Category: English

1 My sister was ambushed during a supply run. Her pulmonary artery was ruptured. As she was being airlifted to the military hospital for emergency surgery, I was at the firing range, practicing with my sidearm. My movements were clean, precise. Thirty seconds later, my fiancé, Jack, kicked open the blast-proof door. “Aria,” he roared, his voice thick with fury, “your sister is dying! You’re the only one who can save her. Every senior officer is waiting for you outside! You can’t just let her die.” I knew I was the only one who could perform the complex microvascular suture required. But all I said was a cool, “Oh,” as I reloaded my magazine. My parents, both high-ranking political commissars, burst in next. My father’s fist slammed into my right hand. “That’s your sister! She saved your life! How can you stand there and do nothing? Are you even human?” I shoved them away, revealing the horrifying scar on my right forearm. This hand, which had saved countless lives on the battlefield, was now twitching uncontrollably. “What a shame,” I said, my voice devoid of emotion. “My physical this morning revealed I’ve been exposed to a neurotoxin.” “This hand is useless now.” The once-noisy firing range fell silent. Three pairs of eyes were fixed on my right hand. The hand that had performed countless impossible surgeries, the hand once hailed as the “Hand of God” in the field hospital. Now, it was just a grotesque, trembling mess, a public declaration of my fall from grace. Jack was the first to recover. He shook his head in disbelief. “Aria, stop the act. You were fine yesterday. How could your hand just be ‘useless’ today?” I held my hand out to him, my voice like ice. “Perhaps fate has decided it’s time for Aurora to die.” Jack was speechless with rage. My mother rushed forward, clutching my hand, her voice a desperate plea. “Aria, are you still jealous of your sister?” “Please, Mom is begging you. Just this one surgery. Where would you be without her?” I lifted my head, my eyes as dead as a winter sky. When we were kids at a military summer camp, I somehow fell into a river. It was my sister, Aurora, who jumped in and saved me. To show their gratitude, my parents, who had always wanted another child, adopted Aurora, an orphan. From that day on, everything I had, Aurora had too. I knew it was fair. Aurora was better than me at everything. She was a more fitting daughter for my parents. Crucially, she was more promising. We both tried out for the new recruits program. I was disqualified because I got a stomach bug. My parents had always dreamed of me becoming a general, leading troops into battle. I failed to live up to their expectations. Aurora succeeded. And so, the scales of their love began to tip. My mother always said Aurora needed more nourishment for the battlefield, so all the best food, the best of everything, went to her. I knew, and I nodded silently. It’s only right. If I couldn’t be a soldier on the front lines, I would be their support from the rear. I became the most skilled surgeon in the military. But in my parents’ eyes, I was still second best… Faced with my mother’s accusations, I said nothing, continuing to load my pistol. My father’s anger boiled over. He slapped me across the face. It was the first time my father had ever hit me. I never knew his hand could hurt so much. “Aria, has your conscience been eaten by a dog? Even if she isn’t your biological sister, she’s lived with you for so long.” “Think about it! Aurora has always been the one taking care of you!” The past flooded my mind, each memory a blow to my heart. Still, I remained silent. I raised my pistol and pulled the trigger. My mother couldn’t take it anymore. All her commissar’s authority vanished. She lunged at me like any other frantic woman, pounding on my chest. It was the first time I had ever seen her lose control like this. Not even when I was held hostage by enemy combatants had she looked so distraught. “Aria, I’m begging you. Just do this one surgery. Do you really want me to get on my knees and beg?” “Or at least go take a look! See if there’s another way to save her!” My father stepped forward. “The fact that you’re still here practicing your shooting tells me it’s not that serious. Get to the operating room, now.” “Even if your hand is crippled, you will finish this surgery before it’s crippled for good!” Click. A bullet missed the target completely. Zero points. A mocking smile spread across my face. “Are you sure? If Aurora dies on my operating table, whose fault will it be?” 2 The three of them stared at me, their eyes filled with disappointment. My mother shrieked, out of control. “What do you mean by that? Are you planning to kill her during the surgery?” I just smiled without a word. “You’re insane!” The clock was ticking. The golden window for a pulmonary artery repair was forty-five minutes. After that, not even a god could bring her back. Just then, Jack stepped forward. “Uncle, Auntie,” he said, his voice firm. “Let me do the surgery.” “Aria and I graduated from the same medical academy. My skills aren’t that far behind hers. And I’ve been her assistant on all her major surgeries. I know the procedure inside and out.” My parents hesitated. This was their favorite daughter’s life on the line. Jack took my mother’s hand. “Auntie, I know my skills aren’t quite there yet. But with the help of Aria’s robotic arm, I know I can do it.” My heart skipped a beat. I had been developing that robotic surgical assistant for five years. It was designed to guide delicate procedures like vascular sutures with unparalleled precision. The success rate was already at seventy percent. My parents’ faces lit up, but they were still apprehensive. “But it’s just a machine. Can it really be more flexible than a human hand?” “It will be fine,” Jack insisted. “As long as I have a few assistants, I’m confident I can complete the surgery.” Just then, a dozen doctors crowded in from the doorway, all volunteering to assist. This was the commissar’s daughter. Saving her would mean commendations, promotions—a golden opportunity. I turned to look at them. These were the same doctors who had once sworn to follow me forever. My parents finally relaxed, gripping Jack’s hand with gratitude. “Thank you, Jack, thank you so much. After the surgery, I will personally write a recommendation to your commanding officer. I’ll make you the youngest specialist in the military.” That was my dream. “Wait,” I said, my voice cutting through their celebration. “You’re planning to use my robotic arm. Have you received my authorization?” Jack stared at me, incredulous. “Aria, have you lost your mind? You’re worried about authorization at a time like this?” 3 “That is my intellectual property. Why should I let you use it for free? Just because you’re my boyfriend?” Shame and anger warred on Jack’s face. He glared at me, his eyes burning with hatred. “Unless,” I said, my voice dangerously soft, “you give me the villa that’s under my parents’ name. Then, I might consider it.” My parents were trembling with rage. My father raised his hand and slapped me again. I just smiled. “A million dollars a slap. Otherwise, don’t even think about getting my authorization.” My father’s hand trembled, but he didn’t strike again. “You monstrous child!” he choked out. “Using your sister’s life to blackmail us for money! Are you even human? That villa was meant to be your sister’s dowry!” I said nothing, just tapped my watch, reminding them that time was running out. A few seconds later, my father finally nodded. I pulled out a pen and paper and had them write and sign a transfer certificate on the spot. I sent it off to be officially stamped. Otherwise, I would never agree. Only when I saw the officially sealed document did I nod in satisfaction. “You have my permission. I hope you can operate the robotic arm successfully.” In reality, the arm was still a prototype. The most critical component was still the lead surgeon. Jack looked at me with open contempt. My parents just shook their heads, their eyes full of disgust. The other doctors whispered and pointed at me. I held the document, my head high, and walked out of the firing range. I went home and started packing, removing every trace of myself from the house and moving into the villa. The carnations my grandmother loved, which she had planted by the door, were dead. But that was okay. I would fix that. The surgery lasted nearly four hours. Everyone in the field hospital was on edge. The entrance was swarmed with media. My phone was blowing up. Everyone was calling me a cold-blooded monster, a woman who would trade her sister’s life for money. I ignored it all, simply arranging the carnations I had brought with me. Finally, six hours later, the operating room doors opened. Jack announced that the surgery was a success. A roar of celebration erupted through the hospital. The media descended on Jack. The consensus was clear: the title of the best surgeon in the field hospital had a new owner. Jack was being hailed as the new “Hand of God.” In front of the cameras, Jack passionately recounted the details of the surgery. He announced that he would work to get the robotic arm into hospitals everywhere, for the benefit of all. “A doctor’s duty is to save lives. What Aria refuses to do, I will do in her place!” Soon, medical device corporations were lining up, all vying for exclusive rights. Jack eventually chose to partner with the Horizon Group. Overnight, Jack’s name became a household word. And I became a pariah, a rat crawling in the mud. Looking at the message from my father on my phone, I knew it was time for my judgment. 4 A few days later, a military vehicle pulled up in front of the villa. I gathered everything I had prepared and said goodbye to my grandmother’s portrait by the door. “Grandma, wait for me. I’ll be back soon.” I calmly got into the vehicle. At the military tribunal, every eye was fixed on me, burning with anger. My parents looked like they wanted to devour me whole. The judge banged the gavel. “Aria Sterling, the tribunal accuses you of dereliction of duty and violating the military physician’s code by refusing to render aid. Do you have anything to say?” I slowly raised my head and said, word by word, “I do not accept the charge.” The courtroom erupted. Accusations flew from every direction. If it weren’t for the bailiffs, my parents would have torn me to shreds. “Aria, we all saw you refuse to help! We saw you extort your own family! How dare you plead not guilty!” Jack stared at me with disgust. “Aria, if you have any shred of conscience, you’ll confess. If I hadn’t performed that surgery, your sister would be dead right now!” I looked at them, my eyes lifeless. “But she’s not dead, is she?” The entire courtroom gasped. Camera flashes exploded around me, the media desperate to capture the face of this villain. No matter what the judge asked, my only answer was, “I do not accept.” Just as they were at a loss, the doors opened. Aurora was wheeled in, looking incredibly frail. Even with a successful surgery, she would never recover her full strength. Her dream of being a general was over. “Your Honor, Mom, Dad,” she said, her voice weak but clear. “If my sister won’t admit to abandoning me, will she at least admit to treason?” Every eye in the room swiveled back to me. Aurora’s voice rose with emotion. “I was ambushed because someone leaked our operational plans. And that person was Aria!” “She couldn’t stand that I, an orphan, received all of our parents’ love, so she decided to destroy me!” “But you didn’t expect me to survive, did you, Aria? Now, I’m going to expose your vicious true colors!” Aurora presented her evidence: security footage of me in her office the night before the supply run. I had stood by her desk for a full five minutes. “My entire operational plan was on that desk. If Aria hadn’t betrayed me, how could we have possibly been ambushed?” The anger in the courtroom intensified. If looks could kill, I would have been dead a thousand times over. But I remained expressionless, listening to her accusations. “Aria, I’ve always treated you like my own sister. Why would you do this to me?” “Bullying me at home was one thing, but how could you do something like this?” My parents rushed to comfort Aurora, cradling her like a precious treasure. “What? Aria has been bullying you?” Aurora nodded, a look of profound pain on her face. “She believes I don’t belong in this family. She would often put things in my food to make me disoriented. I almost fainted on the battlefield several times.” “Aria, you’re not human!” My father’s roar nearly shattered my eardrums. Forgetting where he was, he actually pulled out his service weapon and aimed it at me. Just as he was about to fire, the doors burst open again. Several men in higher-ranking uniforms entered. “Good afternoon. We are from the Central Military Commission. We’ve received a report that Captain Aurora Sterling violated protocol in her mission planning, resulting in the deaths of six soldiers. We are here to investigate. Who filed the report?” I smiled and raised my hand. “I did.”

