Category: English

I hit the $8.8 million jackpot, but the lottery center refused to pay out. “Fake!” I was completely floored. “No way! I just bought it yesterday. How can it be fake?” The clerk looked annoyed. “Still putting on a show? Don’t you know it’s fake yourself? Trying to scam money from the lottery center, you must be crazy for cash.” A bad feeling started to creep in, and my heart hammered faster. “If you can’t pay out, then give it back to me.” The clerk scoffed. “Give it back to you so you can go scam another place? Dream on. We’re confiscating this fake ticket. Cause any more trouble and I’ll call the police!” With that, she signaled a security guard to escort me out. I was furious, but also strangely thrilled! She didn’t know I had severe paranoid personality disorder. This exact scenario? I’d rehearsed it in my head at least three hundred times. Before the security guard’s hand even touched my shoulder, I gracefully collapsed to the floor. The floor was cold, a welcome chill against my burning forehead. My name is Caleb Stone. Naturally cautious, with a severe case of paranoid personality disorder. Before leaving home, I check the gas valve three times. Crossing the street, even on a green light, I scan left and right four times for any out-of-control vehicles. The moment I found out I won the jackpot last night, I locked myself in the bathroom and created a new file on my laptop: “Risk Assessment and Response Plan for an $8.8 Million Jackpot Win.” Branch One: Relatives asking for money and not paying it back. Branch Two: Car accident on the way to collect the prize. Branch Three: Lottery center refusing to pay out. Branch Four: Kidnapped and held for ransom. … Branch Eighteen: Lottery ticket confiscated on the spot. Right now, the plot was precisely at Branch Eighteen. “Ow! Help! The lottery center security guard is assaulting me!” I lay on the floor, my cries agonizingly shrill. There were quite a few people around, waiting to buy tickets or collect small winnings. At the sound of the commotion, even those who didn’t want to get involved craned their necks instinctively. The uniformed security guard was a big guy, his hand still suspended in mid-air, looking completely baffled. He hadn’t even used any force; I’d just gone limp and collapsed. “You’re lying! I didn’t even touch you!” the guard protested, flustered. Cora, the female clerk behind the counter, stood up and pointed at me, shouting: “Don’t believe him, everyone! This guy brought a fake lottery ticket to scam money, and when I exposed him, he started throwing a tantrum! Scammers these days will do anything for money, they have no shame!” I clutched my chest, gasping for air. “I’m not scamming anyone… that ticket… I bought it yesterday at the store on Construction Road… I have the receipt… I have the transaction record…” Gasping, I fumbled for my phone in my pocket, my hands trembling like someone with Parkinson’s. “If you’re not going to pay out… just give me back the ticket… it’s my ticket…” The crowd began to murmur. “Even if it’s fake, they shouldn’t push someone down, should they?” “Yeah, just give the ticket back. What’s with confiscating it?” “This young man looks honest, not like a scammer.” “Are lottery centers really this shady now?” Cora hadn’t expected me to pull this stunt, and her face darkened. She probably thought I’d be like a greenhorn, arguing loudly or getting scared off by the security guard. She underestimated the execution power of a paranoid individual. To avoid being easily removed, I had deliberately worn a faded old T-shirt and worn-out sneakers, cultivating the image of an honest, downtrodden person. “You… you stop playing dead!” Cora started to panic. “A fake ticket is a fake ticket! According to regulations, we have the right to confiscate it!” “Which regulation?” I suddenly stopped gasping and looked up, asking the question softly, but clearly. Cora froze. “Which law states that a merchant can unilaterally deem a customer’s item fake and confiscate it? Do you have judicial appraisal qualifications? Are you a law enforcement agency?” My words came out in a rapid-fire torrent; I’d memorized this script all night. A few elderly individuals in the crowd, who seemed to know a bit about law, immediately chimed in: “Exactly, even fake money has to be handled by the bank. What right do you have to confiscate his lottery ticket?” The tables had turned. Cora bit her lip, glaring fiercely at me. She knew that the security guard alone wouldn’t be enough to get rid of me now. “Fine, you won’t leave, will you?” She grabbed the desk phone receiver. “I’m calling the manager right now. He’ll deal with you! You won’t believe it until it’s staring you in the face!”

The manager arrived quickly. Less than five minutes later, a middle-aged man in a suit with slicked-back hair emerged from the inner office. His name was Robert Davies. I’d researched this lottery station’s information last night. While he wasn’t the legal representative or the actual controlling owner, he’d been the manager here for five years and supposedly had connections. “What’s going on? What’s all this shouting about? This is unacceptable!” Robert first reprimanded Cora, then smiled, reaching out to help me up. “Sir, the floor is cold. Let’s stand up and talk. We are a legitimate establishment; we would never bully anyone.” A master move. This was a true pro. Calming the public’s anger, establishing an image of reasonableness. I took the opportunity to stand up, dusting off my pants. “You’re the manager?” “I am.” Robert nodded, still smiling. “I heard you brought a lottery ticket to claim a prize, but my colleague said it was fake?” “It’s not fake, it’s real.” I stared into his eyes. “$8.8 million, the grand prize.” When I mentioned “$8.8 million,” I noticed a subtle twitch in Robert’s eye. Very faint. “Whether it’s real or fake isn’t just about what you say.” Robert sighed, putting on a professional air. “The ticket? Let me see it.” Cora handed the lottery ticket to Robert. Robert took it, held it up to the light, then felt the texture of the paper. “Sir.” Robert placed the ticket on the counter, tapping the surface lightly with his finger. “This ticket, it really does have issues.” “What issues?” “The paper quality is wrong.” Robert looked at me with a regretful expression. “This thermal paper isn’t from the same batch we use at the center. And this anti-counterfeit code, while it looks similar, a professional can spot the flaw instantly. And… ” He paused, raising his voice slightly. “And, the serial number on this ticket doesn’t show up in our system at all. That means this ticket has no record of being issued.” A collective gasp went through the crowd. “No record? Is it a private lottery?” “Oh, that young man looked so honest, turns out he really was trying to pull a fast one.” “Almost got tricked by him, these people are the worst!” The elderly folks who had just been on my side instantly turned against me. That’s how easily people are swayed; they believe whoever sounds loudest or looks most authoritative. Robert was clearly pleased with the effect. His eyes held a hint of disdain, as if to say: *Kid, trying to mess with me? You’re still too green.* “Since it’s a fake ticket, we’ll have to deal with it according to regulations.” Robert said, casually tucking the ticket, supposedly worth $8.8 million, into his pocket. “Hold on.” I spoke up. “You said it’s not in the system?” I pulled out my phone and opened a video. “This is a video I took when I bought the ticket yesterday. From me paying, to the machine printing it out, to me holding the ticket in my hand—it’s an uncut, single-shot video. It even shows the time on the ticket machine and your store’s identification number.” I held the phone screen up to Robert. The video clearly showed the lottery ticket being dispensed from their machine. Robert’s smile froze. He hadn’t expected me to record it. Who records buying a lottery ticket? But he was an old hand; he only paused for a second before regaining his composure. “Videos can be doctored, or shot with tricky angles.” Robert sneered. “Current AI face-swapping technology can do anything. Making a fake video is nothing. Besides, how do you prove that the ticket in this video is the same one you brought here now?” Shameless. Utterly shameless. This was exactly why I suffered from paranoid personality disorder. In this world, bad people don’t need logic to do evil; they only need power, or a thick skin. “So, what do you want?” I asked. “Nothing much.” Robert shrugged. “To prevent you from scamming other places, we must destroy this fake ticket.” “You wouldn’t dare!” I roared, taking a step forward. The security guard immediately blocked me, pushing me back. “What are you doing? Are you trying to rob us?” Cora shrieked. The scene instantly spiraled out of control.

“Call the police! I want to call the police!” I yelled, my voice hoarse, as the security guard pushed me stumbling backward. “No need for you to call, I already did!” Robert was quicker than me, waving his phone. “This kind of fraud needs to be handled by the police!” He wanted to strike first, using the authority of the police to definitively label this incident. If the police determined it was a dispute or fraud and took me away, then that $8.8 million really would have nothing to do with me. The people around me looked at me like I was an idiot. In their eyes, a manager who dared to call the police must have nothing to hide, while my shouting and yelling was a sign of a guilty conscience. While waiting for the police, the entire lobby became eerily quiet. I leaned against a wall, taking big gulps of water. My hands were still trembling, but I forced myself to count the patterns on the floor tiles to calm my breathing. Ten minutes later, two police officers walked in. “Who called the police?” “I did!” Robert greeted them, putting on his best innocent act. “Officer, we have someone here attempting fraud with a forged lottery ticket, a huge amount—$8.8 million! When we exposed him, he started causing trouble.” The lead officer, about forty years old, had a strong, no-nonsense jawline and seemed very composed. He looked at Robert, then at me, huddled in the corner. “Is that you?” The officer asked me. I straightened up and handed over the documents I’d prepared. “I’m here to claim my prize. This is my ID, this is the video of me buying the lottery ticket, this is the transaction record, this is the recording of my conversation with the clerk…” Like an announcer, I presented each piece of evidence one by one. The officer took my phone, watched the video, and his brow furrowed. The video was very clear; it was indeed from this store’s machine. “Sir, how do you explain this video?” The officer turned the phone to show Robert. Robert didn’t even glance at it, just waved his hand. “Officer, this video is edited! You know how advanced technology is these days. And even if he bought a lottery ticket here, it doesn’t mean the one he brought in is the real ticket! He could easily buy a real one, then go home and have a master forger create a high-quality replica to claim the prize, keeping the real one hidden to collect two payouts!” That logical loop was perfect. As long as he insisted the “ticket was swapped” or “it’s a high-quality replica,” I would be speechless. Because the lottery ticket itself was the sole physical proof. The officer also looked a bit troubled. This kind of economic dispute, especially one involving technical authentication, was difficult to judge on the spot. “How about this, let’s get the ticket and we’ll take it back for appraisal,” the officer said. “Sure, no problem. Cooperating with law enforcement is what we should do,” Robert said, pulling the lottery ticket from his pocket. Just as he pulled it out, his wrist suddenly flicked. *Rip!* The $8.8 million lottery ticket snapped into two pieces in his hand. The entire hall fell silent. Even the police officer was stunned. “Oops!” Robert exclaimed dramatically, his hand loosening, and the two halves of the ticket fell to the floor. “My apologies, my apologies, my hand slipped, this paper is so brittle! Officer, you see, this fake ticket quality is just terrible, it rips so easily.” He said, pretending to pick it up, his foot “accidentally” stepping on one of the halves, grinding it hard. It was over. Completely over. Even if it could be pieced together, this level of damage would absolutely prevent it from being cashed. “What are you doing!” The officer reacted, pushing Robert away, but he had already succeeded. That ticket was now a pile of waste paper. Robert looked innocently at the officer: “Officer, I truly didn’t mean it. Besides, it’s just a fake ticket, tearing it up is fine. It just saves it from circulating and harming others.” A murmur of regret and satisfaction went through the crowd. I was completely dumbfounded. Angry? No. The feeling I had now… was relief. It was like the long-awaited shoe had finally dropped. They really did it. Just like in my mental rehearsal, Scenario Eighteen, Branch C – “Violent Destruction of Evidence.” A strange thrill coursed through my entire body.

