Category: English

My back screamed with a throbbing ache shooting down my spine. Penniless, I asked each of my three sons for twenty dollars—just enough for pain relief patches. I never imagined those twenty dollars would make my daughters-in-law declare war. Jessica, my eldest’s wife, wrecked my living room. Brenda, the second, hurled curses at me. Jerry, the youngest’s wife, sobbed and threatened divorce. All accused me of favoritism, each convinced her husband shouldn’t have given me the money. A chill seeped into my bones. My 1,500 monthly social security check was split evenly—500 to each—every time. I gave them my life: babysitting, cleaning their homes, running a food stall at night. The stall’s Venmo? Rotated daily among them. Every cent I earned went to their pockets. But this time, I’d had enough. Silently, I booked a one-way bus ticket home. … Jessica stormed into my house like a hurricane, her face a mask of fury. She jabbed a finger at me, her voice shrill. “What is this act, Eleanor? Asking your son for twenty dollars? Don’t play the victim with me! You’re just trying to make me look bad. I don’t believe for a second you don’t have twenty bucks to your name! This is just another one of your little games, always favoring the other two. The second you need something, you come crawling to us. What, do we owe you?” Jessica had a temper like a lit firecracker, and for years, my eldest son, Mark, had bent to her every whim. He tried to placate her, stepping between us. “Jess, come on, don’t make a scene. It was twenty dollars. What’s the big deal if I give my own mother twenty dollars?” That only enraged her further. Her eyes widened, and she snatched the fruit bowl from the coffee table, smashing it on the floor. “What’s the big deal? What’s the big deal?” she shrieked. She pointed a trembling finger at the scattered organic Honeycrisp apples. “Do you know how much these cost? Eight dollars a pound! She can afford to buy fancy apples, but she can’t scrape together twenty dollars for a box of painkillers? This isn’t about the money, Mark! It’s about sending a message! She’s telling you that I, your wife, am a monster who mistreats her!” She was working herself into a frenzy. “And she didn’t just ask you! She asked David and Leo, too! She gives us her piddling five hundred dollars a month and then manipulates her sons into giving it right back. She gets to look like a saint while we look like ungrateful bitches. You think I’m stupid? You think I’m the easy one to bully?” The more she spoke, the more agitated she became. She grabbed a chair and brought it down on the television, the screen spiderwebbing with a sickening crack. She moved on to the tables, the windows, smashing everything in her path, her screams echoing in the small house. “You want to bully me? I’ll show you! My mother didn’t raise me to be your doormat! You want to play favorites? Fine! Your precious youngest is the golden child, and your eldest is just dirt under your feet! Well, if I can’t be happy, you sure as hell won’t be either!” Mark turned to me, his face a portrait of frustration. “Mom, why? Why did you have to ask me for money? You knew this would happen. It’s like you wanted us to fight!” I tried to explain, my voice barely a whisper over the ringing in my ears. “The apples were a gift. Maria, from the stall next to mine, her family grows them. She gave me a few, and I was going to divide them evenly among the kids.” I pulled out my phone, showing them the text messages. “I asked all three of you for the same amount because I was trying to be fair. I didn’t want anyone to feel singled out.” I thought that would calm her, but Jessica just let out a cold, sharp laugh. Her words were laced with venom. “Oh, the devil was an angel before he fell. You’re a real piece of work, Eleanor. On the surface, you’re the generous mother-in-law, giving away your whole pension. But behind our backs, you’re secretly taking it all back from your sons. You get the good reputation, and the money ends up right back in your pocket. You’re a damn genius.” I was about to protest, to tell them that I genuinely didn’t have a single dollar on me, that the pain in my back was so blinding I had to do something. But just then, the front door burst open again. It was Brenda and Jerry, with my other two sons in tow. They didn’t bother with greetings, just launched straight into a tirade. Brenda, my second daughter-in-law, pointed a finger right at my nose. “What the hell is wrong with you? God, I must have been cursed the day I married into this family! Are you that desperate for twenty bucks? You’re always fawning over the oldest or the youngest. What about us in the middle? We’re just chopped liver to you! You old hag, you treat me like this now? You just wait. When you’re on your deathbed, I won’t lift a finger. You can rot for all I care!” That set Jerry off. She started sobbing dramatically. “Mom, when have you ever favored us? Just because Leo is the youngest, they always accuse you of spoiling him, but you never do! If anything, you favor them! You make a pot of stew, and their kids get all the meat while mine gets the bony scraps! I can’t do this anymore! I want a divorce! Whoever wants to live in this hellhole can have it!” With a wail, Jerry ran out of the house. Leo, my youngest, chased after her, calling her name. David, my middle son, wrapped his arms around a fuming Brenda, murmuring apologies. “I’m so sorry, honey. You shouldn’t have to go through this. I’m so sorry…” My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. From the time they were little boys, I had drilled one lesson into my sons: respect women. When you get married, your wife comes first. You listen to her. You cherish her. I taught them this because my own marriage had been a bitter pill I was forced to swallow every day. My husband was a cold, distant man who barely acknowledged my existence before he finally ran off with another woman, leaving me to fend for myself and our boys. I had to be both mother and father, the foundation that held our fragile world together. I never wanted my sons to inflict that kind of casual cruelty on their own wives. And now, looking at them, I saw that my lesson had stuck. They were nothing like their father. But in my quest to save their wives from my fate, I had damned myself to a life of ever-deepening misery. After the storm passed and my three daughters-in-law had left, I stood alone in the wreckage of my home. Shards of glass glittered on the floor like cruel diamonds. My heart didn’t just ache; it bled, drop by painful drop. I had tried, I truly had, to be a good mother-in-law. I was fair. I was just. I watched all their children, did all their housework. Every dollar I scraped together from my pension and my food stall, I divided equally among them. I bought them houses—three identical starter homes in the same subdivision, putting down every penny I had for the down payments. All they had to do was cover the mortgage. My life was a relentless cycle. One day at Mark’s house, cleaning. The next at David’s. Then Leo’s. I picked up the grandchildren from school, made them dinner, and then headed to the market to work my stall from 8 p.m. until 1 a.m. I survived on three, maybe four hours of sleep a night. I was a spinning top, constantly in motion, never allowed to rest. I sat there for hours, surrounded by the chaos, the silence deafening. Then, with a clarity that felt both terrifying and liberating, I confirmed my bus ticket for three days’ time. The next day, the calls started. One by one, my sons phoned, their voices edged with complaint. “Mom, where are you? You didn’t pick up the kids from school.” “Mom, what’s going on? Lily was late for school today, which made me late for work. This is messing everything up.” “Mom, stop sulking. If you want this family to function, you need to pull yourself together and focus on the kids.” A tiny, foolish part of me still held out hope. They were my flesh and blood. Surely, they cared about me, somewhere deep down. I tried one last time. “My back is in agony,” I said, my voice thin. “I can barely walk. I saw an old chiropractor, and he said I need to stay in bed for a couple of months. If I don’t, it could get serious.” Mark’s reply was dismissive. “Mom, every adult’s back hurts. It’s a minor thing, nothing to worry about. Don’t work yourself up.” This, from the same son who, just last month, had spent a hundred dollars on an imported back brace for his own mother-in-law. David was no better. “You bought those pain patches, right? You’ll be fine in a couple of days. It’s not like you do any heavy lifting, just watching the kids.” Leo, my youngest, was the cruelest of all. “Mom, you’re being scammed. That ‘old chiropractor’ is just trying to bleed you dry. How much money do you have left? You should transfer it to me. I’ll keep it safe for you so you don’t get tricked out of it.” That was it. The last flicker of hope died, leaving nothing but cold, hard ash. I had no expectations left for my three sons. That evening, as I lay in bed, the pain a hot poker in my spine, there was a soft knock on my door. It was Lily, my nine-year-old granddaughter, Jessica and Mark’s daughter. I had raised her since the day she was born. She crept into the room. “Grandma,” she said softly, “Mom’s really mad you didn’t go to the market tonight. She wants you to go.” “I can’t, sweetie,” I told her. “Grandma’s back hurts too much.” Lily sighed, her young face filled with a sympathy far beyond her years. “I know. I told her your back was bad. But she said this month has 31 days, so it’s her turn to get an extra day of the stall money. She said Aunt Brenda and Aunt Jerry got the extra day the last two times, so it’s not fair. You have to go, or she’ll lose out.” I’d been running that little food stall for thirty years. It was that stall, along with my salary, that had put a roof over their heads, paid for their weddings, and supported their families. After they married, Jessica was the first one to get her hooks into it. She’d secretly taped her own Venmo QR code over mine on the cart, pleading that her family had an emergency and she needed cash fast. I couldn’t say no. But to be fair, I let Brenda and Jerry do the same for a few days. Once they got a taste of that easy money, there was no going back. They devised a system: a daily rotation of their payment accounts on my cart. When I pointed out I’d have no money to buy supplies, they’d waved it off. “Don’t worry, Mom, we’ll cover the costs, split it three ways. You just do the cooking and selling.” They had been so sweet then. “You’re so good to us, Mom,” they’d cooed. “When you’re old, we’ll take care of you just like you were our own mother.” But the more I gave, the more they demanded. Lily’s voice pulled me back to the present. She squeezed my hand, mumbling, “Why does this month have to have 31 days? Why couldn’t it just be 30?” Just then, Jessica appeared in the doorway, her face like a thundercloud. Seeing me in bed only made it darker. “Well, Lily’s grandmother,” she said, her voice dripping with ice. “What is the meaning of this?” I met her gaze, my own face a cold, blank mask. “There is no meaning.” Jessica’s face flushed a blotchy red. The verbal machine gun started up again. “You talk and talk about being fair, but what do you call this? It’s my turn to get the extra day’s earnings, and suddenly you’re too ‘sick’ to work! If it was Brenda’s turn, or Jerry’s, you’d crawl to that stall on your hands and knees if you had to! You play these games, you show your favoritism, and you think there won’t be consequences? Fine. You want to make a point? So will I. If you don’t go to that stall tonight, you can forget about us ever taking care of you when you’re old and useless!” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “I can’t even count on you now. What makes you think I’d ever count on you in the future?” Jessica froze, stunned that I had talked back. She stomped her foot.

