Category: English

1 My husband was a pathologically frugal man. I once spent fifty dollars on Black Friday, and he beat me so badly my spleen ruptured. He said we had everything we needed at home, so spending money frivolously was a sin. The beating, he claimed, was what I deserved. But that fifty dollars was for his own underwear and socks. I called 911. He cursed and screamed, chasing the paramedics away, yelling that since I didn’t have a job, I could just lie in bed for a few days and get over it. I died that night. He turned around and sued the hospital, claiming their negligence and refusal to treat me was the cause of my death. He extorted a huge sum from them, used the money to marry a new woman, and took her on a lavish European vacation. When I woke up, reborn, I was staring at a newly opened package on the coffee table. Outside, I heard a key turn in the lock. Trevor was home. … The sound of the deadbolt sliding back sent a tremor through my hands. I knew, the second Trevor walked through that door and saw the package, I would be met with fists like iron. I scrambled into the bedroom, shoved the cardboard box deep into the closet, and frantically pulled his favorite Hermès pants over it, creating a messy pile. Trevor burst in, his voice booming with false cheer. “Lina, honey! Come look what I found at the market! Your dinner is all set!” I took the grimy plastic bag from his hand. Inside was a collection of wilted lettuce, bruised spinach, and yellowed cabbage leaves, along with a piece of fatty, discolored off-cut meat. Trevor’s route home from the office took him past the farmers’ market. Every evening, he would scavenge the vegetables others had thrown away. That was my food for the day. He ate his lunch and dinner at the company cafeteria, only eating breakfast at home. He placed another bag on the counter, this one containing fresh bread and milk, and stored it neatly in the fridge. I clenched my fists, my eyes locked on his back, my mind racing, trying to figure out how to escape. This time, I would not be his lamb to the slaughter. He turned and saw me staring at the refrigerator, misinterpreting my gaze completely. His voice sharpened into a warning. “Don’t even think about touching my bread and milk. I have to work. I need to eat fresh food.” He sneered. “You don’t work. As long as you’re not starving, it doesn’t matter what you eat.” But before our marriage, I had a better job than him, a higher salary. After I got pregnant, he begged me to quit, saying the baby was more important than money. When I came home, his mother was a constant, passive-aggressive presence, shaming me for not earning a living, for spending her son’s money. She even forced me to collect cans and bottles to “contribute.” The stress and exhaustion led to a miscarriage. When I told him I wanted to go back to work, he confiscated my ID and bank cards, forcing me into the role of a full-time housewife. And so began my life of eating rotten leaves. I took the disgusting bag into the kitchen. I glanced over my shoulder; Trevor had gone into the bedroom. I immediately tossed the rotten vegetables into the trash and made a break for the door. I was shoving my feet into my sneakers when I heard the closet door slide open in the bedroom. A jolt of pure terror shot through me. I fumbled with my laces, my fingers clumsy with fear. Just as I got my shoes on, Trevor stormed out of the bedroom, his face a mask of fury. 2 He saw me trying to leave and yanked me back by the arm. “I told you to find my new Hermès pants! Are you deaf?” A man with a three-thousand-dollar monthly salary who wore Hermès. If my mother didn’t slip us cash every few weeks, he wouldn’t be able to afford boxer shorts. He hadn’t mentioned the package, so he hadn’t found it yet. I had to get out, get to my parents’ house where I would be safe. “They’re in the closet, just look for them yourself,” I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “My mom just called. She has ten thousand dollars in cash for me. I’ll just go pick it up and come right back.” The mention of my mother’s money instantly softened his expression. “Your mother knows her place,” he said with a smirk. “If it wasn’t for her money, I would’ve kicked a poor, ugly thing like you to the curb years ago.” I nodded placatingly, turning to open the door. But he grabbed me again. “Find my pants first. Your first priority is always, always, to serve me.” Trevor shoved me back towards the bedroom. Standing in front of the closet, my limbs began to tremble. I couldn’t bear to think of the horror that would unfold if he found that package. He looked at me, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “What are you so afraid of?” His voice suddenly rose to a shout. “You’re not hiding a man in here, are you?!” I flinched, my whole body shaking. I was terrified of him beating me senseless, but he saw it as guilt. “Lina Reed, you dare cheat on me? I’ll find your lover, strip you both naked, and parade you through the neighborhood!” He began tearing the apartment apart like a madman. A small part of me relaxed. As long as he didn’t search the closet, he wouldn’t find the package. He ransacked the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom. Finally, he stormed back into the bedroom and flung open the closet door. His eyes landed on the lumpy pile of clothes in the corner. He reached for it. My heart leaped into my throat. The package was right at the bottom. 3 I lunged in front of him, scattering the pile of clothes, pressing one hand down hard on the hidden package while my other hand snatched out the Hermès pants. “Here! I found them.” He saw the wrinkled state of the pants and threw them in my face. “Do you have any idea how much these cost, you worthless bitch? You could work your whole miserable life and never afford pants like these.” “I’ll iron them for you,” I said quickly, grabbing the pants from the floor. He shoved me towards the living room. “Hurry up. I have an important party to go to.” While I ironed his precious pants, he searched the apartment twice more. The moment I finished, he threw me to the floor, his face contorted with rage. “Tell me! Where is he hiding?” My hands shaking, I held out my phone. “You can check my phone. There’s no one else. I’ve been here, waiting for you, like a good wife.” My voice quavered. “You were so angry when you came in… you scare me. That’s why I was trembling.” A smug, satisfied smile spread across his face, and he let me go. I knew he loved it when I was afraid of him. It made him feel powerful, like he had me completely under his thumb. He sat on the sofa and meticulously went through every app on my phone, finding nothing. With a roar of frustration, he slammed my phone down on the table and started tearing at his own hair. “Lina, I know your whole family looks down on me! So what if you were beautiful and successful? Look at you now! I’ve turned you into a useless, pathetic housewife!” His words hit me like a physical blow. “You’d better behave,” he snarled, “or I’ll make sure you die a very painful death.” I was stunned. When we got married, I knew he was insecure about his finances, so I’d specifically told my parents not to ask for a bride price or dowry. So, naturally, he gave nothing. But he demanded I bring a house to the marriage. I had one, a condo I’d bought with my own money, so it became our marital home. The moment I got pregnant, he knelt before me, begging me to quit my high-paying job. I refused, telling him his salary wasn’t enough to support a family. He threatened to kill himself, screaming that money could be earned anytime, but our child’s health was paramount. So I quit. And I still lost the baby. And that was the beginning of my miserable new life. 4 I never imagined it. This wasn’t just control. This was a calculated, premeditated campaign of revenge. He didn’t want to build a life with me; he wanted to destroy mine to make himself feel superior. I picked myself up off the floor and smoothed my hair, forcing a placating tone. “I’ve never looked down on you, Trevor. I love you. I believe you’ll be a great success one day.” He looked at me as if I were an idiot. I knew in that moment, he was gloating, proud that he could abuse me like this and still have me worship him. “You just wait here,” I said. “I’ll go to my mom’s, get the money, and I’ll bring back some ribs for you.” That finally satisfied him. As I was leaving, he called out, “Tell your mom you need thirty thousand. I want to buy an LV belt.” I nodded obediently and quickly shut the door behind me. I looked back at the cage that had imprisoned me for three years, then turned without hesitation and sprinted for the elevator. It was on the ground floor. I lived on the nineteenth. “Come on, come on, faster,” I whispered. The elevator reached the fifth floor and stopped. I glanced back at our apartment door. A wave of anxiety washed over me. I decided to take the stairs. I couldn’t risk another accident, another chance for him to kill me. Just then, our front door flew open. Trevor stood there, holding the package, his face purple with rage. “Lina! You eat my food, you live in my house, you don’t earn a single cent, and you have the audacity to shop on Black Friday? What is this trash you bought?!” The elevator started moving again, rising quickly. Tears of desperation welled in my eyes. Please, please, hurry. I couldn’t go through the torture of my last life again. But a second later, he was on me, just like before, grabbing a fistful of my hair.

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The day my birth parents found me, my best friend adopted a stray dog—then stole my life. After joining my wealthy family, Jessica—who was deathly allergic to dogs—bought the mutt king crab, permed its fur to match my hairstyle, and called it by my nickname, “Star.” “I just can’t lose you,” she’d say, face swollen with hives. Moved, I paid for everything. I was a fool. Eighty-one days later, I woke up as the dog. Jessica, now in my body, screamed as my parents’ guards beat me bloody. She dumped me at a kill shelter while my family feasted, oblivious. As my soul faded, I heard her tell my fiancé: “Matthew, that soul-swap ritual worked. Now Laura’s life is mine.” I opened my eyes—back to the day she first asked me to feed the dog. … “Hey, sweetie,” her voice, a syrupy confection, dripped through the phone. “I’m out of town for a few days, could you do me a huge favor and feed my dog?” When I didn’t answer immediately, Jessica pressed on, her tone turning pleading. “You wouldn’t just let an innocent little creature starve to death, would you?” A cold sweat drenched my back, my hand shaking so badly I almost dropped the phone. In my last life, I became that dog. I remember the agony of the club striking my bones, the reek of the kill shelter she sent me to. The cold, dull blade slicing through my flesh. No one knows the taste of death better than I do. I forced my voice to remain steady as I agreed. A bottomless hatred bloomed in my chest. Reborn, I had one chance to escape the fate of having my soul stolen. The dog. The problem had to be the dog. The stench of ammonia and filth hit me the moment I opened Jessica’s door. A matted, trembling ball of fur was crammed into a tiny cage, forced to live in its own waste. Its fur was a tangled mess, its eyes red and swollen, crusted with a foul-smelling discharge. It was just like last time. Jessica never cared for it like a pet. Back then, I couldn’t stand to see it suffer. I’d taken it to a premium pet spa, to the vet, and bought it the best food. My compassion had been my death sentence. This time, I pulled out the folding knife I’d brought with me. My plan was simple: kill the dog while Jessica was gone and eliminate the threat. But as it whimpered and cowered in the corner, a pitiful, broken thing, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. The dog was innocent. The real monsters were Jessica and Matthew. After a moment’s thought, I called the local animal rescue league. They would find the dog a proper home, a safe place where it could live out its life in peace. I took a step closer and offered it a piece of jerky. As it looked up at me with wide, teary eyes, I felt a sense of relief. No one would interfere with its fate this time. But in the next second, my world tilted on its axis. Behind the dog’s right ear, a faint black spot was beginning to form. At the exact same moment, the jerky fell from my numb fingers. The spot was in the precise location of my own birthmark. It hadn’t been there a second ago. My heart hammered against my ribs. Had I been reborn only to fall into their trap all over again? I backed away toward the door, forcing myself to think. In my previous life, Jessica was so allergic she practically lived on antihistamines, her face constantly puffy. Yet she insisted on holding that dog every day when she visited me. The conditions for the soul-swap had to be more complex than just the dog’s existence. Watching the rescue workers take the dog away, a fragile sense of calm settled over me. As long as the dog was gone, I had time to find a way to break the curse. I was wrong. The next day, a furious pounding rattled my front door. It was Jessica, holding the very same dog, her voice sharp with accusation. “Laura! I asked you to feed him, not get rid of him! How could you be so cruel?” She shoved the dog into my arms and breezed past me, flopping onto my bed as if she owned the place. I froze, my skin crawling where it made contact with the dog’s fur. I practically threw it to the floor, struggling to keep my expression neutral. “…Aren’t you allergic? I sent him away for your own good.” She ran her hand over my silk sheets, her voice turning sinister. “Who gave you the right to decide for me? I only got a pet so I could always have a piece of you with me!” I had no energy to argue. I simply called for the butler to take the dog outside. Jessica shot up, blocking the doorway. “Are you kicking out the dog, or are you kicking me out? Laura, now that you’re rich, have you forgotten all our years of friendship?” Just as the standoff reached its peak, a call came from Matthew, who was supposedly overseas. He didn’t even say hello. “Don’t you know those so-called ‘rescue leagues’ are just glorified kill shelters?” he demanded. “Laura, you apologize to Jessica right now!” I had been so focused on the dog, I’d forgotten about the other snake in the grass. Ever since I’d returned to my family, Jessica had been a constant presence, and everyone thought we were the picture of perfect friendship. Last time, I was so blind I didn’t realize she and Matthew were having an affair until it was too late. With a sudden burst of strength, I shoved Jessica out of my room and slammed the door in her face. “I’m your fiancée,” I spat into the phone, “and you’re telling me to apologize to her?” I hung up and blocked his number. It took a long moment for the reality to sink in. Jessica had the dog back, and I was still completely in the dark. I wracked my brain, trying to recall every detail from my past life, but my head throbbed with a blinding pain. The next morning, the text messages from Jessica began, a relentless bombardment. 【Laura, can we please meet? I really miss you.】 【Are you mad at me? I was just so worried the other day. I’m sorry.】 【Please don’t ignore me. You’re the only friend I have.】 I could almost see the smug, fake expression on her face as she typed those words. A wave of nausea rolled through me. I gripped my phone, my knuckles white. 【Busy lately. Maybe some other time.】 I breathed a sigh of relief when she didn’t reply immediately. But then I saw she’d posted on social media. 【Friends are the family you choose.】 