Category: English

We held a wedding three years ago, but my husband, a pilot, has canceled our trip to get a marriage license eighteen times. The first time, his female trainee was on a test flight. I waited at the courthouse all day. The second time, he got a call from her, made a sharp U-turn, and left me on the side of the road. Every time we scheduled it, something would happen with his trainee. Finally, I decided to leave him. But when I boarded the plane to Paris, he chased me there, frantic and desperate. 1 We’d been “married” for three years, but Mason Croft had never gotten around to making it legal. Today was supposed to be a milestone—his one-thousandth successful flight. It was also the seventeenth time he had promised we would finally go to the courthouse. But at his celebration dinner, while his supervisor was forcing shots on me, Mason was busy feeding appetizers and trading sips of wine with his trainee pilot. I was burning up with a fever, downing drink after drink until I was nearly unconscious, but he never once glanced my way. I could see the pity in our colleagues’ eyes, the unspoken “you deserve better” hanging in the air. It was obvious to everyone who I was doing this for. But after the dinner, Mason, the man who was supposed to take me to get our marriage license, stood me up again. He pulled his convertible up to the restaurant entrance and put a hand out to stop me from getting in. “Cora drank too much on my behalf,” he said, his voice flat. “I’m taking her home. You can grab a cab.” “We probably won’t make it to the courthouse this afternoon. We’ll reschedule.” He didn’t wait for my reaction. He got out, opened the passenger door, and gently helped his trainee into the seat. We’d been together for eight years, married for three. This was the seventeenth time Mason had postponed our official marriage because of Cora. Usually, this would be my breaking point. I would have dissolved into tears, screaming at him, demanding to know who his real wife was, who had actually been taking drinks for him all night. But this time, I just smiled. “Okay. Drive safe.” Mason froze, clearly taken aback by my calm demeanor. A moment later, his face hardened back into its usual indifference. “I’ll buy you a gift tonight to make it up to you.” He sped off, carefully rolling up the passenger-side window to shield a drunk Cora from the wind. He used to hate the smell of alcohol in his car. Whenever I’d had too much to drink for him, he’d put the top down, even in the dead of winter. He certainly never would have rolled up the window. It hit me then. The rules were just different when it was me in the car. The midday Miami heat was suffocating, but a strange, profound chill settled deep in my bones. I took a deep breath and put my wallet, the one holding my ID for the license, back in my purse. I knew then that our eight-year relationship had to be put away with it. 2 That afternoon, I went straight back to the airline’s headquarters and submitted my resignation. “Does Mason know you’re quitting?” my manager asked, shocked. I was, after all, the airline’s top-rated flight attendant for seven consecutive years. My future here was limitless. A bitter smile touched my lips. “I’ll tell him tonight. Not that he’ll care.” “I don’t understand,” she sighed, her expression full of regret. “You two pioneered new routes together, won ‘Best Crew’ awards together. Three years ago, even the CEO came to your wedding. Everyone was so envious. But now…” She was right. Those were beautiful memories. But memories were all they were. There was no going back. It was after ten by the time I got home. The apartment was dark and empty. Just then, a notification popped up on my phone. A new social media post from Cora, and she had tagged me. “Thanks to my amazing mentor for spending the afternoon with me! As a thank you, I’m taking him to the Jay-Z concert tomorrow! So excited!” I knew then that Mason, who had promised to be home, wasn’t coming home. This had become a familiar pattern over the past three years. I made myself a bowl of instant noodles and opened my laptop. My inbox was full of job offers from airlines around the world. My cursor hovered over the one from Air France, and without a second thought, I clicked “accept.” Then I booked a one-way ticket to Paris for two days from now. Five years ago, on a flight to Paris, Mason had experienced the worst crisis of his career. Since then, the word “Paris” had become a taboo. He refused to fly there, and he’d made sure I never did either. Mason, I thought, once I’m in Paris, we’ll never have to see each other again. 3 The next morning, I started packing. I was halfway through when Mason walked in, wearing a crisp, pink button-down. A cloud of rich, floral perfume followed him into the room. The scent hit me, and I froze. He used to despise perfume. Because of him, I hadn’t worn a single drop in years. I’d even thrown away my entire collection. It wasn’t that he hated perfume, I realized. He just hated it on me. He saw the open suitcases and paused. “Cora was too hungover to drive last night. I got a hotel room. That’s why I didn’t come home.” I glanced up at him, surprised. It was the first time in three years he’d bothered to explain himself. I just nodded, not saying a word. He walked over to me, his eyes on the luggage. “Are you packing for a flight?” “Something like that,” I said. He seemed to visibly relax at my answer. “I have to run. I just came back to grab something. Can’t stay for lunch.” “Okay.” I didn’t look up, just kept folding clothes. I had planned to tell him I’d quit over lunch, to finally put an end to our eight years together. It seemed I wouldn’t get the chance. Mason grabbed a red gift bag from the closet, picked up his jacket, and rushed out the door. CRASH! The photo frame that had hung by the door for eight years suddenly fell, shattering on the floor. Glass sprayed everywhere. I looked over. It was a picture of Mason and me at our first concert together, our hands clasped, our faces beaming. He had promised me that day that no matter how busy he got, he would take me to a concert every year. But ever since Cora became his trainee, he had forgotten. The only sound in the empty apartment was the ticking of the clock. After a long silence, I swept up the broken glass. I took the photo, a perfect capsule of our past happiness, and threw it, along with the last remnants of my feelings for him, into the trash. 4 That evening, exhausted from packing, I was lying in bed when my best friend called. “What is wrong with Mason? This is too much! Did you see his feed? He’s all over it, showing off with that homewrecker Cora.” “You guys aren’t even divorced yet! How could he?” As she ranted, I opened my phone. The first post was from Cora. In the photo, she was wearing a new Van Cleef & Arpels necklace, and in her hands was the red gift bag Mason had picked up that afternoon. I finally understood. He’d come home to get Cora’s concert gift. The caption read: “Three years since we met. So lucky to have you, Mason. Happy third anniversary!” My mind went blank. Three years? That’s right. Today was supposed to be my third wedding anniversary with Mason. We had never once celebrated it. I had completely forgotten. I let out a long breath. “He doesn’t need a divorce,” I told my friend. “We were never legally married.” “What?” “You’ve been ‘married’ for three years, and he never got a license with you?” My friend’s shriek was so loud it almost deafened me. Yes. We had a wedding three years ago. And he had canceled on me seventeen times. 5 At eleven that night, Mason came home, a rare occurrence. He took off his jacket and went to hang it on the hook by the door. He stopped, staring at the empty space where our photo used to be. “Where’s our picture?” he asked, walking into the bedroom without even putting his jacket down, a hint of panic in his voice. “It fell. It broke.” He looked towards the trash can by the door, saw the shattered glass, and his shoulders relaxed. He put his jacket aside and pulled out a shopping bag with a new Louis Vuitton purse inside. “I didn’t get a chance to give you your gift yesterday,” he said. “And today is our third wedding anniversary. So… Happy Anniversary.” He placed the bag on the bed. For a moment, I thought I’d misheard him. After three years, he actually remembered our anniversary? But then I saw the receipt. The purchase time was thirty minutes ago. Cora’s post must have reminded him. He’d just picked it up on his way home. He didn’t know that I already had two of this exact same bag in my closet. I said nothing, just stared at him. “By the way,” he said, his tone shifting, “the annual airline awards are coming up. Can you… can you step aside this year? Cora’s been in the industry for three years, and her biggest dream is to win ‘Best Attendant,’ just like you. You’ve won it so many times. Can you let her have it this year?” He looked uncomfortable saying it. I had to laugh. So this last-minute gift had a price tag after all. “Fine,” I said calmly. Not just this year. Next year, the year after—I would never compete with her again. Because after tonight, I would be gone. “You… you agree?” My quick reply seemed to surprise him. He kept glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. He cleared his throat. “Cora is my trainee. You’re her mentor’s wife. This is how it should be.” He paused, as if just remembering. “Oh, right, you’re flying tomorrow, aren’t you? What time is your flight?” “Three in the afternoon.” I looked at him, deciding to take this last chance to tell him I was leaving. But before I could speak, his phone rang. It was Cora. Her saccharine voice drifted from the phone. She was on her period, had no pads, and was calling Mason for help. He hung up and looked at me, a guilty expression on his face. “Uh… Cora’s in a bit of a jam. She’s all alone, can’t handle it. I should probably go.” For the first time, his voice held a note of pleading. I swallowed the words I was about to say and forced a smile. “It’s fine. Go.” He looked immensely relieved. He stood up, and as he was leaving, he said again, “Your flight is at three, so there’s still time. Tomorrow, ten a.m. Let’s go get the license. I promise, no matter what happens this time, I’ll be there.” A bitter smile played on my lips. He wouldn’t even give me the chance to break up with him face-to-face. The next morning, I finished packing. I didn’t go to the courthouse. I went straight to the airport. By noon, I still hadn’t received a single call from Mason asking why I wasn’t there. As I was boarding my flight that afternoon, I finally got a text from him: “Sorry, Cora wasn’t feeling well today. I just took her to the hospital. We missed our appointment. When you get back from this trip, I’ll take you to the courthouse first thing.” I felt nothing. Of course. The eighteenth time was a no-show too. “Don’t bother, Mason. I’ve quit my job. I’m on my way to Paris. After today, we will never see each other again.” I sent the message, my final message, and prepared to turn off my phone. The next second, the chat window, which had been silent for so long, began to vibrate uncontrollably. 6 The flight attendant’s voice came over the intercom, announcing the final boarding call. I ignored the buzzing of my phone, deleted Mason’s contact, and turned it off. From that moment on, Mason Croft and I were finished.

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For years, I sold down jackets in a forgotten corner of this country. Twenty bucks a pop. Then one day, an influencer waltzed in, camera rolling, ready to “expose” me. “This material is garbage, folks, the down fill is pathetic, and the style is just plain ugly! This is trash!” Then, smooth as a snake, she launched her own brand of jackets, even getting the locals to try them on. Feeling the difference, and egged on by the influencer, the townspeople turned on me. They called me a con artist, trashed my shop, and swore they’d only buy her jackets from now on. What they didn’t know was that a single one of her jackets cost four hundred dollars. 1 Winter was creeping in again, and my little shop was open for business, racks lined with down jackets. But today was different. Just as I was setting up, a woman walked in, phone held high, live-streaming her every move. She was a splash of polished city glam against the faded backdrop of my humble store, her meticulous makeup and trendy clothes a world away from the dusty streets outside. She pulled me into the frame of her phone. “Hi, ma’am,” she said, her voice sugary sweet for her audience. “My name is Lexi, I’m a content creator with over a million followers. I was hoping I could review one of your jackets today?” I had no idea what that really meant. I figured she just wanted to have a look, so I nodded. “Sure.” That was my first mistake. She plucked a jacket from the rack, her brow furrowing in theatrical disgust. “Okay, guys, you can see right away this is just cheap polyester. No one uses this stuff anymore for quality outerwear. It’s worthless.” After trashing the fabric, Lexi pulled a small, wicked-looking knife from her purse. With a sickening shh-rripp, she sliced the jacket open. The stuffing, a cloud of grayish down, drifted out. Her eyes went wide, her mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ of feigned shock. “Oh my God, you guys! Look at this! There’s barely any fill in here, and it’s the absolute worst quality duck down. This jacket is pure garbage.” Watching her performance, a hot spike of anger shot through me. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing? You can’t just come in here and destroy my merchandise!” She ignored me completely, grabbing several more jackets and slashing them open one by one. “Let’s just see about the others,” she narrated to her phone. “Wow. Unbelievable. They’re all the same. All of them are trash.” The sight of my inventory being gutted on the floor sent rage boiling up in my chest. “Are you out of your mind?” I yelled. “You’ve ruined half my stock! How am I supposed to run a business? You’re paying for all of that!” Lexi just laughed, a triumphant, mocking sound. “Did you hear that, everyone? I’m doing a public service, exposing this scammer, and she wants me to pay her.” Just as I was about to let loose a string of curses, one of my regulars, Caleb, walked in. He was a familiar face, a man who’d bought a jacket from me every other winter. “Hey, Ava!” he called out. “Got one in my size?” I turned to help him, but Lexi stepped between us, blocking him. “Sir, please, don’t buy anything from this woman. Her jackets are a complete rip-off.” Caleb just stood there, scratching his head awkwardly, caught in the middle. That was it. I was done being polite. “If you’re not buying, get the hell out of my store,” I snarled at Lexi. “Stop scaring off my customers. I don’t care if you’re some big-shot influencer.” “You’re selling fake, shoddy goods and you don’t want people to talk about it?” she shot back, her voice dripping with self-righteousness. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to stand up for these good people.” And she did. She plopped herself down on a stool right by the door, pulling out a megaphone and announcing to everyone who passed by that my jackets were trash and that I was a cheat. A crowd started to form, drawn by the commotion. I risked a glance at her phone screen, at the live-stream chat. It was a waterfall of hate, all directed at me. “OMG that jacket is so ugly. My grandpa wouldn’t be caught dead in that. Who even buys stuff like this anymore?” “Go Lexi! Expose her! The quality is so bad I’d rather freeze than wear that thing.” As her viewer count soared and the crowd outside grew, Lexi seized her moment. She pulled a sleek, stylish jacket from a suitcase and held it up for everyone to see. “Now, everyone,” she announced, her voice booming. “This is from my own brand. Let me show you what a real down jacket looks like.” 2 The jacket in Lexi’s hands was a thing of beauty, modern and expertly crafted. “This,” she declared, her voice resonating with passion, “is made with premium goose down, a high fill power, and a high-tech, water-resistant fabric. It practically heats itself the moment you put it on.” She beckoned to Caleb. “Sir, why don’t you come and try it on? Feel the difference for yourself.” A little shyly, Caleb shuffled forward and slipped on the jacket. His eyes widened. He gave a huge thumbs-up. “Wow,” he said, his voice full of awe. “This… this is way better than Ava’s stuff.” A triumphant smile spread across Lexi’s face. “You see? That’s what quality feels like. Anyone else want to try it on?” One by one, people from the crowd stepped forward, each trying on the jacket and agreeing: it was infinitely better than mine. Flushed with victory, Lexi urged them all to buy her brand instead. But then Caleb, ever practical, asked the million-dollar question. “It’s a great jacket, no doubt. But… how much does it cost? It looks expensive.” Lexi chuckled. “Folks, do I look like the kind of person who would rip you off?” she asked her audience, both online and in-person. “Tell you what. This weekend, in my live stream, I’m going to give you all an insane discount. And for everyone watching right now, I’m dropping a fifty-dollar coupon into the stream. A little gift from me to you.” Caleb’s face lit up. “A fifty-dollar coupon? That’s practically a steal!” I rolled my eyes, unable to stay silent any longer. “It’s a classic sales tactic, Caleb. Even with fifty dollars off, I guarantee that jacket is still going to cost a fortune.” Lexi shot me a venomous look. “At least it’s not counterfeit garbage like yours.” That did it. The word “counterfeit” lit a fuse. “Counterfeit?” I spat, grabbing a metal clothing rod from the back room and pointing it at her. “Did I slap a designer label on it? Did I make false claims about what it is? No! Now pay me for the jackets you destroyed and get out of my store!” Lexi didn’t even flinch. She glanced at the eager faces in the crowd and fanned the flames. “Everyone, tell me, does this junk even compare to the real deal?” A resounding “NO!” came from the crowd. “A shop that sells fake goods like this has no right to exist!” Lexi pointed a dramatic finger at my storefront. “Tell you what. If you all help me tear down this sham of a shop, I’ll do a buy-one-get-one-free deal for everyone here on my jackets!” The crowd roared. Panic seized me. I lunged forward and slapped Lexi hard across the face. “Are you insane? I’m just trying to run my business! What is your problem? You want a fight? Is that it?” She didn’t back down. She met my gaze with a defiant smirk. “Bring it on.” So I did. I slapped her again, the force of it leaving a bright red mark on her cheek, and started shoving her toward the door. I saw Caleb hesitate for just a moment, his eyes darting between me and the influencer. Then, his face hardened. “Buy one, get one free!” he yelled to the crowd. “Let’s go, people! Her jackets are way better than Ava’s! We can’t let her keep ripping us off after all these years!” And with that, Caleb, my loyal customer, shoved over my main display rack. It was like a dam breaking. The crowd surged into my little shop, a wave of angry, greedy people. They tore at the shelves, ripped jackets from their hangers, and smashed everything in sight. And through it all, Lexi stood to the side, live-streaming the destruction, a tiny, almost invisible smile playing on her lips. 3 My heart splintered with every crash and shatter. “Stop it!” I screamed into my own megaphone, my voice cracking. “Please, stop! We’re neighbors! Why are you doing this?” “I’m calling the police!” But the lure of a BOGO deal was stronger than any sense of community. They didn’t listen. Left with no choice, I dialed 911. By the time the officers arrived, the shop was a complete wreck. After taking my statement, the lead officer addressed the crowd, his voice heavy with disapproval. “What on earth possessed you all to destroy this woman’s store? A whole mob of you…” Caleb, his face flushed with righteous indignation, stepped forward. “She’s a cheat! She’s been selling us fake, worthless junk for years! We’re lucky we didn’t do worse to her.” Hearing those words from a man I’d always considered a friend, a man whose family I’d helped keep warm for years, felt like a knife in the gut. The officer frowned. “Whether her goods are fake or not doesn’t give you the right to destroy her property. You’re all liable for the damages.” The mention of money instantly doused the crowd’s fiery mob mentality. They grew quiet, a sea of downcast eyes and shuffling feet. That’s when Lexi stepped forward, her voice clear and confident. “How much is it? I’ll pay for everything.” A wave of admiration rippled through the crowd. In their eyes, Lexi was a hero. My jackets were cheap, the shop had no fancy decorations, and the racks were flimsy. The total damage only added up to a few thousand dollars. Lexi paid it without flinching, a small price for the image she was building. After everyone had left, I stood alone in the wreckage and let out a long, shuddering sigh before locking the door for good. Four years ago, I’d seen a story online about an old man in a cold region, too poor to afford a proper coat, stuffing his clothes with straw just to stay warm. The image broke my heart. So I came here, to this struggling town, and opened my jacket shop. My whole reason for being here was to make sure everyone could afford a warm coat for the winter. That’s why I was only open for one season; the rest of the year, I ran my own online fashion boutique to make a living. To keep costs down, the designs were basic and the fabric was inexpensive. But I made damn sure every single jacket was filled with real down. For four years, I sold them for twenty dollars a piece. I wasn’t really making a profit. Most of the time, I was losing money. At first, the townspeople were so grateful. They told me they could finally afford a real winter coat, that their kids wouldn’t be cold anymore. Their smiles were what kept me going. I never imagined that one influencer’s words could turn them against me so completely, that they would look at me with such hatred and call me a fraud. My jackets weren’t stylish, and they weren’t a fancy brand, but they were warm, and they cost twenty dollars. Wasn’t that enough? My heart felt like a block of ice. I closed the shop and decided I was done. That night, I found Lexi’s social media account. She had already edited and uploaded a dramatic video of her “exposing” me and then heroically paying for the damages. The stunt had earned her two million new followers overnight. The few thousand she’d paid for damages was nothing compared to the traffic she’d gained. She played it perfectly. When the weekend came, Caleb and a few others huddled around a single smartphone, ready to jump on Lexi’s big sale, dreaming of the high-quality, affordable jackets they were about to score. Thanks to the drama, her live stream was packed. Virtual gifts and effects flooded the screen. Lexi, looking flawless, spent an eternity hyping up her jacket, spinning tales of its miraculous quality, but she skillfully avoided mentioning the price. Finally, after people in the chat started getting restless, she got to the point. “Alright, everyone, for my top-of-the-line, premium goose-down jacket… we’re not asking for eight hundred, not five hundred… but for you, my family, it’s just $399! Three… two… one… the link is live!” Caleb and the others just stared, their faces frozen. A four-hundred-dollar jacket might as well have been a million. There was no way they could ever afford it.

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On my twenty-ninth birthday, my husband, who was supposed to be celebrating with me, never showed up. Instead, his assistant posted on her social media story, with the privacy set so only I could see it. It was a picture of two hands, clasped together, both covered in a thick, creamy foam. The caption read: Oops, wrong post. Guess the boss will have to punish me now… I wasn’t surprised. I just calmly liked the post. After all, this was the third time he had cheated on me. … I turned off my phone. My heart was numb, but a deep chill had settled into my body, a cold that urged me to find a source of warmth. I drove home. To my parents’ house. When I reached the front door, I raised my hand to knock, but it felt shackled by an invisible cord, unable to move. I stood there for several minutes, frozen on the welcome mat. Muffled voices drifted from inside. My brother, Sebastian. “Mom, Dad, isn’t it Audrey’s birthday today?” My mother paused. “Your birthday is tomorrow, so… oh, I guess it is hers today.” “Should we give her a call?” She scoffed. “Call her for what? We’ll just celebrate hers with yours tomorrow. It’s what we do every year. She’s used to it.” My father chimed in. “Besides, Paul is probably with her.” My mother’s voice suddenly sharpened, rising in pitch. “With her? Don’t be ridiculous. Paul’s on a business trip. That’s just an excuse, if you ask me. He probably can’t stand the sight of her. She walks around with that long face all day, like the world owes her a million dollars. Whose fault is it that she can’t keep a man’s heart? “And besides, Paul’s a big shot now. What successful man doesn’t have a little fun on the side? She’s making a mountain out of a molehill. He didn’t abandon her after he made it big; he promised she’d always be the lady of the house. That’s more than most get. Can’t she just turn a blind eye? Her constant nagging… who could stand it?” My father and brother murmured their agreement, and the conversation shifted. Laughter soon filled the house again. But for me, standing outside, the world grew colder and colder, until my teeth began to chatter. Two years ago, I walked in on Paul cheating for the first time. The world went cold, and I managed only one word: “Divorce.” When you truly love someone, there’s no room for a single grain of sand in your eye. It didn’t matter that he knelt in the pouring rain all night. It didn’t matter that he claimed he’d been drugged, set up. I cried for an entire night, but I refused to forgive him. That was when my mother slapped me. Hard. She pointed a finger in my face, her voice shaking with rage. “You were the one who insisted on marrying him! Now you want to throw it all away? Do you want to bring shame on this entire family?” Seeing the disbelief on my face, she softened her tone, trying a different tactic. “Paul was tricked by that slut. Just give him another chance. Don’t take it so far.” For a month, Paul came every day, begging, apologizing. I finally relented. But I couldn’t share a bed with him. I couldn’t get past the betrayal. When he saw me, a walking skeleton who had wasted away in just a few weeks, he broke down in tears. He wrote me letters of guarantee, sent me his itinerary every single day, and cared for my every need. But less than six months later, I found him with his secretary. He said he was drunk. He said he thought she was me. I just stared at him in silence, until he exploded in a fit of shame and anger, slamming the door on his way out. This time, Paul didn’t beg for forgiveness. He went straight to my parents, confident they would fight his battles for him. And they did. My mother blamed me, saying I had given him the cold shoulder for half a year, leaving him with nowhere to turn. My father threatened to disown me if I filed for divorce. My brother reminded me that Paul had funded his startup company, and told me to stop being selfish and think about the family. They screamed at me at home. They made scenes at my office. Finally, when I wouldn’t break, my mother took a bottle of pills and was rushed to the hospital to have her stomach pumped. She cried, snot and tears streaming down her face. “Audrey, if you still consider me your mother, you will not mention divorce! Our family depends on him! Everyone knows I have a golden son-in-law. If you divorce him, how will people laugh at us? You can’t be so selfish!” Paul’s circle of friends, the same men who used to respectfully call me their sister-in-law, now offered their own brand of condescending advice. “Come on, Audrey. What man at Paul’s level doesn’t have a few beautiful distractions on the side?” “All you have to do is be the rich wife and spend his money. No one can ever take your place. Honestly, he’s been more than good to you.” “If you won’t think of yourself, at least think of your leech-like family, right?” Paul didn’t have to say a thing. Everyone else had said it for him. I gave in again. This time, my relationship with Paul froze over completely. I treated him like air. After a few failed attempts to get my attention, he started coming home later and later. I don’t know how I survived that period. My mind felt like it was filled with paste, and a thick glass dome separated me from the world. I couldn’t feel a thing. The third time Paul cheated, he brought his assistant home. They had just finished, right there on our sofa. A bright red lipstick mark stained the open collar of his shirt. “Why?” I asked him, my voice hollow. “Why won’t you just let me go?” He lit a cigarette, his features blurring behind the smoke. He sighed, a sound of weary resignation. “Audrey, we’re too old for fairy tales. Even if I agreed to a divorce, your parents never would. I’m doing this for your own good.” He took a long drag. “They say the first thing a blind man does when he can see again is throw away his cane. I didn’t. Even when I no longer needed you, I promised to keep you safe. So you can continue to be the wealthy Mrs. Thorne. If we don’t have love, we still have family.” I actually laughed. A dry, rasping sound. “So you finally admit it? You don’t love me anymore.” Paul watched me for a long moment, a playful, cruel curve to his lips. “Yes. I have to admit, even the deepest feelings fade with time. Now, when I see you cry, I don’t feel anything at all. Just… annoyance.” What comes after your heart has turned to ash? I didn’t know. After I left that place we once called home, I ran into a drunk, leering at me on the street. He chuckled, stumbling closer. “Hey, gorgeous. Where you headed? Let your big brother give you a ride.” His hand reached for me. My eyes, unfocused, stared right through him. A dark, unstoppable wave of destruction crested within me. Go to hell. Go to hell, all of you! What’s the point of living? Then let’s all just die!

