Category: English

Three years ago, I packed my bags, divorced, severed all ties with that family, and fled the country. This year, on this solemn day of remembrance, I quietly returned home. The cemetery was stiflingly silent. I walked to an inconspicuous little headstone and laid a small bouquet of white daisies on the grass. This was my child’s grave. Today marked three years since he left, and I had flown across oceans specifically to see him. As I turned to leave, I unexpectedly ran into three people. It was my brother, Tristan, whom I hadn’t spoken to in three years, and my ex-husband, Garrison, who had hated me for just as long. Between them, they shielded my stepsister, Ramona. They clearly hadn’t expected to encounter me here; they all froze. I twisted my lips into a self-mocking smile, intending to walk past them. But my brother stepped forward, blocking my path, and loudly demanded how I dared show my face here to visit Mom’s grave. They all believed I had returned to pay my respects to our deceased mother. In truth, I hadn’t come back for any kind of reunion, and certainly not for her. Ignoring his taunts, I continued on my way. 1 Tristan’s broad frame squarely blocked the path down the hill. He glared at me, his disgust unconcealed. “Cat got your tongue, Giselle?” Tristan’s voice sharpened, echoing on the desolate mountain road. Ramona tugged at Tristan’s sleeve, shaking her head gently. “Tristan, don’t push her.” Always the saint, always playing the part of understanding and considerate. Garrison stood to the side, his dark, seemingly bottomless eyes fixed on my face. Three years apart, he was still forbiddingly stern, but his gaze, when it met mine, was as cold as if I were a complete stranger. “Go to Mom’s grave and kneel to apologize,” Tristan insisted, unyielding. “Ramona’s leg is ruined because of you. Mom, in the afterlife, would never forgive you.” I stopped, meeting Tristan’s eyes directly. “I didn’t push her.” I had repeated that truth countless times, but no one had ever believed me. Tristan let out a cold laugh. “The stairwell camera was broken. It was just you and Ramona there. She fell, bleeding profusely, her leg shattered, and you didn’t even call for an ambulance before running off. What else could that be but a guilty conscience?” I turned my head to look at Ramona. She flinched, retreating timidly behind Garrison, dragging her slightly limping leg. Garrison instinctively shielded her, his brow furrowed deeply. “Giselle, drop that haughty act,” Garrison finally spoke, his voice cutting like an ice blade through the air. I didn’t retort. I just felt tired, so tired even breathing was a struggle. That day, I had bled so much, a stream running down my thigh to my ankle. The agonizing cramps in my abdomen shredded my sanity; all I could think about was saving my child. I couldn’t spare a thought for Ramona, who had fallen down the stairs. I had no time to defend myself. “Move aside, I’m going down the mountain,” I said, pulling my trench coat tighter. Rain began to fall, fine streaks chilling my face. Tristan was about to erupt again, but Garrison stopped him. “The paperwork isn’t finished,” Garrison stated, fixing his gaze on me. “The transfer documents for the downtown apartment. You’ve dragged your feet for three years.” That had been our marital home. I’d signed the divorce papers without a second thought, but the property transfer had remained undone. Not because I was reluctant to let it go, but because back then, I simply had no energy left for material possessions. “I’ll meet you at the law firm tomorrow,” I said, bypassing them and continuing down the path. The rain intensified. Without an umbrella, I could only quicken my pace. My wrist was suddenly seized by a strong grip. Garrison, holding a black umbrella, caught up to me in long strides. “My car’s at the bottom of the hill. Get in,” he commanded, his tone unyielding. I tried to pull my hand away. “No thanks, I’ve called a ride.” His grip tightened, knuckles white. “You won’t find a ride here. Do you want to die on this mountain road?” Tristan and Ramona had also approached; he held another umbrella over Ramona’s head. The three of them looked like a proper family. I stopped struggling, letting Garrison pull me towards his black Maybach. The car door shut, sealing off the cold rain outside. The air inside the car was suffocating. I sat in the back. Garrison took the driver’s seat. Ramona, naturally, opened the front passenger door and settled in. 2 The car started, smoothly easing onto the winding mountain road. No one spoke, the atmosphere thick with awkward tension. Ramona turned on the car stereo, casually selecting a soothing piano piece. Garrison used to only listen to financial news when he drove. Now, he’d even changed his habits for her. “Sister, are you leaving again after this trip?” Ramona asked, looking at me through the rearview mirror. “I’ll leave once the paperwork is done,” I replied, staring at the blurry rain outside the window, my voice flat. Ramona seemed to let out a quiet sigh of relief. “Garrison and I are having our engagement party next month,” she murmured. I turned my head, my gaze falling on Garrison’s profile. He drove with a poker face, offering no denial. “Congratulations,” I said, two words devoid of warmth. Garrison slammed on the brakes! Tires screeched on the wet road. Ramona gasped, clutching her chest. “What is it, Garrison?” Garrison pressed the accelerator again, his voice tight. “A stray cat ran out.” A nauseating wave of sickness rolled in my stomach. The long flight, coupled with the recent cold rain, was taking its toll on my already fragile body. I closed my eyes, fighting down the urge to vomit. Images of my mother’s final moments involuntarily flashed in my mind. Mom had been sick for a long time. In her last few months, it was Tristan and Ramona who attended to her bedside in the hospital. I hadn’t even seen her one last time, because the day her critical condition notice was issued, I was on an operating table in another hospital. A massive hemorrhage during my abortion, and I was barely clinging to life myself. Everyone assumed Mom would leave her inheritance to Tristan, who had cared for her day and night. But Mom understood everything, and she loved me most. Before she passed, she hired a lawyer and left all her life’s savings to me. The lawyer handed me a voice recorder. Inside were her last words for me. “Giselle, take this money and stay far away from them. Mom knows you couldn’t be there; Mom doesn’t blame you. Mom just hopes you can live for yourself from now on.” After Tristan learned of the will, he smashed everything he could in the hospital corridor, believing Mom had been utterly biased. He told everyone I was a cold-blooded monster, who hadn’t even bothered to visit my dying mother, yet selfishly took all the assets and fled. From then on, he brought Ramona back to the family estate, treating her as his only real sister, as compensation. And I became the undeniable villain of the family. “Sister, are you carsick?” Ramona’s voice pulled me back to reality. I opened my eyes, the cramps in my stomach intensifying. “No,” I forced out, enduring the pain. The car finally stopped in front of the family estate. I pushed open the door and stepped out, a cold draft swirling down my collar, making me shiver. Tristan’s car had also arrived. He parked and walked towards me. “Grab your things and get out. Don’t dirty the house,” Tristan’s eyes were still like daggers. I said nothing, walking directly into the old house. The furnishings were exactly as they had been three years ago. I followed my memory up to the study on the second floor. Garrison followed behind me, his footsteps heavy. The study door creaked open, and the stale smell of old paper and ink washed over me. Garrison walked to the safe, inputting the code. It was Ramona’s birthday. The safe opened. He took out a thick stack of documents and held them out to me. “Sign these, and that apartment will have nothing to do with you anymore.” I took the pen. Without looking at the contents, I flipped directly to the last page. 3 The pen tip scratched softly across the paper. “You’re not even going to look at it?” Garrison suddenly spoke, a hint of irritation in his tone. I finished signing and pushed the documents back to him. “There’s nothing to see. I’m leaving with nothing.” Garrison stared at the signature on the papers, his brow furrowed. “Three years. What are you playing at, being so high and mighty now?” I didn’t reply, turning instead to search for my passport, which I had left behind. I pulled open a drawer; inside lay a wooden jewelry box. I opened the box, and my passport rested quietly at the very bottom. Next to the passport, nestled beneath it, was a delicate sterling silver longevity lock. Three years ago, I had personally sought out a priest at the cathedral to bless it for my baby. I had planned to put it on him myself once he was born. I quickly snapped the lid shut and shoved the box into my bag. My movements were clumsy, knocking over the pen holder on the desk. The pen holder clattered to the floor, making a sharp sound. Garrison walked over, bending to pick up the pen holder. His gaze lingered on my bag for a moment. “What did you take?” he asked. “My personal belongings,” I said, zipping my bag shut. Garrison took a step closer, his tall frame exuding an intense pressure. “Giselle, what exactly are you hiding?” I looked up, meeting his eyes directly. “Mr. Garrison, we’re divorced. I’m not obligated to report my private matters to you.” Garrison’s face darkened. “You left so decisively back then, without a single explanation.” “Explanation for what?” I retorted. “To explain that I didn’t push Ramona, or to explain that I don’t need your charity?” “Why are you always so prickly?” Garrison gritted his teeth. “Ramona was crippled because of you back then. If you had just swallowed your pride and apologized, I could have saved you.” I found it utterly laughable. “Why should I apologize for something I didn’t do?” The study door opened, and Ramona walked in, carrying two steaming cups of tea. “Garrison, Sister, have some tea to warm up.” She walked between us, skillfully diffusing the tense atmosphere. Garrison stepped back half a pace and took a teacup. I didn’t take one. “I’m not thirsty. The paperwork is done; I’m leaving.” I picked up my bag, walked past Ramona, and headed for the door. “Sister,” Ramona called out to me. I stopped. “This study, Tristan said he’s turning it into my music room,” Ramona said, looking at me with a subtle hint of triumph. I glanced around the room where I had spent ten years. “Suit yourselves.” I left the study, walking down the hallway towards the stairwell. Tristan stood at the landing, smoking. In the hazy smoke, his expression was shadowed and unreadable. “In such a hurry to leave? Afraid to face Ramona?” Tristan stubbed out his cigarette. I stopped in front of him. “Tristan, do you truly believe that Ramona’s leg was my fault?” Tristan scoffed. “Who else could it be but you?” I looked at him, speaking flatly, “Tristan, we are blood relatives, brother and sister.” “Then where were you when Mom passed away?” When I touched a raw nerve, Tristan didn’t back down. I opened my mouth, but decided against wasting more words on him. Outside, the rain intensified, strong winds whipping raindrops against the glass. I walked to the foyer, preparing to change my shoes and leave, but the butler stopped me. “Miss Giselle, the roads outside are closed due to the storm. It seems you won’t be able to leave tonight.” I looked at the pitch-black night and the raging storm outside, my spirits sinking to rock bottom. Garrison carefully helped Ramona down the stairs. “Since you can’t leave, stay the night,” Garrison stated. Tristan frowned but didn’t object. At dinner, the atmosphere in the dining room was suffocating. The long dining table was laden with rich dishes, most of them Ramona’s favorite seafood. I quietly picked at the greens on my plate. Ramona picked up a piece of fish, but it slipped from her grasp just as she brought it to her mouth, falling onto the table. She bit her lip in annoyance. Garrison naturally picked up the serving tongs, selected another piece of fish, carefully removed the bones, and placed it in her bowl. Tristan, meanwhile, served her a bowl of hot soup. “Be careful, it’s hot.” They doted on Ramona, showering her with care. I ate my plain rice, a detached observer. 4 My stomach hurt too much, so I only ate a few bites before returning to my room. The bedroom was spotlessly clean, clearly maintained regularly. I sat on the edge of the bed, the cramps in my stomach growing more frequent. I found the painkillers in my bag and dry-swallowed two tablets. The pain eased slightly, but I still couldn’t sleep. The wind and rain outside hadn’t stopped. I leaned against the headboard, checking the time on my phone. My flight was at three tomorrow afternoon. Before that, I needed to visit the downtown hospital. After my abortion, the records of my frozen eggs and embryos were still there. I wanted to leave completely, erase every trace of myself from this place. I didn’t want any more ties to them. At 2 AM, I changed, then quietly opened my door. The hallway was pitch black, with only a faint glow from the sconce at the far end. The wind and rain had subsided a little. I used a rideshare app to call a car, paying triple the fare to finally get a driver. I opened my umbrella and walked out into the rainy night. The hospital corridor reeked of harsh disinfectant. In the dead of night, only the on-call doctor was in the archives office. I handed over my identification and application form. The doctor skimmed through my file, his brows gradually furrowing. “Ms. Giselle, correct?” he asked, pushing up his glasses. I nodded. “Once this destruction agreement is signed, the three frozen embryos you stored will be disposed of as medical waste,” the doctor stated matter-of-factly. “I confirm,” I said, picking up the pen from the table. The doctor sighed, pushing the agreement towards me. “Actually, you’re still young. Although that hemorrhage three years ago damaged your system, it’s not entirely hopeless.” My hand froze, the pen tip bleeding a dark blot on the paper. “No need. Just dispose of them.” I took a deep breath, quickly signing my name on the agreement. The doctor took the agreement, stamping it with a bright red “VOID” mark. “All set. You may go.” I picked up my identification and turned to leave. Just as I stepped out of the outpatient building, I saw that familiar Maybach. Garrison, without an umbrella, rushed towards me in long strides. Rainwater dripped from his jawline, his face ashen. He grabbed my shoulder, his voice hoarse, barely recognizable. “What did you just sign in there?” I tried to shake off his hand. “None of your business.” Garrison’s chest heaved violently, as if breathing had become difficult. “That hemorrhage… what does that mean?” Garrison stared into my eyes, his voice trembling uncontrollably. His fingers tightened, his eyes gradually reddening. “Giselle, three years ago… were you pregnant?”