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I had leukemia, but I was lucky. Both my father and my sister were a perfect match for a bone marrow transplant. My sister, ignoring everyone’s protests, insisted on terminating her five-month-old twin pregnancy to donate to me. “Dad’s too old,” she’d said. “His body can’t take it.” When my brother-in-law, working out of town, found out, he drove through the night to confront her. He never made it. A car crash left him sterile. Desperate and broken, he blamed me for everything. “It’s all your fault! I can never be a father now!” he screamed, before plunging a knife into me over and over again. Then I opened my eyes. I was back. My sister was holding me, her voice thick with emotion. “Don’t you worry, Phoebe. We’re sisters. I’m sure we’ll be a match.” 1 “Phoebe, don’t be scared. Your big sister will save you, even if it costs me my life.” Looking at my sister’s tear-swollen eyes and face etched with concern, I trembled with fear. The life she was willing to sacrifice was mine. The phantom terror of a dozen stab wounds made me shove her away instinctively. “No!” I screamed. She staggered back, and my father had to catch her to keep her from falling. He looked at me, hesitant. “Phoebe, I know you’re scared, but your sister is pregnant. You can’t…” The room full of relatives stared at me, their gazes branding me an ungrateful child. I didn’t have time to explain. The most important thing was to stop my sister from getting tested. “Hannah, you can’t do this!” I pleaded. “You have two babies inside you! Even if you are a match, I won’t take your marrow. It’s better not to even get tested.” My desperation was plain for all to see. They mistook it for selfless concern for my sister and her unborn children, murmuring about the depth of our bond. They began to try and persuade her on my behalf. “Hannah, your sister is right. You’re precious right now, too. Don’t be impulsive.” “Exactly! There are so many of us here. I’m sure someone will be a match. We don’t need you to do this.” “And you’re so close to your due date. Even if no one else is a match, we can wait until after you give birth.” I nodded frantically in agreement. But their words only seemed to strengthen her resolve. “Before Mom died, she made me promise to take care of Phoebe. Now that she’s sick, how can I, her older sister, hide behind everyone else?” “Don’t try to stop me. In my heart, my sister is the most important person in the world. It’s not just my children—if it meant my life, I’d give it willingly!” And with that, she marched out of the room to find the doctor. This time, my tears were real. “Hannah!” 2 The truth was, my dad was already a confirmed match. The doctors had said he was in excellent health and a perfect donor. So I truly couldn’t understand why Hannah was so insistent, to the point of sacrificing her own unborn children. Her love was overwhelming, moving even, but it was a weight I couldn’t bear. I didn’t want to die. There was only one person left who had the right to stop her: her husband, Marcus, the man who had killed me in my past life. Marcus had been transferred out of state for a year-long project. He had six months left before he was due back. Fighting back my terror, I called him and laid everything bare. “Marcus, I swear, I will never take Hannah’s marrow. But I can’t convince her. You have to come back!” He was there the next day. He pleaded with my sister, his voice gentle. “Honey, let me get tested. I’ll donate to Phoebe, okay?” Hannah just shook her head. “You’re not related to Phoebe by blood. The chances of a match are almost zero.” Despite this, Marcus went for the tests anyway. The results came back three days later. As expected, he wasn’t a match. But Hannah was. Marcus’s face was grim. “Hannah, I do not approve of this.” Her reaction was explosive. “Marcus, what are you saying? You want me to just stand by and watch my own sister die?” “I never said that!” he retorted. “But you have to think about our children! They’re already moving. In a few months, they’ll be born!” “After the babies are here, you can do whatever you want. I won’t stop you!” “But my sister has leukemia,” Hannah sobbed. “It’s not a common cold!” “What if her condition suddenly gets worse? Can you guarantee that won’t happen?” Marcus was speechless. How could he possibly guarantee something like that? His face darkened. “All I know is, I don’t agree.” Suddenly, Hannah snatched a fruit knife from the bedside table. “No one is going to stop me from saving my sister!” she shrieked. “Or I’ll kill them right now!” 3 Everyone froze. Marcus went pale with fright, practically falling to his knees. “Honey, please, don’t do anything rash!” he begged. “Then don’t force me!” Hannah screamed, pressing the knife against her own pregnant belly. The tip pierced her skin, and a bead of blood welled up. Gasps of horror filled the room. Watching my sister’s frantic state, I was stunned. A chilling doubt crept into my mind. Could anyone truly value their sister more than their own children? But I quickly pushed the thought away. Phoebe, you can doubt yourself, but you can’t doubt your sister. When I was born, Hannah was only three. But unlike most older siblings, she had adored me. She fought with the adults to take care of me. She learned how to mix my formula and change my diapers before she even knew how to dress herself properly. When we started school, she was the one who stood up for me, fighting boys bigger than her. She still has a two-inch scar on her arm from one of those fights. After our mother passed away, she became a mother to me. She gave me everything she could. She wore ten-dollar t-shirts from discount websites but bought me fifty-dollar dresses from department stores. Before she got married, she insisted on giving me all her savings, a decision that earned her endless grief from Marcus’s family. Tears welled in my eyes at the memories. Yes, I had died in the last life, but it wasn’t Hannah’s fault. She couldn’t have predicted that Marcus would lose his fertility in a car crash. The one who killed me was Marcus. The blame could never fall on her. She just loved me too much. She was willing to do anything to save me, even at the cost of her own children. In the last life, everyone’s ending was a tragedy. Since fate had given me a second chance, I swore to myself that I would change our destiny. Right now, I had to stop her before she did something irreversible. Seeing everyone’s attention fixed on Hannah, I quietly slipped over to the window, opened it, and climbed out onto the ledge. I straddled the sill, gripping the frame tightly to keep from falling. Then I shouted, “Hannah!” “I don’t want your marrow! If you don’t stop, I’ll jump right now!” To make my point, I shifted my body further out. We were on the twenty-first floor. The room erupted in pure panic. “I know you’re both good kids,” my father’s voice trembled. “Let’s just talk this through.” I ignored him, my eyes locked on my sister. “Hannah, promise me. Promise you won’t do anything to hurt yourself or the babies. Or I’ll jump.” “I mean it!” Finally, she dropped the knife. “Okay,” she sobbed. “I promise.” 4 The cut on Hannah’s stomach was superficial. The doctor disinfected it and put on a bandage. What followed was a thorough scolding. My dad apologized profusely to the doctor, bowing and promising up and down that he would watch us and it would never happen again. Seeing my dad so flustered, Hannah and I caught each other’s eye and couldn’t help but laugh. That just set the doctor off on another tirade, this time aimed at us. It was understandable. Hospital windows are usually sealed shut. But the one in my room was broken, discovered that morning during ventilation. The nurse had reported it and was told a maintenance worker was on their way. Who could have guessed that in that short window, someone would threaten to jump? Hannah and I quickly bowed our heads and admitted our fault. Once things calmed down, I was still worried. I pulled my dad aside to talk to Marcus. “Do you think Hannah might have prenatal depression?” I elaborated on my concerns. “She’s always been anxious about me, but never this… obsessive.” My dad was worried too. “You’re right. Hannah used to be so easygoing and reasonable. This isn’t like her at all.” Marcus considered it. “It’s possible,” he admitted. “She’s carrying twins, which is harder than a normal pregnancy. And with me being out of town, I can’t even be there for her. She has to go to all her checkups alone.” “Her morning sickness has been terrible, too. She can’t keep anything down.” The more he spoke, the more guilt-ridden he became. “It’s all my fault.” My dad and I felt a pang of guilt as well. With my illness, we hadn’t been paying enough attention to her. Marcus decided to take Hannah to see a psychiatrist. The diagnosis confirmed our suspicions: mild depression. While we were worried for her, a sense of relief washed over us. There was a reason for her behavior. She was sick. Marcus’s year-long assignment came with a promotion, but he contacted his company and arranged to be transferred back early. His career could wait. If something happened to his wife and children, he would regret it for the rest of his life. Hannah started seeing a therapist regularly, and after a while, her condition improved significantly. When the doctors recommended that my dad be the donor, her reaction was perfectly normal. She focused on how to best care for both of us and never mentioned donating her own marrow again. The transplant was scheduled for two weeks later. My dad began a strict regimen of early nights, balanced meals, and daily exercise to get his body in peak condition. I was moved into a sterile isolation room to begin pre-transplant chemotherapy. The side effects left me weak and unable to sleep well. One night, I woke up in the dead of night. The door to my room creaked open. I tried to scream, but no sound came out. My body was frozen, paralyzed. I could only watch in horror as a figure approached my bed, raised a knife high, and plunged it towards me. 5 I shot up in bed, gasping. The room was empty. I looked down at myself. My clothes were intact. I ran my hands over my body. No wounds, no blood. I let out a breath, telling myself it was just a dream. But I couldn’t fall back asleep. I lay awake until the first light of dawn, finally drifting off into a fitful slumber. The next day, I was on edge, a constant feeling of dread churning in my stomach. It wasn’t until visiting hours, when my dad came to see me, that it hit me. “Dad, where’s Hannah? Why didn’t she come?” He smiled. “She called. She has a prenatal checkup today, so she’s not coming. She’ll see you tomorrow.” I tried to suppress the unease rising in my chest. “Dad, Marcus isn’t here. Can you go check on her? I’m fine here.” He agreed immediately. After he left, I called Hannah, but the phone just rang and rang. The anxiety intensified. Fifteen minutes later, my dad called back. “Phoebe, I’m at the obstetrics department on the second floor. I don’t see your sister. She probably finished her checkup and went home.” My heart sank. “Dad, go to her apartment. I just called her, and she didn’t pick up.” “Maybe she just didn’t hear it. Don’t worry, I’ll try calling her again in a bit.” Seeing that he didn’t grasp the severity of the situation, I reminded him, “Dad, don’t forget. She has depression.” He immediately grew tense. It was just as I feared. He went to her apartment, but no one answered the door. A neighbor said they saw her leave early that morning. I contacted her friends, classmates, and colleagues. My dad went to every place she might have gone. But there was no sign of her. The dream from the night before came rushing back, and a chill went down my spine. “Dad, we have to tell Marcus.” “And… call the police.” The police, understanding that three lives were at stake, took the matter very seriously. They were efficient. Using surveillance footage, they quickly tracked her down. She had gone to another hospital in the city. And she had an appointment for an abortion. The procedure was scheduled for today. I froze. The question I had so desperately tried to suppress resurfaced with a vengeance. Did my sister really love me at all?

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I dive into the horror game, and my inner perv goes wild. I snatch the whip from the final boss, strip him down, and tie him up. The next second, I’m on the floor, convulsing from a system-inflicted electric shock. System: 【Hey there! Watch an ad to unlock this scene, hon!】 I wipe the blood from my nose and swipe my credit card to skip. When I come to, the boss has me pinned beneath him. His fingers trace the lines of my trembling body, a souvenir from the electric shock. His eyes darken. “Does this get you zapped, too?” With every soft kiss he plants on my skin, a fresh jolt of electricity courses through me. My screams are swallowed by his lips. Numb and overwhelmed, I try to crawl away, sobbing. He yanks me back, his expression unreadable. “Where are you going? It’s not like I’m going to eat you.” 1. 【Player Kira has logged in. The system will now match you with other players.】 【Estimated time: 5 seconds.】 … After escaping the Rose Hotel, I was transported back to the real world. Under the rose bush in my yard, my brother’s body was gone. In its place was a quivering, dark, gooey substance. It was Corby, the strange creature I’d accidentally befriended in the last game. I can’t believe he followed me back to reality. Does this mean… I can bring my brother out of the game, too? Every day, I waited eagerly for the next horror instance to begin. But to my disappointment, I couldn’t get back in. Just as I was sinking into despair, a month later, an anonymous package arrived. Inside the box was a complete virtual reality setup, technology far beyond anything I’d ever seen. There was also a silver card with a single question etched onto it: 【Are you willing to step through the door of terror once more?】 2. 【Ding—】 【Player matching successful.】 【Welcome to the game instance: Phantom Penitentiary.】 【Victory Condition—】 【Help the protagonist clear their name.】 The cold, electronic voice echoed in my ears again. I opened my eyes. The familiar training grounds were gone, replaced by a bare, empty room. The system’s final words resonated around me: 【Inmate 0371, has entered the facility.】 Well, then. The good news: I’m not the protagonist this time. The bad news: I’m locked up in a high-security prison. The realization that I was a prisoner hit me, and I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. No wonder it took a month for me to get another chance to enter the game. The damn system was serving me a shit sandwich. The room was pitch-black, the only light coming from the faint glow of the electronic bracelet on my wrist. I used its weak luminescence to feel my way around the dark. Unfortunately, besides the cot I was lying on, the room was completely empty. As I fumbled my way towards the door, the long-lost live commentary reappeared: 【OMG! No way! Kira is back online! I thought she was a glitch, a staff mistake!】 【Yeah! I was so sad when I heard we wouldn’t see her play again. But I don’t get it. If she didn’t commit a crime, why would she come back? This isn’t a joke. You can actually die in these games!】 【Are you stupid? Her brother is in here! They’re so in love, and he’s so hot. If it were me, I’d come back for him in a heartbeat.】 【If I remember correctly, her brother is Silas, right? Silas killed Kira, that’s why he’s trapped in the horror game. Are you sure they’re ‘in love’?】 【I don’t care! Silas was definitely framed! When they left the last game, the way he looked at her… that wasn’t a brother looking at his sister. That was the look of a man who wanted to crush her, to devour her piece by piece!】 【Is he a Power Ranger? What do you mean he ‘glows’? You trying to get yourself killed with takes like that?】 … From a dark corner of the cell, a wet, slick sound slithered across the wall. My body jolted. I spun around, staring into the darkness where the sound had come from. Strangely, there was nothing there. “Corby?” I called out tentatively. Still no response. Weird. Was I imagining things? I could have sworn I smelled rust. Knowing he was hiding from me, I sighed and lay back down on the bed, closing my eyes to rest. The moment I did, I felt a tickling sensation on my face, like something was poking me. I suppressed a smirk. I kept my eyes closed, waiting for ‘him’ to let his guard down before slowly peeling one eyelid open. In the darkness, a monster was hanging upside-down from the ceiling, its single eyeball emitting a cold, eerie glow as it watched my every move. Seeing it, the tension in my body eased slightly. It was hard to see, but the single eye and the foul stench… it had to be Corby. His eye was a deep, shimmering black, just staring at me blankly. He looked so docile, it made my heart itch. I couldn’t resist anymore. I opened my eyes fully and cupped his face. “Aww, Corby, you’re so cute! Mommy’s gonna give you a big kiss!” “Corby, Mommy missed you so much!” “You’re such a good boy. I knew you’d find a way to come in with me.” Ever since I found out Corby was… created from the flesh and blood of my brother and me, I’d forced him to call me Mommy. The live comments erupted in agony: 【Sisters, you carry on. I’m just gonna go throw up for a minute.】 