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At the end-of-year review meeting, Jonathan’s childhood friend, Cheryl, stood up and asked to be made the project lead, a move that would secure her promotion to Vice President. For the good of the company, I said no. In a fit of rage, she quit, announcing she was going home to get married. Under my leadership, the project netted over ten billion in profit, and our company went public. Later, I married Jonathan. But during our honeymoon, I was kidnapped and thrown into a cartel’s hidden compound deep in the desert. As I frantically looked for a way to signal for help, I heard Jonathan’s cold voice cut through the darkness. “You can have your fun with her. Do whatever you want to this venomous bitch.” I screamed, demanding to know why. Jonathan’s answer was a brutal kick to my stomach. “If you hadn’t stolen the project lead position from her, Cheryl would never have been forced into an abusive marriage. She wouldn’t have died. This is what you owe her.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back on the very day Cheryl demanded to be made project lead. … “Zoe,” she said, her voice cloyingly sweet, “I was hoping I could be the lead on the Riley Corp project. It’s the last thing I need on my record to get promoted to VP.” The familiar words sent a jolt through me. A glance at the wall clock confirmed it. I had been reborn. Jonathan nudged me from the side. “Zoe, did you hear Cheryl? Just give her the position. She needs the credit more than you do.” In my past life, I had refused them instantly. The Riley project was a hundred-million-dollar deal, a make-or-break opportunity that could take our company public. Cheryl simply didn’t have the skills to manage it. To soften the blow, I told her that if the project succeeded, everyone on the team would get a promotion and a hefty bonus. She took it as a personal insult, quit on the spot, and disappeared back to her hometown to get married. I never heard from her again. The project was a massive success. The company went public. Jonathan and I got married. And on our honeymoon, I was taken. When I came to, I saw Jonathan standing with my kidnappers, his face a mask of cold indifference. “Do what you will with this black-hearted snake,” he’d said. As their hands pawed at me, I screamed at him, over and over, “Why?” He drove his foot into my gut. “If you hadn’t been so selfish, so possessive of that title, Cheryl wouldn’t have been married off to that monster. She wouldn’t have been beaten to death. You owe her this.” The memory of that agony, of dying in filth and despair, made my hands tremble with a rage so fierce I had to clench them into fists to contain it. Jonathan tugged at my arm again, his voice sharp with impatience. “Zoe, what are you daydreaming about? Did you hear me? Give the position to Cheryl.” I looked at his annoyed face and let out a cold, sharp laugh. “When I was working myself to the bone for this project, losing sleep and hair, I asked Cheryl to help share the load. And what did you two say? ‘You’re the project lead, you should do more.’ When I was drinking myself sick, ending up in the hospital with a bleeding ulcer just to schmooze clients, you said, ‘You’re the lead, it’s your responsibility.’” The bitterness of my sacrifices rose in my throat. I turned my gaze to Cheryl, my voice dripping with scorn. “Where were you then? Why didn’t you want to be the project lead when the work was hard and dirty? Now that the proposal is written, the deal is negotiated, and all that’s left is to sign the contract, you suddenly want to swoop in and take the credit? Cheryl, how do you even have the nerve to say something so shameless?” My blunt words made her eyes well up with tears instantly. “Zoe, you don’t understand. My family is poor. I need this promotion to help them. My mom… she said if I don’t start making real money, she’s going to marry me off to some rich, old monster to pay off my brother’s debts.” Then, she dropped to her knees in front of me, pressing her forehead to the floor. “Please, Zoe, I’m begging you. I don’t want to go back home. That man… he’s already had two wives who died under mysterious circumstances. If I marry him, I’m as good as dead. Please, don’t force me to go back.” Jonathan shoved me so hard I stumbled backward. His eyes were blazing with fury. “Zoe, are you really that heartless? Do you have to push her to her death to be satisfied?” The entire office was now staring, their whispers filling the air. “What is wrong with you, Zoe? You drove her to her knees!” “Just because you come from money doesn’t give you the right to treat people like this. How could you be so cruel as to make her kneel and beg?” The shove sent my hip crashing into the sharp corner of a desk. A gasp of pain escaped my lips. Rubbing the throbbing spot, I straightened up, walked over to Jonathan, and slapped him hard across the face. “Who the hell do you think you are,” I seethed, “to lay a hand on me?” Without missing a beat, I spun around and kicked Cheryl’s kneeling form, sending her sprawling. “If you want to kneel, go find your mother’s grave and do it there. Don’t bring your bad luck near me.” Gasps echoed through the office, followed by a fresh wave of condemnation. “Zoe, now you’re hitting people? You’ve gone too far!” I laughed, a cold, humorless sound. “I’ve gone too far? When I was pulling all-nighters to find new clients, when I was in the hospital for this company, did anyone say I’d gone too far?” I swept my gaze across their faces. “When you were cashing the bonus checks from the deals I closed, did you think that was too much?” “You’re all a bunch of ungrateful parasites. You throw people away the second you’re done using them.” Silence. They stared at their shoes, ashamed. I pressed my advantage, my tone laced with ice. “If pity is all it takes for me to give up what’s mine, then why don’t all of you donate your corneas to the blind? It’s not like you’re using your eyes to see the truth anyway.” That finally seemed to get through to them. One by one, they mumbled apologies in my direction before turning on Cheryl. “Cheryl, Zoe poured her heart and soul into this project. She’s earned her position as lead.” “Exactly! Just because you have a sad story doesn’t give you the right to emotionally blackmail her. Zoe doesn’t owe you anything.” Seeing the tide turn against her, Cheryl panicked. Her tears became a full-blown flood. “Zoe, that’s not what I meant… I… If you’re really going to force my hand, then… then I’ll just go and die!” My heart ached with frustration. All I did was state the facts, and suddenly I was the villain driving her to suicide. It was so transparently manipulative, anyone with eyes could see it. But Jonathan, as always, was blind. He rushed to Cheryl, pulling her into a protective embrace, his voice soft with pity. Then he turned to me, his tone now a stern command. “Zoe, that’s enough. As of today, Cheryl is the project lead. You will be a member of her team. Do your job and don’t cause any more trouble.” I gritted my teeth, fury coursing through me. “On what grounds? I landed this deal. I’m not giving it up.” “What do you mean, you landed it?” Jonathan scoffed. “Riley Corp is working with us because our company has potential. Stop taking all the credit for yourself. Even without you, Cheryl could have closed this deal. She might have even done a better job.” Cheryl, nestled in his arms, nodded in agreement. “Riley Corp probably heard about Jonathan’s genius reputation. That’s why they trusted a small company like ours.” I couldn’t help but laugh, a hollow, bitter sound. Seeing the smug certainty on Jonathan’s face, I just shrugged. “Fine. If that’s what you believe, then I don’t want to be the project lead anymore.” Jonathan smiled, satisfied, thinking I’d finally caved. “Don’t worry, Zoe. There will be other opportunities for you. You don’t need to fight with Cheryl over this one.” Cheryl walked over, a triumphant, provocative glint in her eye. “Zoe, you can just continue with the parts of the project you were already handling. Once the final proposal is ready, I’ll go and sign the contract with Riley Corp.” I almost laughed out loud. As the project lead, I had been shouldering a quarter of the entire workload myself. Now they wanted me to keep doing the work of a pack mule without the title or the credit? What a beautiful dream. “Sorry,” I said, my voice sweet as poison. “I’m not doing it.” Cheryl’s brow furrowed. “Zoe, this project is critical to the company. Stop messing around.” Jonathan’s face hardened. “Zoe, if you’re going to keep throwing a tantrum, you can get the hell out of this company.” At that, I grabbed my bag and stood up. “Great! I’m gone. And since you’re firing me, remember to deposit my severance pay—three times my salary—into my account.” Without a backward glance, I walked out of the company and into the fresh air of my new life. Once outside, I called my brother. “Lucas? The deal’s off. Jonathan just fired me.” My brother’s voice was laced with shock. “What? Isn’t he your boyfriend? You’ve been with him since college, helped him build that company from the ground up. How could he fire you?” I quickly recounted the day’s events. I heard a loud thud on the other end of the line—the sound of his fist hitting a desk. “Dump him,” he snarled. “Dump that scumbag right now. You don’t need trash like that. I’ll find you a new guy—six-foot-three, eight-pack abs, and a hundred percent loyal.” He took a breath. “I’m canceling the partnership. Honestly, if it wasn’t for you, his little startup wouldn’t have even made it past our initial screening.” That night, back at my apartment, I couldn’t shake the bitterness. I had poured so much of myself into that company. Lucas must have seen the melancholy on my face. “Zoe,” he said gently, “why don’t you come work at Riley Corp? You can take over this partnership project from our end. Get familiar with the business. You own a piece of it, you know. Once you’re settled, you can choose whoever you want to partner with.” I thought for a moment, then nodded. It was the perfect solution. A week later, it was the day of the official bidding presentations for the Riley Corp partnership. As soon as I walked into the lobby, I saw Jonathan with his arm wrapped possessively around Cheryl’s waist. He spotted me and his face twisted into a scowl. “Zoe? You’re not the project lead anymore. What are you even doing here?” Cheryl chimed in, her voice dripping with mock pity. “Oh, Zoe. Didn’t you say you were leaving the company? Why did you follow us here?” I shot them an icy glare. “This isn’t your building. I can go wherever I please.” Jonathan let out a derisive laugh. “Zoe, be realistic. You probably couldn’t even get past the front door of Riley Corp without our company’s name on a visitor pass. You should leave now, before I have security throw you out. That would be embarrassing.” I rolled my eyes, ready to walk away, but Jonathan grabbed my arm and shoved me. I stumbled and fell to the floor. “Security!” he yelled, his voice echoing in the marble lobby. “How did this person get in here?” A guard rushed over. “This woman is impersonating one of our employees to cause trouble,” Jonathan said authoritatively. “Get her out of here.” “Wait, you’re mistaken,” I said, trying to get up. “I’m the project manager for this partnership, from Riley Corp.” Jonathan laughed cruelly. “Still lying through your teeth. You just got fired from our company, and now you’re suddenly a project manager at Riley? Who do you think you are? Why would a powerhouse like Riley Corp ever hire you?” A crowd had gathered, their eyes on me, whispering and pointing as the guards dragged me out and deposited me on the sidewalk. I let out a cold laugh and sat down right there on the curb. Fine. Let’s see how this meeting goes without me. Inside the Riley Corp conference room, ten minutes had passed. Jonathan grew antsy and asked one of the Riley executives when the meeting would begin. The executive, a senior manager named Mr. Lee, frowned. “We’re still waiting for our project lead to arrive.” Another half an hour crawled by. “I don’t understand,” Mr. Lee muttered, checking his watch. “Ms. Riley said she arrived a while ago. How is she not here yet?” Someone suggested calling her. When my phone rang, I was sipping a bubble tea at the shop next door. “Oh,” I said calmly into the phone when Mr. Lee asked where I was. “I was there. But I got thrown out. I’m at the tea shop downstairs.” A few minutes later, Jonathan, Cheryl, and their team appeared in the doorway of the shop, their faces slick with sweat. Jonathan spotted me and stormed over, his expression a mask of irritation. “Zoe, you have some nerve showing your face here. Get out, now. If you disrupt our partnership meeting with Riley Corp, I’ll make you regret it.” He then scanned the small shop, seeing only me and the staff. He turned to Mr. Lee, confused. “Mr. Lee, you said your project lead was here. I don’t see anyone.” Mr. Lee shoved Jonathan aside and hurried towards me, his face a mixture of apology and deference. “Ms. Riley, my deepest apologies. Why are you out here? Why didn’t you come inside?” I glanced at Jonathan and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I tried. But I was thrown out. I was told I might disrupt their very important partnership with Riley Corp.” Understanding dawned on Mr. Lee’s face, quickly replaced by a flash of anger directed at Jonathan. “She would disrupt it? Let me make something crystal clear. This entire project hinges on Ms. Riley’s approval. If she’s not in the room, there is no deal. For anyone.” Jonathan and Cheryl stared at me, their jaws slack with disbelief. “Zoe? You’re the Riley project lead? How is that possible? There must be some mistake! Mr. Lee, you have to be wrong. We just fired her! A person with such weak skills and poor character could never get a job at Riley Corp!” Even now, faced with the truth, they couldn’t accept it.

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I was the scholarship kid. My roommate, Mary, was the campus princess. But the moment we moved in, she insisted we become best friends. She swept me into her world of luxury, treating me to fine dining and lavish parties. She even introduced me to her childhood friend, the impossibly handsome and wealthy Wesley Thorne. But the moment Wesley and I actually got together, the princess wasn’t pleased anymore. She “accidentally” knocked over my instant ramen, claimed the splash of hot broth had scalded her, and demanded I pay for her “injuries.” After I’d emptied my bank account for her, she spread a rumor that I was a thief, that I’d stolen her new Louis Vuitton wallet. The university put me on academic probation. My classmates ostracized me. Even Wesley broke up with me. “You’re an ugly duckling who got a taste of the good life and thought she could become a swan,” he’d sneered. I had no way to defend myself. Hounded by the gossip and cyberbullying, I dropped out. My spirit shattered, I fell into a river and drowned. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back in a crowded, pulsing bar, at the very moment Mary was introducing me to Wesley Thorne. 