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My husband loves animals. He often brings stray cats and dogs home. I’ve always supported him. Until one night, he brought a young woman home. “This is Sera Hayes, a college student I’ve taken in. She’s an orphan, homeless. She’ll be living with us from now on.” I strongly objected. Dempsey actually said: “Have you no empathy?! Sera is so helpless, can’t you just treat her like a lost kitten you took in?” I work in a highly confidential field. Just three days after our wedding, I had to separate from my husband for three months. When my assignment was over, I excitedly returned home, only to find a beautiful young woman there. She was wearing an apron, cooking soup in the kitchen. Hearing the door open, she fluttered over like a butterfly. But when she saw me, the smile vanished from her face, replaced by immediate hostility. “Who are you, and how do you have keys to *my* house?” Her question left me stunned. This was *my* house, no mistake. “I’m the lady of this house. Who are *you*, and why are you in my home?” The girl’s face instantly changed. “Dempsey said you wouldn’t be back for three months. Why are you two days early?” She clearly wasn’t happy to see me. “So who exactly are you?” “I’m the lady of this house too!” Her words made me laugh in disbelief. Did Dempsey have two wives now? Just as I was about to call Dempsey to demand an explanation, he walked in. “Eleanor, darling, you’re back early?” “You didn’t tell me you were coming back sooner. I would have sent a car to pick you up.” “No need. I have my own car.” “That custom-built vehicle of yours is way overdue for an upgrade. As my wife, how can you drive something so… unremarkable?” “That car isn’t something you can buy with just money, and anyway, this isn’t about the car right now.” I glanced at the girl beside him. “Start explaining.” Dempsey chuckled. “Oh, you mean Sera. I forgot to introduce you. This is Sera Hayes; she’s now part of our family.” My mind went blank. “So, may I ask, in what capacity is she becoming ‘part of our family’?” “Sera is a student I’ve taken in. Her parents both passed away, and she’s homeless. I felt sorry for her, so I brought her home.” “Dempsey, I have no problem with you rescuing stray cats and dogs. But this is a grown woman, and she’s an adult. What right do you have to just ‘take her in’?” “The right of being a billionaire. I have the money to support her, and I’m willing to do it.” His words completely shattered my understanding of decency. “So, what you’re saying is, she’ll be living with us, as a couple, from now on? Is that it?” “Yes.” Dempsey grabbed my arm. “Eleanor, Sera is gentle, kind, and she cooks well. She can take care of us.” “It’s just one more young woman in the house, no different from having an extra cat or dog. Just think of her as another pet, and treat her like one.”

His words made me laugh, a bitter laugh. “You can have cats, dogs, birds, fish, even snakes, spiders, lizards—I wouldn’t care!” “But you bring a young woman in her early twenties into our home, and you expect me to be a fool?” “Dempsey, we’re newlyweds. You took advantage of my absence for work to openly bring your mistress into our house, calling her a ‘little girl’!” “I come from an educated, respectable family, and I have a higher education myself. Do you honestly think I’ll believe your nonsense?” Sera put on her most pitiful act, tugging at Dempsey’s sleeve with a heartbroken expression. “I knew Eleanor wouldn’t tolerate me. Maybe I should just go. Even though the university doesn’t allow dorm living anymore, it’s fine. I can just tough it out at the bus station.” Dempsey gently patted Sera’s hand. “Don’t worry, you stay right here. No one can make you leave.” “Oh, and Eleanor, I’ve moved your things to the west guest room. Sera will be staying in the master bedroom.” I froze, doubting my own ears. “Sera is taking the master bedroom, and I’m in the west guest room? What about you?” “If I want to sleep with you, I’ll come find you.” I found it utterly ridiculous. “Dempsey, you really think you’re a king? Am I your servant, assigned to some side room, waiting for you to decide you want me?!” “Who do you think you are? Even if you were a king, I’m your queen! Why should I tolerate this insult?” Sera tugged at Dempsey’s sleeve again, timidly saying, “Perhaps the master bedroom should still be for Eleanor. I’d be happy with just any place to sleep.” Dempsey pulled Sera into his arms. “I make the rules in this house, and I promised I’d give you the best.” Then he looked at me. “Since things have come to this, let’s just be direct.” “I love Sera, and I intend to keep her by my side! In name, you are my wife, but in reality, Sera and you are equals.” “In public, I’ll make sure you maintain your status. You’ll still be my wife, the future matriarch of Thorne Industries. But in this house, Sera is my true love. I expect you to know your place.” I felt a wave of dizziness from anger. Just then, Dempsey’s mother arrived. Full of grievances, I turned to her. “Mom, do you know what Dempsey has done?! He…” Before I could finish, Vivian raised a hand, signaling me to stop. “Eleanor, you should understand. Given our family’s standing, it’s impossible for Dempsey to have only one woman. Besides, your work is so demanding, you’re often away for months. It’s a good thing to have another woman in the house to help care for Dempsey.” “So, Mom, you knew about this all along, and you approve?” “Yes.” Vivian took my hand. “Eleanor, darling, we’re the wealthiest family in the city. It’s completely normal for Dempsey to have several women. The fact that he’s only brought one home is already showing you a great deal of respect.” I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. “Mom, if I had known your family was like this, I never would have agreed to date Dempsey. Why didn’t you make this clear *before* we got married?!” “Now that I’m married into this family, you say these things? That’s incredibly disrespectful! And by what right do you assume I would accept such a twisted arrangement?!”

The next second, Dempsey shoved me hard. “What are you yelling about?! You’re lucky to even be married into the Thorne family! I don’t know what my father saw in you, forcing me to marry you.” “Ignoring all the heiresses from powerful corporations, he chose *you*, some girl from a modest background. What help could you possibly be to me?” So, Dempsey despised me from the bottom of his heart. “I know the Thorne family is wealthy, but my dignity, Eleanor Vance’s dignity, is not something you can trample on!” “Whoever wants to be your wife can be, because I can’t. We’re getting a divorce!” “Divorce is not an option. We’ve only been married three months; a divorce would ruin Thorne Industries’ reputation.” Sera ran to the kitchen, poured a bowl of soup, and brought it to me. “Eleanor, please don’t be angry. Try the soup I made, it’s delicious.” “I don’t want it.” I merely pushed it gently, and Sera shrieked, letting the soup bowl fly from her hands. She stumbled back several steps and plopped onto the floor. “Eleanor, I was just trying to be nice. Why did you push me?” Before I could react, a stinging slap landed squarely on my face. “Eleanor Vance! You’re pushing your luck!” Dempsey helped Sera up. “Apologize to Sera, right now!” “I barely touched her; she faked it! Why should I apologize to her?!” Dempsey’s gaze was icy. He nudged Sera forward. “Hit her back.” Sera flinched. “Is that really appropriate? Even though Eleanor pushed me, she is still your legal wife. Besides, I… even if she were to hit me, I should just take it.” “In public, she’s my wife. But in this house, you are my beloved. Don’t demean yourself. If I didn’t need someone with an unblemished background to be my wife in name, she wouldn’t even be allowed through my door.” He wrapped an arm around Sera’s waist and kissed her directly. “From now on, you make the rules in this house.” He slowly shifted his gaze back to me. “Hit her back!” Sera straightened her posture, walking proudly towards me, her eyes filled with the smugness and arrogance of someone with powerful backing. My anger flared. “Assaulting a federal researcher comes with serious consequences!” “I don’t care what you are!” She raised her hand and viciously slapped me twice. “You deserved that, for being so defiant!” As I was being hit, Dempsey’s mother sat on the sofa watching TV as if nothing was happening. I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth, then suddenly smiled. “If you treat me like this, does your father know?” “If your father hadn’t come to my family’s door with gifts three times, practically begging my dad for our marriage and repeatedly promising he’d treat me well, you wouldn’t even have been allowed to meet me!” Dempsey’s eyes widened. “So what? You’re married into my family now, and you’ll abide by our rules!” “Here, I’m the one in charge!”

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Three years after we broke up, my ex sued me. He demanded I return every penny he’d spent during our relationship. It wasn’t because he was short on cash; it was because his current wife couldn’t stand me. He knew I was battling depression after my parents died in a car crash. He knew I was in the hospital, fighting for my life. Yet, he still went through with it. The court’s final verdict ordered me to repay **$28,523**. Twenty-three bucks was for the macarons I’d wanted from a fancy Manhattan pastry shop. I thought they were too expensive. He just smiled and bought them for me. Five years of love, now all those memories twisted into knives, stabbing me. He had no idea. The $28,523 I repaid him was my entire life savings, the unpaid fee for my next round of cancer chemotherapy. Right after the court’s decision came down, I ran into Dean Thorne in the hallway. It had been years, and he’d changed so much. The broke college kid, hustling to launch his startup from a tiny, shared apartment, was now a titan in the renewable energy sector. He stood there in a crisp, tailored suit, his gaze landing on me with a distant chill. I instinctively froze, wanting to pretend I hadn’t seen him, to just walk past. But then, he spoke, his voice slow and deliberate: “Do you… regret it now?” I blinked, caught off guard. “Regret what?” Dean offered a sneering smile. “Leaving me for money back then. You must be regretting it badly now, right?” The late autumn wind was cold, biting into my thin clothes, making me shiver even as I dug my nails into my palms. I just couldn’t shake the chill. After a moment, I took a deep breath, flashing him my most perfect smile. “Dean, the money’s been returned. We’re over. Aren’t you afraid your wife will get the wrong idea, talking like this?” I turned my head and saw Seraphina Thorne standing there, her face contorted with fury. She quickly plastered on a smile, masking that last flicker of pure venom. Seraphina clicked forward in her high heels, hooking her arm possessively through Dean’s. “Honey, what should I spend this twenty-eight thousand on? New clothes? Shoes? Or that designer bag I spotted last week?” She shot me a pointed look, then sighed dramatically. “Seems like it’s not quite enough, does it? Really, Dean, why weren’t you more generous with your ex? This little bit wouldn’t even buy me a hair clip.” Dean and I had dated for five years. During that time, he was studying in the States, and I’d fly to Los Angeles every month to see him. Most of that **$28,523** I repaid was for those plane tickets, the money he’d earned working grueling odd jobs day and night to cover my travel. But now, he and Seraphina were using those old transfer records, with a lawyer’s help, to demand every cent back. And they acted like it was completely justified. The hair clip Seraphina was wearing was last week’s latest Chanel, costing **$22,000**. My payment certainly wasn’t enough for that. The next second, Dean lovingly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Sweetheart, keep it for your pocket money. If it’s not enough, I’ll add more.” Seraphina beamed, planting a kiss on Dean’s cheek. “Oh, honey, you’re the best!” Then, she turned to me, a smirk playing on her lips, and offered a saccharine apology. “Elara, I’m so sorry. We honestly don’t need the money, but Dean and I made a bet, and he just wanted to make me happy, so… ” “You know, ever since we got married, Dean worries I’m working too hard, so he won’t let me get a job. All I do every day is skincare, beauty treatments, and travel. I need *somebody* to entertain myself with, don’t I?” She stepped closer, taking my hand, her eyes gleaming with triumph and pride— “Thanks for making me so happy, and for showing me just how much my husband truly loves me.” My brow furrowed, my heart pricked by a thousand tiny needles. For the wealthy, I was merely a prop, a tool used to showcase Dean’s devotion to his wife.

I forced my trembling hands still, again summoning a perfect smile. “Debts must be paid. It’s only right.” Seraphina smirked. “I hope you always feel that way.” “My husband is a little naive, easily fooled by vain, opportunistic people. I just wanted to help him save face. Hope you don’t mind.” The next moment, she yanked my hand with sudden force, digging her nails into my wrist. I wasn’t ready. With a gasp, I tumbled down the stairs, my knee slamming against the marble steps, instantly drawing blood. I winced, trembling with pain, and looked up at the figures on the landing. Seraphina covered her mouth, feigning surprise. “Elara, what happened? It’s just twenty-eight thousand. You’re not so weak you can’t even stand on stairs, are you? You look really hurt. Should we give you a ride home?” She then flashed a triumphant smile. “Dean just bought me a new sports car.” Seraphina’s sports car was Dean’s wedding anniversary gift to her. The body was encrusted with pink diamonds, perfectly matching her aesthetic. She often drove it out, causing a sensation in the media and envy among countless onlookers. My gaze drifted to Dean. His eyes were cold, deep, looking down at me from above, filled with an icy detachment. Like a defeated stray, I scrambled clumsily to my feet, then smiled at them again. “No thanks, I’ll get back on my own.” Seraphina giggled, delighted. “Alright, we’ll get going then!” Then, she turned to Dean. “Honey, I know what I should buy now.” “Lily’s dog bowl broke. I want to get her a smart one.” Dean stared at me, complex emotions swirling in his eyes. After a moment, he exhaled slowly. “Whatever.” Seraphina linked her arm with Dean’s, skipping off happily. It wasn’t until their dazzling sports car roared past me, until a taxi pulled up to the curb, that I suddenly remembered I didn’t even have money for a ride anymore. Dean would never know. The money he was spending on a dog bowl was actually my lifeline.