The post had two pictures. One was of us at the orphanage, two small girls with hopeful smiles. The other was a drawing we’d made together, two stick figures holding hands, the paper yellowed with age. It was a gift I’d given her when we were children. In the comments, all our mutual friends and old teachers were gushing about our decade-long friendship. But I couldn’t smile. Because in the reflection of an inconspicuous nightstand in the photo, I could see the bare arm of a man wearing a Patek Philippe watch. The watch I had given Matthew. A moment later, Jessica commented on her own post, tagging me: We should go back and visit the orphanage soon! She was using our past to guilt-trip me, to trap me in a web of public expectation. Ten minutes later, the orphanage director called. “Laura, dear, Jessica told me you’ve been avoiding her because you think she’s poor now. Is that true?” I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted the metallic tang of blood. I was trapped, unable to explain the horrific truth to anyone. I heard my own voice, cold and distant, reply, “Of course not. We’re actually going shopping together tomorrow afternoon.” The mall lights were blinding. Jessica held the dog, sticking to me like a shadow. “Laura, look at that bag!” she exclaimed, pulling me toward a window display featuring a classic Louis Vuitton monogram—identical to the one I was carrying. “And look! They have a matching accessory for a dog! It’s so cute!” I watched her feigned excitement with cold eyes. Last time, at this exact moment, I had pulled out my black card without a second thought. This time, I just laughed softly. “It’s alright, I guess.” Jessica’s expression froze. She bit her lip, her voice suddenly soft and vulnerable. “I want to buy it for Star, but… I don’t have enough money.” She looked up at me, and even the sales associate’s gaze turned expectant. The air grew thick with unspoken pressure. “If you don’t have enough,” I said, slowly stroking the strap of my own bag, “then you should save up.” “Or maybe find a cheaper one at a discount store? It’s just a dog. It won’t know the difference.” Jessica’s face twisted into a mask of fury. “If you look down on me, Laura, just say it. Do you really think I only deserve cheap trash?” She was about to continue her tirade when she caught sight of something over my shoulder. Her eyes instantly filled with tears. “Laura, you’re still mad at me for losing my temper that day, aren’t you?” She reached for my hand, her voice choked with sobs. “I was just so scared for Star, I wasn’t thinking…” A sharp voice cut through her performance from behind me. “I’ll pay for it.” Matthew. He strode over, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, but his eyes were glued to Jessica’s face. Jessica’s eyes immediately reddened as she ducked behind him like a startled deer. As Matthew gave his membership code to the associate, I heard Jessica whisper to the dog, a triumphant little caress in her voice. “Good boy, Star. You’re getting a new bag.” My nickname, rolling off her tongue, was like a piece of candy coated in blood. While the associate was wrapping the purchase, Matthew turned to me, his voice dripping with scorn. “Really, Laura? You won’t even buy your best friend a handbag? You can take the girl out of the gutter, but…” I stared at the faint red mark on his collar, the exact shade of Jessica’s lipstick today. “You’re quite the generous one, Matthew,” I said coolly. “You know, you two are quite alike,” he continued, a cruel smirk on his face. “Both of you were strays, lost and alone until someone took you in.” His words hit me like a physical blow, throwing me back to the horror of my last life. A ringing filled my ears as his lips kept moving. “I suggest you start treating your friend—and her dog—with a little more respect. The Thorne family has no place for someone as cold and heartless as you.” His smug, self-righteous act made me want to vomit. Last time, he’d always used the threat of calling off our engagement to control me. And every time, I had folded, because I truly, desperately wanted to spend my life with him. If only I had seen their treachery sooner. Suddenly, the dog in Jessica’s arms started barking wildly. It had been forced into the new accessory, a tiny replica of my own, and was struggling uncomfortably. And the black spot behind its ear was now dark and impossible to miss. I don’t remember much of what happened after that. I stumbled home in a daze. A short while later, my mother called me down for dinner. At the table, my parents watched me with loving eyes, constantly putting food on my plate. “Darling, you suffered so much out there,” my father said gently. “But now your mother and I are here, and we’ll take care of you.” “We never gave up looking for you,” my mother added. “We were so lucky Master Silas was able to pinpoint your location. It was truly a miracle!” I felt a pang of emotion. Since I’d come home, they had wanted to give me the world. But soon, Jessica would take my place. The food in my mouth turned to ash. I couldn’t swallow. “It’s a shame Master Silas refused our donation,” my father continued. “A man of his talent is truly rare.” Talent? An idea sparked in my mind, a desperate lifeline. This Master Silas… he might be the one person who could save me. “Mom! Dad! I want to go thank him in person.” On Saturday, I set out at dawn. It was two in the afternoon by the time I finally reached the remote sanctuary perched on the mountaintop. When I stepped inside and saw “Master Silas,” I froze. I had pictured an old, wizened man, not a handsome young man with a serene, otherworldly air. He was dressed in simple, elegant robes, his eyes as deep and dark as a forest pool. He nodded at me in greeting. “Hello, Miss Laura.” I snapped out of my daze and quickly bowed. “Please, no need for formality. Call me Silas.” I told him everything, omitting the part about being reborn and framing it as a vivid, recurring nightmare. As he listened, his calm expression hardened. “A soul-swap,” he murmured, his face grim. “I never thought someone would actually dare to use such a dark and forbidden art.” “I will need to research a counter-ritual. In the meantime,” he said, his eyes meeting mine, “avoid all contact with that dog. Wait for my return.” I thanked him, my eyes welling with tears of relief. Before I left, he handed me a small, ornate box. Inside was a protective talisman. “Keep this with you. Place it under your pillow. It will temporarily shield your soul from any external influence.” After returning from the mountain, I immediately feigned illness and confined myself to my room. Jessica, of course, messaged me daily. One moment she was asking what I ate, the next what clothes I was wearing. If I didn’t reply, she’d video call me. “Star misses you so much, Laura! When can we come visit?” I didn’t dare show my true revulsion, so I gave her vague, noncommittal answers. Matthew started visiting frequently, too. He claimed he was checking on me, but I knew he was there to monitor the situation. To my horror, my parents welcomed him with open arms, believing our relationship was as strong as ever. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I pulled him into a private sitting room.

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When I told my wife I wanted a divorce, she was at the sink, washing dishes. Her hands, slick with soap, paused for a fraction of a second. Then, she gave a slight nod. “Okay.” This was the fifth time I had brought it up. The first four times had been a storm of shock, anger, and grief, her pleas grating on my last nerve. But this time, she simply agreed. Just like that. A casual, weightless acceptance, as if I’d merely commented on the weather. I watched her slender back, a silhouette against the kitchen window. A surge of exhilaration washed over me, but beneath it, a strange and unfamiliar feeling bloomed in my chest… 1 I was still on the sofa, trying to decipher the strange knot of unease in my gut, when Isabella called. “So? Did she agree this time?” Her voice was soft, but laced with a nervous tension. I snapped back to the present, shaking my head as if to clear it. A smile broke across my face. “Yeah. She agreed.” Silence on the other end for a few seconds. Then, her voice trembling, “Really? Ethan, you’re not joking, are you?” A pang of sympathy hit me. “Bella,” I said, my voice softening, “it’s true. She really said yes. We can finally be together, out in the open.” A quiet sob came through the phone. “Oh, thank God… I can finally have you.” Her raw, overwhelming emotion brought a sting to my own eyes. This was the fifth time I’d asked Christine for a divorce. The first four had been met with a hard no. Over two years, her reactions had devolved from shock and fury to a painful, pleading despair. And I, in turn, had gone from guilt and shame to a weary, numb annoyance. Every failed negotiation felt like a personal failure, a betrayal to Isabella. She was always so hopeful, so full of longing, yet so patient. Even with the disappointment clouding her face, she would be the one to comfort me. “She’s a woman, I get it,” she’d say. “And you two have a child. It’s fine. We’ll just work harder, land a few more projects, and we can offer her a bigger settlement. God, if it wasn’t for true love, why would we be doing any of this…?” Today was the first time I had been home in two months. I’d called ahead. When I walked in, a full dinner was on the table. Christine was sitting under the warm glow of a floor lamp, lost in a book. She looked up as I entered, folded the corner of a page, and calmly told me to wash up for dinner. Our daughter, Sophie, was at a friend’s birthday party downstairs. Before coming, Isabella and I had made a pact. If Christine refused again, we would increase the settlement offer in the divorce agreement by another twenty percent. I had steeled myself for another all-night battle. I never could have predicted this. I’d barely gotten the words out, and she had agreed without a fight. On the phone, even Isabella was puzzled. “Ethan,” she said after a thoughtful pause, “she’s not planning something, is she? Some kind of trick?” I couldn’t blame her for being suspicious. As the head of negotiations for my company, her mind was trained to look for the hidden angle, the trap in every easy victory. I shook my head, even though she couldn’t see me. “I doubt it. Christine’s a stay-at-home mom. She doesn’t know the first thing about corporate backstabbing.” Isabella’s voice grew gentle again. “You can never be too sure. She might not know how, but that doesn’t mean she can’t find someone who does. For the company… for our future… I think you should be careful, Ethan.” I was silent for a moment. “Don’t worry,” I said. 2 Christine emerged from the bedroom holding a file. I watched her, studying her expression. Her eyes were placid pools, her face a calm mask. None of the tearful breakdowns or hysterical rage I’d grown used to. “I’ve already signed it,” she said, holding the papers out to me. “Just let me know when you’ve scheduled the appointment at the courthouse.” She handed me the document and turned to make tea. The kettle began its low, gurgling song, and soon the rich, earthy scent of dark tea filled the room. When she poured, I instinctively reached out to take the cup from her. But she brought it to her own lips, taking a slow, deliberate sip, her expression one of pure, relaxed contentment. Seeing my outstretched hand, she looked at me, a flicker of genuine confusion in her eyes. “The divorce papers are in your hand, aren’t they?” My brow furrowed. I pulled my hand back and looked down at the agreement. Ten minutes later, I looked up, bewildered. “This is the same one I gave you last time. You haven’t changed a single word?” Christine was curled up on the sofa, sipping her tea and returning to her book. She glanced up, a momentary blankness in her eyes before she registered my question. “Oh. No, I didn’t. It seemed fine to me.” I stared at her for a long moment, then decided to press on. “Christine, if this is still too hard for you, I can increase the settlement amount.” She tilted her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Increase it? Has Isabella approved that?” A familiar wave of irritation washed over me. For the past two years, every conversation about the divorce inevitably circled back to Isabella. In Christine’s eyes, I was the weak-willed cheater and Isabella was the shameless homewrecker. She had no idea what we’d been through—the guilt, the agonizing struggle, the painful journey that had led us to this point. 3 The truth is, Isabella and I couldn’t stand each other at first. My business partner had hired her as our Director of Negotiations, and she was everything I wasn’t used to. A whirlwind of stiletto heels, blood-red lipstick, and figure-hugging pencil skirts. She was a shark at work—ruthless at the negotiating table and unafraid to challenge me in front of the entire team. Christine was her polar opposite. Gentle, quiet, and unassuming. She rarely wore makeup, her clothes were simple, and her world revolved around me, our daughter, and her little universe of tea, books, and houseplants. I had never encountered a woman like Isabella in my personal life. One day, as I was complaining about her yet again, Christine was carefully trimming an orchid. She looked up from between the vibrant green leaves and smiled at me. “You’ve been mentioning her a lot lately.” My perception of Isabella shifted the day I found her crying in the stairwell, huddled on the steps with her face in her hands. Our eyes met. Hers were red-rimmed and raw. She wiped her tears away, scrambled to her feet, and mumbled an apology before marching away, head held high. I later learned from my partner that she was a single mother, divorced due to domestic abuse. She was raising a seven-year-old daughter on her own while her ex-husband continued to harass her. Knowing the vulnerability hidden beneath her tough-as-nails exterior changed everything. In turn, her attitude towards me softened. We became a team, our professional synergy growing stronger by the day. In meetings, she understood my unspoken intentions; I knew when her bravado was a bluff. At boozy client dinners, she’d discreetly block a drink for me or slide a cup of hot tea my way when I’d had too much. Then came the night I saw her ex-husband cornering her, getting aggressive. I didn’t think; I just charged in and threw a punch. I heard her gasp. I remember coming home that night with my head bandaged. Christine was terrified. She clung to me, her voice trembling. “Does it hurt? Your head can’t get hurt! Are you really okay?” Isabella and I didn’t sleep together until three years after we met. It was at the company’s annual retreat in a charming, historic town. Christine had always dreamed of visiting a place like that. For one of her birthdays, she’d wished for me to take her and Sophie on a trip to a quaint old town. So, when the events department asked for a location, the words “a historic town” just tumbled out of my mouth. My original plan was to surprise Christine, but by then, my relationship with Isabella had become a tangled, unspoken thing. On some dark impulse, I never told Christine about the trip. The nights in that town were too beautiful, the wine too easy to drink, the scenery a mesmerizing blur. Isabella, wearing only a silk nightgown, knocked on my hotel room door. We spent a wild, forbidden night together. We both knew we had crossed a line. When we got back, I wrestled with my conscience and decided to cut off all direct work contact with her. She accepted my decision without a word of protest, but her eyes were filled with a silent, sorrowful reproach. Later, Christine saw the photos from the trip on my phone. “When did you go to a historic town?” she asked, her face lighting up. “Why didn’t you take me?” Guilt coiled in my stomach. “It was just for a conference,” I mumbled. “A one-day thing. It wasn’t worth mentioning.” Eventually, Isabella resigned. I agreed it was for the best. We both knew it was the only way. After she left, we didn’t speak once. Until three months later, when we found ourselves on opposite sides of a negotiation table. She had gone to work for a competitor. At the dinner that followed, their CEO and his cronies were relentless, forcing drink after drink on me. Just as they were about to pour another one down my throat, Isabella, who had been silent all evening, grabbed a bottle and smashed it over the CEO’s head. She lost her job, her savings, and spent fifteen days in a holding cell. I was there to pick her up the day she was released. We went straight to a hotel. We barely left the room for days. And in that haze, I had an epiphany. You only live once. To hell with duty, to hell with morality. Call me a scoundrel, a homewrecker, I didn’t care. I was going to dive in. I was going to be reckless. I couldn’t betray a woman who had sacrificed so much for me. …My thoughts snapped back to the