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After the miscarriage, I walked down the sterile hospital corridor and accidentally overheard my husband, Toby, speaking to the doctor. “Find an opportunity to drug my wife,” he said, his voice a low, cold command. “Then I want her uterus removed. I want to make sure she can never get pregnant again.” A moment later, he placed a gentle hand on another woman’s stomach. “Design the best possible prenatal care plan for her. I want her child to be the heir to Lockwood Industries.” I recognized the woman. Skylar. A popular streamer from Toby’s company. Then he added a final, chilling instruction to the doctor. “And one more thing. Make sure my wife has a perfect recovery. If she suffers any long-term complications from this surgery, none of you will have a job.” My heart stuttered in my chest. I couldn’t believe it. Toby, the man who had always worshipped the ground I walked on, was cheating on me. And so, I left a signed divorce agreement on the table and walked away, leaving them to their perfect love story… 1 The walk back to my room was a blur. My mind was a broken record, playing that horrifying scene on a loop. My husband, the man who treated me like a precious jewel, who loved me to the bone, was having an affair and had just ordered a surgeon to mutilate my body. And he knew. He knew that more than anything in this world, I wanted a child. A young nurse passing by gave me an envious smile. “Your husband is just the best,” she gushed. “He booked this entire floor just so you could rest without being disturbed. He hired a private nursing staff to look after you around the clock. And even with all that, he refuses to leave your side for a second. Talk about being head over heels in love.” Another nurse chimed in. “His eyes were swollen shut from crying when you were brought in. I’ve never seen a man care so much. I heard they were college sweethearts, and he moved his entire family’s business empire to this city just to marry her. He even put his fortune in her name.” If I had heard this yesterday, I would have felt like the luckiest woman alive. Now, it felt like I’d swallowed ash. Just then, Toby’s furious voice erupted from my room down the hall. “A bunch of useless idiots! You can’t even watch one person! If anything happens to Christy, I’ll kill every single one of you!” Toby rarely lost his temper. The last time was when I was diagnosed with a rare illness that no hospital seemed able to cure. He’d been so frantic he’d nearly torn the hospital apart, even vowing he’d die with me if they couldn’t save me. I watched the veins bulge on his forehead, but this time, his rage didn’t touch my heart. “Toby,” I said calmly. “I’m right here.” His head snapped toward me, and his eyes lit up. He rushed over, pulling me into his arms. “Christy, where did you go? You didn’t tell anyone. I thought something had happened to you.” His voice trembled with what sounded like genuine fear. There was no trace of falsehood in it. I subtly pushed him away. “It was stuffy in the room. I just went out for some air.” He breathed a sigh of relief, though his grip on my hand remained tight. He then took a bowl of dark, bitter-smelling liquid from a nurse and brought it to my lips with a tender smile. “Darling, it’s time for your medicine.” I stared at the brown concoction, a chill running down my spine as the scene I’d just witnessed flashed through my mind. “It’s too bitter. I don’t want to drink it.” Toby had never, ever denied me anything. But this time, he was strangely insistent. “You won’t get better if you don’t take it. And you won’t be able to have our baby. Don’t you want to give me a child?” He knew the baby was my weak spot. He was certain that dangling it in front of me would make me obey. But I didn’t trust him anymore. I slapped the bowl out of his hand. “I said, I’m not drinking it.” Toby’s gentle expression froze, and a flicker of annoyance crossed his eyes. I thought I had won, that I had escaped. But in the next second, the world went black. When I woke up, it was morning. A terrible premonition washed over me. I threw back the covers. There it was. A fresh surgical scar sliced across my lower abdomen. My world came crashing down. I wanted to scream at him, to demand an explanation, but he was already speaking, his voice full of concern. “Darling, you fainted last night. The doctors ran some tests and… they found cancerous cells in your uterus. I had them remove it immediately.” As if anticipating my disbelief, he produced a pathology report. And there it was, in black and white: uterine cancer. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would have fallen for his lie. I stared at the hideous scar, my heart feeling like it had been ripped in two. There was nothing left but a vast, empty despair. Toby pulled me into a hug, his voice soft with sympathy. “Christy, I know how much you wanted a child, but your health is what matters most. I can’t lose you. We can always adopt, darling. It’ll be okay.” 2 I opened my mouth to speak, but the door swung open and Skylar walked in, carrying a basket of fruit. “So sorry to interrupt,” she said with a bright, professional smile. “I’m here on behalf of the company to wish Mrs. Lockwood a speedy recovery.” Skylar was the new star streamer for Lockwood Entertainment. She was gorgeous, with a perfect figure and a captivating personality that earned the company millions with every broadcast. No wonder Toby was taken with her. Toby’s expression didn’t change. He gave Skylar a curt nod before turning his full attention back to me. But I knew that beneath the calm surface, a storm was raging. I turned my back to them, burying my face in the pillow. “I’m tired,” I mumbled. “I want to rest.” I expected Skylar to leave, but she stayed, taking a seat and keeping a silent vigil with Toby. He sat on the edge of the bed, gently massaging my legs, the picture of a doting husband. Skylar sat quietly nearby, a model of decorum. It was a scene of perfect domestic harmony. But no one could see what was happening beneath the sheets. No one could see Skylar’s leg, slyly, rhythmically, brushing against Toby’s. He didn’t pull away. He let her, his face a mask of placid concern. Only when her movements became more brazen did he reach down and place a firm hand on her thigh, a silent command to stop. But Skylar wasn’t deterred. She moved behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and nuzzling against his back like a cat. Toby’s eyes flicked to me. He checked my breathing, saw my closed eyes, and assumed I was asleep. Emboldened, he spun around, pushed Skylar against the nearby table, and kissed her, his hand gripping her throat. He broke away quickly, his eyes cold, a warning for her to behave. She met his gaze without fear and wound herself around him again. Toby’s resolve crumbled. After one last glance at me, he took her hand and led her out of the room. The moment the door clicked shut, I opened my eyes. Toby would never know that every single one of their sordid movements was perfectly reflected in the glass partition, playing out for me like a silent, horrifying movie. I slipped out of bed and followed them to a secluded corner of the hallway. Hiding behind a pillar, I peeked out. Toby had Skylar pinned against the wall, his hand once again at her throat. “I warned you to behave in front of Christy,” he hissed, his voice laced with fury. Skylar wasn’t afraid. She rubbed against his arm coquettishly. “That’s only because you’ve been spending all your time with her. The baby misses you.” She hooked her arms around his neck, her voice a seductive purr. “Toby, darling, haven’t you always wanted to try it somewhere… adventurous? Let’s do it here. There are no cameras on this floor, and your wife is fast asleep. No one will ever find out.” Before he could answer, she stood on her toes and pressed her lips to his. Toby froze for a second, then his hands went to the back of her head, deepening the kiss with a raw hunger. “Toby, be gentle,” she whispered against his lips. “I’m worried about the baby…” “Shut up,” he growled. “I know what I’m doing.” I couldn’t watch anymore. I fled, their moans and whispers chasing me down the hall. My heart felt like it was being physically torn apart, a pain so sharp it stole my breath. The man who swore he would only ever love me, who promised to cherish me for a lifetime, was having a secret, sordid affair. A wave of shame so powerful it threatened to drown me washed over me. My legs gave out, and I crumpled to the floor in a pathetic, laughable heap. 3 A passing nurse saw me and rushed over to help. Seeing the tears streaming down my face, she assumed I’d hurt myself in the fall. “Oh, Mrs. Lockwood, please don’t cry,” she said, her voice full of sympathy. “Mr. Lockwood would be devastated if he saw you like this.” Looking at her concerned face, I could no longer contain my grief. The sobs wracked my body until I was empty and exhausted. I finally managed to drag myself back to my room and fall into a fitful sleep. When I woke up, Toby wasn’t back yet, but Skylar was standing at the foot of my bed, her face a mask of contempt. The polite deference was gone. “You saw everything, didn’t you?” she sneered. “He loves me. And I’m carrying his child.” My hands clenched into fists at my sides. “How long?” I whispered, my voice trembling. Skylar held up three fingers, her smile triumphant. “Three years. He met me at a business dinner and fell for me instantly. We spent the whole first night together. When he went home, he felt so guilty that he transferred his entire fortune into your name. All of that was supposed to be for me and my baby. You’re the one who stole it from us.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, fighting the urge to lunge at her. Seeing my restraint, she grew bolder. “You think he really loves you? Every single night, after you fall asleep, he comes to me. Even now that I’m pregnant, he can’t get enough. And just so you know, the day you had your miscarriage? He wasn’t at a ‘business dinner.’ He was in my bed. He can’t live without me now. If you have any sense, you’ll divorce him and get out of the way.” Her words hit me like a physical blow. I remembered that day. The pain had been so intense I’d passed out multiple times. I was losing so much blood. The doctor had called Toby ten times, but he never answered. Eventually, his phone was just off. When he finally came back the next day, he knelt by my bed for hours, telling me he was at a crucial meeting, hating himself for not being there, slapping his own face in punishment. While I was dying, he was with her. The last flicker of hope I had cherished died in that moment, leaving only cold, dead ash in its place. Skylar saw the defeat in my eyes and her smile widened. “He’s throwing me a wedding tomorrow,” she declared, her hands on her hips. “It’s going to be even grander than yours was. Make sure you come.” With that, she strutted out of the room like a victorious hen. A sharp pain shot through my chest, and the world went dark again. When I came to, it was the next morning. Toby was by my side, his eyes red and swollen. He pulled me into a fierce hug, his voice choked with emotion. “Christy, you’re finally awake. You scared the hell out of me.” The image of him with Skylar in the hallway flashed in my mind. A wave of nausea rolled over me, and I pushed him away. “I’m fine.” Toby froze, a look of hurt in his eyes. I looked at his tear-filled face and finally asked the question that had been weighing on my heart for days. “Do you remember what I told you before we got married?” I had told him that if he ever fell in love with someone else, he had to tell me. I would step aside. But if he lied, if he deceived me, I would disappear from his life forever. He nodded without hesitation. “Of course I do. Why are you suddenly asking about this? Did I do something to upset you?” He stood up, his expression serious, and turned to the nurses behind him. “Get me a list of every woman I’ve had contact with recently. Bring them all here. Now.” A short while later, my room was filled with more than a dozen women—nurses, maids, and among them, Skylar. She stood with one hand on her belly, her eyes full of triumphant mockery. Toby stood with his hands clasped behind his back. “Tell my wife,” he commanded, his voice sharp, “exactly what contact you’ve had with me. Be specific.” One by one, they reported. “Ma’am, the last time I spoke with Mr. Lockwood was to submit your new dietary plan.” “Ma’am, he only called me to bring your aromatherapy diffuser from the house.” “Ma’am, he saw your IV was running low and called me to change it.” Everything was about me. The women looked at me with open envy. When it was Skylar’s turn, she spoke calmly. “After I delivered the fruit basket yesterday, I had no further contact with Mr. Lockwood. You have nothing to worry about, Mrs. Lockwood. You’re the only one in his heart.” 4 Her words were meant to be reassuring, but they dripped with sarcasm. I let out a small, self-deprecating laugh and waved them all away. With his name seemingly cleared, Toby relaxed and sat on the edge of the bed, taking my hand. “Christy,” he said, his voice earnest. “You know I only love you. I would never be interested in another woman.” “Mm-hmm,” I said, pulling my hand from his, ignoring the flicker of disappointment in his eyes. He seemed to remember something. “Oh, Christy, I have a business trip tomorrow, so I won’t be here. But my phone will be on for you 24/7. Call me if you miss me.” His declaration of love was flawless. Not a hint of deception. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and nodded. “Be safe.” I saw the guilt flash in his eyes before he put on a pout. “But I’ll miss you so much. It’s only for a day, but I don’t want to be away from you for a single second.” He sighed dramatically. “When we adopt our child, I’ll just hand the company over to him. Then I won’t have to travel so much and be away from you.” If I didn’t know he was actually leaving to marry Skylar, I might have been moved by his performance. Finally, with one last, lingering kiss on my forehead, Toby left the room. The moment he was gone, I checked myself out of the hospital. I went home, packed a single bag, placed the signed divorce agreement on the living room table, and took a taxi to the airport. Before boarding the plane to Switzerland, I blocked his number and deleted him from every app. It was a final goodbye. As the plane took off, I watched through the window as the city I had called home for thirty years shrank below me. And for the first time in weeks, the crushing weight on my chest began to lift. Toby, goodbye forever.

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After I got pregnant, my boyfriend’s grandmother smashed her head against a wall and died in front of me, leaving behind a secret. Everyone who learned that secret is now dead. First, my boyfriend’s father. Then, his mother. Finally, my boyfriend swallowed a bottle of pills and died right before my eyes. The media dug into the story like a pack of rabid dogs. The police hauled me in for questioning again and again. An army of online trolls descended upon me. Everyone wanted to know the secret. They said I had cursed his entire family, that I had killed them all just to keep the secret for myself. I never defended myself. I remained silent. Until the seventh day after my boyfriend’s death. At his funeral, I saw someone in the crowd. In that moment, I stroked my swelling belly, my heart as still as a frozen lake. It was time for my baby and me to die, too. … 1 After I found out I was pregnant, my boyfriend, Jason, took me home to meet his family. The moment his grandmother saw my baby bump, she let out a piercing wail and smashed her head against the living room wall. Blood splattered across the plaster. She didn’t die instantly. But what was truly terrifying was the look in her eyes. They were wide with a horror so profound that tears of blood began to seep from the corners. Her once-kind face was a mask of pure terror, as if she were staring at something unspeakable. It was a grotesque sight. Jason’s mother fainted several times. His father cradled the dying woman in his arms, his body wracked with sobs. A neighbor, drawn by the commotion, gently pointed out that his grandmother seemed to be trying to say something. We all fell silent, straining to hear her last words. In the end, only his father heard them. She whispered a secret to him, and then her last breath escaped. His father’s face twisted in horror, his hands trembling as he held her body. He let out a shattered cry, “This is a death sentence!” His reaction sent a chill through all of us. His wife rushed to his side, her voice a hushed whisper. “Honey, what did she say?” He gave us all a long, hollow look, then shoved her away. Before anyone could react, he threw himself at the same wall. Blood pooled on the floor as he collapsed over his mother’s body. And his final expression was the same as hers: pure, unadulterated terror. As he lay dying, his wife begged him to hold on, screaming that the ambulance was on its way. But when she heard his final, whispered words, her face went ashen. She hung up the emergency call. After that, she refused to speak of it. No matter who asked, no matter how hard the police pressed, she never uttered a word about their final secret. After the funeral for his grandmother and father, Jason seemed to age a decade overnight. He looked at his mother, his voice drained of all life. “What was the secret Grandma told you? Why did Dad kill himself right after hearing it?” His mother stroked an old family photo, silent tears tracing paths down her cheeks. “Don’t ask. There is no secret.” “Your grandmother and father… their deaths were just a tragic accident. Don’t overthink it.” Jason’s voice was raw, cracking with grief. “That was my dad! That was the grandmother who raised me! I watched them kill themselves! How can I do nothing?” “At least tell me why!” My heart ached for him. I tried to help, speaking gently to his mother. “Ma’am, they died right in front of us. How can we just move on? They died right after learning that secret. And you heard it too. We’re worried about you…” I knew my words were clumsy, but my fear for her was real. Before I could finish, she cut me off, her voice like stone. She hurled the family photo to the floor, shattering the glass. Her eyes were bloodshot, her gaze fixed on me, filled with a sudden, searing hatred. “I told you, there is no secret! You two couldn’t control yourselves, getting pregnant before you were married! You shamed them to death! Are you happy now?” The mention of their deaths brought fresh tears, and it was clear her grief was deeper than anyone’s. But just as quickly, she composed herself, taking a deep breath and apologizing. “I’m sorry. I’m just… overwrought. I didn’t mean that.” “His grandmother and father both had underlying health conditions. The economy has been tough these last few years. Maybe they just didn’t want to be a burden on you two.” “That’s enough,” she said, her tone final. “Suicide is a shameful thing. We will not speak of this again.” Her attitude was a wall of ice. No matter how much we pleaded, she refused to say another word. But a deep unease settled in my heart. I rested a trembling hand on my belly. I had to know why his grandmother, who had always been so fond of me, would choose to end her life the moment she learned I was carrying her great-grandchild. I had to know her secret. 2 Jason was even more desperate to know the secret than I was. On the seventh day after his father’s death, his mother drank herself into a stupor. As she slurred and stumbled around the house, Jason saw his chance. He coaxed the secret from her lips. Her voice was so low he had to lean in close to hear. But the moment he understood, his face contorted into the same look of pure terror I had seen on his father and grandmother. Watching him, a cold dread washed over me. I rushed to his side. “What is it? What’s the secret? Why do you and your mom look so horrified?” He didn’t answer. He just stood there, shell-shocked, holding his mother up. Frantic, I tried to get closer to his mother, to hear for myself. But Jason’s reaction was even more shocking. Tears streamed down his face, his expression one of pure, helpless panic. And then, he shoved me, forcing me away from his mother. I was furious. “I’m pregnant! What are you doing, pushing me?” “What did she say? Why are you hiding it from me?” No matter how I demanded, he refused to answer. He just looked at me, his eyes filled with a profound sorrow. “Clara,” he whispered, “I wish you could never know this secret.” I stood frozen, unable to comprehend what kind of secret could drive an entire family to such despair. Why did it fill them all with such terror? Why did his father choose to die the instant he learned it? Just then, his mother seemed to sober up. Her eyes, empty and hollow, drifted toward us. A bitter, broken smile touched her lips. Slowly, it grew into a wild, maniacal laugh. She grabbed Jason’s hand, laughing so hard that tears streamed down her face. “Son, you were the one who had to know. Now you get to live in the same torment as me.” I felt like I was breaking apart. How had everything gone so wrong? I had come here with gifts, excited to meet the family of the man I loved, believing our future would be one of happiness. Jason was a good man—stable, gentle. We had been together for three years and never had a single fight. His family was just like him: warm, loving, kind. They never raised their voices. He had told me so much about me, said they were all eager to meet me. His grandmother had been especially fond of me, often sending him money to buy me gifts and reminding him to cherish me. She would even mail me local delicacies and check in on me. But all of that shattered the moment I said, “I’m pregnant.” His grandmother killed herself. His father followed. His mother became a hollow shell of herself, and even Jason grew distant, lost in some dark, private hell. It felt like the entire world had turned against us. In my darkest moments, I would wonder over and over: what was the secret she left behind? Many people had the same question, especially after the neighbors posted the story online. The next day, bowing to public pressure, the police showed up at our door again.