【I told you she has a thing for ugly creatures. She can even bring herself to kiss that hideous face.】 【I’m crying, she’s so dedicated. No wonder her popularity on TerrorStream is through the roof. The producers even spent a fortune to give her a dedicated camera angle, something usually reserved for the main protagonist. She deserves it.】 He’s not a hideous monster. He’s my precious baby. Our big, beautiful boy. As if startled by my sudden movement, a flicker of panic crossed ‘his’ eye. In a flash, ‘he’ vanished back into the darkness, thinking he was well-hidden, curled up silently in a corner. He even squeezed his eye shut, as if that would make him invisible. I was speechless. After a moment of silence, I walked over to him. The closer I got, the more that familiar, pungent odor filled my nostrils. It was sharp, but strangely comforting. I breathed a sigh of relief. It really was Corby. His long, dark hair brushed against my fingertips, tickling me. I curled my fingers, wrapping a strand of his hair around them and giving it a gentle tug. “Corby?” I smiled. The single eye remained tightly shut. I feigned anger and poked his eyelid. “Why aren’t you talking? Cat got your tongue?” Startled by the sudden touch, Corby flinched. Seeing him about to bolt, I quickly yanked him down from the ceiling and gave ‘him’ a massive hug, nuzzling my face into ‘his’ chest. “Where are you going? It’s not like I’m going to eat you.” I closed my eyes, overcome with maternal affection. It hadn’t even been half a day, but I’d missed him terribly. I patted him here and there. Feeling his arms and legs, a question popped into my head. “Corby, why are your arms so thick? Did you sneak some snacks after I left?” “And look at these legs! And this waist is huge!” “Also, didn’t I tell you to take a bath every day? Why do you still smell so much like blood?” I nagged like a mother hen, my confusion growing. I’d only been gone for half a day. How did he grow into such a behemoth? He was a whole size bigger. I was truly baffled. “Wait, since when do you have abs? Do you monsters work out now?” “And… why are you hiding a club…” My hand froze. I didn’t dare explore any further. I could feel the ‘club’ in my palm growing larger. A horrible realization dawned on me. My smile stiffened. I swallowed hard, not daring to move. “Um… Corby… is that you?” I asked hesitantly. “Are you talking to me?” From above my head, a voice, deep and raspy like a broken machine, grated out. If I had any doubts before, they were gone now. The moment the monster spoke, I was certain. This wasn’t Corby at all! This was a man’s voice! There were only two of us in here. Who else could it be?! And how did he manage to stay silent for so long?! A chill ran down my spine. I stiffly craned my neck to look up at him. The monster’s eyeball was glowing brighter now, casting a sinister, cold light. Just then, my bracelet must have brushed against something, because it lit up, illuminating his entire face. Let’s just say he was even more of a visual train wreck than Corby. Far more. Matted hair, a face of mangled flesh, and a dark red slime dripping from his body. I never thought I’d find a monster uglier than Corby. 3. A single, explosive “Holy shit!” escaped my lips. I scrambled back, yanking my hands away and pushing off him, my back hitting the far wall. I shuddered, biting my tongue hard to suppress the bile rising in my throat. I wanted to claw a hole in the wall and disappear. I frantically wiped the hand that had touched him on my clothes, forcing myself to picture my brother’s face just to keep from vomiting. The monster’s single eye darkened. After a long pause, he spoke, his voice a low rumble. “Disgusted?” Being stared at with such ‘intensity,’ I felt like I couldn’t breathe. “No, no, no, of course not!” I denied frantically. “I couldn’t possibly like you more!” He let out a dry chuckle. “Is that so?” I nodded vigorously. “Mhm!” His black eyeball stared deep into mine for a moment before closing heavily. He turned his back to me, silent. For a long while, he just stood there. Finally, he lifted his foot as if to leave. Seeing this, my tense body began to relax. But before I could even let out a sigh of relief… He—shook—his—body—like—a—wet—dog. Except dogs shake off water. He had no fur. He was covered in dripping, crimson slime. The viscous liquid, mixed with blood, flew in a perfectly calculated arc, drenching me completely. Just before he left, he glanced back at me, a look of profound grievance in his single eye. “…” Standing there, covered in filth, my feelings were… complicated. What the hell was that for? 4. The timer on my bracelet hit 5:00 AM. With a cold, electronic ding, the dead silence of the prison was broken, and it came alive. It was still pitch-black, but now I could hear the voices of other players, distant and near. If I listened closely, I could even make out the sound of someone sobbing quietly. Suddenly, a set of bold red letters lit up the wall. 【Welcome to the Phantom Penitentiary Factory.】 All inmates must adhere to the following rules— 【1. Inmates must remember their number and arrive at the designated location before the countdown ends.】 【2. Your electronic bracelet will display your destination.】 【3. Factory maintenance hours are from 20:00 to 05:00. Please refrain from wandering unless absolutely necessary.】 【4. The Warden’s orders are absolute and must not be defied.】 【Finally, romantic relationships are strictly forbidden within the prison factory!】 【Violators will be punished!】 For some reason, as that last rule was announced, a strange feeling washed over me. It felt… out of place among the other life-or-death rules. Just then, the cold, electronic voice returned: 【All players are now active. Mission directives have been issued.】 【Player count: 300.】 【Good luck.】 The words had barely faded when the lights flashed on. The sudden brightness was blinding. I instinctively threw a hand up to shield my eyes. At the same time, my bracelet started beeping frantically. I squinted, fumbling with the device, trying to turn it off. But aside from its alarm and glowing function, it seemed to have no other features. Not a single button. Giving up, I sighed and started searching the room for a way out. The walls were made of a cold, silvery metal, and even the cell door was constructed from some high-tech material. Getting out of here was going to be next to impossible. The shrill alarm from my bracelet hammered at my nerves: “Inmate, please proceed to the designated location.” “Inmate, please proceed to the designated location.” … The door was flush with the wall, practically seamless. The realization made me pause. So. How did that monster get in? And how did it get out? Time was ticking away, and I still couldn’t find an exit. My brow furrowed, sweat beading on my forehead. The countdown on my bracelet showed only ten minutes left. I forced myself to calm down and searched the room one more time. It was only when I got close to the door again that I heard it—a faint beep-beep. I pressed my ear against the door to listen more closely, but the sound vanished. I glanced down at my bracelet, then stepped back from the door and approached it again. The crisp, electronic beep returned. After a moment’s hesitation, I steadied myself and walked forward. Just as I suspected. As I moved, the silver cell door began to turn transparent. By the time I had stepped completely through, the door behind me solidified back to its original state. 5. I was out of the cell. I wiped the sweat from my face. The first thing I saw was a giant elevator in the center of the massive, open-atrium prison, running straight up to the highest floors. My cell was on the fifth floor, at the far end, a good distance from the elevator. The entire prison was a massive cylindrical structure, at least seventeen stories high. But my bracelet indicated my destination was on the eighteenth floor. As more and more people escaped their cells, a crowd formed in front of the giant elevator. I scanned the faces. Everyone looked utterly bewildered. The elevator doors were closed, but the countdown continued. With only eight minutes left, the electronic voice chimed in again. 【Initial phase: Cell escape. 13 players failed. Current player count: 287.】 【Round one will now officially begin.】 【Players must reach the designated location on the top floor within eight minutes.】 【Please note: The main elevator ascends one floor per minute and can only hold 20 people at a time.】 【Alternatively, players may use the pedestrian stairwell located next to the elevator. Friendly reminder: The stairwell is teeming with anomalies. One wrong step and you might just end up in a monster’s gaping maw.】 So, do I fight 287 people for a spot on an elevator that only holds 20, or do I risk the stairwell filled with unknown dangers? The stairwell was not only dangerous, but I’d also have to sprint to the top floor in a ridiculously short amount of time. This isn’t looking good, I thought. Screams echoed from above as bodies began to fall from the upper levels. In the end, I chose the stairs. Perhaps the only thing more terrifying than monsters are desperate people who have lost their minds.

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1 The moment Caleb Stone instinctively mixed the noodles for me, I asked for a divorce. His hand, mid-stir, paused abruptly. “Why?” he demanded, his voice thick with disbelief. “I told you before, Stella and I have nothing going on!” I looked at the perfectly mixed bowl of noodles, a faint, bitter smile touching my lips. “Caleb, we’ve been together for eight years. You’ve never once mixed my noodles for me.” Caleb’s hand, still clutching the chopsticks, froze. After a long silence, he spoke, his voice strained, trying to explain. “Ava, I just…” “You just got used to doing these little things for her. You got used to me always accommodating her.” I curved my lips, my voice eerily calm. “But Caleb, I’m not used to it. I deserve a genuine, complete love.” I was dragging my suitcase, just about to step past the villa’s grand entrance, when Caleb grabbed my arm. “Ava…” I turned to him. His lips trembled, words caught in his throat. “Stella isn’t feeling well. She wants your special soup.” Caleb suffered from stomach issues, and this soup was a recipe I’d gotten from a renowned holistic healer. To learn that recipe, I’d turned down an invitation to join a prestigious research expedition, spending a full month working as an assistant at the clinic. Eight years we’d been together, and Caleb had never even wiped a spilled drop of water from the table. Yet now, he was begging for this soup for Stella. Meeting my reddened eyes, Caleb shifted his gaze, looking away. “Make it one more time. I’ll let you go back to the research team.” He looked at me with an air of condescension, as if he’d forgotten why I’d left the team in the first place—Stella had wanted to join a polar expedition tourist group but couldn’t get a spot, so Caleb canceled my opportunity for a polar research trip. While they stood close, watching the aurora borealis in the snow, I received my dismissal notice from the research team. “Fine.” I took a deep breath, turning and walking into the kitchen. The soup was ready. I was just about to hand it to him when a gasp echoed from the master bedroom. It was supposed to be Caleb’s and my marital bedroom, but now he and Stella shared it. Caleb’s outstretched hand snapped back, and he rushed into the master bedroom. He accidentally knocked over the steaming bowl of soup, scalding liquid splashing all over me. My exposed skin instantly flushed crimson. I bit back a cry, dousing myself with cold water, but painful blisters still rose in angry patches. I was just picking up my suitcase, wincing in pain, when Caleb emerged from the master bedroom, cradling Stella in his arms, his face contorted in anger. He carefully settled Stella onto the sofa, then thoughtfully draped a blanket over her. Then, his face grim, he strode towards me. I instinctively reached for the door, wanting to escape, but he clamped down on my wrist. He squeezed hard on the scalded blisters, the searing pain almost making me black out. “You know Stella is allergic to pollen! Why didn’t you clean the room after she opened the window?!” “I didn’t…” Before I could finish, Caleb dragged me into the master bedroom. The movement burst the blisters on my wrist, yellowish pus mixing with blood seeping out, staining my white dress. Caleb shoved me to the floor. My knees hit the rough wooden floorboards, the coarse material scraping against my burns. I trembled uncontrollably from the pain. He saw the angry blisters on my hand, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, but then he glanced at the red spots on Stella’s wrist and spoke. “You’ll kneel here and clean this bedroom thoroughly. Don’t leave until there isn’t a single trace of pollen.” Ever since Stella arrived, cleaning the master bedroom had become my duty. Even though we had a full-time housekeeper, Caleb assigned this task to me simply because Stella claimed, “no one else cleans properly.” The bedroom had hardwood floors, and I was expected to kneel and meticulously wipe every inch with a rag. The dirty water in the bucket stung my skin, bringing waves of agonizing pain. Once the entire room was spotless, I finally stood, looking at Caleb with a vacant expression. “Is that enough?” Gazing at the increasingly grotesque burns on my hand, Caleb shifted his eyes. “Ava Hayes, it was clearly your negligence that caused Stella’s allergic reaction. Why are you putting on this show?” “We’re already divorced. You’re the one who asked for it!” I nodded, pulling my suitcase, intending to leave, when I bumped into our hurried family doctor. She saw me and gasped. “Mrs. Stone, your burns are so severe, you need immediate medical attention! Let me treat you first!” Before she could even set down her medical bag, Caleb pulled her towards Stella. “She’s the patient.” The doctor looked incredulously at Stella, who only had a mild allergic reaction, then at my severely burned self. She could only lower her head and examine Stella. As everyone gathered around Stella, I quickly opened the door and slipped away. 2 I endured the searing pain, walking for what felt like an eternity before finally exiting the villa community. The ambulance I had called was already waiting at the entrance. Seeing the paramedics, the intense pain finally overwhelmed me, and I passed out. When I woke again, the burns were neatly bandaged. Caleb was sitting on the sofa, engrossed in paperwork. A young nurse, changing my IV bag, whispered, “That must be your husband. He’s been here watching over you for two days straight.” After the nurse left, Caleb set down his papers and came to my bedside, offering me a bowl of hot soup. “Try this. I specifically ordered it for you.” It was takeout from that upscale restaurant he frequented. But I’d just seen Stella’s social media post, a photo of Caleb himself cooking soup for her. Seeing I didn’t take the bowl, he didn’t get angry. He placed the soup on the table and spoke. “Stella’s condition can’t be delayed any longer. Since you’re awake, we’ll begin the bone marrow transplant this afternoon.” With his words, a team of doctors streamed into the room. Before the operating room doors closed, I overheard the doctors’ conversation with Caleb: “Mr. Stone, Mrs. Hayes is not in optimal condition for a marrow donation, and she’s also injured. Extracting bone marrow now could cause organ damage. Ms. Reed’s condition is currently stable; we can certainly wait until Mrs. Hayes recovers before proceeding…” Before the doctor could finish, Caleb cut him off, his voice cold. “Stella suffers more with each day without the transplant. I can’t bear to see her in such pain. As for Ava, I’ll compensate her later.” Through the crack in the door, I saw the complete absence of love in his eyes. I closed mine, and a tidal wave of suppressed pain and humiliation washed over me. The cold anesthetic flowed into my veins. Caleb watched me, utterly oblivious to my immunity to anesthesia. The thick needle pierced my spine. The excruciating pain of the bone marrow aspiration made my entire body spasm. I tried to speak, to tell them the anesthetic wasn’t working, but a nurse beside me clamped her hand over my mouth. I bit down hard on the soft flesh inside my cheek, tasting blood as it trickled from the corner of my lips. Caleb approached, his voice laced with false reassurance. “I told the doctor to increase the anesthetic dosage. You won’t feel anything.” I gritted my teeth, closing my eyes, refusing to look at him anymore. Three years ago, when I underwent a D&C after a miscarriage, I told him I was immune to anesthesia. Back then, he held me, his eyes red-rimmed, promising he’d never let me be hurt again. But now, all my injuries were his doing. Stella, lying on the other bed, let out a soft murmur. Caleb quickly strode over, barking, “Where’s the anesthesiologist? Didn’t Stella get an anesthetic? Why is she still reacting?” The doctor, beads of sweat on his brow, explained to Caleb that it was a normal reaction after anesthesia, but Caleb remained unconvinced. “Stop the surgery for now. Go find the best anesthesiologist in the city.” “Mr. Stone, the bone marrow has already been extracted. If we don’t proceed quickly, we’ll have to perform a second extraction.” Seeing my pale face, Caleb hesitated for two seconds. But his concern for Stella quickly overcame that brief flicker of doubt. “Stella is afraid of pain. Ava is fine since she had the anesthetic.” I closed my eyes, my emotions draining away, leaving only a hollow ache. The doctor tried to say something more, but Caleb cut him off. “I hired you to ensure Stella’s safety. You don’t need to concern yourselves with anything else.” An hour later, the assistant arrived in the operating room with a new anesthesiologist. The thick needle plunged into my body once more. This time, under the immense pain, I completely lost consciousness. 