Category: English

1 Three years. For three years, a stranger wore my skin, lived my life, and shattered my world. Today, I finally clawed my way back. I flipped open my phone, my hands trembling as I scrolled through the cloud-saved security footage. The last three years played out in a horrifying montage: 2021: My daughter, my sweet Rosie, hurt herself for the first time. After that, she never spoke another word. 2022: My husband, Julian, crumbled into a clinical depression. He had me—or the thing wearing my face—sign the divorce papers. 2023: Julian broke completely. He ran his company into the ground and then simply… vanished. No one knows where he is. The last video was from yesterday. The woman who had stolen my life waved cheerfully at the camera. “Mission complete! Company’s bankrupt, husband’s driven mad, and the kid’s a write-off. System upgraded! So, I’m leaving this dumpster fire for you to handle~” Before the shock could even register, my vision was flooded with a stream of translucent comments, like a ghostly chatroom layered over my reality. 【LOL, the transmigrator actually made the villain’s family more villainous. She leveled up her system by maxing out their corruption stats.】 【The daughter bites anyone who comes near her now. The husband drinks himself into a stupor every night.】 【The original owner comes back to find the ‘conquest’ progress bar went in reverse. This is Hell Mode, for real.】 I shut off the video, my stomach churning. As I looked up, my eyes met a pair of small, guarded ones. It was Rosie. In her tiny hand, she clutched a crayon stained with blood. “Rosie…” I whispered, slowly sinking to my knees to meet her gaze. She scrambled back instantly, the crayon dragging a jagged red line across the wall—a warning. My eyes fixed on the back of her right hand. I saw the faint, puckered outline of a burn, the same one I’d seen in the footage, where the impostor had “accidentally” spilled scalding milk on her. Seeing it on a screen had felt suffocating. Seeing the raised, uneven scar in person made the taste of bile and blood rise in my throat. 【Lmao, who is this gentle act for?】 【The little villain won’t fall for that. The impostor brought in a dozen therapists over the years. None of them worked.】 【Honestly, just tie her up and give her a good spanking. A kid this broken is just gonna grow up to be a menace anyway.】 I ignored the floating text, pulling a small object from my pocket. “Look what Mommy found.” It was her favorite strawberry-shaped hair clip from when she was three. A tiny, dried smudge of jam was still stuck to it. The impostor had deliberately thrown it in the trash before she left. Rosie’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before her lips pressed into a tight, thin line. The tip of her crayon pointed at me, a tiny, makeshift weapon. “Mommy washed it,” I said softly, placing the clip on the floor and gently sliding it toward her. “Does Rosie want it?” She stared at the clip for a long moment. Then, with a jerky motion, she scrawled a single word on the wall: LIAR. 【Pfft, the little psycho is smarter than she looks. No trust there.】 【The transmigrator must have lied to her constantly. She did everything she could to crank up the kid’s darkness points.】 【Just give up. You can’t tame a wild animal like that.】 【Am I the only one who thinks the kid is just… a kid? She’s the victim here. I remember Rosie used to be so sweet.】 A sharp pain lanced through my chest. My daughter was six. She should be lost in a world of fairy tales and scraped knees, not armed with the word “liar” to fend off the person who was supposed to be her safest harbor. “I know Rosie doesn’t believe me,” I said, keeping my distance. I pulled a photo album from my bag. “But look. This is Rosie’s third birthday…” In the photo, she was wearing a little yellow duck raincoat, laughing so hard in my arms that her face was a smear of birthday cake and pure joy. The Rosie in front of me now was drowning in a pajama set that was too small, the cuffs frayed and worn. Her gaze lingered on the photograph for a few seconds. Then, in a flash, she lunged forward, snatched the album, and clutched it to her chest as she retreated to the corner of the room. The crayon fell, the red wax snapping in two. 【Whoa, she didn’t bite?!】 【Did the little villain have a change of heart? This is weird. I thought she attacked everyone.】 【This isn’t normal. For three years, that kid hasn’t willingly touched another person. Every time she tried, the impostor would catch her and, well… you know…】 I knew exactly what unspeakable cruelties were hidden behind that unfinished sentence. I forced myself to inch forward. “Rosie, are you hungry? Mommy can make you—” She suddenly flew into a frenzy, tearing at her own hair, her mouth opening in a silent scream. A choked, guttural sound escaped her throat, a desperate, animalistic noise of pure terror. My heart seized. I froze. In the videos, every time the impostor said she was “making food,” she would end up dumping it over Rosie’s head. I didn’t say another word. I just turned and walked into the kitchen. Rosie didn’t move. She just stood there, her eyes locked on me, wide with suspicion. Half an hour later, I came back and slowly pushed a small food container across the floor. “Mommy will leave the food right here, okay? It’s Rosie’s favorite strawberry cake. And no carrots.” She used to hate carrots with a passion. The impostor had made a point of mixing carrot purée into everything she gave her. Rosie’s little nose twitched. Her eyes darted to the container and then quickly away. But I saw her fingers, which had been clenched around the photo album, loosen just a fraction. 【She actually remembered her daughter hates carrots. Wonder if the kid can be saved after all.】 【Don’t get your hopes up. The little villain is definitely going to kick it over.】 As if on cue, she lifted her foot to kick the container, but her movement was so frantic that she tripped over her own feet. My instincts screamed. I reached out to steady her. She flinched back like a startled cat, her body curling into a tight ball, the album her only shield. “It’s okay, it’s okay! Mommy won’t touch you,” I said, quickly pulling my hand back and retreating. I pushed the container a little further away. “It’s alright if the cake gets smashed. Mommy can always make more.” She peeked at me from behind the edge of the album, one eye visible. Her fingers unconsciously traced the image of my smiling face in the photograph. The sun was setting, casting a single golden ray through the curtains that landed on her hair. I realized then that it had grown all the way to her waist. The impostor never cut it. Once, she’d even threatened Rosie with a pair of scissors, telling her she’d cut off her fingers. “Rosie’s hair is so beautiful,” I said, my voice soft. “Does Mommy want to help you braid it? Like we used to, with two little pigtails…” Suddenly, she threw the album to the floor. Photos scattered across the wood. I bent down to pick them up, but she was faster. She snatched the birthday picture, shoved it deep into her pajama pocket, and then grabbed the container of cake and fled into her room. 【??? The little villain actually took the cake? She’s going to eat something the original owner made?】 【Holy crap, the world’s ending. Did the little villain just crack? The impostor worked for three years to make her like this.】 【Don’t get too cocky, original owner. Just wait until the villain husband gets back. You’re in for it then.】 I knelt and picked up the broken pieces of red wax from the floor. The tip was wet. It wasn’t blood. It was Rosie’s tears. 2 When Rosie finally emerged from her room, the container was empty. She’d eaten every last crumb of the cake. A fragile warmth bloomed in my chest as I looked at the empty box. But as she stepped out, her large eyes were still filled with that same wariness, like a fawn poised to bolt at the slightest sound. Her gaze kept flicking toward her bedroom door—a door that had no lock. To make monitoring her easier, the impostor had removed the entire mechanism. 【Hah, the little villain is still paranoid about surprise inspections. She used to put a single hair on the door to see if it was opened. Looks like the hair is still intact this time.】 【Seriously, that transmigrator was messed up. Doing that to a little kid… Who could stomach that? She’s just a child.】 【Hey, don’t forget she’s the villain’s daughter. She’s destined to be a villain too. Stop with the bleeding-heart act.】 【Yeah, this original owner is just dithering around. The divorce papers are signed, the kid was given to the father. What is she even still doing here?】 Rosie’s fingers twisted the hem of her pajamas, her knuckles white with tension. I followed her gaze to the door and understood her constant, gnawing anxiety. “Rosie,” I said, crouching down to her level. “Mommy has a present for you.” Half an hour later, a repairman finished installing a brand-new lock. With Rosie watching, I placed the one and only key into her small palm. “From now on, only Rosie can open this door,” I said, gently closing her fingers around the cool metal. “Anyone who wants to come in has to knock first. That includes Mommy.” She stared down at the key, her long eyelashes trembling. The sunlight streaming in from behind her cast a tiny, fluttering shadow beneath her lashes, like a butterfly had momentarily paused there. 【Is the original owner insane? Giving the villain-in-training a lock?】 【Get ready to be locked out and left to cry. The kid’s already a recluse. If something happens to her in that room, the villain dad will literally strangle her.】 【My advice: fill the keyhole with superglue. Don’t show mercy to a villain. What a waste of my premium subscription.】 Suddenly, Rosie reached out her other hand. Her fingertips brushed against my wrist, a touch so light it was like the whisper of a feather. It was enough to make my nose sting with tears. But just as quickly as it came, the touch was gone. She spun around and ran back into her room. A moment later, I heard the solid, reassuring click of the new lock. 【Welp, she’s feeding the tiger that’s gonna eat her.】 【Just waiting for the little villain to sneak out with a pair of scissors in the middle of the night.】 【The original owner is gonna get what’s coming to her.】 【Wait, am I the only one who noticed? The little villain hasn’t bitten anyone in two days.】 I leaned against the wall outside her door, listening to the soft rustling sounds from within. As curious as I was about what she was doing, I refused to disturb her. I trusted my Rosie. She was my daughter, after all. Later that night, I found the empty food container placed outside her door. Tucked inside was a wrinkled piece of paper. On it were two wobbly, lovingly drawn strawberries. 3 Contrary to the grim predictions of the floating comments, Rosie didn’t do anything extreme. That night, we both slept soundly. She didn’t emerge with scissors to stab me, nor did she barricade herself in her room forever. In fact, she was up early the next morning. I found her standing in front of the mirror, a comb clutched in her small hand, looking at me with hesitant eyes. It took me a second to understand. She was waiting for me to brush her hair. “Does Rosie want Mommy to do your hair?” I asked softly. She didn’t speak, but she held the comb out to me and then sat dutifully on the little stool, her back straight and facing me. I began to carefully comb through her long hair, my fingers gently working through the knots, terrified of hurting her. It was so long, nearly to her waist, the ends dry and brittle. The impostor had never brushed it properly, often yanking it on purpose to make Rosie fear the simple act of grooming. But today, she had invited my touch. My eyes started to burn. I braided her hair into two small pigtails, and as a final touch, I fastened the little strawberry clip she loved so much when she was three. In the mirror, Rosie stared at her reflection for a long moment. Her small hand reached up to tentatively touch the clip. The corner of her mouth twitched into the faintest hint of a smile. I knew she was happy. At the breakfast table, I set out strawberry toast and warm milk, along with a bowl of fresh strawberries. She ate with her head down, occasionally glancing up at me before quickly looking away. After she finished, I helped her change into a new strawberry-print sundress I’d bought. Strawberries had been her absolute favorite, but the impostor had deliberately dressed her in clothes covered in carrots, the one thing she detested, making the simple act of getting dressed a daily torment. Today, she finally wore something she loved. She stood in front of the mirror, turning this way and that. She was silent, but I could feel the quiet joy radiating from her. When it was time to leave, Rosie paused at the front door. She hesitated for a second, and then— She reached out and took my hand. Her small, cool fingers curled nervously inside my palm. She held on. My heart skipped a beat. I stood perfectly still, afraid that any movement would make her let go. It was the first time she had willingly initiated contact. But the closer we got to the school, the tighter her grip became. Her steps slowed, her eyes started darting around, and she began to shrink behind me. I knelt down, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “Is Rosie scared?” She didn’t answer, but her eyelashes fluttered. I took out her smartwatch and pulled up the emergency contact screen. My number was the only one there. “If you’re not happy at school today, or if anyone is mean to you, you just press this button. Mommy will come get you right away, okay?” She stared at the watch for a long time. Then, she gave a tiny nod. 4 School let out, but after waiting at the gates for what felt like an eternity, there was still no sign of Rosie. The other children had all streamed out, their laughter and chatter filling the air, but my daughter was nowhere to be seen. A cold dread began to seep into my heart. I rushed into the school building and finally found her cowering behind the classroom door. She was alone, huddled in a corner, her hair a mess. The strawberry clip was gone, and the hem of her new dress was torn. A group of kids stood over her, chanting, “Monster! You’re a thief! Little thief!” Rosie just kept her head down, her hands clenched so tightly in her dress that her knuckles were white. Tears fell, one by one, splashing silently onto the floor. But she hadn’t pressed the button on her watch. 【Why didn’t she call?】 【Didn’t you see? In the past, whenever she was bullied and called for help, the impostor would just scream at her. She’d get punished even worse at home.】 【I don’t think she’s afraid of being yelled at. I think Rosie’s afraid that if she causes any trouble, her mom will decide she’s not worth it and leave her.】 【My heart… that last comment makes so much sense. What did she ever do to deserve this? She’s only six.】 I strode over and knelt in front of her, gently cupping her face in my hands. “Rosie. Mommy’s here.” She looked up, her eyes red and swollen, her lips trembling. She was too scared to even try to speak. My gaze snapped to the other children. “Which one of you did this?” They fell silent. One boy, bolder than the rest, jutted out his chin. “She stole my eraser!” Rosie’s head whipped up. She shook it frantically, tears streaming down her face as she looked at me, desperate to explain but unable to form a single word. Seeing her like this tore me apart. I smoothed her hair back, trying to calm her. 【Oh no, Rosie can’t talk. How can she defend herself?】 【How is she supposed to prove anything?】 I looked back into her desperate eyes and asked gently, “Rosie, where is the eraser?” Her hand trembled as she pointed toward a schoolbag lying in the corner. The bag had been ransacked, its contents strewn about. I walked over and lifted it. Lying underneath was a dirty eraser, clearly stamped with a shoe print. 【They went through her bag?】 【Of course the villain’s daughter is a villain. Like father, like daughter. Stealing things, just as expected.】 【Seriously, this original owner needs to stop being a saint. A kid like that should just be gotten rid of.】 I picked up the eraser and turned to the children. “Who stepped on this?” They exchanged nervous glances, no one daring to speak. I fixed my eyes on the boy. “You said she stole your eraser. What does your eraser look like?” He stammered, “It… it looks just like that one!” “Really?” A cold smile touched my lips. “Because this eraser has a name on it. It says ‘Rosie.’” In the corner of the eraser, written in shaky, childish letters, was her name. 【!!! The mom is a genius!】 【Rosie’s writing is so small, I almost didn’t see it.】 【Hahaha, the look on those kids’ faces!】 The boy’s face paled. He turned and ran, and the other children scattered like frightened birds. I knelt down again, gently wiping the tears from Rosie’s face. “It’s okay, Rosie. The bad people are gone. Mommy believes you.” She froze, a tear hovering on her eyelash, and just stared at me. “Rosie would never steal anything. Mommy knows that,” I said, taking her small hand in mine. “If anyone ever bullies you again, you have to tell Mommy, okay?” And then, it happened. A heart-wrenching sob broke from her lips, and she threw herself into my arms, her little hands clutching my shirt as if she was afraid I would vanish into thin air. She finally believed it. She finally believed her mother was really here to protect her.