When my daughter wanted to attend the upcoming Comic-Con, I took her to a high-end specialty boutique to commission a fully custom, bespoke cosplay suit. My niece, whom I had been financially supporting for years, completely lost her mind when she found out. “You only give me a thousand bucks a month for living expenses! What gives you the right to drop ten grand on a costume for her?!” “I know I am just your niece, but you do not have to be so blatantly biased!” Her jealousy reached such a boiling point that she actually barged into my daughter’s college dorm, took a pair of shears to the ten-thousand-dollar bespoke outfit, and sent me a video of the shredded fabric to gloat. “Aunt Marcia, from now on, whatever my cousin gets, I get too. Otherwise, nobody gets to be happy!” “I will forgive your blatant favoritism this time, but you owe me two hundred thousand dollars to compensate for my emotional distress.” I did not even blink. I just dialed 911. “If you cannot reimburse the exact cost of that suit, you can pay me back with jail time!” 1 Inside a premium pop-culture boutique downtown, Harper was complaining at the top of her lungs. “Aunt Marcia, I know Jennifer is super into this geeky stuff, but there is absolutely no need to buy a cosplay suit this expensive!” “It is literally just an outfit she will wear once and throw in the closet. It is a total waste of money! And look at that custom wig. It looks completely unwearable for daily life. Why is it so ridiculously overpriced?” “My sorority is hosting a formal mixer next week. I begged you to buy me a designer evening gown and you refused, but now you are dropping thousands on a costume for Jennifer? You are so incredibly biased!” “Am I really worth that much less to you than she is?” Was she actually out of her mind? I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from cursing her out right there in the store. You are not my kid. The fact that I wire you a thousand dollars every single month just so you can live comfortably on campus is a blessing. How dare you act so entitled? Harper was my older brother’s youngest daughter. Her grades were decent, and she had gotten into the same university as Jennifer. However, my brother was incredibly old-fashioned and sexist. He refused to pay for a girl to go to college, expecting her to drop out and start working. Out of pity, I stepped in and promised to cover her tuition and living expenses for all four years. A few weeks ago, Jennifer mentioned a massive Comic-Con happening at the city expo center. She really wanted to go all out as her favorite character, so I brought her to this specialty boutique. We commissioned a tailored suit, custom props, and a styled wig. The total came to just over ten thousand dollars. Today was fitting day. Harper had found out I was heading to the shopping district and shamelessly tagged along, whining that she needed a new wardrobe. The moment she heard the final price tag of the cosplay suit, her fragile ego shattered, and she launched into her bitter tirade. I stared her down, my voice icy. “How I spend my money on my own daughter is absolutely none of your business.” Harper finally realized she had crossed a line. She quickly plastered a fake, overly sweet smile on her face. “Aunt Marcia, I didn’t mean it like that. I just know how hard you work for your money! It should be spent on things that actually matter, not on disposable trash that isn’t worth the price tag!” Trash? That was actually hilarious. As long as my daughter loved it, it was the best thing in the world to me. Twenty years ago, after giving birth to Jennifer, I was trapped in a nightmare. My ex-husband, Derek, was a violent monster. I begged my own family for help, but not a single one of them lifted a finger. Derek was a chronic cheater, addicted to gambling and cheap thrills. He racked up massive debts, and whenever he came home drunk, I was his punching bag. I tried to file for divorce, but the legal battle dragged on for years. My mental health completely deteriorated. I hit rock bottom. One night, I stood on the edge of a rooftop, holding my five-year-old daughter, ready to end it all. It was Jennifer’s tiny hands cupping my bruised face that stopped me. “Mommy, please don’t die. Please don’t…” she sobbed quietly. I fell to my knees, clutching her to my chest, crying until my vision blurred. Right then and there, I swore I would build a real life for us. I packed whatever fit in a duffel bag and fled to a different city. We lived in a damp, freezing basement apartment, but we were finally free from Derek. After two years of separation, the divorce was finally finalized. The very first thing I did after getting the papers was legally change Jennifer’s last name to mine. To keep us fed, I worked a grueling office job during the day, waited tables at night, and took in piecework to do at home while Jennifer slept. She was always right by my side, a quiet, sweet child who tried to help me however she could. Whenever I felt like I was going to collapse from exhaustion, I would look at her sleeping face and find the strength to keep going. We eventually upgraded from that basement to a decent apartment, and finally, to a beautiful, fully renovated house I bought with my own money. Nobody but the two of us knew how much blood and sweat went into getting here. Now that I was finally successful, I was going to spoil my daughter and support her passions unconditionally. 2 Seeing me pull out my premium credit card, Harper frantically grabbed my arm. “Wait, Aunt Marcia, let us make a deal! One of my roommates is a huge geek too. She has a bunch of costumes she only wore once. I will make her sell one to you for half price. Then you can use the leftover cash to buy me my formal gown!” “You really need to listen to me. Buying this is a financial mistake. It is barely any fabric and it costs a fortune! A designer dress for me makes so much more sense. It is for a very important networking event!” She actually reached over, trying to snatch my card out of my hand. I violently yanked my hand back, glaring at her with a deadly warning. “First of all, this is my money, and I will burn it if I want to. Secondly, you do not have the right to belittle my daughter’s interests. And thirdly, paying for your college is a favor, not an obligation. If you overstep again, I will cut you off completely.” Seeing genuine fury in my eyes, Harper finally snapped her mouth shut. Her face darkened with resentment. She spat out a venomous “You are going to regret this,” before turning on her heel and storming out of the boutique. Truth be told, I had no love for my brother. When I was fighting for my life during my divorce, he turned a blind eye. Everything I had, I built with my own two hands. The only reason I funded Harper was because she got into the same school as Jennifer, and I genuinely pitied her. She was so young. If she dropped out to flip burgers, my brother would absolutely force her into an arranged marriage just to collect a payout. I didn’t want her trapped in the same hell I barely escaped. I wanted her to graduate, get a solid career, and live a free, independent life. Since her freshman year, I had been giving her a thousand dollars every month. I took her out to nice dinners and bought her clothes. I had easily spent over thirty thousand dollars on her just in the last couple of years. Yet, Harper was a bottomless pit of complaints. She constantly whined that her allowance was not enough. Every holiday, she expected massive cash transfers. But a quick glance at her social media told a completely different story. Her feed was flooded with pictures of designer bags, limited-edition sneakers, and luxury skincare hauls. She was constantly flying out to VIP music festivals and buying ridiculous amounts of celebrity merchandise. Her latest post was a picture of her in an expensive dress at a concert with the caption: “Youth has no price tag! Dreams are priceless! Wearing this to see my favorite boyband is worth every penny!” She was living a much more extravagant lifestyle than my own daughter. When Jennifer had first heard the price of the custom suit, she felt guilty and suggested buying a cheap knockoff online. I was the one who insisted on getting the premium version. She rarely asked for anything. What was wrong with spending my hard-earned cash on her happiness? I did not expect gratitude for every dollar I spent, but Harper was taking me for an absolute fool. People who didn’t know better looked at her Instagram and assumed she was a trust fund baby. She was over eighteen now. She could easily get a part-time job or apply for campus grants. It was time to pull the plug on her free ride. I texted my brother, Marcus, asking him to meet me for lunch. I planned to make it clear that I would cover tuition, but the allowance was finished. The moment I stepped into the diner we agreed on, Marcus lunged at me. His face was twisted in rage as he swung his hand, delivering a blistering slap across my face. “Marcia, you have always been an ungrateful brat, but I thought you’d grown a brain by your age!” “Harper told me everything! You dropped ten grand on some stupid cartoon outfit for Jennifer, but you won’t even spend a fraction of that to get Harper a dress for her formal?” “What kind of aunt are you?! You know she has a massive networking event coming up! Are you trying to make my daughter the laughingstock of her entire university?” 3 The stinging heat on my cheek ignited pure, unadulterated rage in my chest. I had funded his daughter’s life out of the goodness of my heart, and her response was to run home, cry to her daddy, and have him physically assault me. No good deed goes unpunished. The old saying was dead right. Without a second thought, I grabbed a heavy glass beer bottle off the nearest table and smashed it squarely against his forehead. “Are you completely insane?! I pour my money and energy into your family, and you have the audacity to lay your hands on me!” Marcus stumbled back, clutching his bleeding forehead, screaming like a slaughtered pig. “You psycho! That is assault! I am calling the cops!” “You are an old man throwing a public tantrum. Have some shame!” I let out a chilling laugh. “This diner has security cameras. You hit me first. What I just did is called self-defense.” “And let me make this crystal clear. As of right now, I am not giving Harper another single cent. Oh, and that security job I pulled strings to get you? Don’t bother showing up tomorrow. You are fired.” “From this day forward, you and your toxic family are dead to me.” “You cannot cancel my job!” Panic instantly wiped away his anger. He kept one hand pressed to his bleeding head while reaching out to grab my coat with the other. “Marcia, you cannot be this heartless! If you cut Harper off, how is she supposed to eat? Are you really going to watch your own blood starve?” I sidestepped his grasp and planted a hard kick squarely onto his bad knee. “Not my problem. Rot in hell.” Leaving him groaning on the floor, I marched out of the diner, got into my car, and sped off. When I got home, Jennifer had her new cosplay suit on. She was spinning around, happily showing off the intricate details. She mentioned she wanted to book a professional makeup artist and asked if I would come with her to the convention. My eyes softened with overwhelming love. “Absolutely. I have my camera fully charged. I am going to take a million pictures of you.” I didn’t need her to cure cancer or become a billionaire. I just wanted her to be safe and happy. But the very next afternoon, Jennifer called me in tears, saying she was canceling her Comic-Con trip. Panic spiked in my chest. I asked her what was wrong. She refused to tell me the truth. She just mumbled that she didn’t want to go anymore and apologized for making me waste so much money. At that exact moment, my phone buzzed with a notification. Harper had sent me a video. A cold sense of dread washed over me. I hit play. The video showed Harper standing in Jennifer’s dorm room, holding a pair of heavy-duty fabric shears. With a smug, triumphant smirk, she violently snipped the ten-thousand-dollar bespoke suit into completely unrecognizable ribbons. I literally stopped breathing. Jennifer had been so excited yesterday. She just wanted to bring the suit to her dorm to show her roommates, and Harper had ambushed her. I didn’t waste a second. I drove straight to the university and pulled Jennifer out of her dorm. She collapsed into my arms, finally sobbing as she explained the nightmare she had endured. The night before, right after I left the diner, Harper had bombarded Jennifer with horrific text messages. “Jennifer, you are a selfish bitch! How can you sleep at night wearing a ten-thousand-dollar outfit while getting my dad fired from his minimum-wage security job?” “My dad has a bad leg. Trevor is unemployed. My entire family relies on my dad’s paycheck. Because of you, my allowance is gone and my dad is jobless!” “Your mom works hard for her money, and all you do is leech off her! If you want to dress up like a freak, get a job and buy it yourself. You are pathetic!” 4 Traumatized by the verbal abuse, Jennifer promised she would try to return the suit the next day. That was how Harper found out the costume was on campus. She immediately kicked open Jennifer’s dorm door with scissors in hand, destroyed the suit in front of the entire floor, and strutted away like she had won a prize. Jennifer had kept her mouth shut because she didn’t want to stress me out. Hearing this, a murderous fury consumed me. I grabbed Jennifer by the hand and marched straight to Harper’s dorm to confront her. To my absolute shock, Harper did not look scared at all. She actually looked incredibly proud of herself. “Oh, please. You give me a measly thousand dollars a month. Why should she get a ten-thousand-dollar outfit? That is ten months of my living expenses!” “Aunt Marcia, you should be thanking me. Jennifer is way too young to be wearing stuff that expensive. I am preventing her from developing toxic spending habits! I did you a favor!” “Besides, why are you being so unfair? She is your daughter, but I am your niece! You know my family is broke. Buying her something that expensive is basically a direct attack on my mental health!” “Whatever you spend on her, you legally owe me the exact same amount! Otherwise, I will develop severe self-esteem issues.” “I did the math. You have only supported me for two years. To make up for the eighteen years you ignored me, you owe me two hundred thousand dollars. Cut the check, and we are even.” I stared at her, completely stunned by the sheer magnitude of her delusion. How could a human being be this shamelessly evil? “Are you clinically insane?” I tapped my temple, staring at her in disbelief. “You need to be institutionalized. A functional member of society does not speak like this.” Harper rolled her eyes, scoffing loudly. “Save the drama. Transfer the money for my designer gown right now, and I will forgive you.” I pulled out my phone and immediately dialed 911. “Yes, police? I need to report the malicious destruction of private property.” Even as the officers arrived, Harper still believed she was entirely in the right. She acted like I was being dramatic. “We are literal family, and you are calling the cops?! After I defended you to my dad? You are a heartless bitch!” She had a death wish. I let out a dark chuckle. “Harper, I am done talking to you. If you do not reimburse the exact ten thousand dollars you destroyed, I am pressing felony charges. Enjoy prison.” I showed the officers the digital receipt, handed over the video Harper had proudly sent me, and had Jennifer’s roommates give their witness statements. Because the financial value of the destroyed property was so high, the police handcuffed Harper and dragged her out of the dorm. In the precinct holding cell, Harper finally started screaming in panic. “I didn’t do anything wrong! Why am I locked up?! You are all working together to frame me!” The desk sergeant looked at her with pure exhaustion. “Miss, we have a literal video confession and multiple eyewitnesses. You destroyed property valued at ten thousand dollars, which pushes this into felony territory. If you do not compensate the victim and she pursues charges, you are looking at one to three years in a state facility.” Harper completely froze. The reality finally hit her, and she frantically begged for her phone to call her dad. Marcus rushed into the precinct looking like a madman. He immediately tried playing the victim for the officers, crying about his bad knee, his unemployed son, and how poor his family was. He swore Harper was an angel who would never do something so malicious. Then, he spun around and unleashed his rage on me. “Marcia, you vindictive bitch! Cutting off her money was bad enough, but framing her for a felony?! You make me sick!” “Your brain must be rotting out of your skull!” I rolled my eyes, my voice dripping with biting sarcasm. “You should really be thanking your genius daughter. She filmed the crime and texted it to me herself. If she weren’t so incredibly stupid, getting her locked up would have taken way more effort!”