1 “Wesley, this is my absolute best friend from college, Lynn. What do you think? She’s a looker, isn’t she?” The deafening music and Mary’s teasing voice snapped me back to the present. This was it. The first time I’d ever met him. He hadn’t thought much of me then, and he didn’t now. He didn’t even bother to glance my way, just took another sip of his drink. Mary slung an arm around my shoulders, a sly grin on her face. “So, Lynn, what’s your verdict on our Wesley here?” she purred. “His family is in real estate development. We’re talking the wealthiest family in the entire state.” I lowered my head, feigning a shy, bashful smile. “He’s… impressive. I’m just going to use the restroom.” Mary was desperately in love with Wesley, yet she insisted on pushing him toward me. And Wesley, the bastard, played along, getting with me even though he couldn’t stand me. I was nothing more than a pawn in their twisted game. I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, splashing my face with cold water. Then, I reached up and took off the thick, black-rimmed glasses that hid my face. Not this time. This time, I refused to be their plaything. And who says the ugly duckling can’t become a swan? I grabbed my bag and left the bar without a word to anyone. Just as I’d expected, I found Wesley outside. He was sitting alone on a hidden bench, his head bowed as he stared at something in the dim light. In my past life, I’d been obsessed with learning everything about him, piecing together his history from the scraps Mary would feed me. Today was his birthday. It was also the anniversary of his mother’s death. Last time, the whole group had pressured me into toasting him. He’d just laughed in my face, mocking me for not knowing the difference between brandy and whiskey, before leaving me standing there alone. I reached into my bag and pulled out a small carton of strawberry milk. It was supposed to be my breakfast for tomorrow, but now, it would have to serve as a prop. “Here,” I said softly. “Drinking so much on an empty stomach is a bad idea.” Wesley shot me a cold glare. “I don’t need your pity.” I wasn’t offended. I simply set the carton down beside him. “Your mother would worry if you hurt yourself.” Then, I turned and walked away, ignoring the piercing, questioning gaze I could feel on my back. Rich kids like him and Mary would never truly see me. But in this life, I wouldn’t just make him see me. I’d make him put me in his heart. And then, I’d make him and Mary turn on each other, becoming bitter enemies. As expected, when Mary found out I’d left, she complained that I’d disappeared without a word. I fell back into my old role, flattering her and soothing her ego. I became her shadow, her servant. When she skipped class, I answered the roll call for her. When she was too lazy to get food, I delivered it right to her dorm room. When she complained the campus washing machines were filthy, I washed her designer clothes by hand, piece by piece. My other roommate muttered behind my back, calling me a pathetic lapdog. “What’s the point of all that sucking up?” she’d scoff. “It’s not like she’s going to give you a dime.” I pretended not to hear, perfecting my role as Mary’s loyal follower. My days were filled with her chores and her endless bragging. The cafeteria food was “pig slop,” she’d declare, saying her father should just buy the campus and open a proper food processing plant. Occasionally, Wesley would stop by to see her, bringing flowers, gifts, and snacks. He’d even bring a little something for me, an afterthought. Riding on Mary’s coattails, I started bringing him food, too, whenever I did a run for her. “Isn’t Wesley the best?” Mary would say, preening. “So many girls are after him. Do you like him?” I shook my head frantically, my voice full of rehearsed shyness. “How could someone like me ever hope to be with him? Besides, it’s obvious you’re the only one he really cares about.” My words hit their mark, and she beamed with satisfaction. Mary knew Wesley was crazy about her, of course, but she wasn’t ready to be tied down just yet. Soon, the annual university track and field meet would happen. She was a banner bearer for the opening ceremony parade. In my past life, she tripped on her dress, sprained her ankle, and a handsome athlete had swept her up and carried her to the infirmary. That was the day Wesley, consumed by jealousy, confessed his “feelings” to me. This time, however, on the day of the meet, I sprained my ankle first. Biting back a searing cry of pain, I limped my way across the field to deliver her makeup bag. Mary showed not a flicker of concern, only annoyance. “What took you so long? It’s just a sprain, walk it off! What if I’m late for the procession because of you?” I bowed my head and apologized, the perfect little pushover. Just then, the same well-built athlete from my memories appeared. “Hey, are you okay? Let me help you to the infirmary.” I blushed, waving him off, but nearly stumbled and fell. Without another word, he scooped me up into his arms and started carrying me off the field. Suddenly, an icy stare locked onto us. I looked up and saw Wesley. Mary, spotting him, called out in a delighted voice, “Wesley! Don’t I look beautiful today?” He didn’t answer her. His eyes were fixed on me. “Put her down,” he commanded the athlete. “I’ll take her.” Mary’s smile vanished. “Wesley, what are you doing? The procession is about to start!” “It’s okay, really!” I interjected quickly. “This student can take me. Don’t let me hold Mary up.” In the infirmary, the school nurse said the sprain was pretty bad and I needed to stay off my feet for a while. I thanked the athlete, finally learning his name was Thomas. Thomas started to leave but hesitated at the door and turned back. “Hey, uh… can I get your number? You know, in case you need help with anything.” I stared at his bright red ears, a little confused. Not long after, Mary was carried in, just as I knew she would be. Wesley brought her himself, his face a thundercloud. She looked like a fallen princess in her long, gauzy dress, with him as her grim-faced knight. Thomas returned with an ice pack, freezing in his tracks when he saw the two of them. Mary was wailing in pain. The nurse said she needed to ice it immediately. Without a second thought, Mary pointed at Thomas. “Give that to me. Now.” Playing my part, I said in a small, weak voice, “Give it to Mary first. I can get another one later.” Thomas looked annoyed, but he handed it over. “Okay, then I’ll take you back to your dorm first. I can buy you another one.” “Lynn, don’t you have hands of your own?” Wesley’s voice was sharp, dripping with disdain. “Why do you always need someone to run around after you?” But then, to everyone’s shock, he snatched the ice pack from Mary’s hand and knelt, pressing it gently against my swollen ankle. Mary’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Wesley! I was using that! What are you doing?” He ignored her, his gaze lifting to meet mine. “Lynn, you like me, don’t you? Let’s be together.” I masked the cold fury in my eyes with a look of pure astonishment. Wesley wouldn’t fall for me this easily. This was just a game to make Mary jealous. I didn’t agree right away. I stammered, my voice trembling with fake nervousness, “I… I never said I liked you.” Then I fled, scrambling back to the dorm. Mary’s attitude towards me had flipped 180 degrees. She greeted me with a voice full of acid. “Well, well. I had no idea you were so good at seducing men. Hooking up with Wesley Thorne… you’ve really hit the jackpot, haven’t you?” I kept my head down. “It’s not like that.” “Oh, stop pretending!” she spat. “Don’t tell me you don’t have a crush on him. I’ve seen girls like you a million times. Always trying to climb the social ladder, without a thought as to whether you even belong there. Even if he likes you, his family would never, ever approve of you!” This isn’t nearly enough, I thought to myself. I want more than just his affection. Wesley actually began to pursue me. He’d wait for me in the mornings to walk me to class, have lunch with me, and ask me out for evening strolls. With my sprained ankle as an excuse, I stopped being Mary’s errand girl. The dorm grew quiet, with no one talking to either of us. Eventually, she couldn’t stand it and moved into an off-campus apartment. Slowly, in everyone else’s eyes, it seemed I had genuinely fallen for Wesley. I’d blush when I saw him. I’d give him small, handmade gifts. I’d even share a portion of the food I bought with the money from my part-time job. I sent him ‘good morning’ and ‘good night’ texts, sharing little details of my day, whether he replied or not. I ditched the clunky glasses, let my hair grow out, and though my clothes were simple, I had to admit, the girl in the mirror was becoming quite pretty. And gradually, I felt the way Wesley looked at me begin to change. He’d lean in close just to see me blush. He’d steal a kiss under a shared umbrella on a rainy day. We started to feel like a real couple. Until the night Mary got drunk. She burst into my dorm room and swiped the cup of ramen I was eating off my desk. I jumped back just in time, but the hot broth splashed across her own wrist. Even though she shook it off instantly, a painful red mark bloomed on her skin. She glared at me, her teeth clenched. “Lynn, I thought you were my friend, and you go and seduce Wesley behind my back? You’re such a pathetic bitch!” I maintained my innocent facade. “Seduce? Were you two officially together?” Mary fell silent for a beat, then pointed a trembling finger at me. “You just wait,” she hissed. “Do you really think Wesley Thorne would ever fall for someone like you? He’s just playing with you.” So am I, I thought. And I’ve already gotten what I wanted. A breakup is no big deal. Just as before, Wesley came to put me in my place for Mary’s sake. He dragged me into a private room at an exclusive club, filled with his circle of wealthy friends. “Just be reasonable, Lynn,” Wesley said, his voice low. “Mary’s never been hurt a day in her life. This happened because of you.” Mary stood with her arms crossed, a smug smirk on her face. “Make her apologize? Oh, I wouldn’t dare. She’s your precious girlfriend now, isn’t she, Wesley?” He sighed, a hint of exasperation in his voice. “Are you still jealous about this? You’re the one who introduced her to me.” Mary pointed to a line of full shot glasses on the table. “Fine. If you’re really sorry, drink this entire row of tequila, and I’ll forgive you.” Wesley didn’t object. He picked up a glass himself and held it out to me. “A whole row is too much. Just this one.” I took the glass from his hand. But then, with a flick of my wrist, I poured the contents onto the floor. “I’m not drinking a single drop.” In my past life, my frantic explanations were met only with laughter. They didn’t care about the truth; they just wanted a show. I was the ugly duckling, the toad lusting after a swan. I was, in short, not one of them. I’d been forced to drink the entire row and ended up vomiting right there. Mary had pinched her nose in disgust while Wesley had someone throw me out. This time, after emptying the glass, I slammed it back down on the table. The sharp clatter silenced the room. I stated my case, once and only once. “You got burned because you deliberately knocked over my food. You deserved it.” Mary shrieked, jumping to her feet. “Who deserved it? What happened to the timid little mouse? Finally dropping the act, huh? I knew you were a manipulative bitch all along!” she screamed. “I’m telling you, if you don’t drink this row and apologize right now, I’ll have you kicked out of this university by tomorrow!” Wesley frowned, shooting me a disapproving look. “Lynn, did you forget what I said? It’s just an apology. Why make this so difficult?” A small, sarcastic smile touched my lips. “I did nothing wrong. I am not apologizing.” He hadn’t expected this defiance. He grabbed my wrist, his eyes boring into mine. “What if I make you apologize?” I gritted my teeth and wrenched my arm free. “Then we’re breaking up.” Wesley’s face darkened instantly. Mary jumped in, a triumphant sneer on her face. “Lynn, do you really think you’re all that? Wesley was just toying with you! If anyone’s doing the dumping, it’s him!” But Wesley took a step toward me, his voice low and dangerous. “Break up with me? You don’t have that right.” “Whether I do or not isn’t for you to decide.” I turned my back on him and walked out, without a single glance behind me.

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At the Harvest Moon Gala, as music and light filled the palace, an unknown woman suddenly proclaimed, “The titans of old are dust, mythic empires rust… Legendary heroes are but shadows, while true glory burns in our time!” I nearly choked on my tea. I wanted to shake her—”Sister, wake up! This is a fictional world. No Roman Emperors, no Greek heroes, no Genghis Khan. See the reality!” The hall fell silent. Nobles exchanged baffled glances. The Emperor chuckled awkwardly, lost for words. Fifi Meadows stood smugly, hip cocked as if awaiting applause. Sighing, I curtsied to the Emperor. “Your Majesty, I feel drawn to Lady Fifi. May I take her into my household?” “Granted.” He gave me a knowing look while Fifi glared daggers at me. Another sigh. Of all fellow travelers from my world, why did it have to be a fool? 1 My name is Lashana Veyle. I am the Duchess of Sunstone in the Kingdom of Aethel. And for a fellow transmigrator, Fifi Meadows was a true spectacle of idiocy. I lived my new life on a razor’s edge. I was meticulously careful, never daring to reveal my modern sensibilities, never producing anything anachronistic, and certainly never claiming the poetry of my world’s long-dead masters as my own. Fifi, on the other hand, lectured everyone she met on the virtues of democracy and free speech. She held court in my own ducal manor, preaching about universal equality and forcing my handmaidens to dine at the same table as her. Her cultural knowledge seemed to be limited to a basic high school education; she recited half-remembered lines from Shakespeare and Frost over and over again. This, in itself, wasn’t a catastrophe. Confined to my manor, the staff simply concluded she was mad. Her shocking pronouncements wouldn’t travel beyond the walls. But the girl had no sense of self-preservation. One day, just as I was about to extend a hand of friendship, to call her ‘sister’ in our shared, secret language of displacement, she scowled at me. Her almond-shaped eyes narrowed. “Lashana Veyle, don’t think being a duchess makes you special. If you hadn’t stolen my thunder at the gala, I’d already be the most celebrated poet in the kingdom.” “…” Words failed me. I turned to leave. Some fools were beyond salvation. “Hey,” Fifi called out impatiently, puffing up like an arrogant peacock. “Where am I supposed to live?” Behind me, my two guards, Lyra and Vesper, clenched their fists, their knuckles white. They were just waiting for my order to march over and slap some sense into her. I swallowed my anger. “Take Lady Fifi to… the Rosewood Pavilion.” The Rosewood Pavilion was the most remote courtyard in the entire estate. Out of sight, out of mind. Her appointed maid later reported to me in secret, whispering that Fifi spent her days staring into the mirror, chanting, “Brave Fifi, fear no evil. I will be the Empress. The Empress is me.” The poor maid clung to my leg, weeping and begging me to reassign her. Coveting the Emperor’s throne was high treason, a crime punishable by a slow, agonizing death. She was terrified that when Fifi was inevitably executed, she’d be dragged down with her. I had to promise her, repeatedly, that even if Fifi charged the palace with a dagger, I could guarantee her safety. Only then did she release her grip on my leg. Fifi was so stunningly stupid, she must have been brainwashed by a self-help guru. I was drowning in my own duties. The Autumn Equinox was approaching, which meant new clothes and bonuses for the entire ducal staff. Then there was my mother’s family at Veyle Manor to attend to. My ten-year-old sister, Elara, had apparently defeated every other student at the Royal Academy in single combat, and I had to make personal apologies to a dozen noble houses. My father, suffering from gout, threw a tantrum every time I restricted his diet, threatening to join a monastery. My brother, Cassian, had fallen for the top courtesan at the Gilded Cage and was currently being disciplined by his wife, a formidable woman from a mercenary guild… what a harmonious, picture-perfect family. Fifi burst into my study without knocking, rolling her eyes dramatically. “My, my, Duchess, what airs you put on. You actually dared to keep me waiting for a whole ten minutes.” I ignored her, my eyes fixed on the ledgers. My handmaiden, Jade, couldn’t hold back. “My lady is the Duchess of Sunstone, favored by the Emperor himself!” she fumed. “Even royal princes and the Emperor’s own consorts show her respect! Who do you think you are, waltzing in here without so much as a curtsy?” Fifi rolled her eyes again. “I act this way in front of the Emperor, too. What are you going to do about it?” I had to smile at that. The Emperor was famously magnanimous, never sweating the small stuff. And this fool mistook his tolerance for a license to be reckless. Ignoring Jade’s ferocious glare, Fifi plopped down in the chair opposite me, slouching gracelessly and helping herself to the pastries on my desk. I shot a sharp look at Jade. She understood immediately and led the other servants from the room. Only then did I raise my eyes to truly study Fifi. She had a delicate, girl-next-door beauty, but she was draped in gaudy crimson silks and glittering jewels that clashed horribly, making her look like a parody of a noblewoman. Sensing my gaze, she preened, flicking her hair. “The Emperor is deeply in love with me,” she stated with absolute certainty. “It’s useless for you to keep me locked up in here. You’d be wise to let me go. Otherwise, when His Majesty’s wrath descends, you won’t be able to handle the consequences.” 