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I was a Riverwarden, retrieving drowned bodies from the Serpent’s Coil. My quiet life ended when I saved two men—the Crown Prince and his brother. In the chaos, I became pregnant with the Prince’s child. Yet on our wedding day, he vanished, marrying Duke Isolde instead. His brother, Kaelan, confessed hewas with me that night. He swore to marry me and raise the child as his own. A month later, bandits slaughtered every soul in Serpent’s Hollow. The grief stole my unborn child. Kaelan stayed by my side, his devotion unwavering. Three years later, pregnant again, I overheard Kaelan’s truth: “I married her for Isolde. If Moira’s son was firstborn, Isolde’s position would be threatened.” “Did you truly have to massacre Serpent’s Hollow?” “They knew too much.” Loving the Crown Prince was a tragedy. Loving his brother damned me twice. 1 A maid from the palace had just come and gone, intercepted by one of Kaelan’s guards. I only caught a whisper of her words as I passed the study: “…heard that Moira is with child…” Inside, Kaelan’s hand clenched, the porcelain cup in his hand rattling in its saucer. He was a man of immense self-control, and his composure returned in an instant. “I will not allow her to bear it.” His voice was cold as the river in winter. His friend sounded shocked. “But it’s your own flesh and blood.” “Her womb has carried another man’s seed. It’s fouled. Besides,” Kaelan added, a note of revulsion in his tone, “she spent her life pulling corpses from the water. I fear what monstrous thing might be born of it.” He turned to a servant lingering in the shadows. “Have Gisela mix blood-thistle into the Princess’s meals. Be careful. I don’t want her to know.” The friend sighed. “The girl is a pitiful creature, in her own way…” Kaelan’s gaze grew distant, lost in the depths of his tea. “I will allow her to live out her days as a princess,” he murmured. “That will be her compensation.” I clapped a hand over my mouth, stumbling back, my vision tunneling. Ignoring the confused stares of the servants, I fled back to my chambers. In the darkness of my room, I wept. So, the man that night hadn’t been him after all. Yet, for Isolde’s sake, he had willingly married me, a “fouled” woman, and prepared to accept a child that shared none of his blood. I remembered the day of the massacre. He had looked at my blood-soaked dress, his own tears streaming down his face as he held me. “Moira, I swear to you,” he’d choked out, “I will not let our people die in vain. I will not let our child’s death go unavenged.” He was true to his word. Within three days, he had located the bandits’ lair and slaughtered every last one of them. For years, my heart had overflowed with gratitude. I never suspected that the monster I mourned was the same man who held me while I wept. A knock at the door. It was the maid, Gisela. “Your Highness, your dinner is ready.” “Leave it. I’m not hungry.” I couldn’t eat the food laced with poison. The royal physician had told me my first loss had left my body weak. If I miscarried again, I might never bear a child. I wanted this baby. Before, I’d wanted it for Kaelan. Now, I wanted it for my people, for the kin who had died because of me. I couldn’t save them. But I could ensure the line of the Riverwardens did not die out. It was the only atonement I could imagine. Later, heavy footsteps echoed in the courtyard. “Your Grace, the Princess refuses to eat.” “I’ll handle it.” I hastily wiped my eyes, but their swollen redness betrayed me. Kaelan knelt before me, his touch gentle as he stroked my cheek. “Tears and no food. Who has been mistreating my Moira?” “Only the little one in my belly,” I whispered, forcing a smile. Kaelan froze for a second, then his face broke into a masterful performance of joy. “Truly? I’m to be a father?” “Truly.” My heart was a block of ice, but for the sake of my child, I had to play my part. “Kaelan, if… and this is only if… you do not want this child, I will raise it myself. I promise it will never be a burden to you.” A flicker of alarm crossed his eyes, but he masked it with a strained laugh. “What nonsense is this? How could I not love a child you give me, Moira?” He pulled me to my feet. “Come, no more dark thoughts. You must eat.” He led me to a table laden with food. I turned my head away, my stomach churning with revulsion. He placed a piece of steamed greens in my bowl, his voice a soft caress. “Just a little. The child needs you to be strong.” He was so convincing, his affection so seemingly genuine. How could it all be a lie? “I truly cannot eat…” At that, his patience snapped. “You may not wish to eat, but the child must! Will you stop this childish petulance?” He grabbed my chin, his grip like iron, and tried to force the food into my mouth. I wrenched myself free, but in that moment of violence, I understood his resolve. Despair washed over me. Choking back tears, I picked up my fork. “I will eat myself.” Once this meal was finished, everything would be over. In the dead of night, the agony began. A sharp, cramping pain in my belly, and a flow of blood that slowly soaked the bedsheets crimson. Kaelan shouted once, and the royal physician, Master Elian, entered as if he had been waiting just outside the door. The pain was a white-hot haze, but through it, I heard Elian’s cautious whisper. “Your Grace, the Princess’s body was already weakened by her first miscarriage. If we do not save her now, she may never be able to conceive again…” There was a long silence before Kaelan spoke. “It doesn’t matter. When I take other wives, I can grant her a child to raise in her old age.” It doesn’t matter. So it was true. He found me foul. He never wanted my child. My last shred of hope turned to ash. As Elian worked, a lady-in-waiting from the palace burst in. “Your Grace! The Crown Princess is suffering from a stomach ache. She requests Master Elian’s presence at once!” Kaelan’s expression transformed. The concern on his face was raw, undisguised. Without a second thought, he grabbed Elian by the arm to leave. My loyal maid, Carol, threw herself at Kaelan’s feet, her voice a desperate wail. “Your Grace, if you take the physician now, my lady will die!” “The Crown Princess only has a stomach ache, any court doctor can see her! But my lady is on the verge of death!” “I beg you, Your Grace, have mercy on my mistress…” “Insolence!” Kaelan’s heart was already gone. “The Crown Princess is of royal blood! How dare a servant dictate her care?” He kicked Carol aside and threw a dismissive order to a guard. “Brew her some ginseng broth to keep her alive. I will bring Master Elian back as soon as the Crown Princess is well!” Carol tried to follow, but I stopped her. “Carol… don’t.” Her eyes were red and swollen as she looked at me with pity. “My lady, wait for me. I will fetch another physician…” With a strength I didn’t know I possessed, I pushed myself up. From under the bed, I pulled out a small wooden box and gave Carol the iron seal within—the Riverwarden’s Seal. “Carol, go to the palace. Give this to the King himself. Tell him Moira asks for a writ of separation.” When the King had come to my village to retrieve his sons, he had been so grateful for my aid that he’d granted me a single boon. I had never dared to use it. Now, the time had come. It was the afternoon of the next day before Kaelan returned with the physician. By then, another doctor, one Carol had summoned, was just leaving. Kaelan grabbed the man’s arm. “How is the Princess?” “Her life is saved, but alas…” For the first time, Kaelan seemed truly flustered on my account. His voice was low. “Alas, what?” The physician shook his head with a sigh. “Her body is broken. I fear she will live the rest of her life in pain.” A flicker of guilt crossed Kaelan’s face. He came to my bedside and tried to gather my frail form into his arms. “I’m sorry, Moira. It’s not that I didn’t want to care for you, but the Crown Princess carries the royal heir. There could be no delay…” I pushed myself away from his embrace, the movement sending a fresh wave of pain through me. “It doesn’t matter. You’ve been up all night, Your Grace. You should rest.” His hands froze in mid-air. His voice was hoarse. “Moira… are you angry with me?” I closed my eyes. “This common woman wouldn’t dare.” “Common woman?” He heard the shift in my words, the icy formality. He stared at me in disbelief. I had always referred to myself as his humble wife. To change my address now was to draw a line in the sand between us. “Yes. I am of low birth. I cannot be compared to the Crown Princess. You did nothing wrong, Your Grace, and I dare not blame you.” A violent cough shook my frame, and I spat a mouthful of blood onto the sheets. Seeing this, Kaelan didn’t press the matter. He gently patted my back. “Moira has always been the most understanding. It was foolish of me to doubt. You rest now. Your husband will stay right here with you.” I don’t know how long I slept, but I was awakened by a commotion in the courtyard. I opened my eyes to see Carol lying in the center of the yard, being beaten with rods. Her clothes were soaked in blood; she was barely breathing. The Crown Princess, Lady Isolde, sat nearby, watching with a cold, detached air. Seeing me awake, Kaelan didn’t bother with an explanation. He simply placed a hand on my shoulder, holding me down. “The Crown Princess is disciplining a servant, Moira. Do not interfere.” I learned the reason for this brutality. After delivering my request for separation, Carol had fetched the doctor for me. The King and Queen, already feeling guilty over the Crown Prince’s broken betrothal, were furious when they heard how Kaelan had abandoned me for Isolde’s minor complaint. They had harshly reprimanded Isolde, calling her a viper. Unable to touch me, Isolde had decided to take her anger out on Carol. Tears streamed down my face as I watched my friend dying. I clutched Kaelan’s sleeve. “Your Grace, I beg you, save her. It is all my fault.” “Carol was only worried for me.” Kaelan looked pained. “Moira, she is just a servant. Let the Crown Princess vent her anger, and this will all be over.” I stared at his handsome face, unable to comprehend the blackness of the heart that beat beneath it. Just because we were born common, did our lives not matter? Me. Carol. The hundred families of Serpent’s Hollow. I could no longer contain my rage. “Is this how you felt when you butchered Serpent’s Hollow?” I screamed. “They were just commoners, after all!” His face contorted as if I had struck him. He lunged, his hand clamping around my neck, his eyes burning with fury. “Moira, what nonsense are you spouting?!” I struggled, and the movement tore open the wounds in my lower body. Blood gushed out, staining the bed anew. The sight of it seemed to break his rage. He panicked, fumbling to hold me. “Moira, stop moving, don’t move!” I pushed his hands away, my gaze filled with hatred. “Kaelan, was it fun? Lying to me for all these years?” “Hundreds of lives, and my two children. Does your conscience never torment you at night?” His hands hovered in the air, trembling uncontrollably. “You know?” When I didn’t answer, he began to explain. “Moira, I had no choice! Someone in Serpent’s Hollow saw you with the Crown Prince. If word of the pregnancy got out, it would have thrown the entire court into chaos!” I laughed, a cold, broken sound. “Was it the court you feared for, or were you afraid your precious Isolde would lose her power?” His brow furrowed, his guilt instantly replaced by annoyance. “This was my decision. It had nothing to do with Isolde. Do not drag her into this.” Even now, he was protecting her. I was a fool. “And my children? The first I lost to grief, a grief you caused. What about the second?” Now that I had torn away the last veil of deceit, he dropped the act. “Yes. I had it taken from you.” “I wasn’t ready to be a father.” “Even now, you lie to me…” “Moira, enough of this madness! Whatever I have done, consider it my debt to you. I swore I would make it up to you. I will let you live out your days in splendor, secure as a princess!” I didn’t want to hear any more of his empty promises. “Kaelan, I want nothing from you. I will give up everything for a separation. Let me go.” “If you fear I will silence you as I did my village, you can take my life as well.” “I only ask that you save Carol.” I thought the weight of hundreds of lives on his soul might be enough to bargain for one. I had underestimated his depravity. “Moira, stop. This time, I cannot help you.” “Isolde’s heart has been wounded. She is a sensitive, fragile soul. If Carol lives, she will not be able to sleep at night.” I finally understood. In Kaelan’s world, a commoner’s life was worth less than Lady Isolde’s peaceful slumber. I shoved him away and dragged my broken body into the courtyard. I fell at Isolde’s feet, clutching the hem of her dress. “Your Highness, I beg you, spare Carol. It is all my fault.” Isolde smirked. “And what was your fault?” “I am low-born. I should not have troubled the royal physician.” “I should not have displeased Your Highness.” “Enough,” Isolde said, kicking my hand away in disgust. “You are covered in filth. It’s nauseating.” She turned to Kaelan. “Kaelan, I’m tired. Will you take me home?” Kaelan glanced at me, crumpled on the ground. He hesitated for a moment, but in the end, he chose Isolde. I felt for Carol’s faint pulse. I called out to Kaelan one last time. “Your Grace, can you at least send for Master Elian?” Kaelan started to give the order, but Isolde cut him off. “No physician is to be called. I have spared her life. Whether she lives or dies is up to fate.” Kaelan gave me one last, complicated look, then clenched his jaw and turned away. At that moment, something inside me shattered. I screamed at his retreating back. “Kaelan, let us separate!” Isolde, hearing this, laughed aloud. “She wants a separation, Kaelan. Aren’t you going to comfort her?” He shot me a look of pure annoyance. “She doesn’t need comforting. It’s just an empty threat. Outside this manor, she cannot even feed herself.” “Besides,” he added, his voice laced with contempt, “she’s carried two children and been married twice. Who else would have her?” He was right. Outside these walls, I would likely die. But to stay here was a fate worse than death. Ignoring the pain, I crawled back inside and placed the writ of separation on the table. I found a rickety handcart in the stables, and with Carol inside, I left the manor. This time, I was finally free. On his way back from escorting Isolde, Kaelan saw a familiar figure walking towards the city gates. He squinted, but couldn’t make out the face. “Is that Moira?” he asked his attendant. The attendant followed his gaze. “Your Grace, your eyes must be playing tricks on you. Why would the Princess leave the city alone?” Leave the city? A sharp pain, like a needle, pierced Kaelan’s heart. He felt breathless. There was only one reason Moira would leave the city. The separation was real. If it was real… was she gone from the manor? A cold dread enveloped him. He was afraid. Afraid that she was gone, and he would have no idea where to even begin looking for her. “Back to the manor! Now!” As he arrived, he saw Isolde’s maid waiting anxiously at the gate. He rushed forward. “Isolde… is the Crown Princess alright?” “Your Grace, Master Elian’s calming drought for the Princess is missing a key herb. I’ve checked every apothecary in the city. I came to see if the manor had any in its stores.” The household steward was just coming out. Kaelan lunged towards him, but the herb was the last thing on his mind. “Is the Princess in the manor?” “Her Highness has left.” “Where did she go?” “I do not know, Your Grace.” The steward then turned to the maid, bowing apologetically. “I have searched our stores. I’m afraid we are also out of that herb.” The maid wrung her hands. “What shall we do? The Crown Princess’s pregnancy is already so fragile…” Kaelan stared at Moira’s empty chambers, hesitating. His attendant saw his conflict. “Your Grace, help the Crown Princess find her medicine first. The Princess Moira loves you so much. How could she truly leave you? She is likely just angry, throwing a tantrum. She will probably return on her own by nightfall…” Kaelan allowed himself to be convinced. “You’re right. Where else could she possibly go without me? Let her have her tantrum. I will soothe her when she returns.” …

