the closet… are you serious?” I stared at her, my gaze cold, and pointed a finger at the offending piece of furniture. “You said that closet is your home,” I said, my voice devoid of all emotion. “Fine. Go marry your closet.” … “The courthouse. Ten o’clock tomorrow morning.” I turned my wheelchair to leave the party, but a hand shot out and clamped down on my arm, yanking me to a halt. It was her brother, Tim. “William, you’re not going anywhere until you explain yourself!” he snarled, his eyes burning with a hatred so intense it felt like he wanted to devour me whole. He squeezed my arm, the pressure making it hard to breathe. “We’re both men. I know exactly why you’re doing this,” Tim seethed. “It’s about what happens in the bedroom, isn’t it?” “My sister nearly died giving you that baby. Have you even looked at her stomach? It used to be flawless. Now it’s covered in stretch marks like a roadmap to hell. She gained thirty pounds for you, her whole body changed, and now you’re disgusted? A little late for that, don’t you think?” His words were brutally blunt, and they hit their mark. Everyone in the room glared at me, their faces a mixture of judgment and contempt. I could feel them mentally lumping me in with that one distant cousin whose name was now mud in the family circle—the guy who divorced his wife after she “let herself go” post-baby. They were ready to nail me to that cross. As I opened my mouth to defend myself, Stella’s father slammed his wine glass down on the table. “William, a man’s fortune rises when he cherishes his wife,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “Every woman goes through this. If this is your reason for leaving my daughter, I’ve lost all respect for you.” Her mother let out an impatient scoff. “All you men ever think about is what’s between your legs! My daughter has been struggling for over a year. Can’t you show a little compassion? She’s your wife, not your release valve!” I said nothing. Stella’s tears finally broke free, fat droplets rolling down her cheeks. “William, you soulless bastard. Is that really why? Is this really about me sleeping in the closet… about us not having sex?” Her voice, thick with sobs, rose to a crescendo. “Let me ask you something, William. Our son is a year old now. How many diapers have you changed? How many times a day does he need a bottle? Have you ever even cared to notice?” The room turned on me, a chorus of angry murmurs. “He looks so put-together, but he has zero sense of responsibility. What a pathetic excuse for a man.” “You’d think he had a throne to pass down, the way he wanted a son. Turns out he can’t even be bothered to raise him.” “Now I get why Stella’s depressed. If I were married to a man like that, I’d want to kill myself.” Expressionless, I scanned their hostile faces and let out a cold, humorless laugh. “Say whatever you want.” My eyes found Stella. “Tomorrow morning. The courthouse.” “So you admit it?” Tim’s fist tightened, and he swung at me. “I’ll kill you, you animal! My sister must have been blind to marry a piece of trash like you!” As his fist flew toward my face, Stella shrieked in terror. “Tim, no! Don’t hit him!” She threw herself in front of me, shielding my body with her own. “He was in a car accident! He can’t even fight back! You’ll hurt him, and… and it would break my heart!” The punch stopped inches from my cheek. A bitter, desolate smile twisted Tim’s lips. “You see that, William? Do you see how much she loves you? It’s a reflex. She sees you in danger and protects you without a second thought. You’re a cripple in a wheelchair, and she hasn’t abandoned you. What right do you have to complain about her?” He leaned in close, his voice a low growl. “William, I’m asking you one last time—are you sure you want to go through with this divorce?” “Yes.” I turned my head, my face a mask of indifference, and looked at Stella. Tears streamed from her eyes as she shook her head. “William,” she whispered, grabbing my arm, “I know I’ve neglected you this past year. It’s my fault. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I’ll change.” A harsh laugh escaped my lips, and I shook her off with disgust. “Stop the act. Get away from me.” “No matter what, this marriage is over.” I spun my wheelchair around, determined to leave. Thump. The sound of knees hitting the floor. Stella was on the ground, tears streaming down her face as she jammed her hand into the spokes of my wheelchair. If I moved an inch, her hand would be crushed. My brow furrowed. “Let go.” She just sobbed and shook her head. “William, I’m on my knees begging you. Can’t we just talk this through? Please, don’t divorce me. You’re doing this in front of everyone… my family will be so worried…” Her voice cracked. “And it’s just about me sleeping in the closet, isn’t it?” She swore, her words choked with tears, “If you hate it that much, I’ll stop! I’ll never sleep in there again! I’ll sleep in the bed with you, even if… even if I can’t sleep a wink…” Her supposed concession was my condemnation. The guests erupted in a fresh wave of insults. “He’s not a man, he’s a monster!” “Making a federal case out of something so small. Whoever married him is the unluckiest woman alive.” “Poor Stella, living like this. Honestly, if it weren’t for the baby, she should divorce him!” In their eyes, I was the undisputed villain. They looked at me as if they wanted to flay me alive. A smirk touched my lips. “Then why don’t you dare tell them the real reason you sleep in the closet?”

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