I dragged my battered body back home. My cramped, leaky attic apartment in a rundown building always seemed to rattle with the sharp clang of metal whenever the wind blew or it rained. It kept me awake all night. In the summer, it was a sweatbox. I didn’t have AC and couldn’t afford the electricity bill, so I’d suffered heatstroke several times. I’d thought Dean would never find me here. I never imagined our next meeting would be in court. I took one last look at the news clippings taped to the wall, cut from magazines and newspapers, then tore them down one by one. Each clipping featured Dean’s photo. His first interview as a rising star in the renewable energy sector, his awards ceremony for NYC’s Top 10 Outstanding Young Entrepreneurs, and… His proposal to Seraphina on one knee, and their lavish public wedding ceremony, witnessed by media and countless onlookers. I took a deep breath, tearing the news pages, tucking them all into a cardboard box hidden under my bed. My gaze fell upon a photo at the bottom of the box. A wave of bitterness washed over me as I looked at Dean in the picture, his arm around me, his smile shy, gentle, and full of joy. Thinking of his cold, distant face in the courthouse hallway, he seemed like a complete stranger now, like someone from another lifetime. He was now the CEO of a publicly traded company, a powerful business phenom in New York, a renowned philanthropist. He was the perfect husband, doting on Seraphina, holding her in the palm of his hand. Only… he wasn’t my boyfriend anymore. I finally managed a bitter smile, sealing those news clippings and photos away, burying them with my past. Then, I looked in the mirror, started putting on makeup, and slipped into a tight dress. “Manager, starting tonight, I want to work the night shift.” Night shifts at the bar meant running into more creepy, handsy guys, but it also meant making money faster. I had no choice. To survive, to pay for my treatment, I had to earn. But I never expected to see Dean there. Gazing at his figure, surrounded by a crowd, my fingers instinctively clenched, and the exposed skin on my arms seemed to burn. He saw me too, of course. After a flicker of shock and disbelief, a look of sarcastic disdain crossed his face— “So, this is where you work, huh.” My palms were sweating, but I forced myself to stay calm. “Sir, your drink.” Dean’s expression was mocking, as if he were looking at a rat scrambling in a sewer. “Right. Any man in here, you could latch onto one, and they’d set you up for life. Pretty typical of you, isn’t it?” I took another deep breath. “Dean, your drink.” But he just raised an eyebrow. “How long have you been here? Don’t you know how to serve people?” He pulled out a check from his jacket, casually scribbled a number, and imperiously tossed it at my feet. “Keep these guys happy for me, and this money is yours.” The check fluttered to the floor. I slowly bent down to pick it up, a sharp pain shooting through my injured knee. When I saw the number on the check, my pupils constricted. My heart felt a violent squeeze, leaving me breathless. **$28,523**. The exact amount I had repaid him in court. He was using that number to humiliate me. I stood there, meeting his gaze. After a long silence, I finally spoke— “This is your payment to me, Dean. I suppose… I won’t have to return it, right?”

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I used to tell myself that snakes were cold-blooded creatures, which was why my adopted shifter didn’t want to be close to me. It wasn’t until later that I realized she liked my brother. Because my brother, Caleb, was tall and well-built, with long arms and legs—the ideal human for any snake shifter. And I? I was a short freak who would never grow. Unworthy of a grand snake like her. Vivienne was a little sick snake I’d adopted. It was no longer uncommon for humans and shifters to bond and unite. Our family had bonded with snake shifters for generations. From childhood, each of us would have a snake shifter, either gifted by our parents or found ourselves. But I was out of favor, so I consciously sought out a little snake for myself. When I found Vivienne in a storm drain, she was tiny and weak, barely clinging to life after shedding her skin. I saved her and raised her for twelve years. Raising a snake shifter required a lot of effort, resources, and money. Raising a sick one was even harder. Plus, I was an unloved, broke mess, making it hellishly difficult. Fortunately, Vivienne grew up healthy. Her slender, graceful muscles contoured her tightened waist, yet her serpentine nature prevented her from appearing bulky, instead lending her a delicate softness. Many in the family said I was lucky to have found such a beautiful snake. I’d just smile, never responding. Only I knew the truth. Vivienne rarely had physical contact with me. Even when I tried to train with her, she rarely cooperated. She’d just wrap around my arm with a cold, impatient expression, her scales scratching my skin painfully. I kept telling myself that snakes were cold-blooded, which was why she didn’t want to be close. Until that one time, I saw her, blushing, carefully wrap around my brother Caleb’s calf and softly ask him: “Does it hurt?” Caleb looked helpless, gently pushing her head. “Vivienne, I know you like me, but David found you. This isn’t right for us.” Her face instantly changed, and she scoffed coldly. “I don’t care! I only like you. Who would ever like that short freak?” Caleb tried to reason with her, but Vivienne pressed further, wrapping around his waist, her scales retracting their barbs to tickle him. Vivienne was being openly flirtatious. Scene after scene from the past twelve years flashed through my mind. Vivienne rarely smiled for me. But at family dinners, sitting across from me, her face always held a faint smile. Looking back now, her gaze was never on me. It was always on Caleb, sitting beside me. The signs had been there all along, I just hadn’t seen them. I thought my short, “freak” self adopting this sick little snake was a mutual salvation, a destined meeting. But it turned out that it was precisely because I was a “freak” that she disliked me. My heart was wrenched. The feather that had tickled my heart for years suddenly transformed into a sharp sword, piercing me deep.

On my way home, I passed a clothing store and couldn’t help but stop. Caleb owned a shirt just like the one displayed in the window. The sales associate looked hesitant, but seeing my insistence, she eventually handed me the outfit. The boy in the fitting room was short, barely reaching halfway up the full-length mirror. His limbs were slender and weak—not the build to bond with a snake shifter. It looked perfect on Caleb, but on me, it was like a precocious kid trying on his dad’s suit. Scenes of Caleb bonding with shifters involuntarily flashed in my mind. Caleb, tall and well-built with long arms and legs, looked incredibly handsome bonding with shifters. Vivienne wrapped around him looked particularly fitting. No wonder Vivienne didn’t like me. From birth, even my own parents didn’t care for me. I hadn’t developed well in the womb and was born with a chronic weakness. I grew slower and was shorter than everyone else. Even as an adult, I looked like an eleven or twelve-year-old boy, making others laugh: “A snake-bonding family producing such a freak. Don’t go breaking your arm trying to bond with one.” Those laughs were like thorns stuck in my heart, and they embarrassed my parents too. They learned their lesson and were especially attentive during my mom’s pregnancy with Caleb. That careful attention resulted in a child who was the ideal human for snake shifters. He grew fast and tall. With Caleb, they cared for me even less. It was as if they were a perfect family of three, and I was just an underdeveloped burden. I looked at my small hands, hating myself, pinching my palm. Then, I couldn’t help but clench my fists and softly cry.

I returned home. Vivienne sat on the sofa, her face impatient, chillingly cold. “What took you so long? Do you know I’m starving to death?” I sniffed, and the emotions I’d just managed to suppress surged back. “I’ll order takeout for you later. I’m a bit tired.” She let out a cold laugh. “Ha, you want me to eat takeout?” Not wanting to argue, I sighed. The foot I’d just placed in the bathroom pivoted, and I walked towards the kitchen. I had always cooked for Vivienne. The fridge was fully stocked, but even if she was starving, she wouldn’t deign to lift a finger. Once before, I’d come home late, and Vivienne, famished, had thrown a huge fit. I thought she was specifically waiting for me to eat, so, feeling guilty and a little hopeful, I cooked a huge feast for her. But just as I pulled out a chair to sit down, she threw a bucket of cold water on me. “You reek of cooking oil. Go take a shower.” My thoughts snapped back. I placed the cooked meal in front of her, but Vivienne didn’t move. “Why do you smell of another shifter?” I lifted my arm and sniffed. It was probably from the clothing store earlier. Suddenly, I remembered how, when I was young and broke, I’d hike up the mountain to catch wild rabbits and pheasants to feed her. She’d unwillingly nibble at the scrawny meat. She’d complain about the dirt on my face and the smell of other shifters on me, keeping her distance. “I’ll go shower right now.” I placed the utensils on the table and headed for the bathroom, but Vivienne suddenly swept the entire meal onto the floor. “David, aren’t you going to explain yourself?” A shard from the broken bowl splashed up and cut my calf. The sharp pain brought me back to reality. Some people are strange. They don’t love you, but they want to possess you, giving you the illusion of being loved and cared for, when really they just want to take more from you. Vivienne was exactly like that. For the first time, I gave her a cold stare. “Explain what? “You get to smell of other people, but I can’t smell of other shifters?” A flicker of surprise crossed her face. But it was quickly replaced by anger. “You’re questioning me? “Don’t forget who self-righteously ‘saved’ me in the first place!” I didn’t answer. I walked past her to get the first-aid kit. I barely brushed her arm, and she immediately recoiled, the barbs on her forearm scales scratching me. Her voice was even colder than her face. “Don’t touch me.” That was it. She barely let me touch her even during training. If she wouldn’t let me touch her even for training, any other kind of touch was pure fantasy.

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My father had just been buried when the woman who abandoned us returned, insisting her new children should inherit everything he left behind. She tore my mourning clothes, grabbed my hair, and ordered me to hand over the house my father built with his life. But when she tried to force me to call her “Mom,” I pulled out my knife. That was the last time she laid a hand on me. The day after my dad died, my mother—gone for more than twenty years—walked in with the children she’d had with another man, ready to fight over his estate. “They’re my kids too. Whatever you have, they should have it as well.” Still in mourning, my eyes swollen from crying, I couldn’t stop a hollow laugh from slipping out. “He’s dead! What good is crying? Get up and count how much money that dead old man left behind!” I was collapsed on the funeral hall floor, my grief twisting into dizziness. My father was gone, and I had no one left in this world. And yet Vivian Gates—the woman who vanished when I was three—was yanking at my mourning clothes, trying to drag me upright. “No manners at all! It’s your first time meeting your brother and sister, and this is how you act? Crying like some useless thing!” I kept my head down, forcing down the fury burning through my chest. My father worked himself to death to raise me. I wouldn’t let anyone disturb his peace now. When I didn’t answer, Vivian grew even more irritated. She grabbed a fistful of my hair, hauled me to my feet, and shoved me toward a man and a woman. “This is Brandon Cooper and Kendra Cooper—your brother and sister.” “Your dad’s dead now. We need a man around here. Brandon needs to get familiar with the place. From today on, this will be his home.” “And stop pretending to cry. Let’s get to dividing the estate. Legally, I get half, and the other half gets split among the four of you.” “I can see this house was just renovated. I’ll decide—this house goes to Brandon. Don’t worry, he won’t throw you out. You can keep a room and visit during holidays.” Her voice grew more triumphant with every word. I lifted my head and looked at the pair before me—eyes roaming greedily over the house like wolves staring at fresh meat. Their gaze alone made me nauseous. “Let go,” I said—the first words I’d said to Vivian in more than twenty years. She froze, then smacked me on the back. “Who do you think you’re talking to?” I looked up at her and smiled. Pleased, she lifted her chin smugly. “That’s better. You’ve always needed a good beating to act right—” Before she finished, I pulled out my pocket knife and slashed her hand. “AHHHHH!” Vivian screamed, releasing my hair as blood splattered across the courtyard floor. Dad, look. No one will bully me again.

The night I should have spent keeping vigil over my father turned into a scene at the police station. I leaned back in my chair, watching Vivian like she was the biggest joke I’d ever seen. Maybe seeing the officers in uniform boosted her confidence. Her face, pale the whole way here, suddenly regained color. She thrust her poorly bandaged hand toward them and wailed: “What did I do in my past life to deserve this? My own daughter stabbed me!” The officer tapped the table, frowning at me. “What happened?” I hadn’t even spoken before Brandon Cooper rolled up his sleeves and barked, “Pay up! We’re not letting this go unless she compensates us!” Vivian’s injury was minor. As long as she agreed to drop the charges, we could settle this. I didn’t want to waste time—I just wanted to get back to my father’s vigil. So when the three of them huddled together and finally demanded $2,000, I didn’t hesitate. Right in front of the officers, I took out my phone and transferred the money. Once the payment went through, Vivian happily signed the waiver. Watching her grin, I asked, “Don’t you feel even a little sad?” She blinked. “Sad about what?” I didn’t bother replying. I turned and walked out. As I passed them, their whispers drifted toward me. “Mom, she’s using the newest iPhone. It’s over a thousand bucks. You just got money—buy me one.” “Mom, two thousand dollars! She agreed right away. Who knows how much her old man left her? We need to think of something.” I was almost out the door when I heard Vivian loudly ask the officer: “Do you handle inheritance disputes too?”