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On the eve of the surgery, I resigned as the lead surgeon. My colleagues in the department scoffed, calling me unreliable and weak. “And he’s supposed to be a Ph.D. from abroad? More like he bought a degree from some diploma mill.” “He runs away at the first sign of a challenge. He doesn’t deserve to be a doctor!” In my past life, I gave up a spot in the national general practitioner skills competition to take on this exact surgery. But due to the gross negligence of the other lead surgeon, it ended in a catastrophic medical malpractice incident. And my own sister, the department head, pinned all the blame on me. Even my girlfriend stood firmly by his side, accusing me of incompetence. Overnight, I went from a lauded medical prodigy to a pariah. Unable to prove my innocence, I was not only fired but also faced prison time. My parents, who had always been so proud of me, pointed their fingers at me, shouting, “We have no son who is so reckless with human life.” I spiraled into a severe depression and threw myself from the roof of the hospital. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the eve of the surgery. 1 “This is an extremely complex procedure. The hospital has decided to appoint you as the lead surgeon. Are you confident?” In the department office, my sister, Kaitlyn, smiled as she placed a patient’s file in front of me. I looked at the file, and an involuntary tremor ran through my body. Snapping back to the present, I shook my head decisively. “I just got back from my fellowship abroad. I still need some time to get acclimated. I’m not ready for a major surgery like this.” In my previous life, this surgery was the beginning of my ruin. And the person pushing it all forward was the very same sister who had always seemed to dote on me. Back then, I had accepted without hesitation, agreeing to co-lead the surgery with another doctor in our department, Dr. Alex Rivera. But Alex was in no condition to operate, making one critical error after another. Despite my repeated warnings, the outcome was irreversible. And I, who had done nothing wrong, was dragged into the ensuing disaster. As the department head, Kaitlyn shifted all responsibility onto my shoulders. I became a social outcast overnight, losing not only my reputation but also my career. Unable to handle the blow, I ended my own life in a haze of despair. Kaitlyn frowned at me now, a flicker of disappointment in her eyes. “This is a fantastic opportunity, Chad. It took a lot of work for me to get it for you. Why are you turning it down?” I pushed the file back across the desk to her, a faint smile on my lips. “My skills are not yet up to the task. I can’t take on such a heavy responsibility.” Hearing my words, my girlfriend, Jessica, who was standing nearby, immediately chided me. “Chad, can’t you be a man for once? You’re so timid about everything. How do you ever expect to advance in your career?” Looking at her “tough love” expression, I wanted to laugh. Both of them acted as if they had my best interests at heart. But in their minds, I would never be worth a single hair on Alex’s head. I stood up and faced her. “Alex is a graduate of a top medical school. He’s superior to me in every way. Let him lead the surgery by himself.” The tragic events of my past life were still vivid in my memory. Reborn, I would not make the same mistakes. My words seemed to stun both Kaitlyn and Jessica into silence. Then, Jessica took my hand, her voice turning encouraging. “That’s exactly why you should be learning from him! Strive to become as outstanding a doctor as Alex is.” When she said his name, it was like she transformed. Her voice was filled with a strange, breathless excitement. 2 I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat and refused again. “I also have the national general practitioner skills competition to prepare for. I can’t possibly take on this surgery.” The real reason they were pushing so hard for me to co-lead with Alex was that they both knew it. Without me, Alex didn’t have the skill to pull off this procedure alone. And if this incredibly complex surgery were a success, it would be a massive feather in his cap, a huge boost to his career. Seeing the doubt in their eyes, I pulled a document from my folder and placed it on the desk. “What? You don’t believe me?” When Jessica saw the document—my official invitation to the competition—her face flushed with anger. “This is a major competition! Why didn’t you tell Alex?” Her voice sharpened. “Are you afraid he’d outshine you?” Kaitlyn’s expression turned ugly. “We’re colleagues at the same hospital, Chad. Don’t you know how to share? I’ve never met someone so selfish.” I stared at them in disbelief. “I barely know Alex. Why would I tell him?” We were in the same department, yes. But Alex was arrogant and aloof. He treated new doctors like me with a dismissive air. In the six months I’d been here, we had exchanged maybe three sentences. And that was somehow my fault? My answer only seemed to infuriate Jessica more. “You’ve been here this long and you still don’t know what Alex is like? As a colleague, can’t you be more proactive and try to build a better relationship with him?” Without another word, she pulled out her phone and called the competition organizers to try and register Alex. Kaitlyn stormed out of the office, presumably to ask Alex in person. I watched them go, a bitter taste in my mouth. In their eyes, I was just an outsider, an obstacle. A few moments later, Jessica hung up the phone. Registration was full. There was no way to add Alex. Her face was a mask of panic, and she started muttering to herself. “This is such an important competition! If Alex can’t participate, it will seriously affect his career!” Her eyes lit up with a sudden, terrible idea, and she turned to me. “But you have a spot, don’t you? If you just give up your spot, Alex can compete.” Her words sent a tremor through my body. It felt hard to breathe. “So, Alex’s future is important, but mine isn’t?” In all the years we had been together, I had always put her first, valued her more than my own life. But in her eyes, I would never measure up to Alex, a man she barely knew. Jessica’s expression shifted, becoming uncharacteristically coy. “Alex is older than you, Chad. Just let him have this one! You’re still young. You’ll have other chances.” Seeing her fawning, simpering act, I couldn’t help but laugh coldly to myself. The strong, independent woman I thought I knew could turn into this simpering mess for Alex. Too bad for her. I wasn’t the naive fool from my past life. I wouldn’t let them lead me by the nose again. 3 “Chad, Jessica’s right. You’re young. Give this opportunity to Alex.” Just as I was thinking, Kaitlyn walked back in, Alex in tow. I looked up, and my eyes met his. His gaze was filled with undisguised mockery, as if he were laughing at my cowardice. I shook my head firmly. “You don’t have the right to make decisions about my life.” With that, I turned and walked out of the office. To my surprise, they didn’t bother me for the next two days while I was at the competition. I only found out why when I checked my social media: Alex had taken on the surgery by himself. I thought that would be the end of it. But the moment I returned, Kaitlyn and Jessica cornered me, their faces pale with panic. “Chad, you have to save Alex this time. If you don’t help him, he’s finished.” I knew immediately that the surgery had gone wrong. I looked at them, my eyes cold. “What do you expect me to do about it?” This time, I wasn’t even in the hospital. They couldn’t possibly pin it on me. Kaitlyn’s next words made my blood run cold. “I’ll handle the paperwork. You’re going to take the fall for Alex.” Her voice was calm, matter-of-fact. “You haven’t been at the hospital that long. Even if you make a mistake, people will be more forgiving.” Her words were like daggers of ice. I was her brother, her own flesh and blood, and she was asking me to be the scapegoat for Alex. If I did this, I would not only destroy my career but also face prison. The memories of my past life were still raw and painful. I refused without a second thought. “He’s a doctor. If he messed up a surgery, he needs to take responsibility for it. Why should I take the blame for him?” Jessica’s voice grew shrill with desperation. “Shouldn’t colleagues help each other out? If you help Alex this one time, we’ll all be so grateful.” Her attempt at emotional blackmail finally broke my control. The rage I had been suppressing erupted. “You’re so concerned about Alex, but have either of you ever thought about me?” My voice was trembling, on the verge of a sob. “Have you forgotten? One of you is my sister, and the other is my girlfriend!” In my past life, they had driven me to a dead end for Alex’s sake. Did they really want me to relive that nightmare? But Kaitlyn’s tone was unyielding, absolute. “Chad, you don’t have a choice in this. I’ve already arranged everything. You will take the blame.” She threw a stack of documents onto my desk. They had forged evidence to place me at the scene of the surgery. The fabrication was seamless. To anyone else, it would look completely convincing. They had gone to such lengths for Alex. I had underestimated their devotion. But my face showed no fear. Instead, I smiled at them. “You do realize that if I wanted to, I could send both of you to prison for this, right?”

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A month into my freshman year, I learned that the entire campus had a nickname for me: the Parasite. The name was coined by Sophia, my childhood best friend’s new deskmate. It was because I was always with Liam. Eating the breakfast he brought me, using his campus card, living in a small rental near his family’s home. I asked Liam why he didn’t stop them. He just laughed, a careless, easy sound. “It’s just a nickname. Sophia likes to joke around, don’t take it to heart.” He paused, then added, “Besides, you do cling to me all day. You are… kind of like a parasite.” I froze, my heart clenching as if squeezed by a brutal hand. So that’s what it was. Eighteen years of companionship, and in his eyes, I was just a parasite. I didn’t argue. I just went home and deleted every photo of him from my phone. Then I went to the registrar’s office and withdrew from the university. That’s when Liam finally panicked. “Ava, where are you going?” “Somewhere you will never find me.” 1 I first heard the name while standing in line at the dining hall. It was a normal Wednesday. I held my tray, shuffling along with the lunchtime crowd. The two girls in front of me were whispering, their voices just loud enough for me to catch. “Look, the Parasite’s here again.” “She follows Liam around all day. Has she no shame?” At first, I thought they were talking about someone else. Then one of them glanced back, her eyes lingering on me for a moment before a knowing smile spread across her face. It was a look I recognized—the look of someone enjoying a spectacle, of someone who knew a secret I didn’t. My fingers tightened on my tray, the plastic edge digging painfully into my palm. Parasite? Were they talking about me? I looked around and realized that many people were watching me. Some were whispering, their fingers subtly pointing in my direction. Others were smirking, their eyes filled with a mixture of amusement and contempt. My face instantly burned. I could feel the heat creeping up my neck. I grabbed my food and fled to the most secluded corner I could find. But I’d barely taken two bites when the conversation from the next table drifted over. “Ava Moore is so disgusting, always clinging to Liam.” The girl’s voice was loud, as if she didn’t care that I was right there. “I heard her family is dirt poor, and the Griffiths have been supporting her forever,” another voice added. “No wonder Sophia calls her the Parasite. It’s the perfect name.” “Seriously. I’ve never seen anyone so shameless.” My hands started to tremble. My chopsticks clattered onto the table. The girls looked over, and seeing it was me, they didn’t stop. They just laughed louder. “Oh, look. The Parasite is mad.” “What’s she pretending for? It’s not like we’re wrong.” I clenched my jaw, trying to hold myself together, but my hands were shaking too badly to even hold my chopsticks. The food tasted like ash. I finally gave up, picked up my nearly untouched tray, and hurried out of the dining hall, the sound of their laughter washing over me like a toxic wave. 2 I went to find Liam immediately. He was on the basketball court, glistening with sweat under the afternoon sun. Sophia was sitting on the bleachers, a vision in a white sundress, holding a bottle of water and cheering for him. When she saw me, her smile was blindingly bright. It was the smile of a cat that had just cornered a mouse. “Ava! You’re here! Come, sit,” she chirped, patting the space next to her. I ignored her, my eyes locked on Liam. He had just sunk a three-pointer, and his teammates were celebrating. “Liam, I need to talk to you.” My voice was quiet but carried across the court. He turned, a slight frown creasing his brow when he saw me. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he sounded annoyed. “What is it? Can it wait until I’m done?” “No. It has to be now.” I had never used such a forceful tone with him before. It surprised even me. Liam stared for a moment, clearly taken aback by my uncharacteristic firmness. Finally, he said something to his teammates and sauntered over. “What’s up? You look so serious.” His tone was light, as if he had no idea what was coming. I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady. “The entire school is calling me a parasite. Did you know?” He scratched his head, a flicker of awkwardness in his expression. “Oh, that. Yeah, I heard.” He heard? That was it? I stared at him in disbelief, waiting for an explanation, for a flash of anger on my behalf. But there was nothing. He just stood there, looking completely unconcerned. “You heard, and you didn’t do anything to stop it?” my voice began to tremble. “Stop what?” He shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s just a nickname. Everyone gets a nickname in college.” He even managed a small laugh, as if it were truly insignificant. “My roommate’s nickname is ‘Pig-Head,’ and he doesn’t care.” “But this nickname is meant to humiliate me!” I almost shouted the words. “You’re overthinking it.” He patted my shoulder, a gesture so dismissive it sent a chill through me. “Sophia just likes to joke around. She doesn’t mean any harm.” No harm? I glanced over at Sophia. She was watching us, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. “Liam, do you really think calling me a parasite is just a joke?” My voice was a whisper, as if I were asking myself. He was losing patience. “Come on, stop making a big deal out of nothing. Besides,” he trailed off, “you do follow me around all day. It is… kind of like…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. Kind of like a parasite. In that moment, I felt something inside me shatter. It broke so completely that I knew it could never be put back together again. 3 From that day on, I started avoiding Liam. But the nickname had already spread through the campus like a virus. It had taken on a life of its own. In class, I’d hear whispers behind my back. “That’s her, the Parasite.” At the library, someone would say loudly, “Wow, even parasites can read.” Even the woman at the campus store would give me a strange look, as if I were something unclean. But the worst part was the dorm. My roommates, who had once been friendly, began to distance themselves. At first, it was subtle—they just stopped talking to me. Then it became blatant. They stopped inviting me to meals. They stopped sharing snacks. Even borrowing a phone charger became an ordeal. “I’m using it.” “It’s dead.” “Someone else borrowed it.” Always an excuse. One evening, I came back late. As I pushed the door open, I heard them talking on the balcony. “Does Ava really use Liam’s money for everything?” “Probably. Why else would Sophia call her a parasite?” “She’s so poor. Where does she get money for tuition and living expenses?” “Liam, obviously.” “No wonder she can afford to live near his family. So that’s how.” “So shameless. If I were her, I’d be too embarrassed to show my face.” I stood in the doorway, my hand frozen on the knob. They saw me, and the conversation died. They scattered back to their desks as if nothing had happened. No one asked where I had been. No one cared that I had heard everything. It was as if I were invisible. Lying in bed, tears streamed silently into my pillow. They didn’t know I lived near Liam because the little house was left to me by my grandmother. “Ava, honey,” she’d told me, “it’s not much, but it’s a roof over your head. A place to weather the storms.” They didn’t know that I never spent a cent of Liam’s money. I kept a small notebook, recording every breakfast, every campus card loan, every small expense he covered for me. The first thing I did when I got paid from my part-time job was try to pay him back. He would always refuse. “Why are you keeping track? We’re family.” I thought it was because he cared. Now, I wondered if it was just because he couldn’t be bothered. But it didn’t matter anymore. In everyone’s eyes, I was the parasite living off a man. The truth was irrelevant. They only believed what they wanted to believe. 4 I tried to defend myself. In one of my classes, we were assigned a group project. When it was time to form groups, a strange silence fell over the room. Everyone else was pairing up, but a perfect, empty circle formed around me. I was an outcast. I mustered my courage and approached a girl who seemed friendly. “Hi, can I join your group?” She looked away, flustered. “Sorry, our group is full.” I counted. There were only three of them. “I have really good grades,” I pleaded, trying to prove my worth. “I was third in our major last semester.” A boy nearby snorted. “What good are a parasite’s grades? Liam probably did all the work for her.” The classroom erupted in laughter. The sound was like a thousand needles piercing my skin. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. That’s when Sophia’s gentle voice cut through the noise. She had drifted over, her face a mask of perfect sympathy. “Everyone, don’t be so hard on Ava. It’s… not easy for her.” She paused, a smirk touching her lips. “After all, not everyone has the talent to be supported by Liam for so many years. That’s a skill in itself, you know.” The whole class roared. Finally, the professor, looking annoyed, stepped in. “Ava, you can join group three.” The members of that group looked horrified, but they didn’t dare object. Throughout the entire discussion, they ignored me completely. My suggestions were met with silence. The research I’d compiled was pushed aside without a glance. Eventually, I gave up and just sat there, watching them, feeling more invisible than ever. No, worse than invisible. I was a nuisance. A parasite. 5 Things escalated a week later. “Ava,” one of my roommates said one morning, her voice dripping with glee, “you should check the campus message board. You’re famous.” My heart sank. I opened the forum on my phone. The top post was titled: ‘Exposing the True Face of the Management School’s Parasite.’ It had over ten thousand views and hundreds of replies. My fingers trembled as I clicked on it. The post chronicled in vicious detail how I “latched onto” Liam, how I “shamelessly” spent his money. Every action was twisted, every moment maliciously reinterpreted. There were photos. A picture of us eating together was captioned, “The Parasite gets a free meal.” A photo of him bringing me breakfast when I was sick was labeled, “The bloodsucking continues.” A picture of me working at my part-time job was framed as me “playing the victim to gain sympathy.” The comments were a cesspool. So disgusting. Has she no self-respect? If I were her, I’d have already killed myself from shame. Liam is so unlucky to be stuck with a leech like her. Someone should kick the Parasite out of our school! Then it got worse. They started doxxing me. My high school, my home address, even a photo of my late grandmother. So she’s an orphan with no parents. No wonder she’s so shameless. My blood ran cold. I shakily called Liam. The phone rang for a long time before he picked up. “Liam, did you see the post on the forum?” My voice was barely a whisper. “Yeah, I saw it,” he said, his tone chillingly calm. “And… you’re not going to do anything?” “Do what?” He sounded tired. “Ava, do you really think anyone will believe me if I try to clear your name now? They’ll just think you forced me to.” “But it’s the truth!” “The truth?” He laughed, a cold, empty sound. “The truth is, you are always with me. You do use my things. I can’t control how other people see it.” I gripped the phone. “So you’re just going to let them humiliate me?” “It’s not humiliation, it’s just a post,” he said, his tone infuriatingly dismissive. “It’ll blow over. Why are you getting so worked up about something online?” “Just lay low for a while.” The line went dead. I stared at the black screen, at my own pale, reflected face. So this was it. My reputation, my dignity—none of it was worth him saying a single word. Our entire childhood together was this cheap. My heart didn’t just break. It turned to ash. 6 The bullying bled from the virtual world into reality. Vicious notes started appearing on my desk. PARASITE GET OUT. SHAMELESS BITCH. STAY AWAY FROM LIAM. My books were vandalized. My favorite textbook, filled with a semester’s worth of notes, was soaked in ink. My homework was torn out of my notebook. I was forced to accept a zero. The isolation was absolute. No one would speak to me. No one would sit with me. If I sat at a table in the dining hall, everyone else would immediately get up and leave. I would sit there alone, surrounded by whispers, forcing down food that tasted like cardboard, my tears silently seasoning my rice. I started skipping classes. But the dorm was no sanctuary. The harassment from my roommates grew bolder. They used my shampoo, ate my food, and one day, they threw my bedding into the hallway. “Parasites belong outside,” the ringleader sneered, as the others laughed. I stood in the hallway, clutching my soiled comforter, as people walked by, staring. No one helped. No one said a word. That night, I crouched in the hallway and cried until my throat was raw and my eyes were swollen shut. I wanted to call Liam. My thumb hovered over his name, but I couldn’t press it. What would be the point? He would just tell me it was a joke. He would just tell me I was overthinking it. He would just tell me it would all blow over. But how long did I have to wait? A month? A year? A lifetime?

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An old man waved his passbook at me, demanding I transfer his $3 million. The recipient? An offshore shell company—a classic scam. “I can’t do this!” I slammed his passbook down. “Sir, just wait five minutes—” “Don’t ruin my fortune!” he snapped. I called the police and stopped the transfer. Furious, he turned on me: “She’s after my money! Waiting for me to die!” Tabloids twisted his words, fueling a viral hate storm. I begged my coworker Ava to defend me—instead, she testified against me: “She stuffed her underwear in his pocket!” Branded a gold-digger, even my husband Jonny left me. Broken, I jumped from the bridge. Then I woke up—back at my teller window, on that day again… 1 “Next customer, please!” The mechanical voice sent a jolt through my entire body. I snapped my head up. The screen above glowed with the number “023,” and standing before me was an old man with thinning, gray hair. Mr. Davies. The man who had orchestrated my ruin and death was now scowling at me through the bulletproof glass. My breath caught. For a moment, my heart felt like it would hammer its way out of my chest. This wasn’t a dream. I had been reborn. “Miss! Are you deaf? I need to make a transaction!” Mr. Davies tapped impatiently on the glass, his amplified voice yanking me back to reality. I shot up from my chair, forcing a brittle smile onto my face. “Sir, I’m so sorry, but this window is now closed. Please see one of my colleagues for assistance.” Before he could reply, I bolted for the staff-only door behind me. “Hey! Where are you going? Get back here!” the old man shouted after me, his voice muffled by the glass. I didn’t look back. Under the counter, my fingers fumbled with my phone, quickly hitting the record button. No matter what happened this time, I was getting proof. Mr. Davies was still yelling. “What kind of service is this! I have your employee number! I’m going to file a complaint!” I rattled off the standard bank script. “Large transfers require dual authorization. I’d advise you to contact a family member to confirm the transaction first.” “Bullshit! You’re just trying to ruin my good luck!” he sputtered, his face turning red. Ava poked her head out of the breakroom, a look of confusion on her face. “Chloe? What’s going on?” I stared at her, at that face filled with feigned concern, and a wave of nausea washed over me. In my past life, that was the same mouth that had confidently told the entire country I had tried to seduce Mr. Davies. “Stomachache,” I said curtly. “Going to the hospital.” She hurried after me, blocking my path. “Can’t you just tough it out? There’s a customer waiting!” “Move,” I said, shaking her hand off my arm. “Are you crazy?” she hissed, her voice low and threatening. “You want to lose this month’s performance bonus?” I raised my voice, making sure the entire lobby could hear. “If I drop dead at my desk from the pain, are you going to be the one to collect my body?” The bustling bank hall fell silent. Every eye was on us. Ava, clearly not expecting such a forceful response from the usually gentle me, was momentarily speechless. I seized the opportunity, grabbed my bag, and headed for the exit. “Chloe Harris! If you leave without taking official leave, you’ll be fired!” Ava threatened from behind me. I muttered under my breath, “What’s a job when my life is on the line?” With a shove, I pushed open the heavy glass doors and stepped out into the world. I burst into a nearby convenience store, nearly knocking over a rack of chips. I snatched the cheapest bottle of vodka I could find, ran into the restroom, twisted the cap off, and took a swig. Then I fished a compact out of my bag and violently dabbed bright red blush onto my cheeks. Once I was sure I looked sufficiently flushed and drunk, I got into my car and gunned it toward the nearest police station. Sure enough, I didn’t make it two blocks before the flashing lights appeared in my rearview mirror. “Ma’am, please step out of the vehicle.” I stumbled out of the car, purposefully breathing a cloud of alcohol-scented air in the officer’s direction. “Have you been drinking?” the officer asked, his brow furrowed. I feigned guilt, slurring my words. “I have a canker sore… just used a little alcohol to rinse my mouth.” He was obviously unconvinced. He steadied me as I pretended to lose my balance. “Ma’am, I need you to cooperate with a breathalyzer test.” I dutifully blew into the device, watching with satisfaction as the numbers skyrocketed. “Ma’am, you’re suspected of driving under the influence. We need to take you to the hospital for a blood test.” I put up a token struggle before “reluctantly” letting them guide me into the back of the patrol car. I could have smiled from ear to ear. In the hospital’s phlebotomy room, the nurse had just withdrawn the needle when the young officer exclaimed, “Her blood alcohol level is zero?” I put on my best aggrieved expression. “I told you, I was just rinsing my mouth.” The officer cleared his throat and pulled out his phone. “Standard procedure requires us to notify your next of kin.” The call connected, and Jonny’s cold voice came through the line. “What is it now?” “Mr. Harris, your wife is at the hospital—” “I’m in a meeting. I don’t have time for this.” The line went dead. The officer awkwardly put his phone away. “Well… how about I give you a ride home?” I nodded enthusiastically, a wave of relief washing over me. I’d dodged the bullet this time, right? Suddenly, my phone vibrated violently. A news alert, emblazoned with a fiery “BREAKING” icon, popped onto the screen: #BankTellerChloeHarrisDefraudsSeniorCitizenOfRetirementSavings The smile froze on my face. 2 I stared at the headline in disbelief, my finger trembling as I tapped on the link. I was met with an avalanche of insults and doxxed personal information. Someone had even crudely photoshopped my face onto a funeral portrait. The comment section was a cesspool of words like “die” and “slut.” Pinned at the top was a video of Mr. Davies, weeping as he gave an interview. “She told me she could help me invest my money, but as soon as the transfer went through, she vanished! That was my life savings!” The memories of my past life—the public crucifixion, the loss of my family and my life—came flooding back, and I began to shake uncontrollably. I hadn’t even processed his transaction this time. How could this still be pinned on me? When the police car pulled up to my apartment building, I gasped. The entrance was swarming with people. Reporters with cameras and microphones, neighbors pointing and whispering, and a group at the front holding a banner that read, “FRAUDSTER, GIVE ME BACK MY HARD-EARNED MONEY.” “There she is! That’s Chloe Harris!” someone shouted, and every camera instantly swiveled in my direction. Flashes exploded like a thousand tiny suns, blinding me. A reporter shoved a microphone so close to my face I could smell his coffee breath. “Ms. Harris, do you have anything to say about defrauding an elderly man?” “Where did the three million dollars go?” I stumbled backward, my back hitting a solid chest. Two police officers were already striding toward me. “Chloe Harris? You’re under suspicion of financial fraud. Please come with us.” As they moved to cuff me, I forced the words through gritted teeth. “I took the day off work as soon as I got in! What does this have to do with me?” The officer frowned and glanced at a document in his hand. “According to the bank’s system logs, at 9:47 this morning, you processed a three-million-dollar transfer for a Mr. Davies.” I snatched the paper from him. The transaction record was there in black and white, clear as day, with my employee ID and name. “How is that possible?” I whispered, my mind reeling. Just then, a familiar voice cut through the crowd. “Chloe! You have the nerve to show your face here?” I looked up to see Jonny pushing his way through the onlookers, his face a mask of cold fury. “The police showed up at my office! You have a perfectly good job, and you throw it all away to become a con artist?” Hearing the same words in two lifetimes still felt like a punch to the gut. “You’re my husband. Did it even occur to you to ask me what happened before you pronounced me guilty?” He scoffed. “The police are here. What’s left to argue about?” Before I could respond, another commotion broke out. Ava was helping Mr. Davies push to the front, a camera crew trailing right behind them. “That’s her!” Mr. Davies shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at me. “That black-hearted woman scammed me out of my life savings!” Ava, for her part, looked heartbroken. “Chloe, we’ve been best friends for ten years. I can’t believe I never saw this side of you.” I stared at her, my gaze like ice. “Ava, perjury is a crime. Are you sure you want to do this?” She avoided my eyes, sighing with theatrical sadness. “Even if we are best friends, I can’t cover up a crime for you!” Then she turned to my husband, her voice softening. “Jonny, you should convince her to turn herself in…” “Enough!” I cut her off, my voice sharp. “If you’re going to frame me, you’d better have some real evidence!” My eyes flickered to Ava’s hand, which was still resting on Jonny’s arm. I let out a cold laugh. “The two of you are so eager to sling mud at me. You haven’t been sleeping together, have you?” 3 That question was a bomb that detonated in the middle of the crowd. “Are you insane?!” Jonny’s face paled. He instantly shook Ava’s hand off his arm and roared, his voice betraying a hint of panic. “How dare you say something like that in front of all these people!” Ava’s reaction was even faster. Her eyes immediately welled up with tears, and she pointed a trembling finger at me. “Chloe! You’re the one who’s done something shameful, and now you’re trying to blame us?” She turned to the onlookers, her voice catching with a perfectly timed sob. “This is the woman I’ve called my best friend for ten years!” Whispers rippled through the crowd. A few older women shot me looks of disgust. “Enough! Save your act!” I raised my voice. “The issue here is, on what grounds are you accusing me of fraud?” I pointed to the young traffic cop who had brought me home. “He can be my alibi! I’ve been with him since nine o’clock this morning!” Every head turned to the officer. He looked momentarily surprised, then stepped forward. “That’s correct. I pulled this woman over at 9:10 AM for a suspected DUI, and she has been with me, cooperating with the investigation, ever since.” “This is a police matter! Unrelated personnel should not interfere!” Ava shrieked without thinking. I laughed coldly. “He’s a police officer. How is he ‘unrelated personnel’?” She blurted out, “You… you must have hired an imposter! Are you crazy? That’s a felony!” The traffic cop’s expression hardened. He pulled out his badge and presented it to the investigating officers. “I’m with the East Precinct Traffic Division. Here’s my identification.” The officer took the badge, examined it, and spoke into his radio to confirm. When he looked up again, his eyes were sharp. “This officer’s credentials are real. I’m going to need an explanation.” His gaze darted between Ava and Jonny. “Why would you identify someone as a suspect when she has a confirmed alibi?” The statement landed with the force of a thunderclap. Ava, who clearly hadn’t anticipated this turn of events, took a nervous step back, trying to hide behind Jonny. I was about to press my advantage when Mr. Davies suddenly lunged forward, pointing a finger at my face. “I can prove she’s the fraud!” He shakily pulled a crumpled piece of paper and a scrap of fabric from his pocket and handed them to the officer. “Here’s the evidence, officer!” “Last week, at a community event, it was her! She kept pestering me to invest in some retirement project, making it sound like the deal of a lifetime.” “She specifically told me to come to the bank today, said she’d get a commission.” “I was foolish enough to transfer the money, and then she ran off without even giving me a proper contract!” I countered, “I’ve never even been to your neighborhood, and I don’t handle investment products.” “Besides, you’d believe a total stranger just like that?” Mr. Davies licked his lips, his cloudy eyes raking over my body. “Such a bad memory for a young girl. You worked very hard to get me to invest, you know.” He lowered his voice, but just enough for everyone nearby to hear. “Those three nights… you were very enthusiastic. It’s been a long time since this old man has been taken care of so well!” Camera flashes erupted. The crowd gasped. “Shut up!” A chill ran down my spine. “I can sue you for slander!” Unfazed, he pulled a pair of lace panties from his other pocket and shook them out for everyone to see. “Here’s the proof. You left in a hurry that morning and forgot these on my bed.” “I’ve been cherishing them.” The dubious stains on the fabric were sickeningly visible in the daylight. But what truly made my blood run cold was that they were, unmistakably, a custom-made pair my husband had given me for our wedding anniversary. On the inside, my initials were embroidered in silk thread. C.H. 4 The crowd exploded. “Tsk, tsk. She looks so proper, but she’s doing things like that!” “Don’t you get it? The old guy’s got a pension! That’s prime real estate!” “Her poor husband! Cheated on with an old man!” Jonny seized the moment, lunged forward, and slapped me hard across the face. “No wonder you never wanted to have kids with me! You were sleeping around this whole time!” “What did I ever do to you to deserve this humiliation?!” An officer immediately stepped between us. “Sir, please remain calm! Settle your personal matters in private!” Jonny reluctantly backed away, his face a mask of feigned heartbreak. I wiped the blood from my lip. My heart felt like it was being torn apart. He was using the child we lost… as a weapon against me. The child I had given up to honor his wish to be child-free was now just another tool for his moral grandstanding. The officer picked up the underwear with two disgusted fingers. “Ms. Harris, does this belong to you?” I took a deep breath. “Yes, it’s mine, but…” The reporters pounced on my hesitation, their cameras flashing relentlessly. “But I have no idea how it got there,” I finished, swallowing my humiliation. “I lost that pair a while ago.” Jonny sneered. “How else? You tried to seduce him and failed, didn’t you?” But I didn’t break. I pulled out my phone and calmly played a recording. It was the audio of me calling Ava to ask for time off. Her voice was crystal clear. “Okay, I’ll cover for you. You just focus on getting better.” I held the phone out for the officer to hear, showing him the time-stamp on the recording. Ava’s face went slack with shock. “You… you recorded me?” she stammered. The next second, she was scrambling to recover. “That’s impossible! It must have been edited!” “If you don’t believe it,” I said calmly, “we can have it professionally authenticated at the station.” Ava seemed to receive a message on her phone, because she suddenly grabbed the officer’s sleeve. “Officer, I just got the bank’s surveillance footage! It’s much more reliable evidence than some recording!” The video that played on her screen made my blood run cold. It showed me, after leaving the bank, returning to my station to process Mr. Davies’s transaction. The “me” in the video was wearing the exact same beige trench coat I had on today, right down to the hairstyle. A smug, triumphant look crossed Ava’s face. “See? Who are you trying to fool with an edited recording?” “Everyone, look closely! She asked for a day off, then turned right around to scam an old man!” “That’s impossible! I was at the hospital getting my blood drawn! The police and the hospital have complete records!” “This is obviously a deepfake!” I whirled on Ava. “Do you get some kind of sick thrill from framing me?” She stood up straighter. “What are you talking about? That’s you in the video. I didn’t have time to fake anything. You’re just a coward who can’t admit what you’ve done!” Jonny immediately jumped in to support her. “Ava is just trying to help you get on the right path! If you can’t even see that, then I want a divorce!” The crowd began to stir again, a fresh wave of murmurs washing over me. My temples throbbed. Remembering the tragedy of my past life, I gritted my teeth. “I have video evidence, too!” The traffic cop retrieved his body camera from his patrol car. “From 9:10 AM onward, Ms. Harris was under my surveillance the entire time. That includes the blood draw at the hospital, which was also fully recorded.” He played the video. The footage clearly showed my movements at the exact same time as the bank video, creating a direct and impossible conflict. The scene fell into a dead silence. Faced with two completely contradictory videos, everyone was stunned.