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Married to a man who seemed to have the libido of a houseplant, I satisfied my cravings by scrolling through videos of hot guys online. The comments were all variations of the same theme: “It’s so hot out today. Speaking of hot…” I laughed and typed a reply: “Hot or not? ” Suddenly, a private message popped up. “Hey, wanna see mine?” I yelped and threw my phone across the bed. Just then, a knock came at my door. A man stood there, his eyes glassy with drink and glistening with unshed tears. He stumbled into my arms, his voice a broken whisper. “What are you looking at?” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. “Baby, I’m so much better than them. You don’t have to look elsewhere…” 1 It was late, and I was in bed, mesmerized by a video of a guy with washboard abs dancing. That’s when the message popped up: “Hey, wanna see mine?” I shrieked, my skin crawling. But curiosity, that treacherous beast, got the better of me. I clicked on his profile. Oh my. A chiseled, boy-next-door type, dancing shirtless. I spent the next hour happily lost in a sea of rippling muscles and smoldering gazes. Then, a knock shattered the silence. At this hour, it could only be my husband, Brent—all looks, no action. The man who treated his stomach with more care than his wife. “Ava,” he slurred as I opened the door. “My head hurts. Do you have any painkillers?” He was a tall man, but right now, he was all dead weight. The moment the door was open, he collapsed into my arms. “Brent! Hey! Are you completely wasted? You’re so heavy, I can’t hold you.” You wouldn’t believe it, but in two years of marriage, this was the closest we’d ever been. “Ava, my head… it hurts so much. Can you blow on it for me? Please?” Was he possessed? Was this the same robotic man whose entire vocabulary seemed to consist of “Okay,” “Thank you,” and “Good night”? His warm breath tickled my ear as he nuzzled against me. “Ava, it hurts.” He was being so clingy, refusing to move until I did as he asked. I blew a quick puff of air onto his forehead. “There, all better? Let me get you to your room.” With a grunt, I managed to heave him onto my bed, shoes and all. I landed beside him with a thud, stars exploding behind my eyes. He murmured into my ear, his voice thick with sleep. “Stay here.” I looked at the man passed out on my bed and sighed, rubbing my temples. What a handful. Two years ago, to fend off my parents’ relentless nagging about my single status, I had posted a ridiculous, half-joking message online: “Someone, anyone, please marry me.” That night, Brent, a man who had been a silent ghost in my contacts list since college, actually messaged me. “Ava, hello. I believe we might be in need of the same thing.” He then proceeded to send me a ten-page PowerPoint presentation outlining the pros and cons of marrying him. 1. My parents are open-minded and will not interfere. 2. I have a demanding job, but I will ensure your daily needs are met. 3. I’m an excellent cook… His face, I had to admit, was devastatingly handsome. So, in a moment of weakness, I made the same mistake countless women have made before me. And now, I was regretting it. Who knew that at twenty-five, Brent would be living the life of a monk? I went to the kitchen to get him a glass of water. When I came back, he was sprawled out on the bed… and my mind started to wander. It wasn’t that he was unattractive. Far from it. He was probably just not interested in me. Otherwise, what man could resist a 34D? “Here, drink this.” As he reached for the glass, his fingers brushed against mine, and he held my hand as he drank. Water dribbled down his chin and onto his shirt. “Brent, are you doing this on purpose? Are you faking being drunk?” I had seen him turn off my phone before he collapsed. His brow furrowed, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. 2 I scoffed. If he was trying to seduce me, he was doing a terrible job. I tried to pull my hand away. “I’m going to sleep in your room.” Thump. His arm shot out, wrapping around my waist. “Don’t go.” “Brent, what’s gotten into you? Are you having some kind of drunken fever dream?” The smell of alcohol was strong. Could it be that when my robotic husband got drunk, he turned into a clingy mess? His face was flushed as he mumbled, “Why were you watching those sleazy guys dance? Am I not good enough?” Well, well. The robot could get jealous. So where was this jealousy when I’d tried to seduce him in a slinky nightgown, only to be pushed out the door with a cold, “Ava, please have some self-respect”? The absurdity of it all was staggering. “Baby,” he whispered, his voice a low thrum against my skin. “I’m so much better than them. You don’t have to look elsewhere…” He leaned closer. “Do you want to see mine?” My face was on fire. I scrambled out of his grip and fled the room. If he was this good at flirting, was it possible his whole “robot” persona was just an act? If so, this marriage was definitely over. 3 The next morning, I found Brent in the kitchen, already making breakfast as if nothing had happened. Hmph. So innocent. “Hey, Brent. Can we talk?” The morning air was cool, but a wave of warmth radiated from him as he turned, carrying the scent of his cologne and something else, something intoxicatingly masculine. “Morning. What’s got you up so early? Hungry for breakfast?” he asked, his voice back to its usual calm cadence. “I was drunk last night. Thanks for taking care of me.” What a fossil. “Breakfast will be ready in a minute.” “Brent,” I said, cutting to the chase. “Let’s get a divorce.” His hand, which was pouring milk, froze. His eyebrows shot up, then furrowed. “I know you don’t like milk. I made juice.” His voice was low, betraying no emotion. He was pretending he hadn’t heard me. “I said, let’s get a divorce.” This time, he didn’t stop. He continued to meticulously arrange a picture-perfect breakfast, completely ignoring my words. “We’re not a good match. You’re a night owl, I’m an early bird. There are no feelings between us. It doesn’t make sense, right?” He stiffened for a second, his eyes downcast. No response. The silence was infuriating. I marched over and punched him lightly on the arm. The cute, frilly apron he was wearing seemed so out of place. “I never knew you had such a… flamboyant side, Professor Osmond.” He didn’t reply, just stood there rigidly, his eyes darting to mine for a fleeting moment. “Eat. I don’t want to repeat myself.” “Just think about it. I’ll have the divorce papers drawn up soon.” He walked into the bathroom, still wearing the apron. His steps were unsteady, his back slightly hunched. At the door, he finally responded, a hint of anger in his voice. “Fine. I’ll consider it and give you an answer.” My gaze fell on the balcony. For the umpteenth time, some of my lingerie had gone missing from the clothesline. Brent always said the wind must have blown it away. Today, I was going to get to the bottom of it. Where exactly was he hanging this stuff that a gale-force wind strong enough to blow away a dozen pairs of underwear kept showing up? I knocked on his bedroom door for a long time. All I could hear was the sound of running water from inside. No answer. I pushed the door open and tiptoed in. The glass door of the shower was fogged up, revealing the tantalizing silhouette of a well-built physique. And then I heard it—a few deep, ragged breaths, followed by a whispered word that made me freeze in my tracks. “Ava.” 4 My eyes dropped to the floor, and my heart stopped. Strewn across the carpet were all my missing undergarments. A flash of red lace was peeking out from under the bathroom door. A moment later, the man in the shower moved. I was about to dive for cover when I saw the corner of red fabric being pulled into the bathroom, as if clutched in a hand. The color was stark against the frosted glass. I fled in a panic. If Brent was this… passionate, why had he been avoiding me? My brain felt like a bowl of mush. That sneaky, repressed man. No, I had to confront him. I needed evidence. That night, I crept into the living room, ready to sneak into his bedroom. “Are you looking for me?” a voice from the sofa stopped me cold. Brent was sitting there, wearing his gold-rimmed glasses, a book in his hand. He didn’t even look up. The cold, robotic persona was back in full force. The memory of what I’d seen in his room made my courage evaporate. “Are you hiding something from me?” I asked, deciding to be direct. “And what’s your decision on the divorce?” Brent pushed his glasses up his nose and raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about? I bought you that necklace you wanted.” I followed his gaze to a jewelry box on the coffee table. I gasped. Overjoyed, I momentarily forgot my mission. He cleared his throat. “Let’s eat. I’ve been waiting for you. Are you hungry?” Looking at the table full of my favorite dishes, a strange feeling washed over me. Setting aside his… condition, Brent was a very thoughtful husband. A little bland, maybe, but meticulous and considerate. And what if the robot was just an act? A sudden urge to see Brent beg, to see his face flush with embarrassment, seized me. He came up behind me, his voice a cool murmur. “Is your headache back? Let me rub your temples. I learned a technique from a traditional medicine expert.” His slender fingers, coated in a soothing oil, gently massaged my temples. The tension in my body melted away. His hand moved to the back of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. His warm breath fanned my ear as he deliberately lowered his voice, a husky whisper that made my whole body go limp. “How’s that, Ava? Is the pressure to your liking?” I smirked. “Not bad. But, Professor Osmond, what about the divorce?” His hands stilled. I could feel the tension in his touch. I fought to keep the smile off my face. Would he beg me not to leave him this time? Oh, the anticipation…

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1 I was reborn. The moment of my return was the second before I was about to explain the pre-operative instructions to my boyfriend’s childhood sweetheart. In my last life, I was doing my rounds when I saw the patient drinking a smoothie. I stopped her immediately and informed my boyfriend, the attending surgeon, that the patient hadn’t fasted. For her own safety, the surgery had to be postponed. The patient then blasted the story all over the internet, blaming me for not reminding her. My professionalism was torn to shreds. I tried desperately to explain, to clear my name, but no one believed me. Then, my own boyfriend, Leo, started a rumor that my nursing degree was fake, that I’d gotten my job through shady connections. The internet turned on me. I was doxxed. An enraged stranger threw acid in my face. It wasn’t until after I was run down by a car and killed that my soul, hovering above, saw the truth: the patient was Leo’s childhood sweetheart. It had all been a setup. … They say nurses are angels in white, saving lives. I gave the patient her pre-op instructions. But when I checked on her, I found her sipping a smoothie. Guided by my professional ethics and a concern for her safety, I told my boyfriend, the surgeon, that we had to postpone. The patient, Mia, accused me of never telling her. By that afternoon, I was trending. Another patient in the same room had filmed the confrontation and posted it online. The internet mob questioned my competence. I posted my degrees, my awards, my commendations from university and my career. It did nothing. Then Leo, my Leo, posted a video with his own name attached, claiming I was a fraud who had used connections to get my job. The harassment escalated. Sulfuric acid scarred my face forever. Finally, a so-called “vigilante” ran me over with his car. After I died, I watched as Leo and Mia built their careers on the ashes of my life, profiting handsomely from my public execution. Floating in the air, I watched them embrace, and my ethereal hands clenched into fists. Only then did I understand. It was all a trap they had laid for me. “Brandy? Oh, you’re here! Does this mean it’s almost time for my surgery?” A familiar, nauseatingly sweet voice echoed in my ear. I looked up, and my vision was filled with a deceptively innocent face. A tearing, ripping pain spread from my heart through every inch of my body. It was only when my lungs filled with the sharp, cold, antiseptic air of the hospital that I realized I was alive again. Reborn. In the exact moment before I was to give pre-op instructions to Mia, Leo’s childhood sweetheart. “I’ve been waiting for so long, I’m so excited for the surgery,” she said, her voice raspy. “I even took a whole week off work for this, and I’m still in my probationary period! You’ll take good care of me, won’t you, Brandy?” She touched her neck as she spoke, as if it were a great effort. Last time, I’d felt sorry for her. A fresh graduate, all alone in the hospital. I’d given her extra attention, soothed her anxiety when she fretted, especially when the other patients chimed in on her behalf. Before leaving, I had explicitly told her: no food or water before the surgery. And yet, the next morning, I found her drinking a smoothie. I had told her with genuine regret that we’d have to postpone, that eating before anesthesia was dangerous. Mia had burst into tears. “Why didn’t you remind me properly? Are you trying to get me fired? I’m never coming to this hospital again!” 2 The other patients in the room heard her hoarse, strained voice and saw me standing there, silent and still. They jumped to her defense. “She’s just a young girl who just landed a job! You need to take extra care of her during her probation period. It’s so hard to find a job these days. You can’t be the reason she loses it.” Oh, right. Of course. Saint Mia. Her life is so hard, her situation so fragile. And all of you, with your unsolicited advice, you think you’re so noble. You care more about her than my own boyfriend—no, ex-boyfriend—does. I quietly took out my phone and hit the record button. Then, I launched into my full, by-the-book, award-winning nursing protocol. “Excuse me, are you patient Mia Sullivan?” “Yes, that’s me.” “As per pre-operative procedure, you must abstain from all food and drink. Failure to do so will result in the postponement of your surgery. Patient Mia Sullivan, do you understand?” “I understand,” Mia rasped, a flicker of annoyance in her eyes. A patient nearby snickered. “What’s with all the theatrics? Such pointless formality.” Mia nodded slightly, a smug look crossing her face. “I know, right? All this red tape… I wonder if it actually helps them take care of patients.” I smiled, a tight, professional mask. “Patient Sullivan expressed some anxiety about her procedure. To reassure her and demonstrate my professional competence, I am utilizing this highly structured protocol.” This was the exact procedure that had won me a national nursing skills competition. Damn right it was structured. Looking at Mia’s phony, self-satisfied act, I had to resist the urge to slap her back to reality. The audacity of someone who plays the victim while setting a trap. Let’s see how you play the victim tomorrow. 3 During my pre-op rounds the next morning, I timed my visit perfectly, deliberately avoiding the moment she was eating. With my recording pen active and my professional smile plastered on, I approached her bed. “Patient Sullivan, your surgery is scheduled for this morning. Can you confirm that you have not had any food or water since 10 p.m. last night?” “Of course,” she said, her voice still hoarse but laced with triumph. “I haven’t had a bite to eat or a drop to drink since yesterday afternoon. Well, except for the smoothie I just finished.” As she spoke, she glanced at me from the corner of her eye, watching for my reaction. I, who had been watching her every move, caught the micro-expression. I kept my smile frozen in place. “I’m very sorry, but since you did not follow pre-operative instructions, your surgery will have to be postponed.” Just then, as if on cue, Leo walked into the room. I grabbed his arm and pulled him outside. A tidal wave of pain and despair washed over me. Hatred filled my chest until I thought I would suffocate. In my last life, I gave up a position at a prestigious, top-tier medical center to be a nurse at this small community hospital for him. And he repaid me by destroying my life. My nails dug into my palms, the sharp pain the only thing keeping the volcanic rage from erupting. I forced a smile. “The patient ate before surgery. We have to postpone.” “And also,” I added, “after your shift, let’s call off the engagement.” “What the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped. “Now her surgery has to be delayed. And don’t you dare play these hard-to-get games with me. Who do you think will want you after you break up with me?” We parted on that ugly note. Did he have any idea the trouble I was going to, just to extricate myself from this mess? I truly hope you two vipers have the loving life you deserve. When I returned to the room, Mia was in the middle of a full-blown meltdown, snot and tears smearing her face. “Why didn’t you remind me properly?” she wailed. “You did this on purpose!” The other patients started to comfort her, but when they learned the reason for her hysterics, they fell silent. My grand, formal procedure from the day before had left a deep impression. Even these bystanders knew she was supposed to fast. Her own negligence was to blame. Seeing that she had lost her audience, Mia leaped from the bed, grabbed her thermos, and flung its contents at me. It was the rest of her morning smoothie. I didn’t move. I let the lukewarm liquid splatter across my face. Because I saw it. The other patients in the room, their phones all raised, all recording. I went straight to the restroom and splashed my face with cold water. In the ripples of the sink, I saw my own reflection, a wide, triumphant smile spreading across my face. I looked at my skin, slightly pink from the not-so-hot liquid. Not quite enough. I dried my face and took a small pot of blush out of my pocket—a sample I’d packed in anticipation of this very moment. With Mia’s temper, an outburst was inevitable. I swept a heavy amount across my cheeks, then took a quick photo of my profile. I touched my face, almost laughing out loud. I knew the double-edged sword of the internet better than anyone. Last time, it destroyed my reputation overnight and made Mia a star. But why should a woman like that get to build her success on the backs of other women? Since she used this stage to ruin me, I was going to make sure she choked on her own performance. You wanted to go viral, Mia? You’ve got it. Let’s see if you can handle the fame. After being fired, Brandy is at her lowest point. Her ex-boyfriend has betrayed her, his lover has framed her, and the world believes she is a negligent, incompetent nurse. But Brandy has a plan. Armed with evidence and a deep understanding of the very weapon used against her, she is ready to turn the tables. Now, it was my turn to fight back. And I wondered if Leo and Mia were ready for the storm.