present. On this day, as my seven-year marriage was finally ending, the last thing I wanted was to hear Isabella’s name from Christine’s lips. “I’ll let you know when the appointment is set. Don’t be late,” I said coldly, and left. As I stepped into the elevator, I ran into my daughter, Sophie. She was holding a slice of birthday cake, a huge grin on her face that vanished the moment she saw me. “Sophie, Dad’s—” She brushed past me without a word, her face a blank mask. I frowned. Sophie used to throw her arms around my neck and shout “Daddy!” the second she saw me. After two months apart, she was looking at me like I was a stranger. I had specifically told Christine not to tell Sophie about the divorce yet. Clearly, she hadn’t listened. From the lobby, I glanced up at our apartment window. Sophie was there, happily feeding a piece of cake to Christine, who was leaning down to accept it, her eyes crinkling into a smile. My phone buzzed. A text from Isabella. [Honey, come home soon. Your wife has a big reward waiting for you tonight!] It was the first time she had ever called me that. I could feel her excitement, her elation, vibrating through the screen. I let out a long breath and walked away, not looking back. 4 The divorce agreement stipulated that Christine would get full custody of Sophie and the apartment we lived in. Since my company was about to go public, my shares would remain untouched, but I would pay her a settlement of eight hundred thousand dollars, due in one year. When Isabella saw the amount, her heart ached for me. “You built this company from scratch, Ethan. All those sleepless nights. To just give that much away… how many projects will it take to earn that back?” “I’m the one who wronged her,” I reassured her. “We should be grateful. If she’d pushed for half of our marital assets, it would have been far, far more than this.” Isabella rested her head on my shoulder. “I just worry about you working yourself to death.” She was incredibly efficient. Within days, she had scheduled the appointment to finalize the divorce. I sent the time to Christine. She replied with a single word: [Okay.] In the days leading up to it, Isabella was visibly glowing. And why not? It had been two long years since I first asked for a divorce. We had endured so much, carried so many burdens to get to this point. Still, a part of her couldn’t quite believe it. “Why did she suddenly agree? Are you sure there isn’t a catch? It just feels too good to be true.” It wasn’t just her. I had my own doubts. Late one night, as Isabella slept soundly beside me, I stood by the window smoking, my mind a tangled mess. A small incident surfaced from my memory. About a month ago, I was in a meeting when Christine called, her voice tight with anger. “Why did you give Sophie’s spot in the piano competition to Isabella’s daughter?” I was instantly annoyed. “Sophie competes every year,” I snapped. “Belle has never had an opportunity like this. What’s the big deal letting her have a turn? Besides, I’m a patron of that arts academy. Sophie will have plenty of other chances.” There was a long silence on the other end. Then, in a low voice, Christine said, “Do you have any idea how hard Sophie has worked for this competition? She said she wanted to prove that her dad didn’t play favorites. She wanted to win first place to make you proud…” I hated being emotionally blackmailed like this. “I’ll buy her a gift to make up for it,” I said gruffly. “Belle is a child who’s had a rough life—” She hung up before I could finish. On the day of the competition, I drove Isabella and Belle to the venue. We got stuck in traffic, and through the car window, I saw Christine and Sophie on her small scooter. Christine didn’t know how to drive, and while the academy wasn’t far, the roads were always congested. The wind was strong that day, whipping their hair into a tangled mess. They looked small and vulnerable. I glanced over at Belle in her exquisite princess dress, sipping milk and nestled safely in Isabella’s arms. Suddenly, a car cut them off. The scooter tipped, and Christine and Sophie tumbled onto the pavement. A primal urge to jump out of the car seized me, but Isabella gripped my arm, shaking her head slowly. “She already dislikes me and Belle. Showing up now will only make her angrier. Look, they’re okay. They’re getting up.” I looked. They were helping each other to their feet. Just then, Belle rolled down her window. “Sophie!” she yelled, her voice dripping with triumph. “We’re going to the competition in Ethan’s car! Are you going too?” In a flash of panic, my eyes met Christine’s. I braced myself for an outburst. But she only gave me a fleeting, unreadable glance before turning to comfort Sophie. A moment later, they were back on the scooter and gone. …Ever since I’d chosen this path, I’d made a conscious effort not to dwell on things that might weaken my resolve. I couldn’t do right by everyone. I told myself that a generous settlement would make up for it. For a stay-at-home mom who had never worked a day in her life, it was a windfall. Compared to most, she was lucky. I stubbed out my cigarette, extinguishing the unwanted memory along with it. 5 On the day of our appointment, Isabella insisted on coming with me. She said she wanted to offer Christine a sincere apology. I hesitated. “What if she makes a scene? Does something to you…” She gave a bitter smile. “Then I’ll have deserved it. It’ll be my penance.” We arrived at the courthouse ten minutes early. Isabella squeezed my hand, a silent gesture of mutual support. When Christine walked in, I didn’t recognize her at first. She was a world away from her usual simple, makeup-free look. She wore a navy-blue trench coat cinched at the waist and a pair of high heels. Her long, dark hair, glossy as satin, cascaded down her back. Her makeup was subtle, accentuating her naturally fair skin and making her eyes sparkle. She walked with an easy grace, her hands tucked into her pockets. She seemed to possess a strange, calming aura. Wherever she stood, a sense of peace settled over the space. It was true at home, and it was true here. The noisy lobby seemed to quiet down, all eyes drawn to her. For a disorienting moment, I felt a wave of distant, hazy familiarity wash over me. I stood up and walked toward her. The first words out of my mouth were, “You can wear heels?” She blinked, clearly not expecting the question. “Yes.” “I’ve never seen you wear them before.” A slight frown creased her brow. “I have something on today.” I wanted to ask what, but Isabella walked over just then. Her eyes widened for a second when she saw Christine, but she quickly composed herself and smiled. “Christine. I hope you don’t mind me being here.” Christine looked at her for a few seconds, then the corners of her lips curved upwards. “Not anymore.” Hearing that, a strange irritation pricked at me. “This is a public place,” I said harshly. “Don’t start crying and making a scene like you used to.” I wasn’t being unfair. During the two-year-long ordeal of our separation, she had cried and screamed. More often, she would just stare at me with red-rimmed eyes, murmuring things that made no sense. “Ethan, you do love me. You just don’t remember.” “Ethan, what am I going to do with you?” “Ethan, I can’t hold on much longer. Please don’t blame me…” We had loved each other once, deeply. But I had changed. Towards the end, my patience had worn thin. “Christine,” I’d told her, “the past is the past. People change. You have to accept it.” Now, Christine just lowered her gaze and smiled faintly. “Let’s go sign the papers.” The process was smooth. The clerk informed us there was a one-month cooling-off period before the divorce would be final. As we stepped out of the courthouse, Isabella gathered her courage. “I came today because I wanted to say I’m sorry,” she said earnestly to Christine. “What happened with Ethan and me… I guess some things are just fated.” Christine smiled and glanced at the designer handbag on Isabella’s arm. “Are you sure you didn’t just come to show me that bag?” The two women stood in silence, the autumn leaves swirling around them. Then Isabella smiled back. I had no idea what they were talking about. I looked closer at the bag. A silk scarf was tied around the handle. It looked familiar… Then it hit me. I had bought that bag for Isabella six months ago. It was obscenely expensive, worth more than some people’s cars. As Isabella was kissing me in thanks, Christine had called, her soft voice reminding me it was her birthday and that she was waiting for me to come home for dinner. A pang of guilt had struck me, but Isabella, ever so magnanimous, had urged me to go. “A friendly divorce is better for the company’s IPO,” she’d said. “Don’t be stubborn.” She had smiled and untied a silk scarf from the bag’s handle. “This brand’s scarves aren’t cheap either. Take this for her birthday present. It’ll save you a trip. I’ll just get another one from the store later.” I remember Christine had been so happy with the scarf, her eyes like a doe’s as she tried it on this way and that. And now, her gaze swept coolly over the new scarf on that very same bag, then drifted away without a trace of emotion. 6 I didn’t know what was wrong with me. Ever since Christine agreed to the divorce, forgotten moments and overlooked details kept surfacing, unbidden. I told myself it was just nostalgia, my brain’s way of severing ties with the past. I took Isabella to meet my parents. She put on her most humble demeanor, bearing expensive gifts, but my parents were cold and distant. They had always been vehemently against the divorce. During our worst argument about it, my father had pointed at me, his voice trembling with rage. “You goddamn fool! You’re throwing away something you nearly died for! Do you have any idea what she gave up for you? One day, you’ll regret this!” “Stop it!” my mother had shrieked, cutting him off. “Do you want him to go back to how he was before…?” Isabella was hurt. She cried in the car on the way home. “The one marrying you is me, not my family,” I comforted her. “Don’t let it get to you.” She quickly pulled herself together. “Your mom said she didn’t want you to go back to how you were before… what did she mean?” I laughed. “You probably can’t imagine it, but I used to be a real handful. Drinking, fighting… I did it all. Got my head smashed in a brawl once, was in a coma for a while. Ever since, I get these splitting headaches when I get too worked up. They’re probably just worried about that.” That night, to cheer Isabella up, I took her to a new bar. It was an elegant place with a traditional theme. The air was filled with the sound of classical music, and all eyes were on the woman on stage. She wore a stunning, form-fitting cheongsam, her body poised and graceful. She held a pipa, her head tilted slightly, her long hair obscuring her face. As her fingers danced over the strings, a melody flowed out, as clear and beautiful as a mountain spring. I stared, transfixed. That same distant, hazy feeling washed over me again, a thousand tiny needles pricking at my heart. Isabella chuckled, leaning close to my ear. “You really fell for me at that company retreat, didn’t you?” I snapped out of my trance and smiled. “You saw right through me.” She rested her head on my shoulder, her voice full of sweet nostalgia. “I wore a cheongsam and played the pipa for the talent show that night. It was just a recording, but the way you looked at me then… it’s the same way you’re looking at the stage now.” The piece ended. The woman on stage rose gracefully, smiled at the audience, and walked off. I felt a jolt. Beside me, Isabella murmured, “She kind of looks like Christine…” I shook my head, a small laugh escaping me. “A little, maybe. But Christine doesn’t know how to play any of that stuff.” My phone rang. It was my younger brother, Owen, calling from France. I stepped into the hallway to take the call. His voice was unusually serious. “Did you really divorce Christine?” “What do you mean, Christine?” I snapped, annoyed. “Call her your sister-in-law.” The words were out before I could stop them. I paused. “The process has started.” Owen was silent for a moment. “I’m coming back next month.” “You just landed a major investment. What are you coming back for?” “For Christine.” I was speechless. I couldn’t understand why my own family was so fiercely protective of her. Annoyed, I went to the window and lit a cigarette. Through the cool night air, I heard voices from outside. “I can’t believe it. You haven’t played in years, but you’ve still got the touch of a gold medalist.” A gentle female voice replied, “Thank you for the opportunity to perform, Mr. Chen.” “With a reaction like that from the crowd, I should be thanking you!” I followed the voices with my eyes. Two figures were walking away. One of them was the woman in the cheongsam. As the wind blew, her hair swept back from her face. And I saw her profile. 7 I pushed open the side door and stepped outside almost without thinking. The woman smiled as she said her goodbyes, then wrapped her coat tighter around herself and walked alone into the night. The sharp, rhythmic click of her heels on the stone path echoed in the autumn silence. I followed her at a distance. The cigarette burned down to my fingers. I yelped, dropping it to the ground. The woman turned around. When I saw her face clearly, I froze. “It’s really you?” Christine squinted at me through the dim light. “Ethan? What are you doing here?” I was at a loss for words. What was I doing here? Why had I followed her? In that split second, my mind had been blank. It was as if my body had made the decision before my brain could catch up. “Ethan!” Isabella’s voice came from behind me. “I was looking all over for you. So you were—” She saw Christine. She stopped, her eyes widening in disbelief, mirroring the question in my own heart. “That was you on stage? You can play the pipa? Or was that just… part of a performance?” Christine let out a soft laugh, not answering her question. Her gaze drifted coolly over the two of us, and then she turned and walked away. The car ride back was thick with a heavy silence. Suddenly, Isabella turned to me. “What were you doing out there? Did you recognize her all along? I thought you said she didn’t know how to play.” “I didn’t know,” I said, my eyes fixed on the road. “She never played for me.” “You were married for seven years and she never once played for you? How is that possible…?” Isabella’s expression was strange. She gave a short, sharp laugh. “She’s really changed. The makeup, the heels… she’s a completely different person. She’s probably already found her next guy. I knew it was too easy when she agreed to the divorce—” I slammed on the brakes. The car screeched to a halt, throwing Isabella forward against her seatbelt with a cry of alarm. I turned to her, my voice low and dangerous. “What are you talking about? Christine is not that kind of person!” Isabella rubbed her shoulder where the seatbelt had dug in, staring at me in shock. Then, her voice rose in anger. “Right, she’s not that kind of person, but I am! I’m the one who threw herself at you, who was happy to be your mistress! I’m the despicable, immoral one!” I scowled. “You don’t have to talk about yourself like that.” Her eyes were red, her emotions spilling over. “I’ve always been a proud woman, Ethan. I have my pride, my self-respect! If it wasn’t for you, for this relationship, why would I have ever put myself in this situation…?” Her voice broke on a sob. I fell silent, letting out a long sigh. “I know what you’ve sacrificed. Let’s just… we’ve come so far. Let’s not fight about things that don’t matter, okay?” She bit her lip, finally nodding with a quiet “mhm.” That night, she wore a new piece of lingerie she’d bought, her movements a mixture of contrition and seduction as she leaned over me. After a long while, I pulled away. “I’m sorry,” I said, frustrated. She looked up, her eyes shining in the darkness. She stroked my cheek, her voice gentle. “It’s okay. You’ve been under a lot of stress lately. I’ll get some herbal remedies tomorrow to help you relax.” I numbly got dressed and told her I was going to the balcony for a smoke. The world outside was silent. As the smoke curled around me, a thought took root in my mind, one I couldn’t shake: There was a side to Christine I had never seen.