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The chill of early spring still clung to the air on the day of the memorial, the familiar scent of blooming daffodils filling my senses. I watched as my sister, Scarlett, snatched the metallic-looking power fruit from the table without a moment’s hesitation. Her movements were swift, almost rehearsed. In that instant, a cold dread seized me – she’d come back, too, carrying the ghosts of our past life. In that first life, she’d chosen the immunity fruit, only to be dragged away by the labs as a test subject due to her unique physiology. I, wielding the very metal power she now coveted, became a war heroine, a legend forged in the wasteland. Yet, in the end, I met my demise beneath her scalpel. Her enraged screams still echoed in my ears: Why do you get to bask in glory while I suffer? The memory was as sharp as the blade itself. This time, I calmly picked up the remaining fruit, the vibrant red one offering immunity to viruses, and swallowed it whole. She didn’t know. She couldn’t know that every use of the metal manipulation power gnawed at one’s life force – a secret I’d unearthed through an entire apocalypse’s worth of pain and sacrifice. If she craved heroism that desperately, then I would grant her wish. Let’s see if, this time, she could bear the true cost of her ambition. 1 The chill of early spring still clung to the air when I found myself back in the familiar living room. My sister, Scarlett, was rummaging through the wardrobe, a familiar scene that still sent a shiver down my spine. My hand instinctively went to my throat, a phantom ache lingering from the surgical blade that had ended my last life. As Scarlett pulled out a small, tarnished metal box from the depths of the closet, her face alight with barely contained excitement, my world tilted. “Rain, look what I found!” she chirped, trying for casual, but her knuckles were white from clutching the box. I slowly rose, feigning a polite curiosity. “What is it?” Seeing my clueless expression, Scarlett let out a relieved breath. She giggled, “I have no idea. Probably Mom’s old jewelry box?” She carefully pried open the lid. Inside lay two fruits, glowing with an otherworldly luminescence – one a vibrant, blood-red, the other a sleek, metallic silver. “What are these…?” I murmured, my gaze fixed on the fruit, pretending to see them for the first time. “Mom left them,” Scarlett’s breath hitched, her eyes glued to the silver one. “There’s a note too… take a look…” I took the yellowed slip of paper. It was Mom’s familiar handwriting, detailing the coming apocalypse in a month and the powers of these two fruits. Scarlett leaned in beside me, her entire body tensed. “This silver one grants control over metal, and the red one… immunity to viruses,” I read slowly, deliberately, my peripheral vision catching Scarlett’s fingers inching toward the silver fruit. Just as her fingertip was about to make contact, I looked up. “Scarlett, which one do you want?” She froze, then forced a smile. “I… I think controlling metal sounds pretty cool. I’d like that one…” A cold smirk played on my lips as I watched her try to maintain composure. In my previous life, she’d snatched the immunity fruit with the exact same greedy look. “Then it’s settled,” I said softly, laying down the note and reaching for the red fruit. “I’ll take this one.” Scarlett’s eyes lit up instantly. She practically snatched the silver fruit and shoved it into her mouth. As the pulp burst, a flash of triumphant joy crossed her face. “How’s the taste?” I asked, savoring a bite of the red fruit – sweet, with a subtle bitterness. “Amazing!” Scarlett wiped her mouth, already eagerly spreading her palm. A coin from the coffee table shot into her hand, her cheeks flushed with exhilaration. “It actually works!” I watched her display calmly, my mind already calculating the timeline. Thirty days until the apocalypse, plenty of time to prepare. “Scarlett.” I discarded the fruit core, asking casually, “If there really is a zombie virus, what’s your plan?” She paused, her gaze flickering. “To… to protect everyone, of course. With this power, I can definitely help a lot.” I nodded, saying nothing more. She had no idea about the cost of using the power. Each use drained the user’s life force. In my last life, when I became a war heroine, my life force was already nearly depleted. Even if she hadn’t killed me, I wouldn’t have lasted much longer. Since she was so keen on being a hero, it was only right for me, her sister, to grant her wish. 2 The following days unfolded with an unsettling calm. Scarlett practiced her metal manipulation daily, oblivious to the fine sheen of sweat on her forehead. She brushed it off as a beginner’s struggle, completely unaware of the gradual drain on her vitality. Meanwhile, as she honed her powers, I secretly hoarded supplies and contacted trusted friends. My five years of survival experience in the previous apocalypse made me intimately familiar with this city. I knew exactly where the safest havens lay. Following the memories from my past life, I rented a defunct factory on the city outskirts. It had its own water source and generators, making it the most secure refuge during the initial chaos. I’d initially thought that, given her past lessons, Scarlett would also suggest moving. But she merely scoffed, “If I go to the suburbs, how will I be a savior?” In the previous timeline, Scarlett was captured by the lab precisely because she was too high-profile. At the very beginning of the apocalypse, she’d flaunted her abilities within our neighborhood, attracting the attention of malicious individuals, which led to her capture. Reborn, if she hadn’t shed that habit, she was destined to repeat history. Seeing her insistence on staying, I tried to persuade her to stock up on more supplies. I urged her to lie low during the initial chaos and only emerge as a hero after order had completely collapsed. But she remained dismissive, even mocking me for being cowardly. “What’s the point of having superpowers if you hide them?” she’d argued. I was utterly speechless. Perhaps… this was a case of good advice falling on deaf ears. So, I stopped trying to dissuade her and quietly moved all my hoarded supplies to the warehouse. I reached out to a few friends I trusted implicitly, asking them to help me build a secure safe house. Only those who had truly lived through the apocalypse understood that the most terrifying threat was never the zombies, but human nature itself. Even my own sister had brutally murdered me out of jealousy in the last life; others were certainly no different. The people I chose were all individuals who had risked their lives to save me in the previous apocalypse. Though their individual abilities might be limited, their loyalty and reliability were unquestionable. The night before the apocalypse struck, I received photos from them. Seeing the mountains of supplies and the rows of weapons procured through special channels, a genuine smile touched my lips. I left a note and, under the cover of darkness, departed my home, heading towards the safe house… I had done my duty as a sister, offering all the warnings I could. Since Scarlett wouldn’t listen, all I could do was silently wish her good luck. 3 The safe house was even more perfect than I’d imagined. The heavy metal door was a solid eight inches thick, steel plates were embedded in the walls, and every window had been replaced with bulletproof glass. The basement had been converted into a comprehensive living space, stocked with enough food and medicine for ten people for five years. “Rain, are you sure the end of the world is really coming?” Uncle Leo, who had helped me build the safe house, handed me a hot mug of tea, his eyes still holding a hint of doubt. I took the mug. “Yes. Tomorrow morning at 7:15, Eastside Hospital will report the first zombie case. By 8 o’clock, the citywide alarm will sound…” Uncle Leo’s hand trembled, tea sloshing onto the table. He had been my father’s wartime comrade and, in my previous life, the only one who had risked his life to find medicine for me when I was gravely wounded. “Don’t worry, Uncle Leo. We’ll make it through this,” I said, setting down the mug. He hesitated, then asked, “What about Scarlett? She… why isn’t she here?” I spread my hands, then turned on the hidden camera I’d installed at home. Scarlett was in the living room, excitedly practicing her powers, various metal objects dancing around her. Pointing to my sister on the monitor, I explained, “She said she wants to be a hero, and heroes don’t hide in the shadows.” Uncle Leo sighed, saying nothing more. He’d probably figured out Scarlett’s stubborn nature and knew that trying to persuade her would be futile. He shook his head and walked away. Just then, an excited voice crackled through the monitor. “Yes, I really have superpowers! Tomorrow… tomorrow I’ll prove it to you!” I realized Scarlett was on the phone with someone. I sighed, turning off the monitor, a knot tightening in my chest. It seemed, even given a second chance, she had chosen the same path… 4 The next morning, I stood on the safe house’s observation deck, scanning the city through binoculars. At 7:15, Eastside Hospital’s alarm blared exactly as predicted, the wail of ambulances slicing through the dawn’s silence. “It’s begun,” I murmured, my fingers unconsciously tightening on the binoculars. The streets below erupted into chaos, screams drifting from the distance. Countless zombies surged from the hospital’s direction, sweeping through the city like a tide. I adjusted the lens to my old neighborhood and saw Scarlett already standing in the main plaza, surrounded by panicked residents. With a sweep of her hands, the iron gate of the community entrance tore upwards, twisting and deforming in the air, ultimately forming a metal barricade. Gasps of amazement rose from the residents; some even pulled out their phones to record. A wry smile touched my lips. She still loved the spotlight. “Rain, check the news!” Uncle Leo called from downstairs. I pulled out my phone and found Scarlett’s video already going viral online, emblazoned with headlines like “Superhuman Appears! Apocalypse Savior!” The comment section was ablaze, some cheering for a savior, others questioning if it was just special effects. Just then, my phone rang. It was Scarlett, a video call. I hesitated but answered. “Rain! Did you see the news?” Scarlett’s face, vibrant with excitement, filled the screen, the chaotic neighborhood blurring in the background. “I’m a hero now! Where are you? Come find me, I can protect you!” I shook my head, a sense of weariness washing over me. “You should worry about protecting yourself first.” A mocking sneer twisted her lips. “Rain, are you jealous? Jealous that I have powers and you don’t?” Her voice dripped with triumph. “Don’t worry, once I’ve got things sorted here, I’ll come for you.” I watched the crowd gathering around her. “No need,” I sighed. “Just be happy.” I hung up. Uncle Leo walked over, his face etched with a complex expression, hesitating before he spoke. “Rain, are you really not going to try to talk some sense into Scarlett? Being so flashy, she’s going to get herself into trouble!” I picked up a nearby weapon, my face devoid of emotion. “It’s her choice, Uncle Leo. Instead of worrying about her, we should focus on fortifying our defenses.” Outside the window, the shadow of the apocalypse had already engulfed the city. But I knew this was just the beginning. The truth about my healing powers would inevitably come out. To face the wolves eager to exploit it, only early preparation would ensure our survival. 5 By the third day of the apocalypse, the city had descended into utter chaos. We monitored various channels via radio. Temporary shelters were established in the city, only to be quickly overrun by zombies. One district, plagued by an overwhelming number of the undead, issued orders for carpet bombing. Even more bizarrely, a lab claimed to have developed a vaccine, recruiting survivors for trials. This very lab, recruiting survivors for trials, was the same organization that had captured Scarlett in my previous life. As for why they hadn’t made a move on her yet, I suspected it was due to public opinion. After all, Scarlett was a rising online sensation; a sudden move against her would spark outrage. Moreover, order hadn’t completely collapsed yet; they still had to consider the authorities. I sat in the safe house’s control room, watching Scarlett’s latest video on the screen. She had formed a small team of survivors and was actively “rescuing” trapped citizens. Her metal manipulation skills were clearly more refined in the video, but her complexion was noticeably paler. “She’s used her powers too many times,” I murmured. Even though Scarlett in the video was trying to project strength, the fine lines around her eyes and her chapped lips betrayed the rapid drain on her life force. Uncle Leo handed me a hot coffee. “When are you going to tell her the truth?” I had already confided in him about the side effects of the powers and my past life experiences. I took the coffee, shaking my head. “She wouldn’t believe me. She’d just think I was jealous.” “But…” Uncle Leo began, then trailed off. “Uncle Leo, I know what you’re going to say,” I said, setting down my coffee cup. “But this is the path she chose. Our priority now is to ensure the safe house’s defenses are impenetrable.” Uncle Leo watched the monitor, Scarlett basking in the adulation of the crowd, and sighed. “Oh, that girl… when will she ever grow up?”

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My sister was kidnapped, and the kidnappers demanded fifty million in ransom for her release. The whole family was busy gathering the ransom, but I kept attending auctions, buying expensive jewelry. Infuriated, the kidnappers demanded that I go alone to rescue her. Not only did I not go, but I also held a press conference, announcing that I was expelling my sister from the Schmidtke family. My sister was killed, and her mutilated body was dumped at our doorstep. Everyone accused me of being selfish, prioritizing the company’s inheritance over my sister’s life, and pressured me to atone with my own death. Instead of feeling any remorse, I deliberately overturned her ashes. I wanted to see when the person who had been hiding behind the scenes all along would finally jump out. 1 “Mary, it is a disaster! Isabella was kidnapped while traveling abroad! The kidnappers just sent a message demanding fifty million dollars in ransom within three days. If we do not pay, they will kill her. You have to save your sister!” My father barged into the boardroom, completely ignoring my assistant’s frantic attempts to hold him back. He stood in front of the entire executive board and all the regional managers, trying to physically drag me out of my chair. Compared to his absolute panic, I sat there with glacial calm. “She went on vacation with her boyfriend,” I replied, my voice completely devoid of emotion. “Isn’t she just hiding to test how much we love her? She pulls these pathetic stunts all the time. If you aren’t sick of it yet, I certainly am.” My utter indifference choked the words right out of his throat. It took him several seconds to recover. “It is real this time! Isabella was actually taken! The kidnappers sent a video straight to my phone. Look at it if you don’t believe me!” He shoved his phone across the mahogany table, trying to force the screen into my line of sight. “They said we have three days to get fifty million in cash, or she is dead. Mary, you have to save her!” A dark, mocking chuckle escaped my lips. “The last time she was heartbroken, she faked her own disappearance. I had to wire her a million dollars just to get her to come home. I guess she got a taste for the theatrics. Now she wants fifty million?” “If you want to play the hero, go find the money yourself. I am not her parent, and I am certainly not obligated to entertain her delusional games. Besides, I do not have that kind of liquid cash laying around.” Seeing that I was entirely prepared to wash my hands of the situation, his panic mutated into rage. “Where am I supposed to get that kind of money?! This is fifty million dollars! Are you really going to sit there and let those monsters murder her?” “You are her older sister! It is your duty to provide for her! And if you do not have the cash, sell your shares in the company! Schmidtke Enterprise is a massive empire. Liquidating a fraction of your equity would easily cover the ransom!” I stared at him like he had lost his mind. “Are you seriously suggesting I sell off my shares in this corporation to humor her psychotic little game?” “Do you even realize what you are asking? I hold exactly fifty-one percent of this company. If I sell a single share of my foundational equity, I lose majority control! You want me to risk the entire Schmidtke legacy to pay a ransom? Is your brain rotting out of your skull?” In my previous life, the moment he mentioned Isabella was kidnapped, I lost my mind with worry. I immediately suspended the board meeting and rushed home to help him liquidate assets. After we scrambled to gather the funds, we hurried to the drop-off location. Even though we arrived exactly on time, the kidnapper claimed we took too long and made him lose his patience. With a sick laugh, he tossed a hunting knife at my feet, ordering me to stab myself. If I refused, he would slit Isabella’s throat. Seeing my sister crying hysterically with blood dripping down her neck, I did not even hesitate. I picked up the blade and aimed it at my own abdomen. My father had lunged forward, supposedly to stop me. But his hands “accidentally” slammed into my wrists, driving the blade directly into my heart. I died instantly on the dirty concrete floor. When I opened my eyes again, I was sitting right back in this boardroom. “Mary, do you have no soul?! She is the sister you grew up with! She is in mortal danger, and you are sitting there like a block of ice!” Seeing that I remained entirely unmoved, he began screaming insults. “If she has actually been kidnapped, the first thing you need to do is call the FBI. Let the authorities handle it. Do not come in here throwing a tantrum.” The phantom agony of that blade piercing my heart still burned in my memory. I impatiently waved my hand, signaling the security guards to drag him out. Once he was forcibly removed, I offered a brief apology to the stunned executives. Suppressing the chaotic storm of emotions inside me, I forced myself to sit through the rest of the meeting. 2 The second the meeting concluded, I locked myself in my private office to analyze everything that had happened in my previous life. After running through the events with no clear answers, I called my assistant, Rachel, into the room. Pretending I was talking about a “friend,” I recounted the exact details of my past life’s murder. Her face contorted in thought, her eyes darting back and forth before she finally spoke. “Boss, has it ever occurred to you that this sister might not actually be blood-related? What if this entire situation was a trap designed specifically to eliminate you?” Spending too much time reading crime thrillers online had given Rachel a dangerously sharp intuition. “Think about it. Why would a family’s first reaction to a kidnapping be demanding ransom money instead of calling the police? And that final struggle with the knife… isn’t it a little too convenient that his ‘accidental’ push resulted in a fatal strike to the heart?” Her words hit me like a bolt of lightning. The fog completely cleared. After a long silence, I looked up at her. “Drop everything regarding the upcoming IPO. I have a very specific investigation I need you to run.” Rachel left with her orders. I stayed in the office, continuing my work as if nothing had happened. After hours, I drove straight to my private luxury condo instead of returning to the family estate. In this life, I completely completely washed my hands of the mess. My father was left running around like a headless chicken, desperately liquidating his own assets to scrape together the ransom. Meanwhile, I quietly shadowed his movements. Every antique or property he sold off, I anonymously purchased back. I even started attending high-society charity galas, throwing obscene amounts of money at rare diamonds, vintage paintings, and poverty relief funds. One evening, as I walked out of an exclusive auction house admiring a newly acquired emerald bracelet, a disheveled figure lunged out of the shadows, startled me. Taking a closer look, I realized it was my father. He looked like a homeless beggar, his clothes wrinkled and his face covered in a thick layer of stubble from days of exhausting desperation. “Mary, are you truly going to let your sister die at the hands of those butchers?” “It is only fifty million! That is pocket change for you! Is money really more important than human life?” “Did you forget the promise you made at your mother’s grave? You swore you would protect your sister for the rest of your life!” If I only had suspicions before, seeing his desperate, manipulative face confirmed it. There was a traitor in my inner circle. “I already told you. I do not have that kind of liquid cash, and even if I did, I would never spend it to save her. Instead of ambushing me in the street, you should be figuring out how to pawn the rest of your watches.” “Let me make this perfectly clear. I would rather burn my fortune or donate it all to charity than give a single dime to a disaster like Isabella. Give it up.” A crowd of elite socialites was beginning to form. I had zero interest in being their evening entertainment. I signaled my driver to push him aside, stepped into my Bentley, and drove away. Somehow, the events of that night reached the kidnappers. Infuriated by my statement that I would rather give my money to charity than save Isabella, they began relentlessly bombarding my private phone with calls and texts. They demanded I bring the ransom to the drop-off location completely alone, or Isabella was dead. Reading the text, I could not help but laugh out loud. This was fifty million actual dollars, not Monopoly money. Fifty million dollars in cash weighs hundreds of pounds. It would look like a literal wall of paper. Did they expect me to carry a mountain of bills by myself like some kind of superhero? I ignored the threat, powered down my phone, and opened the classified dossier Rachel had just sent me. 3 The day before the ransom deadline, my father, entirely unable to reach me, decided to go live on social media. He intended to publicly crucify me into paying. On the screen, he covered his face, sobbing hysterically. “I do not know what kind of monster she has become. Her own sister is facing death, and she feels absolutely nothing.” “She knows our entire family is going bankrupt trying to save Isabella. Yet she is out attending luxury auctions, buying useless diamonds and paintings, and throwing millions at charities. She has an absolute fortune, but she refuses to save her own flesh and blood.” “What sin did I commit in my past life to raise a daughter so cold-blooded she would let her own family die?” My father had always been a minor celebrity in the business world. Backed by paid internet trolls and manipulated algorithms, his livestream skyrocketed to the number one trending spot nationwide. The internet was entirely consumed by the scandal. “Heiress Isabella Schmidtke Kidnapped! Ransom Hits Fifty Million!” “Older Sister Refuses to Pay Ransom While Buying Diamonds. The Decay of Human Morality!” “Mary Schmidtke is a Cold-Blooded Sociopath.” “Schmidtke CEO Publicly Disowned by Grieving Father.” The outrage was absolute. Fueled by my father’s manipulative tears, millions of netizens began boycotting Schmidtke Enterprise products. Refusing to let my mother’s company suffer, I logged into my verified corporate account and requested a live split-screen with his broadcast. “Father,” I started, my tone perfectly composed. “I have been working back-to-back night shifts preparing for the company’s IPO, barely sleeping two hours a day. Imagine my surprise waking up to find you publicly dragging my name through the mud. What exactly do you gain by destroying the family business?” “Isabella throws these little vanishing acts whenever she doesn’t get her way. Every single time, I have to wire her millions before she miraculously reappears. Just the other day, you kicked down the boardroom doors, demanding I sell my controlling shares to pay a fifty-million-dollar ransom. How am I supposed to know if she is genuinely in danger, or if this is just another extortion scheme the two of you cooked up to drain my accounts?” “This company is the legacy of my grandparents. It is the lifeblood of my late mother. I would rather die than sell my shares. I am sure Isabella, despite her rebellious nature, would agree with me and defend our family’s empire with her life.” I did not offer any further explanations. I did not shed fake tears or play the victim. I simply disconnected from the livestream and immediately posted an official announcement on the corporate page. In exactly two hours, I would be holding a live press conference. The venue was completely completely packed. Journalists from every major news outlet swarmed the room, shoving microphones into my face, demanding to know if Isabella was really kidnapped and if I was truly leaving her to die. I tapped the microphone, instantly silencing the chaotic room. Then, I dropped a bombshell that sent shockwaves through the entire country. “Acting as the absolute head of the Schmidtke family, I am officially announcing the immediate expulsion of Isabella from our lineage.” “My former sister, Isabella, has orchestrated over a dozen fake kidnappings and disappearances prior to this incident. Every single one ended with me wiring her massive sums of money just to make her stop.” “Those extortions ranged from hundreds of thousands to millions. This time, they escalated to demanding I sell the foundational equity of Schmidtke Enterprise to fund a fifty-million-dollar ransom.” “I do not know if her current predicament is real or just another theatrical performance. But I am exhausted. I have heard the boy cry wolf too many times, and I refuse to participate in these toxic, manipulative games any longer.” “Therefore, effective immediately, Isabella is stripped of the Schmidtke name. She is no longer an heiress, and she is permanently forbidden from using our family name to fund her lavish lifestyle or con investors. Moving forward, her survival is her own responsibility. Schmidtke Enterprise will no longer be her shield. Her life, or her death, has absolutely nothing to do with us.” The room erupted into total pandemonium. Camera flashes strobed like lightning. Reporters screamed questions, desperate for more details. I turned my back on them with sharp precision, leaving the chaos to Rachel and the public relations team.

