Category: English

Every year on our anniversary, Vincent would send me 999 roses. This year, my four-year-old niece, Lily, was visiting. She was absolutely captivated by the enormous bouquet. Suddenly, she scampered over, tugging on my sleeve. “Auntie Maria,” she chirped, “there are nine hundred and ninety-eight flowers, right?” 1 I paused, then smiled, ruffling her hair. “No, sweetie, you miscounted. There are nine hundred and ninety-nine.” Lily pouted. “Nuh-uh! It’s nine hundred and ninety-eight!” Seeing the determination in her eyes, I knew I couldn’t just dismiss her. You have to show a child, not just tell them. “Alright then,” I said with a playful grin. “How about we count them all again, together? We’ll see who’s right.” Lily nodded eagerly. Twenty minutes later, I stared at the sea of roses spread across the floor. Nine hundred and ninety-eight. I felt a strange blankness. How could one be missing? Lily clapped her hands in triumph. “Auntie was wrong!” Snapping back to the present, I forced a smile. “You’re right, Lily-bug. You’re so smart! As a reward, how about a cookie tart?” She nodded so fast her head bobbed like a little bird. That evening, my sister Sophia came to pick up Lily. As she stood in the doorway, holding her sleeping daughter, she looked at me intently. “Ellie, is something wrong?” I flinched slightly but shook my head. Sophia didn’t press, just told me to call her if I needed anything. After I closed the door, the house fell silent. The last rays of the sunset spilled through the window, painting the floor in gold, but I was in no mood to appreciate it. I just sat on the sofa, lost in thought. It was just one rose. It was probably just a careless mistake at the florist. A simple miscount during packaging. But a knot of unease tightened in my gut. I couldn’t shake it. Night had fully fallen when Vincent finally came home. The house was dark. “Maria?” he called out, flipping the light switch. When the room flooded with light, he saw me on the sofa. “Hey, why are you sitting in the dark?” Before I could answer, he noticed the scattered roses on the floor. His brow furrowed in surprise. “What happened here? Did you take them apart?” I stood up, taking his jacket from him. “Lily did. She wanted to count them.” Vincent froze for a second. “Funny thing,” I continued, my voice carefully neutral. “There were only nine hundred and ninety-eight. One was missing.” He was unbuttoning his cuffs, his head bowed, so I couldn’t see his expression. After a moment, he looked up, shrugging it off. “The florist must have messed up. I’ll buy you another one tomorrow to make up for it.” He leaned in, kissed my forehead, and headed for the shower. I stood there, rooted to the spot. A scent lingered on him, not his usual cologne, but a pure, complex fragrance—a mix of countless different flowers. My heart clenched. A moment later, I found myself pulling his phone from his jacket pocket. In five years of marriage, I had never once checked Vincent’s phone. I’d always believed that a relationship without basic trust wasn’t worth having. This was the first time. I knew myself too well. If I didn’t put this doubt to rest, it would fester, becoming an unhealable crack in our marriage. His passcode was my birthday. It had never changed. I opened his messages and quickly found the contact for the florist. The name was “Alicia,” with a little hand-drawn sunflower as the profile picture. I tapped open their chat. The conversation was clean—just orders for bouquets, straightforward questions and answers. Nothing overtly flirtatious. But then I scrolled up. And up. My finger froze. He had been ordering from her for the last three years. That, in itself, wasn’t the problem. Vincent was a creature of habit; once he found something he liked, he stuck with it. The problem was that he had kept their entire chat history. Three full years of it. Vincent had a quirk: he obsessively deleted his chat logs to keep things tidy. It had once caused him to lose an important file and nearly torpedo a project. After that, he’d tried to be more careful, but he still rarely kept a conversation thread for more than a week. I was the only exception. From our first date to this very day, he had saved every single one of our messages, meticulously backing them up whenever he got a new phone. And now, there was a second exception. My hand started to tremble. Sometimes, a woman’s intuition is terrifyingly accurate. Taking a deep breath, I clicked on Alicia’s social media profile. It was mostly ads for her flower shop, but one post stood out. It was a photo of a slender hand holding a single rose. The caption read: Even a sliver of your heart is a precious gift. It was posted on our anniversary. Vincent hadn’t replied, but he had liked it. In that instant, a chilling cold seeped into my bones, as if I’d been plunged into a frozen lake. I don’t know how long I stood there. Vincent came out of the bathroom, toweling his hair dry. He saw me with his phone and paused. Then he grinned, a teasing light in his eyes. “Maria, finally getting curious enough to check my phone?” 2 I turned to face him. There wasn’t a shred of guilt on his face, only playful amusement. For a split second, I felt a desperate urge to believe I was overthinking it all. I took a steadying breath, refusing to be pulled into a spiral of suspicion and anxiety. I held up the phone, showing him Alicia’s post. “One rose was missing from my bouquet,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “And this post was made on our anniversary.” I locked eyes with him. “Vincent, I need an explanation.” He looked genuinely surprised. “Honey, it’s just a coincidence.” “You liked her post,” I countered, my voice hardening. “And you’ve saved three years of your chat history with her.” The silence that followed was heavy and suffocating. Finally, he sat down beside me, taking my hand. He sighed. “Maria, it’s not what you think.” “I saved the chat history to track orders,” he explained. “They messed up an order once and wouldn’t admit it, so I started keeping the logs as proof. As for the ‘like,’ it was just a mindless scroll. I probably didn’t even read the caption.” I said nothing. The excuse sounded plausible on the surface. But I knew Vincent. He had a visceral disdain for incompetence. He’d once transferred his own executive assistant for making a single, minor error. For Vincent to break his own rules for someone meant they were special. Seeing my silence, his brow furrowed. “Maria, don’t you have even a little faith in me?” I looked at him, my voice soft but firm. “If that’s the case, then delete her contact. We can find a new florist. That shouldn’t be a problem, right?” His expression shifted. “Maria, you really don’t trust me, do you?” I just stared at him, my silence an unyielding demand. His face contorted with a flicker of emotions before settling into a cold mask. He shot up from the sofa, his voice hard with what sounded like petulance. “Fine! Do whatever you want!” I nodded. Right there, in front of him, I deleted “Alicia” from his contacts. His face grew even darker. “Are you satisfied now?” he snapped. I didn’t answer. He snatched the phone back and stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him with a resounding bang. The fight went out of me, and I sank back onto the sofa, only then noticing how violently my hands were shaking. I stared at the closed bedroom door, a bitter smile twisting my lips. Was he angry because I’d overstepped? Or because I’d uncovered a secret he wasn’t ready to face? The next few days were a blur of icy silence. We were in a cold war. He didn’t try to coax me out of my anger like he usually would, and I didn’t press him further about Alicia. In my heart, I knew they probably hadn’t crossed a physical line. But they had absolutely shattered the boundaries of a normal professional relationship. On the tenth day of our standoff, I came home from work to find Vincent in the kitchen, wearing an apron. The aroma of cooking filled the air. He heard the door and turned, offering me a small smile as if the past ten days of tension had never happened. “Wash up. Dinner’s almost ready.” I stood there for a moment before turning toward the bathroom. As I passed the dining table, I stopped. There was a new bouquet of flowers, the brand card from a different, well-known florist dangling conspicuously, as if placed there for me to see. It wasn’t from Alicia’s shop. I understood immediately. This was his peace offering. His way of surrendering. I stood there for a long moment before taking the flowers and arranging them in a vase. When I came out of the bathroom, dinner was on the table. All my favorites. I stared at the spread, a wave of nostalgia washing over me. The last time Vincent had cooked for me was years ago, back when he was just starting his company. We’d poured every penny we had into the business. There was a time we were so broke, we’d stretch a single packet of ramen with plain noodles, just to have enough for two. He would always pick out all the flavored ramen bits and put them in my bowl. I’d been so moved back then. Thinking about it now, it was both pitiful and sweet. Then his company took off. He’d taken me to the finest restaurants, and we never had to huddle over a tiny table sharing a bowl of noodles again. But sometimes, I missed those days. Not the hardship, but the fierce, all-consuming love we had for each other back then. Now, we were on different career paths, shining in our own separate worlds. We had less and less to talk about. Maybe neither of us had noticed, but the moment our conversations started to dwindle, the first cracks in our marriage had already appeared. 3 The cold war between Vincent and me ended unspoken over that dinner. It wasn’t forgiveness. It was the weary compromise of adulthood, the necessity of turning a blind eye. If I were twenty, I would have slapped him across the face and walked out without a backward glance. But I was twenty-nine. The law firm I’d co-founded was in its crucial startup phase. Our partnership with Vincent’s company was a strategic move that maximized our profits. So, as long as he didn’t cross my ultimate line, I wouldn’t burn everything to the ground. I thought the incident was behind us. But two weeks later, while reviewing a case with a client, a wave of nausea hit me so hard I had to run to the bathroom, gagging over the toilet. A dreadful premonition washed over me. A trip to the doctor confirmed it. I was pregnant. I sat on the hard bench in the hallway, staring at the ultrasound report with a storm of emotions churning inside me. I was over two months along. The doctor said the baby was healthy. But the timing couldn’t have been worse. After a long while, I crumpled the report in my fist and took a deep, steadying breath. This wasn’t a decision I could make alone. Vincent was the father. He had a right to know, a right to be part of the choice. As I walked out of the clinic, the sun warm on my shoulders, a sliver of hope flickered within me. Maybe this was the universe giving us a chance to fix what was broken. I drove to his office. The young woman at the front desk recognized me, smiling brightly. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Hamilton.” I nodded, but my eyes were drawn to a long table against the wall. I froze. On the table sat a large cardboard box filled with single-stem roses, individually wrapped. The receptionist, skilled at reading people, noticed my gaze. “Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day,” she explained cheerfully. “Mr. Hamilton ordered a rose for every woman in the company. We just pick one up on our way out.” I barely heard her. My eyes were glued to the familiar, hand-drawn sunflower logo printed on the side of the box. After a moment that felt like an eternity, I managed to tear my gaze away. “Does he do this every year?” I asked, my voice a dry rasp. She thought for a second. “He started about three years ago.” A hammer slammed into my chest, the impact stealing my breath. An indescribable, acidic bitterness flooded my heart. I forced a weak smile and headed for the elevator. I was about to knock on Vincent’s office door when it swung open from the inside. A young, beautiful woman stepped out, a radiant smile on her face that instantly froze when she saw me. Silence. We stared at each other, no words needed. We both knew exactly who the other was. The silence drew Vincent’s attention. When he saw me, his face went pale. He instinctively moved to stand in front of Alicia, shielding her. “Maria, it’s not what you think,” he began, his words tumbling out in a rush. “She was just delivering the flowers. The Valentine’s order was placed ages ago, it couldn’t be canceled…” I held up a hand, cutting him off. “Vincent, stop. The excuses are just making you look pathetic.” His face darkened, as if I’d just insulted his very core. Before he could retort, Alicia stepped forward, her chin held high in defiance. “Ms. Bishop, that’s a horrible thing to say,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Mr. Hamilton and I have nothing to be ashamed of!” She bit her lip, then turned to look at Vincent with an expression of pure, heartbreaking adoration. “It’s all me. I’m the one who loves him, but he’s never once led me on. His heart belongs only to you! He’s a wonderful man, Ms. Bishop. You should treasure him.”