The day after we buried my dad according to custom, I thanked the relatives and neighbors of Maplewood Village who had come to help. When the last person left, the mansion went quiet. The silence crushed me so hard I almost wished I had gone with him. Vivian—my mother—had run off with an out-of-town butcher when I was two or three, abandoning my dad because he was “too poor.” From then on, my dad became both mother and father, working himself to the bone to raise me. When I entered elementary school and didn’t need constant care, he finally had time to start a small business. I never knew how large it had grown, only that life kept getting better. He built this mansion. He spoiled me with everything I pointed at. At school, I became the girl everyone envied—the rich kid with the perfect life. But no one saw the part of me that was hollow. The part that should’ve been my mother. She was never there for any milestone, any nightmare, any moment I needed her. Eventually, I learned how to be the kid without a mom. I sorted through my dad’s belongings day after day, crying until I collapsed, waking up, and crying again. Time blurred until I finally finished organizing everything he left behind—and discovered he had been far wealthier than I ever imagined. Around that time, I picked up a habit: sitting in the courtyard, staring at the security camera on the wall, letting my thoughts drift. One evening, while the sky blazed with a beautiful dusk, I sipped the osmanthus wine my dad had brewed. The weather was perfect. I hadn’t even locked the front door. That was when Vivian walked in with Brandon and Kendra, standing at the entrance like they owned the place. “It’s been days. You should’ve gone through your old man’s things by now,” she said. “I brought Brandon and Kendra. We need to divide your dad’s estate.”

I smiled and gestured for them to sit. Then I went inside for paper and pens. “What are your ideas? Write them down. Let’s discuss.” Vivian looked thrilled by how cooperative I was. “I thought I’d have to talk sense into you before you handed over the money,” she said. “How much did your dad leave? Show me the inventory.” I passed her the list. Their eyes lit up the second they saw the numbers. Vivian straightened, suddenly acting like the head of the household. “Alright. I’ll decide how to split everything.” She clearly had been planning this for years. She scribbled out a division plan with messy handwriting but undeniable excitement. When she finished, she handed it to me with a dramatic flick of her wrist. “Avery, we’ll follow this plan. Tomorrow, we’ll do the transfers and change the ownership of the house.” I looked at her evenly. “My name is Avery Gates. Not ‘Avery.’” She forced a smile. “We always called you Avery when you were little.” I returned the smile. “Funny. When I was little, I also had a mom.” Kendra, impatient, snatched the paper from my hand. Her expression twisted. She slammed the sheet on the table. “Mom, you preach fairness, but Brandon gets the mansion and a few million, and I only get a hundred grand?” I nodded helpfully. “Right? I get two hundred thousand, but you’re the beloved daughter. How’s a hundred thousand fair to you?” Kendra lost it. She threw herself on the ground, kicking and screaming. Brandon, afraid Vivian might redistribute his share, yanked her up by the hair and slapped her. “Shut up! Mom’s money, mom’s rules!” Kendra froze, stunned he’d hit her—then shrieked and attacked him. They rolled on the ground like street fighters, while Vivian frantically tried to separate them. I quietly scooted my chair back, pulled out a bag of sunflower seeds, and settled in to watch. Their screams echoed around the courtyard like it was free entertainment. Vivian ended up catching a few hits herself. Furious, she slapped both of them across the face. Her bandaged hand—still healing from where I’d cut her earlier—began bleeding again. Brandon’s eye was swelling; Kendra’s lip was split. I grinned. “What’s going on? You’re family. Why fight over a little money?” Vivian glared at them, then forced a smile at me. “Avery, you and Kendra are both my daughters. I can’t favor one too much. How about we take fifty thousand from your share and give it to her? Then you’ll both get one-fifty. Fair?” I turned to Kendra. “That okay with you?” She shot Brandon a murderous look but stayed silent. Still smiling, I said, “If everyone agrees, then sign.” I watched all three of them sign the agreement. Satisfied, I folded it neatly and slid it into my pocket. “Great. See you here tomorrow at ten. We’ll finish the paperwork then.” The next day, when Vivian, Brandon, and Kendra arrived, they stopped short at the sight before them. The courtyard was packed—neighbors, relatives, and practically everyone from Maplewood Village. People were chatting, cracki

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She rushed toward me before I even entered the courtroom, grabbing my wrist and sobbing that she couldn’t live without me, that she only wanted peace between us. Cameras circled, recording every desperate word she uttered as she pressed herself against me. I let her hold on for a few seconds, then pulled my hand free and told her, without raising my voice, “Save it. You can die if you want to.” My Wife Dragged Me to the Court of Selfishness If found guilty, I would lose everything, face ten years in prison, and be forbidden from interfering with her pure friendship with her first love. My wife would get all my property and could legally live with her first love. If found not guilty, my wife would be cursed with misfortune and become the ugliest woman in the world. Her first love would be chemically castrated and have to pay me a million dollars in emotional damages. I would receive ten million dollars as a reward and have the right to divorce her. Before I even stepped into the Court of Justice, videos of me abusing my wife, being selfish and petty, were already circulating online. Those so-called justice warriors on the internet doxxed me, sent me funeral wreaths, and harassed my workplace with phone calls cursing me, saying I should die, questioning why I got married, and claiming I was wasting oxygen by being alive. Even my colleagues were affected. Some were attacked by angry mobs after work, with a few ending up in the hospital. Under the pressure of public opinion, my boss had no choice but to fire me. This job was something I had worked hard to get after years of studying. The effort I put in was known only to those closest to me. All of this was orchestrated by my wife of three years, Elena. Because in this world, married couples cannot divorce. I arrived at the Court of Justice as scheduled. At the entrance, I ran into Elena, who was visibly startled to see me. Elena probably didn’t expect me to show up. After three years of marriage and two years of dating, it’s enough time to know a person. Elena was certain I wouldn’t appear. She knew I loved her and was afraid of pain, so she thought I wouldn’t come to court. At least, in my previous life, even under intense cyberbullying and immense life pressure, I never appeared in court. Yes, I’ve been reborn. In my previous life, I caught Elena cheating with Adrian. Adrian, without hesitation, knocked me unconscious with a hammer. As I lay in a pool of blood, weakly reaching out to Elena for help, she turned away, grabbed an axe, and chopped me into pieces, stuffing me into a suitcase. They then created the illusion that I had fled the country due to public pressure. Elena and Adrian, the adulterous couple, moved in together, stealing everything I had. Even when my parents searched for me endlessly, they ended up dying in a car crash on a rainy night. Only after death did I realize that Adrian, Elena’s so-called male best friend, was actually her first love. They had been secretly involved for a long time, plotting how to get rid of me. The public opinion was just the beginning. They killed me so early only because I caught them in the act, and they couldn’t hide it anymore. My discovery had disrupted every step of their carefully laid plan. After all, in this world, the punishment for adultery is even more severe than for murder. In this new life, I won’t be foolish enough to trust Elena again.

“Honey, please forgive me. Don’t torment me like this anymore. Adrian is my best friend, my only family. If you promise not to hit me again and not to cut off my contact with Adrian, I’ll withdraw the lawsuit. I don’t want you to be punished,” Elena’s voice pulled me back from the painful memories of my previous death, my back covered in cold sweat. Seeing me appear, Elena reacted quickly. Before anyone else could respond, she knelt down, playing the role of a long-term victim of domestic violence who still loved her petty and selfish husband. In this world, a trial at the Court of Justice was the highest form of punishment, and nobody dared to come lightly. In others’ eyes, if Elena had experienced pain worse than death, she definitely wouldn’t have come to court. My case was the first example in fifty years, naturally causing quite a stir globally. Some media outlets, eager for exclusive coverage, had been waiting outside the court with their cameras. When they saw Elena kneel, they quickly turned on their cameras and rushed over. “Honey, even though I love you, separating me from my best friend is worse than killing me. Please stop this. Let’s go home. As long as you promise, we can go back and live a good life,” Elena continued, seeing that the fire wasn’t hot enough yet. What a declaration of love. If this had happened in my previous life, seeing Elena cry to the point of losing her composure would have softened my heart. But I’ve crawled out of hell, and I won’t be softened again, especially not by the person who pushed me into that hell with her own hands. I just stared coldly at Elena and said word by word, “If that’s the case, then you should just die!” The crowd around us wasn’t just media; there were also many people who had cyberbullied me. They all pointed at me and whispered. “My God, are there really men like this in the world? Don’t married women deserve their own social circles?” “I heard Elena and her male best friend have known each other since childhood. If there was really something between them, why would Evan even be in the picture? I think he’s just jealous because Adrian is handsome. He’s insecure.” “Who would date such a selfish man? He even cursed his own wife to die. Elena must have been blind to fall for such a beast. It seems we need to be more careful when choosing a partner in the future.” Various insults echoed in my ears, deafening, but I still had no intention of backing down. I walked straight into the Court of Justice.

I sat in the Court of Justice, with Elena in the plaintiff’s seat. Her eyes were red, and she looked weak and fragile. Faced with others’ comfort, she spoke with a pained expression. “We can’t blame Evan entirely. Maybe he just can’t understand the concept of pure friendship between men and women.” “He was wrong to hit me, but that’s just how he is. He can’t control his emotions. I feel sorry for him too.” Hearing these words, I almost laughed. On the surface, Elena seemed to be speaking on my behalf, but in reality, she had already confirmed my guilt. The uninformed audience pointed at me and cursed. “Evan, are you even human? Elena has always been so good to you, a model of a virtuous wife. How could you lay a hand on her? Have you no conscience?” “Could it be that Evan has another woman outside? Is that why he’s trying so hard to force Elena to leave?” This comment caused an uproar among the audience and those watching the live stream. Adultery was no small matter; if caught, one could be directly eliminated. Elena’s lips curled into an almost imperceptible smile of triumph, but she still pretended to defend me. “How could that be? Evan isn’t that kind of person. Don’t say such things. He still loves me. There’s even a lipstick in the car that he bought for me, although it’s been used. He was probably tricked by the sales assistant.” This bombshell revelation directly confirmed the suspicion of my infidelity. The comments flooded in: [Silly sister, it’s not the sales assistant who tricked him, you’re the one being tricked!] [What a good wife, still defending that scumbag even now. Evan should just die, he doesn’t deserve to be human!] Seeing the dense text, I let out a cold laugh, but I didn’t bother to respond. I didn’t need to prove anything to these fools who jumped to conclusions without knowing the whole story. “Your Honor, we can begin,” I said, looking at the stern judge. Someone mocked me, “He’s even eager to start. These days, it seems the more brazen you are, the more you can get away with.” The judge tapped his gavel to silence the court and began the trial. “The plaintiff needs to submit evidence to prove the defendant’s crimes. Once the trial begins, no one can withdraw. Anyone who withdraws will be immediately eliminated.” I saw a flash of panic cross Elena’s face, but she still stood up to start presenting evidence. The first piece was accusing me of domestic violence. The big screen lit up. I glanced at the viewer count, which had reached 80 million. Obviously, this number made me a bit nervous. After all, if public opinion was overwhelmingly against me, it wouldn’t be good for my case.

The big screen showed a scene from our home. Elena had just come out of the shower, and I was sitting on the bed with a dark expression. Elena approached me gently, as usual. “Honey, the water temperature is just right now, and the bathroom isn’t cold. Why don’t you go take a shower?” But I didn’t respond to Elena at all. Instead, I threw my phone on the ground with a loud crash, causing Elena to scream. She was only wrapped in a towel and crouched on the ground, covering her head with her hands. “Bitch! Haven’t I been good to you? Why would you do this?” I shouted as I approached her, punching the wall next to her ear. Instantly, blood seeped from my knuckles. Elena didn’t say anything, just kept crying. My emotions spiraled out of control, and I slapped Elena across the face. “A woman like you doesn’t deserve to be by my side. Get out!” Elena looked at me with a hurt expression, her eyes brimming with tears. After my outburst, she ran out the door without even changing her clothes. The video ended with Elena shivering in the cold wind, crouching on the ground helplessly, mumbling, “Why don’t you believe me? I’m so scared. Honey, can you please take me home?” The screen froze on this image, and the comments exploded. [How can there be such men in this world? Do married women not deserve to have their own social circles?] [Even if Elena did something wrong, you can’t hit a woman, can you? Evan is truly a disgrace to men.] [Didn’t you notice that Elena showered first so that it wouldn’t be cold when Evan went in? How could Evan bear to let such a considerate and gentle wife go out in just a towel in the middle of winter? Forget about safety, it’s freezing out there, she could literally die in those temperatures.] [Although Evan was wrong to hit her, what if Elena really did something terrible that made Evan lose control?] The comments were overwhelmingly against me, with only occasional rational voices trying to defend me, which were quickly drowned out by the vitriol. The judge tapped his gavel. “For the first charge of domestic violence, the defendant Evan is found not guilty.” The moment the verdict was announced, there was a brief silence in the comments, followed by a flood of text. [Domestic violence was clearly proven, how can he be found not guilty? There must be some behind-the-scenes manipulation!]