3 When I woke again, the vast hospital room was empty save for me. I forced myself to reach for my phone. An invitation to join the research team had arrived. I quickly scanned it, then signed my name. This was a top-secret national research team. A long time ago, I had turned down their offer for Caleb’s sake. But I never imagined that, in the end, they would be the ones to embrace me. Seeing the flight details for three days later on my phone, I finally allowed myself to breathe a sigh of relief. Caleb walked in with a meal tray just as I put my phone down. Seeing my movements, he casually asked, “What are you doing?” I smoothed the smile from my face, tucking my phone further away, my voice flat. “Nothing.” Caleb looked at the woman who had been expressionless since he walked in, a flicker of unease stirring within him. He placed the food on the table, about to speak, when Stella’s special ringtone chimed. “Caleb, didn’t you say you’d come help me pick out rings? Where are you?” After hanging up, Caleb left without a backward glance. “I have things to take care of today. I’ll pick you up when you’re fully recovered.” But he never showed up, not even on the day I was discharged. Ever since Stella came into his life, “busy” became his constant excuse. Busy taking care of a sick Stella, busy taking Stella out. All his time was devoted to Stella, leaving me with only his retreating back, time and again. But this time, I wouldn’t wait for him anymore. During my hospital stay, only a single nurse’s aide cared for me. At lunchtime, when she brought me my meal, she spoke enviously of Stella, who was on the same floor. “I heard her husband paid a high price to have her room redecorated by a designer during her surgery because she couldn’t stand the regular rooms. And he personally cooks every meal for her after consulting with a nutritionist.” “They say her husband is a CEO, always so busy, yet he still insists on visiting her three times a day and staying with her every night.” I ate the hospital meal, tasteless and bland, suddenly recalling that I had never been cared for by him with such devotion. Three years ago, my research team was caught in an accident, buried under an avalanche. Before hypothermia set in, I used my last ounce of consciousness to call Caleb. But his first words were a complaint, accusing me of interrupting his time watching fireworks with Stella. After being rescued by border patrol, I saw a video Stella had sent me: Caleb kneeling, gently rubbing her ankle after she’d supposedly twisted it. I ignored Stella’s gloating, blocking her number directly. When I returned home, Caleb stood before me, Stella wrapped in his arms, her eyes red-rimmed. Disregarding my frostbitten skin, he dragged me from my bed to the floor, forcing me to kneel and apologize to Stella. He only released me when a passing nurse discovered my reopened wounds. As he left with Stella, his face was grim. “Stella isn’t well. Can’t you be more understanding? If you upset her again, you and your sick mother can get out of my house.” Shaking off the memories, I finished the food in the box. This unpalatable meal was the last I would ever eat. 4 On my discharge day, I ran into Caleb and Stella while handling the paperwork. I was about to walk away when Stella smiled and approached. “Oh, Sister Ava is here too! Caleb, you’re so thoughtless, not telling me Sister was in the hospital. Otherwise, I would have visited every day.” Caleb’s face was cold. “Don’t you have legs? Couldn’t you come find me yourself?” I lowered my eyes, instinctively murmuring, “I’m sorry.” A flicker of surprise crossed Caleb’s face. He seemed a little unconvinced by my easy apology, and his tone softened. “I’ll drive you home later.” I could barely believe what I heard. After all, since our marriage, I had almost never ridden in his car, because he had promised Stella that his car was exclusively hers. Stella’s expression changed, but she quickly recovered, linking her arm through Caleb’s. “I told you to visit Sister Ava, but you insisted on accompanying me to that research team lecture.” “I’m so sorry, Sister Ava. Caleb will drive you home later.” Caleb’s gaze flickered. He was about to agree, but then saw me pull my arm from Stella’s grasp and shake my head. “No, thank you. I can take a cab myself.” But Stella ignored my refusal, forcefully pulling me into the car. “Don’t be shy, Sister Ava. Come to the lecture with us. I remember you used to be a team leader for a research expedition.” I was pushed into the back seat, and Stella naturally took the passenger seat. Seeing her settled, Caleb instinctively leaned over to fasten her seatbelt. In the past, seeing him so intimate with Stella would have caused me to make a scene, but now I was so calm, it seemed to stir a strange displeasure in Caleb. I followed them into the auditorium. As we took our seats, I instinctively sat next to Caleb, but Stella bit her lip, hesitating to sit. “Sister Ava, I’m so sorry, I only managed to get two seats together. The other one is in the back row.” She started to leave, but Caleb grabbed her arm. Caleb turned to me and ordered, “You go sit in the back.” I didn’t question, didn’t argue. I quietly got up and moved to the back row. I sat there, watching them whisper intimately, his head close to hers. The auditorium’s air conditioning was blasting, and my heart chilled, inch by inch. Halfway through the lecture, I got up and went to the restroom. As I left the restroom, I saw a small good luck charm dangling from Stella’s finger. I had personally gone to the mountains to get that charm for my mother when she was sick, hoping it would keep her safe. But now, it hung precariously from Stella’s fingertip. She looked at me, a smirk playing on her lips. “Ava Hayes, Caleb specifically got this from your mom, he said it was to protect me. The day your mother died, he wasn’t there because he’d just gotten this charm and rushed to bring it to me. Good thing Caleb gave it to me before your mom died, otherwise, it would have been bad luck for a dead person to wear it, right?” I snapped. I lunged, snatching the charm, and clamped my hand around her throat. As we struggled, a piercing alarm suddenly blared overhead, followed by a violent explosion. The crowd in the hall erupted in chaos, everyone scrambling, pushing desperately towards the exit. My body, fresh out of the hospital, was still weak. I was quickly knocked down by the surging crowd, forcing me to curl up against the wall. Then, I saw Caleb moving against the tide of people, walking towards us. “Ava! Ava!” His voice was anxious, and a flicker of hope ignited within me. But he saw Stella first. He pulled Stella into his arms, shielding her completely. The crowd surged around us. He turned his head and glanced at me, instinctively reaching out his hand. Stella coughed softly, and he immediately withdrew his hand, striding away with her. I watched him walk away, holding Stella, and remembered something from many years ago. He sat opposite me, his eyes bright as he watched me eat. Seeing me eat slowly, he’d anxiously asked if the food wasn’t to my liking. I quietly told him it was because of poverty, my teeth had always been bad. He had suddenly gotten teary-eyed and apologized. “I’m sorry, you’ve worked so hard all these years.” The two figures, past and present, merged into one. My nose stung. I silently bid farewell to the boy he once was. Three hours later, the man who had finally managed to soothe a terrified Stella remembered me, the one he had abandoned. But he searched through all the rescued injured, and I was nowhere to be found. In a black SUV, clutching the good luck charm, I repeatedly hung up on Caleb’s calls. Before I turned in my phone, I received a text from Caleb. 【Stella isn’t feeling well. Come to the hospital to stay with her and get yourself checked out too.】 I didn’t reply. I simply handed my phone to the person beside me. “Please dispose of this for me. I don’t need it anymore.” Caleb, you and your meager love, I want neither.

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My mother is the self-aware protagonist in one of those novels about a middle-aged woman finding herself. I discovered this fact at the precise moment I was at the county clerk’s office, finalizing my divorce from the “perfect catch” she’d picked out for me years ago. A strange, frantic voice screamed in my head, distracting me for a split second. The man beside me, my soon-to-be-ex, let out a sneer. “It’s a little late for regrets, Missi. The only way you’re stopping this now is if you get on your knees and beg.” I ignored him, signing my name with a firm, steady hand. The voice in my head stopped screaming. Then, in a tone as cold and flat as a frozen lake, it said: Your mother doesn’t want you anymore. You and your father—she’s abandoned you both. Fine by me, I thought. I hope you mean it. 1. Three months after the divorce, I ran into my mother and her new boyfriend at an auto show. I had to admit, she looked years younger than she ever did with my father. She’d cut her hair, completely revamped her wardrobe, and carried herself with a vibrant new energy. Even though our relationship had been strained for years, she was still my mother. Seeing her thrive like this… it made me happy. The noisy voice in my head started its nagging commentary again. “After your mother divorced your father, he let himself go completely. No one to look after him. But look at her! A successful new business, a younger boyfriend. You’re her daughter. If you apologize now, she might still take you back. Otherwise, you’ll end up just like your father.” Hard pass. I was standing near my company’s feature vehicle, drowning in an ill-fitting work polo, and my first instinct was to pretend I hadn’t seen them. Our last conversation hadn’t exactly been a pleasant one. It was the day I told her I’d signed the divorce papers. She’d been so furious she’d swept my dinner right off the table. “I come home and cook for you myself, and this is the thanks I get? I’m your mother, Missi! Can’t you show me a little consideration?” “My consideration for you and my need for a divorce are two separate things,” I’d said, my expression admittedly cold. I didn’t know how else to look at her as she angrily cleaned up the mess she’d made. “Besides, I told you we could eat out. Or Maria was here. You could have just let her cook.” My mother rarely cooked. Unless my father was home, our housekeeper, Maria, handled all the meals and chores. She looked up, her eyes wide with disbelief. “What is that supposed to mean? Are you criticizing my cooking?” “No, I just—” I just knew that a home-cooked meal from her always came with strings attached, conditions that would inevitably make me miserable. When I was five, she made me take a cold bath and then call my dad, frantic. When he rushed home from work, she’d met him with an icy glare. “From now on, you are only the father of my child, not my husband. I will still wash your clothes and cook your meals, but that is all.” When I was ten, she made me stand in front of my father’s secretary’s son and brag about how much my dad loved me, how wonderful it was to have a father. I had no idea the boy’s own father had died just days before. I got a black eye for my trouble. When my dad scolded her, she clutched me and wept. “Is it so strange for me to talk about you with our daughter? You’d rather believe a stranger and her child over your own wife and daughter?” When I was sixteen, she sent me out in a blizzard to deliver a special dish to my grandmother’s. No one was home. I tried calling her, but she didn’t pick up. I had to walk all the way back in the storm. Later, she was on the phone with my father, screaming hysterically. “I don’t care how much your mother hates me! Missi is her own granddaughter! How could she be so cruel?” When I was eighteen, the day before my SATs, she let me eat a mango tart that a “friend” had sent over. I had a severe allergic reaction and spent the night in the ER, almost missing the exam. At my post-exam celebration dinner, she sighed with the air of a deeply wounded woman. “That old flame of yours sent a mango tart for Missi. Neither of us realized. What was she trying to prove? Does she just hate to see me happy?” And when I was twenty-three, she introduced me to her friend’s son, telling me he was a brilliant man, a perfect match, and that marrying him would bring me a lifetime of happiness. My father was a philanderer who didn’t love her. My grandmother was a society matriarch who didn’t accept her. For over twenty years, my mother had told me it was the two of us against the world. I had a father and grandmother who didn’t love me, but I had a mother who loved me most of all. So I listened to her. I trusted her. Until the day her “perfect catch” came home drunk and raised his fist to me. When I told her I wanted a divorce, she said it would only give my grandmother more reasons to criticize her. My philandering father, on the other hand, had only one thing to say: “If it’s not working, leave him. I’ll give you my lawyer. Just for God’s sake, tell your mother to stop bothering me.” I accepted my father’s lawyer. My mother looked at me, her eyes filled with a profound, shattered sense of disappointment. After a long, heavy silence, she took my hand, her touch suddenly gentle. “You are my daughter, and I love you. I gave you three chances.” One, when I accepted my father’s lawyer. Two, when I told her that even she couldn’t force me to stay in a miserable marriage. Three, when I signed the divorce papers. “Listen to me,” she’d said, her voice low as she gathered the broken plates, not even looking at me. “This was the third time.” 2. My relationship with my mother had been deteriorating as I grew older, and it only got worse after I married. So when that voice in my head informed me that my mother, fed up with my lack of understanding, would finally abandon my father and me, I actually felt a sense of relief. It seemed better for both of us. If she could truly live the life the voice described—a life of success, wealth, and love—then I was genuinely happy for her. My attempt to remain unseen was my way of not spoiling her good mood. But she misinterpreted it. She walked over, her new boyfriend on her arm, a man who looked at least a decade her junior. She gave me a long, slow once-over, sighed, and handed me a business card. “I heard you left your job,” she said. “Seeing you like this… I suppose you’ve paid your price. The bond between us is broken, but I’m giving you this out of a last shred of maternal duty. This is the last bit of help you’ll get from me. Since you chose your father, don’t come looking for me again.” I took the card. It was for a recruitment agency. I had a feeling she was deeply mistaken about something, but before I could say a word, she and her boyfriend were already walking away. I overheard him whisper, “Seeing your daughter like that… it must still hurt, doesn’t it?” She laughed softly. “She’s not worth my heartache.” I have to admit, for a fleeting moment, that stung. And right on cue, the voice in my head chimed in. “Your mother is completely disappointed in you now. She’ll never forgive you. But she is ready to make peace with her past, so if you try really hard, you might still be able to get a few words with her!” …Thanks, but no thanks. My mother was right. Our relationship was over. Though I was reluctant to admit it, I’d known for a long time, on some subconscious level, that all her demands on me were designed to mold me into one thing: “my father’s daughter.” And what kind of daughter was I supposed to be? A daughter who was relentlessly cheerful and affectionate, despite being treated with cold indifference by her father. My mannerisms, my speech, even my “hobbies” had all been curated to appeal to his tastes. And still, he was rarely home. But it was true that on the rare occasions he did return, seeing the daughter he’d always wanted, born to the woman he never loved, would stir a flicker of guilt in him. For a few days, he would be kinder to my mother. Now that she’d given up on him, my purpose was obsolete. I watched their retreating backs, a familiar ache rising in my throat. Then, she glanced back over her shoulder. I didn’t have time to compose my expression, and my wistful gaze met hers. And I saw her smile. A smile… of triumph. Of revenge finally served. I knew what she was thinking. But as her daughter, as the lifelong witness to her tragic love story, I couldn’t bring myself to expose her. “It’s too late for regrets now. Your mother has given up on you completely. Even if you burst into tears right this second, it would be useless.” I was suddenly struck by the thought that the voice in my head wasn’t very bright. It didn’t seem to have any idea what I was really thinking. 