2 Fifi’s earnest conviction left me speechless. The imperial court was a nest of vipers. With the Empress’s throne empty, the two most powerful consorts—Lady Thea, the Emperor’s childhood sweetheart, and Lady Cora, sister to the formidable Prince Regent—were locked in a battle to the death. They used lower-ranking ladies-in-waiting as pawns in their schemes, discarding them without a second thought. Young women were sent into the palace like fresh flowers and came out as bleached bones. Any sensible girl, upon hearing she was chosen for the court, would sooner throw herself down a well. The Emperor’s handsome face meant nothing when your life was on the line. Three years ago, I’d taken an assassin’s arrow for the Emperor. He claimed it was love at first sight and, breaking all precedent, made me a Duchess. He had hinted, and then outright stated, on multiple occasions that he wanted me in his palace. I refused every time. The so-called “true love” offered by a man with a harem of hundreds was cheap. I had assumed this was a shared sentiment among transmigrators. Fifi, however, was a testament to the sheer diversity of our species. Not only was she champing at the bit to dive into the court intrigue, but she’d also developed a full-blown delusion that the Emperor was passionately in love with her. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. I prided myself on my eloquence, my ability to talk my way out of any situation. But looking at Fifi, all I could think was: my native tongue is stunned silence. A few days ago, Fifi had managed to sneak out and position herself along the Emperor’s procession route. She’d put on a grand performance, weeping and pleading with him. I don’t know what she said, but she somehow convinced him to name her a Baroness and grant her half of my own ducal estate. Fifi was now absolutely insufferable, puffed up with pride like a balloon. She marched around my gardens, pointing at the ancient plum trees and the vibrant azaleas. The plums, she declared, were bad luck because their name sounded like the word for “misfortune.” The azaleas were unlucky, their crimson blossoms reminding her of blood. And the Emperor indulged her. He ordered the trees cut down and the flowers uprooted. She said she wanted a high place from which to gaze at the moon, so he immediately commissioned the construction of a “Stargazer’s Tower.” Whispers in the capital grew louder: the Emperor had been bewitched by a siren. Countless scholars scribbled angry poems on my manor walls, cursing her. From time to time, people would even fling dung at the gates. One day, I almost got beaten by a mob that mistook me for her. She, however, wore this infamy like a badge of honor. She ordered the poems collected into an anthology, claiming she wanted to “preserve them for posterity.” She spun around like a hedgehog, pricking everyone she met. The worst was when she stormed into Princess Aurelia’s estate and mocked the princess for her unrequited love for a certain Marquis, accusing her of being unchaste. This was beyond foolish. Princess Aurelia wasn’t just anyone. She was the Emperor’s beloved younger sister, the jewel of the kingdom, a peerless beauty celebrated for her kindness, intelligence, and skill with a sword. From the lowliest street vendor to the Emperor and the Prince Regent themselves, no one would dare speak a harsh word to Aurelia. If Aurelia so much as frowned, the heart of the nation would break. Chastity? Aurelia didn’t need to follow the rules of chastity. Aurelia could rewrite the rules of chastity. When I rushed to the princess’s estate, I found Fifi hanging upside down from a tree, swinging like a grotesque piñata. The sight was deeply satisfying. But I had to plaster a somber expression on my face and beg Aurelia to let her down. Aurelia, a dear friend of mine, furiously threw her sword to the ground. “Lashana, have you lost your mind? I’ve seen my share of baronesses and duchesses, but never one so arrogant and stupid. Why are you keeping this lunatic in your house?” I curtsied deeply. “Your Highness, I truly don’t know what purpose she serves. But she is, after all, a Baroness created by the Emperor himself. If she were to die like this… I fear His Majesty would hold me accountable.” “Get out,” Aurelia snapped, waving a dismissive hand. “Of course, Your Highness. Thank you, Your Highness.” I had my people escort Fifi back to my manor and went straight to the palace. My main concern was the Emperor’s mental state. He could be a bastard, but he was a wise ruler. He never let personal feelings cloud his judgment on matters of state. It was impossible that he would disregard law and reason for a woman. When his feelings for me were at their peak, I was framed by the Prince Regent and thrown in prison. He knew I was innocent, yet he kept me locked up for two weeks until he had irrefutable proof to clear my name publicly. The idea that he was “bewitched by lust” was laughable. 3 “Lashana, you came.” In the imperial study, the brilliant young emperor put down his vermilion brush, his face lighting up with surprise as he took my hand. It was true; I never sought him out voluntarily, not even when my life was on the line. I performed the formal curtsy and delicately brought up the incident with Princess Aurelia. The Emperor just smiled and asked an unrelated question. “Lashana, have you ever heard of the scholar Sir Malcom from the previous dynasty?” I maintained my respectful, distant tone. “I have not, Your Majesty.” He gently tapped my nose and pulled me closer to his side. “Sir Malcom was a genius of his time. With a pen, he could govern the world; on a horse, he could conquer it. He redesigned the river levees and built reservoirs, saving sixteen cities from devastating floods. He claimed to be a ‘traveler’ from another world. He refused all titles and rewards, choosing to live in seclusion with his family. I suspect… that Lady Fifi may be his descendant. Or perhaps… she is a traveler, too. She can recite Sir Malcom’s poetry.” “Which poem?” “‘The world is a vast and fleeting stage, our time a flickering light; why rush and rage? Our lives are a struggle, a contest of might, yet we forget that fortune is fickle, our gains ever slight. See the autumn wind in the golden valley, the cold moon on the midnight river, the palaces of old now silent and chilly, the bronze pavilions now dust forever. Glory is but dew on a flower, wealth is frost on the grass; see through the illusion of power, and all your worries will pass.’” My heart twisted. Had I known that reciting a simple poem was all it took to win the Emperor’s favor, why did I have to throw myself in front of that arrow? It had pierced my left shoulder, and to this day, the arm is weak, aching with a deep, grinding pain on cold, rainy days. I didn’t recite the rest of the poem to reveal my identity. I just asked, my voice flat, “What is it you hope to gain, Your Majesty?” The Emperor’s smile was clear and bright, his eyes filled with the pride of a man who held the world in his hands. “If she is Sir Malcom’s descendant, her title is justified. If she is a traveler, then even if she seems useless now, she will inevitably contribute to the kingdom in the future. Either way, it’s a sound investment.” I sighed silently. As a transmigrator, I couldn’t cure all diseases. I couldn’t invent cement, glass, or soap. I couldn’t smelt steel. In my past life, I’d spent seven years studying medical imaging—a field utterly useless here. All I had was a bit of basic medical knowledge, which was better than nothing, but not by much. The Emperor, full of vigor, tossed a book to his head eunuch. “Take this collection of forbidden poems to the Royal Scribes,” he commanded with a laugh. “Have them copy it. I want a volume in the hands of every official in every province. And issue my decree: anyone, man or woman, old or young, who can recite these poems is to be arrested and brought to me.” A profound chill washed over me. Fifi was bait. The Emperor was fishing for people like me. The more foolish and arrogant she acted, the more he showered her with favor, the more believable the story that our kingdom welcomed transmigrators would become. The ruse had almost tempted me, a woman who wanted for nothing. What about our other countrymen, lost and struggling just to survive in this strange world? The Emperor leaned close, his breath warm against my ear. His voice was a soft, dangerous murmur. “If these travelers serve Aethel, they will be rewarded. If they do not… they will be eliminated. To crush any future dissent, to protect the foundations of my throne.” His words were as gentle as a spring breeze, but I felt as if I’d been plunged into a frozen lake. The way he bit down on the word “eliminated” was heavy with intent. Thank God I had always been so cautious, never revealing myself. But the Emperor was clever enough to connect an old dynasty’s scholar to Fifi through a single poem, to deduce her origins, and to quietly compile an anthology to hunt down every last one of us for his own use. Fifi’s title was a sugar-coated poison pill. What about my duchy? Was I truly so flawless in my disguise? And even if he had already discovered me, was my loyalty not enough? Was this his way of telling me to confess? I had no idea how many people he would catch. In my five years here, I had only ever met one other transmigrator, Kaelen, and one “aberration,” Orion. Fifi didn’t count. She wasn’t worthy. In my eyes, Fifi was as dumb as a pig. But I had to wonder… in the Emperor’s eyes, was I the real fool? 4 Leaving the palace, I ran into Prince Kaelen. He hopped into my carriage with easy familiarity, a teasing smile on his face. “Lashana, my friend. You, I, and Lady Fifi are all… you know. You’ve always been so kind and warm. Why are you and she like fire and water? Could it be… you’re jealous?” Kaelen was my best friend. His current identity was that of a hostage prince from a small, conquered kingdom. He lived his life in Aethel walking on eggshells, cautious to a fault, never saying a wrong word, never making a wrong move. He was even more useless than me. In his past life, he was a programmer. I lifted the carriage curtain, glanced outside, then leaned close to Kaelen’s ear and told him everything that had happened in the study. He broke out in a cold sweat, his already pale, scholarly face turning as white as a sheet. “We have to go,” he hissed. “We can’t stay in the capital. We have to run.” “Fine,” I said calmly. “But you might want to put the knife down first.” The blade I held against his throat pressed a fraction of an inch deeper. He sighed. “You’re a Duchess, and I’m a royal hostage. We can never leave this city. Don’t be afraid, Lashana. The Emperor loves you. He would never kill you. Last month you tore up an imperial edict naming you his consort, and you threw the Imperial Seal at him during an argument. He didn’t punish you at all. His love for you is as deep as the sea.” I laughed, a cold, bitter sound. “Deep as the sea? How many women are in his harem? Just because he claims to love me, I’m supposed to lock myself in that gilded cage? I’m not someone who can be imprisoned in the name of love. Besides, do you think Lady Thea and Lady Cora are easy to deal with? He can protect me ten times, a hundred times, but can he protect me for a lifetime? And we argued because he wanted to marry Elara off to the barbarian king of the Sunstone Isles. Elara is ten, Kaelen! Ten! I will never accept that.” “Never?” “Never!” Kaelen stared at me, then a slow smile spread across his face, his eyes shining. “Alright. I’ll get you out of here. After all, who knows what the Emperor expects from us? If he thinks we can move mountains or bring the dead back to life… we’d be better off dead. I promised I’d help you escape, and I won’t break my word. This is a serious matter; we need a long-term plan. Promise me, until then, you won’t panic. You won’t do anything reckless. Wait for me.” “Okay.” The maid from the Rosewood Pavilion reported that Fifi had been talking to herself again, convinced she was going mad. “Are you sure this is a sweet romance plot? Shouldn’t the heroine in a sweet romance just sit there while men fall all over her? Why do I only have the Emperor? Where are my second and third male leads?” “That cannon fodder Duchess is always making trouble for me. I complained to the Emperor, but he ignored me. I don’t want him as the male lead. He’s not worthy.” “I almost got killed by Princess Aurelia today. What a disaster. Grinding for points is so hard. Good thing I’m the protagonist and can’t die, or I’d be done for.” I stood silently outside her window. This whole unscientific business of transmigration had forcibly converted me from a staunch materialist to something else entirely. I was open to anything now. Reincarnation, cultivation, system interfaces… bring it on. My ‘aberration’ friend had been reborn ten times. He called himself Orion, a name he chose because it sounded like “aura of nothingness.” My old friend Orion wasn’t driven by any grand obsession; he was just immune to the waters of forgetfulness between lives. He had no special powers, but his mental state was… unique. His heart was like deadwood, utterly devoid of worldly desires. He didn’t work, didn’t marry, didn’t read, didn’t practice martial arts. Nominally a servant in my manor, he did absolutely nothing. He dressed like a beggar and spent his days lying on the roof, sunbathing and stargazing. When I felt overwhelmed, I’d bring wine and food up to the roof and listen to him talk about nihilism and Schopenhauer. I entered Fifi’s room, dismissed the maid, and prepared to have a serious talk with her. Before I could say a word, she started babbling. 5 “Let me tell you something,” she began, her eyes wide. “We’re all just characters in a book. You’re the cannon fodder rival, and I’m the female lead. I’m destined to marry the Emperor, become the Empress, and rule the world.” I laughed. The female lead was supposed to be a devastating beauty who weaponized her looks, or a lucky charm who stumbled into success, or a brilliant strategist, a female Zhuge Liang. Even a useless, clinging vine type had the skill to charm a man into doing her bidding. Even a villainess had to be ruthless and beautiful, with a knack for poison and a talent for scheming. “No protagonist is as stupid as you,” I said with contempt. She just grinned. “Hahahaha! That’s because I have a point system! Every poem written to curse me earns me one point. Offending a commoner gets me ten. Offending Princess Aurelia? That got me a hundred thousand points! A hundred thousand!” My already fragile worldview took another major hit. What kind of garbage system was this, rewarding someone for making enemies? Was that a sustainable growth model? Was the ultimate prize a choice between a silken cord, a dagger, and a cup of poison? She sat on her bed, looking at me like a smug child. “And you? You’ll be sent as a political bride to the Sunstone Isles. You’ll die in humiliation on the way. Prince Kaelen will try to retrieve your body, get trapped in a swamp, and his bones will never be found.” I silently rolled my eyes. “Don’t you believe me?” she said. “The Emperor is already sick of you. He’s just using you to pave my way. It was love at first sight for him. He’s completely smitten. Why else would he break all the rules to make me a Baroness?” Looking at Fifi’s unwavering conviction, I felt a deep sense of regret. Why did I think I could have a rational conversation with a lunatic? Wasting time is wasting life. I said nothing, gave her one last look of profound pity, and turned to leave. She leaped off the bed and blocked my path, speaking to the empty air. “System A, I want to use one million points to redeem the Pill of Absolute Obedience.” In the blink of an eye, a small pill materialized in her hand. She grabbed my chin, a vicious smile spreading across her face, and tried to force it into my mouth. “Swallow this, and you’ll have to do everything I say. It was worth offending all those people to finally get something useful.” CRACK. Fifi crumpled to the floor. I had grabbed the nearest vase and smashed it over her head. The Veyle family had a strong martial tradition. My shoulder injury prevented me from serious training, but I could still handle at least three pampered noblewomen in a fight. I glanced down at her unconscious form and, mimicking her, spoke to the empty air with a string of creative curses. “So you’re the fucking ‘System,’ huh? Let me show you what happens when a human decides to defy fate. Characters in a book? My ass! Did it ever occur to you to tell your host that scheming without the strength to back it up is just asking for a beating?”