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The first thing I heard at my own wedding was blame. They accused me of ruining the day, urged me to apologize, and even defended the mistress dressed like a bride. Liam raised his voice, ordering me to “behave.” I answered by walking straight to the projector and broadcasting the video of their bubble-bath affair. While setting up the wedding bed, I found an unfamiliar stain on the sheets. Someone else had been staying in my townhouse! I couldn’t think straight and immediately video-called my fiancé. Unusually, he picked up right away. “The new bed is soft. I tested it for you.” The person on the video wasn’t Liam Prescott but his assistant, Sienna Vaughn. She smiled at me, sultry and smug. “Where’s Liam? Get him on the phone.” TSienna Vaughn answered the video call. I froze for a moment but quickly regained my composure. Sienna glanced around, pretending to examine the room I was in. Then she smirked. “Oh, Miss Reese, you’re at the townhouse?” She leaned closer to the camera, her voice dripping with mockery. “The bed’s so soft. I tested it for you.” I felt the ground drop out from under me, my mind buzzing loudly. I glared at the woman on the screen, unable to speak for a moment. Sienna’s gaze shifted to the stained sheets, her tone oozing triumphantly. “The groom’s not bad either. I tested him, too.” I finally noticed her surroundings—a room at The Franklin Hotel. Suppressing my burning anger, I steadied my voice. “Where is Liam?” Sienna made a show of glancing off-camera, feigning hesitation. “Oh, Mr. Prescott? He’s working late and very busy.” Then I heard his voice—his all-too-familiar voice. “Sienna, come help me scrub my back.” I froze, my mouth opening and closing with no sound. “You just want me in there with you. You’re such a tease!” Sienna giggled as she tossed me a victorious look and hung up the call. All my strength drained from me, and I sank to the floor, overwhelmed by a mix of fury and heartbreak. I don’t know how long I sat there before I laughed bitterly, tossing the stained sheet into the dumpster. Tomorrow was supposed to be my wedding day. I was busy decorating the townhouse while Liam shared a bubble bath with his assistant. Sienna had aimed to ruin my wedding—and she succeeded. I texted Liam: “We’re done. The wedding is off.” A soiled bed I can replace. A filthy man? Never. I stared at the wedding-themed figurines of a couple kissing, dressed in bright red gowns and tuxedos, and threw them in the dumpster. Then, I smashed the framed wedding photo on the wall. One by one, I destroyed the decorations I’d lovingly prepared for the townhouse. Finally, I sent a mass message to all the guests canceling the wedding, powered down my phone, and returned to my parents’ home. That night, I drowned the memories of the past years in cheap whiskey and passed out in a haze. The following day, loud, frantic knocking woke me up. Standing at the door were Liam and his groomsmen, dressed to the nines in tailored suits, looking all smug and polished. Liam clutched a bouquet of roses, now crushed and falling apart. His expression was furious as he took in my unkempt, half-asleep state. “Delia! Are you out of your mind?” His twisted, contorted face was so grotesque it almost made me laugh. That laugh pushed him over the edge. He threw the mangled bouquet to the ground, yelling, “Do you even realize what day it is? It’s our wedding day!”

Rubbing my temples, still groggy from my hangover, I snapped. “I told you I’m not marrying you. We’re done! Didn’t you understand the text?!” Liam’s bloodshot eyes flared with suppressed rage. Finally, he shut his eyes tightly, gritting his teeth. “Change your clothes and come with me. I’ll forget this ever happened, and I’ll forgive you. Just this once.” Forgive me? Did this man think I was desperate for him? That I couldn’t live without him? I glanced past him at the groomsmen, whose faces ranged from uncomfortable to entertained. “Liam Prescott! You’re the one who messed up. Are you here to talk about your relationship with Sienna Vaughn?” “Leave! We’re over. Understand?!” Liam froze for a second before his expression crumbled. The arrogance evaporated, replaced with a nervous, almost pleading tone. “You’ve got it wrong. This is my fault. I didn’t explain it to you properly.” “Do whatever you want to punish me later—yell, scream, whatever. But today’s our wedding. It’s the most important day of our lives. The guests are waiting for us. Let’s just go, please?” His fake sincerity was laughable. The way he suddenly switched tones—one second arrogant, the next groveling—was almost impressive. One of his friends, clearly feeling sorry for him, stepped forward. “Sis, today’s not the time for this. Get through the wedding, and then you can settle everything however you want.” Oh, Liam was trying to force my hand now? Fine. Let’s see who ends up regretting it. I nodded. “Alright. Wait here.” I washed up, wore a simple dress, and left the house. I waved him off when Liam asked about my hair, makeup, and gown. His frustration was visible, but he couldn’t stop me. Only William’s family and guests were present at the hotel. My friends and relatives had already received the cancellation message. The guests’ expressions turned from confusion to amusement when they saw me in casual attire. A few older women couldn’t resist commenting: “A wedding isn’t a time for tantrums, sweetie. Only Liam would tolerate this—anyone else would’ve called it off ages ago!” “That’s right. With so many guests here, why didn’t she call it off sooner if she didn’t want to marry him?” “Alright, alright, she’s here now. Let’s not make a scene.” Mrs. Prescott pulled me to the main table, her demeanor warm and welcoming. “We were so worried when we couldn’t reach you, Delia. Did Liam upset you? Tell us, and we’ll sort him out.” Mr. Prescott chimed in, his voice kind and steady. “Yes, we’re all on your side here.” Liam’s parents were genuinely wonderful people. Marrying into their family would’ve been a dream—if only their son hadn’t been a cheating coward. I stayed silent, unsure of how to break it to them. Mrs. Prescott mistook my hesitation for a lingering grudge. She patted my hand gently. “Delia, listen to me. Get dressed and made up first. I’ll make sure Liam apologizes properly later.” “Yes, let’s not ruin such a joyous day,” Mr. Prescott nodded. I sighed heavily, ready to explain the truth, when the heels clacking interrupted me. Sienna Vaughn strutted in, wearing a striking red gown that hugged her figure. Her makeup was flawless, a stark contrast to my bare face. “Am I late?” she asked sweetly, eyes locking onto mine with a pointed, provocative gleam. “Congratulations, Miss Reese. Happy wedding day.”

I smiled back, though it didn’t reach my eyes. Sienna Vaughn looked stunning in that red dress, almost like the bride. She waltzed over to the main table and casually sat in the seat meant for Liam Prescott. As she leaned down, a glint around her neck caught my eye. My chest tightened, and I stared. It was a diamond ring. Not just any ring—my ring. The one I had designed myself. It’s the only one like it in the world. Now, it hung around Sienna, the mistress’s neck. I couldn’t imagine what ring Liam would’ve handed me if my wedding had gone ahead. A cheap stand-in? Or had he planned to pluck this one right off her neck? Either way, the thought turned my stomach. Despite my efforts to stay composed, my nails dug into my palms as I fought the anger boiling inside. At that moment, Liam entered the room with the officiant. “Where’s the bride? Not wearing her gown? A red dress would work too—very pretty,” the officiant remarked approvingly, clearly mistaking Sienna for the bride. Sienna glanced at me, feigning surprise, and quickly waved her hands. “Oh, no, no! I’m not the bride! Miss Reese, don’t be upset.” Liam stormed over, his expression thunderous. “Why aren’t you dressed yet? Do you even care about our wedding?” He reached out to grab my arm, but Mrs. Prescott intervened, pulling him back. “Liam, speak to her properly! Don’t be so harsh.” Sienna jumped in, her voice syrupy sweet. “Miss Reese is just a little emotional. Liam, you should calm her down. We can’t let this ruin the wedding.” But Liam’s frustration only deepened. He turned to me and barked in front of the whole room, “Delia, enough of this! Get changed now! Stop embarrassing yourself!” Sienna placed a soothing hand on his arm, murmuring, “Don’t worry, I’ll help you apologize to the guests. Everything will be fine.” I let out a bitter laugh. “Why don’t you just finish the wedding with him while you’re at it?” I was done pretending, and the time for quiet dignity had passed. Raising my voice so everyone could hear, I announced, “Sorry to make this such a spectacle, everyone. Please enjoy the food and drinks. But as of today, Liam Prescott and I are officially over. Consider yourselves witnesses.” Liam’s eyes burned with fury. “When are you going to stop this nonsense?” Sienna’s face contorted in mock alarm, her high heels clicking as she stomped in frustration. “Miss Reese, you’ve misunderstood! I was just trying to help manage the guests!” Her act was as transparent as a windowpane, and I crossed my arms, watching her smugly. “You weren’t just managing guests, were you? Didn’t you also manage the wedding bed?” Her smug grin faltered for a split second before she quickly recovered, tears welling in her eyes. “Miss Reese, I think you’re mistaken—” Slap! The little snake was a master of putting on an act, but I had no interest in arguing with her.

“Delia, have you lost your mind?” Liam panicked, pulling Sienna into his arms as if to shield her. Sienna hadn’t expected me to slap her and froze, her large, teary eyes trembling like she’d just suffered the greatest injustice. Slowly, she leaned into Liam’s chest, her tears soaking his shirt. Liam glared at me as if he wanted to tear me apart. “Delia, you’re nothing but a crazy shrew! What about you even compares to—” “Shut up, Liam!” Mr. Prescott yanked him back, cutting him off mid-sentence. Beside him, Mrs. Prescott stepped forward to pull Sienna away from Liam’s arms. “Miss Vaughn, this is a family matter. I’m afraid we’ll have to ask you to leave.” Sienna hesitated, glanced at Liam, and then turned to me with a slight, triumphant smirk before strolling out of the room in her heels. Liam wasn’t finished. “Are you happy now? You’ve turned our wedding into a circus! No man in his right mind would ever marry someone like you!” “Liam Prescott, shut your mouth!” Mrs. Prescott tried to intervene, grabbing his arm, but he shoved her away. “Mom, stay out of this! If this wedding is ruined, I’ll ensure she regrets it for the rest of her life!” Well, wasn’t that convenient? Because I was planning to teach him a lesson. I slammed my hand on the table, standing up. “You’re right. There won’t be a wedding. But the lesson? That’s coming from me.” Ignoring everyone’s shocked expressions, I strode toward the officiant standing awkwardly near the screen at the front of the room. “Miss Reese, uh… what do you need?” he stammered, inching aside as I walked past him to the computer. I plugged in my phone and transferred a video to the big screen. It played immediately. Sienna’s face filled the screen, smiling wickedly. Her voice echoed through the silent hall. “The groom’s not bad either. I tested him, too.” “Where’s Liam?” “Mr. Prescott? Oh, he’s working late. So busy.” “Sienna, come help me scrub my back.” “You just want me in there with you. You’re such a tease!” The video ended, leaving the room so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Slap! “Bastard!” Mr. Prescott’s hand came down hard on Liam’s face. He slumped back, his shoulders caving under the weight of disappointment. My chest ached as I watched. I had truly respected his parents, and ending things with Liam meant cutting ties with them, too. I faced the stunned crowd, my voice steady despite the storm in my chest. “Liam Prescott, who betrayed this wedding, wasn’t me. It was you—the man who defiled our wedding bed with his mistress.” “And that… mess you left behind? Do I need to spell out what it was? You’re disgusting.” I couldn’t hold back anymore. My voice cracked as the floodgates opened. As I shouted, my vision blurred. These years of love weren’t fake. How could I not feel pain as everything unraveled? When had the man standing before me turned into a stranger? He had once been so genuine, so passionate. I remembered how he’d woken up early during winter to buy me a fresh, handmade raspberry Danish from my favorite bakery, tucking it inside his jacket to keep it warm. His chest was bright red from the heat when he handed it to me, and his grin was as wide as the sky. Or that year when a fire broke out in the dorms. Everyone ran out, but Liam rushed toward the girls’ building without hesitation. Who knows what might have happened if I hadn’t returned just in time to pull him away? There were so many little moments like that, tiny memories that convinced me he truly loved me. But now, it was clear: he only used to love me. I wiped my tears away with my hand. Liam opened his mouth to say something, but the words didn’t come. Ignoring him, I turned to his parents and the assembled guests. “Mr. and Mrs. Prescott, dear friends and family, I’m truly sorry for the mess today. Liam and I are officially breaking up, and I ask for your understanding regarding my behavior.” With that, I turned and left without another glance. As I stepped out the door, I saw Sienna Vaughn leaning casually against the wall. She looked surprised to see me but quickly recovered with a smug smile. “Not getting married today, Miss Reese? So, where are you off to?” I crossed my arms and stared at her calmly without responding. She chuckled, tilting her head. “Delia, no matter how much a sparrow flaps its wings, it’ll never be a phoenix. You should stick to finding a regular guy and settling down. Liam Prescott was way out of your league.” I raised my eyebrows in surprise, stifling a laugh. “Out of my league?” “You don’t think you’re overreaching, Miss Reese? A person should know their place,” Sienna Vaughn sneered, pointing a crimson-painted nail at me with a derisive snort. So, this was it. She had been destroying my wedding out of some delusional belief that snagging Liam Prescott would elevate her.