3. After the auto show wrapped up, my colleague thanked me profusely. “Missi, you’re a lifesaver. I don’t know what we would have done after Leo had his emergency. Thank you so much for covering for him today.” “It’s fine. I needed to be here supervising anyway,” I said, handing him my work polo before heading out. I’d been too busy to check my phone all day. Sitting in my car, I saw over twenty missed calls—some from unknown numbers, some from the landline at my old company. There were also a few texts from a blocked number. Judging by the tone, it was my ex-husband, Leo. “Missi, what the hell did you do? Why did the entire design team just quit? You said YOU were the only one resigning!” I couldn’t be bothered to reply. When I’d resigned, he’d smugly informed me that I was nothing without his company. To avoid a scene, I hadn’t argued. The truth was, I had been running that company for years, especially the design department, which I had built from the ground up. My mother must have given him the confidence to believe that I would be completely lost without him. Just as the voice in my head had predicted: “You ignored your mother’s advice and insisted on divorcing the wealthy and gentle Leo. Now, with your high standards and low abilities, you can’t find a decent job and will eventually have to beg your mother for help…” I deleted the texts, tossed the business card my mother had given me into the trash, and opened my chat with my deadbeat dad. A message from him was waiting: “Be at the family estate Saturday at 8 PM. Your grandmother and I need to talk to you.” Compared to my mother, my father’s attitude towards me was mostly one of indulgent neglect. He’d give me anything I asked for but offered little in the way of actual attention. He just wanted my mother and me to take his money and leave him in peace. My mother could never do that, and I was always the one who paid the price. After all, my father did feel at least a sliver of biological connection to me. I had no real feelings for my father or grandmother, certainly nothing close to what I felt for my mother. But he was my dad, and he had given me a divorce lawyer. I’d go and hear them out. I was swamped with work for the next few days and completely forgot about Leo. As far as I was concerned, he was dead to me. I never imagined he would follow me home after my team’s celebration dinner on Friday night. He trailed me all the way to my apartment, and in the second it took me to register what was happening, he shoved his way inside. “Leo—” “You goddamn bitch, Missi! What did you do? Why is the company losing so much money? Tell me! What dirty tricks did you pull?” He threw me to the ground, and his fists rained down on me. The self-defense classes I’d taken for months were useless against his rage. I struggled to reach for my phone, but he kicked it away. A searing pain shot through my scalp as he grabbed my hair, dragging me across the floor. My chest and thighs scraped raw against the hardwood. “You worthless bitch! You deserve to die! You think a divorce can save you?” The fiery sting on my cheek pierced through my skin, and a high-pitched ringing filled my ears. Through the gaps in my tangled hair, I saw the coffee table getting closer, closer… A sharp impact on my forehead brought a wave of numb clarity. My vision started to turn red. “I’m telling you, killing you is exactly what your mother wants!” I flailed my arms, searching for anything I could use to fight back. My fingers finally closed around something on the table. A lighter. The searing pain of the flame on the back of his neck made him yelp and let go. I scrambled on all fours, found my purse and phone, and fumbled for the small object I knew was inside. Leo staggered to his feet, a crazed grin spreading across his face. “I’m millions in debt, all because of you! Missi, let’s go to hell together!” He lurched toward me, a demon in the dim light. I tightened my grip.

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Every child in Port City knows: cross Tessa Thorne, and you answer to her three guardians. Danny Cole, my husband—the city’s sharpest lawyer, yet never out-argued me. Leo Virtue, my childhood friend—now Chief Inspector, who swore to protect me. Miles, my brother—who shielded me from the elite’s cruelty since he was fifteen. On my 29th birthday, I waited with a positive pregnancy test. But the coroner came instead, bearing news of Miles’ murder. Then I saw Danny in court—defending my brother’s killer. Leo cuffed me to the railing as I screamed. “Miles is gone,” he said coldly. “But Sarah’s brother is all she has.” Danny didn’t even wait for me to process the betrayal. He held out a settlement agreement, gesturing to the frail, white-clad girl standing beside him. “Tessa. Be good,” he commanded, his voice gentle but laced with steel. “Sign this. We’ll say it was all a tragic accident.” He looked at the girl, Sarah. “When the mudslide hit us on East Mountain, Sarah saved our lives, even at the cost of her own leg. Now, all she’s asking is that we save her only family. How can we refuse?” He turned his gaze back to me, and it was cold, unforgiving. “We owe her this, Tessa. You are the most important person to us, which means you share in this debt. You will help us repay it.” The words were so monstrous, my mind refused to process them. Just last night, these two men were meticulously planning my birthday party. They were Miles’s sworn brothers, inseparable since childhood. And now, with this twisted logic, they were forcing me to forgive my brother’s murderer. I slapped the pen and paper from Danny’s hand, my eyes sweeping over the three of them—Danny, Leo, and this weeping girl. “Miles was stabbed nineteen times. Who in their right mind would call that an accident?” I spat. “And another thing. Are you two absolutely certain it was Sarah Jenkins who saved you from that mudslide?” Before I could say more, Sarah collapsed to her knees with a pathetic thud. “Miss Thorne, I’m begging you! My brother is all I have left!” she wailed. “If you need a life for a life, then take mine! We’re just country folk! Our lives aren’t worth as much as yours!” Leo’s face filled with a pained sympathy as he rushed to help her up. “Tessa! You’re being cruel!” he snapped at me. “How can you just stand there and watch an innocent person kneel before you?” Danny’s expression was thunderous. “I’ll be honest with you, Tessa,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “I’ve already made the calls. Even if you don’t sign this, not a single lawyer in this entire city will dare to take your case.” I bit down on my lip, tasting blood. Fueled by a grief so profound it felt like rage, I twisted my wrist, ignoring the searing pain as bone scraped against steel. With a sickening crack, I wrenched myself free of the handcuff. Before they could react, I lunged forward and delivered two stinging slaps, one for each of them, across their stunned faces. “Then watch me,” I vowed, my voice shaking with a terrible calm. “I, Tessa Thorne, will never let my brother die in vain.” 2 For the next three days, I visited every law firm in Port City. All eight hundred of them, from the glitzy downtown towers to the dusty walk-ups in the suburbs. The answer was always the same, delivered with a mix of pity and fear. “Mrs. Cole, please, don’t put me in this position.” “With Mr. Cole’s word out against you… if I take your case today, my firm will be shut down by tomorrow.” Desperate, I tried to access my personal fortune, the inheritance I’d set aside over the years, to hire the best international litigator money could buy. But the bank delivered another blow. All my assets were legally considered marital property, shared with Danny. He had already filed a motion to have them frozen. Without his signature, I couldn’t touch a single penny. The deadline to pay the retainer for the overseas lawyer was fast approaching. I, Tessa Thorne, who once had Port City at her beck and call, was reduced to a raving lunatic at a bank teller’s window, screaming and begging for my own money. The bank’s security guards were swift, pinning my arms behind my back and forcing me to the cold marble floor. “Let go of me! Do you know who I am?” I thrashed like a caged animal, my wings clipped, my roars a pathetic display of my own helplessness. “That’s enough. Let her go.” A pair of familiar leather shoes, standing next to a familiar white dress, came into view. I looked up into Danny’s cool, controlled eyes. He had one arm wrapped around Sarah, his gaze a deep, bottomless pit. “Tessa,” he said, his voice calm. “Have you learned your lesson?” He offered me a choice. “Accept Sarah’s apology and the settlement, or continue to be seen as a madwoman. The choice is yours.” I rubbed my shoulder, which felt close to being dislocated, and slowly pushed myself up from the floor. Unbidden tears of humiliation blurred my vision. Three years ago. The four of us—Danny, Leo, Miles, and I—had been on a camping trip when the landslide hit. Danny and Leo were buried, knocked unconscious instantly. It was Miles and I who dug them out with our bare hands. We carried them for miles until we stumbled upon Sarah Jenkins, a villager from a nearby hamlet. We emptied our pockets, giving her every last bit of cash we had, plus a wire transfer of ten thousand dollars, just to convince her to call for an ambulance. I never knew she had taken credit for what my brother and I did. And I never, ever imagined that Danny would use that lie to drive us to ruin. The memory brought a bitter, ironic smile to my lips. I pushed past him, my shoulder brushing against his. “I told you,” I whispered, my voice a blade. “My brother will not have died in vain.” As I walked away, I heard his furious hiss, and Sarah’s saccharine voice attempting to soothe him. “Danny, don’t be angry! I’ll go apologize to her again! If I beg hard enough, she’ll have to agree!” “No! You will not apologize!” Danny’s voice was like thunder. “If she can’t even comprehend this simple act of human decency, then she needs to be taught a lesson she will never forget.” 3 I thought I knew what he meant by a “lesson.” Freezing my accounts, ensuring I had no legal counsel—I thought that was the extent of it. I never imagined that in a single night, Danny and Leo could twist the entire narrative. They destroyed, replaced, and buried every piece of evidence. They painted my brother, my kind, brave Miles, as a monster. The story they fed the press was that he’d attempted to rape Sarah, and her brother had killed him in a heroic act of self-defense. In front of the news cameras, Danny, representing the killer’s family, bowed in apology to the supposed victim’s family. Sarah clung to her smirking, degenerate brother, basking in the city’s praise. The internet erupted. Angry mobs of trolls tore into the Thorne Group, our family’s company, exposing every detail, real or fabricated. Our stock plummeted by thirty percent, crippling a company already reeling from the loss of its leader. The hatred was viral. They attacked my deceased parents, defacing their graves with vile slurs. Some anonymous accounts, their cruelty knowing no bounds, even threatened to livestream the desecration of my brother’s body. Reading the headlines, the world tilted on its axis. Danny and Leo. The two orphans my family had sponsored since they were boys. For years, they had shown me only their gentlest sides, their unwavering devotion. I had almost forgotten that they had clawed their way to the top using my family’s influence as a stepping stone. How could they truly be as kind and gentle as they had always seemed? In their gilded cage, I had been pampered into a helpless canary, unable to fly. “Have you learned your lesson this time?” Danny’s voice, as smooth and captivating as ever, sounded from right behind me. It sent a shiver of pure ice down my spine. I turned, my eyes swimming with a grief so deep it was desolate. “What more do you want from me?” “Leo has everything arranged. Tomorrow, the police and I will hold a joint press conference,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “You, as the immediate family member, will publicly offer compensation to the victim’s family. You will also apologize to Sarah and her brother and drop all legal claims.” He stepped closer, his thumb brushing away a tear I didn’t know had fallen. “Of course,” he added softly, “you can still refuse.” He took out his phone and pulled up a live feed from a high-end nursing home. 4 On the screen was my grandfather. After my parents died, his health had deteriorated rapidly. He was sustained only by a ventilator, a fragile thread connecting him to life. Even so, his trembling hands were clutching a small, exquisite music box. I could see his lips moving, whispering that it was a birthday gift for his Tessa. Tears streamed down my face. After losing Miles, my grandfather was my only remaining blood relative. “You’re despicable, Danny,” I choked out. “Such a delicate little princess,” he mocked. “You can’t handle even this small amount of pressure?” He crooked a finger, tilting my chin up, his voice a low, hypnotic whisper. “Now, tell me, my love. Tomorrow… will it be your grandfather, ripped from his life support, who apologizes for you? Or will it be you?” “Enough! Stop talking! I’ll do it!” I screamed the words, the sound tearing from my throat. “Danny! I hate you! I hate you so much!” He pulled my collapsing form into his arms, stroking my hair as if to comfort me. “There, there. That’s my good wife,” he murmured. “After tomorrow is over, we’ll go visit him together. We’ll set his mind at ease.” The next day, the press conference began. I was a puppet on a string. Under Danny and Leo’s direction, I knelt. I kowtowed. I apologized to the family of the girl my brother supposedly tried to harm. I knelt and apologized to Sarah and her loathsome brother. I faced a sea of murderous glares and a barrage of sharp, cruel questions from reporters. “Is it true Miles Thorne had a history of abusing women? As his sister, were you aware of this?” “We hear the girl he attacked bears a striking resemblance to you. Was she a substitute for you, Miss Thorne?” “What was the nature of your relationship with your brother? Was it inappropriate?” The flashing cameras were like a thousand tiny knives, flaying me alive. Sarah’s brother, Aaron, whistled lewdly. “Yeah, that’s right! The bastard was thinking about his sister’s birthday even as he was dying! Sounds pretty damn inappropriate to me!” he jeered. “And look at her, wearing a dress to a press conference. Can’t keep away from men, can she? A total slut!” My body shook with rage. I was about to launch myself at him, to tear that smirk off his face, when Danny’s hand clamped down on my shoulder. He held up his phone, the image of my grandfather’s frail form on the ventilator flashing before my eyes. I could only dig my nails into my palms, forcing the tears back, forcing myself into submission. Seeing me sway on my knees, Sarah moved to help me up, a picture of false kindness. But out of the camera’s view, she rolled her eyes in triumph and whispered in my ear, her voice dripping with venom. “You had your chance to accept my apology, princess. Now, you get to be the sister of a monster for the rest of your life.” As she pulled me up, she dug her nails sharply into my waist. The pain was so sudden I cried out, which only incited the crowd. “Look at her! The bitch still isn’t sorry! Let’s teach her a real lesson!” That was all it took. The loose security line broke, and the mob surged forward. The victim’s family, strangers, everyone swarmed the stage, their fists and feet raining down on me. “Danny! Leo! Help me!” I screamed. Then a new terror, sharper than any other, seized me. “No! Please! My baby!” But my voice was lost in the roar of the crowd. The last thing I saw before my world went black was Danny and Leo, my guardians, my protectors, shielding Sarah as they escaped the chaos.