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My seventy-million-dollar private jet was gifted by my wife to one of her pet actors. On the livestream, Aaron Cranston flicked his hair back for the camera, showing off. “Wheels up! Checking out the boss lady’s super-jet. Time for a five-star nap on my way to a private island~” The comments section instantly erupted: 【HOLY SHIT! Is that a Gulfstream G650?】 【I saw that plane in Forbes! I think it belongs to Cross Industries!】 【Damian Cross spoils Aaron rotten!】 I let out a cold laugh and dialed Lydia’s number. “Explain to me why my jet is suddenly someone else’s.” Her voice on the other end was careless. “Aaron’s a celebrity, he needs to maintain a certain image. It’s not like you’re short one plane…” “I want that jet back on the tarmac in five minutes.” The only response I got was a dial tone. Two minutes later, the plane carrying Aaron Cranston developed a sudden malfunction. It was stuck circling at thirty thousand feet, unable to land. At the same exact moment, the stock price of Legacy Entertainment, her company, took a nosedive off a cliff. You dare touch what belongs to me, Damian Cross? Then you’d better be prepared to pay the price. 1 When Aaron Cranston finally stumbled down the airstairs, the face his fans called ‘god-tier’ was as white as a sheet. His expensive custom suit was splattered with vomit. Behind him, the multi-million-dollar jet was engulfed in flames. “Damian Cross! Are you fucking insane?!” he shrieked, his voice filled with impotent rage, though his legs were shaking too hard for him to stand straight. “Lydia gave me this plane! What right do you have to destroy it?!” I brushed a bit of ash from my sleeve and looked down at this clueless starlet who had no idea who he was messing with. He would probably never understand that some things can’t be obtained just by being cute and throwing a tantrum. Things like this jet. Things like… Lydia. “Yours?” I chuckled softly. The sound wasn’t loud, but it made Aaron flinch. “It seems Lydia failed to mention that I am the sole owner of this aircraft. I can do whatever the hell I want with it.” Aaron’s face paled, but he quickly puffed out his chest again. “Lydia said it was a gift, so it’s mine! She never goes back on her word! You just wait, she’ll get justice for me!” I suddenly felt a wave of boredom. Arguing with this pathetic clown was a complete waste of my time. I didn’t bother wasting another word on him, just tilted my head toward the bodyguards behind me. “Take him somewhere to cool off.” They immediately moved in, grabbing Aaron by each arm. “What are you doing? Let go of me!” Aaron screamed, struggling uselessly. “Lydia! Help me!” My men were impassive. A flurry of slaps landed squarely on his face. Before he could recover, they grabbed him by the collar, dragged him like a sack of potatoes over to a maintenance trough, and shoved his head into the water without a second thought. He looked like a drowned rat, a far cry from the smug celebrity who had been flaunting his prize on the livestream just an hour ago. “Stop it!” A familiar female voice cut through the air. Lydia came running, teetering on her four-inch heels. Her perfectly applied makeup couldn’t hide the panic and fury on her face. She rushed to Aaron’s side, helping him up with a look of profound pity before glaring at me. “Damian, what is wrong with you?” she demanded. “Aaron has a heart condition! Are you trying to kill him? It’s just a stupid plane! You have plenty, do you have to be so petty?” Me, petty? It seemed she’d truly lost her mind. I didn’t mind reminding her. “Lydia, where did you get the nerve to give away my property?” My voice was calm, but her face instantly drained of color. “I see you’ve forgotten my rules.” At that moment, Aaron, still oblivious, decided to provoke me further. “I’m young and handsome! What’s wrong with Lydia treating me well? You’re just jealous, you old man!” My eyes hardened as I stared at Lydia. “You know what happens to people who touch my things.” Lydia knew I wasn’t joking. Once, some arrogant heir stained my suit, and the next day he was found to have “accidentally” fallen into the ocean. “Aaron, apologize,” she commanded through gritted teeth. “What? Lydia! He’s the one who…” “Apologize. Now!” Aaron finally seemed to realize that the person he was relying on was utterly powerless in front of me. He gave a reluctant, shallow bow, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cross…” I sneered and turned, walking toward the waiting Rolls-Royce. In the rearview mirror, I could see Lydia tenderly wiping the blood from Aaron’s face with her handkerchief. That gentle touch used to belong only to me. Three years ago, Legacy Entertainment was on the verge of bankruptcy. Lydia’s father had jumped from his office window, leaving behind a mountain of debt. She came to me, dressed in mourning clothes, and knelt in the pouring rain for six solid hours. “Mr. Cross, please, save Legacy. I’ll do anything.” I’ll admit, in that moment, I was moved. Not just by her beauty, but by the defiant fire in her eyes. I told her my price was marriage. She agreed without hesitation. For three years, I poured resources into Legacy Entertainment, building it into a ten-billion-dollar behemoth. Lydia, in turn, grew from a timid, trembling girl into a formidable executive in her own right. I thought our bond was unbreakable. Until today, when she crossed a line for another man. 2 When I got home, I sent a contract termination notice to Lydia. If she was smart, she’d understand my meaning. It was a warning. After all these years, I wasn’t opposed to giving her a second chance. All she had to do was get rid of that annoying starlet. But the next morning, my assistant knocked frantically on my office door. “Mr. Cross, Legacy’s main brand just updated its official website and social media with a new brand ambassador… it’s Aaron Cranston.” I stared at the arrogant face on my computer screen, my gaze turning to ice. In the poster, Aaron wore the latest suit from Legacy’s couture line, his posture disdainful. The caption was a slap in the face: “Global Ambassador for the Legacy Group · Aaron Cranston.” The most ridiculous part? That position was supposed to go to the Oscar-winning actress Sienna Rowe, a deal I had personally brokered. I gave a cold laugh and hit the intercom. “Get the legal department on the line. I want a lawsuit filed against Legacy for breach of contract. Immediately.” My assistant hesitated. “Sir, Legacy is your wife’s family company. If this goes to court…” “Do as I say,” I cut him off. “And get the car. We’re going to Legacy Tower.” Half an hour later, I stepped into the headquarters of the Legacy Group. Just as I got off the elevator, I heard Aaron’s voice booming down the hallway. “The deal Legacy offered is pretty good, but I think there’s room for negotiation,” he was saying. “After all, my fanbase’s spending power is a known quantity. Doubling their sales is just a matter of time.” His agent chimed in with fawning agreement. “Of course! Lydia values you immensely. She even turned down the actress Cross Industries was pushing, all to promote you! She’s crazy about you, you have to lock her down!” Aaron laughed. “There isn’t a woman on this earth who can resist my charm.” I stopped in my tracks, my expression turning glacial. Lydia had rejected the ambassador I’d chosen just to prop up this piece of trash? I gave a subtle nod to my assistant. He understood instantly, striding forward and kicking Aaron’s legs out from under him. “What the hell are you doing?” Aaron yelped from the floor. “I’m with Lydia! You’re just some corporate nobody. I’ll have her fire you for this!” I walked over and looked down on him. “Lydia? Hah. She doesn’t call the shots here. You shouldn’t be begging her. You should be begging me.” His face twisted. “Damian Cross! What gives you the right?!” “The right? I own 80% of Legacy’s shares. That’s my right.” He glared at me, his eyes burning with helpless rage. Lydia, hearing the commotion, rushed out. “Damian! What is the meaning of this?” I looked at her, my eyes cold. “I should be asking you that. The termination notice I sent last night—did you not understand it, or are you deliberately provoking me?” She bit her lip, her tone softening. “Honey, Aaron has a huge fanbase. If we suddenly terminate his contract, it will have a major impact on the brand’s image and sales… He’s just young and a bit impulsive. Don’t hold it against him.” She reached for my arm, her eyes pleading. “There’s nothing going on between us, you have to believe me.” I looked down at her and suddenly smiled. “Lydia, you once told me that you would only ever listen to me. Are you disobeying me now… for him?” Her face went white, her lips trembling as she struggled for words. I didn’t waste any more time. I turned to my assistant. “Notify all our partners. Effective immediately, all collaborations with Aaron Cranston are terminated. Anyone who continues to work with him is an enemy of Cross Industries.” Aaron finally broke, his lip trembling as fat tears rolled down his cheeks. “Lydia! I’m sorry. I’m just an ordinary person, I don’t have the power to protect you. Since Mr. Cross can’t stand me, I’ll leave. Don’t fight with him because of me…” Hearing his self-sacrificing words, Lydia’s heart shattered. She clenched her fists and suddenly yelled at me, “Damian! Do you have to be so heartless?” Without looking back, I stepped into the elevator, my voice like ice. “Lydia, I gave you a chance.” 3 For days, Aaron’s contract remained active. Lydia seemed determined to defy me, even throwing a hundred million dollars at a new reality show custom-built for him. Since she refused to listen to reason, I decided to make her understand another way. At the press conference, the lights were blinding, the reporters’ cameras all aimed at me. I had just announced my full acquisition of the Legacy Group when Lydia burst in, her face livid. “Legacy is my company! What right do you have to take it away?” she raged. “Damian, are you ever going to let this go? All this drama over one stupid plane! My patience is wearing thin. If you keep this up, you’re going to lose me for good.” It seems I’d spoiled her for far too long. “Lydia, you were the one who crossed the line first. Don’t blame me for this. I told you, three strikes and you’re out.” Aaron, who had followed Lydia in, suddenly dropped to his knees in front of me, his voice choked with emotion. “Mr. Cross, I’m just an ordinary person. I can understand you looking down on me, humiliating me. After all, you’re on top of the world. People like me are less than ants to you. But Lydia is your wife! How could you be so cruel to her…” His acting was superb. He looked like a martyr who had suffered a grave injustice, and I was the overbearing villain. His performance ignited the fury of everyone in the room. Reporters swarmed forward, shoving microphones in my face. “Mr. Cross, is what he’s saying true?” “Do you think being a CEO gives you the right to trample on ordinary people?” The scene descended into chaos. I stared coldly at Aaron. His head was bowed, but I could see the faint smirk playing on his lips. My assistant, seeing things were getting out of hand, immediately had security start clearing the reporters out. When the room was finally quiet, I turned to Lydia. “I’ve given you too many chances. This is the last one. You have two choices. Either you cut all ties with Aaron Cranston, and you remain the president of the Legacy Group. Or, you can take your dog and get out.”