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A full year after catching Brandon cheating, I walked down the aisle and married him. . He never stopped. A rotating cast of lovers, while I perfected the role of the ‘understanding’ wife. He developed a taste for a nightclub dancer? I’d have her sent to his suite before last call. He eyed the new intern? She was reassigned as his ‘personal assistant’ by noon. He’d beam at me. “See, Skylar? Isn’t this so much more…efficient?” But when photos of me passionately entangled with another man, along with my pregnancy test results, landed in front of him, he absolutely lost it. “You’re just jealous! This is your way of getting back at me, isn’t it? Break it off with him. Now.” I laughed. He actually thought this was about him? I wouldn’t be ending anything. Besides, the man I loved was already gone. In my silent laughter, he finally realized something was quietly slipping away. A tidal wave of emotion churned in his eyes, but he gritted his teeth, desperately trying to rein it in. “Okay, I was wrong, I don’t blame you.” “Please, just get rid of this baby. We can pretend none of this ever happened.” I pushed him away, disdainfully flicking at the sleeve he’d grabbed. “Brandon, there’s no going back.” “And there’s absolutely no way I’m getting rid of this child.” He slumped back against the office desk, the sound of a shattering glass eerily clear in the dim room. Blood dripped from his palm onto the carpet. Suddenly, he lunged across the desk, his large hand clamping the back of my head, showering my lips with brutal, desperate kisses. “Let go! I don’t want this!” My struggles only made him rougher. A sudden coldness below made my heart leap into my throat. As his hand moved to touch me again, I kicked him hard in the groin. He cried out in pain, releasing me, then questioned me, his voice dangerously low. “Then who do you want? That loser who vanished into thin air?” “Skylar, he didn’t love you. He never did.” “If he loved you, why would he disappear? Why would he let you marry me?” “In this world, only you and I are meant to be. Only I truly love you.” That word struck a raw nerve. My hand flew up, slapping him across the face. “Don’t you dare talk about him like that! Get out!” He looked stunned. “You hit me for that scum?” He wiped a smear of blood from his lip with his thumb, then pulled me into his arms, biting down hard on my lip. I remained motionless, letting him bite. He must have sensed the change in me because he finally released me. “Skylar, what do you even want from me?” He slumped beside me like a deflated balloon. “This bastard, there’s no way he’s staying.” He turned his head to look at me, a smile on his face, but I felt not a flicker of warmth. I snatched a fruit knife from the table and lunged at him. He didn’t flinch, instead, he leaned into the blade. I heard the sickening sound of flesh tearing. He grunted, then shuffled closer to me. He was forcing me to choose: either he died, or I’d give in. As his knee moved towards me again, I loosened my grip on the knife. He grabbed my trembling hand, his smile bitter and triumphant. “Skylar, I knew you still loved me.” I tore free from his grasp and called Mr. Davies. Soon, Brandon was being helped into an ambulance. The entire villa returned to its usual silence. I curled up on the bed and opened SnapChat. A message from Mr. Davies popped up. “Madam, Mr. Adams has already sent Alexa to Monaco.” “He said to rest well and wait for him to come home.” I suddenly found it all so amusing. He actually thought sending Alexa away would somehow appease me. Sadly, he and I, we’d been beyond repair for over a year. It was the night before our engagement. Alexa had updated her SnapChat story late that night. The red mole on the man’s back instantly stung my eyes. That very night, I trashed his hotel room. I cried, accusing Brandon. “Why tonight of all nights? Why her of all people?” But he said nothing, just gave me a piercing look. He blamed me for interrupting them. I was dragged out by bodyguards right in front of him and Alexa, stripped of all dignity. To get back at him, I projected photos of him and Alexa intimately entwined on the big screen at the engagement party, publicly calling off the wedding. But I lost again. Watching me leave, he simply stated, without a hint of pain. “Don’t bother, she’ll be back.” The moment Brandon uttered those words, the guests’ whispers grew louder. “If you ask me, Ms. Thorne and Brandon are a match made in heaven.” “That small-town girl just doesn’t know her place. Brandon didn’t even call off the engagement after cheating, who was she to do it?” “For Brandon to even look her way was more than she deserved, and she still had the nerve to pick on him.” Not a single person blamed Brandon. He was the one who cheated, but somehow, I was the one in the wrong.

The next morning, the moment I opened my eyes, Brandon’s haggard face was right there. I instinctively looked at his chest. A faint smile touched his lips. “Don’t worry, the doctor said it’s nothing serious.” He propped his hand beside my pillow, smiling softly. “I knew you still cared about me.” He was still the same as a year ago, always believing he had complete control over me, both emotionally and financially. Having always gotten everything he wanted since childhood, he wouldn’t understand that some people shine on their own, not just because they’re by his side. I didn’t want to talk to him, so I got up and went to the bathroom. When I came out, Brandon was lounging on the sofa, watching me. He offered me a glass of milk. “Here, drink this. Your health is the most important thing, Skylar.” I took the milk and drank it down, not to appease him, but because I was going to anyway. He, however, misinterpreted it as acceptance, and his eyes lit up instantly. “Skylar, I’ve already sent Alexa away, Mr. Davies told you, right?” “From now on, I’ll only be with you. Whenever you want to see me, no matter where I am, I’ll come to you immediately.” “I’ll never do anything you don’t like.” “We can go back to how we were before. You can call me Brandon, and I’ll call you Skylar, okay?” I looked at him, a mocking smile slowly spreading across my face. I deliberately loosened my grip, and the glass crashed to the floor, shattering everywhere. “Brandon, there’s no going back.” “Just like this glass. Once it’s broken, it’s broken. Even if you melt it down and reshape it, it’s not the same glass anymore.” His body stiffened, then he immediately knelt down. “Skylar, we can go back. Trust me, as long as we’re still here, everything can be like it was before.” The glass shards cut his hand, blood mixing with milk into a pinkish red, yet he stubbornly picked up the fragments as if he felt no pain. I couldn’t help but scoff. Let him pick them up if he wanted to. Perhaps it was the pregnancy, but I was constantly drowsy. The moment I sat down, my head felt heavy and uncomfortable. When I woke up again, the overhead lights dazzled my eyes. The pungent smell of disinfectant filled the air, and a few white figures moved around me. “Now this is the kind of drama one pays a fortune to witness. Tell me, doesn’t old man Adams worry she’ll make a spectacular scene when the anesthesia wears off?” “Oh, I doubt it. These arrangements are purely transactional. Women in that position tend to be more pragmatic than you or I could ever be.” “But Brandon is still legally married. To have a child with his mistress? How could he bear such scandal?” “Besides, who in this circle doesn’t know that his secretary is the one he truly cares about?” “The women around him come and go, but the only one who stays is Ms. Thorne.” “A child no one truly wants, it’s a curse to be born. Better to get rid of it early.” An alarm blared in my mind. This was a hospital. Brandon had drugged the milk. This was my child. How dare he make decisions for me? I tried to get up, but met the chief surgeon’s eyes. “You’re awake.” She tried to comfort me. “Just lie still. It’ll only take an hour, it’ll be over quickly.” I struggled free from her grasp, frantically grabbing a scalpel and holding it to my throat. “Where’s Brandon? I want to see him!” The nurse, seeing this, hastily opened the operating room door. Brandon rushed in. “Skylar, put it down.” “Don’t come any closer!” His raised foot hung in the air, then slowly retreated. “Okay, I won’t come closer. Just don’t do anything reckless.” Grief and helplessness welled up, choking me until every breath hurt. I couldn’t stop crying. “Brandon, I just want to keep my child! Why won’t you just let me?” He let out a laugh as if he’d heard a joke, then snapped, “Skylar, this is a bastard child anyway, what’s wrong with getting rid of it?” “Brandon, my child’s life is tied to mine.” The knife in my hand pressed closer, blood trickling down my neck. He instantly panicked. “Stop!” His voice softened. “Skylar, does it have to be this way?” “We’ll have our own children. Do you really need him to stand between us?” I chuckled, tightening my grip on the knife. He finally couldn’t hold back, cursing. “Goddamn it, what do I owe you?” “You’ll regret this.”

This was the first time Brandon had compromised. From the moment he agreed to marry me, I knew he would always prioritize my life. But I could never reconcile the two: the man who claimed to love me, and the one who couldn’t stay out of other women’s beds. Alexa’s Snapchat story updated again. There was Brandon, grinning in Monaco. Her caption read: “Love is when he crosses an ocean just to see you smile.” Just like the night of our engagement a year ago, it was another photo of her and Brandon, still not one that was appropriate for public viewing. The difference this time was that Brandon’s face was visible. His lips were on her neck – truly a perfect pair of scoundrels. Most striking was the HW ring on Alexa’s ring finger. That was the wedding diamond ring Brandon had personally designed. After the wedding, I’d casually left it on my bedside table. I casually liked the post, and immediately a message from Alexa popped up. “Ms. Thorne, I don’t need to introduce this ring, do I?” “Brandon doesn’t love you at all. Besides, you’re pregnant with a bastard.” “I advise you to leave with nothing now, at least that way your bastard child might live.” I typed out a response. “A mistress should know her place. I hope you use every trick in the book to keep him by your side.” Almost the instant the message sent, Brandon’s call came in. “Skylar, are you that happy to see your own husband sleeping in the same bed as another woman?” I scoffed. “Wasn’t CEO Adams enjoying himself when he was ‘at it’?” “Isn’t that just CEO Brandon’s everyday life?” Even over the phone, I could feel his exasperation. “Skylar, you’ve got guts.” “You better not come begging for me to come back.” With a loud crash, the call abruptly ended. If it were me a year ago, I probably would have begged him to come back. But now I no longer loved him. Who he loved, who he was intimately involved with, I no longer cared. He knew all the torment and humiliation I endured throughout high school and even college, she was behind it. Yet, he still slept with Alexa. The engagement photos were leaked online by paparazzi, and a torrent of insults poured in. “Thank God the Ice Queen didn’t marry him, I don’t know what part of her deserved our CEO.” “What? She looks so prim and proper, I thought she was a neighborhood mom, and you’re telling me she’s CEO Adams’ fiancée?” “Look at herself! How dare she compete with our Alexa?” “I bet she used some underhanded tricks to force Brandon to marry her.” “Maybe she’s ugly, but she’s wild in bed.” Alexa was a legal genius on a hit legal reality show, while I was just an insignificant elementary school teacher. She was vibrant and charming, while I was like still water, unchanging. When people want to tear you down, they’ll find fault with anything, even your breathing. I knew this truth, yet in the dead of night, I would question myself over and over. The memory of being dragged out of the hotel by bodyguards, right in front of Alexa, tormented me endlessly. I kept thinking, was I truly so ugly, so disgusting, that it drove Brandon to cheat? Those strange thoughts tortured me day and night. At my worst, buying groceries, I’d imagine the vendor screaming insults at me. If someone’s gaze lingered on me, I’d assume they were disgusted by me. I became paranoid, eventually too afraid to even leave the house. But the worst wasn’t the self-doubt; it was my love for Brandon.