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On the train home for the holidays, I found myself seated next to a college student. A stray glance at her phone’s lock screen caught my eye. The young woman held up her phone, beaming. “This is my boyfriend. Isn’t he handsome? He’s a senior executive at a publicly traded company. And he’s completely devoted to me.” I stared at the man in the sharp suit on her screen, rubbing my eyes in disbelief. Why did he look exactly like my husband? Just then, the girl’s phone rang. A blissful expression on her face, she answered on speaker. My husband’s voice filled the space between us. “Hey, babe. Call me when you get in. I’ll come pick you up from the station.” 1 Hearing the voice on the phone, the girl cooed playfully. “You should be thinking about what you’re going to say when you meet my parents.” “Oh, I have to go. We’re pulling into the station soon.” We had chatted a bit on the way, and I knew she was getting off at the same stop as me. So, this was what my husband, Adam, meant by a “business trip”? I sat there, stunned, until the girl hung up and looked at me. Only then did I snap back to reality. Her eyes were shining, phone in hand, an irrepressible mix of pride and joy on her face. “Honestly, I don’t know what to do with him. He’s six years older than me, but he’s so clingy.” “I’m just going home for the break, and he was so worried he actually moved his client meeting to Crestwood.” My mind was reeling, but a part of me still couldn’t believe it. After we got married, Adam was constantly praised by my family and friends. They all said he was a rare gem. Not just handsome, but with a wonderful personality—gentle, considerate, and deeply in love with me. He never flirted with other women. In fact, you could count the number of female contacts in his phone on two hands. He’d even offer me his phone from time to time, telling me to check it whenever I wanted. I had always trusted Adam completely. Our relationship had always been stable. This was our third year of marriage. A few days ago, he had apologized, saying something urgent had come up at work and he had to go on a business trip. He wouldn’t be able to come home with me for the holidays this year. I never imagined something so coincidental would happen, that I would run into this girl. I studied her expression and ventured a question. “You look so young. Are you still in college? How did you meet your boyfriend?” The moment I asked, she couldn’t help but spill everything. “My boyfriend? Well, he’s sort of an alum of my university. He came back to give a speech as a distinguished graduate.” “I thought he was so handsome then. After the conference, I just went up and asked for his number.” “I can’t believe we actually started dating!” Seeing the flicker of doubt in my eyes, she seemed a bit defensive. She opened her phone’s photo gallery to an album titled “Ava & Adam’s Love Diary.” “See? My boyfriend is really handsome. I’m not lying.” The girl, Ava, showed me the pictures one by one. There they were at a fancy restaurant, Adam leaning on his hand, a doting smile on his face as he looked at the camera. At an amusement park, they were wearing matching outfits, looking incredibly sweet in a photo taken by a passerby. The photos were time-stamped. I mentally cross-referenced them with my own memories. On most of those days, Adam had told me he was working late, busy with work, or had a business dinner, and wouldn’t be home. My hands started to tremble. The color drained from my face. Ava frowned, looking at me with concern. “Are you okay, ma’am? You look really pale.” I forced a stiff smile, my eyes fixed on her. “How long have you two been together?” Ava swiped to a relationship-tracking app on her phone. It clearly displayed “520 Days.” She lifted her chin, showing it to me. “Today is day 520! That’s why my boyfriend is picking me up, so we can celebrate our anniversary.” I looked at Ava’s ecstatic face. Even though my heart was breaking, I didn’t expose the truth. After all, she was probably just as clueless as I had been. I took out my phone, opened my chat with Adam, and my fingers trembled as I typed a single line. “What are you doing?” 2 Adam replied almost instantly. “Just finished with a client. Heading back to the hotel.” A second later, a photo arrived. It was a picture of Adam in a car. He always did this—whenever I asked, he’d send me his location and a photo in real-time. But because I trusted him so much, I rarely ever examined the pictures he sent. This time, however, looking at the familiar streetscape in the car’s rearview mirror, I was certain. That was Crestwood, the city where I grew up. If I hadn’t happened to run into Ava on this train, I might have gone my whole life without ever discovering Adam’s affair. I put my phone away, only to see Ava looking at me thoughtfully. My phone had a privacy screen, so she couldn’t have seen the picture of Adam. The next moment, Ava smiled and held up her phone. “Ma’am, are you also going back to Crestwood for the holidays? We should exchange numbers.” “I really enjoyed talking with you on this trip.” Being called “ma’am” repeatedly was starting to get on my nerves. I was only six years older than her. But I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to bicker with a young girl over something so trivial. I added her on my messaging app. I needed to talk to Adam before I decided what to do next. As for Ava, she was probably an unwitting participant. I didn’t want to cause her any more pain than necessary. When the train arrived, Ava grabbed her pink suitcase and bounced out of the station. I followed at a slower pace, swiping my ID to exit. Adam was waiting just outside. When she saw him, Ava let out a joyful cry and threw herself into his arms. They hugged tightly, then shared a kiss. “I missed you so much! We haven’t seen each other in two days!” Adam stroked her head affectionately. “You missed me this much after only two days?” I stood there quietly, watching their intimate display. Adam’s eyes were fixed on Ava; he didn’t even notice me standing just a few feet away. He picked up her suitcase with one hand and took her hand with the other. “Let’s go. I’ll take you out to eat.” The hand that usually wore a diamond wedding band was now bare, with only a faint red mark where the ring used to be. When I got home, my mom had already made dinner. “Adam didn’t come back with you? Is he busy with work?” she asked, her usual refrain. I mumbled a noncommittal “mm-hmm,” not wanting to tell her about Adam’s affair. It was the holidays. I didn’t want to turn the house into a war zone. But I couldn’t tolerate Adam’s betrayal. After dinner, I checked my phone. Adam had sent me a message twenty minutes earlier. “Back at the hotel, about to get some rest. Are you home yet, honey?” “Here’s a picture of my hotel room.” He sent several photos. There wasn’t a single trace of anyone else in them. But when I opened Ava’s newly updated social media feed, it was a completely different story. In her picture, Ava was wearing a flimsy nightgown, nestled in Adam’s arms. Adam, fresh from a shower, had a towel wrapped around his waist. “Home, but staying at a hotel with my boyfriend. Probably won’t be able to get out of bed tomorrow morning, haha.” She had posted it just a few minutes ago. I picked up my phone and started a video call with Adam. It rang for a long time before being abruptly disconnected. My face expressionless, I hit the call button again. This time, it was disconnected almost immediately. I don’t know if it was the fifth or sixth time I tried, but the call finally connected. On the screen, Adam was shirtless, his chest rising and falling with his breath, a clear sign he had just been engaged in some strenuous activity. He was panting, a slightly unnatural smile on his face. “What’s up, honey? I was sleeping, I didn’t hear the phone.” “Sleeping this early?” I asked, my voice flat. “The client meeting today was exhausting.” Adam faked a yawn. “Honey, I’m really tired. If there’s nothing else, I’m going back to sleep.” I didn’t say anything, but I didn’t hang up either. From the other side of the call, I heard the faint, almost imperceptible sound of a plastic wrapper being torn open. Adam’s expression on the screen suddenly changed. He let out a soft gasp. He lifted the phone higher, a flicker of arousal he himself didn’t seem to notice in his eyes. “Honey,” Adam’s voice had grown hoarse, clearly suppressing something. “If there’s nothing else, I’m hanging up.” I watched the beads of sweat form on his forehead, his eyes darting downwards every so often. He was clearly impatient. I gave a faint smile, my voice calm. “Okay. You get back to it, then.”

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1 The world ended in a roar of shifting earth. I was declared dead—a fatal mistake by my husband’s true love—and buried alive. My husband, Alex, chose to carry her, with her minor scratches, to safety. He left me to die alone. The last time this happened, in another life, he found out about her misdiagnosis and forgave her. He married her at my funeral, whispering “I love you” to my memorial portrait before turning to kiss her deeply. This time, when I opened my eyes, it was to the sight of my husband burying me with his own hands. He was ready to abandon my rescue, all to cover up her mistake. Just as he was about to sign the form to cease all efforts, I grabbed his wrist. This time, they would pay. … “No pulse, no respiration. We can’t waste resources. Bury her on-site.” The moment Alex heard those words from Isabelle—his one true love—he didn’t hesitate. As the rescue team captain, his first command was to have me buried. He didn’t even check for himself. He just started barking orders at his men. When he saw them moving too slowly, he grabbed a shovel himself. He piled scoop after scoop of heavy, damp earth onto my body, onto my face. He stomped it down with his boots, packing it tight, sealing any path to the air, erasing any chance of survival. Then, when a secondary tremor shook the ground, he saw it. He saw my hand, struggling, breaking through the soil. But he still turned away, scooped the lightly injured Isabelle into his arms, and ran, leaving me to my fate. This time, I clung desperately to the last rescuer to flee. “There’s another survivor!” the man screamed. “She’s alive!” But Alex’s voice boomed back, a cold, hard command. “It’s probably just post-mortem reflexes, air escaping the lungs. She’s not alive. Move out, now! We can’t risk more casualties!” The man hesitated. He wanted to run, but I held on, my grip like iron. With the last of my strength, I rasped, “I’m alive. Please… save me.” But after another roar from Alex, the man wrestled his arm free from my grasp and sprinted towards his captain. “Don’t waste time on the dead!” Alex yelled. “Let’s go! There are others who need us!” The dead. That included me. His wife of six years. He knew I was alive. He saw my hand. But he had no intention of saving me. His entire world was focused on the woman in his arms, the one with nothing more than a scraped leg. In my last life, it was the same once-in-a-century landslide. I was buried in a state of shock, suffocating, while trying to save someone else. His precious Isabelle, a doctor on his team, had pronounced me dead. Alex was about to leave me there, to conserve resources. But someone else found me, felt a faint breath, and rushed me to a hospital. I died on the operating table. Isabelle’s misdiagnosis was exposed. She was fired and had to pay compensation. But at my funeral, Alex married her. He stood before my portrait, telling everyone how much he loved and missed me, then turned and sealed his vows to her with a passionate kiss. In that life, he’d spoken of his regret endlessly. He’d told anyone who would listen that if he had a second chance, he would save me. And here was that second chance. He chose to bury me himself. The earth he’d stomped down was as hard as concrete, pressing the life from my lungs. I was suffocating again, could feel Death’s cold hand reaching for me once more. Suddenly, the ground convulsed. I used the violent tremor to claw my way upward. The air was thick with dust. Through the haze, I could see the rescue team, not far away. I could even see Alex, his brow furrowed with concern as he gently applied antiseptic to Isabelle’s leg. Once he was done, he led his entire team away without a single backward glance. I stretched out a hand, a silent plea for help, but all I saw were the taillights of their truck shrinking in the distance. It was deep into the night when the second search party arrived. They found me, barely breathing, lying amidst the ruins. “Who in God’s name buries a living person?” one of them shouted. “Her nose and mouth are packed with dirt! She’s lucky to be alive. Who’s responsible for this?” “Team One was already through this sector, weren’t they? How could they have missed her?” The team leader was furious. They rushed me to the nearest hospital, their shouts of “Make way! Emergency!” echoing down the chaotic hallways. But our path was blocked. “Captain Wilson, what the hell are you doing?” my rescuer demanded. “We have a critical patient here!” Alex glanced at me, his eyes wide with shock, but his words were cold. “Dr. Ross was scraped by a rebar. It’s more urgent. Tetanus can be fatal. You’ll have to wait.” 2 “This woman has been without food or water for half a day, and she’s suffering from severe hypothermia. If we don’t treat her now, she’s going to die!” my rescuer pleaded. The young nurse who had been talking to me, trying to keep me conscious, was openly weeping. But my husband just gave me a fleeting, indifferent look. “She’ll be fine. She’s my wife. If anything happens, I’ll take responsibility,” he told them. “Dr. Ross’s injury needs to be treated first. She volunteered to come into a disaster zone with us; the least we can do is make sure she’s safe.” After he spoke, every eye in the hallway turned to me. But Alex’s gaze never left Isabelle, who was on a gurney, having her tiny wound stitched up as if she were the one knocking on death’s door. No matter what anyone else said, Alex acted as if he couldn’t hear them. It wasn’t until a nurse, trying to start an IV, noticed my pupils beginning to dilate that a doctor was finally called. After a quick examination, the doctor’s voice was grim. “Her core body temperature is below eighty-six degrees. Prolonged, severe hypothermia is fatal. We need to get her into surgery, now!” But the disaster had overwhelmed the system. Every operating room in every hospital was booked solid. There had been one free OR when I first arrived, but Isabelle had been rushed into it for her minor procedure. I had lost my one precious chance. When Alex heard the news, a look of relief washed over his face. He quickly approached the medical staff. “If it’s too difficult, I can sign a waiver to cease rescue efforts,” he said, his voice ringing with false nobility. “I’m her husband. Let’s give the living a better chance.” He sounded so righteous. The others looked at each other, uncertain. Then, Isabelle spoke up. “There’s often little point in reviving a patient who has suffered from hypothermia for so long. The process itself would be torturous for her. Letting go is a mercy.” Coming from a family of renowned doctors, her words carried weight. The staff began to waver. A few moments later, someone returned with the consent form. Alex took it without a moment’s hesitation, ready to sign. At that moment, the injustice of two lifetimes ignited into one last surge of strength. My hand shot out from under the blanket and clamped onto his wrist. I held on with a death grip. He was stunned that he couldn’t break free. As he tried to pry my fingers off one by one, the surgery in the OR next door finished. The young nurse who had been watching over me cried out, “Doctor, we can use this room! She still has a chance!” As they wheeled me away, Alex still hadn’t given up. “If you can’t save her,” he called after them, “you have my permission to let her go!” It was the most monstrous thing you could hear outside an operating room. Every other family member was praying for a miracle. He was praying for my death. I survived two hours of grueling surgery fueled by nothing but pure, unadulterated rage. When I was wheeled out, Alex’s face fell the moment he saw I was alive. He leaned in close, his voice a venomous whisper no one else could hear. “Why didn’t you just die? If you were dead, you wouldn’t be a threat to Isabelle.” Then, his hand slid to my throat, a feathery, terrifying touch, as if he were contemplating finishing the job himself. 3 Once I was settled in a private room, Alex shut the door. While fussing with my blanket, he spoke. “Clara, Isabelle has worked hard to build her reputation. She volunteered for this mission. About the… misdiagnosis… if anyone asks, just say it was another doctor.” He gave me a name. He’d already found a scapegoat. He would move heaven and earth for his precious Isabelle. I could beg him for anything, and he’d tell me it was impossible. But all she had to do was cry, and he would make the impossible happen. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I looked at the name he had written down for me, then at his phone, which he’d left on the nightstand. His chat history was filled with her name. This whole cover-up was for her. My decade of devotion felt like a cosmic joke. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll do as you say.” A smug, confident look crossed his face. He knew he had me wrapped around his finger. He gave the blanket a cursory tug, not even bothering to cover me properly, and left. For the next few days, he walked right past my room with Isabelle on his arm, taking her to have her dressing changed, never once looking in on me. I signed all my own medical forms. Meanwhile, when Isabelle’s minor wound showed the slightest sign of infection, he nearly came to blows with her doctor, his voice choked with concern. The irony was laughable. After a few days of rest, the rescue efforts in the disaster zone were winding down. As things returned to normal, the media began their interviews. Isabelle, the brilliant heiress from a medical dynasty, was their star. A photo of Alex carrying her as he ran from the disaster zone went viral. Everyone was speculating about their relationship. The headlines all read: A True Couple, Forged in Crisis. Meanwhile, I, his wife of ten years, had no one to even help me to the bathroom. Alex even posted a photo on his social media of him feeding Isabelle and bringing her flowers, without even bothering to block me. I liked the post. Then, using the photo he’d sent me, I found the scapegoat. The young doctor was a new intern. Isabelle had only told him he’d misdiagnosed a patient; she’d left out the part about burying me alive. When I laid out the full story, he understood the gravity of the situation. “Ma’am,” he said, his voice trembling, “they have an interview scheduled for tomorrow. They told me to go and publicly confess that I made the mistake, and to say that Isabelle discovered my error in time and saved a life…” I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. The sheer audacity of their plan was breathtaking. “Should I still go?” he asked. I nodded. “Yes. You absolutely have to go.” The next day, just as the interview was about to start, the intern sent me a text. I immediately called the police. “Hello, I’d like to report a crime,” I said, my voice steady. “Rescue Captain Alex Wilson and Dr. Isabelle Ross of Central Hospital are suspected of attempted murder.”

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1 Six months postpartum, and my husband had told me nineteen times that since I couldn’t produce breast milk, I wasn’t fit to be a mother. As our son, Leo, screamed with hunger, my husband, Landon, forgot to pick up the formula from the building’s package room for the nineteenth time. But in the pocket of his coat, I found a receipt from a rush courier service. The order details were stark: Painkillers for cramps and a heating pad for my baby. When Landon saw me holding it, he snatched it back, his voice as cold as ice. “Leo’s formula has a long shelf life. Regular shipping is fine.” He paused, his tone softening with an infuriatingly feigned concern for another woman. “But Mia’s cramps are unbearable. Every minute she has to wait is another minute of pain for her.” I pointed a trembling finger at our son, who was on the verge of crying himself unconscious. “Don’t you know that infants can get hypoglycemia? That they can’t be left to starve?” Landon’s voice was sharp with impatience. “This is all because you stopped breastfeeding after two months! Even Mia said she’s never seen a mother give up so easily!” The old me would have dissolved into tears, would have screamed and demanded an explanation. But this time, I was just tired. A deep, soul-crushing weariness had settled in my bones. Without a word, I put on my raincoat and, under Landon’s surprised gaze, plunged into the downpour. I hurried to the package room and gave the woman at the counter my pickup code. Her face was a mask of sour disapproval. She rummaged around on the lowest shelf before pulling out a dented box of formula and slamming it onto the counter so hard it fell and hit my foot. A sharp, throbbing pain shot up my ankle, which was already turning red and swollen. “Excuse me?” I stared at her, confused. She was even more agitated than I was, planting her hands on her hips. “Were you the one who called and screamed at me last night? Are you crazy or something?” She leaned over the counter, her voice rising. “I called your husband three times yesterday afternoon telling him to pick up this package. He didn’t answer. Then you call me at midnight, accusing me of being a homewrecker trying to steal your man?” I froze, the blood draining from my face. Last night at midnight, Leo had been fussy, refusing to sleep. I had paced the living room for what felt like hours, my back screaming in protest, the ten-pound weight of my son an anchor dragging me down. I’d called Landon again and again, desperate for him to come home and help, but he declined every call. A moment later, a text popped up: In a late meeting. He was with Mia. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I apologized profusely to the woman at the counter, then limped home, clutching the formula to my chest. As the rain lashed down, my phone rang. It was Landon. “You’re a stay-at-home mom,” he snapped, his voice dripping with annoyance. “Shouldn’t you be at home with the baby? Where did you run off to now? Leo won’t stop crying. Are you even fit to be a mother?” I pressed my lips together, silent. “Answer me! You haven’t worked in six months, Norah. Has the great journalist forgotten how to speak?” “I went to the mailroom to get the formula.” There was a pause on his end, then his voice returned, cold as ever. “You left without saying a word. How was I supposed to know where you went? Fine. It’s pouring out. I’ll come down and get you.” I glanced at my swollen, throbbing ankle and refused. “No. Don’t you know you can’t leave an infant alone? It’s dangerous.” He hung up before I could finish. When I finally staggered back into the apartment, Landon was on a video call with Mia. She was asking him if a white, ethereal dress would look good for her photoshoot in the woods tomorrow. As she spoke, she preened in front of the camera, slipping the dress off to reveal nothing but lingerie underneath. I heard Landon call her “Luna,” and a sharp pain lanced through my chest. Years ago, when we were chasing stories together, he used to call me Luna. He said I was his moon goddess, for life. Now, not even a decade later, his vows had curdled into lies. Before I could even mix the formula, Leo shifted on the sofa, about to roll off the edge. I lunged, catching him just in time, startling Landon. “Norah! Are you spying on me? God, you’re so suffocating!” But then he saw our son, who had almost hit the floor, and my swollen, discolored ankle. He fell silent. Mia’s haughty voice drifted from the phone. “Norah, darling, you were a famous reporter. You should know a thing or two about privacy. I’m practically naked here!” I scoffed. So she did know she shouldn’t be seen like this. “And a little piece of advice,” she continued, her voice dripping with faux sympathy. “A man is like sand in your hand. The tighter you squeeze, the faster he slips away.” Buoyed by Mia’s support, Landon’s confidence returned. “Norah, you know my temper. If you ever spy on me again—” I cut him off, my voice flat and devoid of emotion. 2 “Don’t worry,” I said. “There won’t be a next time.” I had already decided to divorce him. Of course there wouldn’t be a next time. “Come to the station at ten tomorrow. I’ll take you to see the director about coming back to work.” It was a reward for my obedience. I knew that. But since I needed to speak with the director anyway, I agreed. The next morning, my mother-in-law picked up Leo. I arrived at the TV station at nine-thirty. Without a key card, I had to wait for Landon to return from his field assignment to let me in. I called him several times. He didn’t answer. A self-deprecating smile touched my lips. He used to answer my calls on the first ring. I couldn’t pinpoint when that had changed, when he started letting it ring, or worse, just declining the call. Did he think a stay-at-home mom could have nothing important to say? Or was his mind simply too full of Mia to have room for me? I stood outside for an hour before Landon and Mia finally appeared, laughing together. His blue tie and her matching blue bow were a silent, intimate secret between them. I turned my head and saw my reflection in the glass wall—my body still soft and shapeless from pregnancy, my face pale and drawn. I instinctively shrank back. In the blink of an eye, they swept past me and into the building. Trapped outside, I called Landon again. He glanced at his phone and immediately hit decline. “Who was that?” Mia asked. Landon gently brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. “Spam call,” he said with a smile. I stood in the biting wind for a long time before a colleague I knew took pity on me and let me in. When I finally met with the station director, he told me that the charity program for women and children I had launched before my maternity leave had been taken over by Mia. The audience, he said, now associated the show with her. He then tactfully suggested I work on my “personal image” before he could assign me any new projects. I smiled, but my nails were digging so deeply into my palms that it was a miracle I didn’t draw blood. I walked, dazed, towards the recording studio. Landon and Mia had just finished a segment on a domestic abuse case. Mia’s voice was thick with emotion, her eyes red-rimmed. Even the crew in the control room looked moved. Landon gazed at her profile, his expression a mixture of adoration and tenderness. But when he turned and saw me, his brow furrowed in annoyance. “What are you doing here?” Before I could answer, Mia clicked over in her high heels. “Norah,” she said with a saccharine smile, “long time no see. My, you’ve aged.” Landon came to her side, and she linked her arm through his naturally. She looked me up and down with disdain. “A woman really needs to take care of herself. You don’t want to become an eyesore.” She added, “The viewers all say they hope I host your old show permanently. I’m much easier on the eyes.” My gaze fell on her designer dress and the expensive brooch pinned to it. A sharp, familiar pain pricked my heart. I had seen both items in Landon’s online shopping cart. He had picked them out himself. As I stood there, lost in a daze, Mia pulled a bottle of anti-wrinkle serum from her purse. “Landon always says an elegant neck is the true sign of a woman’s vitality. Look at yours, it’s covered in lines.” She held it out to me. “Here, you can have this. Landon bought me so many. Consider it a thank you for letting me have your show.” I was about to refuse when Landon snatched the bottle and stuffed it back into her bag. “She doesn’t use that stuff. You keep it.” I touched my own dry, neglected skin, my heart filled with a bitter ache. I was once a celebrated journalist, vibrant and passionate about fashion. But Landon had complained that my manicures scratched him, that my perfume gave him a headache. In his eyes, only the dazzling Mia was worthy of such beauty. I was just the woman trapped at home, nursing a baby and running a household. Mia smiled triumphantly, then gasped with delight. “Oh, Landon, you bought rosewater macarons! You got these for me once when we were on assignment in Charleston. I’ve never forgotten.” She shot me a playful look. “Such a shame Norah’s allergic to roses. She can’t enjoy them.” Landon’s smile was soft and indulgent. “As long as you like them.” Only then did he seem to remember I was there. He narrowed his eyes at me, a flicker of confusion in them. It was strange. Normally, I would have been seething with jealousy. Today, I was silent. He cleared his throat. “Norah, I ordered that lobster bisque you love. It’s on its way. That should make you happy, right?” 3 A sardonic smile twisted my lips. “No, thank you. I’ve already eaten.” You’ve forgotten, haven’t you, Landon? You’ve forgotten crying your eyes out in the hospital waiting room while I was in the ER, fighting for my life after an anaphylactic reaction to shellfish. His face hardened at my rejection. “Give you an inch and you want a mile, don’t you? Stay-at-home moms are always so dramatic. Mia and I have actual work to do. We don’t have time for your theatrics!” He turned his back on me and went to Mia. She shot me a smug, victorious glance. My colleagues tactfully looked away, sparing me the humiliation. They all remembered. They knew I had sacrificed my career for my family, handing my show—Landon and Mia’s show—to them on a silver platter. I forced myself to walk out of the station, my head held high. I called my lawyer and told him to draw up two copies of the divorce papers. When I got home, Landon’s messaging app was still open on the tablet. Out of trust, I had never checked his phone. But now, remembering my lawyer’s advice, I hit the screen record button and started scrolling. [Six months ago] ChasingTheSun: It’s not that I don’t love you. I just can’t handle having a baby. The career break, the weight gain… Waiting: You don’t have to say another word. I understand. You’re a bird meant to fly free, not be caged in a nursery. Waiting: As soon as she goes on maternity leave, the prime-time slot is ours. ChasingTheSun: Hehe, love you. [Two days ago] ChasingTheSun: When are you going to ask her for a divorce? Waiting: Soon. Be patient. ChasingTheSun: How can I be patient?! You promised you’d leave her as soon as you secretly gave her the lactation suppressants and her milk dried up! But you’re still dragging your feet! The baby’s going to start recognizing her soon. How am I supposed to take over then? There was a 60-second voice note from “Waiting” after that. I didn’t listen. I closed the tablet, ran to the bathroom, and retched until I was dizzy and breathless. I thought my heart was too numb to feel any more pain, but tears streamed down my face, hot and unstoppable. I finally understood why Landon’s screen name was “Waiting.” He was waiting to divorce me. Waiting to marry Mia. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a giant, merciless fist. It was never that I wasn’t fit to be a mother. It was that Landon needed a scapegoat for his own infidelity. As I sobbed, my mother-in-law called, her voice frantic. Leo had a fever. There was no time for grief. I threw on a coat and rushed to get my son to the hospital. By the time I arrived, Leo was listless, his little body burning up. But there were no beds available in the emergency room. I pushed my way through the doors and saw why. Mia was there, staging a photoshoot where she “comforted” sick children from a local orphanage. She was using every single bed in the ER. I begged her for help, but she just sneered at me. “This is for Landon’s show! It’s being broadcast to a hundred thousand people. Do you really think we’re going to give up a bed for your one kid? Have you lost all your professional integrity as a journalist?” Seeing my son’s flushed, feverish face, I dropped to my knees and begged the doctor to help him. The doctor, caught on camera, looked uncomfortable. Mia, furious, stalked out of the camera’s frame. Once the ER door was closed, she stepped forward and ground her high heel into the back of my hand. “Ah!” A blinding, searing pain shot up my arm, and I cried out. “Useless bitch!” she hissed. “You couldn’t compete with me for the show, you couldn’t compete with me for the man, and now you’re using this little bastard to get sympathy?” She drew back her foot and kicked—not at me, but at the six-month-old infant in my arms. I screamed, instinctively curling my body around my son, shielding him with everything I had. Her heel struck my chest with a sickening thud. The door burst open. “Norah? What are you doing on the floor with Leo?” Landon’s incredulous voice filled the hallway, startling Mia. Her eyes darted around, and then she burst into tears. “Landon, I’m so sorry! I was filming the charity segment with the orphans, and Norah just barged in with the baby, trying to disrupt everything.” She sobbed, “I know this is your show, so I tried not to make a scene, but then she put the baby on the cold, dirty floor! You know how I am, I just can’t bear to see a child suffer…” Landon’s face grew darker and darker, the suspicion in his eyes igniting into full-blown rage. “Norah! What kind of mother are you? You don’t put a six-month-old baby on the floor!” I was gasping for air, the pain in my chest making it impossible to speak. All I could do was tremble and hold my son up to him.