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After the psychologist hypnotized my husband, a single keyword would switch him into a mode of relentless seduction. One day, while I was out, my sister snuck into our house and started a video call. Through the screen, she smiled, a taunt in her eyes. “Sis, what do you think will happen if I say the keyword? Will he listen to me, too?” Just then, the study door opened, and my husband, Julian, walked out. With chilling confidence, my sister spoke the word. And I could only watch, paralyzed, as my husband began to walk slowly, deliberately, toward her. 1 After Julian’s therapy session concluded, a message from his psychologist, Dr. Sharma, lit up my phone. 【The hypnotic suggestion has been successfully implanted.】 【Activation Phrase: Начинать】 【Deactivation Phrase: Конец】 【Upon activation, he will perceive the speaker as his beloved wife and embody the role of a perfect, attentive lover. Afterward, the memory of this period will not exist in his conscious mind.】 【WARNING: Do not reveal the keywords to anyone.】 I sent a quick “Understood” and slipped the phone away, my heart thumping as I approached the study. Inside, Julian sat behind his large oak desk, pinching the bridge of his nose, the weight of his corporate world etched onto his brow. “How are you feeling?” I asked, my voice softer than I intended. He looked up, his eyes holding their usual, frustrating distance. “Better. Thank you.” A relieved smile touched my lips. “Good. You’ve been under so much pressure with the company. I thought a little professional guidance might help.” The psychologist was my idea, framed as stress relief. The truth was far more selfish. It was a desperate gambit to bridge the chasm between us. After a year of marriage, we were little more than polite roommates, our relationship a masterpiece of respectful distance. But I yearned for him. All of him. He noticed me lingering. “Is there something else?” Taking a deep breath, I stepped inside and clicked the door shut behind me. The keywords were set. It was time to see if this audacious plan would work. Could the cool, aloof Julian really transform into the devoted husband of my dreams? I walked to his desk, met his gaze, and let the first word slip from my lips, a tentative whisper. “Начинать.” We had chosen the Russian words for “begin” and “end” to avoid any accidental triggers in daily conversation. Slowly, a change began to ripple through his eyes. The calm, bottomless pools I knew so well started to churn. And in their depths, something new and feral sparked to life. Desire. 2 Julian’s gaze softened, now molten with an affection I’d only ever dreamed of. He rose from his chair, his movements fluid and purposeful. Taking my hand, he pressed a lingering kiss to the back of it, his eyes never leaving mine. “My love,” he murmured, his voice a low thrum that vibrated through me. “It’s time for bed.” His lips began a slow, torturous ascent, a fiery path from my hand, over my wrist, along the sensitive skin of my forearm, until they reached the curve of my shoulder. A year of touch-starved longing erupted in a full-body shiver at every point of contact. Panic flared, sudden and sharp. I snatched my arm back. “Wait, just—just a second.” He stopped instantly, his tenderness unwavering. His fingers gently toyed with a lock of hair at my neck. “What is it?” I bit my lip, my skin still burning where he’d touched me. “The… the bedroom.” I grabbed his hand and pulled him, a willing captive, toward our room. He followed without protest, a gentle, knowing smile playing on his lips. It was like looking at a stranger—a warm, passionate stranger wearing my husband’s face. The ice mountain I had married had melted into a volcano. In the bedroom, I sat on the edge of the mattress, my nerves a tangled mess. Julian knelt before me, his voice a husky whisper. “Tell me what you want, my love.” The heat in my face intensified. But then I remembered: he wouldn’t recall any of this. A fresh wave of boldness washed over me. I unlocked my tablet, pulled up a video I’d carefully selected, and held it out to him. “Like… like this.” His eyes flickered to the screen, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “As you wish.” He was a perfect student. He replicated every move from the video with a precision and passion that left me breathless. But as we neared the point of no return, my courage evaporated. This was my first time, and I wasn’t as ready as I’d thought. I gently pushed him away. He paused, his body coiled with tension, yet his voice was laced with nothing but concern. “Is something wrong? Did I hurt you?” I sat up, pulling my clothes back into place, feeling foolish. “No… it’s just… not tonight. Could you go back to the study for now?” “Of course,” he rasped, his voice thick with unspent passion. He dressed quickly and left without another word. I followed him back to the study, my own heart a confused, racing drum. As he settled behind his desk, I spoke the deactivation word. “Конец.” 3 The haze in Julian’s eyes slowly cleared, the familiar, cool detachment returning like a mask being lowered. After a moment, he looked at me as if seeing me for the first time since I’d entered. “Is there something else?” he asked again. I shook my head, feigning nonchalance. As I turned to leave, he stopped me. “Don’t forget the Dalton’s gala tomorrow night.” He paused, adding, “You can go to bed. I have more work to do.” “I know,” I nodded, my voice as flat as his. “You should get some rest, too.” I retreated, the door clicking shut on the polite stranger who was my husband. The intimacy we had just shared might as well have been a dream, a fantasy played out by two other people. A hollow ache bloomed in my chest. Halfway to the bedroom, I remembered a question I’d forgotten to ask and turned back. This time, I didn’t knock. I just pushed the door open. “By the way, should I wait for you to come home before we head to the gala tomorrow?” Behind the desk, Julian straightened up abruptly, a flash of something like panic in his eyes. His shirt was unbuttoned by two buttons, and a faint flush colored his cheeks. I frowned. “Are you hot?” It was already autumn, and the evenings were cool. “A little,” he said, his voice deeper, thicker than usual. “And no, don’t wait for me. Just have Arthur drive you. And from now on,” he added, his tone firm, “knock before you enter.” The sting of his words was sharp. His wife, treated like an intruder. “Got it.” I spun on my heel and marched back to my room, a new resolve hardening inside me. One day, I vowed, I would make him pay for this on my own terms. In our bed. 4 That day came sooner than I expected. At the Dalton’s gala, my sister, Rachel, “accidentally” smeared a slice of cake down the front of my gown. “Oh my gosh, Danielle, I am so sorry!” she cooed, her apology dripping with false sincerity. “My hand just slipped.” Rachel and I weren’t related by blood. I was the adopted daughter, she was the biological one they found years later. If the Daltons weren’t such a crucial business partner for Julian, I would have avoided this party entirely. I knew she would pull something; she’d always believed she was the one who deserved to be Mrs. Julian Vance. But the triumphant smirk on her face curdled a moment later. Julian appeared at my side, took my arm, and steered me away without giving Rachel so much as a glance. He led me to a private suite on the second floor to change, waiting patiently outside the door. But as I peeled off the ruined dress, a bitter resentment began to brew. I pictured him downstairs, the center of attention, a king in his court. I’d seen the way other women flocked to him, offering him drinks, their eyes hungry. A married man, acting like he was still on the market. A wicked idea sparked in my mind. “Julian,” I called through the door, my voice deliberately helpless. “Could you come in and help me? I can’t reach the zipper on this dress.” “Of course.” The door opened, and he stepped inside. His fingers, cool and professional, brushed against my spine as he worked the zipper. The light, fleeting touches were electric. As he pulled the zipper up, I whispered the word. “Начинать.” The movement on my back stopped. A beat of silence, and then strong arms wrapped around my waist from behind. His warm breath ghosted across my ear. “Tell me what you want this time, my love.” A shiver traced its way down my spine. I turned my head, capturing his lips with mine. It was like a starving beast finally tasting blood. He responded with a ferocious hunger that stole my breath. In the heated space between kisses, I breathed my command. “I want you on your knees.” A dangerous light flashed in his eyes, but he obeyed without question, sinking to the floor before me. I untied the silk tie from his neck and used it to bind his hands behind his back. Then, with deliberate slowness, I began to unbutton his shirt. With each button, I let my fingertips trail over his skin, a soft, taunting caress. After a few agonizing moments, his breathing grew ragged. A dark flush crept up his neck and stained his ears. He looked up at me, his eyes pleading, desperate. “My love…” I stroked his cheek, leaning in close, my lips hovering just above his. “First, you have to please me. Understand?” 5 I don’t know how much time passed, but the air in the suite grew thick and heavy with unspoken promises. Later, Julian was zipping up my dress again. But as the zipper reached the top, his warm hand didn’t retreat. It slid around to my stomach, pulling me back against him. He leaned in, nipping gently at my earlobe. “Do you want more, my love?” he whispered, his voice a low growl. My body trembled, but I gently removed his hand. “Not right now. Next time.” “As you wish.” He obediently stepped back, his hands falling to his sides. After a quick touch-up in the mirror, I ushered him out of the room, restoring the scene to how it was before. Then, I opened the door and spoke the deactivation phrase. “Конец.” The haze in his eyes flickered and then cleared. “All changed?” he asked, his voice back to its usual cool tenor. “Mhm. Let’s go.” I nodded and headed downstairs ahead of him. At the bottom of the staircase, we ran into Julian’s secretary. “Mr. Vance, Mr. Albright has been waiting for you for quite some time.” “It’s only been a few minutes,” Julian said dismissively. “What’s the rush?” The secretary shot a nervous glance in my direction. “Sir, with all due respect… it’s been over half an hour.” Julian froze. “Half an hour?” Sensing disaster, I quickly interjected. “I’m so sorry, that’s my fault. I must have taken longer than I thought. I have to go, I’ll see you at home.” With that, I hurried away, finding a quiet corner to call Dr. Sharma. After I explained the situation, she confirmed my fears. This kind of “fragmented time” was an unavoidable side effect. She advised me to control the setting and duration, suggesting that right before bed was the most suitable time. “Okay, I’ll stick to using it at night from now on,” I said, my voice low. Just as I finished the sentence, a cold voice spoke from directly behind me. “Using what at night?” I nearly dropped my phone. I spun around to find Julian standing there, one hand in his pocket, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. I swallowed hard. “Oh, uh, nothing. My doctor… she prescribed some therapeutic heat packs for my bad sleep. She said nighttime is the best time to use them.” Julian’s brow furrowed, a thoughtful, calculating look on his face. “Is that so? In that case, we should sleep in separate rooms for a while. I wouldn’t want to disturb you.” I stared at him, dumbfounded. If I didn’t know for a fact that he had no memory of what happened, I would have sworn he was doing it on purpose. 6 For the next few nights, I tossed and turned, sleep-deprived and frustrated. Once you’ve tasted sweetness, the bitter days are unbearable. And Julian, in his “attentive lover” mode, had been intoxicatingly sweet. I was… hooked. But my pride wouldn’t let me be the one to suggest we share a bed again. To make matters worse, it seemed Julian had suddenly discovered the art of seduction. He started parading around the house after his showers wearing nothing but a towel slung low on his hips, a stark contrast to his usual modest pajamas. He’d leave the top buttons of his shirts undone, offering tantalizing glimpses of the hard muscle beneath. And all I could do was watch, my frustration mounting with every casual, calculated display. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I started packing for a tour with my old dance company. Julian leaned against the doorframe, sipping a coffee, watching me. “I thought you only accepted private invitations or television gigs now. What’s with the sudden urge to go on tour?” It’s because of you, you damn siren, I screamed internally. “I just miss dancing with my old troupe,” I said aloud. “It’s been too long.” “When will you be back?” “A week, maybe.” A week was long enough to get myself under control. “Good,” he said, taking a slow sip. “Getting more exercise should help with your sleep. When you get back, we won’t need separate rooms anymore.” My hands stilled over a silk blouse. I suddenly had a feeling a week wouldn’t be nearly enough. There was a smug, teasing quality to him lately that I couldn’t place. He couldn’t possibly remember, could he? I glanced up, studying his face. He met my gaze over the rim of his cup, his expression unreadable. “What is it?” “Nothing. I learned a new dance. I’ll perform it for you when I get back.” I looked away, focusing on my packing, and completely missed the way his hand trembled, nearly sloshing hot coffee over the floor. 7 The tour was a whirlwind of motion and music, a welcome distraction that almost made me forget the complicated man I’d left at home. Almost. On the final day, as I was in the wings doing my final stretches before the closing performance, a video call from Rachel popped up on my screen. She never contacted me unless she wanted something. Worried it might be about our parents, I hesitantly answered. She was walking, the camera jostling, a wild, gloating look on her face. The background was unnervingly familiar—the garden of my own home. “Danielle,” she purred. “Guess where I am?” A cold knot of dread formed in my stomach. “What are you doing at my house, Rachel?” She laughed, a low, venomous sound. “I overheard your phone call at the gala, sis. The one about your little ‘keyword’. What do you think will happen if I say it? Will Julian listen to me, too?” As she spoke, she pushed open the front door of my villa. My blood ran cold. The command would make him see the speaker as his wife. Any speaker. This was exactly what Dr. Sharma had warned me about. As my mind raced for a solution, the screen went black. But I could hear Julian’s confused voice through the speaker. “Rachel?” The screen flickered back on, showing me a strange, skewed view of the living room. I saw Julian step out of his study. Rachel shot a final, triumphant look at the camera, then, with chilling confidence, she spoke the word. “Начинать.” I watched, frozen in horror, as Julian’s posture shifted. He turned his head and began to walk slowly, deliberately, toward her. I immediately ended the call and tried to dial Julian’s number. It rang and rang, unanswered. Panic seized me. “Danielle, it’s time!” A fellow dancer grabbed my arm. “We’re on!” Before I could protest, she plucked the phone from my trembling hand and pulled me onto the stage.