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1 When the city’s richest man came to the orphanage to find his long-lost daughter, I threw myself at his feet. My best friend—the real heiress—silently pressed the family locket into my hand. She knew the truth: in our last life, she’d died mysteriously within a month of joining that family. I’d later discovered why. The fake heiress, Vivi, had a Pain Transference System—every “injury” she suffered was diverted to my friend. To avenge her, I’d jumped from a tower, dragging Vivi with me. Now, reborn, I faced Vivi’s smirk as she whispered, “Sister, welcome home.” I smiled back. “Good to be back, little sister.” What she didn’t know? I feel no pain—and I brought a Hundred-Fold Rebound System. This time, I’d be the one facing her. … “Sister, you’re finally back.” The moment Vivi Blackwell looked at me, her eyes filled with tears and her voice trembled. “Dad talks about you all the time. I… I’ve been so eager to meet you.” Arthur Blackwell, now my father in name, stood by, a mixture of awkwardness and pity for Vivi on his face. He patted my shoulder, his tone gentle. “You two are sisters now. You must get along.” I nodded, saying nothing. Get along with an enemy who wanted me dead at every turn? Sure. I’d be happy to dance on her grave. The atmosphere at dinner was… delicate. Mr. Blackwell tried his best to liven things up, constantly piling food onto my plate and asking about my life at the orphanage. I answered concisely, my attention fixed on Vivi, who sat opposite me. She didn’t disappoint. A tureen of steaming hot consommé had just been served. As soon as the maid placed it beside her, Vivi’s arm “slipped,” her elbow knocking precisely against the edge of the bowl. “Ah!” With a delicate cry, the scalding soup splashed across the back of her hand. In the instant Mr. Blackwell and the staff shot up in alarm, I saw a fleeting, triumphant sneer flash across Vivi’s lips. Her eyes were locked on me, gleaming with venomous anticipation. Here we go. In our last life, a bowl of soup just like this one was the beginning of my friend’s nightmare, the first wave of transferred agony. I knew she was waiting, expecting me to scream from the searing pain she was now channeling my way. But she was about to be disappointed. One second. Two. Three. Nothing. I was born without a sense of pain. Her system was useless against me. Instead, a cold, mechanical voice echoed in my mind. [Malicious attack detected.] [Hundred-Fold Rebound System activated.] The scene she’d envisioned—me screaming in agony—never happened. Instead, it was Vivi whose triumphant face twisted into a mask of pure horror, her delicate features contorting in pain. A shriek, so shrill it barely sounded human, ripped from her throat. “AAAAAAH—” This scream was a hundred times more genuine than her first theatrical cry. Everyone froze, stunned by her sudden outburst. The hand that had been splashed with soup was turning a furious, angry red before our eyes. Blisters, shiny and taut, erupted across her skin as if she’d been branded with a hot iron. “Vivi! What’s wrong?” Mr. Blackwell, horrified, reached for her hand but recoiled from the astonishing heat. “It hurts! It hurts so much! Dad! My hand feels like it’s going to fall off!” Vivi wailed, tears and snot streaming down her face as she slid from her chair. She thrashed on the floor, all traces of her prim and proper heiress persona gone. I immediately stood up, my face a perfect picture of confusion and panic, and rushed to her side. “Vivi, what’s happening? It was just a little splash of soup! Why does it hurt so much?” As I spoke, I looked at Mr. Blackwell with feigned helplessness. “Dad, call a doctor!” Mr. Blackwell stared at his wailing daughter on the floor, then at me. For the first time, a flicker of doubt and scrutiny entered his eyes. He was right to be confused. It was just a splash of soup. Even if it stung, who would react by writhing in agony on the ground? I knelt beside her, a cold smile hidden behind my worried expression as I watched her pain-twisted face. This is only the beginning. Vivi, in this life, every “gift” you try to give me, I will return a hundred times over. The show has just begun. 2 The family doctor was called for Vivi’s hand. After hours of examination, he could only conclude that she was “overly sensitive” or having an “extreme allergic reaction.” After all, besides the frightening patch of red, swollen blisters, there was no sign of any deeper tissue damage. He prescribed some burn cream, offered a few words of advice, and left with his medical bag. For the first time, Mr. Blackwell looked at his daughter with a gaze full of incomprehension and exhaustion. Vivi, however, lay in her bed and glared at me with eyes full of poison. She didn’t believe it. She refused to believe her system had failed. In her mind, last night was a fluke. A one-time accident. The next morning, I came downstairs feeling refreshed and ready for breakfast. As I reached the top of the grand staircase, I saw Vivi waiting for me. She wore a silk nightgown, her face pale. She leaned against the banister, the very picture of frail beauty. When she saw me, a flash of hatred and certainty flickered in her wide eyes. “Good morning, sister.” She offered me a weak smile. I smiled back. “Morning.” Just as I moved to walk past her, she timed it perfectly. Her foot “accidentally” twisted. With a short, sharp gasp, she threw herself headfirst down the stairs. She even made sure to nudge me with her elbow, ensuring I had a clear view of her “accidental” fall. In that instant, I felt a wave of malicious energy, far stronger than the soup incident, surge toward me. It was an invisible net, woven with the projected agony of falling, of impact, of breaking bones, and it was meant to engulf me. In Vivi’s script, I should have been the one screaming as I tumbled down the stairs, ending in a bloody heap at the bottom while she stood safely at the top. However, the moment that energy touched my body, it hit an invisible wall. It was instantly absorbed, compressed, and then, with even greater ferocity, reflected. The cold, mechanical voice in my head spoke again. [Lethal physical attack detected.] [Hundred-Fold Rebound System activated.] I stood perfectly still at the top of the stairs, not a single thread of my clothing disturbed. But Vivi, who had already “fallen” halfway down, seemed to hang suspended in mid-air for a bizarre, unnatural moment. Then, a scream a hundred times more piercing than the night before—a sound that could shatter eardrums—erupted from the depths of her throat. “AAAAAAAHHH!!!” It was a sound of pure, unadulterated agony and utter disbelief, as if, in that one second, she had truly experienced the sensation of rolling down a dozen stairs, of every single bone in her body snapping. Her body went limp like a marionette with its strings cut, and she crashed heavily onto the carpet at the bottom of the staircase. She lay twisted in a horribly unnatural position, convulsed violently a few times, and then her head lolled to the side. She was out cold. The maids downstairs, terrified by the sudden chaos, screamed and rushed over. Startled by the commotion, Mr. Blackwell burst out of his study. When he saw Vivi lying motionless on the floor and me standing unharmed at the top of the stairs, he froze. I immediately adopted a look of sheer panic and scrambled down the steps. “Vivi! Vivi, what happened! Wake up!” I shook her, my voice thick with tears. “Dad! Call an ambulance! Vivi fell down the stairs!” Mr. Blackwell rushed over. He first checked Vivi’s breathing and, confirming she was only unconscious, let out a small sigh of relief. But he didn’t immediately call for an ambulance. Instead, he slowly stood up, lifted his head, and looked at me with an incredibly complex expression. The confusion from last night was gone. In its place was a deep, undisguised suspicion. He was silent for a full ten seconds, the entire hall deathly quiet. Then, in a voice as cold as ice, he asked me, word by word: “She fell. Why were you still standing at the top?” 3 Mr. Blackwell’s voice was like a block of ice crashing against my heart. But my face couldn’t show a single crack. I let out a violent shiver, tears instantly welling in my eyes. My body began to tremble uncontrollably, as if his accusation had shattered my courage. “I… I was scared stiff, Dad.” My voice, thick with sobs, was a complete wreck. “She… she just fell, straight down. I tried to grab her, but I couldn’t reach… It was too fast, everything happened too fast…” As I spoke, I crawled the rest of the way down the stairs on my hands and knees. I threw myself next to Vivi, crying my heart out. “Vivi, don’t scare me! Wake up!” My acting skills, honed over a lifetime of needing to pretend in my past life, were flawless. Mr. Blackwell looked at me, the suspicion in his eyes not lessening, but he didn’t press further. He was a businessman; he wouldn’t jump to conclusions without concrete evidence. He simply scowled and had the butler call an ambulance. Vivi was still unconscious when they carried her away. A heavy gloom settled over the Blackwell estate. That afternoon, the hospital called. Mr. Blackwell put it on speakerphone, and I sat opposite him, listening quietly. “Mr. Blackwell, we’ve conducted a full-body examination on Miss Vivi, including a CT scan and an MRI. Her bones, internal organs, brain… there’s absolutely no damage.” The doctor’s voice was filled with bewilderment. “No damage? Then why did she pass out from the pain?” Mr. Blackwell’s brow was furrowed into a deep knot. “Well… physiologically, we can’t find a cause. After she woke up, she was extremely agitated, insisting that her entire body was in agony, but even a pain pump had minimal effect. After a consultation with a neurologist, the preliminary diagnosis is… it might be a psychosomatic episode.” “Meaning… the pain is psychological. A powerful delusion.” Psychosomatic. I almost laughed out loud. The diagnosis was the perfect cover story, tailor-made for me. Mr. Blackwell hung up the phone and was silent for a long time. He stared out the window, his expression dark and terrifying. A perfectly healthy daughter, repeatedly experiencing exaggerated, dramatic pain from “accidents,” now diagnosed with a psychological condition. The strangeness of it all was enough to make any sane person deeply suspicious. And I seized this golden opportunity. I had to find the system’s conduit. The torment my friend, Valerie, had endured in our past life couldn’t have been created from thin air. Such power, defying all scientific reason, had to have a physical object at its core. My mind raced, replaying every detail I could remember about Vivi. What was it that she almost never took off? A piece of clothing? Jewelry? Or… It hit me like a lightning bolt. 4 A necklace. A platinum necklace, seemingly simple, that I had never once seen her remove. Whether she was at a gala, lounging at home, or even bathing, that necklace was always clasped around her neck. In my past life, I’d dismissed it as a favorite piece of jewelry. Now, I realized it was very likely the source of all her evil. I had to be sure. I walked over to Mr. Blackwell, my face a mask of carefully crafted worry and guilt. “Dad, I want to go to the hospital to see my sister. No matter what, this happened right in front of me. I… I just can’t feel at ease.” Mr. Blackwell gave me a complicated look but eventually nodded. “Go. Have the driver take you.” In the VIP suite, Vivi was lying in bed. She’d probably been given a sedative and was sleeping soundly. The pristine white sheets made her small face look even more pale and pitiful. I told the maid to wait outside and went in alone. First, I checked her handbag on the nightstand. Just cosmetics and a phone. Nothing unusual. I looked through the clothes she’d changed out of. Nothing there, either. Finally, my gaze fell upon her neck. The platinum chain rested quietly against her collarbone. The pendant was a unique, small teardrop, glinting coldly in the soft hospital light. That was it. I took a deep breath and slowly reached out, pretending to adjust the corner of her blanket. My fingertips crept cautiously toward the teardrop pendant. I had to know what its secret was. Just as my finger was about to touch the cold metal, something happened.