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I’m a seismic technician. The day a major earthquake was set to strike Layla’s hometown, she was adamant about going on a trip with her college crush. I didn’t drag her back to save her family. Instead, I drove there myself, got on my knees before the mayor, and begged him to evacuate the town. In my last life, I forced Layla to come with me. We saved her parents, but she missed the birthday trip with Sean. While on a cruise, Sean fell overboard. They searched for three days, but his body was never found. On the third anniversary of his death, Layla pushed me into the deep sea. “Sean would still be alive if it weren’t for you! Go and keep him company in hell!” She watched as I drowned. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back on the day of the earthquake. This time, Layla got her wish. She went on that birthday trip with Sean. And later, she would spend two days and two nights kneeling before a grave. 1 Even reborn, the phantom sensation of drowning was suffocatingly real. “Ryan, are you listening to me? I’m going on a trip with Sean, and we’re leaving for the airport now!” Layla stood before me, her voice sharp with impatience. Looking at her beautiful face, I found it hard to believe that in three years, she would be the one to kill me. We worked together at the Seismic Monitoring Center. She started asking me out for dinner, one thing led to another, and we got together. But on our wedding day, Layla confessed that she’d never gotten over her college crush. She told me she couldn’t be fully committed to our relationship and hoped I would understand. The ceremony was about to start. I was a fool. I actually believed I could win her heart with sheer devotion. Who would have thought that right after we got married, her crush, Sean, would reappear? They became inseparable. She even brought him into our home, banished me to the guest room, and spent the entire night laughing with him in our master bedroom. I was so deeply in love with this woman that I forced myself to endure it all. Until the day of the earthquake. I dragged her home, we saved her parents, but Sean died at sea. Layla began to hate me, a resentment that festered until the day she pushed me to my death. Now, fate has given me a second chance. I will not make the same mistakes. “Are you deaf? Why aren’t you saying anything?” Layla demanded, seeing my silence. I looked at her, a long, deep look, then pulled a stack of technical drawings from my briefcase and pushed them into her hands. “Your hometown, Stone Creek, is going to be hit by a magnitude 7.0 earthquake at ten o’clock tonight.” In my past life, my prediction wasn’t nearly this precise. But having lived through it, I knew the exact time and intensity. Layla glanced at the papers and then ripped them to shreds. She threw the pieces in my face, a cold sneer on her lips. “Ryan, have you lost your mind? Joking about an earthquake? And predicting it in my hometown? Are you cursing my family?” “You’d really stoop this low just to stop me from going on a trip with Sean? I never knew you were so malicious!” Compared to her murdering me, this felt mild. I felt nothing. I looked at her and said, my voice even, “I’m not joking. Three years ago, the neighboring state had a similar event. The seismic data from the day before is nearly identical to what we’re seeing now…” Before I could finish, she slapped me across the face. Her expression was twisted with a new level of hatred. “Shut up! No one can predict an earthquake on the same day. You’re just a technician. Do you think you’re some kind of expert professor?” “I’m going on this trip with Sean, and nothing you say will change that. If you can’t handle it, we can get a divorce when I get back.” Without another glance, she grabbed her suitcase and stormed out. 2 Last time, she hadn’t believed me either. But I had torn up her plane ticket, smashed things, and physically stopped her from leaving. I drove her to her hometown, and we not only convinced her parents to evacuate but saved the entire town. Not long after, the news came: Sean was lost at sea. Layla had seemed utterly calm, showing no reaction at all. Who knew she was already plotting my death? After she left, I started packing. Half an hour ago, I had filed a formal report on the situation in Stone Creek with my superiors. Now, I just needed to drive there and get Layla’s parents. They were my in-laws; I couldn’t just leave them to die. I hadn’t even pulled out of the parking lot when my phone rang. It was Director Miller, the head of our center. “Ryan, I hear you just submitted a predictive report?” “Yes, Director. Is there a problem?” His tone turned grave. “Is there a problem? Ryan, you’ve been with the center for years. How have you not learned anything?” “How could you fabricate a seismic event just to interfere with Layla’s social life? Do you have any idea how illegal that is?” I understood immediately. Layla was Miller’s protégé. They must have spoken. They both thought I was lying, putting on a show. “Director, I’m serious,” I said urgently. “There is a one hundred percent chance of a magnitude 7.0 earthquake in Stone Creek at ten tonight! You have to—” He cut me off, his tone unyielding. “That’s enough. I’ve already retracted your report. Ryan, your professional conduct is seriously in question. Don’t bother coming in for the next few days. Stay home and think about what you’ve done.” “I can’t believe how unreliable you are. If I had known, I never would have set the two of you up!” His righteous indignation was so powerful that if I hadn’t lived through the event myself, I might have doubted my own data. I hesitated, then hung up and called his superior. To my shock, the man didn’t even let me speak. “You’re Ryan, correct? Director Miller just briefed me on your situation.” “I used to think you were a solid, hardworking young man. What you did today is astounding. I don’t think you’re suited for this line of work anymore. You should look for opportunities elsewhere.” He hung up. I sat there, stunned. I couldn’t believe it. In this new life, I’d already lost my job. But there was no time to dwell on that. It was 6:00 PM. The earthquake was in four hours. I had work to do. I called Layla’s parents. Her father answered. “What? An earthquake? Ryan, are you kidding me? This town hasn’t had a quake in eight hundred years!” “Where’s Layla? Let me talk to Layla.” I took a deep breath. “Layla went on a trip with her college friend. Dad, I’m not kidding. There is going to be an earthquake in Stone Creek at ten tonight. You have to listen to me. Tell the mayor, get everyone to evacuate now!” “Don’t you worry,” he said immediately. “A matter of life and death, I’ll get it done!” Two hours later, I arrived in Stone Creek. There were still two hours until the quake, but the streets were bustling. No one seemed to have a shred of urgency. What was going on? I told my father-in-law to inform the mayor. Why hadn’t an evacuation been ordered? Time was running out. I called him again as I rushed toward the mayor’s house. It turned out my father-in-law was there, drinking with the mayor. “Dad, what are you doing? The earthquake is coming! Why haven’t you evacuated?!” I demanded. The mayor gave me a slow, lazy look, then turned to my father-in-law. “So this is your son-in-law? He looks presentable enough, but his character seems questionable. Lying to people about something like this.” My father-in-law walked over and kicked me hard in the shin. “Ryan! You’re a grown man! How can you make up such lies?” “If I hadn’t called Layla, I might have actually believed your nonsense and made the whole town run around for nothing! Can you imagine the gossip?” 3 So, they didn’t believe me either. I opened my mouth to argue, but my phone rang. It was Layla. I answered, my voice urgent. “Layla, you have to tell your dad, Stone Creek is really going to have an earthquake, you need to—” She cut me off. “Ryan, are you out of your mind? I’m just on a trip with Sean. Why are you being so dramatic?” I heard Sean in the background. “Yeah, man, Layla’s just going to hate you more if you keep this up.” “Just stop,” Layla’s voice was cold. “Or I’ll actually divorce you, and you can get ready to walk away with nothing.” She hung up. I had put the call on speaker so her dad could hear. Every word from her and Sean had been crystal clear. My father-in-law shot me a venomous glare. “Can’t even control your own wife. What kind of man are you?” A bitter taste filled my mouth. I wanted to defend myself, but there was no time. I turned to the mayor. “Mayor, I am a technician from the Seismic Monitoring Center. The seismic profile for Stone Creek is identical to the one from the event in the neighboring state three years ago. I have accurately predicted it will begin tonight at ten o’clock, with a magnitude of 7.0. There will be severe collapses. Please, you have to believe me!” The mayor hesitated, seeming to weigh the truth of my words. But my father-in-law scoffed. “Technician? What technician! My daughter already told me the center is firing him! Mayor, don’t you listen to his nonsense!” The mayor’s face hardened. He pointed to the door. “Son, this is not the place for your jokes. Please leave.” He was kicking me out. But I knew I couldn’t leave. Convincing this man was the only way to save the people of this town. In a moment of pure desperation, I dropped to my knees. “I, Ryan, am not joking. If there is no earthquake at ten tonight, then you can call the police and have me arrested. I’ll go to prison!” “Mayor, there’s not much time left! Please, order the evacuation!” “Have you no shame?!” my father-in-law roared, kicking me squarely in the chest. I crumpled to the ground, the pain so intense I could barely breathe. I locked eyes with the mayor. “The earthquake is coming. A thousand lives are on your head. Can you live with that?!” He stared at me for a long moment, then finally relented. “Fine. I’ll trust you this one time.” My father-in-law was dumbfounded. “What? You actually believe him? He’s just having a spat with my daughter, this is all an act to get back at her…” “If there’s no earthquake, he goes to jail,” the mayor said, striding out the door. I pushed through the pain and followed him. “The quake’s impact radius is five kilometers,” I reminded him. “To be safe, everyone should evacuate at least ten kilometers away…” The mayor listened and began organizing the evacuation. I went back to find my father-in-law. “Dad, I drove here. You and Mom can come with me.” He slapped me across the face. “The hell I will! The moment my daughter gets back, you two are getting a divorce! Then you can be as crazy as you want! Goddammit, you’ve made me lose all my face!” The town evacuated quickly. Within an hour, most people were gone. But Layla’s parents had locked me out of their house. No matter how much I pleaded, they wouldn’t leave. My only option was to call Layla. She was the only one who could convince them now. The phone rang a dozen times before she picked up. “Just trust me this one time, please?” I begged. “Everyone in town has left, but your parents won’t go. You have to talk to them! The earthquake is in twenty minutes, we’re running out of time!” A condescending laugh came from the other end. It was Sean. “Where’s Layla?” I demanded. “She’s in the shower,” he said smugly. “She already told me she doesn’t want to waste her breath on you.” I fought to control my rage. “Put her on the phone. Her parents’ lives are at stake!” Sean just mocked me. “Ryan, is there something wrong with you? Still using the earthquake lie? Do you have any idea what Layla and I are going to do tonight? We’ve got plans you can’t even imagine…”

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