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To save the world’s brooding, future supervillain, I tried everything. I tried being his girlfriend; he dumped me in a week. I tried being his private tutor; he fired me for no reason. I tried being his stepmother; he had me thrown out of the house. For my final chance, I cashed in all my points with the System for a “Bloodline Alteration Pill.” I regressed my body and mind to that of a three-year-old. Then, at the most critical moment of his arcade game, I rushed forward, hugged his leg, and yelled, “Daddy!” His body shuddered. He lost the game. His delinquent friends erupted in laughter. “Whoa, Ryder, man! When did this happen? Your kid’s already this big?” Ryder, still in his high school uniform, roared back, his voice echoing through the arcade. “I just turned eighteen! I’m still a virgin!” 1 Ryder’s shout was so loud that everyone turned to stare. His best friend, Leo, froze. He quickly clapped his hands over my ears. “Dude, kid’s right here!” Ryder glared down at me, his eyes radiating a glacial chill. “What kid? I don’t know her!” He tried to shake his leg. “Let go, kid!” I just hugged him tighter, pressing my cheek against the denim of his jeans, pretending I couldn’t hear a thing. Suddenly, strange text floated in my vision. I couldn’t read the words, but luckily, an AI voice read them aloud for me. [The villain is just a kid himself. How’s he supposed to raise a kid? This mission is doomed.] [This Operator has really tried, though. Attempt #1: Girlfriend. He claimed he was allergic to women and broke up with her.] [Attempt #2: Tutor. The villain said she brought bad luck by entering the room with her left foot first. Fired.] [Attempt #3: Stepmother. He told his dad she was cursed and would kill him. His dad is… superstitious.] [If this attempt fails, the Operator will be erased, right? Then the villain will go dark, and the world will be destroyed.] I didn’t understand any of that. But it didn’t matter. I’d found my daddy! Ryder’s face grew darker and darker until he finally just kicked me away. I rolled across the floor like a little ball. Pain flared across my body, and I could already feel bruises forming. Why was Daddy being so mean? I stared at him, stunned. Leo gasped. “Ryder! What if she starts crying?” Ryder sneered. “Not my damn problem. I don’t even—” “Daddy.” I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the pain, and ran back to hug him again. “What the f—” He caught himself, a vein throbbing on his temple. “Why are you so damn clingy?” He stared at me. I stared back at him. The air in the arcade turned strangely silent. One of his buddies spoke up. “You know, Ryder… she actually looks a lot like you.” Leo picked up something that had fallen out of my pocket. He stared at it for a long, silent moment. He patted Ryder, who was still fuming, on the shoulder. “Dude,” Leo said slowly. “When… when exactly did you make this mistake?” Ryder’s eye twitched. He snatched the paper from Leo’s hand. A DNA test. Paternity confirmed. Father-daughter relationship. His anger was so extreme it looped back around into a twisted smile. He crouched down, pinching my cheeks between his fingers. “Alright, kid, tell me. Who sent you? Who faked this test? What’s your goal here?” His voice was a low growl. “Don’t you think I’d know if I’d ever been with a woman? I had a girlfriend once, but I never even held her hand!” His grip was strong, and my face hurt. He’d already kicked me; why was he still being so mean? A wave of injustice washed over me. My eyes welled up, but I bit my lip and held back the tears. “You are Fifi’s daddy!” A storm was brewing in Ryder’s eyes. He let go of my face, and my cheeks bounced back into place. The sudden release made me lose my balance, and I plopped back onto the floor. Ryder’s scowl almost broke into a laugh. He coughed a few times to cover it up. “Call the cops,” he said flatly. “Maybe she’s my dad’s illegitimate kid. He can deal with her.” An hour later, Ryder walked out of the police station with me in tow. His face was a mask of pure despair. “She’s really my kid?” “Holy shit!” 2 I tilted my head, confused. The text appeared again. [Fifi is adorable, but it’s a shame this mission is destined to fail.] [In three days, the villain’s father is going to bring home his mistress and their illegitimate son. The mistress will constantly bad-mouth the villain. Feeling misunderstood and unloved, the villain will go street racing, get into an accident, and have his leg amputated.] [After that, his personality will darken. The mistress will deliberately introduce him to drugs. He’ll completely break down when he learns his mother has remarried.] [He’ll lose everything. His friends will betray him. He’ll meet the story’s heroine, his one ray of light, but she’ll end up giving all his company secrets to the hero.] [That’s when the villain will snap. He’ll kidnap the heroine. The hero, his father, and the mistress will all die horrible deaths. He’ll even kidnap his mother’s new child… After getting revenge on everyone who ever hurt him, he’ll jump off a building.] I didn’t understand, so I ignored it. I instinctively hugged Ryder’s leg, becoming his personal ankle-warmer again. “So, what’s the plan, man?” Leo asked. Ryder looked like he’d aged ten years. He, a teenager, was already radiating exhausted dad energy. He ran a hand through his hair, reflexively wanting to shake me off but stopping himself. “Whatever happens,” he muttered, “my dad can’t find out about this.” He lifted me onto a nearby planter. “Do you have a name? Who’s your mom?” My stomach rumbled loudly. I gave him an embarrassed little smile, interrupting his interrogation. “Hehe, Fifi’s hungry.” Half an hour later, a scowling Ryder led me into a McDonald’s. I grabbed an icy Coke, but he snatched it away, frowning. “You’re having a Happy Meal. Kids can’t drink Coke.” Kids? I remembered the text. Daddy was a kid, too! Ryder took a big gulp of the Coke. Before he could swallow, I reached up and squeezed his cheeks. Hard. PFFFT— Coke sprayed all over my face. I beamed at him. “Daddy, you’re a kid, too! You can’t drink it!” Ryder’s jaw clenched. He looked at me, drenched and sticky, and took a deep, steadying breath. And another. Finally, he covered my ears and whispered one word. “Fuck.” [Wait, how did this tragedy turn into a comedy? I’m dying!] [And it seems like the villain has already accepted he has a daughter. This move was brilliant! Way better than being his girlfriend.] [Let’s just wait and see. I refuse to believe someone as rotten as the villain can take care of a child.] Whatever the text said, Ryder, despite his obsessive cleanliness, took a wet wipe and started scrubbing my face. It wasn’t working. The sticky residue wouldn’t come off. So much for Coke Zero. He pulled out his phone and typed into the search bar: [Is it okay to throw away a dirty child?] The AI read the search query aloud. I puffed out my cheeks and poked him. “You can’t throw me away!” My voice trembled. “Bad Daddy! You already kicked Fifi, and Fifi still hurts!” His gaze fell to the purple bruises already forming on my arms and legs. His fingers, holding the phone, froze. A flicker of guilt crossed his face. “…Sorry,” he mumbled. “That was… that was my fault. Don’t be mad at me.” He looked down, his long eyelashes hiding the emotion in his eyes. [HOLY SHIT, THE VILLAIN APOLOGIZED?!] [Is this the power of blood ties? After four failed attempts, this is the first time I’ve ever seen him be gentle…] [This is kind of sad. The villain has never known love. To suddenly have a daughter who depends on him completely… he must be terrified.] I didn’t understand the text. All I knew was that I had held back my tears when he was mean to me. But the moment I heard his soft, gentle voice, it was like a feather landing on the surface of a lake, becoming heavy with water, and sinking to the very bottom. My heart sank with it. My lip trembled, and big, fat tears started rolling down my cheeks. “Daddy is good,” I hiccupped. “Fifi is just a baby who’s scared of pain. Hic.” “Daddy, please don’t leave Fifi.” 3 Ryder’s pupils contracted. He froze. After a long moment, as if he’d made a momentous decision, he took my sticky, Coke-covered hand in his. His voice was a little hoarse. “Okay.” He wiped away my tears, which only made me break down completely. I started wailing. My cries were so loud that a customer at a nearby table looked around, confused. “Is someone boiling a kettle?” Ryder’s fingers tightened on mine, and his ears turned bright red. In a moment of sheer desperation, he shoved a piece of fried chicken into my mouth. The world fell silent. Thirty seconds later, I was still holding the chicken. “Dis thing (chew, chew, chew) is sho yummy! (chew, chew, chew)” Ryder sighed. “Even food can’t shut you up!” By the time he’d taken me to a department store, given me a bath, and bought me a mountain of new things, it was already evening. He held my hand, his steps slow and measured. The setting sun stretched our shadows long behind us. “Fifi Ryder,” he said. “From now on, your name is Fifi Ryder.” I giggled and hugged his leg. “Fifi’s not a stray anymore! Fifi has a daddy!” Ryder scooped me up into his arms. “What stray? You’re a princess, you know that?” He looked at my face, and a thought seemed to strike him. He pulled out his phone and called Leo. “How do I keep scumbags with bleached hair away from my daughter?” Leo was silent for a moment. “Ryder… we are the scumbags with bleached hair.” “…” That night, Ryder walked into a salon. “I want this mess dyed black. Now.” With his naturally sharp features and high nose bridge, the black hair toned down his rebellious aura, giving him a cooler, more refined look. He held me, snapped a selfie, and sent it to Leo. [From now on, bleached-blond lowlifes like you are not allowed near my daughter.] Leo: [?_?] For the next few days, Ryder skipped school. He stayed up all night, devouring five different parenting books. He even started trying to cook child-friendly meals in his small apartment. The system text was baffled. [Shouldn’t he be out street racing? Partying? Getting into trouble? What is he DOING?!] In just three days, Ryder had become an expert at tying my hair into cute little pigtails. He was about to take me to the park when his father called. “Ryder, I don’t care what you do outside of school, but didn’t I tell you to stop having your teachers call me?!” “If you’re not going to class, what are you doing? If you don’t want to study, you can just go die.” The hateful words made Ryder’s face harden. His eyes went cold, and he pressed his lips into a thin line. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the phone. I gently pried his fingers open. “Daddy, be gentle. You’re hurting the phone.” Hearing my voice, the fury in his eyes softened. He lifted me up with one arm. “Fine,” he said into the phone. “Just remove me from the family registry, and you won’t have to worry about me anymore.” Normally, his father would have exploded in a tirade of curses. But today, he was strangely calm. “Ryder, you…” Before he could finish, Ryder heard a small, childish voice on the other end. “Daddy, I wanna go to the amusement park!” His father’s voice immediately turned warm and loving. “Of course, sweetie. Daddy will take you.” Ryder’s eyes turned bloodshot. The anger he’d just suppressed came roaring back. “Got a new son already? How could you do this to Mom?” His father didn’t answer. He just hung up. [Oh no, the wheels of fate are turning… He’s going to go street racing tonight and break his leg…] [Noooo, I was enjoying the last three days of wholesome content!] [The villain’s life is so tragic. I’d go dark, too, if I were him.] Ryder’s hand tightened on the phone, his first instinct to hurl it against the wall. But then he remembered me, and he forced himself to stop. His face was blank, but I could feel waves of profound sadness rolling off him. I hugged his leg and looked up at him. “Daddy, don’t be sad.” Ryder knelt and wrapped his arms around me. “I’m fine.” I hugged him back, gently patting his back. “Daddy, don’t tell lies.” “Fifi loves you.” His body went rigid. I felt a damp spot spreading on my shoulder. “Daddy, don’t cry little pearl tears.” His voice was muffled. “Okay. I won’t.” 4 Perhaps it was the unstoppable force of the plot, but Ryder still went out on his motorcycle that night. The difference was, this time, he strapped me securely to his chest, adding several extra safety harnesses. Only when he was certain I was safe did he swing his leg over the bike. He drove slowly. So slowly that an old man jogging on the sidewalk easily overtook us. Seeing the old man’s disdainful glance, Ryder fell silent. He wanted to speed up, but when he saw me with my mouth wide open, catching the wind like a baby bird, he sighed in resignation and pulled over. He took me to a nearby ice cream shop. “Daddy, ice cream will stop the pearl tears!” I held up my cone to him with a big smile. “Daddy eats first!” [What a good girl!] [I want a daughter like this!] [Wait, did we just… solve the car crash plot point like that?] He glanced at me, a mischievous glint in his eyes. The next second, he opened his mouth and ate the entire scoop of ice cream in one bite. My smile froze. “Daddy… you… you ate it all?” “You… Fifi… Fifi is gonna—” Just as the tears were about to fall, he stifled a laugh and quickly shoved the sugar cone into my mouth. Seeing my face caught between crying and not crying, he finally burst out laughing. All the pent-up emotions, all the darkness and pressure, just seemed to evaporate into the night air. On the way home, we rode slowly, the cool evening breeze on our faces. As we passed a dark alley, we heard a woman’s desperate cries. “Let go of me! Somebody, help!” A man’s sleazy laugh followed. “You won’t be saying that once you start enjoying it.” The system text sounded confused. [Huh? This is the scene where the hero saves the heroine. Why is the villain here?] [Holy crap, he’s going in!] Ryder handed me his phone, already dialing 911. “Tell the nice police officer that some people are fighting. Then you stand right here and don’t move. I’ll be back in three minutes.” A moment later, the sound of pained grunts echoed from the alley. I felt a little scared. My voice trembled as I spoke to the dispatcher. “Officer, there’s a fight!” I stammered out the address. Three minutes later, Ryder emerged, draping his jacket over the shoulders of the heroine, Stella. His own white hoodie was stained with blood. “Thank you,” Stella said, her voice hoarse, her eyes filled with gratitude. Ryder just waved it off, more focused on scooping me up. Hearing the approaching sirens, his face beamed with pride. “Good job, Fifi. You know how to call the police now.” Seeing him, my fear vanished. I puffed out my chest proudly. “Hmph.” He laughed, the last of the darkness gone from his eyes.

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1 My sister-in-law couldn’t produce milk after giving birth. She sent a topless photo to my boyfriend, a doctor. “Dr. Leslie,” she wrote, “I heard suckling can help stimulate milk flow.” My boyfriend replied: “I’m an OB/GYN. For a sow in heat, you see a vet.” Feeling insulted, my sister-in-law framed him for sexual harassment, posting an edited video online that went viral. My boyfriend’s medical license was revoked, and in his despair, he took his own life. Even then, my sister-in-law continued to stoke the flames of public opinion online. “A man with no common decency like that deserved to die.” I dragged her to the roof of our apartment building and we fell to our deaths together. When I opened my eyes again… I was reborn, sitting right in front of my sister-in-law, who had just given birth. … I opened my eyes again to find myself on the living room sofa. The air was a sharp mix of hospital antiseptic and the faint, sour smell of milk. My eyes darted around, disoriented, until they landed on a pale, gaunt face. It was my sister-in-law, Laura. She had just given birth and was wearing a striped blue-and-white hospital gown, leaning weakly against the headboard of a temporary bed set up in our living room. My brother, Mark, was holding a bowl of chicken soup, carefully blowing on each spoonful before lifting it to her lips. “Laura, honey, just a little more. Mom simmered this all morning for you.” Laura pushed the spoon away with a look of disgust. “I can’t stomach it. I have no appetite.” Her voice was frail, laced with an almost imperceptible thread of irritation. “My milk just won’t come in. The baby won’t stop crying from hunger. It’s breaking my heart.” That sentence was like a lightning bolt crashing through my mind. I was dead. I had dragged Laura to the rooftop of our thirty-story apartment building and jumped, taking her with me. The whistling wind, the gut-wrenching feeling of freefall, the sound of shattering bone, and Laura’s terrified screams. And then, endless, icy darkness. But now, here I was, real and solid. I looked down at my own two hands, perfectly intact. This wasn’t the afterlife. I was reborn. Reborn before the tragedy began. My brother was still worried sick about Laura’s inability to breastfeed. My boyfriend, Julian, was still alive and well. He hadn’t yet had his life destroyed by a single topless photo and a vicious lie. He hadn’t had his medical license revoked, hadn’t been driven by endless despair and a campaign of cyberbullying to leap from the roof of the hospital. He hadn’t yet become an eternal, unhealing scar on my soul. A tidal wave of hatred churned in my chest, threatening to burn my sanity to ash. I clenched my fists so tightly that my nails dug deep into my palms, the sharp pain the only thing keeping me grounded. Laura. I stared at her, at that pitiful, angelic face. In my last life, that was the face that had fooled everyone. She had cried to me, claiming Julian had verbally abused and harassed her after she’d simply asked for advice on milk production. She had edited their chat history, releasing only Julian’s final, provoked message. “I’m an OB/GYN. For a sow in heat, you see a vet.” She never mentioned that she had first sent him a photo of her bare chest. The caption read: “Dr. Leslie, I heard suckling can help stimulate milk flow.” She didn’t say it, so I never knew. I even had a massive fight with Julian over his “inappropriate language.” Later, Laura posted the edited video online. Public opinion exploded. A helpless new mother, shamed and humiliated by an unethical male doctor. It was the perfect story for a viral outrage. Doxxing, death threats, and curses flooded every corner of Julian’s life. The hospital, buckling under the pressure, suspended him pending an investigation. He tried to explain, but no one would listen. When he produced the complete, unedited chat logs, Laura just started a livestream, sobbing that the photo was photoshopped, that Julian had made it all up in a bitter rage after she had rejected his adLeslies. She claimed she was suffering from postpartum depression and had only been seeking a doctor’s help, only to be treated so cruelly. She said she didn’t want to live anymore. The self-righteous internet mob grew even more furious. They protested outside the hospital with banners, threw paint on Julian’s front door, and mailed him razor blades. Finally, to quell the public outcry, the hospital board revoked Julian’s license to practice medicine. That day, he sent me one last text message. “Joanne, I didn’t harass her. But I guess that doesn’t matter anymore. I’m sorry. I can’t take it.” By the time I rushed to the hospital, all I saw was a cold body under a white sheet. And Laura, she was still online, guiding the narrative. She posted a long essay about how the wicked get what they deserve. The final line—”A man with no common decency like that deserved to die”—was a knife in my heart. It was in that moment that I finally snapped. I stormed back home, ignoring the protests of my parents and brother, and dragged a leisurely, TV-watching Laura up to the roof. “You love playing the victim, don’t you?” I had whispered in her ear. “Let me show you what real despair feels like.” Then I wrapped my arms around her and leaped. 