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My world shattered in the instant she turned and walked toward him. This proposal was meant to be the crown jewel of our company’s fourth-quarter PR strategy, the culmination of my ten-year relationship with Veronica Shay. But here I was, moments before the show, watching her from the shadows of a backstage fire exit. She was in her wedding gown, locked in a passionate kiss with a younger man. “An explanation?” I laughed, a cold, jagged sound. “You want to explain why you’re cheating on me minutes before you’re supposed to propose?” “This is being broadcast live to millions. The entire world is waiting.” I tossed the velvet ring box at her feet. “After the final song, you can either walk on that stage and propose, or you can watch your career burn to the ground.” Her fists clenched. She snatched the box from the floor, forcing the word through her teeth. “Fine.” The stage lights hit her, the crowd falling silent as she held up the ring. But she looked past me, her eyes locking onto the pale-faced man in the VIP section. “Jackson,” she said, her voice ringing through the arena, “thank you for making me a star. But tonight, I’m going to follow my moon.” The stadium erupted. And just like that, I became the punchline to my own proposal. 1 “Mr. Kang,” Kevin, my assistant, said, his voice hoarse. He handed me his tablet. “You… you should see this.” The screen was a firestorm of headlines about the concert. This proposal was supposed to be our masterpiece, a triumph for both our business and our love. I had poured a nine-figure sum into it, coordinating with dozens of major brands. All Veronica had to do was propose to me in front of her adoring fans, and the commercial value of our “power couple” brand would have been limitless. Everything was perfectly in place. But now, a photo of Veronica kissing that kid, Will, on stage was plastered everywhere, under the glaring headline: POP SUPERSTAR CHOOSES LOVE OVER CORPORATE GREED. My stunned, retreating back had been screenshotted and turned into a thousand different humiliating memes. Our company’s market cap had plummeted by half a billion dollars overnight. I scrolled through it all with a calm, detached focus, article by article, post by post, until I landed on Veronica’s official statement. She thanked everyone—her fans, her team, the lighting guy—but when it came to me and my company, she referred to us only as “a difficult professional chapter in my past.” She declared that she would, at any cost, “seek her artistic freedom.” Freedom. I stared at the word and a humorless laugh escaped my lips. “Get PR on the line. Tell them no response, no comment, nothing. Then get legal. I want them to prep the nuclear option in her contract. The breach of contract penalty clauses.” Kevin stared at me, bewildered. “Sir… shouldn’t we release a statement first? To do some damage control? The narrative online is turning against us.” “Damage control?” I walked over to him and pointed at the photo of Veronica’s soulful, earnest face. “You can’t control the damage from a liar, Kevin. You can only burn them to the ground.” I rubbed the bridge of my nose and collapsed onto the sofa, the last five years flashing before my eyes. Five years ago, she was just a girl with a beat-up acoustic guitar, singing an unheard-of indie folk song in a dive bar. There were maybe five people in the audience, but I heard something in her voice, a spark of raw talent. I decided to take a chance. I signed her and started a boutique agency with her as my only client. We had nothing. To save money, we slept on the floor of our tiny thirty-square-meter office, eating cheap instant ramen and talking about our impossible dreams. “Jackson,” she’d said one night, “the second I make it big, I’m going to marry you.” I had laughed. “The second you make it big, you’re going to pay back the startup loan.” She called me a killjoy, but her eyes were full of stars. To fund her debut album, I sold the only thing I had left from my parents: our family home. To get her a slot at a major music festival, I drank with a sleazy investor until I was puking blood into a toilet at 3 AM. She rushed to the hospital, her eyes red-rimmed. She clutched my hand and whispered, “Jackson, I swear, I will never let you suffer like this for me again.” Looking at her then, I felt like it was all worth it. I thought we were a team, that we had only each other. I poured every resource, every drop of my soul, into paving her path to stardom. I taught her how to work the cameras, how to handle the press, how to sculpt herself into the perfect idol for her fans. She was a fast learner. She was a massive success. So she got more and more famous. We moved into a sleek high-rise in the city center. The boutique agency became Starstream Media. But somewhere along the way, we changed. She started complaining about my “control.” She said her schedule was too packed, that she had no time to create, that she missed the “purity” of her early days. That’s when Will, her “pure” college friend, showed up. He became the symbol of everything she claimed to have lost. I tried to talk to her about it, about a month before the concert. “Veronica, we are business partners, and we are in a relationship. I can’t have anything jeopardize the foundation of either,” I said, getting straight to the point. She just stared at her phone, her reply dismissive. “You’re overthinking it. Will is just a friend. Someone I can talk to about music.” “I’m the one who produces your music,” I reminded her. Her head snapped up, her eyes flashing with a resentment I’d never seen before. “It’s not the same! What you do is business! It’s a product! Don’t you get it? That’s all you understand!” she spat. “When I’m with Will, I feel like a real person, not just a commodity you’re selling!” That was the first time I realized she wasn’t the same girl who had slept on the floor with me anymore. She was just the successful product I had created. And now, my product had a mind of its own and wanted to escape its creator. I chose to let it go. I told myself it was just the pressure of fame getting to her. I thought that once the concert was over, once our relationship was solidified by this grand, public proposal, everything would go back to normal. I was wrong. I was wrong to treat her like a pawn on my chessboard, forgetting that the most unpredictable piece in any game is the one that chooses to betray you. 2 The office door was thrown open without a knock. Veronica strode in, dressed head-to-toe in black, sunglasses and a hat obscuring her face. Will trailed behind her like a lost puppy. “Mr. Kang,” Kevin said, jumping to his feet and instinctively moving to stand between us. “Get out,” I said, my eyes fixed on Veronica, my voice devoid of any emotion. Kevin shot me a worried glance before retreating and closing the door behind him. The office was silent, save for the hum of the air conditioning. “What do you want?” I asked. Veronica took off her sunglasses. Her eyes were bloodshot, but her expression was eerily calm. “I’m here to discuss the termination of my contract.” She led Will to the sofa opposite my desk and tossed a file onto the polished wood. “I hope we can do this amicably. It’s better for the company, and for you, if we just go our separate ways.” “Amicably?” I felt a laugh, sharp and bitter, rise in my throat. “You call last night’s meticulously planned public humiliation an ‘amicable split’?” My voice rose, the control I was clinging to starting to fray. “You didn’t just ruin a proposal, Veronica. You detonated a nine-figure marketing campaign, the cornerstone of our entire fourth-quarter strategy. You know that better than anyone!” She scoffed, leaning back into the plush leather, her face a mask of defiance. “Business, business, that’s all you ever think about! I’m sick of it! I am not your goddamn cash cow!” Will decided to play the hero. “Mr. Kang, don’t blame Veronica… it’s all my fault. We’re in love…” “Shut up,” I said, my gaze cutting to him like a shard of ice. “No one is talking to you.” The color drained from Will’s face. He fell silent. That was what finally broke her. Veronica shot to her feet, her eyes blazing with hatred. “That’s enough, Jackson! You and your arrogant, condescending act! Who do you think you are? My savior?” She was practically shaking with rage. “Let me tell you something. Every single day with you felt like I was suffocating! You sold your house, you drank yourself sick—that wasn’t for me! That was for your own ambition! For your investment! I was just the most successful stock in your portfolio!” Every word was a calculated strike, aimed at my most vulnerable points. “So the last five years of our lives, that was just an investment, too?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet as I met her furious glare. “Me sleeping on the floor next to you, was that an investment? Me waiting all night in the ER, was that an investment?!” She faltered for a second, her eyes darting away. I smiled, a tight, painful stretch of my lips, as tears burned the back of my eyes. “Veronica, just answer one question,” I said, taking a deep breath. “What were the last five years?” She was silent for a long moment. Then, a look of chilling resolve settled on her face. “They were… me paying you back.” She paused, a mocking smirk playing on her lips. “Oh, and one more thing.” She wrapped an arm around Will’s shoulders, her other hand resting gently on her flat stomach. “I’m pregnant. I have to do what’s right for him. And for our child.” Pregnant. Of course. The last thread of my sanity snapped. So that’s what this was all about. I wasn’t building a future for us. I was funding their love story and paying for their baby. 3 That afternoon, I sat in my office, watching the live feed of Veronica’s press conference on the large screen. She looked thinner, her face pale and fragile, her eyes red and swollen. Will sat beside her, his head bowed, the very picture of innocent, tormented love. “First, I want to apologize to everyone who cares about me,” Veronica began, her voice raspy, as if she’d been crying for hours. She wove a tragic tale of her pure love for music, of being swept up in the relentless tide of commercialism, of her profound artistic suffering. She painted Will as a beacon of light who had illuminated her dark, corporate world. She never mentioned a single thing I had done for her. I was simply “the former record label,” the “shackles of capital.” I, the man she had been with for five years, the man she was supposed to marry, had been erased. “I admit, Mr. Kang is a brilliant businessman,” she said, her voice turning from sorrowful to accusatory. “He brought me to where I am today, and for that, I am grateful.” “But,” she continued, her voice trembling with manufactured outrage, “he controlled my work, my social life, even my thoughts! Who I could see, what I could say, what I could wear—everything had to be approved by him! I was just his creation, a puppet with no soul!” Will, on cue, looked up at the cameras, tears streaming down his face. “It’s not Mr. Kang’s fault… it’s all my fault. I never should have come into her life… Veronica, I’m so sorry…” The room erupted in a blinding sea of camera flashes. The live chat comments exploded with fury. [OMG MY POOR GIRL! WE WILL PROTECT YOU!] [I’m crying, she was living in a prison this whole time!] [Jackson Kang is a monster! Get him out of the industry!] [#FreeVeronica! Let her make real music!] Finally, Veronica announced she was launching her own independent label, severing all ties with my company. “I’m going to make the music I want to make, on my own terms. It might be difficult, but I have Will. And our baby.” She looked at him, a tear rolling down her cheek. “And that’s enough.” The press conference ended. The internet detonated. I was public enemy number one. The company’s phone lines were jammed. A few of the smaller artists I had personally mentored were already sending feelers through their agents, hinting at wanting to terminate their contracts, afraid of being associated with the “evil corporate tyrant.” The rats were jumping ship. I looked at the hypocritical, tear-stained face on the screen and felt nothing but a cold, crystallizing hatred. I wiped a tear I hadn’t realized had fallen and buzzed my assistant. “Get legal, and get every department head. Conference room one. Five minutes.” Kevin looked at me, his eyes filled with concern. “Mr. Kang…” I forced a smile, my voice calm and steady. “Conference room one. Five minutes.” “I’m going to utterly destroy her.”