Brandon was my savior when I was young. Without him, I felt like I truly couldn’t live. His scandalous news was on the trending list every day, yet he never once came looking for me. I gradually began to doubt if I was truly in the wrong, if my expectations for a partner were simply insane. Hate and love intertwined, I was practically losing my mind. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t forget Brandon, but I also couldn’t bring myself to seek him out. Unable to solve the problem, I thought of a good solution: solving myself. But in the murky river water, he pulled me back. In just six months, he took me to see desert sunsets in Arizona, climbed the challenging trails of the Rockies, and we galloped across the sprawling plains of Wyoming… We had even promised to declare our vows to the universe by the serene waters of Lake Tahoe, to walk hand in hand through this life. But because of Brandon, he died. Searching for traces of love in my memories was a cruel thing. I must have unknowingly drifted off to sleep. “Where’s Skylar?” Brandon’s voice faintly reached me. I thought it was a hallucination and pulled the covers over my head, trying to sleep again. Until the bedroom door burst open, and a man scooped me up, blocking the words in my throat. Brandon’s face loomed larger in front of me. I struggled fiercely, biting through his tongue. The metallic taste of blood spread in my mouth. But he seemed to feel no pain, relentlessly invading my space. He only let go when I was almost breathless. I gasped, scoffing, “What? Alexa not satisfying you enough?” His face was terribly grim. “Skylar, you’re a cruel woman.” He gripped my shoulders tight. “Since there’s no going back, let’s just be tangled like this.” “I’ve thought it through. As long as the end result is you, the process doesn’t matter.” “You want this child? Then have him. As long as I agree, he’ll be a legitimate Adams heir.” A self-deprecating smile touched his lips. “Without him, I’m not sure if you can live. But without you, he certainly can’t.” He squeezed my jaw. “Skylar, you’ve just handed me another leverage point to keep you shackled.” He propped himself up from the bed, and the door quickly closed. He was right. With this child, I would never leave again. In the following days, he took Alexa to various galas, gave her access to his network, and allowed their scandalous news to fly everywhere. Yet, he would unfailingly be home before ten every night. I still ate and rested well, attending my regular prenatal check-ups. I thought I had Brandon all figured out, but I overlooked the fact that he was the heir to the Adams empire, and ruthlessness was his core. I was blindfolded and gagged in the hospital hallway and abducted. When I woke up again, I was on an abandoned dock. Alexa ripped off my blindfold, a knife pressing against my slightly swollen belly. “The old Brandon probably never imagined that a woman would dare to make him a cuckold.” She slapped me across the face. A stinging pain immediately flared on my cheek. I struggled fiercely, my mind racing. “Alexa, if you dare touch me, Brandon will never let you go!” She laughed, bending over, then handed her phone to my ear. Brandon’s voice came through the receiver. “She belongs to me in life, and in death. How could I ever let her give birth to a bastard child?” My heart plummeted instantly. “You’re lying! Brandon clearly said he could accept it!” “Cute how stupid you are. What man would accept his woman giving birth to another man’s child?” “If it wasn’t Brandon’s idea, do you think I’d have the guts to kidnap you?” She gestured behind her, and two bodyguards stepped forward, pinning me to the ground. With a sickening crack, my jaw was dislocated in an instant. Alexa grabbed a bottle of pills and force-fed me the contents. Once released, I kept trying to force myself to vomit, but the pills wouldn’t come up. The gate slammed. Silence. The heavy, dragging pain in my lower abdomen grew more pronounced, and the warm gush between my legs became clearer. I dragged myself to the door, leaving a long trail of blood. The door absorbed my pounding. No answer. I never knew pain could be this total. It hurt so much, I started seeing things-the man I used to ride horses with, clear as day. But even then, I hated myself. Because the only voice left in my head was Brandon’s. A warm tear hit my cheek. He gathered me up, his whole body trembling. “Skylar. Don’t you die. I forbid it. If you dare…” But the blood kept flowing, a steady final rhythm beneath us. This time, there was no stopping it. I was dying. And for the first time, Brandon’s words had no power here.

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I disappeared from Sean Parker’s life without a word, and for five years, he believed I had walked away without a second thought. Five years behind bars, a mother lost, a life broken—I carried it all alone while he assumed I had simply betrayed him. And when I finally returned, seeing him standing beside another woman. The day Sean Parker and I agreed to move to the same city, I never showed up. He must have been furious, unable to understand why I suddenly vanished right after going home to pack. A few days later, I managed to call him. The moment he picked up, his angry voice spilled through the receiver: “Thea Brown, are you really breaking up with me out of nowhere?” I stared at the cold steel bars in front of me and forced myself to say what he needed to hear— “Yeah. I’m leaving the country to enjoy my life.” “Let’s stop contacting each other.” Five years passed. I survived by running a tiny booth in a night-market tourist street. I did manicures, sold small handmade trinkets, and prayed each night I’d make enough to cover rent. When the drizzle started that night, the woman at the stall next to mine packed up fast. “Thea, head home! It’s raining!” I shook my head. I hadn’t made a single sale all day. Leaving now felt like giving up on even the smallest hope. She tried persuading me. “Honey, this isn’t how you make a living. You haven’t eaten all day. Don’t torture yourself.” Before I could respond, two people stopped in front of my booth—a picture-perfect couple. “Hi, how much for a manicure?” the girl asked, her voice light and sweet as she browsed the designs. I lowered my head, wiped the chair clean, and introduced my services with practiced enthusiasm. “Basic designs are fifty, detailed ones a hundred. And I can include a free plush toy—I make them myself.” She didn’t even glance at them. She pointed to a trendy pattern instead. “I’ll take this. And keep the toy. I’m not into unlicensed stuff.” The man beside her opened an umbrella over her, his voice full of affection. “Still getting your nails done in this rain, huh?” I froze. Even after all these years, I would know that voice anywhere. It was Sean Parker. I stole a glance. He looked thinner, sharper somehow—handsomer, even. My heart swayed like a leaf tossed in a storm. I forced my hands steady and gently held the girl’s fingers, beginning the manicure. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sean pull up a chair, holding the umbrella over her without moving an inch. It reminded me of college—how he always tilted the umbrella toward my side whenever it rained. But that warmth no longer belonged to me. He was giving it to someone else now. “Wait, remove this,” the girl suddenly said, pulling her hand back and blowing on it lightly. My thoughts snapped back. “Is something wrong?” I asked quickly. She frowned. “Your hands feel rough. Like touching thorns. How are you even doing manicures with hands like that?” I looked down. My fingers were dry, cracked; years of sewing and hard labor had worn them down. Humiliation burned through me. Sean chuckled softly, ruffled her hair, and reached for his wallet. “Go ahead and take off the polish. Keep the money.” Then he finally looked at me. His expression froze. Anger, disbelief, resentment—all flickering across his face. The girl noticed. “What’s wrong? Do you know her?” He smiled suddenly, coldly. He pulled out several more bills and tossed them onto my table. “No. She just looks pathetic.” “Consider it charity for a beggar. Let’s go.” His words dug straight into my chest. He had recognized me. At my lowest.

But Sean Parker didn’t know—this wasn’t my lowest point. The real hell happened the day I went home to pack. I walked into my house and saw my stepfather pinning my mother to the ground, beating her mercilessly. When he saw me, he didn’t even stop. He hit harder. “You worthless bitch! Just like your daughter! You eat my food, drink my booze, but won’t serve me? I’ll beat you both to death!” My mother’s cries and his curses blurred together until my ears rang. I snapped. I rushed forward, trying to pull him off her, but he threw me across the room with one slap. My mother grabbed his leg, begging him to stop. “She’ll make money someday. Please, stop hitting her.” Mentioning money only enraged him more. He lunged at me, his hand wrapping around my throat. I thought I would die on the floor of my childhood home. Somehow, my fingers found a fruit knife. I stabbed him in the chest before I could think. At twenty, I became a killer. While waiting for sentencing, I made one last call to Sean. He demanded to know why I was treating him so coldly. I wiped my tears, steadied my voice, and lied. “In a few days, I’m going abroad to enjoy life.” “Only an idiot would stay with someone as poor as you.” His voice broke. And then he was gone. I was sentenced to five years for manslaughter. A week later, my mother hanged herself. From that day on, I lost both her and my freedom. I regretted everything—but it was too late. Sean Parker was extraordinary. And I was ruined beyond repair. After prison, no company would hire me. I finally became a food delivery driver, but when they learned about my record, the boss kicked me out. Who would have imagined that a top university graduate wasn’t even qualified to deliver food? So I relied on the small skills I learned in prison, working endlessly just to survive. The money Sean threw at me earlier was nearly a month’s income. But I didn’t want it. That money hurt worse than a slap. That night, I received a call from my college roommate, Claire White—the only friend I kept after prison. “Thea, I invited Sean to my wedding next month. My dad works with him now. It wasn’t my choice.” “But you have to come. We promised each other back in college.” I stared at the money I hadn’t even had the chance to return and said steadily: “It’s fine. I have something to give back to him anyway.” Once I return it, maybe I can finally let go.

Claire’s wedding was held at her father’s hotel. It was my first time back in this city in over five years. Even after six months back in society, crowded places still made my chest tighten. “Thea, don’t be so tense,” Claire said, patting my shoulder. I gave a dry smile, gesturing for her to focus on her duties. Guests began taking their seats. My whole table was filled with college classmates, yet no one recognized me. Then Sean Parker arrived, hand-in-hand with that pretty girl from before, stirring attention before even sitting. “Well, well, looks like Mr. Parker is about to tie the knot soon,” someone whispered. He didn’t hide it. Holding her hand openly, he glanced my way and nodded: “That’s right. When Sophie and I get married, you all have to come toast us.” Sophie. That was her name. I lowered my gaze, wishing I could sink into the floor. I tried to make myself invisible—but Sophie noticed me. “Hey~ Aren’t you the girl who did my nails the other day?” All heads turned toward me. Finally, someone recognized me: “You… Thea Brown? Is that really you?” I nodded slightly, still avoiding eye contact. “That’s really you! How did you end up like this? You were so beautiful… now you look malnourished!” I forced a weak smile. Some of Sean’s friends took cheap shots: “Miss Lin, karma sure caught up with you. We hadn’t heard a peep—thought you died in the pandemic.” I tolerated it. Compared to prison abuse, this was nothing. Besides, it was Claire’s wedding—I wouldn’t let her day be ruined. During the meal, I focused on my food. Sean sneered, serving Sophie while throwing a barb: “Not used to Chinese food after being abroad for so long, Miss Lin?” I finished my last bite numbly, setting down my chopsticks. “Please, enjoy your meal everyone. I have to leave early.” I scanned the table. Full of people, yet no eyes met mine. I left hurriedly, missing the chance to say goodbye to Claire or return Sean’s money. Outside, someone blocked my path. Sean Parker had somehow beaten me there. Without a word, he pulled me into a secluded corner, storm-dark expression in place. “Thea Brown, what’s your game? Didn’t you say you were going abroad to live the good life? Why are you back?” I stared at him, speechless. “They’re right. This is karma for abandoning me.” “Jealous? I’m rich and successful now, with a beautiful, loving girlfriend.” “She won’t leave me. You’re the one who’s been abandoned!” His words hit like an avalanche, crushing the air from my lungs. At that moment, Claire came running, panting: “Sean Parker, what—do you know that Thea—” “Claire!” I cut her off, shoving the money into Sean’s hand and pulling her away. I didn’t want him to know. Better buried inside forever.

That night, Claire called me. “Thea, stop hiding in that little tourist area. Come work at my dad’s hotel.” I felt dazed. “Is that… appropriate? Won’t I cause trouble?” She waved it off. “It’s fine. Just temporary room service. You won’t be in public much, and it pays better than selling plush toys.” I decided to try. On my third day, someone booked the main hall for a birthday. Originally, I had nothing to do with it, but the manager called me to serve drinks. When I reached the hall, I realized—it was Sean Parker’s birthday. I had completely forgotten. College classmates were there, along with his city friends. I searched for Claire, hoping to avoid showing my face. “What are you staring at? I didn’t call you down to gawk!” the supervisor barked, shoving a tray of drinks into my hands. “Main table is waiting—hurry!” I had no choice. Pushed into the crowd, I wandered like a zombie carrying the tray. Then Sophie bumped my arm. The tray wobbled, toppled—glasses shattered, alcohol splashing onto her heels and dress. “Ah! What’s wrong with you? Are you blind?” “I’m… sorry,” I muttered, scrambling to clean the shards. Sophie’s anger flared. “Apologizing won’t fix this! Do you know how much these shoes cost? Clean them properly!” I glanced at Sean—he frowned slightly but remained silent. No intervention. I understood. I crouched, wiping her shoes, all eyes on me. Then came her cold, deliberate laughter. “Ladies and gentlemen, do you know her? Want to know where she’s been all these years?” My mind went blank. She was doing this on purpose. “It’s Thea Brown, right? Shall I tell everyone where she disappeared?” Sophie had investigated me, determined to expose me. The crowd stirred like flies. I looked up, meeting her smug gaze, feeling cornered. No hiding. “No need for your help. I’ll tell everyone myself.” “A few years ago, I accidentally killed someone. I disappeared because I served time in prison.” This honesty wasn’t for anyone else—it was for me. I just wanted a decent life. Sean Parker shot to his feet, eyes blazing. “What did you say?” Sean Parker shot to his feet, staring at me in disbelief, his eyes blazing. “What?!” Everyone looked at each other in shock, whispering amongst themselves. Sean Parker stood frozen in place, staring at me as if trying to absorb me with his gaze.