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Something was wrong. I was trying to be intimate with my boyfriend, but his reaction was… off. I was wearing the lace lingerie he’d been begging to see me in for months, but he hadn’t so much as touched me. The room was dark. I leaned in close, my breath warm against his ear. “Your surprise,” I whispered. “Do you like it?” His breathing hitched, becoming ragged. A thrill went through me. It was working. I looped my arms around his neck and kissed him more deeply. But just then, my boyfriend’s voice echoed from outside the room. “The lights are on, but nobody’s home?” I froze. A wave of ice and fire shot through my veins. If Leo was out there… then who was I holding right now? 1 In the pitch-black room, I scrambled off him, clutching the front of my lingerie to my chest. “Who are you?!” I hissed, my eyes wide with terror as I stared at the shadowy figure before me. A moment later, a low, cool voice answered. “Zane.” I froze at the name. He was Leo’s roommate. I’d seen him a few times when I’d come over to visit. My impression of him was that he was aloof and quiet, a man of few words who seemed to keep the world at arm’s length. We’d never exchanged more than a brief nod. The memory of what had just happened rushed back, and my face burned with shame. “What are you doing in Leo’s room?” I demanded. “Borrowing a charger.” His answer was simple, but my panic was anything but. I was standing here in next to nothing. A man and a woman, alone in a dark room. If Leo walked in now, there would be no explaining this away. In a desperate rush, I grabbed my discarded clothes and my phone and dove into the wardrobe. “Don’t let Leo see me. Please,” I begged in a small voice. Zane was silent for a two-count, then he walked over and closed the closet door for me. At that exact moment, the bedroom door swung open. Leo walked in and flipped on the lights, flooding the room with a brilliant glare. “Hey? Zane, what are you doing in my room?” Zane picked up a charger from the desk. “Came to borrow this.” “Oh,” Leo said, his tone casual. “By the way, have you seen Raina? She told me she was coming over.” “Haven’t seen her.” A nervous sweat broke out on my back. Today was our one-year anniversary. Before leaving work, I’d texted Leo telling him I had a surprise for him tonight. He was working late, which gave me plenty of time to come over and get ready. My plan had been to offer myself up as his present the moment he walked through the door. I never imagined it would turn into a disaster like this. “Something’s wrong with my computer. Can you come take a look?” Leo asked. “Sure.” After Zane led Leo out of the room, I scrambled out of the closet, threw on my clothes, grabbed my things, and slipped out of the apartment. 2 On the way home, I sent Leo a text. [Hey babe, I’m not feeling well, so I couldn’t make it over. Sorry. I’ll have to owe you your surprise.] He replied almost instantly: [Are you okay? What’s wrong? Do you want me to come over?] [No, it’s fine. I’m already in bed. You should get some rest too.] Right now, all I wanted was to be alone and calm my racing heart. [Okay. I’ll come see you in the morning then.] [Okay.] I put my phone down and breathed a sigh of relief. When I got home, I went straight to the bathroom and drew a hot bath. The warm water soothed my tense body, offering a moment of peace. But the fragmented images of the night kept replaying in my mind, unbidden. Zane hadn’t responded to me at all. Not when I held him, pressed myself against him, kissed him with everything I had. He hadn’t crossed a single line. Even when I’d taken his hand and… he’d done nothing more than let out a heavy, strained breath. But… given the difference in our sizes, he could have easily pushed me away. He was more than strong enough. But he hadn’t moved. He had simply let me do as I pleased. The thought made my heart race and a flush spread through my body. Zane’s reaction… wasn’t it a little strange, too? Did he know it was me in the room at that moment? I quickly shut down that line of thought. I was the one who had made the mistake. It would be shameless to try and shift the blame onto him. He had been willing to cover for me, to lead Leo away. I should be grateful. 3 The next morning, Leo arrived with bags full of groceries. “How are you feeling? Any better?” he asked as I emerged from my room. “Yeah, I’m fine. I was just a little tired yesterday.” “It’s getting late. Go get ready. I’ll make breakfast.” I nodded. By the time I came out of the bathroom, Leo was already busy in the kitchen. Leo and I worked at the same company. Our office romance had been going on for over a year, and he treated me like a queen. Whenever he had a day off, he would come over and cook for me. With him around, I barely had to lift a finger. He even took care of the laundry and cleaning. He planned elaborate dates for every holiday and always chose the perfect gifts. On the rare occasions we argued, he was always the first to apologize, never letting me shed a single tear. I’m a slow burn. It takes a lot for me to open up. So at first, I had approached our relationship with a ‘let’s just see how it goes’ attitude. But after a year, he had passed every test. That’s why I had decided last night that it was time to take our relationship to the next level. I just never expected it to go so spectacularly wrong. After he had prepared a lavish spread of my favorite dishes, he called me to the table. “All your favorites. Try them,” he said, his eyes full of expectation as he served me a bowl of rice. “Mmm,” I nodded, a warmth spreading through my chest. Even though last night was an accident, I still felt a pang of guilt toward him. Halfway through the meal, I couldn’t help but ask, “So your roommate, Zane… what’s he like?” “Zane?” Leo paused for a second. “He’s a good guy. Why?” “It’s just… whenever I see him, he seems so cold. I was just curious what he’s like when you two are hanging out.” “He’s a bit of a slow burn himself, and yeah, he can be a bit of an ice king. But he’s a good person underneath it all.” “Right.” “Is he single? Does he have a girlfriend?” “Never seen a woman come looking for him. He’s pretty much a lone wolf, so I’d guess he’s single. But a lot of girls at the office have crushes on him.” Zane worked at our company, too, though in a different department. He was incredibly handsome, so his popularity was something I’d heard whispers about. “Hey, why are you so curious about him all of a sudden?” Leo asked, taking a bite of food. “You haven’t fallen for him, have you?” he teased. It was a joke, but I immediately denied it. “No! Of course not!” Leo laughed. “I’m kidding. I know my girl only has eyes for me.” “You know it.” 4 On Monday, I ran into Zane in the elevator at work. The awkwardness of that night made me instinctively drop my gaze to the floor. But knowing we’d have to see each other often, I forced myself to look up and offer a small, tight-lipped smile. Zane, however, showed no reaction. He simply moved to stand beside me, his expression as cool and unreadable as ever. Fine. The awkwardness was all mine. A moment later, a wave of people crowded into the elevator, pushing Zane up against my back. He was so close I could feel the warmth radiating from his body, could smell his scent. It was a faint, clean, woody fragrance. I didn’t know the brand, but it was intoxicating. I had smelled it that night, too, a subtle hint in the darkness, but I had been too distracted to place it. Now, with his warm breath brushing the back of my neck, accompanied by that familiar scent, every detail of that night came rushing back. A deep blush crept up my neck and spread to the tips of my ears. Get a grip, Raina! I scolded myself internally. It was a mistake. It was over. Why was I still so fixated on it? Zane seemed to sense my discomfort and shifted slightly, creating a sliver of space between us. When a group of people got off, I could finally breathe again. As soon as the doors opened on my floor, I practically fled the elevator. I had just sat down at my desk when a message from Zane popped up on my screen. [Are you afraid of me?] I froze, unsure how to reply. We had each other’s contact info for work, but we’d barely ever messaged. Our last chat was two weeks ago, exchanging work files. Before I could formulate a response, another message came through. [You’re the one who took advantage of me. Why are you acting like I’m the one who’s going to eat you alive?] The blush I had just managed to suppress came roaring back, turning my face crimson. [That’s not it! You misunderstood!] [What happened that night was a total accident! I thought you were Leo! If you’re upset about it, I apologize again!] [Please, just forget about it, I’m begging you! We see each other all the time, and I don’t want it to be awkward.] [Can we just pretend nothing ever happened? Please!] I typed out my frantic reply, adding a series of pleading, crying emojis for good measure. After what felt like an eternity, he replied. [I was just teasing you.] [I haven’t given it a second thought. You shouldn’t either.] I calmed down and quickly replied with an “Okay.” 5 After that, everything went back to normal. Our company organized a team-building trip, a three-day getaway to a nearby resort town. A few hours later, we arrived. The beautiful scenery washed away the fatigue of the long drive. Everyone was in high spirits, taking photos and enjoying the fresh air. As evening approached, the admin staff organized a barbecue party. During the meal, Leo hovered around me, catering to my every need. Mia, a new intern from our department, was buzzing around him like a fly, acting overly familiar. But Leo mostly ignored her. After a while, Mia seemed to take the hint and drifted away. “Relax, babe. Mia’s just a kid. I see her as a little sister. You’re not actually jealous, are you?” Leo whispered to me after she left. He was good at reading my moods. He had noticed my silence when Mia was near. “No. But I’d appreciate it if you kept your distance from her in the future.” I was confident in Leo’s feelings for me, so even though I knew Mia had a crush on him, I hadn’t let it bother me too much. “Yes, ma’am.” 6 After the barbecue, we all headed back to the hotel to rest. We were booked in standard twin rooms. The resort was near the ocean, and the view was breathtaking. After a shower, I called Leo, hoping to go for a walk on the beach. But the call didn’t go through. I knew his room number, so I went to knock on his door. But the person who opened it was Zane. “Is Leo here?” “He went out.” “Where did he go?” “Don’t know.” Zane looked like he had just showered, a towel in his hand as he dried his hair. I didn’t want to bother him, so I just nodded and left. Leo’s phone still wasn’t picking up. I wondered where he could have gone so late at night. I soon had my answer. On my way back to my room, I ran into a hotel staff member who mentioned there was a performance by the pool in the backyard. I decided to check it out, but as I approached, I saw them. Behind a large pillar, Leo was holding a woman, kissing her with a desperate passion. It was Mia. My feet felt like they were encased in lead. “Leo, do you like me?” Mia’s voice drifted over. “Of course.” “More than Raina?” “She can’t compare to you. Kissing her is like kissing a block of wood. It does nothing for me.” Mia giggled at his words. “You were ignoring me in front of her earlier. I was so mad.” “Well, aren’t I making it up to you now?” They laughed together, their voices thick with intimacy. Mia snuggled into his chest. “What if she finds out about us?” “Don’t worry. She won’t.” “You’re that confident?” “She’s naive. And easy to fool.” “You’re such a bad boy.” “If I wasn’t, you wouldn’t like me.” With that, he kissed her again, oblivious to the world. I had always believed Leo was the best man in the world, a perfect, 100-point boyfriend. I thought he was the one person who would never betray me. But it was all a lie. Everything was a carefully constructed facade. Tears blurred my vision. I clenched my fists, ready to storm over there and confront them. But as I took a step forward, another idea took hold.

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Seven years after someone else took over my body, I was finally back. The System mistook me for a Player and tasked me with capturing the heart of my first love from when I was eighteen. Only then did I learn that my first love was the great Villain of this world. But the first time I saw him again, he nearly choked the life out of me. As I huddled on the floor, coughing until my lungs burned, a series of comments flickered into view before my eyes. “This woman’s body has been a revolving door. The last Player got so scared she just gave up on the mission. Wonder how long this one will last…” “Tsk, even if the Villain’s one true love came back to do this mission, it’d be a tough one.” “This new Player doesn’t seem to have any defensive items. You think she’ll be dead by day one?” 1 When the System’s voice echoed in my head, I thought I was dreaming. A second later, it tutted and sent a jolt of electricity through me. I snapped back to reality, sitting up on a bed in a room I didn’t recognize. [System: Host, your mission is to capture the Villain, Kevin Whitfield. Upon completion, the System will grant you one wish.] A familiar name caught my attention. I asked the System, confused, “Kevin Whitfield? He’s the Villain?” [System: Correct. Kevin Whitfield is this body’s legal husband.] [System: You have a natural advantage, Host. Seize the opportunity.] With a final click, it went offline. I was even more bewildered. Wasn’t Kevin my first love? We had broken up amicably when I had to study abroad. Why was I married to him? And what was all this about a mission? A Villain? Hadn’t I just dozed off for a bit because I was exhausted from working overtime? I forced myself to calm down and decided to find Kevin. But the Kevin of today was clearly not the boy I remembered. The moment he spotted me from a distance, several bodyguards grabbed me, forced me into a car, and sent me back to the villa. The simmering anger from waking up seven years in the future with no explanation finally ignited. An uncontrollable wave of sorrow washed over me. Overwhelmed, I grabbed my purse and headed straight for a bar. The liquor had barely hit the glass when the club’s pulsing music screeched to a halt. A group of tall, imposing men in black suits marched toward my table in perfect formation. Before I could react, a familiar figure strode into view. For a split second, my heart felt like it had been struck by a hammer. The ache was so sharp it almost brought me to tears. But the next second, a pair of strong hands closed viciously around my neck. My breath caught. I clawed at his hands, the pain sharp and suffocating. Kevin looked at me as if I were already dead. “Did I not tell you,” he said, his voice a low snarl, “that you are not allowed to cause trouble.” I stared at him, my mind a blur of pain and confusion. His gaze flickered with something unreadable for a moment, then was immediately replaced by ice. He slowly released his grip, letting out a long sigh. “Ah,” he murmured, almost to himself. “So, a new one has arrived.” I clutched my throat, curling up on the floor as wracking coughs tore through me. Suddenly, a live feed of scrolling comments appeared before my eyes. “The Villain is losing it again. I feel like he’s one bad day away from ending the world.” “This Eva Reed’s body has been run through like a sieve for seven years, right?” “What number is this? The tenth Player? The hundredth?” “Tsk, a newbie. Almost got choked out on her first day. Kinda pathetic.” “I bet this one lasts a month, tops. Lol, the last one only made it two weeks before she ran screaming.” I stared blankly at the comments, unable to process what I was seeing. So, for the past seven years, someone had been using my body, had married Kevin in my place. And there hadn’t been just one. There had been hundreds of them. All to “capture” the so-called Villain, Kevin Whitfield. 2 A hand gripped my chin, forcing my head up. Kevin was kneeling on the floor, examining the marks on my neck. I stared at his face, which had changed so much. A lump formed in my throat. Seven years. He really had changed. The warmth in his eyes was gone, replaced by a deep, shadowy coldness. The corners of his mouth were turned down in a permanent, emotionless line. He radiated an aura of ruthless severity. But underneath it all, I saw something else. He looked like a bowstring pulled taut to its absolute limit. He was exhausted. I took a shaky breath and reached out, my hand closing over his pale, thin one. “Kevin,” I whispered. “It’s me. Eva.” “I’m back.” His hand froze. His dark, depthless eyes stared right through me. My heart hammered against my ribs under his intense scrutiny, but I forced myself to continue. “It’s really me, Eva Reed.” The air grew thick with tension. After a long pause, I tried again. “Do you remember when we were seven, and I headbutted you so hard I knocked out your tooth?” “You were so afraid my parents would yell at me that you told everyone you tripped and fell.” Kevin’s expression didn’t change. My hope faltered. I took another breath. “Then what about the day you confessed to me? We hugged and cried so hard we both passed out from lack of oxygen. We were so embarrassed afterward that we told everyone we had heatstroke.” Still nothing. My breathing hitched into a sob. I pleaded with him, my voice breaking. “Kevin…” “Hah!” A sharp, mocking laugh cut through the air. I snapped my head up to see Kevin rising to his feet. He looked down at me, his gaze cold and condescending. “Is this the only trick you people have?” “I’m sick of watching this act, even if you’re not sick of performing it.” I froze. The comments on the feed scrolled by in a frenzy. “LMAO, I’m dead. Every single Player tries to play the memory card.” “The Villain has a point. Hearing the same stories a hundred times would get old.” “The System must be out of ideas if it’s still telling Players to use the original’s memories.” “Did it forget what happened to the last one who tried this? That was brutal.” “Annnnd she’s done. This one won’t even last a week.” I stared at the feed, speechless. But contrary to the feed’s predictions of how Kevin would torture me, he simply gestured to his bodyguards. “Take her home.” The feed exploded. The comments were a solid wall of shock. “Huh????” “No way, does this one actually have a chance?” “Impossible. The Villain must have some new, twisted form of torment planned.” I slumped to the floor, my energy gone, and watched his retreating back, feeling lost. He didn’t believe me. And I had no way to prove that I was me. This felt like an impossible game. I was kept in the villa, well-fed and cared for. But there were rules. A lot of them. No drinking. No staying up late. No doing anything that could possibly harm my body. I tried calling my old friends, dialing their numbers from memory. Without exception, they all acted like I was the plague. Like I was some kind of monster. In the end, I sat on the couch, phone in hand, watching the feed mock me. “The body has a reputation for being schizophrenic. Who wouldn’t be scared?” “Blame the one Host who had a total breakdown and tried to blow up the Villain’s company, taking him with her.” “Sigh, this Host is really out of options.” “Wait, why isn’t she using any items?” “If she used an item, she could at least put up a fight before she dies lmao.” Items? 