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1 My boyfriend of eight years and his first love were getting their kicks in our walk-in closet. “Keep it down,” Jane Lincoln whispered, her voice tight. “What if she hears us?” Jake Sandberg dismissed her concern. “Jane, don’t get distracted.” Jane started to cry, and Jake quickly kissed her. “Don’t worry, Jane, I took her hearing aids.” “She can’t hear us, it’s okay, don’t cry.” But Jake didn’t know I had just returned from the hospital. I had used all my savings to get a cochlear implant surgery. … I had just returned from the hospital after my cochlear implant’s external processor was activated and adjusted. Opening the front door, I heard strange noises. Stumbling footsteps mixed with gasps, followed by the sound of a closet door closing. My boyfriend of eight years and another woman’s voices intertwined. “Keep it down, what if she hears us?” Jake was unconcerned: “Jane, don’t get distracted.” Jane started to cry, and Jake quickly kissed her. “Don’t worry, Jane, I took her hearing aids.” “She can’t hear us, it’s okay, don’t cry.” So, the missing hearing aids had been taken by Jake, all to make me a part of their twisted game. I accidentally knocked over a glass vase near the entrance. When the sharp sound of shattering echoed, the commotion from the closet finally stopped. I stiffly knelt to pick up the pieces. “Ouch.” A shard sliced my finger. Tears welled in my eyes from the pain. After a long moment, a tall figure stopped in front of me. “Why didn’t you say you were back?” Jake’s voice was hoarse, his eyes still clouded with lingering desire. “Such a grown woman, crying over a tiny cut from a shard.” He looked at me with disdain. My lips trembled, so many words wanting to spill out, but in the end, I just said: “Jake, I can’t find my hearing aids.” Hearing this, the man opposite me pretended to search for a moment. When he emerged from the bedroom, he held up two hearing aids. “Dummy, you need to keep track of your own hearing aids. What if I hadn’t found them for you?” I snatched the hearing aids from his hand, pretending to put them on. When he wasn’t looking, I slipped both into my pocket. My heart hammered furiously, my breathing erratic. I walked past him, seemingly casually, heading towards the bedroom’s walk-in closet, feigning confusion. “In the bedroom? Why didn’t I see them earlier?” Jake had left in a hurry, leaving the closet door slightly ajar. Through that crack, I could even see Jane’s panicked, tear-filled eyes. Pain, like a cornered beast, savagely tore at my heart. I was practically suffocating. I instinctively reached out, my fingers trembling as they brushed the closet door. Through the narrow gap, Jane held clothes to cover her body, one hand clamped over her mouth as if terrified she might scream. My mind was a blur. I completely disregarded our upcoming wedding, focused only on tearing down the humiliating charade before me. Just as I reached to open the closet door, an uncontrollable wave of nausea surged through my throat. I pushed away Jake, who had rushed over anxiously, and hurried to the bathroom, retching dryly into the sink in front of the mirror. “What’s wrong? Did you eat something bad? Do you need to go to the hospital?” Jake leaned in, feigning concern. It had been a while since my last period. When I had my cochlear implant surgery today, I coincidentally had an ultrasound scan. The results showed I was seven weeks pregnant. I had been excited the whole way home, wanting to tell Jake the good news in person. The child we had hoped for for five years was finally coming. I looked at the man in front of me, whose concern seemed genuine, and couldn’t help but deceive myself. Perhaps, if I just pretended not to know. As soon as he knew I was pregnant. We could start over, couldn’t we? I was about to speak. The sound of something falling echoed, from the direction of the bedroom. Jake’s hand, resting on my arm, stiffened. “You go wait for me in the underground garage.” “I’ll tidy up and come down, then I’ll take you to the hospital to get checked.” I nodded. Before leaving, I used another less-used phone to call my main one. I set the spare phone to silent and placed it face down before turning to leave. In the empty underground garage, I sat quietly in the passenger seat, my phone beside me, still on the call. “Jay, I know you still resent me for leaving you to go abroad back then, but I truly had no choice.” “I know you’re about to marry Ruth.” “But what about me? Jay, I’m having your baby. Can you really bear to let our child be born without a father?” The woman’s crying and the man’s incredulous voice came through the phone. “Jane, is what you’re saying true?” What a coincidence. “Jay, I know your responsibility to Ruth, but are you really going to abandon all these years of love between us?” Only responsibility? “How could I abandon you!” Jake blurted out. My heart sank completely. The day Jake and I first met was also the first time I saw Jane Lincoln. I was six years old. My grandparents took me to buy my first pair of hearing aids. The staff stubbornly refused to sell them to us. Because we didn’t have enough money. Countless crumpled fifty-cent, one-dollar, five-dollar, ten-dollar, twenty-dollar bills piled up like a small mountain – it was their life savings. But it still wasn’t enough. My grandparents were so desperate they knelt, begging them to sell to us first, promising they could write an IOU. I knew it was because I was about to start elementary school, and they didn’t want my education to suffer because I couldn’t hear. They didn’t want other children to look down on me. Amidst the stalemate, a childish voice broke the silent air. “Daddy, sell them to them.” 2 Jake, who had come with his father, Mr. Sandberg, pleaded with him. Standing beside him, Jane Lincoln, in a beautiful princess dress with elaborate braids, looked at us with pity. Her gaze held no malice, yet it felt like a needle pricking me. I instinctively clutched my old, faded, stiff clothes. And so, we received a pair of burning hot hearing aids. And a thin IOU, heavier than a mountain. That’s how Jake, Jane, and I met. Children’s preferences are brutally straightforward. So I knew early on that Jake liked Jane. I watched him chase away the little boys who tried to befriend her, awkwardly giving her cheap but pretty hair clips. I watched him participate in make-believe games he usually found boring, just so he could play Mommy and Daddy with Jane. In their endless games where they were the main characters, I was always either a bystander or the villain. Once, Jake pushed me down according to the script. Perhaps he didn’t control his strength well, and I fell hard to the ground. Rough sand scraped my palms and knees; fresh blood seeped from the wounds, and I cried from the pain. Jake, who was originally walking towards Jane, suddenly turned around, carrying me on his back, and sprinted towards the infirmary. The slender boy’s body erupted with infinite potential. Leaning on his shoulder, I was so stunned I even forgot to cry. For a moment, I thought I was the heroine of a high school drama. “Hmph, Jane’s into cop movies lately. She keeps saying she only likes heroes.” “Now I guess I’m a hero too, right?” “Hey, Ruth, considering I saved you, you owe me big time. Make sure you praise me to Jane when you get back.” Those unspoken, fervent girlish feelings were doused with a bucket of cold water, the chill plunging straight to my heart. I stiffened and said, “Okay.” Later, in our junior year of high school, Jake’s father went bankrupt and committed suicide. Jane unilaterally broke up with Jake and moved abroad. I stayed with the penniless Jake, helping him start a business and rebuild his fortune. He confessed his feelings to me, then proposed. I thought I had finally emerged from Jane’s shadow. I was naive. I waited in the underground garage for a very, very long time, so long that Jake messaged me to say he had an emergency and couldn’t accompany me to the hospital. Because Jane was upset. He was taking her to set off fireworks in the suburbs. I silently went upstairs, washed up. When I instinctively sat on the bed, those filthy memories instantly flooded my mind. So dirty, so dirty. I ran to the bathroom and vomited until I was dizzy. As I collapsed to the floor, I saw a silver men’s ring lying by the drain. Four years ago, I used my meager savings to buy Jake a silver ring as a birthday gift. It was during the hardest time of his startup, when the dual pressure of mental stress and financial struggles was almost crushing him. The six-foot-tall man, upon seeing the small silver ring I gave him, actually got tears in his eyes. He held me very, very tightly, so tightly I could barely breathe. But I only thought to comfort him. He solemnly promised me: “Ruth, I will definitely make sure we live a good life.” Later, he treasured that silver ring as if his life depended on it, never bearing to take it off. He said seeing the ring was like seeing me; he wanted to see me every minute of every day. But now, that silver ring lay quietly in a corner of the bathroom, left to dust and grime that dulled its shine. I picked up the ring. I slept in the guest room for a night. As I drifted in and out of sleep, a figure climbed onto the bed. “Ruth, why weren’t you waiting for me in the living room today? And why did you sleep in the guest room?” In the past, no matter how late Jake came home, I would always wait for him on the sofa in the living room. Sometimes I would wait all night. After so many years, it had become our unspoken habit. “I don’t know why, but the bedroom smells really bad.” The smell of infidelity. 3 He was so close, I easily caught his scent. The rose perfume, unmistakable even through the faint scent of gunpowder. Roses were Jane Lincoln’s favorite. Disgusting. Perhaps out of guilt, he didn’t speak for a moment, then wandered into the kitchen. The kitchen was empty, the stove barren. “Ruth, why isn’t there any porridge today?” Jake’s work schedule was demanding; he often forgot to eat, leading to stomach problems over time. I researched many remedies, finally settling on several recipes for stomach-nourishing porridge, along with various other stomach-friendly meals. For years, I had tirelessly tried new ways to care for his health. I didn’t speak, just turned over and continued to sleep. Not having to get up early felt quite nice. Jake finally realized something was off with me and leaned in, coaxing. “Come on, Ruth, you’re not still mad about yesterday, are you? It was all work-related.” “You know, I do it all for our future.” “Are you still feeling unwell? Should I take you to the hospital now?” “No, I’m much better.” “Then how about I book our favorite restaurant for dinner tonight? Candlelight dinner?” “Sure.” It was a good opportunity for us to talk, to discuss the baby. Just as I finished washing up and opened my phone, I saw a message from Jane, asking to meet that afternoon. As if afraid I wouldn’t go, she even sent me a photo of her and Jake kissing under a sky full of fireworks. I went as promised. Jake, oblivious, drove me to the intersection. As we parted ways, I casually asked him: “Have you lost anything recently?” He looked around blankly, then shook his head. My heart turned to ice, inch by inch. I got out of the car, casually tossing a silver ring into a trash can. I pushed open the door of the cafe and saw Jane, in a white dress, waving to me from her seat. She was as beautiful as ever. I immediately noticed the diamond ring on her hand. When choosing wedding rings, I really liked the promise behind it: “One life, one love.” But Jake thought it was tacky and dragged me to the shop next door to pick out a different diamond ring. It wasn’t the ring that was tacky; it was me who wasn’t worthy. “Ruth, long time no see.” “Honestly, it was quite a shame you gave up on going abroad as an exchange student back then.” In high school, a well-known alumnus offered to sponsor my overseas study, on the condition that I work for his company after graduating college. It was a very rare opportunity; if I accepted, a brilliant future was within reach. But I still refused. At that time, Jake was at a low point: his father had gone bankrupt and committed suicide, and Jane had moved abroad, unilaterally breaking up with him. I felt I couldn’t leave him then. Memories slowly faded. A waiter brought two drinks. “Tequila Sunrise. It’s a very refreshing alcoholic drink. Try it.” Jane pushed a bright orange drink towards me. She was clearly smiling, but her fingers trembled slightly as she pushed the glass. “Jane, you’re very perceptive, and very smart.” I didn’t take the drink. She took a deep breath, her face instantly paling, but she still forced a smile. “Ruth, do you know?” “I thought I’d have to explain for ages to Jay about going abroad, but I didn’t expect him to just throw himself into my arms, unable to control himself, the moment we reunited.” My fingers suddenly tightened, and the wound I unintentionally touched throbbed even more fiercely. “Do you know the first thing he said to me?” “He said, ‘Jane, I hate you.’” “‘But you’re not allowed to leave me again.’” Jane recalled the anecdote and burst into laughter. I blinked furiously, a strained, ugly curve on my lips. It was quite funny. I started laughing too. But Jane, opposite me, suddenly stopped laughing and looked at me haughtily. “Ruth, you’re crying.” “You damn bitch, you’re here! You stole my money and ran back to the country, and now I’ve finally found you!” A sudden change. A burly man with a scarred face, appearing from nowhere, lunged and slapped Jane.

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The acrid smell of smoke was the first thing that hit me, jolting me back to a nightmare I’d already lived. I was home. And the house was on fire. This time, I noticed something I’d missed before. The front door had been locked from the outside. He had locked me in. He had taken the entire fire crew with him, up into the mountains, to search for her. His long-lost love, his old flame. The fire crept closer, its heat a living thing, forcing me onto the balcony. I knew what came next. Last time, in this exact moment, I had called him, begging for help. He had rejected the call to save her instead. I was pregnant. The fire had swallowed me whole. He had cried afterward, choked with regret. But on the day we were supposed to be married, he stood at the altar with her. Then, on their wedding day, he jumped from a bridge. His suicide note said that if he could do it all over again, he would choose me. A lie. Right now, in this second life, my call went straight to voicemail. I could only watch as the flames devoured our home, our future, everything. … The fire was a ravenous beast, consuming everything in its path. I clawed at the front door, my hand blistering against the searing hot metal, only to confirm my terror: it was bolted shut from the outside. My phone’s signal was weak, my call to 911 dropping in and out. In a desperate, muscle-memory reflex, I dialed my fiancé, Mark. A firefighter. The man who had sworn he would always choose me. The call connected. “I’m busy,” he said, and hung up. Thick, black smoke coiled around me, a suffocating blanket. A sharp, cramping pain shot through my abdomen. The wooden furniture, things he’d built for me with his own hands, groaned and cracked as the fire ate them alive. I stumbled back, forced onto the small balcony, the fire nipping at my heels. Finally, my 911 call connected. The voice on the other end was sickeningly familiar. It was Mark’s cousin, Zoe. “Our house… it’s on fire,” I choked out. “Please, hurry…” As I spoke, the living room curtains went up in a sheet of flame, a wall of fire lunging toward me. I froze, paralyzed by terror. Zoe’s voice dripped with disdain. “Look, Abby, it’s not that I don’t want to help you. But Mark took all the experienced guys to the state park to look for Evelyn. The only ones left at the station are a few rookies in training. They can’t be deployed.” She let out a dismissive scoff. “Besides, Mark told me the fire started in the apartment next door. He said he locked your door specifically for your safety. He said even if the fire spread, you’d have plenty of time to get out another way.” Her voice turned sharp. “You can drop the act. I’m not falling for your little stunts to get his attention. I want my best friend Evelyn to be my cousin’s wife, not you.” The moment she said Mark had locked the door, the world went silent. I didn’t hear the rest of her insults. The fire devoured the trellis he had built for my roses, and just like that, the house that was supposed to hold our six years of love became unrecognizable. I looked down. Blood was spreading from between my legs, a dark crimson river mingling with the soot and ash. I couldn’t believe I was back here, in this exact moment. In my last life, the fire from the neighbor’s kid playing with matches had engulfed the entire floor in minutes. My first instinct had been to call Mark. He had promised me he was on his way. He told me not to worry. The next thing I knew, he was leading his best crew up a mountain trail, searching for his precious Evelyn, who had been “missing” for days. The fire consumed me and my unborn child. When he finally found me, all that was left was a charred, incomplete skeleton. He had knelt in the ashes, a hollowed-out wreck, refusing to eat or drink for three days. He clutched the urn with my and our baby’s remains as if he couldn’t go on living. His old flame, Evelyn, cried and apologized, but he just stared through her. My spirit had ached for him, seeing his pain. And then, he married her. On the exact date we had set for our wedding. His parents, even my own, were thrilled. They thought he was finally moving on. But on their wedding day, he killed himself. His last words, spoken to everyone, were a vow that if he had a second chance, he would choose me without hesitation. And here we were. A second chance. And he had chosen to lock me in and run to her. A crowd was gathering on the street below. They saw me, trapped on the balcony, with nowhere left to go. I gripped the railing, the metal so hot it seared my palms, and watched the flames melt the plastic coating at the edges. The outdoor air conditioning unit I was standing on wobbled precariously. My hands and feet were swollen and blistering. The neighbors who had escaped were scrambling, dragging out mattresses and tarps. “My God, there’s a pregnant woman up there all alone!” “She’s covered in blood! Hurry, everyone, we have to get her down!” A sea of unfamiliar faces worked frantically below, their brows beaded with sweat, trying to build me a chance at survival. Some of them had burns of their own, but they didn’t stop. A bitter, acidic feeling rose in my throat. These strangers were risking their lives for me, while the man I had loved for years had done nothing but lock the door and hang up the phone. A single tear traced a path through the grime on my arm. In that instant, the fire surged, a wave of heat washing over me, engulfing my hand. “Call the district fire department! Someone’s going to die!” a man shouted from below. “We did! They just brushed us off, said they don’t have anyone available! What kind of fire department is that?” More people were calling, while others organized the makeshift rescue. A little boy yelled up at me, his voice piercing the chaos. “Jump, lady! My daddy said we’ll all catch you!” The pain was so immense it was becoming abstract, my mind drifting into a hazy fog. The sheer volume of calls must have finally gotten through to Zoe. She had trusted her brother, the rising star of the department, the one who gave lectures on rescue techniques. He had assured her he’d done a thorough risk assessment of the old apartment buildings in the area. She had believed him. But the calls kept coming. She couldn’t ignore them any longer. She put in an emergency request for a crew from the neighboring district. But in our small county, the two districts were separated by a wide river. Even with the bridge, it would take them forever to get here. The fire wrapped around my hand, my fingers no longer my own. The balcony beneath my feet was slick with my own blood. The railing snapped. I had nothing left to hold onto. I fell backward into the inferno. Before I was reborn, I witnessed Mark’s all-consuming grief. I had interpreted his suicide as a final, tragic act of love for me. I had drowned myself in the fantasy of our perfect connection, our shared dreams. When he failed to save me in that life, my heart broke, but it fluttered again when I saw his ghost clutching my ashes before he jumped. I never once doubted his love. He had loved me so loudly, so fiercely, and I had believed him so completely. But Evelyn’s existence proved that his love had always had a prior claim. One text from her saying “I miss you” was all it took for him to abandon his pregnant fiancée and drive hundreds of miles to spend her birthday with her. I had cried, I had begged, I had even used our baby to try and make him stay. All I got was, “Can you stop being so dramatic? Evelyn has severe depression. If something happens to her, can you live with that?” So he used that excuse, night after night, leaving me alone while he went to comfort her. After I died, he must have realized that depressed people can take medication, see therapists; they don’t always need him. But he wanted to be needed. Evelyn, insisting on the purity of their “platonic” friendship, had him give her my number. She made sure to document every moment they spent together. A selfie of them at dinner. A picture of the cake and flowers he bought her—on my birthday. A photo of them locked in a tight embrace. The constant torture from my own fiancé’s affair wore me down. I started fights over nothing. Nightmares plagued me. I’d wake up in a cold sweat, reaching for him, only to find the other side of the bed empty nine times out of ten. When I called his phone, Evelyn would answer. “Mark’s fast asleep,” she’d whisper. “Want to see?” Then she’d turn on the camera, showing him sleeping soundly, his arm wrapped around her. His explanation? He was just worried she’d have a relapse if he left. It was too risky. He never explained why they were sleeping in the same bed. He shattered my heart again and again, then offered just enough hope to piece it back together. My mental state deteriorated until I was a wreck. When I was finally diagnosed with severe depression, he just laughed. “Nice try,” he’d said with a sneer. “Don’t pretend you’re like Evelyn. You think faking depression is going to stop me from seeing her? Couldn’t you come up with a better excuse?” After my death, he found my diagnosis papers and the unopened bottles of antidepressants I’d refused to take for the baby’s safety. He had collapsed. But in this new life, knowing all of that, he still ran to her. Oh, how I wished I could tell all those people from my past life who called him a tragic, romantic hero. They were so, so wrong. His devotion was a cheap imitation. My last tear fell as the flames rushed to meet me. Below, the crowd of strangers surged forward as one. I was lucky. They caught me. But the impact sent a cataclysmic, tearing pain through my abdomen. An older woman with knowing eyes screamed. “Oh, God! The baby… the baby’s gone!” As her words fell, my child left my body in a rush of blood and ruin. For a moment, the world went utterly silent. Then I heard Zoe’s voice, raw with panic. She pushed through the crowd with a first-aid kit, her eyes red and swollen. “Abby… I’m so sorry… I really thought… Mark said he did the inspections, that everything was safe… I…” She fumbled through a basic check, her face growing paler by the second, especially when she saw the perfectly formed, lifeless infant on the ground. Her hands shook uncontrollably. The crowd’s shock turned to fury, directed at the uniform she wore. “Where the hell were you people? This is on you! Look at that baby! If you had come even a minute sooner, they both would have been okay!” Sobs broke out among the onlookers. Zoe kept whispering, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” while frantically trying to call Mark. The first call… unanswered. The second… rejected. On the third, he picked up, his voice a furious bark. “What?!”