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1 My new little snake won’t stop headbutting me. Worried something was wrong, I frantically messaged the online shop I bought him from. 【Hi there! That just means your snake’s head is feeling a little itchy. Just give him a few more pets and he’ll be fine.】 I shot back a reply immediately. 【No way, I’ve already pet his little head so much it’s practically raw.】 The seller: 【We didn’t mean that head.】 A few days ago, the baby snake I’d ordered online arrived, and he was the sweetest, most docile little thing. I couldn’t resist. I placed another order. But the shop owner replied: 【Hey, so sorry, but that particular snake has been so popular it’s completely sold out. If you don’t mind, we could offer you another one of our precious serpents from the shop.】 I stared at the product page, which showed a sales count of exactly ‘1,’ and fell into a thoughtful silence. This had to be some kind of marketing gimmick. I was about to refuse when the picture they sent completely captivated me. It was a perfect shot of my absolute weakness: a man with a lean, chiseled torso, those V-lines disappearing tantalizingly below the frame. Coiled on his porcelain-pale skin was a baby black king snake, no thicker than a finger. The tiny serpent was latched onto a pectoral muscle, nursing so intently that it was completely oblivious to its crime being documented. I practically drooled. Ooh, and they were pink. They were both from the same shop, so how come this snake was eating so well? 【If you place the order now, we’ll even throw in a collection of the baby snake’s growth photos for free~】 【Does that include pictures of the abs?】 I typed back. 【Of course.】 I had to admit, their honey-trap strategy was first-rate. So pale, so… generous. I’d call him Snowy. I placed the order in a flash. Hilarious. There wasn’t a trace of lust for those abs in my eyes—it was all pure, unadulterated adoration for little Snowy. Snowy and Inky looked so much alike; their personalities had to be just as sweet, right? The moment my payment went through, the seller played right along. 【Your order will be personally delivered by our model and owner! We hope you have a wonderful time~】 A warmth spread through my chest. The way they phrased it, you’d think if you bought the snake, they’d throw in the owner for free. 2 Less than half a day later, my doorbell rang. But when I swung the door open in excitement, I didn’t see the handsome model with the chiseled torso. In fact, I didn’t see anyone at all. Deeply disappointed, I was about to shut the door when a notification popped up on my phone: “Your item has been delivered.” I glanced down and finally noticed a small cardboard box nestled among the clutter by my doorway. Inside the box was the pet snake I’d ordered. What happened to the personal delivery by the model-owner? Never mind not seeing him, but who just dumps a package like this on the doorstep? I was starting to get annoyed. I was seriously considering leaving a bad review. But Snowy was just too beautiful. And so clingy. The moment I opened the box, he poked his little head out and slithered up my arm without any hesitation. According to the girls in my snake-enthusiast Discord, when a snake willingly coils around its owner’s wrist, it’s a sign of trust. This was our very first meeting, and Snowy already trusted me this much. He was just as well-behaved as Inky! My heart swelled with joy, and all thoughts of leaving a bad review vanished from my mind. Cradling Snowy, I brought him over to Inky’s enclosure, hoping they’d get acquainted. Normally, Inky was timid and shy around new things. But this time, the second I placed Snowy inside, Inky immediately rolled over, exposing his soft underbelly. Inky seemed incredibly excited, constantly trying to snuggle up to Snowy. After a long while of being pestered, Snowy finally gave Inky’s belly a brief, dismissive nudge with his head. His expression was one of pure disdain, as if to say, “Alright, you can get lost now.” I snapped a picture of the scene and posted it in the Discord server with the caption: “My new baby male snake seems to be getting along great with the resident! Any tips for a newbie raising a male?” Almost immediately, someone tagged me. I expected some helpful advice, but their comments were… suggestive. 【@Penny, girl, you’re eating well! And you got two of them!】 【These Serpents have so much energy, one is enough to leave me exhausted. You got two?! Girl, are you trying to get your back broken?】 【Once upon a time, I was an innocent soul who didn’t know what a Serpent-brand powerhouse was. I’ve learned my lesson now.】 【They look so much alike, I can’t even tell them apart. I heard Serpents are jealous creatures. Yours don’t fight?】 I took a moment to reply: 【Nope, they’re both very good.】 My response was met with a chorus of envy in the chat. 【You must have them well-trained! Mine won’t even let me look at my phone! He gets so jealous and tells me that for every minute I’m on my phone, he’s adding ten more rounds.】 【Ugh, same! He’s only been letting me catch a break because he’s pregnant and sleepy lately. That’s the only reason I have a second to reply to you guys.】 【Same here, just like my man.】 【Everyone knows Serpents have two… you know. So you’ve got two Serpents, which means four! Whoa, girl, are you even gonna survive that? Will you be okay?】 I felt a little weirded out. What did they mean, “will I be okay?” And those other women… did the snakes tell them all that in a dream or something? It was a bit much. How could a snake possibly talk? But to keep the peace in the group, I just ignored that last comment and replied to the one before it. 【No, I have one female and one male.】 The chat instantly exploded. 【Damn, girl, you’re playing on expert mode!】 I exited the chat, feeling utterly bewildered. The girls in that group were definitely strange. Thankfully, someone with more experience sent me a private message. 【This male looks quite a bit larger than the female. Are you sure you bought a baby snake?】 I replied: 【Don’t they look the same size?】 The response was swift: 【You really are a complete newbie, aren’t you? Didn’t you know that male snakes of this breed are several times smaller than females of the same age?】 【Judging by the size, you bought an adult male. The seller probably scammed you.】 Most buyers preferred to raise serpents from when they were babies. Very few would buy a fully grown male. For one, adult males had trouble bonding with a new owner. And two, any good adult male wouldn’t be on the market. If he was being sold again, it meant his stamina and endurance were probably lacking. Otherwise, why would his previous owner give him up? Besides, buyers had a thing for raising serpents from the start. A male who’d had too many owners was considered undesirable. But I didn’t really care about any of that. It wasn’t like I was looking for a husband. It was just a pet. Still, I was definitely going to leave that seller a bad review. 3 The Discord server was a goldmine of daily tips for raising serpents, and I learned a ton from it. Ever since I got my two little snakes, I found myself sneaking peeks at the group chat during my work breaks. 【Hey guys, my snake has been a little down lately. Any suggestions?】 【That’s easy! A little physical affection solves everything. Just give his little tummy a good rub.】 【There are still good people in this world.】 【OMG, girl… that’s way too spicy. I just gave him a little touch, and things got completely out of hand.】 I put down my phone. I’d noticed my two serpents had been off their food recently. One morning, I even woke up to find them coiled on my chest, nuzzling against me. I’d asked the group about it, and they all said the same thing: the snakes were hungry. But the food I left in their bowls remained untouched. Seeing how highly everyone praised belly rubs, I decided to give it a try myself. That evening, I called my two little ones over, ready to put the theory into practice. Everyone said it was best not to keep serpents in a tank, or they might get depressed, so mine had free roam of the house. Right now, though, they were nowhere to be found. I called their names several times, but neither appeared. I tried calling again. Since I often had trouble telling them apart, I’d given them little hats to wear for differentiation. This time, there was a stir. A moment later, a snake with a tiny pink hat slithered up to me. It was Snowy. I gently poked his little head. He didn’t flinch, just stared up at me with those big, round, innocent eyes. I placed Snowy on my lap and flipped him over to expose his little belly. The sudden movement seemed to stun him for a second. Usually, he was the one showing me his belly to be cute; I’d never been the one to initiate it. When Snowy snapped out of it, he excitedly wrapped his body tightly around my hand. I started by gently stroking his tiny tail before moving on to his belly, using the rubbing technique I’d seen in the group chat. The texture was incredible, so soft and yielding. I couldn’t resist giving it a little squeeze. At that, the tail that had been coiled tightly around my fingers went slack, quivering faintly as it rested against me. Seeing how well it was working, I happily continued rubbing lower. I’d heard that if you rubbed them just right, you could make them squeak. I’d only ever heard them hiss, and the thought of a little squeak made me incredibly curious. But before I could find the right spot, the little snake suddenly arched his back and began to thrash wildly. He was trembling so violently that I thought I must have hurt him, so I eased up on the pressure. But then, he started shaking even more intensely. And in a flash, he wriggled free and darted away. Did the belly rub work? Maybe he ran off to eat? I couldn’t find him anywhere, so I decided to let him be and turned my attention to calling for Inky. Ever since Snowy arrived, Inky hadn’t been as clingy as usual and was harder to summon. I had to call his name several times before he finally, sluggishly, appeared. Inky’s little blue hat was askew, threatening to fall off with the slightest movement. Looking closer, I saw that his entire body was trembling uncontrollably. Putting this together with Inky’s strange behavior over the past few days, I knew at once: Snowy had been bullying him! I had no idea where Snowy had scurried off to. After a long search, I finally found him curled up asleep in his little bed. Without a second thought, I scooped him up. “Snowy, were you bullying your sister?” He tilted his head, a look of pure confusion on his face. A tiny head, filled with big questions. He looked like he was about to burst into tears. My heart melted at the sight of his pitiful expression, but I knew I had to set some ground rules for Snowy. I forced myself to be firm. “You’re the big brother. You can’t bully your little sister. Look how miserable she is,” I said, pointing towards Inky. Snowy followed my finger. He saw “Inky” swaying unsteadily, looking as if he was about to faint. Seeing “Inky” in such a state only seemed to confuse Snowy more. Though he clearly didn’t understand what was happening, he dutifully nuzzled my fingertip and then rubbed his soft little head against my palm as if to soothe me. This soft, cuddly little thing was trying to comfort me. My resolve crumbled. I let him off with a warning not to do it again. But my little sister still needed comforting. To make it up to her, I gave her an extra-long belly rub. The whole time, “Snowy” kept cheekily nuzzling against me. I just pushed him away, my face impassive. “No. Didn’t I just give you a belly rub?” The little guy scurried away in a huff. Even by bedtime, “Snowy” hadn’t shown his face. I knew the little guy was sulking, but I didn’t go looking for him. I just snuggled up with “Inky” and went to sleep. He was a big boy snake. A real man. There was no need for all those tears. 4 I didn’t sleep well that night. In my dreams, I kept hearing a man’s voice, soft and gentle. “There, there, Mommy didn’t mean it. It must be because you keep climbing onto her at night, begging for milk. She’s not getting enough sleep, that’s why she got upset with you, baby.” The reply was a barely audible hiss. The man chuckled softly, his voice a low murmur. “Daddy only eats because Mommy lets him. Mommy didn’t say you could.” The hissing grew louder, punctuated by the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of a snake’s tail hitting the floor. The force was so great it sounded like it might crack the tiles. “I’m not lying. Be a good boy and go to sleep. If you don’t, Mommy will get angry with you again.” At the man’s words, the temper tantrum stopped. The sounds ceased. The little snake seemed to say something. But the man refused without a moment’s hesitation. “No. You’ve had more than enough today. No more. If you drink it all, what will Mommy have? Daddy needs to save some for Mommy, too.” Ever since that day, I made a habit of giving my two little snakes regular belly rubs. But lately, I noticed that even the usually clingy Inky was ignoring me. He’d also developed a habit of stealing my extra-sweet bubble tea. Every time I woke up from a nap, the milk tea I’d ordered before I fell asleep would end up in his stomach. And how did I know? Well, Inky was too dense to destroy the evidence. I’d always find the empty cup in his little bed. Stealing my bubble tea was one thing, but now he was addicted to the internet. He’d skip meals just to watch videos on my tablet. I’d even set a passcode, but somehow, he always managed to unlock it. The girls in the Discord said this was all normal, but I was still worried about his eyes. Conversely, it was the usually proud and aloof Snowy who was now constantly seeking my affection, acting cute and cuddly. One day, I came home from work to find Snowy curled up in a perfect little doughnut shape, waiting for me by the door. I gave his soft little head an absentminded pat and then went to the sofa to find Inky. Sure enough, there he was, nestled in his bed, engrossed in the tablet. I tiptoed up behind him, curious to see what he was watching so intently. I thought maybe he was watching something that was teaching him bad habits. Instead, I found him watching the same video on a loop. He’d even saved it to his favorites. I leaned in closer. This time, Inky noticed me. He seemed to have a bone to pick with me, agitatedly pointing his little tail at the screen. I followed his tail and read the text on the video. 【The following behaviors are actually the serpent deliberately acting cute.】 【The serpent world has its own manipulative charmers.】 【When a serpent frequently tilts its head to look at you, dear owners, do not be fooled! It’s just putting on a cute act!】 I glanced at Snowy, who was, at that very moment, tilting his head to look at me, and I couldn’t help but laugh. Every single point seemed to be aimed directly at him. Inky must be jealous. Given Inky’s clear dissatisfaction, I decided to give him the first belly rub of the evening. He was unusually excited today, acting as if it were his first time. He kept pointing his little tail here and there, completely different from his usual self. With Inky happy, now Snowy was displeased. He kept “accidentally” brushing his head against me. Soon, even belly rubs and head pats weren’t enough. He started bumping his head against me. At first, I just thought he was being playful and told him to stop messing around. “Behave now. Settle down.” He did settle down, for a bit. But later that night, Snowy was still restless. 5 I was woken up by Snowy nuzzling me. The spot he chose was so… awkward. Blushing, I fished him out from under the covers. “You little pervert, you can’t rub there.” He seemed to be doing it unconsciously, his eyes looking at me with a dazed, confused expression. His body felt hot to the touch. In the haze of sleep, I thought I felt Snowy’s tongue flick out. “Are you hungry?” I asked. The little snake didn’t answer, just kept bumping his head against my palm. The force was light, but something felt very, very wrong. I posted in the Discord server, but the replies were not very helpful. 【Mine’s never done that before. First time I’ve seen it. Is he hungry?】 【Mine hasn’t either. Maybe he’s sick? You should ask the seller, they should offer some after-sale support.】 Thankfully, it was the weekend, so even though few people were online, a couple of kind souls replied. Following their advice, I reached out to the seller, not sure if they’d even reply at this hour. I hesitantly typed out my message: 【Hi, I think something’s wrong with my snake.】 To my surprise, they replied instantly: 【Hi there! Can you describe the problem in detail?】 I was thrilled. 【He keeps headbutting me, and he was rubbing against me while I was sleeping… oh, and his body temperature is really high! Is he sick?】 【Could you be more specific? For example, where did he headbutt you, and where did he rub against you?】 I felt a flush of embarrassment. 【Well… here and there…】 【…】 It took a long time for the seller to reply. When they finally did, their diagnosis was: 【Hi there! That just means your snake’s head is feeling a little itchy. Just give him a few more pets and he’ll be fine.】 I immediately shot back: 【No way, I’ve already pet his little head so much it’s practically raw.】 The seller: 【We didn’t mean that head.】 After a patient explanation from the seller, I finally understood. Snowy was in heat. I was starting to panic. Snowy’s temperature was getting higher, and he kept trying to burrow into my clothes. 【So what do I do?】 【You do it!】 I felt like their answer was completely useless. I was still clueless. 【Is there a video tutorial or something? I don’t know how!】 【? I’m sorry, but we don’t provide video tutorials for that. Besides, saying too much could get our account banned.】 【If you… really want one, you could try looking for a link online.】 No way. How would I even search for that? Where would I even look? 【Girls, emergency! Does anyone know what to do when a serpent is in heat?】 I typed furiously, clamping my legs together, terrified that Snowy would find his way inside if I wasn’t careful. I could only hope someone in the group would send me a link soon. It was one of the same girls from before who replied. 【What else can you do? You do it!】 【How?! This is my first time dealing with this! Can someone send me a video? Or even a text guide would work!】 【LMAO, I’m dying. This is the first time I’ve ever seen someone ask for something like this. Must be your first time, huh?】 【Yes! Can someone seriously send me a video? My snake is starting to chew on my clothes!】 【I got you, girl, I got you! I’m looking for one now!】 My sisters, my saviors. A two-hour-long video link quickly popped up in the chat. 【I won’t show you the rest, don’t want to get reported. Of course, if you’re worried you won’t get the angle right, I can DM you a tutorial video.】 This comment brought out all the night owls. 【Damn, you really don’t see us as outsiders, do you!】 【Woooow, you’re eating well too! Your Serpent is a dark-skinned muscle man!】 【That video is so well-shot, it’s making me want to drag my own snake over for another round.】 I felt like I’d been thrown a lifeline and quickly tapped the link. But the sounds that came from my phone almost made me throw it across the room. What the hell? What kind of video was this?! And on the screen… why were there two people?