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I was reborn as the wicked stepmother in a novel, and my only goal was to meet the KPIs set by my “System.” To do that, I ordered the son, Matt, to do the laundry and mop the floors, while the daughter, Monica, had to wipe the windows and weed the garden. A year later, the male lead—my husband—finally returned, bringing his one true love with him. I had my bags packed, ready to be kicked to the curb and jet off to the Maldives to find a hot young model. But his true love pointed a manicured finger at my suitcase, demanding I leave all my gold and jewels behind. That’s when my stepson, Matt, stepped forward. “Don’t worry, Mom. You go on ahead. I’ll be right behind you.” My stepdaughter, Monica, nodded in agreement. “We don’t need this junk anyway. Dad has a safe. As soon as I crack the lock, I’ll wire all the money to you.” The male lead: … Me: ? 01. “Host, all you have to do is maintain your ‘wicked stepmother’ persona and torment them!” the System’s voice echoed in my head. “Make them suffer! Make them despair! When the male lead returns with his beloved, the two little ones will be so moved by her maternal grace that they’ll flock to her. Then, your mission will be complete!” “Your reward? Forty years of ageless youth!” I practically burst into tears of gratitude. This System got me. Because a woman’s heart stays young forever! That was a prize more tempting than any amount of money. And speaking of money, I wasn’t worried. In this mansion, a single vase was worth a fortune. On the day I was thrown out, I’d just secretly pocket a few trinkets—enough to live lavishly for the rest of my life. Once this gig was over, I was going to chase after college boys! I immediately snapped to attention. “Yes, sir! Mission accepted!” The System, pleased, sweetened the deal by offering me three lifelines. If I ever ran into trouble, I could call on it for help three times. I glanced at the two pudgy little things standing before me, barely reaching my knees. I scoffed. Handling them? It would be as easy as playing with a pair of puppies. 02. “You,” I pointed at the older one, Matt. “Go get the watermelon.” In the future, he was destined to be a ruthless, decisive tycoon. Besides his own sister, the only person he would ever care for was his “true” mother, the woman my husband was about to bring home. But right now, he was just a freshly hatched chick, all fluff and indignation. He plopped down on the Persian rug, his expression one of pure humiliation, and watched as I lounged on the sofa with my legs crossed. “Feed me,” I commanded. His eyes widened in disbelief, his little mouth trembling with indignation. But in the end, he resigned himself to his fate, stabbing a piece of watermelon with a fork and lifting it to my lips. “Matt, was it?” I said between bites. “From now on, all your snacks are mine.” “Butler,” I called out, “have all these chips, gelatin cups, and beef jerky sent to my room.” Matt’s chubby chin quivered. As the prized heirs of the Sterling family, these two had more money than they could ever spend. Everything in their lives was top-tier. I’d heard their drinking water was freshly melted snow from the Alps, rich in minerals, and their vegetables were grown by a specialist with a Master’s in agriculture to ensure they were organic and pollution-free. In short, they were well-fed, with a high percentage of prime-grade chub. My plan was to start with all that baby fat. Mission #1: Get them in shape. “You’re breaking your promise!” Matt cried, his eyes welling up with tears. He puffed out his chest, trying to be the protective older brother as he shielded Monica behind him. “You said if we gave you our allowance, you wouldn’t torment us!” At his words, Monica burst into a full-blown wail. Hmm? There was an allowance, too? My eyes lit up. I suppressed my inner glee and added slowly, “The allowance is still due.” I paused for effect. “And the snacks are mine, too.” The color drained from their faces. I could practically see them clenching their tiny fists in helpless fury. I laughed, a triumphant sound filling the room. I knew it. Snacks were the key to every child’s soul. Matt wasn’t giving up. “This is abuse! I’m telling Dad!” (Oh, really?) I thought. You said it, kid. Don’t back down now. Abuse was exactly what I was aiming for. Hahaha… Go on, tell him. The louder, the better! 03. Day three of being a wicked stepmother. The defiant Matt hadn’t given up, calling his father eighteen times a day. His father, of course, never answered. If my calculations were correct, he was currently in France, having a fateful encounter with his one true love. He was far too busy with his whirlwind romance to bother with the son born from a loveless business marriage. Undeterred, Matt called his maternal grandfather. The old man had a softer heart. He sent someone to give me a gentle warning, along with a black card, asking me to go easy on his grandsons for the sake of the money. (Holding the unlimited black card): Well, that puts me in a tight spot, doesn’t it? On one hand, eternal youth. On the other, an infinite line of credit. Oh, fuck it. For the money, I decided to be a little nicer to Matt. I personally prepared him a gourmet “light” meal. Tomatoes, lettuce, and crystalline ice plants. Drizzled with a magnificent salad dressing, it was a feast for the eyes. Matt stared at the plate of what looked like lawn clippings, his face a mask of silent rage. I glanced at the soft, plump little girl beside him and had a moment of magnanimous inspiration. “Starting today, we’ll have a competitive eating contest. Whoever finishes their ‘grass’ first gets a reward: one piece of grilled chicken breast.” At my words, the two of them bowed their heads and began shoveling the greens into their mouths. Heh, heh, heh… Being a stepmom was a blast. 04. But being a wicked stepmother had its own set of headaches. When one of the little tykes failed a class, I was the first person the teacher called. I was in the middle of a delightful manicure when my phone rang. “Hello, is this Monica Sterling’s guardian?” “Your daughter came in last in her piano assessment. I need you to come in.” Piano? Last place? My mind went blank. I ran through the plot of the novel again and realized something was off. In the future, Monica was set to become the nation’s youngest and most celebrated cellist. If not for her delayed start, she could have been an international sensation. Even with a late start, she was a bona fide genius. So what did failing piano have to do with her destiny as a cellist? I rushed to the music academy. As I walked in, I could hear the teacher laying into Monica. “The piano keys, from left to right, the notes get higher. It’s the most basic concept, and you can’t even remember that?” “I don’t know why your family wastes so much money on piano lessons for you. It’s all going to that pig-headed brain of yours!” Monica was sobbing, her little shoulders shaking with misery. A fire ignited inside me. Taking my money and bullying my kid? Who gave her the nerve? The teacher caught sight of me and tilted her head arrogantly. “I can’t teach your child. You should find someone else.” The male lead’s true love was a piano virtuoso. Naturally, he believed all proper young ladies should learn the piano and had spared no expense enrolling Monica with a renowned instructor. The original “wicked stepmother” from the novel, trying to curry favor with him, had forced Monica to practice relentlessly. Any mistake was met with a brutal punishment, which had nearly given the poor girl a complex. I smirked. I knew this trick. It was all about manufacturing anxiety in parents to pressure them into paying more for extra lessons. But I was the wicked stepmother! More money? Not a chance. A refund? Now we’re talking. I sat down on the plush sofa and crossed my legs. “If you can’t teach, then don’t.” I leaned forward. “My husband paid for a block of 300 lessons at $5,000 each. Including today, you’ve taught 53. That leaves 247 lessons.” I pulled out my phone. “That comes to $1,235,000. I’ll take a refund. Venmo or direct deposit?” 05. I helpfully pulled up my payment QR code. The teacher trembled with rage. She pointed a shaking finger at me. “You… you are utterly uncivilized!” I chuckled. So, asking for my money back made me “uncivilized.” The teacher, full of pride, tried to manipulate me further. “I know it’s not easy for you parents. How about this? I’ll extend each lesson by an hour, and we’ll just adjust the fee. Say, a modest $7,500 per session?” Oh, please. Just $7,500. Don’t strain yourself on my account. I waved my hand dismissively, declaring that I was a simple person who hated to inconvenience others or take advantage of their generosity. A direct refund would be just fine. The teacher, grinding her teeth in frustration, finally scanned the code and processed the refund. She spat that with an unreasonable parent like me, no respectable instructor would ever agree to teach my child. “Hold on. Did I say you could leave?” I flicked my finger, and my bodyguard, who had been waiting outside, shut the door. The teacher was livid. “What do you think you’re doing? This is a society of laws! You could go to jail for this!” Her voice was so shrill it could have shattered glass. I casually cleaned out my ear. “The only one going to jail here is you.” I pulled up a video file on my phone—crystal-clear surveillance footage of her verbally abusing Monica. The teacher froze. “You were spying on me?” I rolled my eyes. “Please. This is the Sterling family’s private music room. A single one of these pianos is worth more than your entire life. You think we wouldn’t have cameras?” “I was motivating her,” the teacher said, her tone sharp and defensive. I let out a cold laugh. As a professional wicked stepmother, dealing with societal scum was my specialty. If that’s how she wanted to play it, I wouldn’t hold back. I opened my mouth and let loose a torrent of insults, a verbal storm that started with her mother and worked its way through her entire family tree. She turned beet red, gasping for air. “That’s character assassination! I’ll sue you!” I tossed a flash drive onto the table. “Go ahead and sue,” I said, my voice dripping with contempt. “But before you do, I’ll make sure every parent in this school sees a highlight reel of you ‘motivating’ your students. Let’s see how they feel about your methods then.” The teacher’s face went green. Monica attended an exclusive private academy. The teachers’ base salaries were low; their real income came from private tutoring fees from the wealthy students. If I released those videos, her reputation would be destroyed. Under my unwavering glare, the teacher finally broke down, tearfully apologizing to Monica and telling her what a wonderful, talented child she was. 06. Monica’s eyes were shining like little stars. On the way home, she kept calling me “Good Mommy.” God help me, I groaned internally. I shot her a glare. “Quiet. Call me ‘Bad Mommy’.” “No,” she said, her voice filled with grievance. “Mommy fought the bad lady for me. You’re the best mommy in the world.” I made a fist and threatened her. “Say it again and I’ll sew your little mouth shut.” The little girl let out a squeak and quickly clamped her hands over her mouth. After a moment, she whispered, “Aren’t you mad?” After all, I used to force her to practice piano relentlessly so I could film a perfect performance, send it to my husband overseas, and get a “red packet” of cash from him. Now that source of income was gone. It was definitely strange that I wasn’t punishing her. “Of course I’m mad,” I said fiercely. “As punishment, you’ll eat a double portion of steak and eggs tonight.” A look of pure agony crossed Monica’s face. But just because one thing stopped didn’t mean everything did. The piano lessons were over, but other lessons would take their place. Hmph. One a day. That was the new rule. I gave Monica’s chubby cheek a vicious pinch. “Starting tomorrow, you’re learning the cello. One lesson every day.” Monica’s eyes were wide with confusion. She had no idea what a cello was. Heh, heh, heh… The cello is an incredibly heavy instrument. Just you wait, little girl. Your suffering has only just begun. Mwahahaha.

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After breaking up with Jack Croft, I found out I was three months pregnant. I raised our little Rosie on my own for five years. But working three jobs took its toll, and I died suddenly from a stroke. I floated in the air. And then I saw him. Jack, now a famous actor, was knocking on my front door. 01 It took a long time for the door to open. “Who are you?” It was my daughter, Rosie, who answered. She had to stand on her tiptoes to reach the lock. Her eyes were wary as she looked up at my ex-boyfriend, her own father. Seeing it wasn’t me, Rosie immediately tried to shut the door. Jack held it open, his brow furrowed. “Where’s Sienna?” Rosie thought for a moment, then looked up at him, her face breaking into a bright smile. “You’re looking for my mommy? She’s not home. She’s at work.” Jack’s expression soured. “Where’s your dad?” he asked. It’s you! Rosie’s father is you! I cried out from my place in the air, but he couldn’t hear me. Rosie thought for a moment. “My daddy is far away making lots of money. Mommy says he’ll come get us when he’s made enough.” Jack’s frown deepened. Then he let out a self-deprecating laugh. He muttered to himself, “Heh, I must be crazy. To actually think you would wait for me.” With that, he turned to leave. But he paused. “What’s your name?” “Rosie.” “Mommy says I’m her little treasure, so my name is Rosie,” she said proudly. Jack’s gaze searched her face, as if looking for some kind of proof. But in the end, he said nothing more. He got into his long, black limousine. I watched the car drive away, screaming, Don’t go, Jack! If you leave, what will happen to our Rosie? She’s only five years old! How will she survive on her own? I whispered to my daughter, who was blinking at the dust kicked up by the departing car. Rosie, darling, chase after your daddy. Mommy’s gone now. He’s the only one who can take care of you. But Rosie couldn’t hear me either. “What a strange man,” she said, and closed the door. In that moment, I wanted to slap myself. Why didn’t I tell her who her father was sooner? Why didn’t I ever show her a picture of him? This was all my fault. It didn’t matter that I was dead. But my daughter… what would become of my daughter? 02 Rosie sat with her little legs dangling, waiting for me to come home. The last rays of sunset faded. The sky grew dark. I should have been home by now. Rosie was afraid of the dark. But I was already dead. My coworker had just received the notice from the hospital. I hadn’t made it. She needed to inform my family. But when she opened my phone, she found the “family” section of my contacts completely empty. She did know, however, that I had a child. So that evening, the phone at home rang. Rosie toddled over to it on her short little legs. “Hello?” Her sweet, childish voice made my coworker’s eyes well up. She didn’t know how to tell a little girl that her mother was dead. That she was never coming back. “Mommy?” Rosie’s voice was filled with excitement. “Are you working late again? It’s okay, I’m fine. I’m not hungry at all. I just ate the bread you bought.” She patted her round little tummy. “Rosie… your mommy… she just passed away.” Rosie asked, confused, “Where is ‘passed away’? It’s okay, I’m sure Mommy will take me with her.” Once, because of a work assignment, I had to go to the next state for a business trip. I didn’t feel safe leaving Rosie at home alone, so I took her with me. It was her first time on a long journey. She was thrilled on the train, pointing excitedly at the scenery outside the window. So now, Rosie just thought I had gone on another trip. My coworker sighed, not knowing what else to say. She hung up the phone. In the end, she represented my company and had my body sent for cremation. All that was left of me was an urn of ashes. 