2 I couldn’t believe it. I was reborn. Back at the very beginning of the nightmare. Laura sat across from me, her face sallow from childbirth, her expression a mixture of irritation and a faint, cruel edge. “Nothing. Not a single drop,” she complained, tugging at her bulky nursing top while whining to my mother. “Mom, the baby is screaming his lungs out from hunger, and my breasts feel like rocks. What am I supposed to do?” My mother, for whom her grandson was the center of the universe, was wringing her hands. “Don’t panic, honey, we’ll figure something out. Just drink more of the soup.” “I’ve already had three huge bowls! My stomach is about to burst, and it’s useless!” Laura’s tone was sharp with impatience. My brother, Mark, stood by helplessly, trying to soothe her. “Honey, don’t be angry. It’s bad for your recovery.” “How can I not be angry? Your son is starving, and I, his mother, can’t even give him a drop of milk! I’m useless!” As she spoke, her eyes reddened, and she put on the face of a martyr who had suffered the world’s greatest injustice. In my last life, that was the exact expression that had fooled everyone. She looked at me, a flicker of calculation in her eyes. “Joanne, isn’t your boyfriend a doctor?” Here it comes. Exactly like the last time. I dug my nails into my palm, the sharp sting keeping me focused. I couldn’t be a fool and fall into her trap again. “Joanne? What are you thinking about?” Laura raised her voice when I didn’t respond. I looked up, meeting her probing gaze, and forced a stiff smile. “Oh, just thinking about my boyfriend.” “Well, hurry up and ask him,” Laura immediately pressed. “He’s a top doctor, he’s got to have a solution.” My mother also looked at me with pleading eyes. “Yes, yes, ask Julian. He’ll know what to do.” My brother chimed in. “Yeah, Joanne. Your sister-in-law is about to burst into tears.” See? They were all on her side. It was the same in my last life. They had all pressured me to ask Julian. Back then, I’d thought it was normal for family to help each other out. I had no idea it was a meticulously laid, poison-laced trap. I took out my phone and tapped on Julian’s profile picture. It was a photo of him in his white coat, taken on the hospital grounds. He was smiling, a warm, clean smile that reached his eyes. My own eyes instantly burned with tears. Julian. This time, I won’t let you suffer a single injustice. No one will ever hurt you again. 3 In front of all of them, I sent Julian a message. 【Hey, you busy? My sister-in-law just gave birth and she’s not producing any milk. Do you have any professional advice?】 I didn’t just give Laura his contact info like last time. This was the first step. I had to control the channel of communication. Laura leaned over to look at my phone. When she saw my straightforward, professional question, a flash of annoyance crossed her face, but she didn’t say anything. Julian replied quickly. 【Physical stimulation is one of the standard methods, like having the baby suckle more frequently. A breast pump can also help. Also, the mother’s emotional state and diet are very important. Tell her not to panic.】 His reply was professional and by-the-book. I showed them the phone. My mom nodded. “Julian’s right. You can’t get stressed.” Laura just pouted, her face a mask of disbelief. “Easy for him to say. The baby’s mouth is raw from trying, and it’s not working. I’ve used the pump, too. It hurts like hell, and it’s still useless.” She paused, then steered the conversation back to her original point. “Joanne, can you ask your boyfriend for me again… about that… physical stimulation. Besides the baby suckling, are there any other methods?” Her gaze became pointed, almost lewd. I knew what she was asking. In my last life, this was how she had guided me, leading me step by step into the abyss. I pretended not to understand, my face a picture of innocence. “Other physical stimulation? What do you mean, Laura?” Laura choked on her words, seemingly surprised by my “cluelessness.” She had no choice but to be more explicit. “Well… I’ve heard that… you know, an adult… is more effective. More powerful.” After saying it, she shot a meaningful glance at my brother. Mark’s face flushed crimson. “I… I tried. It didn’t work…” Laura immediately rolled her eyes, her face dripping with disdain. “What do you know? This requires a professional! Your sister’s boyfriend is an OB/GYN. He’d definitely know best!” She practically shouted the last sentence at me. The atmosphere in the room turned bizarre. My mom coughed awkwardly and made an excuse. “I’ll go check if the baby is awake.” My brother used the opportunity to slip out as well. Now, it was just me and Laura. Her objective was nakedly clear. “Joanne,” she said, grabbing my hand and adopting a chummy tone. “We’re family. I’m just out of options here. Look at my face, I’m so pale. If I can’t produce milk, what’s going to happen to the baby? Your boyfriend’s a doctor. Saving people is his duty, right?” She was buttering me up, laying the groundwork for moral blackmail. “Just talk to him for me. Do it as a favor for me, for your little nephew. If he helps me, I’ll give you a big fat check afterward.” I looked at her hypocritical face, and my stomach churned. She had said the exact same thing in my last life. I had been so blinded by the idea of “family” that I had actually gone and begged Julian. He had been silent on the phone for a long time before finally asking, his voice laced with profound disappointment, “Joanne, what kind of person do you think I am?” He was right. What kind of person had I taken him for? A tool to be used, one who would casually trample his professional ethics to satisfy the unreasonable demands of a relative? I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Laura, how could I possibly ask him something like that?” I said, putting on a troubled expression. “What’s so hard about it? This is for the baby!” Laura’s tone was non-negotiable. “Besides, he’s a doctor! This is a medical treatment! Think about your little nephew, wailing from hunger. Can you really bear to see that?” She was using the baby as a weapon again. I laughed coldly to myself. For the baby? She was just trying to satisfy her own twisted desires and, at the same time, test Julian’s boundaries, to see if this accomplished, well-off young doctor could be easily manipulated by her. “But… he’s my boyfriend,” I continued to play dumb. “It wouldn’t be right for him to do something like that for you, would it?” “What’s not right about it? If you don’t say anything, and I don’t say anything, who’s going to know?” Laura leaned in close, her voice a low whisper, like a devil tempting me to fall. “Joanne, your boyfriend is a great catch. You have to keep him on a tight leash. All men are the same. You need to let him know our family isn’t to be trifled with. That way, he won’t dare to bully you in the future.” She was actually trying to drive a wedge between Julian and me. In my last life, I had fallen for this nonsense. I thought that letting her get some “dirt” on Julian would make our future marriage more secure. I was so unbelievably stupid. “Laura, I still don’t think it’s a good idea,” I said, shaking my head firmly. Laura’s face darkened. “Joanne, what’s that supposed to mean? Are you refusing to help me?” She dropped the act, her true nature showing. “Don’t forget, your brother listens to everything I say. If you side with an outsider and piss me off, don’t expect your life at home to be easy.” It was a blatant threat. I sneered internally but put on a frightened expression, flinching slightly. “I… I’m not.” “Then do it!” Laura shoved my phone into my hand. “Tell him now! Say that I said if he’s willing to help, he can name his price!” I looked at the phone screen. I knew she had lost her patience. Fine. If you’re in such a hurry to die, I’ll give you a push. 4 I opened my chat with Julian, my finger hovering over the screen for a long moment. Then, I sent him a different message. 【Julian, listen carefully to every word I’m about to say. Something absurd is about to happen, but no matter what, I need you to trust me and play along.】 【We’re going to put on a show.】 After sending it, I immediately deleted the messages from my end. Then, I looked up. “Laura… why don’t you add him on your own? I really don’t know how to bring this up.” I had kicked the ball back into her court. Laura’s eyes lit up. This was exactly what she wanted. By taking charge herself, she could control the situation. “Fine,” she agreed, feigning reluctance. I sent her Julian’s contact card. She immediately sent a friend request. As I watched the “Friend request sent” notification on her screen, I knew the show was about to begin. On Julian’s end, he accepted almost instantly. I knew he had understood my message. After he accepted, Laura didn’t speak right away. Instead, she carefully scrolled through her social media photos, looking for the perfect one. She chose a maternity photo, professionally shot and edited to make her look slim, her pregnant belly the main focus, a beatific smile on her face. She wanted to make a good first impression. Only then did she send her first message. 【Dr. Leslie, hello. I’m Joanne’s sister-in-law, Laura.】 Julian replied quickly. 【Hello.】 Just one word. Cold and distant. Laura frowned, clearly not satisfied with this opening. She started to lay the groundwork. 【I just had a baby, but I haven’t been able to produce any milk. Joanne said you’re an expert in this area, and I was hoping to get some advice.】 【’Expert’ is a strong word. You can call me Julian. Joanne told me a bit about the situation. Postpartum lactation insufficiency has many potential causes and requires a comprehensive diagnosis.】 Julian’s reply was once again flawlessly professional. Laura was getting impatient. She felt this roundabout approach was too slow. So, she typed out a new line. 【I’ve heard that physical stimulation is the most effective method, is that right?】 【Yes, that is one of the clinically proven methods.】 【So… besides the baby suckling, is there a more… effective way?】 The dagger was drawn. I held my breath, watching Laura’s phone screen. I knew what was coming next. She was going to send the photo. And she did. She opened her photo album and selected a picture she had taken earlier. It was a close-up of her bare chest, no face visible, but more than enough to constitute sexual harassment. Before she hit send, she shot me a look, a smug, triumphant glint in her eye. As if to say, See? This is how easy it is to handle a man. I lowered my head, hiding the icy coldness in my eyes. The photo was sent. The room was terrifyingly silent. Laura stared at her phone, waiting for Julian’s reaction. She expected him to be shocked, flustered, maybe even play along and make some suggestive comment. That way, she would have her leverage. However, Julian’s reply was completely unexpected.

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The car crash happened on our way home for the holidays. One moment, my husband, Jeremy, and I were driving; the next, darkness. When I opened my eyes again, we were back before we even started dating. In my first life, our seven-year marriage was a masterclass in politeness. We were like respectful strangers sharing a roof, a bed, but never a heart. He wouldn’t even give me a child. It was only later that I understood why: he had never gotten over his first love, the one that got away. So, this time, I decided to set him free. Without a word, we quietly deleted each other from our contacts, kept our distance, and chose different paths. Seven years later, he was a rising star on Wall Street, and at our high school reunion, he and his old flame, Isabella Vance, made their engagement official. He saw me standing alone and couldn’t resist a taunt, a smirk playing on his lips. “Jodi,” he said, his voice laced with condescending pity. “I know I was the best you ever had, the love of your life in two lifetimes. But you don’t have to stay single forever, waiting for me.” I didn’t bother to answer. I just reached out and took my son’s hand. The color drained from Jeremy’s face. His eyes, suddenly wild and bloodshot, locked onto me. “You told me you’d love me forever,” he hissed, his voice cracking. “That you’d only ever have children with me.” 1 The first time I saw Jeremy Olson again was at our seven-year high school reunion. I’d just come off a marathon of surgeries and was too exhausted to even think about changing. I walked straight into the lavish hotel ballroom in my scrubs. Jeremy was the center of attention, of course, his arm wrapped possessively around Isabella Vance’s waist as he soaked in the praise. “Jeremy, you’re killing it, man!” one old classmate gushed. “A few years on Wall Street and you’re already one of the biggest names. You’re the pride of Oakhaven High!” “No kidding,” another chimed in. “I heard the big dogs in New York pay a fortune just to have dinner with him. The consulting fee alone is what most of us make in a year!” “Hey, Jeremy, I’m dabbling in stocks,” a third pleaded. “For old times’ sake, give me a tip, let me ride your coattails!” Then, a curious voice cut through the noise. “So, Jeremy, are you and Isabella finally tying the knot?” Jeremy’s gaze softened as he looked down at the woman in his arms. “We are. The engagement party is December 20th.” A fresh wave of congratulations erupted. Then, someone turned to him. “Jeremy, do you ever talk to Jodi anymore? You two were so intense back in the day. Didn’t you write your first song for her?” At the mention of my name, I saw his smile freeze, his eyes darken ever so slightly. Isabella, ever the graceful fiancée, just laughed it off. “Oh, you know how it is,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “High school hobbies don’t last, and neither do high school romances. He’s been over Jodi for a long, long time.” The crowd chuckled, turning their attention back to what a perfect couple they were. But I knew the truth. That song wasn’t just a song. It was the melody he’d written to ask me out, the one he’d played for me under the bleachers, his eyes shining with what I thought was sincerity. “Jodi, look at me,” he’d said back then, his voice earnest. “I love you. My eyes would never lie.” And I believed him. Turns out, they could and they did. I walked further into the ballroom, my expression neutral. A classmate with sharp eyes spotted me. “Jodi! You finally made it!” “What are you wearing? You couldn’t find a dress?” “Don’t tell me you just got off work. Where are you slaving away these days? We’ve got some heavy hitters here, maybe one of them can hook you up with a real job!” The whispers and snickers followed me as I found an empty seat. I ignored them, focusing on the simple, profound pleasure of food. Jeremy had been watching me since the moment I walked in. His gaze was a heavy, unreadable weight. He finally broke the silence, his voice dripping with mockery. “Jodi Summers. Years go by, and you haven’t changed a bit. Still no ambition.” Isabella’s eyes flashed with a venomous glint, but she quickly masked it, snuggling closer to Jeremy’s arm as if to mark her territory. “Jeremy, darling, don’t be so harsh,” she cooed, her voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “Life’s been a little rough for her, we shouldn’t rub it in. Jodi’s had it hard enough.” She raked her eyes over my casual attire, a smirk playing on her perfectly painted lips. “But really, Jodi, what is this look? You’re not getting any younger. A woman has to take care of herself, you know. Otherwise, how will you ever find a husband? What man wants a woman who’s let herself go?” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Do you need to borrow some makeup?” The question hung in the air, followed by a ripple of suppressed laughter. The contrast was stark. Isabella was a vision in designer labels, her makeup flawless, every strand of hair in place, radiating the effortless confidence of old money. And then there was me. I hadn’t slept in nearly 24 hours, fresh from the operating room, looking as haggard as I felt. My clothes were comfortable, unbranded, and a world away from her curated perfection. “No, thank you. I’m fine,” I replied calmly, turning my attention back to my plate. After the intensity of surgery, I hadn’t eaten all day. As I was savoring a bite of steak, Jeremy approached my table. He slid a check across the polished wood, placing it directly in front of me. It was for ten thousand dollars. “This is for old times’ sake,” he said, his tone that of a benevolent king bestowing charity. “A little something to help you out. Treat yourself. Get a more respectable job, buy some new clothes. Learn to love yourself again.” He paused, his expression shifting. “Jodi, the past is the past. Don’t dwell on it.” He sighed dramatically. “If it weren’t for you… well, it doesn’t matter now.” “What matters is that you can’t let my leaving destroy you. You can’t just give up on life like this. Promise me.” I looked up, genuinely confused. What had I done in our past life that made him so certain he had to abandon me in this one? In that other life, we went from high school sweethearts to a married couple. He had his musical dreams, and I had my dream of becoming a doctor—both paths were draining, financially and emotionally. One of us had to sacrifice. And because I loved him, I was the one who walked away from a prestigious medical residency, taking a job to support both of our dreams on a single income. He failed, again and again. Each rejection plunged him into a deeper despair. And I was his constant, his endless source of support, coming home exhausted only to spend hours rebuilding his fragile ego. I thought he saw my love in that sacrifice. I was wrong. The breaking point came when he wanted a new, expensive guitar, and I had to tell him we simply couldn’t afford it. He exploded, smashing his old guitar against the wall in a fit of rage. “Don’t you get it?!” he screamed, his face twisted with resentment. “If I had just listened to Isabella and gone to America with her, I wouldn’t be living like this! I regret ever getting together with you!” After that, he gave up on music. He lost his dream. And his words—”I regret ever getting together with you”—became a ghost that haunted my nights. I made one last, desperate attempt to save us. I wrapped my arms around him one night and whispered, “Jeremy, I want to have a baby with you.” He shoved me away, his eyes filled with a chilling disgust. “Are you insane? Look at our finances! We can’t afford a child! Besides, I’ve told you before, I hate kids! I don’t want to have a child with you!” Those two sentences shattered the last bit of hope in my heart. When that truck swerved into our lane on New Year’s, I wasn’t scared. I was relieved. It was an escape. Now, we had both been given a second chance, and we had both chosen to walk away. There was no need for “old times’ sake.” I pushed the check back towards him. “No, thank you. I don’t accept gifts from strangers.” 