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Vince Holt and I were Manhattan royalty—and sworn rivals. I loved his brother Elias; he obsessed over my sister Isabelle. Everything changed the night a deranged woman held a blade to my throat, screaming I was her rape-conceived bastard child. As Elias coldly declared, “Let the psycho’s daughter die,” Vince grabbed the blade bare-handed. “If my brother won’t have you, I will.” We married. After nearly dying birthing twins, I believed his tears when he vowed to get a vasectomy. Then our children vanished on their fourth birthday. Found bloodless, their tiny bodies drained. Elias’s shout outside my hospital room revealed the truth: “You drained your own children in one go?!” Vince’s reply froze my soul: “Isabelle needed the blood. We can always make more.” Fine. They’d get exactly what they deserved. 1 “Vince, you knew how much Stella loved Leo and Lily. Yesterday was their fourth birthday!” “I didn’t want to do it! But who knew Isabelle would have a relapse yesterday?” “Elias, you know her rare blood disorder can only be managed with blood from a direct relative. The twins were a perfect match. I’ve been taking them for small donations every year, storing it for her. This time… I was desperate. I panicked and took it all!” Vince’s voice cracked, a frantic edge creeping in. I bit down on my own knuckle, hard enough to draw blood, swallowing the metallic tang in my throat. So this was the truth. The two souls I had nearly died to create were just medicine bags for the woman he truly loved. But it didn’t make sense. The night the children disappeared, Vince had been a portrait of frantic despair. He’d raced to their preschool to pull the security footage himself, deploying his security team to search every inch of the neighborhood. And the next morning, when the police knocked on our door with the two small, colorless bodies, he had shattered every piece of porcelain in the living room, his roars for the killer’s head echoing through the house. Outside my room, Elias pulled out a cigarette, then remembered he was in a hospital and shoved it back in its pack. He rubbed his forehead, a picture of weary frustration. “Vince, Stella was never the favorite in her family. You orchestrated that whole ‘hero saves the day’ scene, releasing her birth mother from the asylum just to play the savior and trick her into marrying you. Turning your marriage into a chess game is one thing, but to leave her without her children… that’s a new level of cruel, even for you.” My blood turned to ice in my veins. A cold numbness crept up my scalp. Twenty years of bickering and fighting, followed by four years of what I thought was a deeply devoted marriage. I never imagined he was capable of such monstrous evil. Vince let out a cold snort. “That’s because you were too soft, Elias. You could never bring yourself to properly reject her, which made Isabelle feel insecure. She had no choice but to turn to me for help.” The moment he mentioned Isabelle, his tone softened, transforming into something tender, almost reverent, like a zealot speaking of his god. “I would do anything to ensure Isabelle’s happiness.” The blood-soaked truth lay bare before me. I clutched the bedsheets, leaning over the side of the bed and gagging, my stomach heaving with violent, empty retches. On our wedding night, I had asked him when he first fell in love with me. He’d flicked my forehead gently, a look of fond exasperation on his face. “You idiot,” he’d said. “In all of Manhattan, out of all the people I could have tormented, why do you think it was always you?” I had blushed, convinced my own heart had been too slow to see the truth. I’d completely missed the flicker of mockery deep in his eyes. Elias was silent for a moment before sighing. “But Stella is stubborn. I’m afraid she’ll dig until she finds the truth.” “I’ve already arranged for a scapegoat. Don’t worry about it, brother,” Vince said, his voice regaining its confidence. “Besides, Stella is in love with me now. She would never suspect me.” He paused. “We’ll have more children. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to her.” Elias clapped him on the shoulder, a note of approval in his voice. “Well said. The men of the Holt family don’t do divorce. Only death. And I will only ever have one wife: Isabelle.” 2 When Vince pushed open the door to my room, I fought back the wave of nausea and revulsion, pretending I had just woken up. “Stella, my love. They found the killer,” he said, his voice soft. “A repeat child abuser. I swear to you, I will make him pay.” He opened a thermos and poured a bowl of steaming chicken soup. After gently blowing on the spoon to cool it, he brought it to my lips, coaxing me to drink as if I were a fragile doll. “Darling, I’ve already scheduled the vasectomy reversal. As soon as you’re strong again, we can try for another baby.” “Stella, you have to let go. We have to look forward. Our life together is still long.” I grabbed his sleeve, my knuckles white. I wanted to scream, to tear him apart, but before any words could form, the tears began to flow, hot and silent. “Don’t cry, my love,” he whispered, his own eyes welling up as he brushed the tears from my cheeks. “Please, don’t cry. You’re breaking my heart.” Suddenly, as if struck by an idea, he gripped my hand, his tone urgent. “Stella, let’s… let’s lay Leo and Lily to rest today. It will help you find closure, help you move on.” I stared at him, my whole body trembling. “No,” I croaked. “It’s too soon. There are arrangements to make. We can’t just… bury them today.” “I know, but I can’t stand seeing you in so much pain. I thought it would help.” Before he could say more, I threw back the covers and ran from the room. “Stella! You don’t have any shoes on!” I fled the hospital and hailed the first cab I saw. “The Crestwood Manor, and hurry!” As soon as the car stopped, I used the facial recognition scanner and burst into the villa. When the police had brought our children home, I had fainted on the spot. Vince, busy rushing me to the hospital, had no choice but to leave them in the nursery. I pushed open the door. There they were, Leo and Lily, lying so still they looked like they were only sleeping. My hand trembled as I reached out to touch their cold, waxy faces. The tears I had been holding back finally broke free. “It’s mommy’s fault,” I sobbed. “Mommy married a monster.” I was about to call the funeral home to have them moved to a morgue when a flicker of movement caught my eye. Lily’s tiny finger had twitched. My heart hammered against my ribs. I pressed my ear to her chest, holding my breath. After what felt like an eternity, I heard it. A faint, fluttering heartbeat. I immediately dialed the emergency line. “I need an ambulance!” By the time Vince arrived at the children’s hospital, Lily was already in the ICU, surrounded by a team of doctors fighting for her life. His face was a mask of shock and guilt. “She’s alive? Lily’s alive? Oh, God, it’s all my fault! I should have checked, I should have known! I swear, Stella, I will protect you and our daughter with my life!” I ignored him, my eyes glued to the closed doors of the ICU, a barrier between life and death. For two days and two nights, I didn’t sleep, didn’t even blink. Finally, a doctor emerged. The news was a fragile, double-edged sword. Lily was out of immediate danger. His expression was grave. “Your daughter suffered massive blood loss. She’ll likely need medication for the rest of her life.” But I was already crying with relief. “As long as she’s alive, that’s all that matters.” For the next week, I never left Lily’s bedside. Isabelle showed up one day, Vince at her side, carrying a container of food. I immediately handed it to a nurse and told her to have it tested for toxins. Isabelle’s eyes filled with tears. “You think I’d poison the food? Stella, how could you? I’m your sister. Lily is my niece.” Vince looked at me, his face etched with pain. “Stella, you’ve lost your mind.” On the seventh day, Lily finally woke up. I shot up from my chair, my hand reaching for the call button to summon the doctor. But her small fingers wrapped around mine, stopping me. I looked down. Lily swallowed, her eyes wide with a child’s simple desire. “Mommy,” she whispered, “I want a candy apple.” “Oh, sweetie, you’re still too weak. You can’t have snacks right now.” Her little eyelashes fluttered. “But Mommy… it hurts.” My heart broke. “Okay, baby. Okay. Mommy will go get you one right now. You stay right here and be a good girl, don’t move, okay?” She nodded, her voice small and sweet. “I’ll be good.” I called a nurse and made her promise not to take her eyes off Lily for a second, then ran out of the hospital. I was back in less than ten minutes, a giant, glittering candy apple in my hand. But as I reached her room, the doctor blocked the doorway. His face was a grim mask. “Ms. Bernstein, please, you need to prepare yourself. Your daughter… she went into sudden cardiac arrest. We did everything we could, but she’s gone.” I shoved past him. The heart monitor was emitting a single, flat, continuous tone. Lily’s body, which had been warm just moments ago, was already growing cold. The candy apple slipped from my grasp, hitting the floor with a dull thud. The next second, I lunged at the doctor, my nails digging into his flesh. “You killed her! You must have done something! You killed my baby!” Nurses rushed to pull me away. I fought like a wild animal, screaming and clawing, until Vince, hearing the commotion, came running. 3 “Stella, that’s enough!” he roared, his voice cracking like a whip. “This is a hospital, not the goddamn asylum you crawled out of!” He slapped me. The force of the blow sent a ringing through my ears, and the world tilted. I stood there, stunned, my hand rising to my throbbing cheek. He seemed to snap back to reality, his expression shifting to one of horror. He pulled me into his arms. “Darling, I’m so sorry… The doctors, they’re not gods. They did their best. You have to accept it.” “Did you hear that? Her mother’s a psycho. No wonder she’s acting like this. She was terrifying.” “Yeah, why do people like that even have kids? They just pass on the crazy.” “A woman like that, with no class, no self-control… she doesn’t deserve to be a mother.” The nurses stood by the door, whispering, their eyes filled with disgust. I felt my hands begin to tremble. Vince saw it and spun around, yelling at the staff. “Shut your mouths! All of you! Say one more word and I’ll have this hospital shut down by tomorrow!” He turned back to me, his voice fierce. “No one talks about my wife like that. No one.” He was defending me, this man who had created the very situation that had brought me to this public humiliation. “Don’t touch me!” I shoved him away and fled. I ran from the children’s hospital straight to the nearest police station. I filed a report, accusing the doctor of negligence and malpractice, and demanded the police reopen the investigation into my children’s deaths, insisting they had the wrong man. The officer on duty was patient, carefully writing down everything I said. But as I grew frustrated with his slow pace, I heard hurried footsteps approaching from behind me. The officer looked up, and a polite, professional smile appeared on his face. “Mrs. Holt, we’re going to need you to cooperate with a quick examination.” Before I could process his words, I felt a sharp prick in my neck. The world went black. When I slowly regained consciousness, I found myself strapped to a bed, my arms and legs bound. Isabelle was sitting beside me. Seeing I was awake, she dabbed at the corners of her eyes, feigning tears that weren’t there. “Stella, you’re finally awake! You scared me half to death.” I looked around the sterile, white room, a cold dread seeping into my bones. “Where am I?” “Here?” she cooed, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Why, this is a psychiatric hospital. And I’ll let you in on a little secret… your mother is right next door. You’re finally reunited. Aren’t you happy?” “Was it Vince?” I screamed, my voice raw. “Vince, you bastard! Get out here!” “Shhh,” Isabelle said, placing a finger to her lips. “Don’t bother. This is the most secure facility in the state. Once you’re in, you never get out. Unless…” she leaned in closer, “someone intentionally lets you out.” Seeing the color drain from my face, Isabelle let out a triumphant laugh. “Oh, you figured it out. Yes, it was Vince who let your mother out all those years ago.” “And all because of one little thing I said. I told him I felt so insecure with you constantly chasing after Elias. I asked him to help me, and he did. He sacrificed himself and married you.” A sharp, cramping pain seized my stomach, a physical manifestation of my rage. I forced myself to breathe, to remain calm. “We’re half-sisters. Why do you hate me so much? Ever since we were children, you’ve taken everything I’ve ever wanted.” “Taken?” Isabelle laughed, a shrill, ugly sound. Then her face twisted with fury, and she lunged forward, her hands closing around my neck. “If your mother hadn’t seduced my father, you wouldn’t even exist! You are a mistake that never should have happened! There should have only ever been one daughter of the Bernstein family!” Just as my vision began to tunnel and my lungs burned for air, she released me. She leaned in close, her breath hot on my ear, her words a venomous hiss. “So, I whispered one more thing to Vince. I told him I was sick, with a very rare blood disorder, and that only the blood of a direct relative could save me. I had everyone in the family tested, and what a coincidence… only Leo and Lily were a match.” “That fool. He actually brought them in every year for donations. And this time, all I had to do was pretend to be a little sicker, a little more desperate, and he drained them completely for me!” Her eyes glinted with a wicked light. “You should have seen it, Stella. When his bodyguards held Leo and Lily down to draw their blood, they screamed so horribly. They kept crying, ‘Daddy, it hurts, please stop!’ But Vince was afraid I’d go soft, so he had their arms and legs broken. He sealed their mouths and eyes with duct tape.” “But your little Lily, she was a tough one. She actually survived that. So I just had to faint in front of Vince one more time. You should have seen how panicked he was. He held her down himself, a struggling, crying child, and drew the rest of her blood with his own two hands.” She smiled, a cruel, triumphant curve of her lips. “Tell me, Stella. Just how much must he love me, to sacrifice his own flesh and blood?”

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Only when the men saw the village women and children slaughtered by raiders did they believe my warnings. Staring at the mutilated bodies, they erupted in rage. “Captain!” one shouted hoarsely. “You said Olivia was lying—that we should guard you and Sienna for her birthday! Now my son is dead! Where’s my wife?!” Miles turned deathly pale. I watched the bloodshed, tears falling. In my past life, when raiders attacked, my husband—the Island Guard Captain—took all the men to celebrate Sienna’s birthday. Pregnant, I crawled through storm drains to bring them back. But Sienna was killed by a stray raider. After hunting them down, Miles said nothing—until my childbirth. Then he brutalized me and threw me into the sea. “You,” he hissed, “lured the raiders out of jealousy. Since you wanted her fate, I’ll make sure you die like her.” When I woke again, I was back at the raid’s beginning. This time, if he wanted to protect her… let him. … Reborn, I watched the speedboats approach the shore, filled with marauders. A cold shiver ran through me, but I didn’t hesitate. I pulled the alarm. The blaring alarm sirens swiftly echoed across the entire island. But the island’s sole transport vessel, large enough to evacuate all the women and children, was gone. My closest friend stumbled towards me, her voice choked with tears. “Olivia, the raiders are attacking! Where are all the men? The ferry’s gone too. What are we going to do?!” Before I could answer, other women and children swarmed around me, their eyes, wide with helplessness and terror, fixed on me. As the only one who truly knew, I had to tell them. Miles had taken every man and every weapon, sailing the transport vessel out to international waters to celebrate Sienna’s birthday. My mother-in-law cursed wildly, enraged. “Has he gone mad?! He knows raiders could attack Havenport at any moment, and he dared to take every man?!” She spat Sienna’s name like venom. “That manipulative vixen! I always said she was no good! Always feigning weakness, luring men. And now look! Is she trying to get us all killed?!” Her breakdown triggered a switch, and the other women instantly erupted, screaming insults at Sienna for her shamelessness, for luring away their men. As they spoke, the marauders’ speedboats neared the shore, and panic intensified. I struggled to maintain control, telling everyone not to panic, to head for the shelter tunnels. Our island, isolated from the mainland, was frequently targeted by raiders. To protect ourselves, we had built a network of underground bunkers to withstand their assaults. The cramped shelter tunnels were packed with women and children, listening to the marauders’ cruel laughter echoing from above as they searched the island for women. A chilling wave of terror spread through everyone. To save everyone, the only option was to risk crawling through the storm drains that connected to the tunnels, then take a jet ski to get reinforcements. My mother-in-law grabbed my hand, her calloused hand slick with cold sweat. “Olivia, the safety of all the women and children rests on you. You must bring back help!” I managed a bitter smile, my face etched with reluctance. I told her I feared even if I went, Miles wouldn’t come back with me. At my words, a heavy silence fell over everyone. Ever since Miles rescued Sienna and brought her to the island three months ago, he had clung to her like a shadow. Under the guise of ‘caring for her,’ Miles was inseparable from her daily: fishing together, training together. Even the islanders whispered amongst themselves that he and Sienna seemed more like a couple. Yet, far from avoiding suspicion, Miles only grew more overtly intimate with her when faced with their teasing. I had argued with him countless times over this, demanding to know who his wife truly was. But he remained indifferent, instead accusing me of being petty and jealous. Our love had long since evaporated with Sienna’s arrival. Just when everyone was at a loss, Lily, my sister-in-law, stepped forward. “Let me go. I know everyone in the Island Guard, and besides, Olivia’s pregnant. If anything happened to her, I wouldn’t know how to explain it to my brother.” With that, she eagerly plunged into the storm drain, crawling through the damp, filthy pipes to the outside. We huddled in the shelter tunnels, praying in our hearts not to be discovered. But then, a sharp-eyed raider spotted the entrance to the tunnels. “There’s an iron door here! I bet the women are all hiding inside!” “I knew it! How could an island this big not have a single woman?!” “I’ve been adrift at sea for half a year, dreaming of women! This time, I’m going to have my fill!” The thought of the women hidden inside spurred the raiders to frantically smash against the iron door. Listening to the frantic, booming crashes against the door, the women’s faces went ashen. Their hearts pounded with terror, and they could only pray for the men to return quickly and save them. About half an hour later, Lily, my sister-in-law, crawled back up from the storm drain, covered in grime. Seeing her, everyone immediately cheered, believing she had brought the men back. But to their dismay, Lily only began to wipe away her tears, her face etched with distress. “I’m sorry… they wouldn’t come back with me.” My mother-in-law frantically pressed her, “Why wouldn’t they come back? Their wives and children are in here!” At this, Lily’s tears flowed even faster. She bit her lip. “My brother said I was lying. He said there’s no way raiders would suddenly attack our fishing village… He even said Olivia and I conspired to trick him, and he slapped me.” Seeing the red mark on Lily’s face, everyone began to condemn Sienna as a manipulative vixen. They also cursed Miles for dereliction of duty, for abandoning everyone’s safety for the sake of one woman! Just then, a thunderous boom echoed! The raiders had begun using explosives! The iron door to the shelter tunnel could hold for another hour at most. I comforted the women, telling them that the nearest island, Stonewater Isle, was only twenty minutes away, and I could go there for reinforcements. My mother-in-law clutched my arm, her calloused hand slick with cold sweat. “Olivia, the safety of all the women and children rests on you. You must bring back help!” I nodded, then, pushing past the nauseating stench, I crawled through the storm drain, my pregnant belly cumbersome, until I reached the surface. I mounted a spare jet ski and sped towards the nearest island, Stonewater Isle. When my jet ski hit the beach of Stonewater Isle, I found several armed men already waiting. Recognizing them, my eyes widened. It was Deputy Commander Ethan Reed of our Island Guard. Hadn’t he gone out to sea with Miles? Why was he here? I couldn’t dwell on it. I stumbled towards him, just as I was about to inform him about the raiders’ attack. He suddenly grabbed my arm, yanking me from the jet ski, his gaze filled with utter disgust. “Olivia Vance, how can there be a woman as repulsive as you in this world?!” I stared at him, bewildered, unable to comprehend his meaning. “The Captain specifically ordered me to wait for you here. He said that to stir up jealousy, you’d conspire with Lily to spread rumors on other islands about a raider attack on our village, all to sabotage Sienna’s birthday celebration.” Listening to Ethan, I began to tremble with rage. Miles’ heart was utterly ruthless! To prevent me from reaching him, he had sent men to block the very path I would take to get reinforcements! I urgently told Ethan that the marauders had already begun their assault on Havenport. I wasn’t here to spread rumors; I was here for help! If reinforcements weren’t found within the hour to repel the raiders, everyone would be lost! Perhaps seeing my unyielding expression, a flicker of hesitation crossed his eyes. After all, his wife, child, and mother were all still on the island. Just as Ethan was about to contact Miles on his comms, a team member leaned in and whispered, “If there really was a raider attack, how could the Captain not know?” His face held a nearly devout trust in Miles. Miles had served in the military, possessing an exceptional tactical instinct and organizational skills. He had led the islanders in repelling dozens of raider assaults. After less than a second of silence, Ethan burst into loud laughter. “Olivia, you truly are an actress. You almost had me believing you.” “I know the Captain better than anyone. He’s so responsible, the leader of the Island Guard. How could he possibly lack this level of vigilance?” His mockery twisted my heart into a bitter knot, tears stinging my eyes. Every wasted moment meant more danger for the women. Ignoring everything, I tried to rush back towards the island. But in the next second, Ethan moved faster, pressing me down. He then produced rope and bound me tightly. “As long as I’m here, you’re not going anywhere today.” Ethan’s face was grim. After ensuring I was securely tied, he tossed me directly into a speedboat. As the boat sliced through the waves, I watched Stonewater Isle, so close yet growing smaller with every passing moment, and I closed my eyes in despair.