03 That night was excruciatingly long. It was the first night I never came home. Every so often, Rosie would run to the door to see if I was there. But the darkness would quickly frighten her back inside. She ran back and forth like this many times. Finally, overcome with sleepiness, she fell asleep, clutching the teddy bear I had bought her. Dawn broke. The rooster crowed. She startled awake and rushed to the door again. Seeing I still wasn’t back, a flicker of disappointment crossed her face. But she quickly comforted herself. “It’s okay. Mommy is just busy. She’ll be back soon.” Having eaten nothing all night, her stomach rumbled. She had to make do with the bread I’d bought. She opened a carton of milk I had left. Imitating me, she tried to heat it up with some hot water. “Mommy says I can’t drink cold milk, or I’ll get a tummy ache,” she said to herself, holding a pot full of water. But her hands were so small. How could she possibly lift it? I was frantic, trying to tell her not to do it, but it was useless. As Rosie stood on a stool, trying to place the pot on the stove, her strength gave out. Water spilled everywhere. The pot crashed onto her little foot, which immediately began to swell. My heart ached as if it were being carved by a knife. But I was also grateful it wasn’t boiling water. Rosie let out a soft sob. Then she held her foot and blew on it. “Mommy’s not here, so Rosie will blow on it herself. Then it won’t hurt.” She wiped her tears and moved a stool to the front door, her eyes fixed on the entrance. “Rosie won’t cry. When Mommy comes back, she’ll praise me for being brave.” Rosie was so good, so sensible. So sensible it broke my heart. I wished, in that moment, that she would resent me, blame me for being such an irresponsible mother. But she just sat there, waiting so patiently for me to come home. 04 Two hours later, a car pulled up in front of our house. My coworker knocked on the door. Rosie, thinking it was me, was ecstatic. She ran so fast that she tripped and fell. She scraped her leg on a sharp stone. But she only frowned for a moment before scrambling back up. When she opened the door and saw it wasn’t me, she finally lost control. She burst into tears. “Mommy! Mommy, why aren’t you back yet?” she wailed. “Rosie’s foot is swollen, and my leg hurts from falling, but I was so brave! But Mommy still isn’t back! Mommy doesn’t love Rosie anymore! Does Mommy not love me anymore?” Rosie’s sobs were heart-wrenching. My own heart shattered into a million pieces. … My coworker rushed to comfort her. She found the first-aid kit, disinfected Rosie’s leg with alcohol, and put a bandage on it. Once everything was settled, my coworker brought in my urn and the belongings from my office. Rosie didn’t understand. But then she saw a photo of us at the amusement park, taken not long ago. In the picture, I was holding her, and we were both smiling happily. She recognized me. “Miss,” she asked, “are these all my mommy’s things? Then where did my mommy go?” My coworker held back her tears and pointed to the urn. “Your mommy… she’s in here. If you miss her, you can hug it and talk to it.” Rosie shook her head. “How could my mommy turn into an urn? She’s not a magical monkey. Only magical monkeys can transform like that. You’re lying.” She hugged the photo to her chest. “This is my mommy.” Then she gave it a loud smooch and smiled sweetly. My coworker sighed and placed the urn on a high shelf. She looked around. “Where’s your father? Are you all alone in this house?” Rosie’s head drooped. “Mommy said Daddy went far away to make money. I’ve never seen my daddy.” My coworker was in disbelief. “Don’t you have any other family? Grandparents?” Rosie shook her head. My coworker could no longer hold back her tears. She swept Rosie into her arms. “You poor child. You’re so little. How could your mother bear to leave you all alone?” “Mommy would never leave me!” Rosie retorted. “Mommy loves me the most!” My coworker placed a card in Rosie’s hand. “This is the compensation money from your mother’s company. There’s twenty thousand dollars on this card. The pin is six eights. Keep it safe. Don’t lose it.” Rosie nodded seriously, clutching the card tightly. Because we were poor, I had taught her from a young age that money was a good thing and must be taken care of. Now, she remembered. After some thought, my coworker called the local child services agency. It was a place for children without homes. I was filled with gratitude. I bowed to my coworker from my place in the air. Thank you. If she could get into an orphanage, at least my Rosie would survive. 05 When the people from child services came to pick Rosie up, she refused to go. She clung to the doorframe, wailing. “You’re kidnappers! Don’t take me, I’m not worth any money!” The social workers didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The woman in charge crouched down and spoke to her gently. “I’m not a kidnapper. We’re taking you home, Rosie.” Rosie frowned and told them very seriously, “This is my home. If you take me away, Mommy won’t see me when she comes back. If she can’t see me, she’ll be worried.” I covered my mouth, tears streaming down my face. The social workers exchanged a glance, their own eyes moist. They tried to coax her. “Rosie, sweetie, your mommy asked us to take you to this new place. She has to be away on business for a while and won’t be back, so she asked us to take care of you.” “And there are lots of other children there, just like you. You won’t be lonely.” Rosie listened. She blinked her big eyes at them. “Really?” “Of course.” Only then did she slowly let go. But just before getting into the car, Rosie ran back into the house. She came out with the teddy bear I had bought her and the photograph, hugging them tightly. The car started moving. It was Rosie’s first time going on a long trip with strangers. Her earlier bravado crumbled. Fear and anxiety washed over her. She finally broke down and cried. “Mommy, I’ll be a good girl. I’ll listen. Please come get me soon, okay?” I followed the car, floating along. Wherever Rosie went, I would go. But she couldn’t see me. And I couldn’t touch her. 06 On her first day at the children’s home, Rosie was unusually quiet. She just stared out the window. Every time someone passed by, she would widen her eyes, looking to see if it was me. When she realized it wasn’t, her expression would fall. A few curious children came to talk to her. “Why are you in the orphanage?” Rosie answered seriously, “My mommy has something to do, so she sent me here. But she’ll be back to get me soon.” A little boy seemed to scoff at her naivety. He snatched the teddy bear from her hands. “Your mommy abandoned you. She’s not coming back for you. What’s this? I’m playing with it.” Rosie, furious, charged at him and pushed him to the ground. “You’re lying! My mommy would never abandon me! That’s the teddy bear my mommy gave me, give it back!” The boy, not one to back down, scrambled up and pushed Rosie to the ground. He was a year or two older and much stronger. He sat on top of her, pulling her hair and clothes. He tore the teddy bear, and cotton stuffing spilled out from its broken body. “I’m not wrong! Your mommy abandoned you! All the kids here were abandoned by their parents!” he taunted. “It’s just a stupid toy, I don’t want it anyway.” Rosie clutched the broken teddy bear, fighting back with all her might. “You’re a liar! I don’t believe you! Don’t touch my bear, my mommy gave it to me!” The commotion brought a teacher running. She pulled them apart. After finding out what happened, she scolded the little boy harshly. But he didn’t think he was wrong. “I wasn’t wrong! Her mommy isn’t coming back for her! She didn’t believe me and she pushed me!” He made a face at her. Rosie stood there, her hair a mess, her clothes stained with dirt. She looked like a defeated little hen. But she still insisted, “My mommy would never abandon me. You’re trying to trick me.” After that, Rosie became even more withdrawn. The other children stopped talking to her. They would whisper among themselves that she had been abandoned by her mother but refused to admit it. Whenever Rosie heard them, she would quickly walk away. But I saw her. I saw her go to a secluded spot, hug her broken teddy bear, and cry silently. “Mommy, is it true what they said? Did you really abandon me?” I gently wrapped my arms around her, just as I used to when I held her to sleep. Rosie, Mommy is always here. Mommy would never abandon you. Mommy will always be by your side. 07 A month passed. Rosie ate very little. She slept very little. Her once-round cheeks were now gaunt and thin. The sparkle in her eyes was gone. She no longer looked out the window or at the door. She no longer pestered the teachers, asking, “Is my mommy coming to get me today?” But today, the children’s home was unusually bustling. The director mentioned that Jack Croft was coming to visit the children. I learned that after he became a big star, he had donated a lot of money to the home and came to visit every year. I knew why. We had both come from this very home. I was overjoyed. If he saw Rosie, he would surely realize I had passed away. And then, he wouldn’t be so heartless as to leave my Rosie in an orphanage, would he? After all, we were once so in love. A large crowd gathered at the entrance of the home, waiting for the arrival of the philanthropist, Jack. Even the children swarmed to the gate. Only Rosie remained, watching the commotion with indifference. Rosie, go to the gate! Your daddy is coming! If he sees you, maybe you won’t have to stay here anymore. You can have a good life, and Mommy can finally rest in peace. She couldn’t hear me. But she picked up a pen and, in her childish, crooked handwriting, wrote: Rosie is going to find Mommy. Don’t look for me. She placed the note next to her pillow. Then she set off, walking toward the gate. But she didn’t join the crowd. She ran in the opposite direction. I was shocked and panicked. Rosie, what are you doing? Where are you going? She ran faster and faster. I thought she had accepted the orphanage, accepted the reality that I would never come back for her. It wasn’t until I saw the note that I understood. She was leaving the children’s home. If I wasn’t coming for her, she would find me herself. … A Maybach pulled up at the gate. Jack’s agent, Alex, escorted him out of the car. The crowd surged forward. No one noticed Rosie slipping away. So close. They were so close. If only Jack had seen her. Now she was out there, all alone. How would she survive?

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The board meeting ended, and I checked my phone. My long-dead college group chat was exploding with notifications—all tagging me. “Thomas, Lary’s getting married today and you’re not coming? Who do you think you are?” That’s how I learned Lary, our old class president, was getting married. Today. Everyone was there—except me. “Busy with work,” I replied, a polite excuse for people I barely knew. “Busy with what? That dead-end job? Lucky if you make two grand a month.” “Just admit you’re scared of being embarrassed.” The moment I responded, the attacks poured in. “Afraid I just want your wedding gift?” Lary tagged me. “Wouldn’t want your hundred bucks—probably a week’s pay for you.” His sarcasm was thick. “Besides, the girl you chased and never got? She’s my wife now. No wonder you won’t come.” He added sunglasses emojis. I frowned. “As I recall, I never chased anyone.” “Convenient amnesia?” Lary shot back, posting a wedding photo. “Take a good look.” My breath caught. The bride in white was identical to the woman in the engagement photo on my desk. “Isabella?” 1 I shot upright in my chair. The woman I got engaged to last month was marrying Lary? As my mind reeled, the group chat continued its relentless assault. “Cat got your tongue? Struck dumb? Or are you crying in a corner because you saw your dream girl is now Lary’s wife?” “Shhh! Don’t expose him! Isabella isn’t just the campus queen anymore, she’s the CEO of Apex Holdings!” “That’s right! And she gave Lary a downtown penthouse and a Rolls-Royce as a wedding gift.” I stared, dumbfounded. Just as I was about to type a furious question to Lary, he played the part of the magnanimous hero. “Thomas, I know you haven’t done well for yourself, but we were classmates. If you show up to my wedding, I could probably convince my wife to get you a job as a security guard in the parking garage.” “What do you say? A guard at Apex Holdings has to make at least five grand a month. Way better than your current gig, right?” “Sure,” I typed. Then I shut off my phone. “Honey, I brought you some restorative ginseng chicken soup.” “You’ve been working so much overtime lately. Don’t burn yourself out. Have some soup, it’ll help.” Isabella placed the porcelain tureen on my desk. She noticed my cold stare and looked puzzled. “What’s wrong?” My face was a mask. I glanced at the soup, then shook my head. “It’s nothing. You can go. I have some things to handle.” “Alright, but make sure you rest. Don’t push yourself too hard.” She walked over, leaned in, and brushed a light kiss against my cheek. “Oh, by the way, honey, I need to visit family out of town for a few days. Just some family matters to take care of.” With a brilliant smile, she left my office, pulling the door closed behind her. “CEO of Apex Holdings, huh?” I watched the door shut, my mind sinking into a deep, cold place. I’d known Isabella for three years. We’d made it official a year ago, and gotten engaged just last month. Over the past year, she had cared for me with a devotion that felt absolute. Hot towels and massages when I worked late. My suitcase perfectly packed for business trips. The memories were a collection of exquisitely tender moments. But now, that tureen of soup and our engagement photo on my desk felt like props in a cruel joke, and I was the fool at the center of it. I snatched my phone, scrolling furiously through the chat history until I found the wedding venue Lary had posted. I called my driver. We were going. Even from a block away, the hotel Lary had booked was impossible to miss. A massive, ostentatious banner was stretched across the entrance. “Congratulations to Isabella, CEO of Apex Holdings, on Her Wedding Day!” Beneath it, Lary stood, resplendent in a sharp suit, his hair slicked back, eagerly awaiting his bride. He was surrounded by a fawning crowd of our old classmates. “Lary, my man! You’re the real success story of our class. The CEO of Apex… and you locked her down! You’re a legend!” “Seriously, man, you kept this quiet! You wait until the wedding day to tell us?” “Lary, with your talent, it’s only a matter of time before Apex Holdings is yours. Don’t forget us old friends when you’re at the top!” I even saw our old college advisor, his face beaming, sucking up to Lary. “Lary, from the day you set foot on campus, I knew you were the one to be class president. My eye for talent is never wrong. Look at you now, the most successful of them all!” The chorus of ass-kissing was so thick it made me sick. Lary, however, was soaking it in, his grin so wide it nearly split his face. “Not at all, not at all. It’s all thanks to your guidance, sir.” As Lary lapped up the praise, my car pulled closer. Through the tinted window, watching their pathetic display, my mind drifted back to the first time I met Isabella. We weren’t together then. She was just an intern at the company, completely lost in the cutthroat corporate world. She spent her days being bullied by senior employees, either forcing a smile or getting chewed out. I couldn’t stand to watch it. We were the same age and had gone to the same school, so I stepped in and had her transferred to my office as my secretary. To be honest, her professional skills were lacking, but her attitude was excellent, and she never made any major mistakes. Over time, she grew more competent, and I started entrusting her with more significant parts of the business. I never imagined she’d relay every single detail to Lary. Or that he would use those trade secrets as his own personal bragging rights. The thought sparked a fresh wave of anger, sharp and painful, laced with a profound sadness. “Well, well, if it isn’t Thomas. Had to rent a fancy car just to show up?” “This is Lary’s wedding, man. Who are you trying to impress? Don’t you have any shame?” The moment I stepped out of the Panamera, a couple of Lary’s sycophants broke away from the group, their voices dripping with disdain. Once they started, the others noticed me and joined the chorus of ridicule. “Thomas, seriously. A day’s rental on this thing must be three months’ salary for you. Why bother?” “So what if Lary snagged your dream girl? Do you have to be so petty about it?” “Thomas, we were all classmates, so don’t take this the wrong way, but you picked the wrong audience to flex on. Lary’s wife is the CEO of Apex!” The subtext was clear: I was an idiot who couldn’t read the room. My face hardened. As I was about to speak, Lary pushed through the crowd, his face a smug mask. “Where’d you rent this car? It looks a lot like my wife’s.” He squinted. “Wait a minute… why are the license plates the same?” The realization dawned on him. His expression twisted into a snarl, and his fist flew towards my face. “Thomas, you son of a bitch! You’ve been sleeping with my wife!” 2 “So that’s why Bella was always ‘working late’ and never coming home! It was because of you!” “You’re a real piece of work. You have the nerve to show up at our wedding, in her car, with her driver?” Lary’s rage escalated with every word. His punch had left me stunned, my mind struggling to catch up. This has always been my car, my primary vehicle for business. I often lent it to Isabella for work. When did it become hers? “Lary, man, calm down. Bella doesn’t seem like that kind of person, right? Maybe you’re mistaken?” a few classmates tried to intervene, looking awkward. “Mistaken? I’d recognize this car if it was a pile of burnt scrap metal!” Lary snarled, whipping out his phone and shoving his photo album in everyone’s faces. They were private, intimate photos of him and Isabella. The two of them locked in a passionate kiss in the driver’s seat. Lary holding Isabella in his arms as they posed on the hood of the car. I even saw a few that were far more compromising. The license plate, the specific details of the car—it was undeniable. Isabella had been using my car to carry on an affair with Lary. In an instant, the onlookers were no longer bystanders. They were a mob, and I was their target. “Thomas. Care to explain?” “I knew there was something off about you from the start. I just didn’t realize you were rotten to the core. You’d really stoop so low as to seduce your friend’s wife?” Lary was completely unhinged now, jabbing a finger in my face. “I knew it! That’s why you didn’t want to come to the wedding! You were afraid of being exposed!” “You just couldn’t stand to see me happy, could you? You had to come here and ruin everything!” Even my old college advisor glared at me with disgust. “Thomas, I am ashamed that our school produced someone like you.” The insults rained down on me. Someone raised their phone, recording me while spewing obscenities. I let out a cold, humorless laugh, picking up my glasses which had been knocked to the ground. “Twisting the facts, ignoring the truth. Lary, is this who you really are?” “Go to hell! I’m the one who’s ignoring the truth? You’re sleeping with my wife and you have the nerve to say that? Have you no shame?” he spat. “Fine. You want to act tough? You want to roll up in my wife’s car just to humiliate me?” Lary sneered, then pulled out his keys and carved three words into the hood of my Panamera. “FUCKING SCUMBAG.” The gouged letters seared my eyes and heart. My voice dropped to an icy whisper. “Are you sure you can afford the price of carving those words?” Lary let out a bark of laughter. “Still talking tough? Who the hell do you think you’re fooling?” “You stole my woman! Keying your car is getting off easy!” “You should be thanking me for not tearing that filthy mouth off your face!” With that, he raised his keys and charged at me, a wild look in his eyes, as if he fully intended to rip my lips from my skull. The crowd didn’t stop him. In fact, they