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Ever since I caught Lucas cheating on me. The first thing he did every day when he came home was get pressed down on the sofa by me, pants pulled down, while I frantically sprayed high-concentration alcohol on his privates for disinfection. Lucas, feeling guilty, would always cooperate gently with reddened eyes, coaxing me tenderly not to make a fuss. But today he came home a full two hours late. The moment I smelled the perfume on him, I went crazy again, desperately tearing at his belt. “Last time you came back half an hour late, you’d slept with one woman! Today you’re two hours late—tell me! Did you sleep with four women out there?” After apologizing to me for the 29th time and being pushed away again, he finally broke down and roared at me. “Enough! I have a high fever and I’m dying, and you don’t even ask! How much longer are you going to act crazy every single day?” “So I got drunk and slept with someone once—do you think you’re so clean yourself?” “You were dragged into that alley at sixteen and stripped naked and violated! Sophia, a paranoid crazy woman like you deserves it!” The alcohol bottle dropped to the floor, the pungent smell choking away my voice. Looking at his disgusted eyes, I suddenly felt tired. Fine. This relationship full of holes—I don’t want it anymore.

The living room was deathly silent. The door wasn’t fully closed. The two buddies who’d brought Lucas home stood awkwardly behind him, trying to smooth things over with embarrassed expressions. “Lucas is really delirious from the fever today. He didn’t mean to snap at you.” “Besides, you torture him with alcohol every day—who could stand that? Just let it go.” “Yeah, that drunken incident… he cut it off completely a long time ago.” At the mention of that incident, violent nausea surged in my stomach. When I was sixteen, I was dragged into a pitch-black alley by my stepbrother and some of his lowlife friends. When my clothes were being torn, it was eighteen-year-old Lucas who drove them away with reddened eyes, smashing them with bricks. He took off his school uniform jacket and wrapped it tightly around my trembling body. He cried even louder than I did while holding me. He said, “Sophia, don’t be afraid. If anyone dares touch you, I’ll kill them.” Because of that nightmare, after marriage I was extremely resistant to intimacy. Being touched made my whole body tremble. Back then, Lucas would always hold me over and over, gently kissing my forehead. “Don’t be afraid, Sophia. It’s okay. No matter how long it takes, I’m willing to wait for you.” I always thought he was my salvation, pulling me out of hell. Until six months ago when his stomach problems flared up, and I went to the rescue station late at night to bring him medicine. I saw with my own eyes as he pressed the new psychological counselor onto the sofa, kissing her frantically. He was buried in the woman’s neck, panting heavily, his movements showing a fervor and loss of control he’d never shown with me. The woman’s black lace lingerie was brazenly hanging on his rescue uniform—the one that symbolized honor. When I caught them in the act, he knelt down with reddened eyes, swearing he was just drunk and mistook her for someone else. Twelve whole years. I always thought he was my salvation, pulling me out of hell. I never expected that the person who pulled me from the abyss had pushed me into another one. As my thoughts returned to the present, Lucas seemed to sober up a bit too. He stepped forward, trying to grab my hand. “Sophia, I’m sorry. I was so angry I spoke nonsense. I really do have a fever, my head hurts so much…” He approached softly, his face full of remorse. I stepped back, avoiding his outstretched hand. “Go rest.” Lucas’s hand froze in mid-air. His brow furrowed tightly. He seemed anxious and wanted to come closer. “Sophia, let me explain…” “I’m tired.” I cut him off, turned and walked into the guest bedroom, locking the door behind me. Through the door, I heard his two buddies help him into the master bedroom, quietly reassuring him that since there was no fight, it was all settled. Settled? I leaned against the door and slowly slid down to sit on the floor. It wasn’t settled. It was just that this book torn to shreds—I didn’t want to turn its pages anymore.

Early the next morning, while Lucas was still unconscious, I left with an insulated food container. Even though this marriage was riddled with holes, I still went to City Central Hospital. My mother-in-law had been hospitalized for severe kidney failure for half a year, relying entirely on my round-the-clock care. Consider it one last act of filial duty, a way to draw a final line under twelve years of feelings. When I pushed open the hospital room door, my mother-in-law was praising me to the family member of another patient. “I’ve been sick and it’s all thanks to Sophia. She’s been more devoted than my own daughter would be.” Seeing me arrive, she beamed with joy and quickly told me to sit down and rest. I ladled out the fish soup I’d been simmering all night and placed it in her hands. “Martha, Lucas had a fever last night. I need to go back and check on him in a bit.” My mother-in-law, Martha, was holding the bowl, drinking soup, when the phone propped on the small table for watching videos suddenly rang. It was a SnapChat video call notification. The name “Bella” flashed on the screen. My mother-in-law’s hands were covered in soup, making it inconvenient to pick up, so she gestured with her chin. “Sophia dear, help me answer it.” Without thinking much, I reached out and swiped the green answer button. When I saw that familiar young face, my expression froze. It was the woman who had been naked and entwined with Lucas six months ago after he got drunk—Bella White. In the video, she was holding a little boy who looked about three years old. The boy called sweetly toward the camera: “Grandma! Look at the car Daddy bought me!” Bella, on the other hand, spoke with a coquettish complaint toward the screen. “Martha, Lucas drank too much here last night and got a fever, so I let him sleep in a bit longer.” “That crazy woman didn’t go nuts and torment him again because Lucas came home late, did she?” The air in the hospital room became deathly silent in that instant. My mother-in-law was so startled she trembled, and the scalding fish soup splashed all over the blanket. “Soph… Sophia! Let me explain!” Ignoring her burns, she lunged forward trying to grab the phone. I stepped back, staring fixedly at the child on the screen who bore such a striking resemblance to Lucas. I felt cold all over, trembling. “Cousin? This is the cousin you told me about?” Caught red-handed, my mother-in-law sighed and simply stopped pretending. She grabbed my hand, speaking earnestly, her face full of pity and helplessness. “Sophia, don’t blame Lucas for keeping this from you. Bella has been so accommodating these four years, never once asking for status.” Four years ago? My head buzzed, my insides twisting together so painfully I couldn’t breathe. So this woman’s existence… wasn’t just a drunken accident from six months ago? My mother-in-law gently patted the back of my hand, speaking softly and persuasively. “I’ve watched you grow up, and I do care about you. But you have to think about Lucas too.” “You went through that kind of trauma. You won’t let him touch you even once every ten days or half a month. He’s a hot-blooded, normal man.” “You can’t expect him to be a monk his whole life because of your little problem, can you?” “Bella said the child can still call you Auntie. You’re still the legitimate wife of the family.” “Nothing changes. Bella will never disturb you two. Isn’t that good?” My legs gave out instantly, and I collapsed into the chair behind me. I didn’t catch another word my mother-in-law said after that. Memories and reality tore at each other in my head, literally ripping me in half. Four years. Every time Lucas went on a rescue mission to another city, he would stay on voice calls with me all night. He said he knew I had no sense of security, that I was afraid of the dark, and that hearing his breathing would help me sleep. Once he was in danger at a disaster site. Even risking his life to dig out a backup battery, he still had to report to me all night. But I never imagined that what I thought was ultimate devotion was just a scam. Every all-night phone call he made to comfort me—was Bella White lying beside him? Was that child even sleeping next to him? While lying together with another woman and child, he coaxed me—the clueless fool—on the phone. A tremendous sense of absurdity drowned me. I stood up, no longer acknowledging my mother-in-law, and stumbled out of the hospital room. Since the “perfect ending” in everyone’s eyes didn’t include me, then I’d just give up my position as wife.

The next day, I took leave and packed my things at home. There wasn’t much. Taking a few changes of clothes and documents was enough. The doorbell suddenly rang. Thinking it was the courier delivering the divorce agreement via express, I opened the door and froze. Standing outside was Bella White. She wore a pure white cashmere coat, holding the hand of the boy from the video. I gripped the doorknob so tightly my knuckles turned white. “Sophia, won’t you invite me in to sit?” The woman looked at my pale face, unconcealed triumph on her own. “We didn’t make things clear in the video earlier, so I specially brought Harrison to see you.” She deliberately pushed the child forward, her movements full of showing off. “Harrison’s about to start kindergarten. Lucas feels bad that the child doesn’t have a complete family.” “He said Harrison is the eldest son of the family. He wants me to bring the child and officially move in here.” Looking at that child who resembled Lucas seventy percent, my stomach churned violently. “Get out!” Red-eyed, I pointed toward the elevator, roaring. “Take your bastard and get out of my house!” I was about to slam the door shut, not wanting to look at them another second. But Bella suddenly reached out her hand, jamming it firmly in the doorway. She leaned close to my ear, lowering her voice, letting out a contemptuous laugh. “Sophia, why are you acting so high and mighty? Do you think Lucas really loves you?” “He told me himself—every time he lies in the same bed with you, he has to take sleeping pills just to suppress his nausea.” “Every time he touches you, his mind is full of images of those thugs riding on top of you back then.” She stared into my eyes, closing in step by step. “He also said you’re so dirty. He can only release himself with me. Because only a clean body like mine makes him feel anything.” The thread I’d been desperately holding onto in my mind completely snapped in that second. The nightmare from when I was sixteen—I’d spent twelve whole years trying to heal from it. And he actually turned it into pillow talk, sharing it with his mistress! “How dare you bring that up—!” I screamed out of control, raising my hand and using every ounce of strength in my body. I slapped Bella hard across the face. “Smack!” An extremely crisp sound. Bella staggered from the blow, her forehead hitting hard against the corner of the entryway shoe cabinet. Blood immediately flowed down. The child beside her burst into wailing tears. Bella covered her bleeding forehead, scrambling backward on all fours. “Crazy woman! You’re a psycho! Just you wait!” She scooped up the child and stumbled into the elevator. I slid down the doorframe powerlessly, collapsing to the floor. Closing my eyes, I felt some coolness seep into my hair. After making up my mind, I pulled out the ultrasound report I’d been anticipating for half a year from under the table and tore it to shreds. What was supposed to be a surprise gift for Lucas now felt like a slap across my face, burning with pain. Half an hour later, the lawyer delivered the documents. I signed them and placed the divorce agreement right in the center of the table. Outside, pouring rain began to fall, thunder rumbling. I pulled my suitcase, preparing to leave. Just then—BANG! Lucas kicked the door open from outside. Before I could react, veins bulging on his forehead, he rushed up and grabbed me by the throat. “Sophia! Where did you take Harrison?!”

I was being choked, unable to breathe, desperately slapping at his hands: “Cough… what Harrison…” Lucas furiously flung me aside and kicked the table over with one foot. “Bella already told me! You attacked her like a madwoman this afternoon!” “She just took the child to the pharmacy to bandage her wound, and when she turned around, Harrison was gone!” “Besides you, who else would kidnap a three-year-old child?!” I coughed violently, looking at the enraged man before me in disbelief. “I haven’t even left the house! Lucas, are you insane?!” “You’re the one who’s insane!” Lucas was so frantic his eyes were bloodshot, pointing at my nose and roaring. “You’ve been spraying me with alcohol every day for half a year—your mind is already twisted! Now you won’t even spare an innocent child!” “Call back whoever you hired right now!” I gritted my teeth and stepped back: “I told you I haven’t seen him! If you can’t stand it, then get a divorce!” I turned to grab the divorce agreement on the table. “Don’t even think about going anywhere until you tell me where the child is!” Lucas suddenly grabbed my collar from behind. A ripping sound. The tremendous force directly tore my shirt dress, buttons scattering across the floor. My naked body was exposed to the air. Before I could react, he seized my wrist and dragged me toward the bathroom like hauling a criminal. “Lucas, what are you doing! Let me go!” I screamed in terror. The hands of those men in the alley when I was sixteen and Lucas’s hands completely overlapped in this moment. “If you won’t hand over the child, I have to make you wake up today!” He kicked open the bathroom door and threw me bodily into the ice-cold bathtub. “SPLASH—” He turned on the showerhead, and icy, bone-chilling cold water came pouring down on my head. “Cough cough… help…” I struggled violently, choking on water, trying to climb out of the tub. Lucas pulled his belt from his waist, twisted my hands behind my back, and tied them tightly to the metal handrail of the bathtub. I twisted my body frantically, trembling violently in the ice water. Lucas turned around and pulled out that large container of high-concentration disinfectant alcohol from under the sink. He unscrewed the cap and poured the pungent alcohol directly over me from above. “Don’t you love tormenting people with alcohol? Talk! Where is the child!” The intense alcohol fumes instantly robbed me of oxygen, my eyes stinging with pain. But Lucas didn’t care at all. He pressed my head forcefully into the disinfectant water in the bathtub. I choked until I could only make a few garbled sounds, my stomach cramping violently. “It hurts…” Before I finished speaking, my lower abdomen suddenly sent out an extremely sharp, knife-like pain. Then a warm liquid flowed down my inner thigh. That warmth merged into the icy bathwater, instantly blooming into a shocking red. I stared blankly at the blood blossoming in the water, forgetting to struggle. Just then, the phone he’d tossed on the sink counter rang. After seeing the caller ID, he paused before answering. On the other end, a police officer’s voice came through, tinged with some exasperation: “Is this Mr. Lucas? The child isn’t missing!” “The little guy ran to the top floor of the mall to play on the slide by himself. When we found him, he was eating ice cream.” “Parents don’t watch their own kid properly, then claim it’s a deliberate kidnapping and murder plot. Isn’t this a waste of police resources?” In an instant, only the sound of water from the showerhead remained in the bathroom. CLANG. Lucas’s phone and the alcohol container both crashed to the floor simultaneously. He whipped around, his face instantly turning deathly pale!