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My biggest problem is that I sleep too well. So well, in fact, that I can be thrown into a survival horror game and still be dead asleep in four seconds flat. A blood-drenched little girl stood at the foot of my bed, but my snores were loud enough to shake the walls. The corpse of a hanged woman in a painting opened its eyes at midnight, only to see me grinding my teeth in my sleep. When I got too hot in the middle of thenight, I rolled over and wrapped my arms around something cool and firm to the touch. It felt nice. The final boss whispered, “…Are you going to open your eyes? Or are you just using me as a body pillow?” [SYSTEM: Game “The Haunting of Crestfall Manor” has finished loading.] [SYSTEM: Player “Eva Nightingale” has entered the game.] [SYSTEM: Player Rank: C] The moment I materialized in the game, the other players seated around a long, mahogany table erupted. “Are you kidding me? We’re all A-rank players, and the system throws a C-rank noob in here?” “Some people will do anything for a few XP, even risk their lives. This one’s got a death wish!” “A C-rank, in Crestfall Manor? I’ll bet she doesn’t even last the night!” Nine men and women sat at the table, all seasoned A-rank veterans who had clawed their way out of countless digital hellscapes. They stared at me as if they’d just seen a ghost, probably horrified that they were now stuck babysitting a rookie. A young woman with a kind face couldn’t take the bickering anymore. She stood up. “Everyone, calm down. For a C-rank to be teleported into an A-rank instance, she must have a secret weapon, right?” “Bullshit! What could a C-rank possibly have?” “Exactly! How many instances has she even seen? She’ll probably piss her pants at the first sign of a ghoul!” The woman looked at me, urging, “Well? Do you have one?” A secret weapon? I actually did. I thought for a moment, then answered earnestly, “I’m an excellent sleeper.” The players fell silent. Then, in unison: “…Are you fucking with us?” The live-stream chat exploded. [Streamer, it’s okay to not have a skill, you know.] [LMAO, you don’t have to embarrass yourself with a skill that lame!] [Can the streamer just go home? Please just go home.] I sighed internally. They had no idea just how powerful a good night’s sleep could be. Once the players recovered from their shock, a man in a leather jacket swaggered over to me, looking me up and down with contempt. “You’re late. We’ve already assigned the rooms.” He pointed downwards. “The one in the basement is yours.” The manor had three floors. The A-rank players had, of course, claimed the prime real estate on the first and second floors. The room they’d left for me radiated a palpable chill, a coldness I could feel from ten feet away. The door was smeared with bloody handprints. Pale moonlight streamed through a grimy window, illuminating a large bed in the center of the room. [CHAT: Damn, even I’m getting scared just looking at this through my screen.] [CHAT: Everyone knows the ghosts in this instance start spawning from the basement. They’re totally screwing her over.] [CHAT: Look, she’s scared. She’s gonna turn around and beg the A-rankers for help!] I turned back to the man in the jacket and gave him a bright smile. “Goodnight.” The chat feed filled with question marks. The man, let’s call him Jax, was stunned into silence by my calm reaction. I shut the door in his face. Then, in one smooth motion, I kicked off my shoes, changed into my pajamas, and dove onto the bed. A king-sized bed! A single room! And the pillows were velvet! Did anyone understand what this meant to a college girl who’d spent four years crammed into a tiny dorm room? This was heaven! I rolled around ecstatically under the covers. [CHAT: Youth is wasted on the young. Falls asleep in a second.] [CHAT: Wait, she’s actually sleeping? Where does the system find these weirdos?] [CHAT: If she’d just looked up for a second, she would have fainted from fright.] Because I fell asleep so quickly, I completely missed the painting hanging over my bed: a portrait of a woman who had hanged herself. This horror instance, “The Haunting of Crestfall Manor,” was based on a real-life murder-suicide that had wiped out an entire family years ago in this very mansion. A family of five, all dead under mysterious circumstances. Ever since, the house has been haunted. As midnight struck, the woman in the painting’s eyes snapped open, bleeding pupils rolling downwards to look at me. Her voice, a dry rasp, filled the room. “He is my deepest nightmare…” “I am his closest secret…” “We share the same blood… Who is he?” I rolled over, tangling my legs in the blanket, and let out a soft snore. The ghost froze for a second, then gritted her teeth and repeated, “Who is he?” I responded with a loud, grating sound as I ground my teeth. The ghost was losing it. She started tearing at her hair and stomping her feet inside the painting. “Who is he!” “WHO IS HE!” “WHO IS HE!” [CHAT: …Wait, is this allowed? Did she just glitch the game?] [CHAT: How many players have been disemboweled by this ghost for getting the riddle wrong? And she just… sleeps through it.] [CHAT: This streamer is a rock. You could start a jet engine next to her ear and she wouldn’t stir.] The next morning, I woke up from my beauty sleep feeling refreshed. The room was normal, except for the hanged woman in the painting, who was now glaring at me with an expression of profound resentment. A system notification told me to go downstairs for breakfast. By the time I arrived, the long table held nothing but scraps and dirty plates. “Sorry,” a guy with bleached-blond hair said, picking his teeth. “I ate your share. A C-rank like you won’t last long anyway. Why waste valuable resources?” A girl handed me something. “Here, this was my hot milk. You can have it.” It was the same girl who had defended me yesterday. I took it. “Thanks.” “My name’s Eliot,” she said. “I’m…” I yawned. “…I’m a bit sleepy. Was there anything else? If not, I think I’ll go take a nap.” Eliot stared at me, speechless. “…Something happened on the first floor last night. A player died,” Jax announced, shaking me by the shoulder. I must have dozed off. “Since there’s a room free, the C-rank can have it.” I blinked my eyes open, realizing the A-rank players were discussing strategy. “Hey! I’m talking to you. Did you hear me?” I yawned again. “Sorry, I drifted off for a second. What were you saying?” Jax looked like he was about to pop a blood vessel. “Do you think this is a hotel? How can someone so young sleep so much!” It wasn’t until he opened the door that I understood why the A-rank players were suddenly being so generous. Before me was a little girl’s bedroom. A fluffy blue cloud-patterned rug was littered with dolls, and in the center stood a pink princess bed. But a stark contrast to the room’s cheerful decor was the massive pool of blood seeping out from under the bed, and the dismembered human limbs scattered across the floor. It was the room where the player had died last night. [CHAT: Well, Sleepyhead Eva is screwed now. Sleeping in here means a guaranteed visit from the little girl ghost. Get ready to be torn to shreds!] [CHAT: The little girl is a mini-boss. You can’t just sleep your way past her.] [CHAT: Don’t spoil it, guys! See? She’s so scared she’s running away… wait, why is she coming back with a broom?] I returned with a broom and dustpan and began sweeping up the body parts with a grunt. Then I took a rag and meticulously wiped every corner of the floor. When I was done, I finished with a spritz of air freshener. “Honestly, this little girl!” I muttered to myself. “No sense of bedroom hygiene at all!” After all, a clean and fresh environment is essential for quality sleep. [CHAT: …Did this woman used to be a professional cleaner? Why is she so calm?] [CHAT: When it comes to sleep, our streamer is dead serious.] [CHAT: Everyone else is here to clear the game, she’s here doing housekeeping. You could use that floor as a mirror now.] Thanks to my daytime chores, I was fast asleep before 10 PM. In the dead of night, a thick, coppery smell of blood seeped under the door. Creeeak—the door swung open. A little girl in a blood-soaked nightgown scuttled into the room on all fours, moving like a spider. In a flash, she was on the bed, ready to pounce. My snoring echoed through the room. The little girl froze, then opened her mouth in a silent, jagged scream. I remained still as a log, sleeping like the dead. [CHAT: NOW, LITTLE GIRL! BITE HER! DO IT!] [CHAT: I paid for the premium stream to see some action! I’ve got my popcorn ready!] [CHAT: Is it just me or is the vibe off? I thought this was a horror game, why do I feel like I stumbled into an ASMR stream?] The little girl shredded the bedsheets with her claws and lunged, her fangs aimed at my leg. I shot upright and, in a fluid motion, threw my thick cotton quilt over her. Trapped and disoriented under the blanket, the little girl thrashed and shrieked. I lifted a corner of the quilt, exposing only her head, and tucked the rest of her body snugly inside. When she saw my face, she started screaming again. I gently pinched her lips together with my fingers. “Hush now, little one. No more noise.” The girl froze, her large, crimson eyes staring blankly for a moment. I laid her down flat on the bed and patted her gently, as if soothing a child. “You poor thing,” I cooed. “Look at how bloodshot your eyes are. You’ve been staying up too late, haven’t you?” At my words, a single, dark tear trickled from the corner of her eye. After a long moment, she slowly closed her eyes. [CHAT: Is there a game master? Can someone check this? Is this even legal?] [CHAT: Totally legal. That little girl has been haunting this place for decades and no one’s ever tucked her in. Sleepyhead Eva just scored major points.] [CHAT: Eva’s gonna coddle these ghosts back into the womb at this rate.] As I continued my rhythmic patting, the little girl grew still and quiet, motionless as a porcelain doll. Up close, she was almost cute. The chat was still a waterfall of exclamation points. When I woke up the next morning, the little girl was gone. All that remained were the faint, dark stains on the sheets from her bloody nightgown. Downstairs, the other players stared at me, their faces a mask of disbelief as I walked in completely unharmed. “You… you didn’t encounter the boss last night?” Jax stammered. “Nope. Just met a little girl.” “We slept together,” I added. “She was a good kid. Didn’t even kick the blankets off.” A collective gasp went through the room. [SYSTEM: Congratulations to the remaining players for surviving the first three days.] [SYSTEM: From the third night onwards, the final boss will begin to roam randomly.] After a meager breakfast, the system announcement echoed. “Since this is about a family annihilation, I’m guessing the hidden boss is the killer,” one player theorized. “For safety, we should all move to the third floor and set up a watch schedule. What do you guys think…” “Excuse me,” I started. Jax shot me a withering glare. “A C-rank trying to ally with us? Not a chance. Stay away from us.” “Um, actually…” “Only three people can clear this game. We’re already being merciful by not ganging up on you!” I waited for Jax to finish his tirade, then pointed to a carton of warm milk next to him. “I was just going to ask… if you’re not going to drink that, can I have it?” Jax was speechless. The entire room fell silent, staring at me as if I were a complete idiot. Silence is consent. I happily took the milk and tucked it into my pocket. A little warm milk before bed is the key to a perfect night’s sleep, after all! The A-rank players claimed the two master bedrooms on the third floor, leaving me with a choice between a large and a small guest room. [CHAT: Place your bets, folks! Which one does she pick?] [CHAT: Is that even a question? She’s been sleeping like a log in huge beds for two nights straight.] [CHAT: Definitely the big one.] I stood in the hallway, looking at the two doors, then without a moment’s hesitation, I pushed open the door to the smaller room. [CHAT: …] [CHAT: Is she psychic? Can she see us? Why does she always do the opposite of what we expect?] Fools. Everyone knows a smaller room conserves energy and promotes better sleep. Just as I was about to step inside, a voice echoed from the void. [SYSTEM: Are you certain?] It was the system. [SYSTEM: Do you understand the consequences of staying here?] The system only ever intervened when a player was facing imminent, critical danger. The small room was sparsely furnished: a bed, a bookshelf, a wardrobe. I thought for a moment, then replied, “A wonderful night’s sleep.” The layout, the furniture… it was an exact replica of my childhood bedroom. Without another thought, I took a running leap and dove onto the bed, rolling around joyfully under the covers. Oh, my dear little bed, I’ve missed you so much! [SYSTEM: …] [SYSTEM: What is more important to you, clearing the game or sleeping?!] “Sleeping, obviously,” I replied. Midnight again. Thump. Thump. Thump. Heavy footsteps sounded right beside my pillow. A tall, shadowy figure stood by my bed, its limbs crudely stitched together, long hair hanging down to obscure its face. The chat, invisible to me, was going wild. [CHAT: !!! My husband is here! Who else re-watches this stream just to see the male ghost?!] [CHAT: He’s gonna go on a killing spree! I’m so excited! Snap her neck! Rip out her guts!] [CHAT: The boss has a 99.9% kill rate. The streamer is toast this time… wait. Did she just pull the boss into bed with her?] I was feeling unbearably hot in my sleep when my hand brushed against something icy cool. Without thinking, I pulled it into bed with me. Clutching the cold form in my arms, I felt all the stifling heat dissipate. It was so refreshing, so comfortable. The figure in my embrace stiffened. I mumbled something in my sleep, shifted my position, and nuzzled against its neck. The entity went completely rigid. A moment later, a low, raspy male voice broke the silence. “…Are you going to open your eyes? Or are you just using me as a body pillow?”