2 His brow furrowed. “A stranger, Jodi? What is that supposed to mean?” “It means,” I said, my voice even, “that I can buy my own clothes. And whatever my job is, I find it perfectly respectable. I’m not giving up on anything. You should keep your money for someone who actually needs it.” He stood there, clutching the check, his lips pressed into a thin, angry line. Isabella glided to his side, her eyes flicking from the check to my face. A storm of anger brewed behind her carefully composed expression, but her voice was as gentle as ever. “Jodi, if you won’t accept our help, perhaps we can offer something more… practical.” She smiled, a benefactor to a charity case. “I just opened a new nail salon on Grand Avenue. I could set you up as an apprentice. The pay isn’t amazing, maybe six thousand a month to start, but you’d learn a real skill. That way, if you ever hit rock bottom, you’d at least have a trade to fall back on.” “What do you think?” she pressed. “It has to be more respectable than whatever you’re doing now.” I calmly continued eating, refusing to be baited. “Thank you for the offer, but I’m quite happy with my current job. I have no plans to change careers.” An old classmate shouted from across the room, “Jodi, don’t be an idiot! Jeremy and Isabella are being generous! They’re offering you money, a job! Just take it!” “Yeah, seriously,” another chimed in. “You’re clearly struggling, swallow your pride! Why else would you even show up to a reunion looking like that if you weren’t looking for a handout? Stop putting on an act!” Isabella jumped in, playing the peacemaker. “Everyone, please! Don’t say that! Maybe Jodi genuinely loves her job.” She turned back to me, her eyes gleaming with false sympathy. “Jodi, this is a real opportunity. We’re only offering because of our history. Don’t let your pride get in the way.” I truly couldn’t comprehend this bizarre need to force charity on me. “Really, I don’t need it. Thank you.” Isabella’s smile remained, but her eyes were cold with disdain. Jeremy finally crumpled the check in his fist. “You can’t help someone who won’t help themselves,” he sneered. “A lost cause. Fine, stay poor for the rest of your life for all I care!” As if his words were a signal, a group of the guys, emboldened by alcohol, swarmed my table. “Jodi, you look like you could use a break,” one of them slurred, shoving a drink toward me. “Drink this, and I’ll send you a thousand bucks.” “If you’re really that desperate…” another one added, his eyes roaming over me in a way that made my skin crawl, “…I could add a little more to the pot.” The rest of the group hooted with laughter. No one stepped in. My patience snapped. This was a far cry from the friendly reunion I’d expected. If I wasn’t waiting for someone, I would have already walked out. I was about to call for security when Jeremy, who had been watching from the side, suddenly stubbed out his cigarette and grabbed the man’s arm. His voice was ice. “Back off.” The man yelped in pain as Jeremy’s grip tightened. Isabella rushed over, tugging on Jeremy’s sleeve. “Jeremy, what are you doing?!” His face was a cold mask. “Being a decent human being. This is a class reunion, not a frat party.” He shoved the man away. The guy didn’t dare challenge Jeremy, but he shot me a venomous glare before retreating. I couldn’t help but stare at Jeremy, surprised that he would defend me. Isabella looked like she wanted to chew nails, but she forced a bright smile. “Anyway! I heard the CEO and the young heir of the Apex Group are having a meeting upstairs. If we’re lucky, we might get to see the city’s richest man in person!” The mood in the room shifted instantly. The Apex Group. Its CEO was a legend—handsome, powerful, and still in his thirties, with a five-year-old son. But the identity of his wife was the city’s best-kept secret. “Does that mean we might see his wife tonight? I’ve gotta post this on TikTok!” “This is front-page news!” Moments later, a team of bodyguards entered the ballroom, escorting a small boy. The crowd buzzed with excitement. “Look at that entourage! That must be him, the Apex heir! He’s so handsome!” The man who had harassed me, now nursing his wrist, sidled up to me again. “See, Jodi? If it weren’t for Isabella, a working-class nobody like you would never even be in the same room as the Apex prince. If I were you, I’d get on my knees and thank her. Maybe she’d help you land a decent job, or even a guy like me who makes a whole six thousand a month.” Pathetic. I ignored him, my gaze fixed on the boy. Everyone swarmed forward, phones out, taking pictures and videos. Even the ever-composed Isabella put on her most charming smile and approached the child, practically oozing with manufactured warmth. “Hello there, little one,” she cooed, reaching out to pinch his cheek. “Is there anything you’d like to eat? Auntie can buy it for you.” But the boy, who had looked so serious and aloof surrounded by his guards, completely ignored her. His eyes scanned the room, landed on me, and lit up. He broke away from his security detail and ran straight towards me, a brilliant smile on his face. “Mommy!” he cried, throwing himself into my arms. “You’re finally here!” The little prince who had been so cool and distant a moment ago was now looking up at me with big, teary eyes. “You didn’t come home last night! I missed you so, so much!” I hugged my son tight, stroking his hair. “I was working, sweetie,” I murmured. “I told you before I left, remember? But guess what? Mommy’s off tomorrow. We can go play anywhere you want. How does that sound?” My precious Leo nodded eagerly. “Yes! Mommy is the best!” The entire room was silent. Every single person was staring at us, their faces a mixture of shock and utter disbelief. Just as someone was about to speak, a devastatingly handsome man in a tailored suit rushed down from the upstairs conference room. “Honey,” he said, his voice warm with relief. “The hotel manager told me you were at a reunion down here. Why didn’t you call me when you got off your shift? I would have picked you up.” The hotel manager stood beside him, beaming. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced to the stunned crowd, “Allow me to introduce the President of the Apex Group, Mr. Travis Wade, and his wife, Dr. Jodi Summers. Please, enjoy your evening. If our esteemed guests require anything at all, we are at your service.” The atmosphere crackled. The people who had just been mocking me were now staring with wide, excited eyes. Those who had been cruelest looked pale and sick. A few of my closer friends from school finally found their voices. “Jodi… your husband is Travis Wade? The richest man in the city?” “Are you kidding? Didn’t you hear the manager? The little heir just called her ‘Mommy’! She is the secret wife!” “Oh my god… now that is true royalty…” I could only offer a small, polite smile as the whispers turned into a roar. Travis looked me over, his expression softening with concern as he pulled me into a gentle embrace. “Just got out of the hospital again? Let’s get you home to rest as soon as you’re ready.” I nodded. “Okay.” Then, my cool and powerful husband completely ignored Isabella, who was trying to catch his eye, and looked directly at Jeremy. His voice was laced with a cool, cutting disdain.

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Three months into my new job, I discovered my colleagues had a nickname for me: “The Mourning Dove.” The name came from Alexis’s insufferably arrogant secretary. It was because I was thirty-two, still clutching the proof of an eight-year relationship, yet still waiting for a wedding ring. I confronted Alexis. “Your secretary calls me the Mourning Dove. Did you know?” He didn’t even bother to look up. “That’s just Shanna,” he said. “She’s unfiltered, just making a joke. You’re thirty-two, are you really going to pick a fight with a kid?” Then he looked at me and chuckled. “I hate to say it, but it’s a pretty good fit.” My heart felt like it was seized by an icy fist. Eight years of my youth, and to him, it was nothing more than a punchline. I turned and walked away. I quit my job and blocked him on everything. And that’s when the man who was always so composed finally panicked. “Carol,” he begged. “Please, come back.” 1 The first time I heard the words “Mourning Dove” loud and clear was during our Monday corporate meeting. Shanna was looking down, feigning humility as I reprimanded her, tears welling at the corners of her eyes. During the break, I overheard someone mutter. “What a Mourning Dove. Always picking on the pretty young girls.” The words hit me like a physical blow. That one comment opened the floodgates, and the whispers grew louder. “She’s on a total power trip, taking it all out on the new girl.” “She’s thirty-two and still clinging to an eight-year relationship that’s going nowhere. Talk about desperate.” I set my mug down, and the conference room fell silent for a heartbeat. Dozens of eyes focused on me, as if I were the one who had done something wrong. Shanna dabbed at her reddened eyes with a tissue. “Director Kennedy, I’ll double-check the data.” “You won’t double-check it. you’ll redo it,” I said, forcing the iciness in my voice to mask the sting in my heart. “I want an accurate analysis and a recovery plan on my desk before tomorrow morning’s meeting.” My gaze swept over her, and over the gawking faces in the room. “Meeting adjourned.” I stood first and strode out of the room. Behind me, the tide of whispers surged again, this time more brazenly. “Who does she think she is? She only got that director position because she’s sleeping with Mr. Price.” “The Mourning Dove is on the warpath. Tsk, tsk. Guess menopause came early for her.” Back in my office, a notification popped up. An internal email. I opened it. The subject line was glaring: “Regarding the Optimization of Managerial Communication and a Focus on Employee Well-being.” The sender was the HR Director, but I knew exactly whose strings were being pulled. Apparently, Shanna’s tears carried more weight than my performance reports. I scoffed and closed the window just as Alexis’s private line rang. His voice was a lazy, placating drawl. “Carol, you were a little fired up in the meeting, huh? You made the poor girl cry.” “Shanna’s young, she lacks experience. It’s normal for her to make mistakes. You should cut her some slack.” I could faintly hear soft sobs in the background. I fought to keep my own emotions in check, my voice as level as I could make it. “Shanna’s foundational data was riddled with errors. It directly impacts the company’s quarterly financial report.” “Oh, come on. It’s just work. A few slip-ups are bound to happen,” he said, brushing it off. “Besides, Shanna’s on her period, she wasn’t feeling her best. Try to be a little more understanding.” “Anyway, dinner tonight? That new sushi place just opened. I’ve already booked us a table.” 2 As I slid into the passenger seat of Alexis’s familiar black sports car after work, my mood finally began to lift. “She’s just a kid, Carol. She doesn’t know any better. Teach her the ropes, for my sake, okay?” he asked, putting on a show of pleading with me. I decided not to press the issue. I let it go. But when we arrived, Shanna was already there, her long hair perfectly styled, her makeup flawless. Seeing us, she immediately stood up. “Mr. Price, Carol! I was worried you’d be bored waiting for the food, so I went ahead and ordered. I hope you like what I picked!” I shot a look at Alexis, but he had already slid into the seat next to Shanna, smiling. “Shanna was worried you were still angry, so she came to apologize in person. See how thoughtful she is?” Shanna eagerly poured me a cup of sake, raising her glass to me. “Carol, it’s all my fault. I’m so sorry the data stressed you out, and I’m even sorrier that I caused everyone to gossip about you… Anyway, I’ll punish myself with a drink!” She downed it in one go, a becoming blush instantly rising in her cheeks, making her look even more delicate and charming. Alexis gave her an appreciative glance, then asked casually, “What are people gossiping about? What are they saying about Carol?” Shanna pursed her lips into a coy smile. “Oh, Mr. Price, you should ask Carol about that. It’s not my place to say.” Alexis turned to me, his gaze intensely curious. I met his eyes, my voice flat. “Your people are calling me the Mourning Dove.” Alexis didn’t even flinch. He just threw his head back and laughed. “Shanna was just trying to break the ice, kidding around with you. You’re not taking it seriously, are you?” He then looked me over, a smirk playing on his lips. “You have to admit… it kind of fits.” I stared at the face I had known and loved for eight years, and suddenly, he was a complete stranger. “Alexis, do you… do you really think this is funny?” “Hearing them call me a Mourning Dove, you actually find that amusing?” The air in the room went still. Shanna made a show of getting up, her eyes already glistening with tears. “Mr. Price, am I in the way? I should go. I’ll leave you two to talk…” “Sit down, Shanna!” Alexis grabbed her wrist, then shot an exasperated look at me. “Carol, Shanna came here to sincerely apologize. Can you stop being so aggressive? It’s just a nickname. Do you have to make such a big deal out of it?” It felt like a knife twisting in my gut. I looked at his hand, firmly grasping Shanna’s wrist, and a bitter, hollow laugh escaped my lips. The trust and love we had built over eight years crumbled into dust in that single moment. “Fine. That’s just fine.” I smiled, a real, chilling smile this time. I picked up the cup of sake Shanna had poured for me. “I don’t think I can accept this apology.” Without another glance at their shocked, ugly faces, I walked out. 3 The next day, I needed the latest sales data for a presentation to the Chairman. My email request went into a black hole. When I went to the department in person, the response was suspiciously uniform: “Sorry, Director. Shanna told us Mr. Price needed the data urgently, so we have to prepare it for him first.” “Shanna said Mr. Price hasn’t reviewed these numbers yet, so we can’t release them to you.” “You’ll have to check with Shanna. We’re just following her instructions.” The moment I turned my back, the snickering started again. “The Mourning Dove can throw her weight around all she wants, but she still needs us to get anything done!” “Honestly, she acts so high and mighty, but she’s just trash trying to pass!” I immediately called Alexis’s cell. It went straight to voicemail. This deliberate radio silence was a direct, calculated humiliation. Fuming, I marched straight to his office. And I found Shanna nestled in his arms, the two of them looking disgustingly cozy. When Alexis saw me, his voice was sharp with irritation. “Don’t you have any manners? Don’t you know how to knock?” My gaze was locked on him, my voice like ice. “Alexis, I need the latest sales figures for my report.” His brow furrowed even deeper. “I already told you I need that data first. What’s your rush?” He paused, then added, “Shanna is meticulous. She’s reviewing it again to make sure there are no mistakes, so you don’t have another meltdown over a tiny error.” “A tiny error?” A cold laugh almost escaped me. “Alexis, her ‘tiny error’ was on key data that impacts a multi-million dollar project decision!” I reined in my emotions, my voice hardening. “And your idea of ‘meticulous’ is letting someone who can’t even read a spreadsheet properly bottleneck our core data?” Shanna’s eyes immediately filled with tears, her voice trembling with manufactured hurt. “Carol, I know I’m stupid… I know I’m not as good as you, but I’m really, really trying my best…” “Shanna, it’s not your fault!” Alexis instantly wrapped an arm around her, his tone softening to a gentle murmur. When he turned back to me, his eyes were filled with disgust. “Carol! Will you give it a rest? You blow every little thing out of proportion! You’re acting more and more like a Mourning Dove every day!” The words, spoken so openly from his own mouth, made me freeze. He completely ignored the wounded look in my eyes, his voice rising in volume. “You can’t do your job, and you spend all day throwing tantrums! Calling you a Mourning Dove is putting it mildly!” “Look at Shanna! Look at how humble she is! I’m only saying this for your own good!” Leaning against Alexis’s shoulder, Shanna shot me a triumphant smirk. “Fine, Mr. Price. I understand,” I said, my voice flat and dead. “The data. I’ll figure it out myself.” As I turned to leave, I could hear Alexis’s voice, deliberately softened, comforting her. “Don’t cry, Shanna. Ignore her. She’s just jealous of you. She’s twisted…” 4 The humiliation didn’t stop. It got worse. Alexis’s endorsement was a blank check for Shanna and the rest of the hyenas. “Mourning Dove” became a semi-public joke. Two new interns saw me in the hallway and exchanged strange, mocking smiles. One of them whispered, just loud enough for me to hear. “Hurry, it’s the Mourning Dove. Don’t let her peck you.” “I heard there’s a group chat… haha, are you in it?” “No, not yet! Add me, quick.” This became a daily occurrence. The final straw came during a major project presentation. My last report had been a failure, leaving the Chairman deeply unsatisfied. So for this one, I had prepared meticulously, leaving no stone unturned. But ten minutes before the meeting, Alexis walked in with Shanna. “Shanna has also been following this project closely,” he announced. “She’ll lead the presentation. You can provide supplemental information.” I tried to argue. “Alexis, I’ve been in charge of this project from its inception. I know it inside and out.” Alexis sneered, glancing at me. “You know it? Then who was it that disappointed the Chairman last time?” He then turned to Shanna, his eyes full of encouragement. “Shanna, you can begin when you’re ready.” Shanna immediately stepped forward, confidently plugging her USB drive into the laptop. As she presented, Alexis nodded frequently, a look of deep satisfaction on his face. I watched the whole charade with cold, silent fury. Then, as she was switching between windows, her finger slipped. Her personal chat client was instantly mirrored onto the massive conference room screen. Pinned to the top was a group chat with a name that burned itself into my retinas: 【The Mourning Dove Observation Diary】 The feed was filled with candid, unflattering photos of me, each with a running commentary. “Look at the Mourning Dove with her yoga pants and fancy coffee. Acting like she’s high society!” “Please, Alexis pays for everything. If it were me, I’d have dumped her after eight years!” Even through the screen, I could taste the fake sweetness in Shanna’s reply: “Guys, don’t be so mean.” And right below it, a message from Alexis himself: “Shanna, stay away from the Mourning Dove. Don’t want her starting trouble with you again.” I looked at Alexis. His expression was completely untroubled, almost amused. My heart turned to ash. Eight years of devotion, of sacrifice… had been a complete and utter joke. I didn’t wait for the meeting to end. I walked straight to HR and submitted my resignation. As I was carrying my box out, I ran into Alexis and Shanna, who were laughing together in the hallway. Alexis’s eyes followed me, but he didn’t say a word. And in my heart, I said, Goodbye, Alexis. For good.

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To stay in character as the wicked stepmother, I had a new daily routine. I’d order my eldest son to peel shrimp, my second son to brew my tea, and my youngest daughter to massage my shoulders. This went on for half a month, right up until the man of the house returned. I had my bags packed, ready to be thrown out onto the street. But instead, my eldest son said: “Dad, don’t just stand there. Go make Mom’s bed.” Me: …? 1 “Host, all you have to do is maintain your persona and torment them every day!” the System buzzed in my head. “Once the male lead comes back and kicks you out, your mission will be a success!” “The reward is ten million dollars, you know~” I puffed out my chest and promised, “Don’t you worry. When it comes to being wicked, if I’m number two, no one dares claim to be number one.” The System, reassured, vanished. A new boss has to make her presence known. I gazed at the three little pipsqueaks standing before me, lined up from tallest to shortest like Wi-Fi bars. I decided to make an example of one of them to show the other two I meant business. It was time for them to taste my wrath. 2 “You. Come here and rub my legs.” I pointed a perfectly manicured finger at the eldest, Leo. In the future, he was destined to be a brooding, manipulative man who cared for no one but his younger siblings. Too bad for him, right now he was just a little pawn I could move around my chessboard. He knelt by my feet, his small body radiating humiliation. “Harder! Are you made of fluff? Put some muscle into it!” The moment the words left my mouth, a sharp pain shot up my leg. I… “Leo, was it? Excellent work,” I said through gritted teeth. “As a reward, from now on, you all get to eat at the table with me.” Because of the neglect they’d suffered, the three kids were chronically underfed, as skinny as little monkeys. Leo’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief, as if asking why I was suddenly being so kind. But kind? Not a chance. Kindness wasn’t in my job description. I added slowly, savoring the moment, “But you will also drink a full glass of milk every morning and every evening. And I’ll be watching to make sure you finish every last drop.” As soon as I said it, three identical expressions of horror washed over their faces. I could have laughed out loud. I knew it. Milk. The universal enemy of all children. I studied Leo, a wicked smile playing on my lips. “Tell you what. Call me ‘Mom’ just once, beg me a little, and maybe I’ll let you off the hook with the milk. What do you say?” Leo scoffed, turning his head away in disgust. He’s got backbone. I like that. 3 On my second day as the wicked stepmother, I decided that Leo, who refused to acknowledge me as his mother, needed a new name. Something fitting. Something… classic. “From now on, your name is Jedediah,” I announced. Jedediah stared at me, his eyes wide with disbelief, but he didn’t dare say a word. Pleased, I turned my gaze to the second son, who was trying to make himself invisible. “And you,” I declared, “will be Hezekiah.” Then, I looked at the little girl, who was blinking at me with innocent eyes, and whispered like the devil on her shoulder, “You, my dear, are Petunia.” Seeing the three of them, seething but silent, I let out a cackle. Ah, being the wicked stepmother? It was a blast. 4 Even a wicked stepmother has her troubles, though. With my husband away, any trouble the pipsqueaks got into at school meant I was the first person the school called. My phone rang bright and early, jolting me from a dead sleep. “Is this Noah’s guardian?” “Noah was caught stealing money from a classmate. We need you to come to the school immediately.” Noah? A thief? I dragged myself out of bed, and by the time I reached the principal’s office, I could hear a shrill voice screaming from inside. “You trashy little thief! You’re nothing but gutter scum! Learning to steal at your age!” “I bet your mother stole the money for your tuition, too! You reek of poverty!” “You little animal, you’re a disgrace! Today, I’m going to teach you the lesson your mother clearly never did!” I took a deep breath and shoved the door open. There was tiny Noah, not even as tall as the desk leg, with a bright red handprint blooming on his pale cheek. Tears welled in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. When he saw me, his head dropped in panic. The teacher stood up awkwardly. “Mrs. Blackwood, hello…” I pushed past her and faced the sharp-tongued woman across the room. Without a word, I swung my designer handbag—worth a small fortune—and slammed it right into her face. “Who the hell do you think you are?!” 5 I didn’t stop there. I slapped her, I pulled her hair—I gave her the full treatment. The woman shrieked in pain. “You dare hit me! You bitch!” “I’m calling the police! I’m calling the police!” “I’ll have you and your thieving son thrown in jail!” I gave her another backhand for good measure. “Go on! Call them!” I taunted. “Let’s see who ends up behind bars!” I was the wicked stepmother, what did I have to fear? As long as the male lead wasn’t back, I couldn’t be written out of the story. Once I’d vented my anger, I slapped the tablet with the security footage onto the desk. “Open your damn eyes and take a good look! See who the real thief is!” Noah hadn’t left his seat all day. The teacher blinked. “How is that possible? The camera in that classroom has been broken for weeks. We haven’t had it repaired yet.” The woman sneered, “You faked the footage!” I just laughed. For a wicked stepmother with a System, getting my hands on a little security footage was a piece of cake. I turned and made a fist, looming menacingly over the chubby little boy hiding behind his mother’s legs. “You. Little man. Tell me the truth,” I growled. “Did Noah really steal your money?” The memory of me beating his mother was still fresh in his mind. The slightest bit of pressure was all it took. He burst into tears. “No… no!” he wailed. “Mommy… I spent all the money myself… Please don’t hit me, wahhh…” The woman’s face turned green. Under my intimidating glare, the boy sobbed out the whole story. He’d overspent his allowance and, terrified of being punished, had blamed it on Noah. It was an easy lie; no one ever came to pick Noah up from school, so all the kids just assumed he was an orphan. They figured no one would stand up for him if he got bullied. The woman who had just been screaming about calling the police now looked like her face was cycling through a rainbow of shame and fury. She grabbed her son and tried to leave. I blocked her path and pointed a finger at Noah. “Apologize to him.” “Or I’ll make sure everyone in this school knows your son is a lying little punk.” 6 On the way home, Noah kept sneaking glances at me, his eyes full of tiny, sparkling stars. It was starting to get on my nerves. I glared at him. “Keep looking at me like that and I’ll gouge your eyes out.” He immediately clamped his little hands over his eyes, but after a moment, he peeked through his fingers. “You’re… you’re not going to hit me?” Given that the ‘me’ he was used to tormented him daily, it was a fair question. An incident this big without a beating was a little out of character. So, I reached out and gave his cheek a wicked pinch. “Your punishment is an extra glass of milk tonight!” I declared. “And begging won’t do you any good!” Hmph. After all, milk was the most disgusting thing in the world. A look of pure agony crossed Noah’s face. Mission accomplished. 7 We walked into the house hand-in-hand, just in time to see Leo returning from his after-school tutoring. His eyes immediately locked onto the handprint on Noah’s face. His expression darkened, and he pulled his little brother behind him protectively. “She hit you again?” he demanded. I raised an eyebrow. “What if I did? You want some too?” With that, I turned on my heel and sashayed away, leaving Noah to frantically explain the situation to a very skeptical Leo. I overheard Leo’s cool analysis as I walked away: “Don’t trust her. This is just a new trick to mess with our heads.” I couldn’t help but nod in agreement. Looks like another successful day in the life of a wicked stepmother. 8 I was ready to strike while the iron was hot, to cook up some new mischief to really cement Leo’s hatred of me. But before I could even start scheming, the butler rushed in, his face pale with panic. “Madam, it’s terrible!” “Master Leo got into a fight and has been taken into police custody! The station just called and asked you to come down!” Jedediah, detained? A grin spread across my face. Opportunity was knocking! When I arrived, a police officer was patiently trying to get a reason for the fight out of Leo. Across from him sat three teenagers, their faces bruised and swollen. As expected of the future brooding anti-hero. One against three, and he still came out on top. I asked the officer for a few minutes alone with the boys. As soon as he left the room, I spun around and gave Leo a firm slap on the backside. “Getting a little bold, are we?” I hissed. “Starting fights now? You can just wait to be thrown out of this house!” He stared at me, his body trembling with rage. I glared back, even more fiercely. “You dare look at me like that?” I scoffed and turned away from the seething boy, pasting a friendly smile on my face as I approached the three dumbfounded teenagers. “Hello, boys. I’m Leo’s stepmother. To be honest, I can’t stand him either.” “Could you tell me what the fight was about? I’d love to have something to report to his father so we can finally kick him out.” The three of them exchanged glances, remaining silent. My smile widened. “How about this? You tell me what happened, and I’ll give each of you five thousand dollars.” The lure of money was too much. One of them cracked. “He’s a damn busybody, that’s what.” “We were just having some fun with a girl, took a few pictures, and he came at us like a psycho.” I kept my expression neutral. “What kind of pictures? Can I see?” One of the boys hesitated, but the other two, their eyes already glazed over with greed, pulled out their phones. “Here, ma’am. See?” “We just took a few pictures, that’s all.” “If you ask me, don’t just kick him out. You should have him committed.” I looked at the photos on their phones—upskirt shots, pictures of them bullying other students. I nodded thoughtfully. Then I opened the door and handed the evidence to the waiting police officer. “Officer, you heard them. My son was simply defending someone. As for these little degenerates, I suggest you send them to a juvenile detention center for some serious rehabilitation.” 9 As we walked out of the police station, Leo’s eyes were filled with a complicated mix of emotions. “Leo!” A soft voice called out. He turned to see a girl standing there, his brow furrowing slightly. “What are you doing here?” The girl clutched the straps of her backpack, her voice barely a whisper. “I… thank you for helping me!” Leo just shrugged. “I only beat them up because they were annoying. It had nothing to do with you.” The girl was speechless. I rolled my eyes. “Such a poser.” Leo gritted his teeth. The girl let out a small giggle, then bowed to me as well. “Thank you too, ma’am!” As she ran off, Leo’s cool facade finally broke. “Why did she thank you? When did you two even meet?” I shot him a look. “None of your business.” Leo: “…” A moment later, his awkward voice piped up again. “Don’t think I’m going to thank you just because you helped me.” I snorted. “Who needs your thanks? Just wait until we get home. You and I have a score to settle.” 10 Three hundred and eight shrimp later, Leo finally broke. “This is your idea of settling the score?” he asked, his fingers aching. “What else would it be?” I replied, popping another freshly peeled shrimp into my mouth. “Peel faster. You can’t even keep up with me. What kind of brooding anti-hero are you?” Jedediah said nothing, simply picking up his pace. Hezekiah brought over a cup of freshly brewed tea, placing it carefully by my hand. I glanced over at the adorable, innocent-looking Petunia. “You. Come here and massage my back.” Being a wicked stepmother was a piece of cake. 11 After the Great Shrimp Peeling Incident, Leo’s hatred for me only deepened. Noah, too, was now completely under my thumb. That just left one of them: Lily. I was lying on my bed with a face mask on, pondering how best to torment the little girl, when there was a soft knock on my door. I opened it to find Lily standing there, clutching a doll that was almost bigger than she was and looking up at me with wide eyes. …She was kind of cute. Focus. Must remain wicked. “What is it?” I asked, making my voice as cold as possible. Lily flinched, her voice as small as a mosquito’s buzz. “I… I’m scared to sleep alone…” I glanced outside at the thunderstorm raging, lightning flashing across the sky. I was about to mock her for being a coward, but then an idea sparked in my mind. I stepped aside and let her in. The little girl’s eyes lit up. Poor, sweet Petunia. She had no idea she’d just walked straight into my trap. Once she was tucked obediently into bed, I pulled out a book of gruesome fairy tales and began to read aloud in my most menacing voice. Five minutes later, the little girl was a sobbing wreck. Feeling refreshed, I poked the little bundle of blankets she’d become. “Hey, kid. Don’t get tears on my expensive sheets, or I’ll have to punish you.” After sufficiently terrorizing her, I stood up to go wash my face. But she grabbed onto my leg, her voice thick with tears. “Can I come with you…? I’m scared…” Me: … Fine. I magnanimously agreed. But as I helped the little girl out of her pajamas, I saw them. Her small body was covered in red welts and dark bruises. My brow furrowed. I hadn’t laid a finger on her. What was this? “Hey, kid. What happened? Where did you get these bruises?” I asked, my tone sharp. “Were you fighting at school behind my back?” Lily hugged herself shyly and shook her head. “They’re rewards. From Mr. Peterson.” “He said only the pretty and obedient girls in class get them.” Me: … I looked at her innocent little face and felt my teeth grind together. Damn it. This family was a magnet for trouble.

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I was scrolling through a popular social media channel when I came across a street interview. “What would you say to yourself from five years ago?” In the video, Christian Frost had his arm around his new girlfriend. His voice was calm, laced with affection. “I’d tell the Christian from five years ago to find Lily Lin sooner.” The girl in his arms blushed, covering her mouth as she agreed. “Me too.” Online comments exploded with adoration, followers showering them with blessings. No one knew that five years ago was the day Christian and I got married. Even he had forgotten. Until a week later. The same channel posted another street interview. In this one, I looked directly into the camera and said, seriously, “If I could, I’d tell her: Claire Kingsley, don’t marry Christian Frost. You’ll regret it.” This time, Christian saw it. 1 The day I agreed to the divorce was a perfectly ordinary afternoon. I called Christian’s number, but it was Lily who answered. “Hello?” “I’m looking for Christian.” “He’s in the shower. Is there something I can help you with?” Her voice was as bright and fearless as ever, tinged with a possessive, almost triumphant, undertone. The old me would have screamed, would have hysterically demanded she get lost, that I needed to speak to Christian. But now, I knew all too well that Lily was the only one who could get him on the phone. I couldn’t let her hang up on me like she always did, leaving me to rage like a madwoman. “He mentioned a divorce before. I agree to it,” I said calmly, getting straight to the point. There was a second of silence on the other end, then she repeated, disbelieving, “You’re agreeing to a divorce?” “Yes.” The word had barely left my lips when I heard a rustling sound. Christian must have taken the phone. Soon, his deep, indifferent voice was in my ear. “It’s me.” I know. Hearing his voice, I felt a strange sense of detachment. It had been six months since he’d moved out of our villa to be with Lily. We hadn’t spoken since. The last thing he’d said to me was: “Claire, let’s get a divorce. If you don’t agree, I’ll file for legal separation and then sue.” Now, half a year later, I had finally caved. “Lily said you want to divorce me?” he asked when I didn’t speak. He must have been frowning as he said it, his tone laced with a hint of confusion. I couldn’t understand where his confusion was coming from. He was the one who had brought it up. But I no longer had the energy to argue with him about who initiated it. I just hummed in agreement. “If you have time, let’s meet and sign the papers.” Then, I hung up. 2 It was the first time I had ever hung up on him since discovering his affair. Before, I was the one bombarding his phone with calls and texts. I’d used the most vicious words to curse him and the most heartbroken sobs to beg him. But every time, Christian would say, annoyed, “Can you stop acting like a lunatic? Talk to me when you’ve calmed down.” Then he would mercilessly end the call, ignoring my frantic attempts to reach him again. I wanted to be calm, but whenever I thought about our years together ending like this, I couldn’t control myself. I wanted to demand answers, to know why he had betrayed me. I wanted to beg him to come back, promising I would forgive him. But all my pleading and waiting had led to nothing. Christian remained unchanged. And I, slowly, became the insecure, unhinged person he accused me of being. A real lunatic. I floated through a long period in a haze, drowning in the agony of our relationship. Until three days ago. I stumbled upon a street interview video by a content creator called “Time Capsule.” The question was: “What would you say to yourself from five years ago?” Some said they’d study harder. Others wished they’d spent more time with their families. One person proudly declared that their future self was amazing, having lived up to all their expectations. And then, amidst the stream of answers, I saw him. Christian, with his new girlfriend, Lily. That’s how I knew it wasn’t scripted. Given Christian’s current status, even the most famous creators had to book appointments to see him. This interviewer had truly just caught him on the street, like any other random passerby. At first, Christian seemed annoyed by the interruption. But Lily, beside him, was beaming with excitement. “Oh, this looks fun, Christian! Let’s do it, please?” she begged, shaking his arm playfully. Christian’s expression softened into one of resigned indulgence. The interviewer explained the concept and then posed the question. Lily paused to think, and Christian, seeing her struggle, answered for her. “If I could, I’d tell the Christian from five years ago to find Lily Lin sooner.” He said it with his arm wrapped around her. His voice was cool, but the protective affection he had for her was unmistakable. Lily looked up at him in surprise, then shyly covered her mouth and whispered, “Me too.” 3 By the time I saw the video, it already had tens of thousands of likes. The comments were a flood of adoration. 【OMG! They’re so gorgeous! I ship it!】 【My heart! A true love story! There’s hope for us all!】 【So sweet! You two have to be happy forever! Wishing you all the best!】 I stared at the video, stunned. Did Christian really love her that much? Had he forgotten? Five years ago, we had just gotten married. We were at the peak of our love. We were poor, but we were deliriously happy. And now, here he was, on camera, saying he wished he had met her five years earlier. I expected to feel the usual surge of rage, the uncontrollable fury. I expected to grab my phone and unleash a torrent of angry calls and texts. If he didn’t answer, I would have smashed everything in the villa to pieces, screaming my frustration into the void. But strangely, this time, I just sat there, perfectly still. The comments that should have stung, that should have provoked me, just scrolled past my eyes like lines of code. Then, something inside my head seemed to loosen and drift away. And I was shocked to find… I felt nothing. Obsession can be born in an instant, and clarity, it turns out, can arrive just as quickly. And that’s what led to my phone call. 4 Christian sent me a message. Amidst a sea of red exclamation marks from my blocked messages, his new text stood out in its simple black and white box. Looks like he’d unblocked me, I thought with a self-deprecating smirk. He told me to come to his office on Monday. His lawyer would have the agreement ready. If we both agreed on the terms, we could sign and then just wait for the mandatory cooling-off period to pass. 【Okay.】 On Monday, I went to Christian’s company as planned. Since I didn’t have an appointment, the receptionist had to call upstairs for clearance. “Yes, a Ms. Kingsley is here.” After hanging up, she told me to go up to the executive floor, where a secretary would meet me. I thanked her and headed up. The young woman who greeted me was a stranger. I didn’t recognize her. But then again, it had been six months since I’d last set foot in this place. She was probably a new hire. “Ms. Kingsley, please wait here. Mr. Frost is in a meeting.” She didn’t know me either. She called me Ms. Kingsley and led me to a waiting area. I used to go straight to Christian’s office. His meetings always lasted at least an hour, and I hated waiting. He knew this, so he’d filled his office with books and movies to keep me from getting bored. “You can read or watch a movie. If you get tired, you can wait for me in the break room,” he’d told me back then. The last time I was here, all my things had been removed from his office. The person with free access to his private lounge was someone else. Now, to see him, I had to wait in a generic reception area. But I didn’t have the energy to fight over such a small thing anymore. So I waited quietly. I had plenty of time. I didn’t expect to wait for two hours. Still, no one came to get me. “Excuse me, is Mr. Frost’s meeting over yet?” I finally asked the young woman who had shown me in. She fidgeted. “Mr. Frost is… still in the meeting…” I frowned, about to say something, when I heard laughter down the hall. “Let’s go to that new restaurant for lunch, then.” “Okay!” 5 The voices were painfully familiar. I had just heard them on the phone the night before. There was Lily, clutching a folder, skipping alongside Christian. The young, beautiful girl was a vibrant splash of color, bright and confident. Christian was leaning in, listening to her, a small smile playing on his lips. I don’t know what she said, but the smile on his face deepened. “Miss…” The young secretary tried to stop me as I walked directly towards them, but it was too late. “Christian.” Hearing my voice, they both turned. I clearly saw the flicker of surprise and astonishment on Christian’s face. I asked him if his meeting was over. If it was, it was time to discuss our business. “I got here at ten. I’ve been waiting for two hours.” “Who told you I was in a meeting?” he asked, his brow furrowed in genuine confusion. I was taken aback. I looked at him, and the puzzlement in his eyes seemed real. We both realized what had happened at the same time. I didn’t say anything. Christian’s gaze swept across the office, cold and serious. The employees all bowed their heads, not daring to speak. The young woman who had led me to the waiting room shrank back, her head bowed. But just before she did, her eyes darted towards Lily. Of course. In this entire office, the only person who could pull a stunt like this was Lily. “I forgot to tell everyone the meeting was canceled. I didn’t do it on purpose. I’m sorry, Mr. Frost,” Lily said, biting her lip and looking up at Christian with wide, innocent eyes. He had always been lenient with her. This time was no different. He didn’t say a word of reprimand. “Come in,” he said, looking at me, dismissing the incident. As I walked past Lily, I saw the pride and defiance in her eyes. 6 “Have a seat.” Inside his office, Christian treated me like a guest. I glanced at the sofa. It was piled with cute, fluffy stuffed animals. The bookshelf that once held my favorite novels was now a snack rack. The door to the private lounge was ajar. Through the crack, I could see a woman’s clothes casually thrown on the end of the bed. Christian looked at me, his expression unreadable. I felt a pang of awkwardness and quickly looked away. “Where’s the agreement?” He handed me the divorce papers from his desk. As I reviewed them, his eyes never left my face. “We’ve been together for so many years. I won’t be stingy. You can have your pick of the cars and houses. If you have any other demands, you can make them now.” Was this supposed to be compensation? The thought flickered through my mind, but it didn’t slow me down. The assets Christian was giving me in the agreement were more than I could spend in several lifetimes. He had always been generous. “This is fine. I’ll just take the villa we’re living in now,” I said. I signed my name cleanly and handed the papers back to him. Christian seemed to have more to say. I saw his lips part, then close again as I acted. He stared at the papers in my hand, as if he couldn’t believe the entire process had taken less than five minutes. I stood up. “The cooling-off period is a month. I’ll contact you then.” I turned to leave. “Claire.” “Is there something else?” “Don’t you have anything to say to me?” Christian’s brow was furrowed, his eyes filled with disbelief, his tone a questioning probe. I looked at him, confused. Seeing that he was serious, I thought for a moment and then asked, genuinely, “At this point, you don’t actually expect me to wish you and Lily a lifetime of happiness and a house full of kids, do you?” I may have moved on, but I wasn’t that generous. “…” He was speechless. Christian’s gaze was like a deep, dark pool, his emotions impossible to read. As I reached for the doorknob, I heard his voice again. “Claire, in the end, I’m the one who wronged you. I’ll continue to cover your mother’s medical expenses.”

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1. I got a ten-thousand-dollar year-end bonus, and my boyfriend insisted I treat him to a fancy dinner. The bill came. Eighty thousand dollars. Stunned and realizing I’d been scammed, I refused to pay. The restaurant owner had me tied up, snarling that if I didn’t cough up the money, he’d make sure I disappeared. I took a closer look at him, and my blood boiled. Wasn’t this my father’s man, Hugh “The Panther” Pane? My dad, Lucas Thorne, is a mob boss. He’s also completely obsessed with his daughter. When my mom divorced him, I couldn’t stand his life of constant violence and refused to see him. He stood before me with tears in his eyes and swore he’d go straight. But all these years later, it looked like his men were still up to their old tricks! And they had the audacity to tie me up! … “Trying to dine and dash? You got another thing coming, sweetheart. Don’t you know whose turf you’re on?” “Pay up, or you’re leaving an arm behind!” A group of menacing thugs surrounded me. One of them held a heavy meat cleaver, tapping it against my shoulder as if measuring his cut. My heart leaped into my throat. Was this place a front? No wonder four dishes and a bottle of wine cost eighty grand. This wasn’t a dinner; it was a shakedown. I took a deep breath, forcing my voice to stay calm. “Where’s my boyfriend? Where’s Jim?” If it wasn’t for Jim insisting we come to this place, I never would have set foot in this godforsaken corner of the city. The decor was opulent, screaming expensive, but I figured my ten-thousand-dollar bonus would more than cover it. I never imagined the bill would be eighty thousand. This had to be a setup. They could have just mugged me, but no, they served me a full meal first. At the mention of Jim, one of the thugs sneered. “Looking for him won’t do you any good. He’s the one who told us to grab you.” “Said you were a real cash cow. Said eighty grand was nothing, that you could pull out eight hundred if you had to! Looks like he misjudged. Our lucky day, huh?” “If you can’t pay, we’ll just break your legs and toss you into the Gilded Cage. You’ll earn back that eighty grand soon enough.” The Gilded Cage did not sound like a finishing school. I yelled, “I’m not going! This is kidnapping and extortion! It’s illegal! Let me go!” The man holding the cleaver laughed as if I’d told the funniest joke in the world. “Illegal? Honey, around here, I am the law.” “You don’t want to go to the Gilded Cage? Fine. Pay the bill. Otherwise, I’ve got plenty of ways to make you suffer.” With a cruel twist of his lips, he grabbed me by the neck and plunged my head into a nearby fish tank. The suffocating pressure was blinding. I struggled, my lungs burning, until he finally pulled me up. I gasped for air, water streaming down my face. It was time to negotiate. “I’ll pay,” I choked out. “But I don’t have that much on me right now. Let me make a phone call. I can have someone bring the money.” It was true. My mother managed all my earnings. The ten-thousand-dollar bonus was the only money in my personal account. They could drown me, but I couldn’t produce eighty grand. The words had barely left my mouth when a man with a thick, bushy beard slapped me across the face. “Dressed head to toe in designer clothes and you don’t have eighty grand? Who are you kidding?” “Make a phone call? You think we’re stupid? You call the cops, and you’re dead.” Just then, one of the younger goons spoke up impatiently. “Hugh, let’s just cut the crap and send her to the Gilded Cage already. A face like that? She’ll probably earn way more than eighty grand.” I looked closer at the man they called Hugh, the one with the beard. He seemed… familiar. Wait a minute. Wasn’t that Hugh Pane? Hugh “The Panther” Pane. My father’s right-hand man. My dad, Lucas Thorne, was a notorious mob boss, but he was even more notorious for being a doting father. My mother had been swept up in his whirlwind romance, a classic case of forceful charm leading to marriage and then to me. But she eventually grew tired of his domineering ways and decided to leave. I chose not to go with him, unable to stomach his world of violence. Lucas had stood before me, his eyes red, and swore on his life he would clean up his act. And now, all these years later, here was his top lieutenant, still running the same old rackets. And he had tied me up. If I hadn’t been studying abroad for so long, and if my eyesight wasn’t so bad, I would have recognized him sooner. My shock turned to fury. “Hugh Pane, you’ve got a death wish! How dare you tie me up!” The younger goon who had spoken earlier froze, then slapped me again. “You’re the one with a death wish! You think you can just use our boss’s name like that?” He raised his fist to strike me again. Hugh stopped him, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “How do you know my name?” I thought he’d finally recognized me. “Because I’m Lucas Thorne’s daughter!” I yelled. “Let me go, right now! If my dad finds out about this, he’ll have your head!” The suspicion on Hugh’s face immediately morphed into derision. “You? Posing as the boss’s daughter? You got a lot of nerve, lady!” I was speechless. “I really am his daughter! I’m Tiffany Thorne!” Hugh grabbed me by the collar of my dress and sneered. “Your boyfriend was calling you Jessica Thorne all through dinner. You think we’re all deaf?” “I am Tiffany!” I explained desperately. “I go by Jessica now because my parents divorced! I took my mom’s last name!” “If you don’t believe me, look at my phone’s lock screen! It’s a picture of me and my dad!” Hugh was my father’s most trusted man. He had to know my mother’s name. But the next thing I knew, a sharp pain shot through my shin as Hugh struck me with a wooden bat. “The boss and the missus are as happy as can be! How dare you say they’re divorced!” “You spread another rumor like that, and I’ll rip your mouth off!” I gasped, a cold dread washing over me. I’d forgotten. My father had kept the divorce a secret, afraid of the gossip it would cause my mother. I never thought his attempt to protect her would end up damning me. Just then, another goon handed my phone to Hugh. A flicker of hope ignited within me. Once he saw the lock screen, he’d know. But Hugh held the phone, squinting at the screen and then back at my face for a long moment. Then he spat on the floor. “I can’t believe I almost fell for your act. You’ve been playing me this whole time!” “You think I’m gonna believe a photoshopped picture of you with the boss?” “Tiffany is a sweet, chubby girl, a real picture of good fortune. You, with your plastic-surgery V-line face, you dare to impersonate her?” He raised the bat again, ready to strike. I was horrified. It was true, I used to be chubby. But after high school, my mom sent me to a weight-loss camp. I lost fifty pounds. That, combined with makeup and filters… I used to love it when people told me how thin and beautiful I looked. Now, the irony was just crushing. Just as the bat was about to come down on my head, a woman with heavy makeup stepped in and stopped him. “Hugh, what if this little tramp is the boss’s mistress?” “If you hurt her and he comes looking for you, what then?” Hugh shot her a furious glare. “You looking to die too? The boss and the missus are solid. He’d never have a mistress!” “Now, she’s not getting out of here even if she pays! There’s nothing I hate more than a homewrecker!” With that, he ordered his men to cut my face. My hands and feet were bound. I couldn’t move an inch. I screamed in terror, “I really am Lucas Thorne’s daughter! If you touch me, he’ll kill you all!” But a moment later, I heard the sound of fabric ripping as they tore my dress. “You dare to disrespect the missus? Not even God himself can save you now!” A wave of despair washed over me. Just then, a knock came at the door. “Hugh, the boss is here! He wants to book a private room for a birthday party! He’s looking for you!” Hugh’s face lit up. “Really? If the boss is putting in this much effort, it must be for the missus!” He pointed a disgusted finger at me. “Get rid of this trash. I don’t want the boss to see her. She’ll ruin the mood.” With that, he and his men hurried out of the room. The only person Hugh called “boss” was my father, Lucas Thorne. Could it be? Was he here? Tears welled in my eyes, but I knew I had to hold them back. If I was going to escape, this was my only chance. As they threw a bag over my head and dragged me out the door, I lashed out with a powerful kick, aiming for the groin of the man beside me. He grunted in pain and let go. I stumbled forward, running blindly. Unfamiliar with the layout, I tumbled down a flight of stairs. The fall left me dazed. Before I could recover, the man I’d kicked caught up and slammed something hard against the back of my head. “You little bitch! You dare kick me? I’ll beat you to death!” The world spun. Through the haze, I thought I saw my father’s silhouette at the end of the hallway. Then I was dragged away, and everything went black. When I woke up, I was tied up in a storage closet. My mouth was taped shut. My clothes were still on; I hadn’t been assaulted. Had they all rushed off to greet my father? That meant he was still here. As long as he was here, I still had a chance. I scooted over to the corner and began desperately rubbing the ropes against a sharp edge. Just then, I heard hushed voices outside the door. I pressed my ear against the wood and listened. It was Jim.

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1 Two days before our engagement party, my fiancé, Christian, was on one knee, adjusting the hem of my dress when his fingers brushed against my ankle. “Lorna,” he murmured, his touch light, “how come I’ve never seen you in heels? You have such beautiful feet.” I was busy fussing with the waistline of my gown in the mirror. “I can’t get used to them,” I said dismissively. “They hurt when I walk.” “You should try. They’d be perfect with this mermaid dress.” His palm slid up the line of my leg, pausing at the soft hollow behind my knee. “Red-soled stilettos. The kind that gives you a flash of red when you walk, that makes your hips sway… You’d look absolutely stunning.” I met his gaze in the mirror. It was intense, focused. “Since when did you become a fashion expert?” Christian’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, his eyes darting away from mine. “I, uh, flipped through a few magazines.” I said nothing. He moved closer, his fingers gently tipping my chin up. “What, you don’t believe me?” His touch was warm, but his gaze flickered again, just for an instant. “Of course I do,” I said, forcing a bright smile as I poked him playfully in the chest. “I’m just surprised that Christian Price, the esteemed attorney, has time for this kind of research.” He leaned in and kissed my forehead. “For you, my love, I’d learn anything.” He pulled away. “I’ll go get you a glass of water.” He turned and left the room, leaving his phone behind on the vanity. I hesitated for a moment before picking it up. My fingers typed in the password—my birthday, the same it had always been. It was the first time in all our years together that I had ever looked through his phone. The call logs, messages, and photo gallery were all spotless. Clean. A wave of relief washed over me, and I chided myself for being so suspicious. But as my thumb hovered over the search bar, some dark instinct took over. I typed in “red-soled stilettos.” The search pulled up a blocked contact. The profile picture was blank, the username a single word: “Stella.” It was impossible to unblock and add her from his phone. I memorized the contact ID and switched to my burner account on my own phone. After a quick search, a profile with a blurry side-profile picture popped up. I sent a friend request. She accepted almost instantly. A message came through: “A fan?” My heart seized, and the blood ran cold in my veins. “Yeah,” I typed, my hands starting to tremble. “I saw you in a magazine. A friend of a friend gave me your contact.” She didn’t seem to question it. “Haha, thanks, babe! So sweet of you. Which friend was it? Doesn’t matter, welcome! ” “You know, Mr. Henderson,” I lied, pulling a name out of thin air. Sweat beaded on my palms. She sent back a cute GIF. “Ooh, say no more! That explains it. Thanks for the love! ” After a short exchange of pleasantries, I clicked on her profile feed. The most recent posts were professionally edited selfies and photos from events. The woman in them had vibrant, sharp features and an enviably lean figure. The backdrops were a rotation of high-end restaurants, backstage at fashion shows, and boutique gyms. A model, for sure. I kept scrolling down, my thumb moving faster and faster, until I stopped on a post from a week ago. It was a picture of her back, the pose languid but powerfully seductive. She was on her tiptoes, showing off the flash of a familiar red sole. This photo, unlike the others, had a caption. “Thank you for the gift, Mr. C. ” Mr. C? A phantom hand clenched around my heart, squeezing the air from my lungs. I clamped a hand over my mouth, terrified I would scream, but a broken, choked sob escaped anyway. Suddenly, everything clicked into place. The mysterious luxury brand receipt I’d found in his coat pocket last week. His recent string of late nights “at the office.” Even the hushed phone call on the balcony two nights ago—the one he’d abruptly ended when he saw I was awake, claiming it was an urgent case. So this was the truth. Ten years. Ten years we had been together, and we were finally on the verge of making it official. I couldn’t—I wouldn’t—believe that the man who had loved and cherished me for a decade would betray me. But a cold, clear voice in the back of my mind whispered the undeniable truth: My fiancé was in love with another woman. 2 My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold my phone. Plink. A single tear hit the screen. I swiped it away and opened my text messages, finding the credit card notification from the day he bought the shoes. A charge for $2,200 from a high-end shoe boutique downtown. The exact same amount as the receipt I’d found. The sound of footsteps approached the door. I quickly locked his phone and placed it back on the vanity, exactly where he’d left it. “Sorry, did I take too long?” Christian asked, walking in with a glass of water. In his other hand, he held a tell-tale orange gift box. His smile was warm, intoxicating. “Guess what I got you?” He opened the box to reveal a new designer handbag, a model that was notoriously hard to find. “An early engagement present. Do you like it?” Any other day, I would have thrown my arms around his neck and playfully scolded him for spending so much money. But now, the gesture felt like a grotesque joke. “Yes,” I managed to say. “It’s beautiful.” He smiled, ruffling my hair. “I’ll get you an even better gift for the wedding. More beautiful than this. You can start looking forward to it now.” I stared at him, a raw, acidic pain rising in my chest. God, how I wished the last ten minutes had been a nightmare. The next day, I stood in the security office of the downtown shoe boutique, my nails digging so deeply into my palms that they almost broke the skin. On the monitor, Christian had his arm wrapped around Stella’s waist, his head bent low to listen as she whispered in his ear. He took the stiletto she’d been trying on and knelt before her, gently sliding it onto her foot. The salesclerk fawned over them as he casually took Stella’s purse, waiting patiently while she admired herself in the mirror. After paying, she spun around on her tiptoes, her skirt flaring out around her. Christian reached out to steady her, his eyes burning with an intensity I hadn’t seen in years. I glanced at the date stamp on the footage. It was the night I’d stayed at the lab until dawn, rushing to finish a project so I could take my wedding leave early. He had texted me a picture of a coffee cup on his desk at the law firm, telling me he was buried in work. It was all a lie. “That gentleman is a regular,” one of the security guards muttered to the other. “Always comes in with that lady, spends ages while she tries on shoes.” “That model,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Do you have it in stock?” The salesclerk, who had been called into the room, blinked in surprise. “We do, yes, but the price…” “I’ll take them all.” I swiped my card and walked out of the store with six large gift boxes. When I got home, Christian was in the kitchen, humming as he stirred a pot of soup. “You’re back!” he called out. He stepped out of the kitchen, and his eyes fell on the small mountain of shoe boxes at my feet. His smile froze. “What… what is all this?” he asked, his voice tight. I calmly opened one of the boxes, pulled out a red-soled stiletto, and dangled it in front of him. “Beautiful, aren’t they?” I said, a razor-sharp smile on my lips. “The clerk told me they’re the most popular style.” His face went pale. “Why did you suddenly buy so many?” “Suddenly?” I tilted my head. “Aren’t you the one who suggested I try them?” His mouth opened, then closed. He looked away, his fingers nervously tracing the rim of the soup bowl on the counter. A suffocating silence filled the room. I stood up and grabbed my coat. “Something’s come up at the lab. I have to go in.” “Now?” He looked up, his eyes wide with panic. “But the engagement party is tomorrow.” “There’s an issue with the data,” I said, my tone flat as I walked out the door. “It’ll be an all-nighter. Don’t wait up.” I got in my car, turned the key, and slammed my foot on the gas. My destination wasn’t the lab. It was the location Stella had tagged in her social media post half an hour ago: a runway show for an indie designer. 3 The house lights dimmed as the final round of applause echoed through the venue. I stood in the shadows, watching Stella get swept backstage by a crowd of admirers. She was even more dazzling in person, her auburn curls bouncing with every step, her waist as fluid as a ribbon. She had a pair of eyes that could melt stone. After the crowd dispersed, I overheard two crew members talking. “Stella seemed off her game tonight. Almost twisted her ankle on the catwalk.” “Heard she’s having relationship trouble…” I followed her up to the rooftop terrace. She was leaning against the railing, a cigarette smoldering between her fingers, its cherry a tiny red star in the dark. “Stella?” I asked, feigning nervousness as I approached. “Can I… can I get a picture? I’m a huge fan.” She glanced at me, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. “A female fan?” She waved me over. “Sure, why not.” After we took the photo, I looked at her with faux concern. “Are you okay? You seem a little down.” Her expression clouded over. She stubbed out her cigarette on the railing. “Whatever. It’s not like I have a date tonight. Might as well talk.” She took a long swig from a flask she’d pulled from her purse. “You know,” she began, her voice laced with bitterness, “I really thought he’d show up tonight.” She let out a harsh laugh. “Men. Every single one of them is a piece of trash.” She took another drink and launched into her story. “I met him after a show. He sent me a bouquet of white roses, said he was captivated by my presence on the runway.” “And then?” I prompted, my own voice a stranger to my ears. “And then?” She smirked, a sly, knowing look in her eyes. “The second time we met, he took me to a private vineyard. Waited until I was a little tipsy, then kissed me. Told me he’d never met a woman as exciting as me.” My heart gave a painful thud. I remembered that night. Christian hadn’t come home, telling me he was pulling an all-nighter at the firm to prep for a major case. “Not long after, he posted a picture of an engagement ring on his social media. His, and some other woman’s.” “I knew he had a fiancée. He said she was sweet, like a little lamb, but totally boring. Spends all her time cooped up in a lab.” “It was a mutual arrangement. I needed his connections to climb the ladder.” “I’ve seen a million guys like him. Two-faced. The second his fiancée was out of town, he invited me over to his place.” “Our first time was in their marital bed.” “He tried to act all innocent afterward. Said he regretted it, that we should stop seeing each other. But all I had to do was send one text, and he’d come running back.” “He’s an animal in bed, completely wild. Refuses to use a condom. And then he has the nerve to talk about ‘not wanting to betray his fiancée.’ But the moment I wrap my arms around his neck, he forgets everything.” “Lately, he’s been trying to play the devoted partner. Says he has to do right by his fiancée, but he can’t bear to break things off with me. Please.” She snorted. “Oh, and these shoes? He bought them for me. Said they make me look like a total siren.” Her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, quickly wiped the corners of her eyes, and her bright, dazzling smile snapped back into place. “Alright, little fan, duty calls. See you around.” I ducked back into the shadows of a stairwell corner and watched as she ran into a familiar embrace. Christian. He was wearing the deep gray trench coat I’d bought him for his birthday. A bouquet of white roses sat on the hood of his car. He looked so gentle, and so utterly alien. I raised my phone, my hand trembling as I hit record. He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her—a deep, passionate, lingering kiss that seemed to go on forever. In that moment, my heart didn’t just break; it felt like it was being shredded by a blender. The pain was so intense I had to double over. Tears streamed down my face, hot and uncontrollable, and my whole body shook. I bit down hard on the back of my hand, swallowing my sobs. After the pain, all that was left was a hollow, crushing exhaustion. They were long gone. I collapsed onto the cold concrete, staring blankly at the moon. Tomorrow was our engagement party, the day we had been waiting for, for so long. Ten years of love, and only now was I seeing the man I was supposed to marry for who he truly was. What would I tell my parents? How could I possibly explain this? I hated myself for being so blind, for wasting a decade of my life on a lie. Suddenly, my phone buzzed with a notification. An email confirmation. Without a second of hesitation, I had added my name to the list. A solo trip. Far away. With a monumental effort, I pushed myself up and staggered away from the rooftop, leaving the city lights behind me. 4 I pushed open the door to our apartment. The entryway light was still on. A sticky note was plastered to the refrigerator. Urgent case at the firm, won’t be back tonight. I promise I’ll be there on time tomorrow. Love you. The words seemed to mock me, their cheerful cursive a testament to my own stupidity. Liar. I ripped the note off the fridge and tore it into a thousand tiny pieces. I walked into the bedroom and pulled out a thick stack of faded love letters from the back of the closet—the ones he used to slip into my textbooks every day in college. I took out the photo albums filled with pictures of our travels, him always hugging me from behind, his chin resting on my head as he grinned like an idiot. From the depths of the wardrobe, I pulled out the shirt he wore on our first date, the one with my initials embroidered on the cuff. And the scarf I’d spent weeks knitting for him… I gathered them all in my arms, carried them to the bathroom, and dumped them into the tub. Then I flicked a lighter. The flame roared to life, a hungry beast devouring every last trace of “Christian and Lorna.” Next was our marital bed. He had picked it out himself, in the exact shade of blue I loved. Now, the sight of it made me sick. I grabbed a pair of shears and started cutting, slicing the mattress and the duvet into ragged strips. Then I moved through the rest of the apartment, taking a hammer to anything and everything that held a memory of him. What was once our sanctuary was now a field of wreckage. I sat in the ruins of our life together, watching the sky slowly lighten outside the window. The sound of a key turning in the lock echoed through the silence. Christian pushed the door open, a smile on his face that quickly dissolved into a mask of horror. “Lorna, are you insane?!” he yelled, his voice cracking. “Do you have any idea what day it is? You’ve destroyed our home!” He rushed toward me. “Get dressed, now! Put on the gown, we can still make it!” I slapped his hand away. “The engagement is off.” “Stop screwing around, Lorna! The guests have been notified, our parents are already at the venue.” CRACK! I hurled one of the red-soled stilettos at his feet, then brought the hammer down on its heel with all my might. The heel snapped, and he flinched back as if he’d been struck himself. “What’s the matter?” I sneered. “Does this bring back a memory? Are you remembering kneeling to put it on her foot, or are you just tasting last night’s kiss?” Christian’s face went chalk-white, his lips trembling. “Lorna, please, let me explain…” “Shut up!” I grabbed the other shoe and threw it, hitting him square in the chest. He reached for my wrist, but I twisted away and slapped him across the face, so hard his head snapped to the side. He froze, clutching his cheek, a look of pure shock in his eyes. He’d never imagined his docile Lorna could be violent. I grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head up, forcing him to look at me. With my other hand, I used the sole of the shoe to strike him across the mouth, again and again. His face swelled instantly, and a trickle of blood ran from the corner of his lip. He didn’t fight back. He didn’t even struggle. He just let me do it. And I didn’t hold back. I was a cornered animal, venting every ounce of my fury on him. I didn’t stop until the shoe’s heel broke and my wrist ached. He spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor. I scooped up a handful of the ashes from the bathtub and threw them in his face. He looked pathetic. Wrecked. Panting, I sank onto the sofa. Christian crawled toward me, blood and ash streaking down his chin, and wrapped his arms around my legs. “Lorna, I was just… I was confused for a moment…” His voice was a ragged whisper. “Ten years, Lorna. Can’t you forgive me just this once?” I laughed, a cold, bitter sound. “No. I have a thing about cleanliness.” “And once someone’s dirty,” I said, looking down at him with contempt, “they’re worthless to me.”

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I was the man the Celestial Queen had sworn to marry. But on the eve of our wedding, she listened to the venomous lies of my brother, Cain, and with a flick of her wrist, cast me down to the mortal realm. My sentence: to endure ten lifetimes of suffering on the wheel of reincarnation. After endless torment, I finally clawed my way back to the Celestial Realm. The moment my eyes met her icy gaze, my very soul trembled, and I scrambled to confess the sins I had never committed. “My Queen, this wretch knows his error.” “This wretch never should have defied my brother. You and he are the ones who truly belong together. My heart… my heart belongs to a swine-beast from the lower worlds…” Later, when I severed my own Celestial Core and willingly descended into the Underworld, the Celestial Queen—the woman who had hated me to the bone—humbled herself. She led the entire celestial host to the gates of the Underworld to beg for my return. … Ten lifetimes. After ten lifetimes, I stood once more in the Celestial Realm, yet I didn’t dare take a single step toward the Queen’s Elysian Palace. I had been a mere mortal. By a twist of fate, I found the Celestial Queen, gravely wounded after a cataclysmic battle between gods and demons. I nursed her back to health, caring for her tenderly for a decade, and in that quiet solitude, a love bloomed between us. When she recovered, she brought my family and me to the Celestial Realm, vowing to marry me as a reward for saving her life. But that peace was short-lived. A petty argument with my brother was all it took. The Queen and my own father cast me back into the mortal world to “learn my place.” Ten lifetimes of agony. I was reborn as a cripple, wasting away in despair. I was reborn as a pig, a dog, destined only for the butcher’s block. I became the laughingstock of the Celestial Realm. “What are you waiting for? Get in there. Don’t keep the Queen waiting, or she might add another lifetime to your sentence.” My father’s voice, sharp and cold, prodded me from behind. I turned to look at his face, a mask of frosted stone, and a bitter ache bloomed in my chest. I remembered him in the mortal world—a kind, gentle man who indulged my every whim and tantrum. Since entering the Celestial Realm, everything had changed. He grew colder by the day, his heart consumed by ambition and a lust for power. “You deserved every moment of your punishment,” he added, his voice devoid of warmth. “It’s what you get for running your mouth and trying to steal your brother’s glory for saving the Queen.” Once, I would have screamed, cried, and fought back. Now, I just lowered my head in silence. Ten lifetimes on the wheel had extinguished every spark of defiance in me, grinding my spirit down to dust. I’d even come to believe that being a pathetic, cowering dog was a good thing. At least it meant I would live. Suddenly, the great doors of the palace creaked open. A violent, unseen force ripped me from my feet, dragging me into the hall before vanishing just as quickly. I crashed to the marble floor like a puppet with its strings cut. My soul, already fractured from the cycles of rebirth, screamed in protest, threatening to shatter completely. Pain. A white-hot, blinding pain. My cry of agony echoed in the vast throne room, yet no one—not a single soul—cared if I lived or died. My father acted as if he hadn’t seen a thing. And there, upon the throne that marked her as the supreme ruler of the heavens, sat Seraphina, the Celestial Queen. Her expression was utterly indifferent, her eyes barren of pity or compassion. She was a goddess carved from ice. It was hard to believe she had once told me I was like the radiant sun, unique and irreplaceable in all the realms. “You are in the presence of your Queen. Are you not going to kneel?” my father’s impatient voice snapped in my ear. Once, my pride would have refused. I would have stood, defiant to the last. Now, I was the very picture of obedience. I scrambled to my knees, pressing my forehead to the cold floor. “This wretch… greets the Queen.” The silence in the hall stretched for an eternity before her voice, cool and distant, finally broke it. “Raise your head.” Fear coiled in my gut. “This wretch does not dare.” But a gentle gust of wind, a wisp of her power, forced my chin upward. I saw her brow furrowed in a tight knot, and my heart plummeted. “Have you learned your lesson this time? Have you finally learned your place?” Seraphina asked, her voice dripping with frost. “This wretch has learned his lesson.” “This wretch understands the rules.” “I beg the Queen to be merciful. Spare this wretch.” I bowed again and again, my body trembling as if submerged in a frozen lake, terrified of what new punishment she would devise. The celestial officials surrounding the throne began to whisper amongst themselves. “Look at Aidan. So proud before, wasn’t he? Stood in this very hall and swore he’d die before he’d kneel. Now he’s more obedient than a whipped dog.” “Obedient? It’s an act. When defiance failed, he turned to groveling. He’s just trying to win the Queen’s pity.” “I agree. A leopard can’t change its spots. Aidan is the same worthless fraud who tried to steal his brother’s glory and manipulate his way into the Queen’s bed.” Their words were easy, spoken from a place of safety and privilege. If they had been forced to endure what I had, they too would live every moment with their tails tucked between their legs, terrified to even breathe wrong. Seraphina seemed to believe their poison. She lifted a hand, and a wave of force slammed into me, sending me flying across the hall. I collided with a massive pillar and crumpled to the ground, coughing up mouthfuls of blood. The world swam in a haze of pain. I was close to losing consciousness. Even so, I forced myself to push up onto my elbows and plead with her. “My Queen, after ten lifetimes, I finally understand. I will never again stand between you and my brother.” “My heart belongs to a swine-beast from the lower worlds.” “I beg you…” Before I could finish, Seraphina shot to her feet, her eyes blazing with a sudden, sharp fury. I froze, too terrified to continue. “A swine-beast? You dare dishonor the heavens with such filth? Guards! Drag Aidan out and give him three hundred lashes from the divine whip!” she commanded, her beautiful eyes narrowed into cruel slits. “No!” “My Queen, have mercy! Please, just this once, forgive me…” I kowtowed desperately. But Seraphina was unmoved. My father stood by, silent, allowing the guards to drag me from the hall. They bound me to the great Sky-Piercing Pillar and the divine whip began to fall. My blood soaked through my grey tunic, painting it crimson. My shrieks echoed through the plaza. I fainted multiple times, only to be jolted back to consciousness by buckets of icy water. After three hundred lashes, I was cut down and lay in a heap on the cold stone like a broken animal, unable to summon even a sliver of strength. A bottomless, bitter sorrow flooded my heart. What had I done? What had I ever done to deserve this endless torture? “Ten lifetimes, and you still haven’t learned. You truly are a lost cause,” my father sneered, stepping carefully around me as he passed. “Walk home yourself. I don’t want your foul luck rubbing off on me.” I had no tears left to cry. It was I who found Seraphina, bleeding and broken. It was I who had never told a lie in my life. It was I who had given her my whole, honest heart. So why, after a single sentence from my brother claiming my deeds as his own, did she and my father believe him without question? After ten lifetimes, I still couldn’t understand. A long time passed. I finally managed to gather a sliver of strength. I pushed myself to my feet and staggered forward into the biting wind. After a few steps, my legs gave out. As I started to fall, a pair of gentle hands caught me. I turned my head and saw a woman in emerald-green robes. It was Luna, Seraphina’s junior celestial sister. “I was only in seclusion for three hundred years,” she murmured, her eyes filled with a pained confusion. “Aidan, how did you become… this?” For the first time since my return, someone showed me an ounce of concern. The old Aidan would have poured out his heart, desperate for someone, anyone, to listen to his story and believe his innocence. But now, I could only manage a bitter smile. “I committed a grave sin. I was sentenced to ten lifetimes on the wheel.” People change. I had learned that lesson all too well. My father, my brother, Seraphina… they had all changed. I couldn’t trust anyone anymore, terrified that any word I spoke would be carried back to my tormentors, earning me even more pain. “A grave sin?” Luna’s brow furrowed. “I have been in the Celestial Realm for a long time, and I have never heard of anyone being sentenced to ten lifetimes. Your very soul is on the verge of dissipating.” She clearly wanted to know more. I didn’t dare speak. I just lowered my head. “Never mind,” Luna sighed softly. “Let me take you home.” She placed a small, glowing pill in my mouth and then, before I could protest, lifted me into her arms and took to the sky. The warmth of her soft embrace was so foreign, so unexpected, that it left me stunned. I felt a faint heat rise in my cheeks. “Luna,” I managed to say, “you should put me down. Being seen with me will only bring you trouble.” This time, she remained silent. I didn’t know what else to say. The pill she’d given me was already working its magic. I could feel my fractured soul knitting itself back together, and the searing pain in my body faded to a dull ache. When we arrived at my family’s estate, my parents and Cain were at the dining table, laughing and talking. The entire residence was draped in crimson banners and silks. It seemed Cain and Seraphina’s wedding was imminent. No wonder she had been so cruel to me in the throne room. She was proving her devotion to my brother. The moment Luna landed with me in her arms, my father’s chopsticks clattered to the floor. “Aidan!” he roared, his face a mask of fury. “How dare you! You are a condemned sinner! How dare you allow the celestial Luna to carry you! Get down! Get down at once! Don’t you dare soil her robes!” My mother quickly chimed in with her agreement. Cain said nothing, but a flicker of jealousy and resentment burned in his eyes. I still couldn’t understand why he hated me so much. He was an orphan my parents had taken in, and they had showered him with love and affection. I had always treated him as my true brother. When Seraphina brought us to the Celestial Realm, I made sure he wasn’t left behind. And in return, he stabbed me in the back. He claimed it was he who had found the wounded Queen. He claimed that for the first three months of her coma, it was he who had cared for her, even using his own blood as a magical catalyst for her medicine. The truth was, the night I brought Seraphina home, Cain was disgusted. He forced me to move her to a ruined temple deep in the mountains, where I cared for her in secret. But Seraphina believed his every lie, and my parents sided with him completely. “It’s no matter,” Luna said, waving a dismissive hand. She glanced around at the celebratory decorations, her voice laced with meaning. “No matter what terrible crime Aidan has committed, you are still his family. You shouldn’t treat him with such contempt.” “Celestial Luna, you don’t know the whole story,” my father said, rushing to pull her aside to list my supposed transgressions. I didn’t bother to argue. “Aidan, you be a good boy now that you’re back,” my mother said, dragging me towards the back courtyard. “You should learn from your brother.” I just nodded, not daring to even look at Cain, afraid that the slightest thing would displease him and he’d run to Seraphina with another complaint. Another round of whipping was the last thing I needed. My room was stark and bare, containing only a bed. Not even a table. But compared to my life during the reincarnations, it was paradise. When I was an animal, I had no bed, only the filth of a pigsty or a sheep pen. When I was lucky enough to be reborn human, I was a disfigured outcast, abandoned at birth, forced to sleep on the streets. So now, lying on this simple bed, I was content. The moment my mother left, I collapsed onto the mattress. I was so tired. I fell asleep almost instantly and, as I always did, dreamed of my childhood. A time without a care in the world. A time when I could cry when I was sad and laugh when I was happy. Suddenly, a searing pain jolted me awake. I opened my eyes to see Cain standing over my bed, a whip in his hand and a cruel, mocking smile on his lips. “Brother, I was wrong! I’m sorry! I’ll never compete with you for the Queen again, I swear!” I tumbled off the bed and onto the floor, desperately kowtowing. “When you two marry, I’ll… I’ll perform a dance to bless your union!” “Hmph.” Cain snorted, his voice dripping with venom. “You think because you’ve cozied up to Luna, you have a new protector? That your life will be easy now? That’s a pipe dream, little brother. I won’t rest until I’ve tortured you to death.” Hearing this, I began to tremble uncontrollably, a cold sweat breaking out across my skin. I couldn’t help but look up and ask, “I’m already like this. Why can’t you just leave me alone?” “Because,” he hissed, his smile turning truly sinister, “I’m afraid that one day, Seraphina’s old feelings for you might reignite.” Just as he finished speaking, the door to my room shattered inward. A celestial guard stood in the splintered frame. “By order of the Celestial Queen, the sinner Aidan is to be apprehended.” The guard bound me with celestial ropes and dragged me away. Behind me, Cain’s triumphant laughter filled the air. I knew, without a doubt, that this was his doing. Once again, I was thrown violently onto the floor of the Elysian Palace. Once again, Seraphina sat high on her throne, looking down on me with cold contempt. “Aidan,” she began, her voice edged with a new fury, “have you no shame? You have barely returned to the Celestial Realm, and you are already scheming to seduce the celestial Luna. The audacity!” This must have been Cain’s new lie. “I did not.” “Is that so?” Seraphina’s eyes narrowed. She raised her voice. “Sister Luna, show yourself and tell this court whether he speaks the truth.” As her words faded, Luna descended on a soft breeze. My heart leaped into my throat. I stared at her, my face pale, my hands and feet turning to ice. I felt a horrifying sense of déjà vu. This was it. Another betrayal was coming. Instead, Luna walked to my side and took my hand. In front of the entire court, as I stared in utter shock, she turned to the Queen and said, “It was my choice to escort Aidan home.” In that instant, my eyes welled with tears. A tiny stream of warmth flowed back into my cold, desolate heart. Seraphina’s gaze locked onto our joined hands. She gritted her teeth. “This is madness! Utter madness! A condemned sinner and a celestial maiden… how can you be together? Sister, do you feel no shame?” So that was it. The real reason she had cast me down so casually. She was ashamed of me. Luna shook her head. “Sister, I am not like you, so paralyzed by what others think, so afraid to face what is in your own heart. The first time I saw Aidan, I fell for him. But he was promised to you, so I entered seclusion to hide from my feelings.” I was stunned. I looked at Luna’s profile, my mind a whirl of confusion and disbelief. She had to be making this up. It was just a desperate ploy to save me. “Sister, you…” Seraphina’s face was a thundercloud. She clenched her fists. “Your shamelessness must be punished! It must!” Her voice boomed like thunder, echoing through the heavens. “From this day forth, Luna is stripped of her celestial rank! She and Aidan are to be banished to the Underworld! They will not return until they have guided every last wandering soul to peace! Everyone, to the Sundering Peak! I will personally tear out their Celestial Cores!” The sentence, like a bolt of lightning, reverberated through all the realms. A cold sweat drenched my body. I turned to Luna, my voice a desperate whisper. “You don’t have to throw away your immortal life for me.” To have one’s Celestial Core torn out and be banished to the Underworld… it was a punishment so severe it would destroy her future, her very existence. “It’s fine,” Luna said with a faint, carefree smile. “I’ve grown tired of the Celestial Realm anyway. A change of scenery might be nice.” She turned and began walking toward the Sundering Peak. I followed behind her, my heart a lump of bitter ash. Every being in the Celestial Realm had gathered around the Sundering Peak. When my parents saw me, they just shook their heads in disgust. My brother, Cain, wore a smirk of triumphant satisfaction. He had won again. Seraphina hovered in the air above the peak, her eyes fixed on Luna. “If you admit your mistake now, you can be spared—” Before she could finish, Luna acted. With a cry of defiance, she struck her own chest, severing her Celestial Core herself. As she did, a cascade of images, her memories, flashed in the air for all to see. Countless moments of her watching me from afar, her eyes filled with a secret longing. Even in the depths of her seclusion, suffering from a backlash of power that left her unconscious, she had whispered my name. The memories faded. Luna, her face pale but resolute, turned and leaped without hesitation into the shimmering portal to the Underworld. I was frozen. I couldn’t believe it. Luna… truly loved me. Loved me enough to destroy herself for my sake. In that moment, the dam broke. Tears streamed down my face. If I survived this, I swore to myself, I would spend the rest of my existence cherishing her. “Aidan, look at the ruin you’ve caused!” Seraphina shrieked, her rage now turning on me. “If you hadn’t seduced her, would she have done this?” With a wave of her hand, she flung me onto the center of the Sundering Peak. “I should never have been merciful! I should have let you be reborn as livestock and cripples for all eternity, to taste every last drop of suffering this world has to offer!”

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