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The live comments told me to suck up to the real heiress, Vivian. But when I tried, everything backfired. It began when the nanny brought Vivian home. Glowing text only I could see warned me: “If Claire keeps antagonizing her, she’ll end up alone. “Terrified, I vowed to be the perfect sister. The comments said she loved milk, so I gave her a glass—not knowing she was allergic. She nearly died. My parents, who’d adored me for 18 years, slapped me, their disappointment crushing. Later, comments warned thugs were attacking Vivian. I saved her, but my birth mother—the nanny—framed me with fake evidence. My parents disowned me, sending me back to the slums. The thugs killed me. But I’m back. This time, I’ll get justice. “Hello, sister. My name is Vivian.” The girl standing before me was dressed in worn, cheap clothes, peeking out from behind my parents with a shy, tentative smile. My mouth fell open, but no words came out. I was too stunned. Then, the comments flooded my vision again, a shimmering, silent cascade of text. “Look at Vivian, what a sweetheart. After all those years of poverty, she’s not bitter at all. She just wants to get along with her new sister.” “Just wait. Once Vivian gets a real education, her talent will explode. She’s going to take the family company to new heights.” “Too bad the fake one, Claire, is such an idiot. Vivian actually wanted to like her at first. Claire could have just coasted, living the good life in Vivian’s shadow. But no, she had to get jealous and ruin everything. Serves her right for getting thrown back into the gutter.” The words were a brutal confirmation. I was reborn. In my first life, when Vivian had shown up with a DNA test proving a twenty-year-old hospital mix-up, I had been horrified by these prophetic comments. They foretold my downfall, a self-fulfilling prophecy of jealousy and ruin. So I did everything I could to change my fate. The comments whispered that Vivian craved milk, a luxury she could never afford. My heart went out to her. I warmed a glass myself and brought it to her room. The result was catastrophic. Anaphylactic shock. A frantic rush to the ER. Our nanny, Martha—my biological mother—fell to her knees, her voice choked with sobs. “Claire, you are my daughter, but I raised Vivian for eighteen years! I love her! Don’t hate her for this. If you have to hate someone, hate me! Just leave my baby alone!” When Vivian woke up, she shrank into my parents’ arms, her eyes wide with terror. “I’m allergic to milk. Claire, why did you make me drink it? Is it about the press conference tomorrow? I won’t go, I promise! I don’t want to take your place! I just want to be with Mom and Dad.” My mother’s disappointment was a physical blow. She slapped me, hard. My father wouldn’t even look at me. The next day, he announced to the world that the Ashtons had found their true daughter. After that, I never offered Vivian food again. Then, one day, the comments went wild. “Oh no! Vivian is being cornered by those thugs from the slums! If they get their hands on her, she’ll be scarred for life!” I couldn’t just stand by. I ran out of the house and pulled her from the middle of the jeering circle of boys. But when the police arrived, Vivian’s eyes were red-rimmed as she turned on me. “Claire, why? Why did you hire them to ruin me? What did I ever do to you?” At first, my parents refused to believe it. But then Martha arrived, phone in hand. She showed them videos of me supposedly tormenting Vivian in secret. She showed them chat logs of me contacting the thugs. She slapped me so hard my head rang. “You stole her life! The least you could do is be grateful, but instead, you do this? You’re a monster!” The police found a video on my phone—a video of the thugs manhandling Vivian. It sealed my fate. I had no defense. My parents abandoned me. With nowhere else to go, I ended up back in the slums, where the thugs I’d supposedly hired found me and made me pay for a crime I didn’t commit. Even as I died, I couldn’t understand. I had followed the comments’ advice. I had tried to be good. Why did everyone turn on me? This time, things will be different. This time, I’ll uncover the truth and avenge the girl who died so senselessly. I met Vivian’s hopeful gaze and offered a small, cool smile. I didn’t rush to embrace her like I did last time. My voice was even, betraying nothing. “Welcome to the family, Vivian.” A flicker of confusion crossed her face before it was gone. My parents, however, looked relieved. They didn’t say a word about me acknowledging my birth mother. They just asked us to get along. Later that evening, after dinner, I was in my room when the comments appeared, right on schedule. “Vivian looks thirsty. Someone should get her a cold glass of milk. She’d be so happy.” I ignored them, calmly peeling a piece of fruit. The text began to scroll faster, more insistently. “If Claire just brought her some milk, it would be a great bonding moment. But the fake heiress isn’t that smart.” I remained perfectly still. A soft knock came at my door. It was Vivian, looking pitiful. “Claire? I’m so thirsty. Do you know where I could get a drink?” I raised an eyebrow and gestured toward the mini-fridge in my suite. “Help yourself. Anything you want. Treat this as your home.” Vivian waved her hands frantically, her eyes darting toward me. “Oh, no, I couldn’t. Everything is so… high-tech. I don’t know how to work any of it. Could you just grab something for me? I’m not picky.” Martha, who was polishing the floor nearby, chimed in with a smile. “Claire, be a dear. Vivian’s new here, help her out a little.” Seeing their united front, this transparent little play they were staging, I decided not to refuse. I rose and went to the kitchen. Just like last time, I knocked on Vivian’s door and handed her a bottle filled with a white liquid. Her eyes lit up as she eagerly took it from me. Twenty minutes later, a loud thud echoed from her room, followed by Martha’s bloodcurdling scream. “Help! Somebody help my Vivian!” My parents burst out of their room, and I followed them into the hall. Vivian was lying motionless on the floor, her skin flushed and covered in a terrifying constellation of red welts. “Call an ambulance!” Martha shrieked. But I was prepared. In my last life, the delay in getting to the hospital had nearly killed her. This time, I’d already called our family doctor. He was waiting just outside. Soon, Vivian was revived and conscious. The first person she saw was me. Her eyes immediately filled with tears. “Claire, you knew I was allergic to milk! Why did you force me to drink it? Do you hate me this much?” she cried. “I just want to be part of the family! I’m not a threat to you! Why can’t you just leave me alone?” Martha jumped in to corroborate her story. “Vivian can eat anything, but not milk. Just a drop and she gets sick like this. I told you that this afternoon, Claire! Why would you deliberately give it to her?” My father’s brow furrowed, but he looked to me first. “Claire? Is this true?” My mother stayed silent, but her eyes were encouraging, pleading with me to explain. My own eyes stung with tears. Thank God. They still believed in me. This time, I wouldn’t let them down. I shook my head and stared directly at Vivian. “Are you absolutely certain your only allergy is milk?” Vivian nodded without a second’s hesitation. “Yes.” “Good.” A cold smirk touched my lips. I stepped forward and slapped her, hard, across the face. “How dare you hit my daughter!” Martha shrieked, lunging at me. My mother’s voice was ice. “Martha. You are a housekeeper in this home. Remember your place.” Martha froze, her mouth snapping shut. Vivian cradled her cheek, her jaw clenched as she glared at me with defiant, tear-filled eyes. With everyone watching, I calmly walked into her room and retrieved the bottle. “Vivian,” I said, my voice dripping with contempt, “next time you plant evidence, make sure you know what it is.” I unscrewed the cap and slowly poured the remaining liquid over her head. “This is soy milk. It just happens to be in a milk bottle. If you had taken even a single sip, you wouldn’t be so confident in your little performance right now.” The color drained from Vivian’s face. I let out a cold laugh. “If you’re only allergic to milk, why did soy milk give you a full-body rash? Are you really allergic, or are you just trying to frame me?” My father took the bottle from my hand, sniffed it, and his expression hardened. He looked at Vivian, his disappointment palpable. “Vivian, we brought you into our home to make up for the years we lost, not for you to play these twisted games with your sister.” “If you are this unhappy here,” he added, his voice dangerously low, “you are free to leave with Martha.” Panic seized Vivian. Ignoring the soy milk dripping down her face, she scrambled toward him, her voice breaking. “No! Dad, Mom, please don’t send me away! I don’t know what happened!” I crossed my arms, ready to watch her squirm her way out of this. But it was Martha who stepped forward. “It was my fault!” she declared, her face flushed with feigned shame. “Before dinner, I saw some milk pudding in the fridge. I forgot about her allergy and gave her a bite to try. That must be what caused the reaction! It’s not Vivian’s fault, it’s mine! I’m so sorry!” Vivian let out a small, almost inaudible sigh of relief and quickly nodded. “Yes… I think I remember that. I’m so sorry, Claire. It seems I misunderstood.” I gave Vivian a long, knowing look. “Well, what a coincidence,” I said, my voice sweet as poison. “You’d better be more careful next time, little sister. Wouldn’t want you to have another ‘allergic reaction’ and blame it on me again.” Vivian’s face was a mask of fury, but she could only nod meekly. I didn’t press the issue further. Instead, I shot a meaningful glance at my mother. With two decades of history between us, and with Vivian so clearly in the wrong, I knew whose side she would take. She walked over to Martha, her expression grim. “Martha, I allowed you to stay on as staff out of respect for your relationship with both girls. You are Claire’s birth mother and Vivian’s foster mother.” She paused. “But after this, it’s clear your presence here is… complicated. You’re getting older, and this role is awkward for everyone. Perhaps it’s for the best…” Trapped by her own lie, Martha had no choice but to swallow her pride. She nodded, forcing a painful smile. “You’re right. I’ll leave in the morning. I know the girls will be fine here with you.” She didn’t wait until morning. She packed her bags and was gone before midnight. Because Martha had taken all the blame, my parents couldn’t bring themselves to punish Vivian, but the incident planted a seed of doubt. Their attitude toward her became cooler, more distant. Without Martha’s help, Vivian scrambled to repair her relationship with our parents, but she failed at every turn. Even the comments faded away, only appearing sporadically to spout the same tired warnings about how I’d regret crossing her. I ignored them completely. A month passed. Then, the comments returned with a vengeance, scrolling frantically across my vision. “This is bad! Vivian was on her way to visit her foster mom and got cornered by those thugs again!” “They’re jealous she’s an heiress now. They’re threatening to ruin her! If they succeed, Vivian will be traumatized for life!” I sat in my room, unmoved. “If Claire goes to help her now, Vivian will be grateful forever. When she takes over the company, she’ll repay Claire tenfold. But Claire isn’t smart enough to see that.” I didn’t even twitch. Suddenly, my phone rang. It was Vivian, her voice a hysterical sob. “Claire, help me! I’m at the Sunnyside Apartments, Building A! Please, you have to save me!” The line went dead. I rolled my eyes. In a situation this dire, she doesn’t call 911? She calls me? But I knew if I didn’t go, I’d be accused of leaving her to die. By the time I arrived, the entire complex was swarming with police. Vivian, her clothes artfully torn, was curled in my mother’s arms, sobbing hysterically. The moment she saw me, her wails grew louder. A female officer was patting her shoulder. Finally, Vivian choked out her story. “Claire said she wanted to visit Mom… she asked me to come with her. I waited at the entrance, but she never showed up. Then… then those men grabbed me.” She took a shuddering breath. “They said Claire paid them… paid them to destroy me, so I’d be too shamed to stay in the family. If a police patrol hadn’t come by… I don’t know what would have happened.” Nosy neighbors had gathered, and they started pointing at me. “We watched Vivian grow up! She’s a sweet, polite girl!” one woman shouted. “You’ve been living her life of luxury for eighteen years, you ungrateful witch! Have you no shame?” I fixed my gaze on Vivian. “That’s a nice story. Do you have any proof?” I asked, my voice cold. “You already tried to frame me with the allergy stunt. Are you trying the same trick again?” My parents’ faces tightened. They remembered. They didn’t immediately condemn me, their expressions thoughtful. Just then, the police brought over several of the thugs in handcuffs. “We have a confession!” the female officer announced. The lead thug’s eyes lit up when he saw me. “Hey, you’re Claire Ashton, right? We did what you asked! We roughed up Vivian for you! You said you’d get us out if we got caught! You gotta keep your word!” I shook my head firmly. “I don’t know you. Why are you helping Vivian lie about me?” An older woman in the crowd scoffed. “The evidence is right there! Those boys are local troublemakers, they’ve always had it in for Vivian! Why would they help her frame you?” My mother’s face was pale, her voice trembling. “Claire, please, explain this. I don’t believe you would do this.” The female officer, Officer Davis, approached me, dangling a pair of handcuffs. “I have no patience for spoiled rich girls like you. Let’s go. You can think about what you’ve done down at the station.” From behind the crowd, Vivian shot me a triumphant smirk. I, however, remained completely calm. I turned to her, my voice clear and steady. “Who says I don’t have evidence? In fact, Vivian, haven’t you noticed that we’re missing someone?”