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Gabe’s parents praised his public lover as their future daughter-in-law, and called me their “goddaughter,”. When I questioned the humiliation, Gabe defended them, told me to “learn from Serena.” That was the moment I understood: in this family, my dignity was never worth anything to them. So I wiped the burn, looked him in the eye, and delivered the only line he never saw coming— “If she’s the one you value, then let her be your wife. I’m done.” Before our marriage, I signed a prenuptial confidentiality agreement, agreeing to remain the hidden wife of an Academy Award Winner. If I ever initiated a divorce, I’d walk away with only $18.80 in compensation. For three years of marriage, I’ve watched him flaunt his so-called “Publicity Stunt Pairing” with that colleague. They’ve traveled together, attended events as a couple, and even been photographed entering private hotels arm in arm. Meanwhile, as his “perfect housewife,” I’ve been stuck caring for his bedridden parents and working as his assistant—washing his clothes, cooking his meals, and putting up with his excuses. I didn’t realize how far this charade would go until one night, when his “Shining Star” called, whining about fans begging them to marry. “When are you going to make me your wife?” she pouted. He replied softly, “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll give you the wedding of the century soon. Promise.” The cold wind sweeping in from the balcony carried the sound of Gabe Whitmore’s voice. His words made my body stiffen under the blankets, my throat tightening until I could barely breathe. On the other end of the call, Serena Sterling’s tearful plea was unmistakable. “Gabe, everyone’s looking forward to our wedding. I can’t wait anymore. Please, hurry up and marry me!” Standing on the balcony, his features softened under the dim light as he coaxed her like she was made of glass. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I won’t let you down.” Even in the dead of night, being interrupted didn’t bother him. Talking to his delicate “White Moonlight” seemed to be a labor of love. When Gabe returned to the bedroom, there was still a trace of a smile in his eyes. But the moment he saw me sitting on the edge of the bed, his expression darkened. “Alexis, what are you doing sitting there in the middle of the night? Are you trying to scare me to death?” I swallowed my bitterness and forced a smile. “What about you? How does it feel, sweet-talking your lover at this hour?” “Lover? Don’t be ridiculous,” Gabe snapped, irritation flickering in his eyes. “What I have with Serena is strictly for the fans. Don’t disrespect her with such vile accusations.” The audacity of his response made my voice tremble. “Disrespect? Tell me, Gabe, what respectable ‘colleague couple’ in the industry plans a wedding?” His jaw clenched, and he averted his gaze. “You heard that?” Rubbing the back of his neck, he muttered, “I don’t have a choice. The fans demand it. Serena and I have fans all over the world. If we don’t finish the act, it’d be a slap in the face to her efforts.” “Efforts?” My chest tightened with sharp, numbing pain. My body trembled as though it had a mind of its own. For three years, I had to watch the world treat them as the perfect couple. I had to watch them flaunt their love in front of cameras, smiling, holding hands. All while I, Gabe Whitmore’s real wife, was kept hidden like some dirty little secret. Yet he felt guilty about letting Serena down? What about me? What about the years I spent swallowing my pride and staying silent? “Alexis,” Gabe began, his tone turning righteous, “this is my career. You know that. Just bear with it a little longer, okay? Everything I do is for the job.” He always justified it this way. Every scripted kiss, every public display of affection—it was all “work.” For a long time, I believed him. Until a friend sent me pictures of him and Serena entering a private hotel suite together just two nights ago. Now, his “work” involved planning a wedding so grand it would shock the world. Meanwhile, when we married, there wasn’t even a ceremony. My voice cracked as I struggled to speak. “Gabe, Serena is just a colleague, right? You’re giving her the wedding of the century. What about me? I’m your wife. Did I ever get a wedding?” When we tied the knot, Gabe was still a struggling extra, scraping by on bit parts. His parents were so paranoid I was only marrying him for his money that they treated me with disdain from the start. To ease their fears, I signed that ridiculous confidentiality agreement, even agreeing not to have a wedding. Gabe swore to my parents, “Once I’ve made it big, I’ll give Alexis the wedding she deserves.” But even after he became an Academy Award Winner, he never brought it up again. The one time I hinted that we could have a small ceremony with just family, he waved it off, saying, “Work’s too busy. Maybe later.” But now? Serena’s single phone call was all it took for him to agree. I must’ve seemed unreasonable to him because his tone grew sharp with irritation. “Alexis, I’ve explained this a thousand times. Why can’t you understand? Serena and I are a global sensation. I can’t just walk away.” “Can’t you wait a little longer?” I didn’t answer. The night stretched on, cold and cutting. Looking at the impatience on his face, I suddenly realized how exhausted I was. I didn’t want to wait anymore.

“Alexis, Serena and I have a plan,” Gabe said, his voice coaxing as if he were talking to a child. “We’ll announce a peaceful breakup after the wedding. At most, another year, and I’ll tell the world you’re my wife.” “This is all for us—for our future. Can’t you see that?” The sheer absurdity of his words made me laugh. I was already his wife, in name and in law. But here I was, hidden in the shadows, waiting for my husband to “give” me what was already mine. Meanwhile, for Serena, he made everything easy. When they first began their “Publicity Stunt Pairing,” she was just a rookie actress. The backlash from his fans was immediate, with waves of online harassment aimed at her. So Gabe played the role of the protective boyfriend, suing anyone who dared insult her. At a gala, when reporters pried into their relationship, he didn’t even deny it. Instead, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her in front of the flashing cameras. The room erupted with applause. And me? I was sitting in the audience, watching my husband kiss another woman, disguised as his assistant. He later explained it away as part of the script, something the company had arranged. But the “script” became their lives. Public outings, shared vacations, even private gatherings with friends—they were inseparable. He didn’t even bother bringing me along anymore. Eventually, even our mutual friends believed they were perfect for each other. Tears burned in my eyes, but Gabe brushed them aside with his typical indifference. “Don’t listen to them, Alexis. You’re my wife. What others think doesn’t matter.” Then, as if to prove his devotion, he leaned in to kiss my forehead, gazing at me with those deep, expressive eyes that had fooled me countless times before. But this time, I didn’t budge. “Let’s sleep,” I said, pulling the blanket over my head. I felt him hesitate. Then, he sighed and lay beside me, draping an arm around me. The cold glint of our wedding rings briefly caught the dim light before fading back into darkness. It was only then that I truly realized how far I had fallen.

The next morning, as I was waking up, Gabe Whitmore called. “Don’t let your temper stop you from visiting the nursing home today to look after my parents,” he said bluntly. Gabe prided himself on being a dutiful son. Even though Gerald and Dolores Whitmore were living in the best care facility money could buy, his mantra was, “Children should personally care for their parents.” “Okay,” I replied dully and hung up. Then, like clockwork, I headed to Golden Horizon Care Center. As I stepped into the room with a pot of freshly made chicken soup, Dolores’s voice rang out, giddy with pride. “Oh, Natalie, isn’t Serena just stunning? She’ll be my daughter-in-law soon!” She gestured at the television where Serena Sterling’s face filled the screen. The young nurse, Natalie Parker, lit up with excitement. “They’re really getting married?” “Of course!” Gerald and Dolores replied in unison, beaming. My steps faltered. A sharp pang shot through my chest, but I swallowed the bitterness and spoke softly, “Dad, Mom.” The moment my voice registered, their smiles vanished, replaced by cold indifference. Natalie turned to me, confused. “And this lady who’s here every day is…?” “She’s our goddaughter,” Dolores interrupted without missing a beat. Natalie nodded, her misunderstanding cemented. “Wow, I’m so jealous! You’re so lucky to be part of Gabe’s family. Must be amazing to be his sister!” I forced a stiff smile but felt no joy. When Natalie left, Dolores’s tone turned sharp. “Alexis, must you sneak in here unannounced? Trying to scare us to death?” I held back my frustration. “You looked so happy chatting. I didn’t want to interrupt.” Setting the chicken soup on the table, I said, “I made this for you. Please give it a try.” The moment Gerald lifted the bowl to his nose, he sneered and threw it onto the floor. Scalding liquid splashed onto my hand, making me flinch in pain as tears stung my eyes. “What is this? It tastes awful! Alexis, you can’t even cook properly. What good are you?” Dolores scoffed. “I’ll make it again,” I murmured, suppressing my anger while cleaning the mess. A crushing sense of futility enveloped me. Three years of unyielding devotion felt utterly wasted. After finishing their massages, I prepared to leave but decided to ask one last question, holding onto a sliver of hope. “Did you know? Gabe’s planning a wedding with Serena.” “Really?” Dolores’s face lit up, her excitement matching Gerald’s. “That’s wonderful!” they exclaimed, nearly bursting with joy. I expected the blow, but the ache still seeped into my chest. “But I’m his wife,” I whispered, forcing a smile. Gerald’s face twisted into a sneer. “Don’t push your luck. We never wanted you to marry him in the first place. You’ve been sucking him dry for years. You should know when to let go.” Dolores chimed in, her voice dripping with disdain. “Exactly. Stop clinging to Gabe like some parasite.” Parasite? I shouldn’t have been surprised by their cruelty, but hearing it out loud sent a tremor through my body. For three years, I had never asked Gabe for a dime, nor had he spent anything on me. I paid for my own expenses and cared for his parents selflessly. And yet, this was the label I earned. It hit me then. Gabe’s cold heart wasn’t a fluke—it was inherited. Three years of devotion couldn’t thaw them, nor could it change him. As their scolding and demands to fetch a bedpan continued, I turned on my heel and walked out without a word. Outside, the sun was starting to break through the clouds. I took a deep breath and made a call. “Hello? Do you have time? …I’ve made my decision.”

When I returned home, the living room lights were already on. Gabe was sitting on the couch, radiating anger. Before I could speak, he leaped up and stormed toward me, his voice rising. “What the hell was that, Alexis? I’ve been trying to make peace, and you show up at my parents’ place just to throw a tantrum?” I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity. “I made them soup, Gabe. They didn’t even taste it before throwing it on the floor. They have an entire staff of caregivers, yet they still expect me to clean up after them.” “As your wife, I don’t even rank as high as a housekeeper.” Gabe frowned, exasperated. “They’re old, Alexis. They’re bound to be emotional. They trust you, that’s why they rely on you.” “Trust me?” I spat, disgusted. “They trust you the most. So why don’t you handle your own parents’ bodily fluids?” In three years, Gabe had barely visited the nursing home. His excuse? Work kept him too busy. The truth? He couldn’t stomach the indignity of his parents’ failing health, so he passed the responsibility onto me. And because I loved him, I accepted it. But my sacrifices were taken for granted. “How dare you talk to me like that?” Gabe snarled, his temper boiling over. He slammed the coffee table so hard that the pot of boiling water spilled. The scalding liquid seared my hand, leaving a large, blistering welt. My body trembled from the searing pain. “Maybe now you’ll learn to keep quiet,” Gabe said, satisfaction flickering in his eyes as he loomed closer. “Can’t you learn something from Serena? She’s gentle, understanding. Why can’t you stop picking fights?” Every sentence dripped with Serena’s name. Always Serena. Clenching my jaw, I stood despite the pain and laughed bitterly. “If you love Serena so much, then marry her.” “Alexis!” Gabe’s face turned crimson, his voice shaking with rage. “Say that again, and I’ll divorce you.” This was exactly what I had been waiting for. Meeting his gaze, I responded firmly, “Good. Let’s get a divorce.” For a moment, he froze, his expression a mix of disbelief and anger. “You’re serious?” he asked hoarsely. “Yes.” His reaction grew frantic. “Alexis, are you insane? You know the agreement. If you’re the one to file for divorce, you’ll only get $18.80.” That clause had always been his safety net. It never occurred to him that I might leave. Without hesitation, I pulled out my phone and held up my payment app. “Send me $18.80, and I’ll sign the papers right now. I’ll even throw in a parting gift.” Gabe’s face went ghostly pale. Gabe Whitmore never imagined that AAlexisndra “Alexis” Hawthorne, his once-docile and compliant wife, would one day stand so resolutely on the path to divorce. As he looked into her furious eyes, a strange ache pierced his chest, numbing him. He forced himself to calm down and think.

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