3 I patted myself down. Nothing. I tried calling for the System in my head. It was as dead as a doornail. No response. I gritted my teeth in frustration. What kind of screwed-up System was this? It mistakes me for a Player but doesn’t even give me a single tool to work with. I was a prisoner, with no way to see Kevin. But I still had to find a way to complete this mission. Because I was terrified that if I failed, the System would just send someone else to take over my body again. After some thought, I headed to the kitchen and started messing with the oven. I was a disaster in the kitchen. Everything I touched turned to charcoal. But for some reason, I could make amazing cookies. And Kevin had a massive sweet tooth. Whenever I used to bake, he’d hoard the bag of cookies like a little hamster, a look of pure bliss on his face. I kneaded the dough, pouting as the feed started scrolling again. “Not many Players think of baking cookies.” “Yeah, but one did before. The Villain actually ate them.” “I remember that! He cried that day, didn’t he?” I let out a soft snort, but my eyes began to sting. Even my most precious memories with Kevin were now tainted with the shadows of others. Our shared past had been twisted into daggers that had stabbed him again and again. And now, one of those daggers had found its way into me. The pain was so sharp it made my breathing tremble. I spent the entire afternoon in the kitchen. The sweet, buttery scent of cookies soon filled the whole house. I carefully pulled the tray out of the oven. As I turned, I found myself face-to-face with a figure standing in the doorway. For a moment, I was lost in a memory. It was a sun-drenched afternoon from long ago. I was pulling cookies from the oven, and Kevin was leaning against the doorframe, a gentle smile on his face as he watched me. He would have clapped dramatically, proudly declaring me the best cookie-baker in the world. Then I would have leaped into his arms, demanding my reward with a giggle. Kevin would always blush, a helpless look on his face, but he would obediently take my hand and place it over his heart before leaning in to gently kiss the cookie crumbs from the corner of my lips. A hand reached past me and plucked a cookie from the cooling rack. I snapped back to the present, blinking away the moisture in my eyes, and watched Kevin without moving. He stared at the cookie in his hand, his face blank. After a long moment, he put it in his mouth and took a bite. I took a deep breath, my voice shaking as I spoke. “Kevin, you ate my cookie. Where’s my reward?” His head was bowed, hiding his expression. I couldn’t stop myself. I took a few steps closer. But Kevin recoiled as if he’d seen a ghost, stumbling back several feet. I froze. The sweet-smelling air in the kitchen turned heavy and silent once more. A wave of despair washed over me. He still didn’t believe me. I had told myself over and over that it was normal. He had been tricked so many times. But in this moment, the reality of it sent tears streaming down my face. Frustration and hopelessness consumed me. “Kevin,” I sobbed. “I’m Eva.” “You liar. You promised you’d recognize me even if I turned into a bug.” He stood there, head down, half a cookie still in his mouth. He looked, impossibly, even more pitiful than I felt. I wiped my tears, my voice choked with sobs. “I don’t care. You can’t just lock me up like this.” “You ate my cookie. I want my reward.” I don’t know how long passed before Kevin’s hoarse voice finally broke the silence. “What do you want?” I stilled, looking up at him. 4 Kevin didn’t look at me. His eyes were hidden behind the fringe of his dark hair. He looked so lonely, so fragile. The sight made my nose burn. But his words gave me a flicker of hope. I rallied my spirits. “I remember our high school’s homecoming is coming up.” “They invite alumni back every year. I’m sure this year is no different.” “I want to go.” I expected him to refuse outright, but after a long silence, he agreed. I was stunned. But apparently, the feed was even more stunned than I was. The few scattered comments exploded the instant Kevin nodded. “What’s happening? WHAT IS HAPPENING?” “What kind of magic was in that cookie?” “Last time he cried, this time he’s agreeing to take her to homecoming.” “Something’s not right. This is definitely not right.” “I know! He’s trying to trigger her, just like last time! He’s going to have her committed to the psych ward to scare her to death!” The psych ward? My expression hardened. I swallowed nervously. On the day of the homecoming, I had dark circles under my eyes. Kevin shot me a few gloomy looks. I carefully scooted a little farther away from him in the car, terrified he’d ship me off to a mental hospital at the slightest provocation. For some reason, this seemed to make his expression even darker. Even after we got out of the car, he still seemed dazed. I stared at the school in front of me, my eyes burning. Seven years. It was such a long time. Even the main gate of my high school looked completely different from my memories. Everything had changed. Kevin’s cool voice sounded beside me. “Let’s go in.” I nodded numbly, turning my head to quickly wipe away a tear. As he walked past, I could have sworn his voice, as it brushed past my ear, was trembling with restraint. The homecoming was as lively as ever. I saw a lot of familiar faces. But without exception, they all looked at me with strange, wary eyes. I awkwardly tried to hide behind Kevin. I’d almost forgotten. I was still a schizophrenic in their eyes. I sighed, a fresh wave of disappointment washing over me. Suddenly, Kevin shifted, exposing me. “Eva,” he said, his voice strained and rough, as if he wasn’t used to saying my name. “Say hello to your teacher.” I glanced at him. His head was bowed, lost in thought. But I didn’t have time to wonder about it. My old homeroom teacher was standing before me, her arms open wide with a smile. I let out a small cry and threw myself into her embrace, sobbing until my head felt dizzy. She stroked my hair gently, just like she used to. “Oh, my sweet Eva, what’s wrong now?” I was so choked up I couldn’t form a single word. There was so much I wanted to say. I wanted to tell her I had somehow time-traveled seven years into the future and was now being forced to win over Kevin. I wanted to tell her that Kevin was a big liar who refused to believe I was really me. I wanted to tell her how my perfectly normal life had been thrown into chaos. But the words were stuck in my throat, a painful lump I couldn’t swallow or spit out. In the end, all I could do was wipe my tears and tell her I was fine. A handkerchief was offered to me. I stared at Kevin. He was holding the cloth, his face pale. But his dark eyes were locked on mine. My heart fluttered nervously. “Kevin…” He pressed the handkerchief into my hand. For a fleeting moment, it looked like he smiled, but then his face was blank again. He turned and walked away quickly. I clutched the handkerchief and watched him go. My teacher put an arm around my shoulders. “Are you and that boy having trouble?” she asked softly. I shook my head instinctively. She sighed. “Last winter, Kevin climbed over the school wall in the middle of the night. He slept in the little garden all night long.” “If security hadn’t found him and taken him to the hospital, he might have…” The tears I had just managed to stop started flowing again. “Ma’am, I… I have to go check on him.” I gathered my skirt and ran in the direction he had gone. The direction of the little garden. The school garden was where Kevin and I used to spend all our time. When we graduated, we had childishly buried a time capsule there. We promised we would open it together in ten years. But now, ten years had long since passed. Kevin was in the garden, just as I’d suspected. He was hunched over slightly, a sight that made my heart ache. I took a deep breath, about to walk over to him. But another figure beat me to it.

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When my husband proposed bringing the dazzling socialite, Seraphina, into our lives, I didn’t utter a word of protest. He transferred my rightful heirloom jewels to her, and still, I held my tongue. Even when whispers turned to roars—that he intended to publicly sideline me, perhaps even divorce me—I remained silent. Because, deep down, I knew he loved me. Yet, I quietly packed my divorce agreement and slipped away, unseen. However, the bullet comments exploded: [IT’S OVER! THE MALE LEAD WENT TOO FAR, HE’S ABOUT TO LOSE HIS WIFE!]

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1 For ten years, my parents guarded the Northern Marches. When they returned, they brought a saint with them—their adopted daughter. The moment we met, my entire family began to hear her thoughts. On the surface, she was all warmth and affection. But in her mind, a different story unfolded. “My sister, raised in the Capital… she’s never known hardship. Dressed in such finery… she has no idea what real suffering is.” The looks my parents and my brother gave me turned sharp with blame. But there was one thing she didn’t know. In this life, I could hear her thoughts, too. … Beneath the searing sun, I stood alone at the gate, a silk parasol shielding me from the heat. A carriage, stark and plain with a simple canvas top, slowly rounded the corner, a jarring sight against the grand, gleaming architecture of our street. Before it even came to a halt, a girl my age leaped down. Her dark hair was tied back with a simple crimson ribbon, and her almond eyes, wide and doe-like, danced with a playful, charming energy. “You must be my sister from the Capital. It’s so wonderful to finally meet you. I’m Lila.” Her words were sweet as honey, but I knew the venom that lay coiled in her heart. Sure enough, as my parents and brother hurried out of the carriage after her, I heard that insidious whisper in my mind. “My sister, raised here in comfort, has never felt the bite of a frontier winter. Look at her clothes, so extravagant. She knows nothing of the real world.” Her next thought was even sharper. “That hairpin alone could pay a soldier’s wages for a year, couldn’t it?” My father, General Marcus Thorne, and my brother, Shawn, had just found their footing, but their faces tightened. Their gazes, when they fell on me, were cold with disapproval. It was happening just like before. In my past life, I had waited with a heart bursting with joy for my family’s return, only to be met with this inexplicable disdain from the very first moment. No matter what I did—or didn’t do—Lila’s inner voice was a constant poison, turning my family against me. I had done nothing, yet I became the embodiment of everything they despised: a spoiled, extravagant girl who disrespected her elders. I faded away, consumed by a quiet depression, and died. Lila, meanwhile, built her reputation on my ashes, becoming a celebrated hero—the humble girl from the Marches, a true soldier’s daughter who cared nothing for fame or fortune. This time, I refused to let their coldness break my heart. I gave them a simple, formal nod. “Father. Mother. Shawn.” Then, I turned and walked back into the house, not bothering to see if they followed. Behind me, Lila’s inner voice piped up again. “Why won’t she speak to me? Is she trying to put me in my place? These Capital ladies are all the same, so full of petty games. It’s nothing like the honest simplicity of the frontier.” My mother, hearing this, bristled. “Marcus, that daughter of ours has no manners at all!” My father’s face was a thundercloud. He said nothing. But Shawn couldn’t hold back. “I don’t have a sister that rude. As far as I’m concerned, Lila is my only sister!” A flicker of triumph must have sparked in Lila’s heart, but her face was a mask of gentle sorrow. “Perhaps it’s because she feels I’ve stolen your affection. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have presumed to call myself your daughter.” Hearing their sweet, cheerful adopted daughter speak so humbly, seeing the tears welling in her almond eyes, ignited a fresh wave of rage in my mother. She scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain as she looked in my direction. “Lila, you are my daughter. No one will ever be more important than you. Don’t waste your tears on someone who doesn’t matter.” Father and Shawn rushed to comfort her, murmuring reassurances. How utterly absurd. My own parents, on the very day of their return, calling their flesh and blood “someone who doesn’t matter” for the sake of an orphan they’d picked up. My chest felt hollow, empty. It should have ached. It should have been screaming in agony. But it felt nothing. The part of me that had yearned for my parents, that had missed my brother, had already died in my previous life. It died when Shawn gave the sacred texts I’d painstakingly copied to Lila, who tore them up for sport. It died when Mother, cradling a dripping-wet Lila she’d pulled from the lake, accused me of having the heart of a serpent. It died when Father had me flogged, forcing me to give my post as the princess’s royal companion to Lila. I strode into the grand hall and turned, cutting through their cozy family reunion without a shred of emotion. “Dinner is served.” The chatter behind me died instantly. Perhaps they’d momentarily forgotten that the “someone who doesn’t matter” was still there. Mother’s embarrassment quickly curdled into fury. She snapped, “What is that tone? Is that how you address your parents?” Her voice rose. “Disrespectful to your mother and father, cruel to your sister… How did I ever give birth to a daughter like you?” I feigned confusion, tilting my head as I looked at her contorted face. “I simply announced that dinner is ready. How is that disrespectful?” Her anger, met with my calm, had nowhere to go. She was speechless. Finally, my father intervened. … His voice was a low command. “Enough. Both of you.” He gestured towards the dining room. “We will eat.” Inside, the long, polished mahogany table was vast, yet the setting was sparse. Before them were a few bowls of thin porridge and some meager vegetables. Shawn stared at the pathetic display and slammed his chopsticks down. “What is this? Are you trying to starve us?” Lila immediately played the peacemaker. “Simple fare is wonderful. I’m sure my sister worked hard to prepare it.” But her inner voice sang a different tune. “Living in the Capital, she must have seen every delicacy imaginable. To serve us only this… she must truly despise me already. I should find a way to tell them to send me away. I can’t be the cause of a rift between a daughter and her parents. The guilt would be too much to bear!” My father’s patience finally snapped. His voice was cold iron. “Kneel.” I remained standing, unmoved. Last time, because of Lila’s thoughts, the lavish feast I’d prepared was seen as proof of my decadent lifestyle. It was Lila herself who had clutched her heart and declared that the soldiers on the frontier would be grateful for a simple bowl of gruel. So this time, I gave them the simple gruel they supposedly wanted. Why were they still angry? Seeing my defiance, Shawn surged forward, grabbing my arms. He was a soldier, hardened by years in the field, and his strength was overwhelming. He forced me down, his grip like a vise. In an instant, dark bruises were already blooming on my skin as I collapsed to the hard floor. My father pointed a trembling finger at me, his face purple with rage, calling me a disgrace. Shawn loomed over me, his voice thick with contempt. “You feast on delicacies every day in the Capital, and this is what you serve our parents upon their return? You are an ungrateful child!” “And how, brother,” my voice came out as a ragged whisper, “would you know that I feast on delicacies every day?” My frail body, already weakened, couldn’t take the strain. A mouthful of blood welled up and spilled from my lips. The sight of it shocked Shawn into releasing me. I wiped the blood from my chin, my gaze cold and steady. “When Grandmother was alive, she forbade me from eating meat. I was allowed only half a bowl of porridge at each meal.” I looked from one stunned face to another. “For your return, I specifically told the kitchens to bring me a full bowl. Tell me, how exactly am I an ungrateful child?” My grandmother had despised my mother. After she left me behind at the age of three to follow my father to the frontier, that hatred was transferred to me. Abuse and neglect became my reality. Half a bowl of gruel was a good day. Often, I was forced to kneel for hours on an empty stomach. It was a laughable irony: the daughter of the celebrated General Thorne was starving in his own home. But it was the truth. My parents’ expressions flickered. They knew my grandmother’s cruel nature. The memory of her own suffering at the old woman’s hands finally seemed to touch my mother’s heart, and a genuine pang of sympathy for me broke through. Tears streamed down her face as she rushed to help me up. “My child, my poor child, you’ve suffered so much.” She glanced at Shawn. “Your brother didn’t mean it. We’re family. Don’t hold it against him.” I said nothing, staring at the livid marks on my arms. My father shoved Shawn forward. He stumbled, head bowed, and mumbled a grudging apology. “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have pushed you.” Lila fluttered over, dabbing at the bloodstain on my dress with her handkerchief. “Oh, sister, it breaks my heart to see you like this!” But her inner voice was a self-righteous whisper. “She may have suffered, but it wasn’t Shawn’s fault. Does she have to be so dramatic and unforgiving?” The shift in the room was immediate. Shawn’s guilt vanished, replaced by resentment. The pity in my parents’ eyes evaporated, leaving only annoyance at my “lack of grace.” I had no more words for them. I simply turned and walked away. As I left, I heard my father’s voice, cold and commanding, follow me down the hall. “The Queen is selecting a new Royal Companion for the princess tomorrow. You will be attending the trials. Make sure you help your sister.” … In the Imperial Gardens, the Queen sat enthroned, with Princess Seraphina nestled by her side. Seraphina, the youngest and most cherished royal, was known for her whimsical and unpredictable nature. In my last life, she chose me as her companion. It wasn’t for my talent or wit, but simply because she found my face pleasing. It was that simple. But Lila’s inner voice had convinced my parents that I had schemed to prevent her from being chosen. I was punished, forced to kneel for days in the dim, suffocating family chapel, to “reflect on my sins.” My father took a riding crop to my back, demanding I “repent” and give the position to Lila. No matter how I pleaded, he trusted only the voice in his head. The position of Royal Companion, chosen by the princess herself, wasn’t something one could simply give away. In the end, he had to cash in years of military favors just to secure Lila a place at court. Now, I watched as Lila performed on the central dais. In a crimson tunic, she wielded a supple blade, a blur of fierce grace that drew gasps of admiration from the other noble girls. Princess Seraphina, however, looked bored. Everyone assumed her spirited personality would be drawn to someone as unconventional as Lila. But the princess had a secret preference for delicate, ethereal beauty. When Lila finished, it was my turn. I glided onto the stage in a gown of gossamer silk with wide, flowing sleeves. My features were painted to be delicate, my eyes holding a deep, quiet sorrow that seemed to draw the light. At first glance, I looked like a celestial being descended to the mortal realm. I hadn’t even begun my performance when Princess Seraphina started tugging on the Queen’s arm, whining like a child. “Mother, I want her!” Just like last time, Lila’s eyes turned red with fury and disappointment. And, just like last time, she waited until Shawn arrived to escort us home to offer her congratulations. “Congratulations, sister,” she said, her voice deceptively sweet. “You’ve won the princess’s favor. You’ll make a fine Royal Companion.” But her mind was a choked sob. “The princess seemed so impressed with my sword dance. Why did she choose my sister the moment she stepped on stage?” Those ambiguous words were the nail in my coffin last time. This time, I couldn’t be bothered to play along with her games. I replied with a lazy drawl, “The princess likes me, so she chose me. There’s nothing to congratulate.” Shawn’s brow furrowed in disgust. “Lila just lost her chance, and you’re here gloating? You’re pathetic.” Without giving him so much as a glance, I lifted the carriage curtain and stepped inside. My voice floated out, cool and dismissive. “Are you going to drive this carriage or not? If you’re not, I’ll find someone who will. I don’t have time to stand around and bicker.”

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My mother is fifty-three. She has three daughters, and I am the youngest. She was wonderful to my two older sisters, but for me, there were only fists and curses. For years, I believed I wasn’t her real daughter. I stole a lock of her hair for a DNA test, but the results confirmed it: I was hers. When she beat me until I was black and blue, my grandmother would beg her to stop. But then my mother showed her a video. My grandmother fell silent, and then told my mother to kill me. When my grandfather tried to intervene, my mother showed him the same video. He, too, begged her to kill me. I don’t understand. Why does everyone want me to die? What in God’s name is on that video? 1 “Ugh, still breathing? What a tough little roach.” “Why couldn’t I have just beaten you to death?” The first thing I saw when I woke up were my mother’s cold, hateful eyes. This was the twentieth time she had put me in the hospital. The reason this time? I’d spilled a little bit of my soup. It sounds absurd, but it was the truth. I stared right back at her, searching for a flicker of guilt, a hint of remorse. There was nothing. Only disgust, distance, and a profound disappointment that she hadn’t finished the job. My mother had despised me since the day I was born. Growing up, my life was a cycle of beatings and verbal abuse, while my sisters were showered with affection. She’d lovingly brew them nourishing soups, but when I was doubled over with period cramps, she’d just sneer, “Good, I hope you bleed to death.” My sisters wore beautiful dresses; I was left with faded, hand-me-down jeans. She even encouraged them to bully and belittle me. I was so convinced I wasn’t her biological child that I secretly sent her hair for a DNA test. The result was a bitter pill: I was, without a doubt, her daughter. I obsessed over it. I concocted wild theories. Maybe my father was having an affair with a woman who looked just like me, and my mother was taking her anger out on her doppelgänger daughter? But after tailing my father several times, I found nothing. He was faithful. There was no reason. No explanation for why she beat me. I simply endured her senseless violence, from childhood into my teenage years. During those years, I often pleaded with my grandparents for help. At first, my grandmother was heartbroken for me. She would scold my mother fiercely. “What is wrong with you? What kind of mother tries to kill her own child?” My mother would say nothing. She would simply take out her phone and show my grandmother a video. After watching it, my grandmother’s face would turn to ice. She wouldn’t just stop pleading for me; she would join in, her voice sharp with venom. “Kill her. She’s better off dead!” My grandfather was the same. He’d come to break up the “fight,” see the video, and his attitude would instantly flip. He’d beg my mother to end my life. Over the years, it was always the same story. Anyone I turned to for help, once they saw that video, wanted me dead. Even my own sisters would stand by impassively as my mother attacked me, their eyes as cold and empty as hers, as if they were all waiting for my last breath. I wracked my brain until it ached, but I could never figure it out. Why? Thank God for my father. He was the only one who protected me. But he traveled constantly for work, leaving me to face my mother’s wrath alone. Somehow, through all of it, I survived. Lying in the hospital bed, covered in fresh bruises, the memories sent a chill through me. My mother stood over me, a silent, menacing statue. I looked at her, the question bubbling up one more time. “Mom, why do you hate me so much? What did I do wrong? Please, just tell me, and I’ll change. I promise.” I meant it. I desperately wanted to know my crime. She met my tear-filled eyes and let out a short, harsh laugh. “I hit you because I feel like it! The only pity is that I didn’t kill you.” Her words were light, airy, and utterly devoid of warmth. The light in my own eyes dimmed. This time, she had truly tried to kill me. I’d only survived because I managed to call my boyfriend before I passed out. Speak of the devil. Just then, my boyfriend, Martin, burst into the room, followed by a group of police officers. The lead officer walked straight to my mother and snapped a pair of handcuffs on her wrists. “Claire Shaw, you’re under arrest for domestic abuse. You’re coming with us.” 2 Even with the police there, my mother’s expression didn’t change. Her eyes were calm, her face a placid mask. Martin looked at me—my bruised body, my arm and leg in casts—and his face contorted with rage. He turned on my mother, his voice shaking. “How could you be so cruel? Is Gwen even your daughter?” he roared. “You’re a monster! You don’t deserve to be a mother!” His hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides. I knew if my mother weren’t a woman, he would have already hit her. The thought that someone, at least, loved me made the pain a little more bearable. The police officer prompted my mother for a statement, but she didn’t even grant them a glance. Seeing her silence, Martin turned to the police, his voice filled with fury. “I can be a witness. I’ve seen the bruises on my girlfriend for months. This is abuse, and it cannot be tolerated! She needs to be punished to the fullest extent of the law!” Before he could finish, my mother’s soft laughter cut him off. She slowly pulled her phone from her pocket and held it out towards him. “Come here. I want to show you something.” In that instant, a cold terror seized me. I grabbed the corner of Martin’s shirt, my voice trembling. “Don’t. Don’t go over there… Please, don’t look.” I knew. I knew that if he saw that video, he would change. My fear only made him more curious. “Gwen, it’s okay,” he said, trying to soothe me. “Don’t be afraid. I will protect you.” His words were firm, but I couldn’t let go. I didn’t dare risk it. “Martin, I’m begging you. Don’t go.” The more I pleaded, the more he needed to know. He gently pried my fingers from his shirt and walked towards my mother. “Hmph. Playing games,” he muttered. “Let’s see what kind of twisted thing could make a mother do this to her own child.” He took the phone and started the video. I watched his face, praying for a miracle. Maybe he would be different. Maybe he would still love me. I was wrong. His eyes widened as he watched. In just a few short minutes, the color drained from his face. He said nothing, just looked at my mother with an expression of pure, unadulterated shock. She simply nodded at him. Then, Martin turned to me. The love and pity that had filled his eyes moments ago were gone, replaced by a chilling emptiness. He handed the phone back to my mother, then turned to the police officers and bowed deeply. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice strained. “I’ve made a terrible mistake. This was all a misunderstanding. There’s no abuse here. Thank you for your time.” The police looked from him to me, their expressions skeptical. But what could I say? I felt like I’d swallowed poison. The star witness had just recanted his testimony. No one would believe me now. “It was just a family argument that got out of hand,” Martin continued smoothly. “We can handle it ourselves.” With no evidence, the police had no choice but to remove the handcuffs and leave. When Martin faced me again, his expression was ice. And then, right there in front of me, he dropped to his knees before my mother. “Aunty,” he begged, his voice raw. “You were right to beat her. You should have just killed her.” “She’s better off dead!” Tears streamed down my face, splashing onto the back of my hand. “Martin,” I whispered, my heart shattering. “Why? Why are you abandoning me too?” He wouldn’t even look at me. His voice was flat, dead. “You deserve to die.” In that moment, everything inside me turned to ash. Martin was just like all the others. He had abandoned me. I remembered the first time he’d seen my bruises. He’d sworn he would protect me for the rest of my life, even from my own mother. “You really won’t ever give up on me?” I had asked, a flicker of hope in my heart. “Of course not,” he’d replied with a warm smile. “If your family won’t love you, I’ll love you a hundred times more. I’ll make up for all the pain.” He promised he would save me from this hell. But in the end, all I got was his back as he walked away. Amid the crushing despair, the seed of a question took root and began to grow. What kind of video could possibly make everyone—everyone—turn against me and beg for my death? 3 I broke up with Martin. He agreed without a moment’s hesitation. I spent the next few days recovering in the hospital. My mother and sisters were off somewhere, enjoying themselves. They never visited. But then my father came back from his business trip. He rushed straight to the hospital from the airport. He looked at my injuries, his eyes filled with pain, and gently stroked my head. “I’m so sorry, my darling Gwen,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Daddy failed to protect you. I just… I don’t know what to do with your mother.” He was so distraught that tears welled in his eyes. I didn’t blame him. He was the only person in my family who was ever kind to me, the only one who had never abandoned me. When my mother would beat me, he would always step in to shield me. But she was his wife; he couldn’t exactly have her thrown in jail. All he could do was his best. He was busy, often away from home. But knowing he cared was enough to give me a reason to keep living. I had thought about running away a thousand times, but the thought of my father’s love always kept me there. Thinking of the video, I grabbed his hand. “Daddy, can you promise me something?” He smiled and nodded. “Of course, sweetheart. A hundred things.” I looked him straight in the eye. “Daddy, you have to promise me you will never, ever watch the video on Mom’s phone. Promise me you won’t leave me.” “What video?” “It doesn’t matter! Just promise me!” “Okay, okay, I promise. Daddy won’t watch it.” “And you’ll always love me?” “Of course. I’ll always love you.” He promised. I thought that as long as my father didn’t see it, there would be at least one person in the world who loved me. He even offered to buy me my own apartment, to hide me from my mother so she could never hurt me again. I agreed. But the very next day, he broke his promise. When I was discharged, my father didn’t come to pick me up. I figured he was just busy. I limped my way home, and the moment I walked through the door, my mother hurled a glass bottle at me. It shattered against my still-healing arm, and a sharp cry of pain escaped my lips. She sat on the sofa, glaring at me. “Why didn’t you just die out there?” Hurt and confused, I looked to my father for help. But this time, he said nothing. Seeing this, my mother became even more frenzied. She snatched my crutch away and shoved me to the floor. “Mom, why?” I sobbed, looking up at her. “Why are you doing this? Haven’t you beaten me enough all these years? Do you really want me to die?” She spat on the floor and swung the crutch, bringing it down hard on my back. “I wish you were dead!” she screamed. “Why did you have to come back and pollute my sight?” She struck me again and again. My screams echoed through the house. And my father just sat there, reading his newspaper, not lifting a finger. Finally, I cried out his name. “Daddy! Daddy, please, save me!” I expected him to rush over and shield me like he always did. He didn’t. He just said, his voice flat, “You upset your mother. Let her blow off some steam.” His words were like a thunderbolt. The last thread of hope inside me snapped. Had he seen it? Had my father seen the video? I wept as I confronted him. “Daddy, you saw it, didn’t you? You saw the video. But you promised! You promised you wouldn’t look! You said you were going to help me move out!” As I shouted the last words, I thought I saw my mother’s hand tremble. My father walked over, his face a mask of annoyance, and kicked me. He looked at me as if I were a complete stranger, all the old affection gone. “What stupid video? I think you just deserve a beating. Maybe it would be better if she just beat you to death!” He was just like the others now. I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that he had seen it. There was no other explanation. Just then, my two sisters came home. They glanced at me lying on the floor, their faces blank, and went to their rooms without a word. I don’t know how long it lasted. When my mother finally grew tired, she stopped. My father put his arm around her waist and helped her to their bedroom. The beating had reopened all my old wounds. Everyone in this house was blind to my pain. And I didn’t even know what crime I had committed. I was trapped in an icy hell. Even my father had abandoned me. There was no reason to stay. 4 I packed a small bag, planning to slip out in the dead of night. As I crept past the study, I saw a sliver of light under the door. On impulse, I tiptoed closer and peered through the crack. My mother was there, watching that video on her phone. I watched with her. And what I saw… it burned itself into my memory forever. I finally understood why my mother wanted me dead.

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The mayor’s son was hostage. A bomb was ticking down. I had the kidnapper dead in my sights. But my captain—my wife—aborted the assault at the last second. All to give her golden boy, her precious lover, a chance to play hero. In my last life, I took the shot to save the hostage, turning her lover into a laughingstock. As payback, during the final moments of my deep-cover operation, she personally leaked my location to the mob. “You just had to make Todd look bad,” she’d sneered over the phone. “So you can rot there forever.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the sniper perch. In my ear was her gentle reassurance to her lover, followed by the most venomous curse she could spit at me. “You’re a damn animal, Hart. No wonder you have no family.” This time, I took my finger off the trigger. She wanted him to prove himself? Fine. Let him. I was going to watch, firsthand, how these two bastards would sacrifice the entire team to pave a golden path for him. 1 “Seven minutes left! What’s the status on negotiations?” “Assault and EOD are ready. If we don’t get a breakthrough soon, we’re going in hot!” The deputy commander’s voice crackled over the comms for the fourth time, and for the fourth time, he was met with a sharp rebuke from Serena. “I’ll say it again: you’re the deputy. I’m in command here. Nothing happens until I give the order.” But the deputy was positioned just one floor above the hostage situation. He could hear every shift, every muttered threat. He was out of time. “Todd is only pissing the guy off! Nothing he’s saying is working! If he keeps this up, the hostage is dead. Are you prepared to take responsibility for that, Captain?” Serena muted his channel without a word. “You’ll wait when I tell you to wait. That’s an order,” she snapped into her mic, then singled me out. “Hart, back me up here.” I pulled my finger from the trigger guard. “Listen to the Captain,” I said, my voice flat. “She’s command. We follow her lead.” My “cooperation” clearly pleased her. She immediately used me as an example. “You hear that? That’s how a real team member sounds.” “Listen up, everyone. No one moves without my direct order.” Through my scope, I watched the kidnapper’s face flush a deep, blotchy red. His movements grew erratic, his grip on the hostage tightening. And Todd, the so-called expert negotiator, was still prattling on, completely oblivious to the escalating danger. This was the man Serena trusted. She was gambling the lives of her entire team to give a rookie some field practice. And the building we were in was rigged to blow. In my past life, I’d acted on instinct. I saw an opening and took the shot, ending the threat instantly. The result? Todd became the laughingstock of the force and had a breakdown that landed him in a psychiatric ward. I got a commendation and a promotion. Serena didn’t say a word. She just had me reassigned to a deep-cover operation inside the city’s most dangerous cartel. Right before the final sting, just as we were about to close the net, she leaked my location. They caught me. Tied me to a lamppost and carved me up, piece by piece. Just before I died, I saw her standing across the street, watching. I heard her on the phone, telling someone she had gotten revenge for him. I didn’t need to guess who he was. This time, I wouldn’t make the same mistake. I was morbidly curious to see how this disaster of their making would end. With five minutes left, the tension inside the building was a razor’s edge. Every officer was coiled like a spring. The only one who seemed relaxed was Todd, standing face-to-face with a desperate man. “Hey man, listen,” Todd’s voice piped through our earpieces, “you don’t need to get so worked up. Put the knife down and we can talk this out.” “Holding him isn’t going to help you. Just let him go, and we can figure this out, okay?” A wave of disbelief washed over the comms. “What the hell is he even saying? He’s just repeating himself. Does he not see it isn’t working?” “If the guy was going to drop his weapon after a few nice words, what the hell are we even here for? Is this negotiator insane?” “Goddammit, we’re all sitting ducks while he spouts this crap! Captain, give the order to move in!” Todd, of course, could hear every word. Through my scope, I saw him actually pout at the kidnapper, complaining about his own team. “Oh yeah? You think you can do better? Then you come in here!” he whined. “Serena, I don’t want to do this anymore. They’re being mean to me.” His voice cracked, threatening tears. A stunned silence fell over the channel, quickly replaced by grumbling. “Jesus Christ, does he think this is a game? What is wrong with him?” A few of the hot-headed guys on the assault team were already cursing. That seemed to be the last straw for Todd. He stormed over to a nearby door—one we had already booby-trapped—and started banging on it. “Open up! Let me out of here! I’m done!” It wasn’t that he couldn’t be extracted, but he’d chosen the one door that would compromise the entire entry plan. The team that had just finished setting the trap was furious. “We just rigged that door, you idiot! I told you not to go near it! Are you trying to get us all killed?” Before the officer could finish, Serena cut in. “Who do you think you’re yelling at? Clear that position and let him out now!” she commanded. “One more word and I’ll revoke your comms access. You follow my orders. Understood?” Todd heard her. And in front of the man holding a knife to a boy’s throat, he broke into a grin. “Heh, you’re the best, Serena.” The kidnapper actually laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “Are you fucking kidding me? You cops really don’t give a shit, do you? Sending in this clown just to mess with my head!” With his right hand, he tightened the knife against the hostage’s neck. With his left, he pulled a detonator from his pocket. “You think you can look down on me? I’ll show you! I’ll show all of you!” With a subject this volatile, a paranoid sociopath, the protocol was to stroke his ego. Praise him, validate his actions, build a rapport to de-escalate. It was basic criminal psychology, something even a trigger-puller like me knew. But Todd, the professional, had done nothing but lecture and contradict him, fanning the flames of his rage. Every unit got the alert: Perp has the detonator in hand. Every muscle in the building tensed. All he had to do was press that button, and we’d all be buried in the rubble. The assault team leader finally broke. “Captain, requesting immediate entry! Subject is extremely unstable! I repeat, requesting immediate entry! Subject is extremely unstable!” Using a repeat call was a field code for a critical, non-negotiable situation. Any competent commander would take it seriously. My finger found the trigger again. Protecting civilians was our first duty. “Stand by,” Serena’s voice was chillingly calm. “Wait for Todd to clear the building. Then we’ll talk about assault.” “Hee hee, Serena, I knew you were the best!” Todd cooed into his mic. No one had the energy to curse him out anymore. Our lives were hanging by a thread. There was no room for anger, only a cold, gnawing dread. We waited. Todd finally exited the building. The teams readied themselves, muscles bunched, ready to breach. And then Todd started up again. “Serena… am I useless?” “No, Todd, of course not. You were amazing. It was your first time facing a real kidnapper and you didn’t even flinch. That’s incredible.” “No, Serena. I have to prove myself. I’m not a waste of space. Give me a gun. Let me be the one to take him out.” “Okay. Take this sniper rifle. Get to that rooftop over there.” “All units, stand down! Await my command!” The comms went dead silent. The team was beyond shock, beyond fury. We were in a state of grim resignation. I kept my eye glued to the scope. The kidnapper’s deadline had three minutes left. But looking at his state, I knew he wouldn’t wait that long. “Hart! I’m here!” The rooftop door flew open with a dramatic kick. Todd, clutching a sniper rifle like a sack of potatoes, staggered over to my position, panting. “Hart, show me how to shoot this thing.” “I don’t have time for your games.” I didn’t look at him, my focus locked on the target. This seemed to annoy him. He kicked me hard in the back, then dropped his rifle and stepped onto my prone body. “Come on, Hart, teach me! Don’t be selfish!” The blow was like a sledgehammer to my spine. A white-hot agony flared through my ribs and lower back. But the lives of my team were in my hands. I couldn’t move, couldn’t break my position. Seeing I was immobile, Todd decided to have more fun. He grabbed my arm—the one supporting the rifle—and started shaking it with both hands. A professional sniper spends years conditioning their body, holding this exact position. I had trained with special forces. My arm strength was leagues beyond this wiry punk who could barely carry the weapon. My arm didn’t move an inch. My patience, however, was gone. I snarled at him. “Todd, if you want to act like a lunatic, go do it somewhere else. Don’t screw this up!” My words made his voice crack again. He broadcast his performance over the comms. “Serena, you see? Hart won’t teach me, no matter how much I beg. I guess I’m just too stupid. I knew I couldn’t help… sob…” Serena didn’t hesitate. Her voice, sharp and cruel, flooded my ear. “What’s there to hide, Hart? You’re a damn animal, with no upbringing. No wonder you have no manners!” I was an orphan. It was the deepest wound of my life, a source of endless bullying and humiliation until I graduated from the academy. The only person I had ever told was Serena. She used to tell me that she was my family now. And now, she was using that vulnerability like a knife, twisting it with the most venomous words imaginable. I ground my teeth in silent rage, but my training held. My duty as a sniper came first. I would settle this after the mission was over. I forced my focus back to the scope, but something was wrong. The kidnapper, who had been watching the doors and windows, was now staring directly at our rooftop position. I was hundreds ofyards away. My scope had a sunshade. It was impossible for him to spot me… My eyes darted to the side. Todd’s rifle. The scope lens was bare, uncovered. He didn’t attach the anti-reflection device. He’d given away our position. The kidnapper raised a megaphone, his voice booming across the distance. “You filthy fucking pigs! I told you not to try any tricks!” “You dare put a sniper on me? You all must have a death wish!” “I’m giving you ten seconds! If I don’t see that helicopter, you’re all coming with me!” “Ten!” The situation went critical. The kidnapper ducked behind cover, moving into a blind spot. It was a complete checkmate. I shifted, trying to find a new angle on the detonator, which was still partially visible. If I could take it out, we might still have a chance. But Serena’s voice was still a placid drone in our ears. “Everyone relax. The subject is bluffing. He won’t press the button. He doesn’t have the nerve.” “Nine!” Just as I lined up the shot, Todd’s hand slapped down over my scope. “I told you! I’m the one who gets to take the shot!” I knocked his hand away, but the lens was smeared with sweat and oil, blurring my vision. “Eight!” I shot him a look of pure fury. He simply took off his earpiece. “You know, I don’t think one life is worth all this trouble. If he dies, he dies. He’s just practice for me, anyway.” He smirked. “And I’ll tell you something else, Hart. If this mission fails, you’re the one taking the fall.” “Seven!” “Serena and I already have it all planned out. She’s going to divorce you. She’s been sick of a clueless brute like you for a long time. So get ready for a dishonorable discharge and divorce papers.” “Six!” I had no time to think. I dropped my rifle, grabbed Todd’s from the ground, and raised it to my shoulder. He lunged at me, trying to interfere again. “Five!” I sidestepped. He went sprawling. I followed up with a kick that sent him to the ground, then slapped a pair of cuffs on his wrists, securing them behind his back. “It’s okay, he’s just bluffing, he’d never…” Serena was still spouting useless reassurances. There was no time. I screamed into my mic. “Assault team, go! Create a diversion! I’m taking out the remote!” “Four!” A fraction of a second later, the sound of shattering glass erupted as the assault team breached. The kidnapper’s head snapped towards the window, his thumb jabbing down on the button. In that sliver of a moment, I summoned every ounce of my training. I centered the crosshairs on the sliver of exposed hand and squeezed the trigger. The next instant, the kidnapper’s hand exploded in a spray of red. The detonator shattered into a million pieces. He shrieked and reached for a pistol, but the assault team leader put a round through his other hand. The leader tackled him, pinning him to the ground. Other team members swarmed in, securing the hostage. I watched it all unfold, letting out a long, shuddering breath. Then, Serena’s voice cut through the relief. “Hart, why did you disobey a direct order? Why did you compromise the sniper’s nest and act without authorization? Your recklessness nearly caused a major catastrophe!” Todd’s words echoed in my mind. “If this mission fails, you’re the one taking the fall.” So, this was their plan all along. Success or failure, the blame was always meant for me. Todd, still cuffed on the ground, crawled closer to his earpiece and yelled. “Serena! I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen! He attacked me and cuffed me! Now he’s trying to kill me!” “Help me!”

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