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On our fifth anniversary, I found an old phone in my husband Ethan Lloyd’s safe. The password was his first love’s birthday. Inside were records of all their sweet moments together. Yet in his current photo gallery, there wasn’t a single picture of me. “Lily, is it fun snooping through other people’s privacy?” I turned to see Ethan standing in the doorway. I didn’t yell or make a scene. I simply said calmly, “Let’s get a divorce.” Right in front of me, Ethan factory reset the phone, his expression utterly indifferent. “There. Happy now?” he asked. “Still want that divorce?” I nodded seriously. “Yes.” “Enough. Stop making a scene.” Ethan frowned, clearly impatient. “Be good. Once the project wraps up at the end of the year, I’ll make time to take you skiing in Hokkaido, okay?” When I didn’t respond for a long while, Ethan’s lips curved into his usual careless smile as he tapped my forehead with his fingertip. “I’m not lying this time. I mean it.” I almost wanted to laugh. “Not lying this time.” So he knew he’d lied to me countless times before. He’d promised that Hokkaido ski trip years ago, postponing it year after year. For our usual movie dates, I was always the one waiting alone at the theater entrance until showtime. When he said he’d pick me up, I’d stand there soaked by the rain, never seeing his car. Ethan always broke his promises to me. So now, saying this like it was some kind of favor, some reward. “No need,” I said, taking a deep breath before repeating firmly, “Ethan, I want a divorce.” This time, the man’s expression turned cold, his patience completely exhausted. “Lily, you’re being completely unreasonable.” “Go to Hokkaido or don’t—I’ve already given you the chance.” “Don’t come crying to me later about how I didn’t keep my word.” With that, he grabbed his coat from the sofa and turned to leave. He didn’t even touch the dinner I’d carefully prepared to his taste. I remained silent too. For the first time, I didn’t try to make him stay, not even for one more minute. Ethan paused at the door, glancing back at me. I had already sat down and begun eating quietly by myself. He slammed the door. Like he was venting some fury. My heart had long since stopped hurting—only a barren wasteland remained. I used to think that someone as superior as Ethan would never stoop to mundane domesticity. But it turned out he would cook for the girl he loved. Just to earn one compliment from her. The cuts on his hands, the burns from hot water—they all became badges of love. He’d even said such childish things: “Cooking for someone you like really does feel so happy.” “I want to cook for Claire for the rest of my life, fatten her up so no one else will try to steal her from me.” Reading those records made me realize for the first time how much of a joke I was. The next day, I met my lawyer best friend at a café and asked her to draft a divorce agreement. “What happened with you two? Why is it this serious this time?” My friend looked shocked. She knew better than anyone how much I loved Ethan. In past arguments, we’d have a cold war at most. “I’m really tired,” I said, looking out at the traffic. “You know what? She came back.” Just that one pronoun, and my friend understood. Claire Bennett. Ethan’s unforgettable first love. That name was like a tiny needle lodged in my heart. Never drawing blood, but causing pain from time to time. I’d never even seen her in person, yet her existence had affected me for five whole years. Ethan said personal space was important, but he and Claire had shared a music account. Ethan didn’t like his life being public, but his old social media was filled with traces of that girl. The art exhibitions he took me to featured Claire’s favorite painters. He complained that shopping with me wasted time, yet he’d once browsed every antique market in the city with her. Two years of dating, three years of marriage—Ethan had never truly removed her from his heart. And I was more like companionship during his single period. A habit. A second choice. “Alright, leave the divorce agreement to me—I won’t let you get the short end of the stick!” My friend said worriedly, “But Lily, have you really made up your mind?” “I told you from the start—this man isn’t right for you. He hasn’t cleared his heart, and being with him means you’re just hurting yourself.” “But you had to go and fall for him anyway, wouldn’t listen no matter what I said.” I lowered my eyes, stirring the coffee in my cup. “Some lessons have to be learned the hard way.”

The sky was heavy and gray. Rain started pouring without warning. My friend’s husband came to pick her up. “Didn’t I tell you not to come?” “How could I let you get caught in the rain? Lily, come with us—I’ll drop you off first.” I smiled and shook my head. “You two go ahead. I’ll sit here a bit longer.” I used to envy their genuine care and consideration for each other. Why were Ethan and I also married, yet there was always an invisible wall between us? Why? The answer was simple. He just didn’t love me enough. Yet I’d deceived myself for so long, thinking he simply didn’t know how to love. When the rain lightened, I got up to leave. I happened to see a familiar Audi pull over by the curb. The woman in the passenger seat wore a cream-colored dress, with slightly curled hair and a gentle demeanor. Ethan got out from the other side, walking this way. It seemed he was passing by and wanted to grab coffee. Seeing me, he remained expressionless, only raising an eyebrow slightly. He probably expected me to greet him first, but I just looked down at the rideshare app on my phone. Maybe I was distracted—I accidentally missed a step and twisted my ankle. Ethan glanced over again, frowning but saying nothing. He went into the café and ignored me. I endured the pain in my ankle and continued waiting for my ride. Soon, Ethan came out carrying two takeaway coffees. “Let’s go.” “Isn’t this what you wanted—for me to give you a ride?” His tone carried cold impatience. “…I didn’t.” Ethan didn’t bother arguing and simply pulled me into the car. Then he handed me one of the coffees. I didn’t take it, so he just set it aside. The entire ride was silent. The atmosphere in the car was stifling. Claire suddenly pressed her hand to her forehead. “Ethan, I think my blood sugar’s dropping. Do you have any candy?” Ethan naturally reached into the glove compartment and handed her a chocolate. “I’ve reminded you so many times, but you never learn.” Claire took it with a soft laugh. “I get too busy and forget. Good thing you’re here.” They naturally started chatting about old times—mutual acquaintances, shared experiences. Their words carried an effortless understanding. And I sat in the back seat like an out-of-place audience member. The scenery outside flew backward. We passed Fairview Park, where the giant Ferris wheel slowly turned. My first date with Ethan had been here. Legend said couples who kissed at the top would be happy forever. I’d stolen a kiss from him then. He’d stared at me for a long while. I thought it was one of our few shared sweet memories. Later I learned that Ethan’s biggest regret was never bringing Claire here to ride that Ferris wheel. Fragments of the past flashed through my drowsy mind. Mostly my one-sided expectations and his dismissiveness. I closed my eyes and fell asleep. When I opened them again, the car had stopped outside our building. Claire had gotten out at some point. Ethan unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to look at my swollen ankle, his brow furrowed. “Lily,” his voice was low, “does it have to be like this?” I looked up, confused. “If you wanted me to pick you up, you could’ve just said so. Did you really have to use such a stupid method to get my attention?” His tone was steady but carried barely detectable irritation. I didn’t know what he was irritated about. Perhaps he was annoyed that I’d interrupted his alone time with his first love. “Ethan, you’re overthinking it.” “I didn’t ask you to drive me.” He probably thought I was being stubborn and scoffed. “Oh? So what’s your plan—crawl home like this?” “I can call a cab.” I looked at him. “Ethan, I don’t need you to survive.” “I used to cling to you because I loved you. That doesn’t mean I’m helpless without you.” “Leave? Lily, try leaving and see if I’ll come begging for you back.” The man’s eyes darkened again. I had no desire to waste more words on him. Anyway, once the divorce papers reached his hands, he’d know this time I wasn’t making a scene—I was serious.

I pushed the car door open, trying to get out myself. But he got out first and scooped me up in his arms. His movements weren’t gentle, but he didn’t let me fall either. Inside, he found the medicine kit and awkwardly sprayed medication on my ankle, his expression still cold. “Don’t do this again.” I silently watched him complete this task. Ethan was always like this—giving me a slap, then a piece of candy. Hot and cold, making me second-guess myself countless times. Did he have even a shred of genuine feeling for me? Agonizing over whether someone loves you is truly stupid, yet I’d been stupid for five years. It was time to wake up. Too tired to keep guessing his thoughts, I casually said thanks. Ethan stood in front of the sofa, motionless. “Anything else?” Ethan pressed his lips together. “Don’t you have anything you want to ask me?” I shook my head calmly. Actually, I’d already checked Claire’s social media. Yesterday she’d posted on Twitter—a photo of a plane landing. The caption read “Waiting for you.” I’d scrolled through all the comments but didn’t see any trace of Ethan liking or commenting. But I knew he would go. And indeed, that’s what happened. “I’m really tired. I want to sleep.” I stood up. “I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight.” Ethan grabbed my wrist. “Lily!” Unusually, he took the initiative to explain. “Claire and I aren’t what you think.” “I picked her up this time because she just got back and isn’t familiar with the area. I was just helping out.” I made a sound of acknowledgment. “As you should.” Ethan studied my face, as if trying to find some trace of insincerity. “Lily, she and I ended a long time ago. We’re just ordinary friends now.” I nodded disinterestedly. “Got it.” Ethan pulled me into his arms, for once taking the initiative to kiss me. His burning body heat transmitted through our clothes—a warmth I’d once craved most. He knew I liked physical intimacy and thought one kiss could placate me. But I turned my head away. Ethan was clearly stunned. He completely hadn’t expected me to refuse. His expression darkened. “Lily, my patience has limits too. You’d better not push it too far.” That night we slept in separate rooms. Ethan left me the master bedroom and took the guest room himself. When I woke the next morning, the house was quiet—he’d already left. My expression remained neutral as I went to the company and submitted my resignation. If I was going to leave, I’d do it completely. I’d only stayed at this company because of Ethan anyway, to work alongside him, to have more time together. But at work, he’d hidden our marriage, saying it wouldn’t look good. Not only that, he deliberately kept his distance from me. When subordinates needed to accompany him on business trips, he never chose me. In meetings, he treated me like I was invisible. Even when I completed a major project independently, I never earned his praise. This cold attitude made colleagues think Ethan must have something against me. Or that I’d offended him privately. HR was one of the few people at the company who knew about my relationship with Ethan. “You’re leaving?” “Ethan only said to demote you, he didn’t say anything about resignation…” I froze. “Demotion?” HR nodded, looking at me with sympathy. “Your position was taken by someone parachuted in from abroad. Ethan specifically arranged it.” I felt a chill spreading through my heart. I heard my own trembling voice: “Her name—is it Claire Bennett?” “Yes, that’s the name.” I could barely stand and steadied myself against the desk. Even though I was leaving anyway, hearing this news still felt like an earth-shattering defeat. At the company, Ethan had never given me any special treatment. I’d climbed to the director position through my own abilities, step by step. And he just handed it to her.

Tonight was the company anniversary with a gala event. Before officially resigning, I still attended. At least I needed to claim my year-end bonus. In front of everyone, Ethan publicly announced Claire Bennett’s hiring on stage. He even specifically told everyone to take good care of the new colleague. People whispered: “Oh my God, is this really something our stone-faced Ethan would say?” I sat in the audience listening, dutifully applauding. Ethan’s gaze drifted toward me, as if observing my reaction. The next second, Claire beside him wobbled in her heels, and he immediately turned to steady her. Halfway through the banquet, I went to the terrace for air and heard Ethan talking with his friend. “What, another cold war with Lily?” He swirled his wine glass carelessly. “Yeah.” His friend sighed. “When will you ever take the initiative to apologize and comfort her? Girls like her are rare.” “I know.” “Then why’d you bring Claire here to humiliate Lily? This will only worsen things between you two. What if Lily really can’t take it anymore and leaves?” “She won’t.” Ethan paused, then continued with certainty, “Lily will never leave me.” He was still that confident. Thinking I’d give in like every time before. I was about to turn and leave when Claire’s voice sounded behind me. “What a coincidence. Want to have a drink together?” Claire naturally walked to my side, her tone intimate as if we were old friends. “I forgot to greet you last time. You’re Lily, right?” “Sorry for taking your position as soon as I arrived.” The remark carried a double meaning. I caught the provocation in her words and asked coldly, “Claire, are we close?” She smiled even more brightly. “I don’t know much about you, but you must know quite a bit about me, right?” I knew she must have seen my visitor record in the logs. Seeing that I still wouldn’t take the bait or show the fury she’d imagined, Claire grew unhappy and simply poured the wine in her glass onto herself, letting out a cry. The aloof man nearby immediately changed expression and rushed over. “Lily, what are you doing?” I clenched my fist but didn’t explain. I just threw the wine in my glass at his face. Amid the gasps around us, I laughed coldly. “This is what I did.” A waiter quickly brought towels. Ethan wiped the wine from his face, those eyes dark as a frozen pond watching me with inscrutable meaning. In the end, he said nothing and left the banquet with Claire. I watched their retreating figures and simply pulled out my phone to send a message. “My resignation letter and divorce papers are both on your desk.” “Remember to sign.” After sending it, I blocked and deleted his number. I went home to grab the luggage I’d already packed, discovering two tickets to Hokkaido. Did Ethan actually think that while I’d been packing these days, I was looking forward to going to see snow with him? Expressionless, I tore the ticket with my name on it in half. Without looking back, I left the city.

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I am the purest-blooded elite mermaid. My tears turn into priceless pearls, and my heart’s blood can bring the dead back to life. When Ethan Hunt went bankrupt, drowned in debt, and was being hunted by his enemies, I pulled him from the edge of the cross-sea bridge where he stood drenched in blood, ready to end it all. I thought he was useless, but my heart softened anyway. I forced myself to cry an entire bag of top-grade pearls to fill the hole of his debts. When signing the master-servant agreement, I warned Ethan: “You’re not worthy of me. You’re just a dog I’m keeping, my accessory.” Ethan was the perfect loyal dog — putting on my shoes, feeding me, handling everything personally. When I said one, he never dared say two. Even though I was different from others, he spoiled me into the most envied woman in the entire city. Everyone said Ethan loved me like his own life. I believed it too. Until he drained half my heart’s blood to save a low-grade koi mate with genetic defects. She was his first love, the one he couldn’t have in his youth. That same day, I dragged my weakened body into Lyra’s hospital room and smashed everything she had related to Ethan. I thought Ethan would kneel on the ground like before, begging for my forgiveness, worried about my pale face. But that night, during my scale-shedding period when I was at my weakest and most vulnerable, he brought in a group of men to violate me repeatedly. Ethan wrapped his arm around Lyra’s waist, looking down at my disheveled state like I was garbage: “Didn’t Lyra speak the truth? You’re cold-blooded by nature. What kind of mermaid throws pearls at people to attach herself to them?” “Didn’t you mock Lyra for being a low-grade mate? Well, now that you’ve been passed around by men and lost all your scales, you’re just a defective product that can’t see the light of day either!”