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My little brother is the internet’s most hated pop star. So when we signed up for a family reality show together, he tiptoed around like he was walking on eggshells, while I was out there raising hell. I’d pick a fight with a stray dog just for looking at me wrong. My brother, Liam, would whisper, “Aria, for the love of God, just tone it down. I’m begging you.” But his fans? They were eating it up. “This is awesome! Keep going, we live for this!” 1 I’d just gotten back to the States after studying abroad when my brother, Liam, landed a gig on a new family-centric reality show. He asked Mom to join him. She just sipped her tea and said, cool as a cucumber, “Absolutely not. I wouldn’t be caught dead on that kind of thing.” He asked Dad. Without even looking up from a mountain of paperwork, Dad grunted, “A million a day, and I’ll think about it.” Liam was speechless. Defeated, he turned his pleading, puppy-dog eyes on me. I threw my hands up with a grin. “It’s just a reality show, right? Don’t worry, big sis has got your back.” I saw Mom give me a look, one that screamed, Are you sure about this? Liam, on the other hand, was practically weeping with gratitude. He threw his arms around me. “Aria, you’re the best. Seriously, I’m so lucky to have you.” I patted his head, feeling a swell of pride. “Hey, look at you, little bro. You’re a huge star now. I’m so proud to have a brother like you.” He shifted awkwardly, a blush creeping up his neck. “Aria… maybe you should, uh… check the internet first?” I’d been in such a rush coming home that I hadn’t had time to catch up on the latest gossip. Puzzled but still smiling, I pulled out my phone and opened up Chirper. And then my smile froze. He was famous, all right. Just in a completely different way. From the moment he’d debuted two years ago, the internet had been a cesspool of vitriol directed at him. His singing and dancing were decent, but he’d landed a top spot on a competitive reality show, and the consensus was that he’d only gotten there by crying his way through it. They’d even compiled clips of his dancing into a viral montage titled “Senior Citizen Rehab Exercises.” In that moment, I deeply regretted saying, “I’m so proud of you.” And I knew, with absolute certainty, that he was about to deeply regret saying, “I’m so lucky to have you.” 2 The show, The Family Project, was filming for seven days at a sprawling mountain resort, all of it broadcasted live. From the second we set foot on the property, a drone was buzzing over our heads, capturing everything. When Liam and I arrived at the base of the mountain, another pair of contestants was already there. The guy looked to be in his mid-twenties, tan and tall, with a girl in athletic wear standing next to him. They were huddled together, whispering, and the girl looked seriously pissed off. The moment she saw us, her chin shot up and she let out a sharp, disdainful huff. Liam leaned in and murmured in my ear, “That’s Adam Vance. On that reality show two years ago, he was ranked 12th—the last one cut before the finale. The internet trolls all say I stole his spot.” I got it instantly. Classic reality TV drama-baiting. As we walked over, Adam put on a show of being the humble, wronged martyr, offering us a meek greeting. My brother, already terrified of the online hate, was practically trembling as he reached out to shake Adam’s hand, a nervous, almost apologetic smile on his face. Even so, the live-stream comments were a firestorm of abuse for Liam: “Poor Adam. Having to film with the guy who stole his dream.” “That manufactured pretty-boy face of Liam’s makes me sick. How can a guy be so soft?” “Adam is such a good guy, greeting him like that. Liam has zero class.” “If it wasn’t for his face, what does Liam even have? Adam is better in every way!” I stood there, my face a blank mask, just watching Adam. He finally turned his friendly, practiced smile on me. “You must be Liam’s sister, right? I’m Adam Vance, and this is my sister, Zoe. She won the national youth dance championship last year.” At the mention of her title, Zoe’s chin lifted even higher. She shot me a dismissive look. “Oh, so Liam actually has a sister.” Adam added, a hint of pity in his voice, “Liam doesn’t like to talk about his family in public. It’s understandable if you didn’t know.” Zoe’s smirk widened. “Makes sense. When you get by on looks alone, I guess your family isn’t much to brag about.” 3 The Vance siblings were clearly here to start a war, and I wondered if the producers had put them up to it. The live-stream audience was eating it up. “Yeah, I couldn’t find anything online about Liam’s family.” “I saw some deep-dive posts saying his family is pretty average. Explains why he had to play the victim card to get famous and make money.” My brow furrowed slightly. Liam saw it and subtly pressed his hand on my arm. “Aria, just let it go. You don’t want to piss off the fans.” While we waited for the other contestants, Adam and Zoe kept up their attack, a machine gun of rapid-fire boasts. “The youth dance championship, you know what that is? Oh, right, I forgot you probably don’t dance. You wouldn’t have a clue.” “Honestly, winning the national title is just okay. My real goal is to win an international competition within five years.” The comments poured in: “Of course Adam’s sister is amazing too. Talent runs in the family.” “A dance champion! The irony, compared to a certain someone who got a top spot and can’t do anything.” “His sister isn’t even saying anything. Guess that family really is all looks and no substance.” Zoe was getting more and more smug. I suddenly turned to my brother. “Go get me a bottle of water.” Liam, ever the obedient little brother, nodded and went to find a staff member. The second he was out of earshot, I turned my dead-eyed gaze back to them. “Adam, was it?” I started, my voice flat. “Your sister is a dance champion. What about you? What are your credentials? Any titles? Awards?” I pulled out my phone and tapped open a search bar. “The only thing I can find about you online is a 12th-place finish on a reality show. For someone who loves to brag so much, if you had anything else, I’m sure you would have plastered it all over the internet by now.” Adam’s face went stiff. I then turned to Zoe. “The national youth dance championship? Which one? What division? What was the scale of the event? Because as far as I know, there are at least twenty ‘youth dance competitions’ held in this country every year, and more than half of them are less prestigious than your brother’s 12th-place finish.” Zoe was speechless. 4 Their faces cycled through shades of red and green, a truly hideous sight. I coolly looked away. Alright, Aria, take it easy. Don’t break the children. I was ready to call a truce, but they weren’t. Zoe, her eyes wide with defiance, shot back, “That’s because my brother is humble! Everyone knows he was way more talented than Liam on Idol Factor!” “Oh,” I said. She faltered, then took a deep breath. “I won the championship for Dance Fever last year. That’s a hell of a lot better than you and your brother, a pair of empty-headed pretty faces.” Dance Fever. I actually recognized the name. My nine-year-old niece had won it three years in a row. She’d skipped it last year, though, complaining that the judging was rigged. Zoe’s arrogant tone was starting to get on my nerves. I stood up and walked over to the nearest staffer, pointing a thumb back at her. The drone buzzed closer. “She’s making personal attacks. Isn’t your show going to do anything about that?” The staffer made a placating gesture. “This is a live broadcast. The production team can’t interfere during filming.” A slow, dawning realization spread across my face. “So, you don’t step in, even if someone is verbally abusive?” “Per the rules, we cannot intervene.” “I understand perfectly.” This simple exchange, however, sent the live-stream comments into a frenzy. “What is she doing? Tattling? Is she five? How pathetic!” “Just like her brother, always playing the victim.” “Okay, Zoe is a bit much, but at least she has actual talent. All this woman can do is whine to the staff?” “The producers obviously want them to fight. Tattling is useless. She looks like a clown.” “Only knows how to pull these cheap tricks behind people’s backs. At least Zoe is direct.” 5 By the time I rejoined the group, two more pairs of contestants had arrived. Zoe was still holding court, regaling everyone with tales of her competition glory. I listened for a moment, then casually remarked, “Dance Fever, huh? I think I remember that one.” Every head in the group swiveled toward me. Zoe’s triumphant smile faltered, but she still managed a smug, “Pretty impressive, right?” I offered a small, knowing smile. “I was invited, but I couldn’t make it.” “Why not?” “I was in Europe for The Monaco Grand Prix of Dance.” She was completely hooked now, her eyes widening in disbelief. “What place did you get?” Anyone in the dance world knew The Monaco Grand Prix was one of the most prestigious competitions on the planet. The comments flew across the screen: “She’s gotta be lying. Does she know how elite the Monaco Grand Prix is?” “The competitors are the best of the best from every country. If she’s that good, how is her brother such a dud?” I lifted my gaze, and with everyone waiting with bated breath, I said, my face a perfect deadpan, “Oh, I was on the judging panel.” Zoe just stared. The silence stretched for a full ten seconds. Finally, Zoe’s voice shot up, cracking. “You’re lying! You’re only in your twenties, there’s no way!” I tilted my head. “The Monaco Grand Prix has twelve different regional circuits. I was just a judge for one of them, not the grand finals.” Then, as if a thought just occurred to me, I glanced at the dumbstruck Adam and let out a small, sharp laugh. “Twelve regions. How funny. Just like your rank.” Adam looked like he’d been slapped. Zoe was practically vibrating with rage. “Impossible! You’re making it all up!” I looked at her like she was the dumbest person I’d ever met. “The list of judges is public record. You can look it up online.” I paused, then added sweetly, “Oh, and by the way, the name’s Aria. Aria Serrano.” 6 At first, the audience reacted just like Zoe. The comments were a wall of disbelief, calling me a liar and a braggart. Then, someone posted a screenshot. It was from the official website of The Monaco Grand Prix of Dance, showing the panel of judges for the sixth regional circuit. And there it was, nestled among a list of long, European-sounding names, was one that stood out for its simple elegance: Aria Serrano. “HOLY SHIT, SHE’S ACTUALLY A JUDGE.” “MY GOD, just competing in that is insane, but she was a JUDGE? How good is she?!” “Okay, she’s a badass, but Liam still can’t do anything. The fact is, he stole Adam’s spot. His sister’s talent doesn’t change that.” “Exactly. Don’t get distracted. Aria might be legit, but Liam still needs to get out of the industry.” “Am I the only one who thinks Aria’s insults are kind of hilarious? LOL, look at Adam’s face, it’s literally green.” “…” The discussion was cut short when Liam came trotting back, a bottle of water in his hand. He beamed at me. I took it from him, twisting the cap off with practiced ease. “What took you so long?” “They were short-handed setting up some equipment, so I gave them a hand.” “Oh. Well, everyone’s here now. Let’s go.” Only then did Liam look up and offer a cheerful greeting to the others. A moment later, he shuffled back to my side, whispering in what he thought was a quiet voice, “Sis, is it just me, or is the atmosphere a little… weird? What did you guys talk about while I was gone?” The venomous glares from both Adam and Zoe shot straight to me. I remained perfectly composed, tilting my head with an air of pure innocence. “Weird? What are you talking about? We’re all getting along swimmingly.” 7 By the time our group of eight contestants finally reached the resort lodge near noon, we were all exhausted. The lodge was huge, with a hotel-style front and orchards and a small farm out back. The production team led us inside and promptly vanished, leaving us to fend for ourselves for food and everything else. Based on last season, this was the moment where the contestants were supposed to delegate chores. Adam, ever the self-appointed leader, stood up with a warm, placating smile. “Zoe and I can handle the cooking. Kiki, could you and your mom go pick some vegetables from the garden? And Rick, would you and your girlfriend mind washing the rice and prepping the veggies?” Everyone was slumped on the sofas, worn out from the hike up the mountain, and nobody looked eager to move. Kiki, a young singer terrified of being labeled “lazy” by the online mob, forced a pained smile. “Okay.” Rick, a veteran actor who knew the reality show game, didn’t object either. Finally, Adam’s gaze fell on my brother and me. I was curled up on the sofa, completely engrossed in my phone. As a camera panned over, everyone clearly heard the crisp, feminine voice from my game: “Mahjong! I win!” “…” My brother sat bolt upright beside me, like a first-grader on his first day of school. When he saw Adam looking at us, he nudged me. “Aria, time to work.” I was on a winning streak and ignored him. He sighed and stood up, asking Adam, “Is there anything we can help with?” Adam’s expression softened slightly. “Could you two handle the dishes after lunch?” “Yes! A perfect hand!” I cheered, slapping my knee. Hearing his question, I answered without looking up. “Nope.” Adam’s brow furrowed. “Lunch is more meaningful when everyone contributes.” “Are you for real?” I shifted on the sofa and started a new game. “You eat to fill your stomach. The only reason these people are going along with you is because there are cameras here. If you tried pulling this crap at home, your own mother would smack you.” “…” 8 Adam was clearly struggling to keep his anger in check. “So you won’t even do something as simple as washing the dishes?” I shrugged. “If it’s so simple, you and your sister can do it.” He finally snapped. “Everyone else is doing their part. You’re just sitting there playing games. Don’t you feel the least bit guilty?” “Weren’t you the one assigning tasks this whole time?” I finally looked up at him, my face a mask of wide-eyed innocence. “You’re just banking on the fact that everyone else is too polite to say no. Stop with the moral grandstanding. I’m not burdened by a conscience.” “…” Seeing her brother flustered, Zoe marched over to confront me. “Aria, even if you’re some international superstar, you can’t just throw your weight around like this. You’re not doing a single thing. Are you just going to wait for everyone to cook and serve you a meal?” Liam, who had been trying to get me to stop, bristled at her accusation. “My sister’s not like that,” he mumbled defensively. The live-stream audience was in an uproar: “Aria’s attitude is disgusting.” “Is she really just going to wait for others to feed her?” “The Serrano siblings are such drama queens. Ugh!” Adam took a deep, steadying breath, his patience worn thin. “I’m not obligated to cook for you, either. If you refuse to help, then you can figure out your own lunch.” “Figure it out ourselves?” Liam panicked, looking at me with wide, desperate eyes. “Aria, I’ve never seen you cook in my life!” I stared back at him. “And can you wash dishes?” Before he could answer, I rolled my eyes. “You can’t even wash your own socks.” Liam fell silent. Having delivered his ultimatum, Adam herded the other contestants off to the kitchen. I, meanwhile, stayed comfortably nested on the sofa, resuming my game. About twenty minutes later, Kiki returned with a basket, looking dejected. “There are fish and chickens out back, but my mom and I have no idea how to catch them.” Adam glanced at the sad-looking pile of vegetables in her basket and offered a weak reassurance. “It’s fine. Vegetables are healthy.” He could say that, but when the table was set with nothing but a few bland, meatless dishes, no one knew where to start. Even so, Zoe couldn’t resist gloating. “Time to eat! My brother’s cooking is amazing, everyone dig in.” She then shot a pointed look at me and Liam. “Looks like some people will be going hungry today. So much for cutting off your nose to spite your face. They don’t deserve any pity.” Just as the words left her mouth, a voice called from outside. “Excuse me, delivery for an Aria Serrano?” I nudged my brother with my foot. “Go get it.” He looked completely bewildered. “Who is it, sis?” I was still lost in my game, not even bothering to look up. “Oh. DoorDash.” “…” 9 The dining table was massive, which only made the few plates of limp vegetables look even more pathetic. Liam and I started unpacking the delivery, and in moments, the entire table was covered. Fried chicken, pizzas, spicy noodle bowls—you name it, we had it. The second we opened the containers, the irresistible aroma filled the entire room. Zoe stared, her eyes wide with disbelief. “You can’t just order takeout!” I was already halfway through a piece of chicken. “Is there a rule against it?” She was speechless for a second. “No one on a reality show has ever ordered takeout before.” I took a huge gulp of soda and glanced at my brother. “Is that true?” He was delicately eating his noodles. “Yeah, it is, sis.” “So what? The producers don’t care.” Just then, I heard Kiki swallow hard. There was no way we could finish all this food, so I gestured to the others. “Hey, come on, join us.” Kiki looked at me, shocked. “Can we?” “Of course you can.” By the end, even Rick and his girlfriend had abandoned the vegetable table and joined our feast. Adam and Zoe’s faces were a picture of pure disgust, as if they’d just swallowed a fly. They glared at us, radiating waves of resentment. Finally, they couldn’t take it anymore and slammed their chopsticks down. “Aria, you’ve gone too far!” I elegantly wiped my mouth. “Whatever do you mean?” Zoe pointed a trembling finger at the mountain of uneaten takeout. “You ordered all this food just to win everyone over and spite us, didn’t you?” I was so done with her. I gave her a thumbs-up. “Some people just talk out of their ass for fun, but you’ve made it a goddamn art form.” My brother almost choked, his chopsticks clattering against his bowl. He reached out to grab my arm. “Aria, just stop…” But he forgot one crucial thing about me: once I’m full, I get bored. And when I get bored, I like to stir up trouble.

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On our third wedding anniversary, my husband of convenience sent me our divorce papers, disguised as a home purchase contract for his little mistress. His friend teased him. “Aren’t you afraid she’ll actually sign it?” “You’ve been in love with her for seven years. Are you really willing to throw it all away over a joke?” Adam Gibbs exhaled a slow stream of smoke, a smug arrogance dancing in his eyes. “You don’t know Rachel Rae. She’s completely in love with me now. More obsessed than I ever was with her.” “When she sees that house is for Mia, she’ll be so jealous she’ll lose her mind. There’s no way she’ll sign.” I never pushed open the door to the private room. Instead, I turned around, went to my office, and signed my name on the disguised contract. He didn’t know. The love I once had for him had long since turned to ash. 1 I stood there, stunned, trying to process Adam’s words. When he’d begged me for this marriage of convenience, he’d sworn up and down he’d rather die than divorce me. “Rachel, I swear to you, the only way you’ll ever leave me is as a widow, never a divorcée.” The echoes of that thunderous vow hadn’t even faded. And now, just to amuse his little mistress, he was turning our marriage—something I held sacred—into a sick joke. Inside the room, his friends were laughing. “Careful you don’t play yourself, Gibbs. What if she doesn’t look closely?” “Or what if you’ve broken her heart so badly she signs it out of pure spite…” Adam just shook his head, the picture of a spoiled playboy. “When it comes to me, she’s meticulous about everything. Last time, I just asked her to drop off a coat for Mia in the middle of the night, and she was so mad she wouldn’t let me touch her for days. This is a house.” He looked even more pleased with himself. “I’m telling you, the second Rachel sees that email, she’ll come storming in here ready to fight. What can I say? The ladies love me. It’s a curse.” One friend wasn’t buying it. “Stop bragging. Everyone knows Rachel’s dad cheated on her mom. She’s got a complex about it. She needs a perfect marriage. You keep pulling stunts like this, you’re going to end up crying.” Adam stubbed out his cigarette with a sneer. “You don’t believe me? Let’s make a bet. One million dollars. Three days.” “You’re on.” Another friend finally spoke up, his voice laced with disapproval. “Come on, man, that’s enough. Rachel’s our friend too. Betting on this is a scumbag move.” He nudged Adam. “And you’re being a real asshole. You finally marry the woman you’ve been chasing for years, and you’re still messing around with someone else. Just retract the damn email.” Adam paused for a second, then lit another cigarette in frustration. “No. I already made a bet with Mia.” “Besides,” he added, “the email isn’t just a joke. I want her to learn from Mia. When Mia gets jealous, she acts like a proper woman—all teary-eyed and fragile. When Rachel gets jealous, she just screams like a lunatic. It’s so damn annoying.” The friend sighed, exasperated. “Keep it up. You’re going to destroy a perfectly good thing.” “Who are you cursing? It’s not like we haven’t fought before. And which time did Rachel not come crawling back?” “Just have my million ready when I win.” … Adam’s voice droned on, but I couldn’t hear it anymore. My knuckles were white as I clutched the thermos of chicken soup I’d made for him. A part of me wanted to storm in there and dump the entire thing over his perfectly styled hair. But that would go viral. Powerful CEO and Husband Clash Publicly. The humiliation… The fight drained out of me in an instant. I turned and walked out of the club. 2 I returned home in a daze. The warm, cozy decor of our apartment, once a comfort, now felt like a suffocating net, squeezing my heart until it ached. Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was Adam’s smiling face. I just couldn’t understand. How could the man whose world once revolved entirely around me have become this ugly, unrecognizable stranger? Just three years ago, in front of all our family and friends, he had wept as he said marrying me was the happiest moment of his life. Before I overheard that conversation, I had been seriously considering having a baby, just to make him happy. But it turned out the marriage I was fighting so hard to preserve… was nothing more than a gambling chip to him. I stood up and threw the cake I’d baked and the carefully chosen gift I’d bought for him straight into the trash. Adam and I met when we were young. He was a whirlwind of confidence, bursting into my life in a pristine white basketball jersey. My parents had just divorced, and the shock had turned me into a quiet, withdrawn girl. No one knew how to talk to me, so they kept their distance. But not Adam. He followed me around all day, filling the silence with his endless chatter. Later, when his family’s business hit a rough patch, he came to me, his eyes red-rimmed, and asked if I would consider a marriage of convenience. My mother warned me to be careful, but I didn’t hesitate. I said yes. I believed in his sincerity. But sincerity, I was learning, could vanish in a heartbeat. I sat down at the computer, opened the email, and signed my name. Really, I should have seen it long ago. After three years of endless tabloid rumors and whispered scandals, even the most passionate love would have burned out. 3 Done with my obsession over this toxic marriage, I turned my attention to my work emails, not looking up until the early hours of the morning. I was about to head for a shower when my phone rang. It was Adam. I ignored it. He called again. And again. And again, until I finally blocked his number. But the peace was short-lived. The smart screen in our living room flickered to life with an incoming video call. “Rachel, what are you still doing at home?” “I drank too much, my stomach’s killing me. Where’s the soup? You said you made it. Bring it over.” He was lounging on the club sofa, his tone arrogant and demanding, as if I weren’t his wife but a servant he could summon at will. The soup? I glanced over at my dog, who was licking his lips, full and satisfied. “I fed it to the dog,” I said flatly. “If you want some, order takeout.” Before I could finish, a fragile, trembling voice piped up from the video feed. “Adam, is she feeding the soup to a dog instead of bringing it to you because of me? Is she angry that I’m here?” One of his friends snorted. “You know the answer to that, so why are you still hanging around? Who’s the damsel-in-distress act for?” “What did you say?!” Adam snapped, his face darkening. “Mia is my guest.” “Rachel is just a petty, jealous shrew. I can’t even talk to another woman without her throwing a fit for three days. It’s exhausting.” “Mia, don’t listen to him.” Mia deliberately moved closer to the camera, her eyes welling with tears, her lip trembling as if she were about to cry. “Adam, please don’t fight with your wife because of me. It’s all my fault. I… I won’t come looking for you anymore.” Adam’s expression softened instantly. He reached out and pulled her into his arms. “What are you apologizing for? It’s not your fault.” “Rachel’s just having one of her crazy episodes. Ignore her. We’ll keep having fun.” Someone in the background couldn’t take it anymore. “Adam! Do you have any idea what day it is?!” Adam frowned, as if trying to remember. I had no desire to watch their little performance any longer. I reached over and unplugged the smart screen. Then, I blocked him on every platform. This was it. The final break. And yet, before today, I never would have imagined I’d leave Adam over another woman. Especially not Mia. 4 She was a top student from a small town. She’d been rejected from our company after showing up late for her interview, but she’d crashed our lunch at a restaurant, sobbing and begging for another chance. “Ms. Rae, please, just give me one more chance,” she’d pleaded. The entire restaurant was staring, the silent pressure mounting. I reviewed her resume again. Seeing she’d graduated from a top university, I made an exception and hired her. But once she started, she constantly misplaced files and mixed up data. She didn’t even make it through her probationary period. I was about to give her one last chance, feeling sorry for her as a new graduate, when I found out she was already working for Adam. After catching them being overly familiar several times, I admit I lost my composure and we had a huge fight. I even asked him if he had feelings for Mia, telling him I would grant him a divorce if he did. But Adam would just pull me into a gentle embrace, a teasing smile on his face. “Still so jealous,” he’d murmur. “I just feel sorry for the girl. She’s just office decoration, a flower vase. I have no other intentions. We’ve known each other for so long. Don’t you trust me?” “My type has always been strong, career-driven women like you. What’s so great about a little crybaby?” And I believed him. Mia cried easily and fell apart when she made a mistake. It seemed plausible she would turn to Adam for help. Plus, Adam’s pursuit of me had been the stuff of legends. He had sworn he loved only me. In the heat of that love, I couldn’t bring myself to doubt him. But later, while I was busy expanding his family’s business empire, Adam was taking her to see the Northern Lights, to chase penguins in Antarctica, to make New Year’s wishes in the deep snow of the Swiss Alps. And now. Now, for her, he was turning our carefully guarded marriage into a joke. Thinking back, I really was a clown. A prop in their flirtatious games, still believing that love was immutable. Well, it wasn’t too late to wake up. Adam didn’t come home that night. He had the housekeeper pass on a message. “Rachel, I was wrong not to be with you on our anniversary. I’ll make it up to you, okay?” I ignored it. After finishing up at the office, I changed into an evening gown and went to a charity gala. Major corporations held these events periodically, partly to network and partly to burnish their public image. I was originally supposed to attend on behalf of the Gibbs family, but just before leaving, I changed my registration to the Rae family. I just hadn’t expected to run into Adam and Mia there. In these circles, it was an unwritten rule that married couples sat together. But there was Mia, sitting comfortably in my seat, staring up at me with wide, innocent eyes. “Oh, Rachel, can’t you find your seat? Should I go talk to the organizers for you?” Adam glanced at me, a smirk playing on his lips as he lounged in his chair. He was waiting for me to explode. Waiting for me to start a fight with Mia. The old me would have given him exactly what he wanted. But I wasn’t going to lower myself to that level anymore. I held up my invitation, and an attendant quickly and respectfully escorted me to a seat in the front row. “Next, we’ll be introducing the projects available for sponsorship…” The host began his presentation. I looked down at my tablet, scrolling through the options. The gala was hosted by the Fourier Group, and the projects focused on medical research, education in underserved areas, and aid for special needs children. I submitted my donations through the tablet and then slipped out of the main hall. The outer ballroom was for mingling and conversation. I had just found a quiet corner when Adam appeared. “Rachel, what’s your problem now?” I looked up, meeting his simmering anger with an amused expression. Was he here to question me because I didn’t donate under the Gibbs family name? I couldn’t be bothered. I stood up to leave. Adam grabbed my arm, causing the wine in his glass to spill all over the floor. “So I didn’t spend our anniversary with you. Is that any reason to throw a tantrum like this?” “If anyone sees this, they’ll think I’m cheating on you, that’s why you’re donating under your own name. How is that supposed to make me look?” My brand-new gown was stained. Furious, I flung the contents of my own glass back at him. “Isn’t it a fact that you’re cheating? If you want a good reputation, go buy one with your own money.” He stared at me, his disbelief turning to impatience. “Fine. You’ve grown some claws.” “This better not be an act. Don’t talk tough now and then go home crying over my picture.” I shook him off and went to the restroom to clean the wine stain. When I came out, Adam was blocking the doorway. He grabbed my hand, his expression meaningful. “I sent you an email. You need to look at it when you get home. The contents are very important. It’s about…” He didn’t finish. Mia materialized from behind me, linking her arm affectionately with his. “Adam, my period started, and I… I stained my dress. Can you help me find a new one?” Adam, the notorious germaphobe, didn’t hesitate. He whipped off his own jacket and draped it over her, his voice softening with concern. “You silly girl, you have to be more careful. Does your stomach hurt?” Mia shook her head shyly. The sight made me nauseous. I turned to leave. Behind me, Adam’s voice followed. “Remember to check your email! It’s about a major life event.” “Don’t just sign it without looking.” 5 Right. A major life event worth a mere one-million-dollar bet. Adam surely thought I’d pick up on his “hint,” go home, inspect the “purchase contract,” and then have a hysterical screaming match with him. That way, he’d save face with his friends, get to call me jealous, and continue his little affair with Mia guilt-free. But I was done playing his game. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. It was dark by the time I finished at the office. I was about to go out for dinner when our housekeeper messaged me. The dog was missing. I had no choice but to drive home. The moment I pushed open the door, confetti exploded around me, accompanied by a chorus of cheers. “Surprise!” His friends explained that Adam had roped them into throwing me a make-up anniversary party. My eyes landed on Mia, and I laughed coldly to myself. Whose anniversary party includes a pack of friends and the husband’s mistress? It didn’t take a genius to figure out Adam’s game. Sure enough, after I excused myself on the pretext of getting some celebratory wine, I overheard his friends trying to talk some sense into him. “I’m telling you, man, just stop. I’ll give you the million, okay? Just retract the email and go apologize to Rachel.” Adam waved a dismissive hand. “It’s not about the money. I brought you all here to witness my charm.” “I told her multiple times to check the email carefully. Just wait. You’ll get to see her lose her temper. It’s hilarious when she gets all pouty and scowls.” … The party wound down, and it was time for everyone to leave. I stood up to call for drivers, but Adam grabbed my hand, pulling me back. “Rachel, are you happy?” I frowned at him, genuinely confused. He brings a crowd of people to my house without asking, disrupting my work and my peace. What was there to be happy about? Our eyes met, and he broke into a wide grin, pressing his palm to my forehead. “Stop frowning. I know you’re thrilled deep down. The only reason I missed our anniversary was because Mia drank too much and I had to take her home.” “You were just putting on a show at the gala because you were jealous. You should be over it by now.” “Oh, right. Did you see the email? I’m still waiting to hear from you.” I swatted his hand away, my face a blank mask. Mia chose that moment to chime in. “Adam, I think I drank too much. Can you take me home?” She swayed, then added with a little gasp, “Oh, wait, you’ve been drinking too, Adam. I guess I should stay here and take care of you…” I stared at her, wondering if I’d misread her resume. Was her major in management or professional acting? She was like an NPC, constantly spawning next to us to deliver another poorly staged act. I turned to leave, but this time, Mia blocked my path. 6 “Rachel, are you still angry? There’s really nothing between Adam and me. Please don’t fight with him because of me anymore. I don’t want to see him unhappy.” I looked at her coldly and uttered two words. “Get lost.” The girl’s eyes instantly reddened, and fat tears began to roll down her cheeks. “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have been concerned about Adam. I shouldn’t have made you angry.” “I’ll do anything, anything at all, if you’ll just stop giving him the silent treatment.” With that, she dropped to her knees with a thud. The sound was loud enough to draw everyone’s attention. Adam, instantly sobered, flew into a rage. He pulled her to her feet and shielded her behind him, roaring at me. “Rachel, are you insane?!” “If you have a problem, take it up with me! Why are you always bullying a young girl like this?!” “Making her kneel to you? Aren’t you afraid of shortening your own lifespan? Apologize to her right now, or get the hell out of this house!” I suppressed my own fury. “This is my house. You’re the ones who need to get out.” Adam’s face flushed with anger. “Fine! I’ll go! And from now on, you could be on your knees begging me, and I would never come back!” Seeing things escalate, his friends rushed to intervene. “Adam, what are you saying? Just apologize to her.” “Yeah, man, it’s not worth blowing things up over an outsider.” Hearing this, Mia clutched her knee and began to limp dramatically toward the door. “I’m the one causing trouble. I should be the one to leave. Adam, please don’t fight with your wife.” But Adam was determined to be her knight in shining armor. In front of everyone, he wrapped a protective arm around her. “You did nothing wrong. She’s the one being unreasonable.” “Let’s go. We’ll stay somewhere else tonight. I’m not coming back until she apologizes.” With that final declaration, he swept Mia up into his arms and walked out.

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