closed in around me, forming a human wall to ensure every one of Lary’s blows landed. When he was done hitting me, his rage still wasn’t spent. He grabbed a loose brick from a nearby planter and started smashing my car, shattering windows, denting panels, inside and out. His lackeys, my so-called “old classmates,” eagerly joined in, their cheers mingling with the sound of destruction. “This loser Thomas thinks he can mess with Lary? Our future tycoon? Not on our watch!” After the car was wrecked and the beating was over, my face and clothes were soaked in a mixture of sweat and their spit. The evening wind was sharp, chilling my skin, but it was nothing compared to the ice in my heart. “A car is just a car. It can be replaced,” I said, my voice raspy. “But when the bill comes, I hope you can pay it with the same ferocity you used to smash it.” “Pah!” Lary spat a thick glob of phlegm onto my collar. “Who do you think you are? Talking like the car is actually yours.” As he spoke, his eyes fell on the jade locket I wore around my neck. “The hell is this? You trying to look classy with a piece of jade?” “How much did you pay for this piece of junk at a flea market?” A cold dread seized me. That locket was the last thing my mother left me. Its sentimental value was immeasurable. He couldn’t break it. My instinctive flinch to protect it only spurred him on. He kicked me squarely in the chest, sending me sprawling to the ground. “Whoa, this actually feels… nice. Doesn’t seem like junk after all,” Lary mused, bending down and ripping the locket from my neck. “If you touch that, I swear I will make you regret the day you were born!” I roared, my eyes bloodshot, my fists clenched so tight my knuckles cracked. “Threatening me? You?” Lary rolled his eyes and brought his foot down, crushing the jade locket into dust. “See this?” he said, holding up his hand and waggling a large, ornate ring on his finger. “This ring is what Bella gave me. This is the real deal!” I recognized it instantly. It was the engagement ring I had given Isabella. The air was punched from my lungs. I was speechless. She had given the symbol of my love for her… to him? Though my heart had already hardened against her, this final, cruel twist was a physical blow. I never imagined her feelings for Lary ran so deep. In her eyes, was I nothing more than an ATM? Seeing my look of utter devastation, the crowd around Lary erupted in laughter. “Look at this idiot. He had no idea his girl would drop a million-dollar ring on another man, did he?” “What’s wrong? Your cheap trinket got crushed by the real thing? Upset?” Their taunts shocked me back to a cold, hard clarity. I smiled a chilling, empty smile and pulled out my phone. “Isabella. Get your ass over here. Now.” Before I could even hear her reply, Lary kicked me down again. “Who the fuck do you think you are, calling my wife by her full name?” he seethed. “Acting like you’re the damn CEO of Apex Holdings. ‘Get your ass over here.’ What gives you the right?” His eyes were filled with contempt as he ground the toe of his shoe into my calf. “Bella was just playing with you. Did you really think she liked you? You’re so full of yourself you can’t even see what you are.” He kept ranting, but I just stared at him, my gaze unwavering and cold. “Keep talking. I want to see if you’re still smiling when she gets here.” “Huh? What’s this? A little good luck charm around your neck? Didn’t realize you were so superstitious.” Lary ignored my warning. His eyes lit up as he spotted something else. He crouched down and snatched the small, worn leather pouch from under my shirt. “A worthless life like yours doesn’t deserve this. Let’s just get rid of it.” I lunged, grabbing his wrist with all my strength. “Let. Go.” 3 Seeing the ferocity in my eyes, Lary just laughed. “What is this, the dark ages? Still believe in this hocus-pocus?” He pried my fingers off. “Or wait… did Isabella get this for you?” My teeth ground together, my hand shaking uncontrollably as I held onto his wrist. “The car, the locket, I don’t care. But you do not touch that charm.” I tried to scramble up from the ground, to snatch it back. My mother had gotten that charm for me from a remote mountain shrine. I was only five, struck by a mysterious illness that left me in a coma, unable to eat or drink. We went to every hospital, tried every folk remedy. Nothing worked except to make me vomit blood from all the failed treatments. We spent our life savings seeking help abroad, only for the world’s top specialists to tell my mother to give up on me. Of course, she refused. She heard of a shrine, a place of great power. Carrying me in her arms, she climbed the mountain, bowing her head to the stone path with every single step. It was a long, grueling path. Her forehead was a bloody mess, her knees worn down to the bone. But I, nestled in her arms, felt only warmth. I was her only hope, the only thing that kept her going. I never knew… that my life would be bought with her death. Whether by some miracle or sheer coincidence, as soon as she placed the blessed charm around my neck, I woke up. Overjoyed, she ignored her pain and bowed again and again to the shrine’s keeper, her bloodied forehead leaving a dark red stain on the stone floor. Perhaps the ordeal had drained every last bit of her strength. On the way down the mountain, she was exhausted. She entrusted me to a kind stranger for a moment while she sat to rest by the side of the path. When she tried to stand, a wave of dizziness overcame her, and she stumbled towards the cliff’s edge. In the final moment before she fell, I saw the look in her eyes. It was pure, unconditional love. And no regret. I know the only reason I’m still alive today is because of that charm, a charm my mother bought with her own life. It was the only proof I had that she had loved me. It was my breaking point. My absolute limit. And I would not let anyone destroy it. “You say I can’t touch it? Well, I’m going to do it just to spite you!” Lary’s face twisted into a demonic grin. And right in front of my eyes, he tore the leather pouch in two. Yellowed paper scraps and a tiny, faded black-and-white photograph fluttered down in front of me. My vision blurred with tears. “Lary… Han… sen!” A searing pain ripped through my chest, so intense I could barely breathe, let alone speak. “I will kill you!” A surge of power I didn’t know I possessed shot through me. I launched myself to my feet, knocked Lary to the ground, and brought my fist down on his face with every ounce of strength I had. It was the most satisfying, and most heartbreaking, punch I had ever thrown. Lary lay on the ground, a disgusting mess of blood and snot. “Son of a bitch! You dare touch Lary? Are you fucking insane?” As I raised my fist again, one of Lary’s lackeys kicked me squarely in the back. “Lary’s about to marry the CEO of Apex! His future is set! If you scramble his brains, do you think your worthless life could ever pay for it?” “You pathetic freeloader! You dare hit the real deal? You think we’re just gonna let you?” The whole group swarmed me then, kicking and punching my collapsed body relentlessly. Only when they saw the blood pouring from my nose and mouth, my face a swollen, bruised mess, did they finally stop, laughing. “Pah!” “If we weren’t old classmates, we would’ve killed you today.” Lary, clutching his jaw, was helped to his feet by a crony. He spat a bloody glob of phlegm onto my chest. Our old college advisor finally stepped in, but only to take Lary’s side. “Lary, that’s enough. Why waste your energy on low-life scum like this? It’s not worth it.” She shot me one last look of utter contempt. The pain was a white-hot fog, making it impossible to think. I curled up on the pavement, each breath a ragged, shallow gasp. “I… will make you… pay for this…” Even then, beaten and broken, the hatred in my heart didn’t lessen one bit. “Pfft!” “You? And what army?” Lary scoffed. “I’d love to see what kind of price you think you can make me pay!” The words had barely left his mouth when the roar of engines filled the air. A fleet of a hundred luxury cars, a symphony of raw power, descended upon the street. There wasn’t a single vehicle in the convoy worth less than a quarter of a million dollars. Click. Car doors opened in perfect unison. Figures emerged—tall, powerfully built men in sharp, dark suits, their faces grim and unyielding…

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On my eighteenth birthday, my stepmother, Sharon, sent me a text. She demanded I return every single dollar of child support my father had given me over the years. If I didn’t, she was going to come to my school and make my life a living hell. I tried to be patient. [This is court-ordered child support from my father. If you have an issue with it, you need to talk to him.] That’s when she exploded. [You’re a fucking adult now, why the hell should you get my husband’s money! I swear, you’re just like your mother, a common whore!] [Give the money back now, or I’ll make sure you can’t even finish high school!] Reading her venomous words about my mother, I started shaking with rage. The patience was gone. I was done. [Fine,] I typed back, my fingers flying. [You want to come? Fucking try me.] 1 I stared at the word “whore,” my chest heaving with anger. I immediately screenshotted Sharon’s vile rant and forwarded it to my father. [Get your wife under control!] I added. [My mother has done nothing to you people. You’re the one who owes her. Who the hell does she think she is, calling my mom names?] Seconds after I hit send, my phone rang. It was my dad, Robert. But before I could even say hello, I heard Sharon’s hysterical screaming in the background. “You little bitch! How dare you tattle on me! I want my husband’s money back, and you have no right to refuse! That’s our joint marital property, and if you don’t return it, you can kiss your high school diploma goodbye!” Before I could get a word in, she snatched the phone and continued her tirade. “And I’m going to go to that whore mother of yours’ workplace! That job is all she has to support the two of you! Let’s see how high and mighty she acts when she’s unemployed!” My jaw clenched so hard it ached. I held the phone tight and spat back, “Fine, you psycho! Bring it on! You dare show your face at my mom’s job, and I swear, I’ll drop out of school just to go to your son’s and make sure every single person there knows his mother is nothing but a cheap tramp who slept her way into a marriage!” “You call my mom a whore? What does that make you? Something lower than the trash they sweep out of a brothel!” I had completely lost it. Sharon was stunned into silence, realizing I wasn’t the pushover she thought I was. “You just wait,” she snarled, before hanging up. My heart leaped into my throat. I was terrified the crazy woman would actually go after my mom. I grabbed my backpack and bolted out the door. I’d barely made it to the entrance of our apartment complex when my friend called. “Jessica, you need to get over here! It’s bad!” My mind went blank. I ran, sprinting like my life depended on it, all the way to my mom’s office. Before I could even push through the crowd that had gathered, I heard Sharon’s voice, amplified by a bullhorn. “Come on, everyone, take a good look! Get a nice, long look at this home-wrecking slut! This is the whore who uses her daughter to bleed my husband dry every single month, scamming and tricking us out of our hard-earned money!” Sharon stood in the center of the spectacle, holding my mom by the collar of her shirt like a helpless animal. My mom, her face flushed with shame, was trying to explain. “That’s not true!” Her eyes were red with desperation. “Sharon, please, don’t lie!” “You can say whatever you want about me,” my mom pleaded, “but you can’t slander my daughter!” “Oh, please!” Sharon spat, cutting her off. “Your little bitch was just demanding more money from my husband today! Don’t you dare deny it! Like mother, like daughter. A whore gives birth to a little whore. You’re both rotten to the core!” She was on a roll, slinging mud with wild abandon. “And another thing,” she bellowed into the bullhorn. “If you’re so desperate for cash, why don’t you just spread your legs and sell it? Stop playing the victim and teaching your bastard child to do the same! Who do you think you’re fooling?” My mom is a gentle person. She’s never won a fight in her life. If she had, she wouldn’t have been kicked to the curb with nothing the second my dad’s business took off, replaced by his mistress. Seeing my mom like that, so humiliated, my scalp tingled with rage. I wanted to tear Sharon to pieces. She could attack me all she wanted, but she was not allowed to touch my mom. I lunged forward to protect her. The moment Sharon saw me, she pointed a triumphant finger. “Well, well, well!” she crowed. “Look who it is! The little bastard has arrived!” She aimed the bullhorn at me. “Everyone, look! This is the one! She’s a legal adult, but she still finds ways to leech money off my husband every month. The little bit of money he manages to save isn’t even enough for our own family, and now he has to support her and her mother on the side!” “I ask you,” she cried, playing to the crowd, “could any of you tolerate this?” With a few twisted sentences, she had completely flipped the script. She painted my mom and me as the home-wrecker and the illegitimate child, tearing her happy family apart. The crowd immediately turned on us, their whispers turning into pointed accusations. “That girl looks so clean-cut. I can’t believe she’d do something like that! Ruining a family is a one-way ticket to hell!” “Exactly! And look at her daughter. She has a nasty look about her. The poor wife must have been pushed to her limit to make a scene like this.” “To think someone like that works right in my neighborhood… I’d better keep a closer eye on my husband. Who knows when a snake like that could slither in.” “I’m writing a complaint to her HR department this afternoon. There’s no way a mistress should be allowed to keep her job!” The words were like stones. My mom cared about two things in this world: her dignity, and me. Years ago, to avoid a messy public battle and to protect me, she had signed an unfair divorce agreement, leaving with nothing. She’d been raising me in a tiny rental apartment ever since. I saw every struggle, every sacrifice she made. And now, to see it all twisted by Sharon’s lies, I was about to explode. I started toward the women who were shouting the loudest, ready to fight, but my mom grabbed my arm. I turned and saw her eyes, red and swimming with tears. She shook her head. “Let it go, Jessica.” “The truth will speak for itself,” she whispered. My own tears threatened to spill. I wanted to scream that the world doesn’t work that way, that truth and dignity have to be fought for. But looking at her broken expression, I swallowed my anger. “Okay,” I agreed. My mom had suffered enough. I couldn’t let her endure this humiliation because of me. My surrender was a victory in Sharon’s eyes. She stood on her moral high ground, her voice booming with triumph. “Have you two decided?” she yelled. “If you have, then pay up!” She held up a bank statement. “My husband has spent almost ten thousand dollars on your daughter. I want every single cent back. If you don’t pay up, neither of you is leaving here today!” As if on cue, one of the onlookers chimed in. “You have no morals, and you’re teaching your daughter to be just as shameless! Pay the woman back!” “Yeah, ten thousand dollars! Do you know how long it takes a normal family to save that much? And you two just squandered it! Disgusting!” My mom’s policy was always to de-escalate, to let things go—unless it was about me. Hearing them call me shameless, she finally snapped back. “Don’t you talk about my daughter that way! She’s a good girl! She’s not what you say!” Unfortunately, she was no match for them. The woman just sneered. “If she’s so good, she should stop taking money from another woman’s husband.” “Exactly! A whore wanting a monument to her chastity. I’ve seen it all now!” “Oh, you have no idea,” Sharon said, seizing the moment. “This little brat has been walking all over me for years. I wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t pushed me too far.” Sharon took out her phone, held it to the bullhorn, and pressed play. My own furious, sharp voice filled the air. “…Something lower than the trash they sweep out of a brothel!” “You all heard that, didn’t you?” Sharon said, her voice trembling as if she were the victim. “That’s how she talks to me. If I don’t stand up for myself, I’m afraid she’ll be the death of me one day!” That did it. Even the few people who had been neutral now shot me looks of disgust. “Are all illegitimate kids this vicious now? That’s terrifying.” “What’s to be scared of? The law protects them. It gives these rats from the gutter all the power they need.” My mom, furious, tried to argue with them, but I held her back and shook my head. Her quiet arguments were no match for a rabid dog like Sharon. I looked straight at my stepmother. “You want money, is that it?” Sharon’s eyes lit up. “Spit it out!” “And,” she added, tilting her head back and looking down her nose at me, “you have to apologize.” “Get on your knees and apologize to me!” she commanded. “You’ve hurt me deeply. If you don’t beg for my forgiveness, this isn’t over!” Seeing her smug, triumphant face, I couldn’t help but smile. “Beg for your forgiveness?” I walked toward her. “Are you even worthy?” “You want money?” I said, enunciating every word. “There is no money.” “But if you want, you can ask my dad.” Before I left my apartment, I’d made a call. If she wanted a public spectacle, then I was going to make sure everyone knew the whole story. My mom might be a pushover, but I’m not. The day I found out Sharon destroyed my parents’ marriage, she became my lifelong enemy. And I never go into a fight unprepared. I pulled out my own phone, the screen already on a video call, and aimed it at Sharon. I looked at the screen and spoke to my best friend on the other end. “Where’s my dad?”

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