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At Crestwood Prep, my only joy was eating in the cafeteria. When classmates called me a fat pig, I’d grin: “Mom’s the top hog breeder in our county.” Then bullies shoved scholarship student Ramona into my food tray. The cafeteria roared as she lifted her head, her gaze chilling. Text scrolled in my vision: [You’re screwed! The heroine’s going dark! In 10 years, she’ll kill everyone here.] I hiccuped in terror. Lose my lunch and get murdered later? Ramona staggered away as the chat pitied her: [Bullying gave her anorexia. Only the male lead cures her—she stays loyal even when he hurts her.] Key detail: Cure her anorexia = Survive. I called Mom: “Got a project—an 80-pound ‘piglet.’ Pretty skinny one.” 1 “What? Son, isn’t that a little… lean for a pig?” My mom, a professional livestock breeder, sounded unimpressed. “Slip of the tongue, slip of the tongue!” I corrected myself. “Not a pig, a person. A scholarship student at my school. She’s so skinny you can count her ribs.” “Ribs?” my mom’s voice immediately brightened. “Now those are delicious! Great in a soup, or braised…” “Mom!” “Misheard you, misheard you! It’s noisy over here. So, you’re raising a classmate, not a pig, right? No problem! You bring her home, and I guarantee I’ll have her fattened up to a hundred and sixty pounds and ready for market in no time!” Hearing my mom’s promise, I breathed a massive sigh of relief. With her on the case, Ramona’s anorexia should be manageable, which meant my life was no longer on the line. I took off at a full sprint and caught up with Ramona. “Hey, classmate! Want to come over to my place for dinner?” The girl, who looked like a walking stick, slowly turned. Her school uniform was still stained with the gravy from my lunch tray. Her eyes were hollow, a ghost in a school uniform. At my invitation, she let out a cold, bitter laugh. “What’s this? Some new kind of prank?” I waved my hands frantically. “No, you’ve got it all wrong! I’m not with them. I just… you look a little thin. I wanted to invite you to my house for a meal.” Ramona acted as if she hadn’t heard me, turning to walk away. I rushed after her, pleading with all my heart. “Ramona, the food at my house is amazing! If you don’t believe me, just smell your uniform.” Hesitantly, she pinched the fabric of her shirt and gave it a tentative sniff. “See? Smells good, right? Today I had braised chitterlings, and the sauce is my mom’s secret…” Before I could finish, Ramona stumbled over to a wall and retched violently. I was stunned. Chitterlings are a delicacy! Why would she throw up? I crept closer, offering her a tissue with a smile. “Actually, it wasn’t chitterlings. It was pig’s head stew.” “Blech!” She threw up again. “Okay, okay, not stew either. It was offal soup!” “…” This time, Ramona didn’t vomit. She just passed out cold. The live chat reappeared in my vision. [Holy crap, is this guy for real? He knows she hates pork and he just keeps listing pig parts!] [Ramona: Looks like she’s breathing, but I think her soul just left her body.] [This side character has to be doing this on purpose, right? This is some next-level psychological torture!] [Forget physical bullying, this dude attacks the soul!] Feeling wronged, I called my mom. The second she picked up, I started wailing. “Mom! Someone hates pigs! Pigs are so cute, how could anyone hate pigs?!” 2 After I finished my tearful rant, I realized Ramona was still unconscious on the ground. With a sigh, I went to help her up. A well-meaning student came over and asked if I needed a hand. But before he could even finish his sentence, I had already hoisted Ramona onto my shoulder. I gave her a little bounce. She was way too light. Eighty, maybe eighty-five pounds, tops. The student stared, a bit awkwardly. Then, his curiosity got the better of him. “Luke, how are you so strong?” I scratched the back of my head, a little embarrassed. “Grew up carrying piglets. You just get used to it.” I took Ramona to the school infirmary, asked the nurse to get her into a clean set of clothes, and put everything on my tab. That’s the one downside to an elite academy—everything costs a fortune. Thank God for the stack of supplementary black cards my mom gave me. The school nurse put Ramona on an IV drip, her brow furrowed. “This student is suffering from severe malnutrition. If this continues, her prognosis is not optimistic.” I nodded in solemn agreement. “How about you write her a medical leave slip? I can take her home to recover.” Just as the nurse was about to write it, Ramona’s eyes fluttered open. “No,” she said, her voice sharp and final. She tried to pull the IV needle out of her arm. I quickly stopped her. “Ramona, your health is in a really dangerous state right now.” “Look, how about this? You come home with me. I’ll cover your food and housing, and I’ll even pay you a monthly salary. Just… be my personal tutor.” Ramona’s eyes were filled with suspicion. Even the nurse chimed in, “Luke, you know that human trafficking and fraud are illegal, right?” I stomped my foot in frustration. “It’s not a scam, it’s real!” Ramona sneered. “Do you rich people just get off on using your money to trample on other people’s dignity? My life may be worthless, but I won’t accept your humiliating charity!” She threw back the blanket and tried to get out of bed. I was out of options. I had to resort to my mom’s ultimate move. I tossed a card onto her blanket. “There’s ten thousand on this. Come back with me and have one meal.” Ramona froze. I threw down another card. “Fifty thousand.” The nurse cleared her throat. “Luke, is your family perhaps looking to hire a…” “Nope.” The nurse shook her head in disappointment. Just as I was about to throw down a third card, Ramona picked up the first one. Her head was bowed, her expression hidden. “Are you serious?” Her voice was as soft as a feather landing on snow. “Of course!” Ramona looked up, a faint glimmer of light in her eyes. “Then we sign a contract.” “Deal!” We were both in agreement. The live chat, however, was not. [What is this side character doing? Corrupting the heroine with money? And the heroine, seriously, giving in so easily!] [Her dad’s dead, her mom ran off, and the grandma who raised her is critically ill. She’s desperate for money!] [If I could be corrupted by a black card, I’d be open to it…] [Agree.] [Same here.] [Couldn’t agree more.] 3 We signed the contract in my Rolls-Royce, parked just outside the school gates. After signing, Ramona’s gaze on me grew even more complicated. She lowered her head, a self-deprecating smile on her lips. “I’ve taken your money. Now you can humiliate me however you want.” As she spoke, she took my hand and pressed it against her own cheek, her expression vacant. “Hit me as you please. I won’t fight back.” A button on her shirt was undone, and through the gap, I could see angry red marks on her skin. I snatched my hand back as if I’d been electrocuted, shaking it out. “No, no, no! I’m not into hitting people.” Ramona looked at me, her eyes filled with confusion and disbelief. “You gave me the money so you could take out your frustrations on me, right? Or… do you have something even worse in mind?” I was taken aback. I never imagined that’s how she would see things. What on earth had she been through to become this way? “Ramona, your grades are incredible. I’m paying you to tutor me!” Her eyes remained wary, as if the world had never shown her an ounce of kindness. I let out a breath and extended my hand with a smile. “Let’s start over. I’m Luke, from class 2-B. It’s a pleasure to meet you properly.” Ramona hesitantly shook my hand. “Ramona. Class 1-A.” I brought Ramona to my house. Not long after, my mom came home. She had a jade pendant the size of a car air freshener hanging around her neck and two or three thick gold bracelets on each wrist. From head to toe, she screamed one thing: nouveau riche. And she was. That’s why I never talked back when the kids at school called me a rich brat. They were right. Besides, I didn’t see it as an insult. Plenty of people would kill to be nouveau riche. Mom was thrilled to see Ramona. “Well hello there, young lady!” She slapped Ramona on the shoulder, a friendly gesture that sent the poor girl into a fit of coughing. “Mom!” I yelped, rushing to pour Ramona water and pat her back. I tried to smooth things over. “Ramona, please don’t be mad! My mom doesn’t mean any harm, she’s just… got a bit of a strong hand.” If Ramona got angry and added my mom to her future kill list, it would be a disaster. The world of animal husbandry would lose a shining star. Ramona, her face flushed from coughing, just shook her head. “It’s okay, I’m fine.” My mom pulled me aside. “Son, you’ve never brought a classmate home before, especially not a girl! And seeing how nervous you were… don’t tell me you…” She wiggled her eyebrows at me. I didn’t disappoint, nodding firmly. “You’re right, Mom. I like her.” “So, I need you to do whatever it takes to get her healthy, happy, and well-fed!” My mom immediately snapped a salute. “Yes, sir, young master!” When it came to animal husbandry, I trusted my mom completely. When she was young, she raised pigs back in our home county. She was so good at it they called her the Pig Whisperer. Not a single pig she sold weighed less than three hundred pounds. Later, a few colorful birds showed up in our yard. Mom just tossed them some feed on the side. Before we knew it, our yard was overrun. Just as she was about to whip me up a nice pheasant stew, some officials from the city showed up. Turns out they weren’t just any birds; they were a critically endangered species of pheasant. The same birds that experts were struggling to keep alive were thriving and multiplying under my mom’s care. After that, my mom started raising everything. Now, our family owns dozens of large-scale wildlife parks and conservation centers across the country. Ordinary animals come to us and get fattened up like prize hogs before having a dozen babies. Rare animals breed like they’re trying to become an invasive species. If she could handle all those tricky animals, I had no doubt she could handle one skinny girl named Ramona. 4 Ramona, taking her new role as my tutor seriously, started spreading her textbooks out on the dining table, ready to begin my lesson. While she wasn’t looking, I quietly whisked the stack of worksheets and review books away. When Ramona turned back, the papers she had just laid out were gone. She looked around, confused, even checking under the table. “In our house,” I explained quickly, “the dining table is a sacred space. Mundane things like books and papers are not allowed to defile it.” It was a bizarre excuse, and Ramona stared at me for a long moment. I suspected the top chemistry student was trying to analyze the elemental composition of my brain. Before she could produce a new set of worksheets, my mom started bringing out the food. With a platter of Lobster Thermidor in her left hand and a tureen of seared foie gras in her right, she bellowed, “Dinner’s served!” She set the dishes down with a flourish. She winked at Ramona. “Luke told me you don’t like pork, so tonight is a Pork-Free Fiesta!” The name was definitely her creation. Ramona stared at the two extravagant dishes, stunned. After a moment, she stammered, “Isn’t this… a little too much food?” My mom’s use of stainless steel serving platters the size of hubcaps had clearly intimidated her. I was about to explain when our household staff began to march in, a parade of culinary excess. “Roast duck, one whole!” “Bouillabaisse, one tureen!” “Roasted leg of lamb, one!” … I think Ramona’s brain short-circuited. Dish after magnificent dish was placed before her. Things that flew in the sky, ran on the ground, and swam in the sea were all present on our table. Ramona slowly turned to me, her eyes wide with undisguised shock. I held up one of her confiscated worksheets. “See? I told you. No room for study materials on the table.” She frowned, looking completely baffled. The live chat started laughing at me. [Hahaha, he really messed up! The heroine can’t stomach anything rich or meaty at this stage! And he serves her a feast of flesh.] [Does he really think her anorexia is that easy to cure? Only the male lead has the magic touch!] Ramona opened her mouth to speak, but I shot up from my seat. “Wait! I know what you’re going to say!” I turned to my mom, my expression more determined than ever. “Mom, change of plans! Swap out the menu!” Ten minutes later, the table was a sea of green. Several of the salads looked like they’d been plucked from the garden moments ago. I presented a pair of chopsticks to Ramona with both hands, flashing a triumphant smile. “Ramona, please, eat whatever you like.” Who are you kidding? I thought. We’re professional breeders. We can produce any kind of food on demand. That night, Ramona only managed a few bites. My mom and I, on the other hand, ate a field’s worth of salad. Our household staff got the full multi-course feast. As Ramona ate, she took tiny, delicate bites, her brow constantly furrowed as if swallowing was a monumental effort. When it was time for her to leave, I couldn’t stop staring at her. I followed her every move, terrified she might throw up the few precious lettuce leaves she’d managed to eat. Finally, at the door, she couldn’t stand it anymore and asked. “Luke, that thing you said earlier… were you serious?” I blanked. I’d said so many things. Which one was she talking about? Ramona took a deep breath, her slender fingers twisting the hem of her uniform until the fabric was mangled. Her eyes darted around, nervous sweat beading on her forehead. “The part where you said… you… you like me…”

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