When I pushed open the hospital room door, Lyra was leaning in Ethan’s arms, taking small sips of medicine brewed from my heart’s blood. They both stared at me in shock. “Vesper, what are you doing here?” Ethan frowned, but his hand gently pressed on Lyra’s back, helping her breathe easier. Lyra licked the blood-colored residue from the corner of her mouth and laughed: “Sorry, my body is too weak. I borrowed Ethan for a bit, and borrowed some of your blood too. You don’t mind, do you?” I clutched the pregnancy test report I’d just gotten from the hospital, my mind exploding with a buzzing sound. “Ethan, didn’t you promise me that if I donated blood once, you’d send her abroad?” Ethan looked up at me, his tone calm: “Vesper, Lyra has genetic defects. Sending her abroad would be like killing her. I can’t do something so heartless.” “So you were heartless enough to drain half my heart’s blood on our tenth anniversary to be with your first love?” I grabbed the fruit basket from the table and hurled it. Apples rolled everywhere. I roared my questions: “Ethan, when you were dirt poor and being stepped on by everyone, who supported you? Don’t forget that you got where you are today because of whose tears and scales!” Mentioning the past, all the grievances came flooding back like a torrent. Back then, I was the hottest elite mate in the underground black market. All the powerful families in the capital wanted to claim me. After following Ethan, I spent six full years in a narrow, damp basement. When he made his comeback, many people bullied him for his past bankruptcy, deliberately forcing drinks on him at business dinners, even making him kneel. I blocked for him time and time again, shielding him from malicious provocations, lowering myself, using my mermaid song to win him investments. The young man’s eyes reddened with emotion back then. In an era when mates had no human rights, he defied everyone’s opinions to build me the city’s most luxurious temperature-controlled pool. He solemnly promised: “From now on, this is our secret love base. Only you have the privilege to enter! My life, Ethan Hunt’s life, belongs to Vesper for all eternity!” His eyes were so sincere and passionate then. But now when I looked up, I saw only Ethan’s annoyed expression: “What’s the point of rehashing old stories over and over? Lyra’s body is weak, she can’t be without me. And it’s just a little blood. You have such strong recovery ability — when did you become so selfish?” I was selfish? Tears welled up in my eyes, but because of extreme anger, I forced them back, refusing to let them turn into pearls. Ethan froze, seeming to realize his words were too harsh. He sighed helplessly and walked over, reaching out to touch my hair. “How could I possibly not want you? But Lyra is my first love. I can’t bear to see her suffer.” “If you really don’t like her, I promise that after she recovers, she’ll never appear in front of you again, okay?” His expression was sincere. Exactly like the young man ten years ago when he begged me to save him. My dormant heart wavered slightly. Just as I was about to speak, I inadvertently glimpsed the bright red contract totem beneath his shirt collar, at his collarbone. It was a soul-binding mate contract. Identical to the one showing on Lyra’s neck. I shoved Ethan away, asking in disbelief: “You signed a soul contract with her?” Ethan froze, his brow furrowing slightly, but he still nodded. Lyra suddenly threw off the covers crying and rushed to kneel before me: “Blame me if you want! I was the one who begged Mr. Hunt to sign it! I can’t survive without a contract!”

“Silly girl, signing a contract isn’t a one-person decision. How can I blame you?” Ethan tenderly pulled Lyra up from the floor and held her tightly in his arms, then looked at me firmly: “I was the one who initiated the contract with Lyra. Her body has flaws, she’s different from you. Without a master’s protection, she’d be bullied by other mates.” My lips parted as I watched the man I loved most protect another woman like a rare treasure. Years ago, Ethan refused to sign a contract with me, using his rising career as an excuse, saying he was afraid people would use it as a weakness against him. I understood how difficult things were for him and waited year after year. I thought he just wasn’t ready. But now, to protect another woman, he could hand over his soul without hesitation, then turn and look at me with cold eyes. The contract I’d begged him for countless times, he easily gave to someone else. The tightly wound string in my heart finally snapped. I removed the diamond ring from my ring finger and hurled it at Ethan. The sharp edge of the ring cut a bloody line across his face. I ground my teeth viciously: “Ethan, you violated our vows today — cheating and giving the contract to someone else…” “Since you won’t give me an answer, I’ll show you both my attitude with actions!” Ethan touched the blood on his face, clearly thinking I was joking, and snorted dismissively: “Enough, Vesper. Stop making a scene. I still need to accompany Lyra to the Vesper gala to give her face. Be good and go home. I’ll come back tonight to explain.” I stared hard at their intimate backs, slowly tearing the pregnancy report in my pocket to pieces and throwing it in the trash. Leaving the hospital, I called Kyle, the capital’s golden boy: “I’m allowing you to pursue me now, but I have one condition — I need you to help me destroy someone!” Even after ten years, I was still the object of every man’s pursuit. The most perfect elite mermaid in the eyes of the powerful. With just one sentence, countless men scrambled to please me. That very night, I received a bloody koi scale. In the surveillance video, Lyra was surrounded by a group of men in black, pinned to the ground, as they forcibly plucked her most prized natal golden scale. “Why? Why are you doing this to me!” “Ethan will kill you all, kill every last one of you!” Her furious curses turned into blood-curdling screams as the pliers came down. “Why? Because you offended the golden boy’s sweetheart.” The video faded to black amid mocking laughter. At the same time, the villa door was kicked open. Ethan, wearing a haute couture suit and originally holding roses to appease me, approached me with murderous intent. “Still angry about what happened during the day?” He originally wanted to control his temper. He tossed the flowers on the table, his voice carrying helplessness and condescension: “You’re an elite mate — why get angry with a defective product?” “I’m only with her because I pity her. If you don’t like it, I won’t let her appear in front of you anymore, okay?” For once, he lowered his head, thinking this would appease me. I laughed too, laughing until tears nearly came: “You’re absolutely right — a defective mate really isn’t worth getting angry over!” Ethan froze, seemingly not expecting me to be so agreeable. I then threw the bloody golden scale in front of Ethan, smiling sweetly at him: “Enjoy a good look at your poor little thing’s natal scale.” Ethan’s eyes widened as he stared at the bloody scale. When it registered, he grabbed my collar, his eyes bloodshot: “Vesper, you actually dared to touch her? You’re looking for death!” I smiled provocatively, meeting his eyes without backing down: “I also have the video. Want to hear her screams? I said it before — neither of you cheating bastards will have it easy!” A crisp sound echoed through the entire living room. My face burned with pain, the force whipping my head to the side, a trace of blood seeping from the corner of my mouth. I covered my face, looking at Ethan in disbelief. Since his comeback, countless low-grade mates had tried to climb into his bed. The bold ones would provoke me directly to my face. In my volatile temper, I’d taught them lessons and ruined faces. But Ethan had always turned a blind eye, even helping me hand over the knife. This was the first time he’d raised his hand against me for another woman. “You’d better start praying Lyra’s okay, or I won’t be polite to you!” Ethan glared at me like I was an enemy, then stormed out angrily. I stood there alone, the servants’ sighing and mocking gazes hurting more than the slap on my face. In just one night, news of rising business star Ethan Hunt storming the black market in a fury to save his beloved made it to the top of trending topics nationwide. [Oh my god, isn’t this just like the domineering CEO heroically saving the beauty in novels? I’m dying from this ship!] [But isn’t this unfair to Vesper? She stayed with Ethan for ten years.] [If you can’t manage your man, who else can you blame? Besides, wasn’t she always proud of being Ethan’s only sweetheart? Getting a slap in the face now, isn’t she?] However much I’d once prided myself on Ethan’s favoritism, I was now equally humiliated. The entire city knew that the once most noble elite mermaid had lost to a genetically defective reject.

Next week was my scale-shedding period. A mermaid’s scale-shedding period is like a human woman’s childbirth — excruciatingly painful, accompanied by intense mating urges. Every time this happened, Ethan would take time off in advance to come home, staying by my side every moment, giving me the most expensive suppressants. But this time, to punish me, he confiscated all my suppressants and even bribed the servants to secretly add catalyzing drugs to my drinking water. That night, desire and skinning, bone-extracting pain came in waves like the tide. I rolled on the bed, my hands grasping unconsciously in the air, Ethan’s once-gentle face flashing frequently in my mind. “Vesper, don’t be afraid. I’m here.” Past whispers echoed in my ears, but reality was a cold, empty room. I bit my lip until it bled, desperately banging my head against the nightstand, trying to use physical pain to suppress the restlessness inside. I stumbled out of the room and desperately pleaded with the butler: “Give me a suppressant, just one!” The butler looked at me coldly, his eyes full of disdain: “Mr. Hunt said that since you hurt Miss Lyra’s natal scale, you need to properly learn your place!” “Only if you’re willing to kneel and kowtow an apology to Miss Lyra and record a video will you get a suppressant.” My heart sank. The hand clutching the butler’s trouser leg suddenly released. The pain hit again. This time I clenched my teeth, my nails digging deep into my palms, stubbornly refusing to make another sound. My phone screen lit up. Lyra had updated her social media. She wore Ethan’s oversized shirt, her neck covered in intimate kiss marks, lying contentedly in Ethan’s arms, her eyes full of satisfaction. Her hand gently wrapped around Ethan’s neck as she faced the camera smugly, with the caption: [Who understands the happiness of having your master stay by your side during a mate’s heat? Thank you for Ethan’s favoritism.] Below were unanimous blessings and people from the social circle mocking me. My heart completely died. I curled up on the cold floor, staring at the ceiling. The physical pain wasn’t half of what my heart felt. In my daze, I had a dream. I dreamed of the day Ethan had just paid off his debts. We were strolling on the street when I casually admired a wedding dress in a shop window. Unfortunately, mates had low status. The law prohibited mates from wearing wedding dresses or legally marrying humans. Yet the impoverished Ethan emptied his pockets of the few hundred dollars he had left and bought a cheap white veil, risking arrest by the patrol, and put the veil on me in the city’s most crowded square. He cupped my face, his eyes burning with love: “I don’t care about mate or human — I only know that what others have, my Vesper must have too!” “In this life, I, Ethan Hunt, will marry no one but you! When I make money, I’ll buy you the most expensive wedding dress in the world!” My dormant heart felt like it would leap from my chest in that instant. But heavy footsteps pulled me back to reality. Looking up, I saw Ethan’s cold face. Seeing me disheveled and drenched in cold sweat, his brow furrowed slightly, a trace of barely noticeable heartache flashing in his eyes. His cold fingers traced across my face. Controlled by the drugs, I instinctively sought that coolness, nuzzling his palm like a begging dog. Seeing my docile appearance, satisfaction flashed in his eyes. “Look at you — why be so stubborn? An apology is just one sentence. As long as you lower your head, I’ll still spoil you like before.” Consciousness briefly cleared in that instant. I violently pushed him away and spat bloody saliva on his face. “Want me to apologize to a homewrecker defect? Ethan, over my dead body!” Ethan’s eyes darkened instantly, the muscles in his face twitching. He couldn’t bear to hear me insult Lyra even once. I thought he’d fly into a rage like a few days ago. But unexpectedly, he suddenly smiled, forcibly pulling me into his arms and gently patting my back: “If you don’t want to apologize, then don’t. You’re not wrong anyway — she really is a defect.” “You must be starving, right? Come, I’ll take you somewhere nice.”

He carefully took my hand, draped a coat over me, gentle just like ten years ago. I felt momentarily disoriented. My body’s weakness made me unconsciously grip his sleeve. “When we first met, you were so proud, refusing to lower your head even slightly. Back then I swore I’d never let you suffer any grievance in this lifetime.” He rambled on the whole way. The car played the songs we used to love, his eyes full of nostalgia for the past. I leaned against the car window, watching the night scenery fly past outside, a ridiculous hope sprouting in my heart. Maybe he was just temporarily confused by Lyra. Maybe he still loved me. The car stopped at the underground mate black market where I used to be kept. Walking into the deepest private room, an overwhelmingly nauseating smell of aphrodisiacs rushed into my nostrils. My head instantly became dizzy, the restlessness inside ignited by this smell. I saw that in the dim lighting, many people seemed to be around, all staring at me and quietly laughing. I tried to control my staggering steps, wanting to escape, but accidentally stumbled into Ethan’s cold embrace. “Vesper, you don’t need to suppress your instincts.” “You’ve been holding back these past few days, right? Today your husband will fill you up all at once, okay?” A seductive voice whispered in my ear. The young man’s innocent face from ten years ago appeared before me. The drugs and instinct completely controlled my brain. I wrapped my arms around his neck and stood on tiptoe. Just as I was about to touch his lips, a piercing mocking laugh rang out. My spine instantly turned ice-cold, as if plunging into a frozen abyss. There were more than just the two of us in this room! “Everyone see that? What elite noble mermaid — when she’s in heat, she’s just as cheap!” Ethan’s contemptuous voice exploded overhead. He violently pushed me away like discarding a dirty rag. The black cloth behind was suddenly pulled back, harsh lights blazing on. A group of pot-bellied, greedy-eyed men surrounded me, their gazes nakedly scanning my body. Lyra sat on the central sofa, holding a phone livestreaming, the camera locked on me as she laughed provocatively and maliciously: “Worthy of being an elite mate — her heat is really different! Perfect for giving our nationwide audience an eye-opening experience!” “Shut up!” I rushed at her like a madwoman, shoving Lyra, trying to grab the phone. But the next second, my hair was violently yanked by a tremendous force, my entire body pressed hard against the floor. Before my eyes were a pair of expensive red-soled leather shoes. Ethan’s voice came from above, ice-cold and piercing, carrying a lofty judgment: “You shouldn’t have — absolutely shouldn’t have — bullied Lyra. Today I’ll let you know that without me, you’re worth less than a low-grade mate!” I gritted my teeth unwillingly, my hands supporting myself as I tried to stand. Before I could steady myself, Ethan backhanded me with a heavy slap. I flew out like a kite with a broken string, my stomach slamming hard into the edge of a hard marble table. Pain. Tearing pain. Pain so intense that tears instantly welled up, but the moment they fell, they turned into muddy pearls, hitting the floor with crisp sounds. I curled up on the ground, my whole body trembling violently, even breathing becoming torture. The men’s gazes fell on me, naked desire crawling over my entire body like maggots. Some even started unbuckling their belts, walking toward me. Ethan slowly walked up to me, looking down from above. Those eyes once full of love were now cold as if looking at a corpse. “Vesper, didn’t you keep calling Lyra a defect?” He crouched down, forcibly gripping my chin, his lips curled in a playful yet cruel smile. “So after being passed around by all these men, what does that make you? Guess whether you can still maintain your elite nobility?” My stomach sent piercing pain. That terrifying feeling of life slipping away instantly drowned me. I desperately gripped his suit sleeve, my nails nearly breaking: “Ethan, I’m pregnant… you can’t do this to me…” He looked down at me, his eyes full of disgust and mockery: “Vesper, to gain sympathy, you’d stoop to this kind of lie? You think I’d believe you? Disgusting!” “I’m not lying… it’s true…” The pain in my stomach intensified wave after wave. Warm blood snaked down from the base of my thighs, staining my white dress red. I couldn’t hold on anymore. My hand clutching his sleeve fell limply as I collapsed to the floor. “Vesper, stop pretending.” Ethan sneered, disgustedly brushing off his sleeve as he turned to leave. “If I’d known you were this kind of scheming liar, I’d never have touched you, even if it meant death. Have your fun with her, boys. Just leave her breathing.” The blood kept flowing, more and more, pooling into an alarmingly dark red puddle on the floor. The heavy smell of blood overpowered the aphrodisiacs in the room. He seemed to sense something was wrong and looked back in annoyance. When his gaze touched the expanding crimson beneath me, his pupils suddenly contracted.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “383310”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster