Category: English

After she drifted off to sleep, her phone buzzed with a notification from the cloud: [32 photos in “Recently Deleted” will be permanently removed soon.] Driven by a dark, inexplicable impulse, I tapped it. The first was a photo of a stranger—a boy, face pressed against a desk, sleeping soundly. The second was a group shot from a department dinner. He was smiling brightly at the camera. She was standing right next to him, her gaze lingering on his profile, her expression softer than I’d seen in years. The third was at a late-night bodega. Both their hands were in the frame, sharing a container of hot soup. The fourth: two movie stubs tucked side-by-side. The fifth, the sixth… Thirty-two photos in total. A curated gallery of a boy she’d been hiding for a long time. The deletion dates coincided perfectly with every time we’d video chatted, every time I’d told her, “I miss you,” like a pathetic child. I restored every single one of them and emailed them to myself. Then, I opened my own camera roll. I selected every memory of us—every anniversary, every grainy selfie from the last seven years—and hit Permanently Delete. Thirty-two photos were her secret. Seven thousand, eight hundred and forty-seven photos were the weight of a ghost I was finally letting go of. 1 Cassidy and I had been together since our freshman year of college. Seven years of long-distance. Everyone back home in our small town asked the same thing: “When is enough, enough?” So, I did it. I quietly resigned from my secure, pension-track civil service job, booked a flight, and flew across the country to Chicago. I wanted to surprise her for her birthday. I wanted to tell her I was finally moving here for good. Instead, in the glow of her phone at 2:00 AM, I found the heartbeats she couldn’t quite bring herself to erase. I knew I shouldn’t keep digging. But I opened her messages anyway. Her “pinned” contact had changed. It wasn’t me anymore. I tapped the profile of a guy named “Jordan.” I scrolled up. There wasn’t any explicit sexting. On the surface, it looked almost innocent. But it was the mundanity that killed me. [Check out this food truck, looks insane!] (Link) [My boss is being a total dick today. I’m fuming.] (Meme) [Watch this, I’m literally crying.] (TikTok link) [Which color hoodie looks better on me?] (Image) (Image) [Drive safe.] [Did you make it home?] [Yeah. Go to sleep. Night. I’ll bring you breakfast tomorrow.] One day. Two days. A week. A month. Three hundred and sixty-five days. Not a single gap in the timeline. I checked his Instagram. Every post—a selfie, a shot of his dog, a complaint about overtime—had a heart from her. I realized then I couldn’t remember the last time she’d even seen one of my stories. I’d convinced myself she was just “buried in work.” I opened her DoorDash history. The “Frequent Addresses” included her apartment, my place back home, and a third, unfamiliar location. Her order history was a diary of devotion: Hangover cures sent at 10:00 AM. Stomach meds. Wontons with the specific note: No cilantro, extra green onions. Late-night fever reducers and a thermometer. A birthday cake and flowers with a digital note: To the best, Jordan. My fingers tightened around her phone, my face slick with tears I didn’t remember shedding. She remembered his hangover kit. She remembered his allergies. She remembered the cake and the card. I spent seven years teaching her those things. I taught her how to make a man feel loved, how to show someone they were the center of her world. She had learned the lesson perfectly. I set the phone back down, moving like a ghost. She was still asleep. Her breathing was steady, her brow relaxed. She looked peaceful. I stared at her for a long time. Seven years ago, in a cramped high school hallway, she’d slipped a note into my locker: “I like you. Want to try being an ‘us’?” Seven years later, every ounce of joy I had died in the silence of the truth she’d hidden. I didn’t wake her. I got up, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and walked out onto the balcony of the 18th-floor apartment. The cold liquid burned my throat, and the Chicago wind slapped my face, forcing me awake. Looking down at the scattered lights of a city that didn’t know me, it hit me: I had just thrown away my career. I had bet my entire future on a woman who was already gone. After a while, I heard footsteps behind me. Arms wrapped around my waist, carrying the warmth of the duvet. “Why are you up?” Her voice was thick with sleep, her chin resting on my shoulder like a contented cat. I didn’t move. “I thought I was dreaming,” she murmured. “I wish I could wake up to you every single day.” I turned and pulled her into my arms. Images flashed in my mind, uncontrollable. Her borrowing my notes in high school and scrawling I love you in the margins. Her saving every cent to take a miserable ten-hour bus ride to see me at my uni, peeling bags of roasted chestnuts for me because she knew they were my favorite. She’d told me that once she climbed the corporate ladder in the city, she’d come back and marry me. Her eyes had been so bright; she wasn’t just selling me a dream, she believed it. The gifts that arrived exactly on time for every anniversary. The way she was always the first to apologize after a fight. Seven years. We’d survived the distance, the temptations, the growth spurts of our twenties. Or so I thought. My eyes burned. Maybe it was the wind. Maybe I was just weak. I told myself: Maybe she’s just lonely. She’s alone in this massive city, working late, with no one to talk to. Maybe he’s just a work friend. Maybe I’m overreacting. She didn’t wait for an answer. She pulled me back to the bedroom, tucked me into the sheets, and held me. Her breathing soon leveled out again. I stared at the ceiling until the dark turned to gray, then to white. When the sun finally hit the glass, I made a choice. I’d give her one chance. I’d wait until after her birthday, and then we’d have the talk. 2 The next morning, Cassidy had to go into the office. She offered to drop me at a mall to kill time. When I got in the car, I reflexively tried to connect my phone to the Bluetooth. The device list popped up on the dashboard. There was a name I recognized, yet didn’t: [Jordan’s iPhone]. I stared at it, the air leaving my lungs. She was backing out of the spot. She caught the screen out of the corner of her eye and went still for two beats. Without a word, she reached over, took my phone, and manually synced it for me. When she handed it back, she squeezed my hand, the way she always did. I forced a smile and tucked the phone away. Outside, the morning rush was a slow crawl of steel and red lights. In the glove box, I saw a shaving kit. A brand I didn’t use. And Cassidy would never buy a men’s razor for herself. I couldn’t stop the thoughts. On the mornings I wasn’t here, was she picking him up at this exact time? Was he sitting in my seat, playing his music? Did she look at him during red lights the way she used to look at me? Did she laugh? Did she ruffle his hair with that indulgent look in her eyes? The car pulled up to the mall entrance. As I moved to get out, Cassidy grabbed my hand. She looked hesitant. “Hey, the team is really pushing to take me out for my birthday tonight. It’s also a celebration for the project launch… it’s kind of a big deal. I promise I’ll be back by midnight so we can blow out the candles together. Just us.” I looked at her. There was a flicker of guilt in her eyes, a plea for permission. “Can’t I come?” She blinked, surprised. “Am I that much of an embarrassment?” I asked. She stammered, “What? No, of course not. It’s just… it’s going to be all work talk. I don’t want you to feel out of place.” She squeezed my hand again. “I’ll come get you tonight. I’ll show them all what an amazing boyfriend I have.” I nodded and got out. I stood on the sidewalk and watched her car merge into the sea of traffic until it disappeared. 3 That evening, I saw him the moment I walked into the private room at the bistro. Jordan. He wasn’t as handsome as his photos, but he had a clean, effortless charm. When he saw Cassidy walk in holding my hand, his smile faltered for a split second. A colleague started chanting, “Okay, Cassidy! You told us you had a boyfriend, but we all thought he was a ‘fake boyfriend’ to keep the interns away. We didn’t realize he was actually a model!” Cassidy leaned into me, smiling naturally. “I just didn’t want you guys getting jealous. We’ve been together for seven years. Long-distance. He’s been working back home in the public sector.” There were whistles and claps. I watched Jordan out of the corner of my eye. He picked up his glass and took a long, heavy swallow. “Seven years?” He finally spoke. His voice wasn’t loud, but the table went quiet. “You guys must be really solid.” He looked at me with an innocent, curious expression. “So why wouldn’t you move here for her? Are you… just keeping her as a backup plan?” The air froze for a couple of seconds. A coworker laughed awkwardly, trying to break the tension. “Jordan’s had a few too many. He’s just joking.” I didn’t get angry. I didn’t mention that I’d already quit my job to be with her. “I think it’s important to take care of yourself first,” I said, offering a tight smile. “I put my own career first. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.” He opened his mouth but couldn’t find a comeback. Cassidy’s grip on my hand tightened, her face stiffening. “It was a mutual decision,” she said. “I wanted to build my career first. Once I’m settled, I’m going home to marry him.” Jordan went pale. He looked down and reached for the bottle again. Later, I slipped away to the restroom. On my way back, I heard voices around the corner. “…what’s the deal with Cassidy’s boyfriend? He just appears out of thin air?” “No idea. I totally thought she and Jordan were a thing. They’re always together—dinners, late nights at the office. She’s so protective of him.” “Me too. I thought they were just keeping it low-key because of HR.” “Now that the ‘real’ guy is here, look at Jordan’s face. Yikes.” “I mean, they’re inseparable, and suddenly this ‘fiancé’ type shows up. Who wouldn’t be gutted?” There was a pause, then a sigh. “Honestly? I think Jordan is a better fit. They’re both in the city, both grinding. What does the small-town guy bring to the table besides seven years of history?” “Isn’t seven years enough?” “Since when is history enough to pay the bills? You think Cassidy is actually going to give up her VP track to move back to the middle of nowhere?” I stood there, my nails digging into my palms. Back in the room, I sat down and just… watched. Cassidy was talking to the person next to her about project deadlines, but every few minutes, her eyes would drift. To Jordan. He was slumped over his drink, his face flushed, looking like a kicked puppy. Every time she looked at him, her brow furrowed with a tiny, pained crease. The atmosphere was thick with a tension I was done with. “I’m tired,” I said. “I’m heading back.” Cassidy immediately stood up. “I’ll take you.” Before she could grab her coat, Jordan looked up and let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Come on, Cassidy. Seriously?” His voice was airy, somewhere between drunk and mocking. “He’s a grown man. Is he going to get lost on the way to the Uber?” The table went silent. People looked at their phones or suddenly found their salads very interesting. Cassidy’s frown deepened. I stood up and grabbed my bag. “Don’t worry about it. Stay with your friends. I’ll find my own way.” I didn’t look at anyone as I walked out. Cassidy didn’t follow me. 4 Back at her apartment, I sat on the sofa. I opened a burner account on a forum and typed: “If your girlfriend is amazing to another guy but still ‘loves’ you, what do you call that?” Someone replied instantly: “You call it ‘having her cake and eating it too.’ Wake up, man.” I stared at that for a long time. Then I went to her desk and opened her laptop. Cassidy was meticulous. She backed up everything—texts, photos, documents—into organized folders. I used to admire her for being so transparent, so grounded. Now I realized it just made her better at hiding things in plain sight. I exported her chat history with Jordan to my email. Just as I was about to shut it down, I saw a browser tab she’d forgotten to close. It was a secondary Instagram account. The handle was: Jordan’s_Girl_C. I scrolled through the posts. He had posted a photo of a concert stage, with Cassidy’s profile barely visible in the dark. Caption: [Best concert ever. Thanks for being there for me, C.] That was my birthday. She’d sent me an expensive diamond watch that morning. She’d told me she was “stuck in a marathon meeting” and couldn’t call. I’d waited until 2:00 AM for a phone call that never came. The next day, she’d texted: “Sorry baby, I crashed as soon as I got home. I was exhausted.” Another post: Him in an ER waiting room, her hand holding his during an IV drip. [Being sick doesn’t feel so bad when you’re not alone.] That day, I’d had a 103-degree fever. I was shivering under three blankets, crying as I swallowed Tylenol. I’d texted her. She’d replied: “So sorry, honey. I’m slammed. Get some sleep, you’ll feel better in the morning.” There were photos of cakes, candles, silhouettes of two people. [Happy Birthday! I made a wish that we’re doing this again next year.] That was the day I’d gotten my promotion and wanted to celebrate. She’d said, “In a meeting, let’s talk later.” The next day, she’d forgotten to ask. Every single photo corresponded to a moment I was being pushed aside. Every record was a night I spent waiting for a text that was being sent to him instead. She was giving the best parts of our life—the parts that belonged to me—to a boy who didn’t even know I existed. Finally, I found a chat with her best friend, Piper. Piper: “When I visited, it was so obvious how Jordan feels about you. You can’t tell me you don’t feel it too.” Cassidy: “So what? I have Silas.” Piper: “Do you love him? Or is it just a habit?” Cassidy: “I’ve been with him for seven years. I can’t just do that to him.” Not once did she say “I love him.” Not once did she deny the feelings for Jordan. Those few sentences turned my seven years of devotion into a punchline. 5 I had just closed the laptop when the front door opened. “Still up?” Cassidy walked over and leaned down to hug me. She smelled like gin and expensive perfume. “Baby, they made me drink too much. I feel like crap.” I gave her a small, empty smile. “Go to sleep, then.” She mumbled an okay and went to the bathroom. She’d forgotten about the birthday candles. At 11:40 PM, her phone rang. The silence of the room was thin enough that I could hear Jordan’s trembling voice through the speaker: “The power went out in my building. It’s pitch black and I… I can’t be alone right now. Can you come over? Please?” Cassidy looked at me, then back at the phone. She stayed silent for a few seconds. “Jordan, it’s late. Just go to bed. Call the building manager in the morning.” There was a pause, then a sharp, petulant: “Whatever. Forget I asked!” He hung up. She hugged me again. “Work friend lives nearby. He’s a bit dramatic when he drinks,” she explained. I said, “It’s fine. You should go.” She froze, looking up at me. Maybe I looked too calm. Too vacant. She reached out to stroke my hair, her eyes suddenly darting with panic. “What are you talking about? I wouldn’t leave you. I’m staying right here with my guy.” I smiled, got up, and went to take a shower. Under the spray, I stood in front of the mirror, watching my tears disappear into the drain. When I came out, she was passed out on the bed. I picked up her phone. Thirty minutes ago, she’d texted another coworker: [Jordan’s been drinking and his power is out. Can you check on him? Thanks, I owe you one.] Then I saw the last message from Jordan in their thread: [You don’t love him anymore. Stop lying to yourself.] Cassidy hadn’t replied. I set the phone down. Moonlight spilled across her face. I looked at her—the face I’d known for a decade. I could trace every line of her in my sleep. But she felt like a stranger. I walked into the kitchen. I took the birthday cake I’d spent all afternoon making from scratch. I dropped it in the trash. My suitcase was still by the door. I packed my chargers, my toiletries, the hoodie I’d left on the chair. I booked the first flight out in the morning. I booked a hotel by O’Hare. Then, I posted a single line on my private Instagram story: “We never did make it to the ocean after all.” I grabbed my bag and walked out. At the door, I looked back one last time. On the entryway table sat a framed photo of us at the beach last summer. She was on my back, laughing, the sun caught in her hair. She looked so happy. On Cassidy’s twenty-fifth birthday, we didn’t blow out the candles.

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I logged into my Chase app to check our mortgage balance, only to find the loan had been closed out. Paid in full. I hadn’t made an early payoff. Mark hadn’t mentioned doing it, either. I clicked into the transaction history and saw a massive incoming wire. $680,000. Memo: Escrow Disbursement – Property Sale. A fine tremor started in my fingers. Our house had been sold. And I was the last person to know. 1. I called Mark. It rang six times before he picked up. “Hey, what’s up?” His tone was perfectly casual. Exactly like any other day. I stared at the string of numbers on my phone screen. $680,000. “What time are you coming home today?” “Working late. Might be a while.” “What time?” He paused. “Is everything okay? You sound a little off.” “I’m fine. Just wondering when you’ll be back.” “Probably around nine.” “Okay.” I hung up. My screen was still locked on the banking app. Escrow Disbursement. $680,000. When we bought this house, the purchase price was $750,000. The down payment was $250,000—money my parents put together for us. My dad had just gotten out of the hospital after having stents put in his heart. He literally dragged himself out of his recovery bed to go to the bank and authorize the wire. My mom drained every CD and savings account she had spent her life building. “Sweetheart, the house goes in your name,” my mom had told me. “This is your safety net. Your leverage in this world.” The deed to the house had one name on it. Joanna. Just my name. And now, this house had been sold. Without my knowledge. I took a slow, jagged breath. I didn’t make a second phone call. Instead, I opened my browser and navigated to the county property appraiser’s website. I typed in our parcel number. The page loaded for three agonizing seconds. Ownership Status: Conveyed. Recording Date: February 18. Today was March 11. Twenty-one days ago. My house had been sold and the title transferred, right under my nose, twenty-one days ago. I closed the browser. I stood in the center of the living room, looking at this home. I had picked out that sofa. I had chosen those curtains. Every pot, pan, and plate in the kitchen, I had bought with my own hands. Our framed wedding photo still hung on the wall. Mark was smiling so handsomely in the picture. Looking at his face now, he felt like a complete stranger. I didn’t cry. I opened my messages and texted my best friend, Brooke. Brooke was an attorney specializing in family law and high-net-worth divorces. “You around? I have a legal hypothetical.” She replied instantly. “Shoot.” “A house is bought prior to marriage. The deed is solely in the wife’s name. Her parents paid the down payment. Husband and wife contribute to the mortgage together for three years. Can the husband legally sell the house without the wife knowing?” She sent back a single question mark. “Just a hypothetical,” I typed. A voice memo popped up. I pressed play. “If it’s pre-marital property and the deed is solely in your name, he has zero legal authority to dispose of it. If he forged your signature, faked a Power of Attorney, or used a fraudulent notary to close the sale, the contract is voidable. That’s felony fraud. Jo, don’t panic. Tell me what’s actually going on.” I didn’t reply right away. I stared at the screen for a long time. Then, I typed four words: “I’ll call you later.” I needed to figure something out first. Why did he sell the house? And where did the money go? At ten past nine that night, Mark walked through the front door. He took off his shoes, walked into the living room, and saw me sitting on the couch. “Did you eat?” he asked. “Yeah.” He walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and grabbed a bottle of water. So normal. Just like every other night of the past three years. I watched him. “Mark.” “Hmm?” “Is there anything you need to tell me?” He unscrewed the cap and took a sip of water. “No. Why? What’s going on?” He looked me right in the eye. He was perfectly calm. No dodging. No guilt. Either he was an Oscar-worthy actor, or he genuinely didn’t believe he had done anything wrong. “Nothing,” I said. “Just asking.” He chuckled. “You’re acting weird today.” Then he walked into the bedroom. I sat on the couch, listening to the sound of the shower running in the master bath. I reached over and picked up his phone from the coffee table. He didn’t have a passcode. He never did. I had never snooped through his phone. Not once in our three years of marriage. But tonight was different. I opened his banking and payment apps. Zelle. Venmo. Nothing weird in his recent contacts. I opened his transaction history. I scrolled past three pages of mundane purchases. And then I saw a name. Camille Lawson. Transfer amount: $15,000. Date: February 20. Two days after the house was recorded as sold. I kept scrolling down. $10,000. $8,000. $5,000. $5,000. $3,000. $3,000. $3,000. $1,500. $1,000. $1,000. $500. $500. $500. … I kept swiping. One page. Two pages. Three. Four. The earliest transfer was from April 2023. Three years ago. Mark and I got married in January 2023. Which meant, exactly three months into our marriage, he had started funneling money to Camille Lawson. I did the math in my head, adding up the amounts. $125,000. Three years. One hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars. I set the phone back down. It sat on the coffee table, the screen still glowing. Camille Lawson. I knew that name. She was Mark’s college sweetheart. The one who got away. His tragic first love. He had brought her up once, in a very dismissive tone, saying they broke up after graduation and never spoke again. Never spoke again. $125,000. The shower shut off. I nudged the phone back to its exact original position. He walked out, toweling off his hair. “You coming to bed?” “In a minute.” He glanced at me, didn’t say anything else, and turned off the living room light. He fell asleep almost instantly. His breathing was deep and even, as if absolutely nothing was wrong in the world. I lay in the dark, my eyes wide open. The man sleeping next to me—the man I had shared a bed with for over a thousand nights. He had secretly sold my home. He had given another woman a hundred and twenty-five grand. And now he was sleeping peacefully beside me. I didn’t sleep a wink that night. 2. The next morning, I called in sick to work. When Mark was getting ready to leave, I pretended to still be asleep. The moment I heard the front door click shut, my eyes snapped open. It was time to get to work. First order of business: I called Brooke. This time, there were no hypotheticals. I told her everything. The house was sold, the down payment was from my parents, the deed was solely in my name, and Mark had transferred the title behind my back. Brooke was silent for five full seconds. “You never signed a Power of Attorney? A quitclaim deed?” “Never.” “You didn’t e-sign anything via DocuSign when it went into escrow?” “I knew absolutely nothing about it.” “Then how the hell did it clear title?” Brooke’s voice shifted from sympathetic friend to shark lawyer. “The deed is in your name. Without you present, without a notarized authorization from you, no title company or buyer’s agent on earth would dare touch that transaction.” I didn’t know. “Jo, this is incredibly dark,” she said. “Don’t tip him off yet. Let me pull the closing documents from the county records. I’ll find out exactly what kind of fraudulent paperwork he filed.” “Okay.” “One more thing,” she paused. “Who is Camille Lawson?” “His college ex.” “A hundred and twenty-five grand over three years.” “Yeah.” “Jo.” “Yeah.” “Don’t cry yet.” “I’m not crying.” And I wasn’t. From yesterday until this exact moment, I hadn’t shed a single tear. Not because I was strong. Because I was furious. The kind of blinding, suffocating rage that burns your tears away before they can even form. After hanging up with Brooke, I moved to step two. I booted up Mark’s desktop in the home office. He always left it logged in, but I knew his password anyway—our wedding anniversary. I opened his iMessage app, which synced with his phone. In the search bar, I typed: Camille. The chat history populated. The most recent message was from last night. Mark: When is the surgery scheduled? Camille: Next Wednesday. Thank you, Mark. Mark: Don’t thank me. Just focus on getting better. Camille: I will. When I’m healed, I’m taking you out to dinner. Mark replied with a smiley face. I scrolled up. Line by line. I read for an hour. Three years of text messages. The first year was restrained. How have you been? I’m okay. Take care of yourself. Around early 2024, the frequency picked up. Work was brutal today. Did you eat? Go to sleep early. It read like the mundane intimacy of a couple. In March 2025, Camille told him she was sick. The texts didn’t explicitly name the illness, but after that day, the size of his cash transfers spiked. $5,000. $8,000. $10,000. By late 2025, Camille texted that she needed a massive surgery. The cost: $700,000. Mark replied: I’ll figure it out. In January 2026, Mark started messaging real estate agents. I kept scrolling. And then I found it. A text from Mark to Camille, dated January 15, 2026. I listed the house. The realtor says the market is hot, we can easily pull over 800k. Camille replied: Won’t… your wife find out? Mark: She won’t. I pay the mortgage from my account anyway. I’ll handle the deed stuff. I stared at those two lines. I’ll handle the deed stuff. He knew the house belonged to me. He knew he had no legal right to sell it. He did it anyway. I kept scrolling. Early February 2026. Camille: Did you find a buyer? Mark: Yeah. A friend of a friend introduced us. Price is locked at $750k. Closing by the end of the month. Camille: But what about the closing paperwork… your wife… Mark: I talked to a guy. I’m having someone forge her signature and getting a buddy to notarize it. She never checks this stuff. Forge her signature. My hands started shaking. Not from fear. From pure, unadulterated hatred. I started taking screenshots. One by one. Every single incriminating exchange. I forwarded them all to a hidden folder in my own email. Then, I kept scrolling all the way back. To the very beginning. April 2023. The day they reconnected. Camille: Long time no see. Mark: It’s been a long time, Cam. April 2023. We had been married for three months. I had just found out I was pregnant. Pregnant. Suddenly, a memory slammed into me—something I thought I had buried forever. June 2023. I was two months along. Mark sat me down on the couch and held my hands. “Jo, this just isn’t the right time. The financial pressure is too much right now. The mortgage is killing us. Let’s just wait a little longer.” I didn’t want to wait. I was thirty. We had been trying for six months to get those two pink lines. But he kept pushing. “We can’t afford it.” He sounded so earnest. So deeply stressed. “Once I get my promotion, once we have a real cushion, we’ll try again. I promise.” My mom went with me to the clinic. While I was in the procedure room, my mom sat in the waiting area and wept. I didn’t cry. I thought he was making a responsible, adult choice. If we couldn’t afford a child, it was unfair to bring one into the world. But now I knew the truth. In June 2023, he told me we “couldn’t afford it.” In June 2023, he Zelle’d Camille Lawson $3,000. The exact same month. He said he couldn’t afford to raise our child. And in that very same month, he sent three thousand dollars to another woman. I shut the computer down. I stood up. I walked out to the balcony. The sunlight was blinding. Down in the manicured courtyard of our subdivision, a neighbor was walking a golden retriever. Everything was so quiet. So profoundly normal. I stood there for a very long time. Then I picked up my phone and texted Brooke. “He used a fraudulent notary. He had someone forge my signature. I have screenshots of the texts proving it.” Brooke replied with two words: “Fucking animal.” Then she sent another text: “Hang tight. I’m pulling the buyer’s info. He is not getting away with this.” I wasn’t in a rush. From the moment I saw that massive deposit in the Chase app until now, it hadn’t even been twenty-four hours. But I had already learned two life-altering things. First, my husband had stolen and sold my house, committed felony fraud, and given the cash to the ghost of his past. Second, he and his tragic first love had never stopped talking, and he had bled our marriage dry to the tune of $125,000. But I knew this wasn’t the bottom. There had to be more. I needed time. I needed patience. Before he realized I knew anything, I was going to dig up every single skeleton he had buried. And then, I was going to burn his life to the ground. 3. Brooke worked fast. By day three, she sent me a heavily redacted PDF. “I found the buyer.” Buyer’s Name: David Lawson. I didn’t know anyone by that name. But the last name hit me like a physical blow. Lawson. “Run a background check on Camille Lawson’s immediate family,” I texted back. Ten minutes later, Brooke sent a screenshot from a public records database. Camille Lawson. Born 1990. Immediate relatives: Father, Arthur Lawson. Mother, Susan Lawson. Brother, David Lawson. The buyer was the ex-girlfriend’s biological brother. I stared at the name. David Lawson. This wasn’t a standard real estate transaction. This was money laundering. Mark sold my house to his ex’s brother, funneling the equity straight into Camille’s pockets. From start to finish, the whole thing was a coordinated, premeditated setup. I called Brooke and walked her through the connection. She went dead silent on the line. “Jo, this is worse than I thought,” she finally said. “He didn’t just sell your property without your consent. He colluded with a third party to deliberately siphon your pre-marital assets. This crosses out of family court and straight into a criminal indictment.” “I know.” “What’s your play here?” “It’s not time yet.” “What does that mean?” “I still have more digging to do.” Brooke didn’t press me. She knew how my brain worked. I was a corporate forensic accountant. I had spent the last decade tearing apart cooked books and finding hidden offshore accounts. Numbers don’t lie. So, I started an audit on my own marriage. A cold, calculated audit. By day, I went to work. By night, I made dinner, smiled at Mark, and asked him how his day was. He had no idea I was watching him like a specimen in a jar. He ate the food I cooked, drank the coffee I brewed, and slept on the sheets I washed, totally oblivious. Sometimes he would even wrap his arms around me from behind and murmur, “You work so hard for us, babe.” I would just smile. “Anything for us.” While my brain was screaming: Not as hard as you worked to commit real estate fraud, you son of a bitch. It took me a week to compile the master file. I pulled three years’ worth of Mark’s bank statements. His direct deposits went into a joint account he claimed he was “too bad with money” to manage, leaving me to handle the budgeting. The irony was suffocating. I opened Excel and built a ledger. Line by line. His salary, his quarterly bonuses, his end-of-year payouts. Minus the mortgage, utilities, and his credit card bills. The remainder—the surplus of his life—had flowed almost entirely into one account. Camille Lawson. Three years. $125,400. I color-coded the spreadsheet. Arranged chronologically by month. Every transfer: Date, Amount, Memo line. And then, a specific row caught my eye. June 2023. That month, his salary and bonus hit the account: $4,000. The mortgage auto-drafted: $1,800. He transferred $3,000 to Camille. Ending balance: Negative $800. His credit card bill that month was $600. The month he sat on the couch and told me we “couldn’t afford a baby,” his own checking account was deeply in the red. Because he had given the money to Camille. It wasn’t that he couldn’t afford a child. It was that he took the money meant for our baby and handed it to his ex-girlfriend. I stared at the row in the spreadsheet. June 2023. Transfer: $3,000. Memo: [Blank] Corresponding Event: Joanna’s abortion. I highlighted the row in blood red. Deep breath. Keep going. There was one last thing I needed to audit. Camille’s “illness.” 4. Verifying Camille’s medical condition was tricky. HIPAA laws are airtight. But I had a workaround. My cousin Rachel had been a charge nurse at a massive research hospital for fifteen years. I didn’t ask her directly. I took her out to lunch. Halfway through our salads, I casually brought it up. “Hey, Rach, do you guys ever see procedures that are just astronomically expensive? Like, close to a million dollars?” Rachel paused, her fork hovering. “A million? What kind of disease are we talking about?” “A friend of a friend has someone who needs surgery, and they’re trying to crowdfund $700,000 out of pocket.” Rachel shook her head. “$700,000? Unless they are getting a multi-organ transplant with zero insurance, or they’re flying to Switzerland for some unapproved experimental trial, no. Major surgeries in the US, even the catastrophic ones, max out in the low hundreds of thousands before insurance out-of-pocket maximums kick in.” “What if it’s…” I tried to remember the vague phrasing from Mark’s texts. “…a chronic illness that requires long-term intervention?” “Long-term care and surgical fees are billed entirely differently,” Rachel explained. “A surgery is an episodic charge. Subsequent treatments run through insurance. Unless this is a 100% private-pay, concierge medical tourism situation.” “If it is private pay, abroad, what’s the cap?” “Depends on the protocol. Tell your friend to get the itemized estimate from the clinic. I can look it up and tell you if they’re getting scammed.” I smiled tightly. “Thanks, I’ll let them know.” Lunch wasn’t a waste. I confirmed one massive red flag: a flat $700,000 surgical fee was a fairy tale.

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I thought Frederic shielding me from a knife with his own body was the deepest love of my life. Then I discovered it was all a staged act, a calculated ploy to make me willingly lie on the operating table and donate my bone marrow to his childhood sweetheart with leukemia, Lydia. He bought the hospital, deceived my mother, watched me take “nutritional supplements” every day, all to turn me into a convenient source of blood. When they injected me with sedatives and forcibly extracted my marrow, my mother died alone in a car accident. I never got to see her one last time. I dragged my broken body to a remote mountain village, completely numb inside. Two years later, he knelt at the medical station entrance begging for my forgiveness. I laughed coldly and handed him surgical scissors. “You said you loved me, right? Then reopen that scar you got from ‘saving’ me, and we’ll be even.” He actually did it, blood dripping onto the ground. I turned to smile at Luke, who had just returned. “Come on, the steaks are done. We’re having a feast tonight.” Watching the tenderness in my eyes for another man, Frederic completely broke down.

Clara’s POV Everyone envied me because this love was something Frederic had risked his life for. Three years ago, when a crazed patient’s family member raised a knife to strike, I thought I was dead. It was Frederic who blocked that fatal blow with his bare hands. His blood sprayed onto my white coat, dripping down the hem. As chaos erupted in the emergency room, he simply covered my eyes with that blood-soaked hand and said in a steady voice, “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.” That scar across his palm, deep enough to show bone, became the ultimate proof of his love for me. To ensure I’d never be frightened again, billionaire Frederic swiftly dealt with all the trouble. He brought me to high society galas, announcing to everyone that I was his future wife. To let me complete my residency in an absolutely safe environment, he spent money to buy shares in an entire private hospital. I thought, on this exhausting path of practicing medicine, Frederic was my only safe harbor. But tonight, everything changed. I walked into his study carrying warm milk. The drawer under his desk was half-open. I set down the glass and reached to close the drawer for him. The moment my fingers touched the edge, a medical document pressed beneath business reports showed its corner. Professional instinct made me sensitive to medical terminology. I pulled out the document. The header was printed in bold black: Bone Marrow Matching Agreement. Donor: Clara. Recipient: Lydia. Match similarity: Ten out of ten loci fully compatible. Those names stabbed at my eyes. Lydia, Frederic’s childhood friend who had leukemia and grew up receiving treatment abroad. My hand holding the agreement trembled uncontrollably. Not only did it contain my detailed physical examination data, it even outlined a three-month bone marrow maturation plan. Every item on the plan had a red checkmark next to it. My gaze froze rigidly on the familiar handwriting at the signature line as tears splashed onto the pages. So when Frederic had lovingly coaxed me, practicing writing my name over and over on blank papers, it wasn’t some romantic gesture. It was so he could forge my “signature” on this agreement. Footsteps suddenly sounded outside the door. I hurriedly shoved the document back in the drawer and retreated into the shadows by the bookshelf, holding my breath. Frederic didn’t enter. He answered a phone call in the hallway, his voice low. “Stop rushing me. Her hematopoietic stem cells haven’t reached optimal condition yet.” “Frederic, you’re being way too good to Clara. You even bought her a private hospital. People who don’t know better would think you actually fell for that resident doctor.” The teasing voice of his friend came through the phone, carrying a hint of amusement. Frederic didn’t respond. I felt completely drained, desperately covering my mouth to keep from making a sound. Cold dread climbed up my spine, numbing my limbs. The friend’s voice continued on the phone. “But seriously, hiring those actors to cause trouble in the ER, even deliberately taking that knife yourself. That false flag operation was brilliant. Clara’s completely devoted to you now. Won’t Lydia be jealous if she sees how you two interact normally?” Frederic cut him off coldly. “Shut up. Discussing Lydia’s situation to my face. Do you have a death wish?” “My bad, my bad. Everyone knows Lydia is precious to you. This is all to make Clara willingly lie on that operating table, right?” “Once the matching matures, we’ll use her marrow to save Lydia’s life.” Frederic didn’t refute it. He just rubbed his temples and gave a low warning. “Keep your mouth shut. Don’t let anything leak before the surgery. After it’s done, I’ll transfer a substantial health compensation from my account, enough for her to recover comfortably for the rest of her life.” Whatever else they said, I couldn’t hear anymore. Crouched in the dead corner by the bookshelf, my mind went completely blank.

Clara’s POV I’d been determined to study medicine since I was eighteen. Three years ago, I nearly died under that blade. The memories churned violently in my chest. The patient’s family member suddenly attacking, the blade cutting through air, blood everywhere… it was all staged by Frederic? I’d spent six months recovering, hiding in the house he bought, doing psychological rehabilitation day and night. He was the one who pulled me out of that psychological shadow. He was the one who coaxed me to sleep every night, saying “I’ll protect you from now on.” He even brought my mother from the suburbs into the city center. He even brought my mother from the suburbs into the city center. He spent a fortune arranging for her to stay at a top tier nursing facility under the family corporation. My mother had bad legs. He, a billionaire, personally knelt on the floor to change her bandages and wash her feet. My mother would hold his hand and laugh until she cried. “Frederic, I think of you as my own son. With Clara in your hands, I can close my eyes peacefully one day.” He would grip her hand back, eyes utterly sincere. “You’ll recover. I’ll protect Clara with my life.” In my final university year, he proposed to me for the first time, kneeling at the end of the emergency department corridor, saying “I love you.” Every time I saw the knife scar on his palm, I’d cry from heartache. I’d made him the only light in my life! It was all fake. No crazed patient’s family, no salvation. Just a cruel calculation to obtain quality bone marrow. After a long silence, the hallway went quiet. Frederic pushed open the study door, glanced at the warm milk on the desk, picked it up and took a sip, then turned and left. It wasn’t until the study door closed completely that I realized tears had been streaming down my face. An uncontrollable nausea rose in my stomach. I stumbled into the study’s attached bathroom, kneeling over the toilet and dry heaving violently. But only mouthfuls of acidic water came up. Trembling, I pulled out my phone and dialed the number at the very bottom of my contacts. My university advisor, now serving as medical team leader in a remote city. The phone rang for a long time before someone answered. “Professor, I’m sorry to bother you so late.” I pinched my thigh hard, suppressing the sob in my throat. “Clara? What happened? Your voice sounds wrong.” My advisor was clearly startled on the other end. I covered my mouth, shaking my head frantically as tears splashed onto the floor. “Professor, I’ve just made up my mind. I want to apply to join your remote mountain medical team. Is it still possible to sign up?” “Really? Clara, it would be wonderful if you could come! We’re desperately short-staffed here. I heard you ranked first in your residency evaluation… When can you leave?” “One week.” I bit down hard, swallowing the bloody taste in my mouth. “Once I handle things here, I’ll definitely come.” After hanging up, I braced myself against the sink and stood up, forcefully wiping the tears from my face. I stared at the red-eyed woman in the mirror and let out an extremely soft, cold laugh. How stupid, Clara. As a doctor who’d seen death and betrayal countless times, how could I give my heart to a businessman and expect salvation? I returned to the bedroom, opened my laptop, and without any hesitation bought a one-way ticket to the remote mountains for one week later. Then I dragged my suitcase out from under the bed and began mechanically stuffing in medical books and notes. From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of the long row of foreign labeled “premium nutritional supplements” on the nightstand, ones Frederic had specially air shipped from abroad every week, claiming they were to restore my health after years of night shifts. Every single day, like an extremely responsible husband, he’d personally pour warm water and watch me swallow them. Now it seemed they were nothing but catalysts to mature my bone marrow. I stared at the pill bottle in my hand, feeling a dull, cutting pain in my heart. The door lock clicked softly. “Why didn’t you take your supplements today?” A warm chest suddenly pressed against me from behind. Frederic pushed through the door, his arm naturally circling my waist, chin resting on my shoulder. His tone carried its usual teasing affection, his breath carrying the mint scent I used to crave most.

Clara’s POV Every muscle in my body tensed instantly. I forced down the nausea rising to my throat. “I just took them.” I heard my own hollow voice. “Why did you pull out your suitcase? Aren’t you working in the ER tomorrow?” Frederic’s gaze moved past my shoulder to the half-open suitcase. He frowned and released one hand to pull open my desk drawer. Inside was the train ticket purchase confirmation I’d just printed. I grabbed his wrist abruptly. The instant our skin touched, sticky revulsion overwhelmed me. My face turned pale, fingertips ice-cold. “Not feeling well?” Frederic grasped my hand in return, using his other hand to check my forehead. “Why are you sweating so much?” “I did back-to-back shifts in the ER for over ten hours. I’m tired.” I turned my head away from his hand. “I’m looking for thick clothes to wash. The season’s changing soon.” Frederic didn’t probe further, just scooped me up and tucked me into bed. “Tomorrow I’ll have someone schedule a full physical exam and give you two days off to rest properly. Your health can’t afford any mistakes.” He emphasized that last sentence. I closed my eyes, pretending to sleep. That night, I had a nightmare. In the dream, the troublemaking family member’s knife didn’t strike Frederic. It plunged straight into my chest. Blood gushed out. Frederic, wearing a surgical mask, approached with blood collection tubes, smiling. “Your blood is perfect for Lydia.” “No!” I cried and struggled. A hazy voice drifted through the dream. “Clara, don’t be afraid. I’m here.” Frederic pulled me into his arms, patting my back like comforting a child, kissing away the cold sweat on my forehead. Like a dying fish, I bit down hard on his forearm. Frederic grunted but didn’t push me away. Instead, he held me tighter. I slowly released my jaw, tasting rusty blood in my mouth. I numbly pushed him away, staring at the teeth marks on his arm, realizing I didn’t even have the strength to push him off. “Had a nightmare? Don’t be afraid. I’m right here with you.” He continued playing the perfect fiancé. The next morning, before leaving, he left warm water and pills on the nightstand, then sent a message reminding me to pick up my latest checkup report from hematology. Expressionless, I flushed all those expensive pills down the toilet. Such meticulous care for a walking blood bank about to go under the knife. His patience was truly admirable. Well, he had been acting for three years after all. I went to the hospital alone. The head of the physical examination department saw my report and joked with a smile. “Clara, you’re very healthy. Those loving nutritious meals Frederic has delivered every day haven’t been wasted.” Yes, excellent condition. I took the report back to my office. Passing by the VIP ward, I stopped inexplicably. Through a palm-width crack in the door, I could see inside clearly. Frederic sat on the edge of the bed. He held a bowl in his hands. Lydia leaned against soft pillows, face pale. Frederic scooped up a spoonful of chicken soup and blew on it to cool it down. He brought the spoon to Lydia’s lips. “Is it too hot?” His voice was low and gentle. Lydia shook her head, swallowed the soup, then reached up to grab the corner of his clothing. Frederic naturally set down the bowl and pulled out a wet wipe to carefully dab the corners of her mouth. His movements were practiced and natural, full of tender care. My heart ached watching this. So this was Frederic’s truly devoted side. “Frederic, I’m really scared. What if Clara changes her mind? After all, bone marrow extraction isn’t a small burden on the body.” That was Lydia’s voice, delicate, aggrieved, carrying a pitiful worry. Frederic gripped her hand in return. He pressed her hand against his own cheek. “Don’t overthink it.” He tapped Lydia’s nose. Lydia leaned into his embrace. Frederic extended his arm around her shoulders, chin resting on top of her head. “She won’t back out.” Frederic’s voice was certain, yet somehow carried a hint of heaviness even he hadn’t noticed. “Once this bone marrow transplant is over, I’ll give her a substantial compensation in my personal capacity, and I’ll transfer the villa in the south district to her name. She saved you. I won’t mistreat her. Ensuring she’s financially secure for the rest of her life is the least I can do.”

Clara’s POV The hospital room fell silent for a moment, then Lydia’s even softer voice came through. “Frederic, you’re so good. Clara worked so hard to save my life. Once I recover and we get married, I’ll definitely treat her like family and repay her kindness properly.” At this point, Lydia paused and looked up at him. Her tone took on a carefully probing quality. “But Frederic… spending all this time together with Clara… have you… developed feelings for her?” The hospital room fell into brief dead silence. Outside the door, I pressed against the cold tiled wall, nails digging deep into my palms, holding my breath waiting for that answer. After a long while, Frederic’s dismissive low laugh finally came from inside, as if reassuring her, or perhaps desperately convincing himself. “What are you thinking? I only feel gratitude toward her, nothing else. The person I love has always been you, Lydia.” Hearing those words, I slowly released my clenched hands, letting the blood from my nail marks blur across my palm. So in his heart, my life-saving devotion amounted to nothing more than “gratitude” and compensation money to buy off the relationship. With that final glance, I saw Lydia smile provocatively in my direction. I felt completely hollow inside. I stumbled back several steps, turned and ran toward the stairwell. Three years of constant companionship. In his eyes, it was just deception and gratitude. That evening at the villa, Frederic sat on the living room sofa flipping through a magazine. I took off my coat, put on my most obedient act, changed into slippers and sat down beside him. “Why do you look so pale?” He set down the magazine, habitually pinching my chin to examine me carefully, concern flickering in his eyes, concern he himself hadn’t even noticed. “I assisted in two back to back emergency resuscitations. Low blood sugar.” I turned my head, turning away just enough to avoid his touch. A flash of something passed through Frederic’s eyes as his hand froze mid-air. He didn’t actually want to hurt me. It was just that Lydia’s condition required bone marrow. He kept telling himself this was merely a transaction. Just then, my phone in my pocket buzzed. A strange text appeared on the lock screen: Hello Clara, your car in parking level B3, section D has been scratched by another vehicle. Please come handle it when you’re free. I turned around and said naturally to Frederic, “Property management just messaged. They said my car got slightly scratched in the garage. I’ll go down to deal with it now.” The underground garage was dimly lit, permanently reeking of damp mold. I’d just reached section D when several drunk, ill-intentioned men surrounded me from behind the pillars. “This little beauty looks so pure. Why don’t you keep us company tonight, sweetheart!” The lead man leered, lunging forward to grab my collar and roughly tear at my clothes. The crisp sound of buttons popping echoed sharply in the garage. I stumbled backward in horror. In the dim light, I recognized the lead man’s face. It was the “fake patient’s family member” who’d held the knife three years ago in the emergency room! “Get away! Don’t touch me!” I struggled desperately, but the disparity in strength was too great. Just as the man’s rough hands were about to completely shred my clothing and push me into hell. A massive crash! Blinding headlights suddenly blazed over us, accompanied by the shriek of emergency brakes. Frederic jumped out of the car, eyes bloodshot. “You’re dead!” Like a rabid beast, Frederic kicked the lead man flying several meters away. He struck viciously, quickly beating the remaining thugs bloody and sending them scrambling away in terror. After driving off the attackers, Frederic spun around abruptly, stripping off his suit jacket and wrapping my disheveled form tightly. He crushed me forcefully into his embrace, his usually steady, strong arms now trembling violently. “Clara… it’s okay now, I’m here, don’t be afraid…” Frederic held me tightly, his lingering fear palpable, his voice betraying a deep panic and terror he himself hadn’t recognized. In that moment, he genuinely feared losing me, feared me getting hurt in the slightest. Yet leaning against Frederic’s warm chest, listening to his violent heartbeat, I only felt like I’d plunged into an icy abyss, cold to the bone. I stared blankly at the direction those men had fled, recognizing the temporary actor who’d wielded the knife three years ago.

Clara’s POV How absurd. Three years ago, to get close to me, he’d hired people to stage an act, blocked a knife for me, and stole my heart. Now, to ensure I’d willingly lie on the operating table to donate marrow to Lydia, he’d used the same trick again, hiring the same group to perform this cheap “hero rescues beauty” routine to deepen my devotion? “Clara?” Sensing my stiffness, Frederic looked down anxiously to check on me. “I’m fine.” I slowly pushed away slightly, abandoning my struggle and obediently lowering my eyes. I concealed the disappointment deep in my gaze. Frederic, to drain every last drop of my usefulness, you’ve really gone to great lengths. The next morning, I’d barely walked into the ER when I sensed something was wrong. No one at the nurses’ station greeted me as usual. Everyone was looking down at their phones. Seeing me approach, they immediately fell silent, their eyes filled with shock, scrutiny, and barely concealed contempt. Dr. Lee, the supervisor, called me into the office with a grave expression and handed me his phone. Online and in the hospital’s private groups, several secretly taken photos were going viral. The photos showed me from last night, disheveled and in disarray when those thugs had nearly assaulted me. The accompanying posts were even more vicious, spreading rumors that my private life was extremely chaotic and indecent, even escalating to accusations that I had no medical ethics and didn’t deserve to be a doctor. My whole body went cold. I clutched the hem of my clothes, fingertips white. Last night’s nightmare that nearly destroyed me was now being ruthlessly exposed for everyone’s crude entertainment. “Clara,” he sighed, his tone carrying not stern rebuke but helplessness. “The online public opinion is getting out of hand. Those photos and posts… have seriously affected the ER’s normal operations. Many colleagues and patients’ families are gossiping.” I took a deep breath, my voice trembling slightly. “Dr. Lee, I…” “Don’t rush to explain.” Dr. Lee interrupted me, his tone softening. “Frederic already called me personally this morning. He said these are malicious online fabrications. To protect you from further harm by gossip and public opinion, he specifically instructed me to give you paid leave for a while, go home and let things blow over. During this time, just rest at home and don’t look at your phone.” Paid leave? I stood frozen. My heart, already dead as ashes, couldn’t help but ripple with bitter irony. If I hadn’t seen that bone marrow matching agreement in his study… I really would have believed this man was shielding me from the storm. Only two more days until I could leave all this behind. I silently counted down in my heart. This was just the final pacification before the walking blood bank went under the knife. I lowered my lashes, concealing the complexity in my eyes, and said softly, “Okay, I understand. Thank you, Dr. Lee. And please thank Frederic for me.” Frederic had arranged everything perfectly. First, keeping me home under the guise of protection, then when the time came, straight to the operating table. And the upcoming long break would conveniently let me recover from the weakness after marrow extraction.

Clara’s POV After staying home for a day, I felt restless. I decided that no matter what, I needed to go back before leaving to personally organize and hand over some personal items and unfinished medical records, at least to have proper closure. More importantly, I wanted to test whether I could still freely enter and exit the hospital during my “leave.” This was crucial to my final escape plan. So the next afternoon, I went to the hospital. The ER corridor still occasionally sent strange looks my way, but I no longer cared. However, fate never seemed willing to let me off easy. I’d barely sat down in the on call room when my phone rang. An unknown number. I hesitated, then answered. An anxious traffic officer’s voice came through. “Is this Clara? There was a multi vehicle collision at the downtown intersection. Among the injured is a woman named Rebecca Hayes. We found your number in her emergency contacts. The patient’s condition is critical and she’s been rushed to City Center Hospital for emergency treatment. Please come immediately…” My mind went blank. The pen in my hand clattered to the floor. “I’m coming right now! Please, you have to save her!” I grabbed my coat and stumbled toward the door. But just as my hand touched the doorknob, the on-call room door was pushed open from outside. Dr. Lee stood there with two male nurses blocking the doorway, locking the door behind them. “Dr. Hayes, where are you going?” Dr. Lee’s eyes were evasive. “Dr. Lee, my mother was in a car accident at City Center Hospital! I have to go now!” Tears streamed down my face in desperation. Before I could finish, two male nurses grabbed my shoulders firmly. “Dr. Lee? What are you doing? Let me go!” I struggled in terror. Dr. Lee, thinking I was trying to escape, waved for the nurses to inject me with sedatives while saying, “I’m sorry, Clara. Frederic gave orders. You can’t leave the hospital today. Lydia’s condition suddenly deteriorated. The surgery has to be moved up to today.” “No… you can’t!” I cried out desperately. “My mom is waiting for me! Don’t you have any conscience? Let me out!” I struggled desperately like a caged beast protecting her young, but the disparity in strength made it impossible to break free. “Quick, sedate her. Frederic’s private medical team is already waiting in the premium operating room on basement level one.” Dr. Lee gritted his teeth and gave the order. Ice-cold medication rapidly entered my bloodstream, bringing suffocating dizziness that swept through my entire body. My pupils gradually dilated. I reached futilely toward the door, tears mixed with cold sweat splashing heavily onto the floor, my mouth forming weak, desperate murmurs. “Mom… wait for me…” Darkness completely swallowed me. In that moment, I hated Frederic with every fiber of my being.

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I stood in the visa center and learned that my five-year marriage was fake. Ethan Laurent loved me more than anything. Or so I thought. Turns out, three years ago he married Mara, the woman who crippled my right hand, just so he could use fake documents to keep me caged forever. He orchestrated the car accident that shattered my world, then knelt by my bed kissing my scars, saying “my life is yours.” I bit back my disgust and pretended to love him deeply, all while secretly planning my escape. Two years later, I stood in the Golden Hall conducting my own symphony. My right hand bore scars, but it played the movement of freedom. I stepped over the documents, took my new husband’s arm, threw Ethan’s diamond ring into the Danube, and sneered. “Your life, your money. They disgust me.” Stella POV On our fifth wedding anniversary, I went to the visa center to apply for a study visa to Vienna. As I slid my documents through the window, I was still looking down, replying to Ethan’s message. “Baby, come home early today. I’ve prepared a surprise for you. Love you.” I had just started to smile when the clerk pushed my documents back. “Miss Sterling, you filled out your marital status incorrectly. The system shows you’re single, not married.” I froze for a moment, then pushed the materials back. “You must have made a mistake. I got married five years ago.” My husband was Ethan Laurent, CEO of Laurent Group. The man who controlled billions in assets with ruthless methods, yet held me like a treasure in the palm of his hand. The clerk typed a few more keystrokes, her tone certain. “The database can’t be wrong. You’re definitely unmarried. However…” She paused, her expression turning strange. “The spouse you listed, Mr. Ethan. The system shows he got married three years ago. To someone named Mara Lynn. Do you know her?” My blood turned to ice in that instant. Mara Lynn? How could I not know her. Three years ago, I received an offer as principal cellist with the Vienna Royal Symphony Orchestra. My future was bright. But just before I was supposed to leave for abroad, Mara drove her sports car straight into mine like a maniac. That car accident shattered my right wrist beyond repair. I could never play the cello again. Ethan’s eyes had turned bloodshot. He grabbed Mara’s throat and nearly strangled her to death. He used every means at his disposal to destroy the Lynn family completely, then had Mara committed to a psychiatric hospital, saying he’d make her wish she were dead. To comfort me, having lost my dream and nearly taken my own life several times, Ethan canceled all his work and stayed by my side for an entire year. He searched the world for the best doctors. When I couldn’t sleep through the nights from the pain, this man who feared nothing knelt by my bed, eyes red, kissing my scars over and over. “Stella, you still have me. My life is yours.” But now, the clerk was telling me I had never been married. And the man who swore he’d make Mara suffer worse than death had married her three years ago. The very year my life was destroyed in that accident. “Miss Sterling? Do you still want to process the visa?” The clerk’s voice pulled me back. “…No, I don’t. Thank you.” I don’t know how I walked out of the visa center. The early autumn wind cut through me like ice. I sat on a bench by the roadside and pulled out my phone, staring at the familiar profile picture pinned at the top of my chat list. For five years, Ethan had reported his schedule to me every day. Every message ended with “love you.” He gave me a wedding that made headlines across the city. Hundreds of media outlets, seas of flowers. Everyone knew Ethan was head over heels for Sterling. But it turned out it was all just a show. It meant nothing legally. We were never really married. My identity as Mrs. Laurent was fake. Only my destroyed right hand and three years of depression and pain were real. My phone buzzed. Another message from Ethan. “Stella, just finished my meeting. Heading to pick up the cake I ordered for you. Be a good girl and wait for me at home.” I stared at the text, suddenly feeling my stomach churn. I didn’t cry. I didn’t call him hysterically demanding answers. I simply opened the location tracking app on my phone. Ethan was a control freak. To “protect” me, he’d installed tracking on my phone. But he didn’t know I was extremely clever. I’d long ago reverse-engineered the program and could see his location too. The red dot on the screen wasn’t at his usual cake shop. It had stopped at a private maternity hospital outside the city. I stood up and hailed a cab. “Harmony Private Hospital.” My voice was perfectly steady, without a trace of trembling. I wanted to see exactly how Ethan would lie to me.

Stella POV The VIP ward section of the private hospital was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Wearing a mask and baseball cap, I avoided the security guards and stood outside the half-open door at the end of the corridor. Through the crack, I saw the man who said he was picking up a cake. Ethan wore a custom suit, his posture straight and tall as he sat beside the hospital bed. He held a bowl of chicken soup, carefully blowing on each spoonful to cool it before bringing it to the lips of the woman in the bed. The woman in the bed was none other than Mara, the one he’d supposedly “committed to a psychiatric hospital” three years ago. Mara’s belly was already slightly swollen. She pushed the spoon away with a coy pout. “Ethan, I don’t want any more. This soup is too rich.” “The doctor said your pregnancy isn’t stable. You need to eat more nutritious food.” Ethan’s voice was tender enough to drip honey, the same tone I’d heard for five years. I stood outside the door, coldly watching this scene. My heart felt like it was being crushed by an invisible hand. Even breathing tasted like blood. “Ethan, today is your fifth anniversary with Stella, isn’t it?” Mara leaned into Ethan’s embrace, her fingers playing with his tie. “Shouldn’t you go home and be with her? Won’t she get suspicious?” Ethan set down the bowl and casually smoothed Mara’s hair. “She’s very obedient and trusts me completely. She won’t overthink things.” “Sometimes I’m really jealous of her.” Mara pouted. “You keep her in that golden cage, spoiling her like a princess. And me? Even though I have the marriage certificate as Mrs. Laurent, I have to hide here like some mistress in the shadows, trying to keep this baby safe.” “Mara, don’t start.” Ethan’s eyes darkened, his tone carrying a warning edge. “We agreed on this three years ago. She wanted to fly to Vienna. I couldn’t keep her here. You were the one who did what I couldn’t bring myself to do. You crashed into her car, shattered her hand, clipped her wings so she could only depend on me.” Outside the door, my body went rigid. “You did what I was too soft-hearted to do and took all the blame. As compensation, I gave you the title of Mrs. Laurent, gave the Lynn family unlimited wealth and status, and now I’ve let you carry my child.” Ethan gripped Mara’s chin, his voice cold and cruel. “But remember that the only person I love is Stella. You’d better behave yourself and not disturb her. Otherwise, everything I’ve given you, I can take away just as easily.” Mara’s face went pale. She quickly wrapped her arms around his waist. “I understand. I won’t provoke her. As long as I can stay by your side, I’ll do anything.” Inside the room, the two embraced. Outside the room, I bit my lip so hard I tasted thick blood in my mouth. So that was it. There was no revenge born of twisted love. No so-called redemption. The car accident three years ago that destroyed my life was orchestrated by Ethan himself! He was afraid I’d go abroad, afraid I’d escape his control, so he used Mara’s hands to completely destroy me! Then he descended like a savior, caging me up, enjoying my complete dependence and adoration. What a terrifying man. What disgusting love. I slowly unclenched my fists. My palms were marked with deep bloody crescents from my nails. I didn’t burst in and slap them. I didn’t break down crying. I just took one long look at the man I’d loved for five years, then turned and silently left the hospital. The moment I walked out the hospital doors, the sunlight was so bright I couldn’t open my eyes. I pulled out my phone, saved the recording I’d just made, then uploaded it to an encrypted cloud storage. I wouldn’t cling to him. And I certainly wouldn’t forgive him. Since Ethan liked playing these games, I’d play along to the very end. Only this time, the roles of prey and hunter would be reversed.

Stella POV At seven that evening, I returned right on time to the penthouse apartment in the city center. The place was decorated romantically. Red roses covering the floor, flickering candlelight, and an elaborate French dinner on the table. The lock turned and Ethan walked in carrying an elegant cake box. Seeing me sitting on the sofa, his cold, hard features instantly softened. He strode over and pulled me tightly into his arms. “Baby, happy fifth anniversary.” He lowered his head to find my lips, urgent and deeply infatuated. I didn’t dodge. I even tilted my head slightly, meeting his kiss. But as I closed my eyes, my heart was ice cold. Ethan’s kiss was passionate, carrying his signature scent of cold cedar. I used to be most enchanted by this smell. Now it only made me nauseous. Because I could detect it. Mixed with that cedar scent was the smell of hospital disinfectant and another woman’s perfume. “Why are your hands so cold?” Ethan released me, held my hands to his lips and kissed them, his brow furrowing. “Did you go out today?” “Mm, I went to a flower shop.” My voice was soft. “I wanted to buy some flowers to decorate with.” A dark gleam flashed in Ethan’s eyes, but it was quickly covered by tenderness. “From now on, let the servants do that kind of thing. Your wrist was injured. You can’t let it get cold.” He brought up my wrist again. In the past, every time he mentioned it, I felt warmth, thinking he cared about me. Now it sounded like a poisoned blade, twisting again and again in my wound. “Okay, I’ll listen to you.” I nodded obediently. During dinner, Ethan took out a velvet box and pushed it toward me. Inside was a pink diamond necklace worth a fortune. “I bid on this at Sotheby’s a few days ago. The moment I saw it, I knew only my Stella was worthy of it.” Ethan walked behind me and fastened it around my neck himself, his warm breath falling on my skin. “Stella, we’re going to be together forever.” I looked at our reflection in the glass window. The man looked deeply in love. The woman was beautiful as a flower. We looked like such a perfect couple. “Ethan.” I suddenly spoke, my voice very soft. “If one day I lied to you, what would you do?” Ethan’s hands froze on the necklace clasp. His eyes instantly turned dark and sinister, but he quickly masked it. He embraced me from behind, his voice low and hoarse. “You wouldn’t. But if you dared to lie to me, dared to leave me, I’d break your legs and lock you to the bed so you couldn’t go anywhere.” He sounded like he was joking, but I knew he was deadly serious. “I was just kidding.” I turned around and wrapped my arms around his neck, smiling. “I love you so much. How could I ever leave you?” Ethan’s expression completely softened. He scooped me up and strode toward the bedroom. That night, Ethan was fierce, as if he wanted to fuse me into his bones and blood. I cooperated with him the entire time. When Ethan finally fell into a deep sleep, I gently pushed away the arm draped across my waist and got out of bed. I walked into the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and washed my body over and over with cold water until my skin turned red and raw. After showering, I took out a backup phone and logged into a dark web account. “I need a complete new identity with all traces of my past erased. As fast as possible.” The reply came quickly. “Rush job will take half a month. Fee is five million.” “Money’s not a problem. In fifteen days, I need the documents.” I shut off the phone and looked at the pale but determined woman in the mirror. Fifteen days. Ethan, your good days are numbered. Only fifteen left.

Stella POV Over the next few days, I acted more docile and clingy than ever before. I’d cook Ethan’s favorite dishes myself, help him with his tie before he left for work, and even wander around in front of him wearing nothing but his dress shirt while he was in video conferences, making him hastily end meetings to pin me on the sofa and kiss me. Ethan was thrilled, almost fanatically so, by this change in me. He grew more and more unable to leave me, canceling all social engagements and coming home punctually every day. “Stella, you’ve been so good lately. I love you like this.” Ethan buried his head in the crook of my neck, greedily inhaling my scent. “I wish I could shrink you down and carry you in my pocket wherever I go.” I stroked his hair and smiled. “Because I’ve discovered I love you more and more every day.” Ethan’s body stiffened for a moment, then he held me even tighter. He thought he’d completely tamed this bird that once wanted to fly free. He didn’t know this was just the last illusion the bird was leaving him before flying away. That afternoon, after Ethan went to the office, my phone received a picture message from an unknown number. The photo showed a men’s tie casually tossed on rumpled bedsheets. That tie was the very one I’d fastened around Ethan’s neck this morning. Another text came through immediately: “He spent last night here. He said you’re as boring as a block of wood. Stella, you’ve monopolized him for five years. It’s time you returned him to me.” I looked at the screen without even raising an eyebrow. Mara couldn’t contain herself anymore. She was starting to provoke me. She thought I’d confront Ethan like a shrew or break down in heartbroken hysterics. Too bad. She miscalculated. Not only wasn’t I angry, I actually found it somewhat amusing. I casually deleted the photos and blocked the number. When Ethan came home that evening, I was sitting on the carpet working on a puzzle. “Why are you sitting on the floor? You’ll catch cold.” Ethan walked over and scooped me up, placing me on the sofa. I naturally leaned into his embrace, my fingers tracing circles on his chest. “Ethan, I got a strange text today.” Ethan’s movements stopped. His eyes instantly sharpened. “What text?” “A photo and some nonsensical messages.” I looked up at him. “Seemed like some woman’s prank. I didn’t pay attention to it. Just deleted it.” Ethan’s expression visibly darkened, violent rage churning in his eyes. But facing me, he still tried his best to restrain himself. “Don’t be scared. Probably just spam sent to the wrong number. I’ll have someone look into it.” “Mm, I trust you.” I nodded obediently. The next day, I heard that the private hospital where Mara was staying had been surrounded by Ethan’s men. Ethan flew into a terrible rage, nearly smashing up the hospital room, warning Mara that if she dared provoke me again, he’d abort the baby in her belly and throw her in the ocean to feed the fish. Mara was so frightened she had complications with the pregnancy and was bedridden for three days. I listened to the private investigator’s report and smiled. Watching rabid dogs tear into each other never got old. Ethan thought he was protecting me. In reality, he was just protecting his own perfect, inviolable sense of control. The more he acted this way, the more disgusted I felt. Ten days until I left. I began systematically erasing my traces from this house. I fed my old diaries and drawings into the paper shredder, bit by bit. I was going to erase myself from Ethan’s world so completely that not even a speck of dust would remain for him.

Stella POV That weekend, Ethan canceled all his appointments and took me to a private island. As the helicopter landed, I saw the enormous medieval-castle-like structure on the island. “Do you like it?” Ethan held my hand as we descended from the aircraft. The sea breeze lifted his coat. He looked at me with eyes both fanatical and obsessive. “I spent three years building this for you. From now on, we’ll live here. No one will ever disturb us again.” I looked at that magnificent castle, feeling only a bone-deep chill in my heart. This wasn’t a castle. This was clearly an enormous, inescapable cage. Ethan truly planned to imprison me completely. “It’s beautiful.” I suppressed the coldness in my heart, turned to look at him, and forced out two tears. “Ethan, you’re too good to me.” Ethan smiled with satisfaction, swept me up in his arms, and strode into the castle. Every detail inside the castle was designed according to my preferences. There was even an enormous music room with an antique cello worth millions. “Your hand can’t play for long periods, but you could play something for me occasionally, couldn’t you?” Ethan wrapped his arms around me from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder. I looked at that cello. The scar on my right wrist throbbed with phantom pain. He’d broken my hand, destroyed my dreams, and now he wanted me to perform in this gilded cage for him alone. “Sure.” I turned around, cupped his face, and smiled with infinite tenderness. “Ethan, next Friday is my birthday. I’d like to hold a small private recital for you at the concert hall downtown. Just the two of us. Would that be okay?” Ethan frowned slightly. I knew. His instinct was to reject me appearing in any public venue, even a privately reserved concert hall. “Wouldn’t here be better? Just us.” “But I want to give you a proper surprise.” I leaned against him, acting coy. “I need to go to the studio to rehearse for a few days. Don’t worry, I’ll come home on time every day.” Looking at me, Ethan finally compromised. “Fine, I agree. But I’m sending bodyguards with you.” “Thank you.” I stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his lips. Next Friday was exactly when I’d receive my new identity and leave this place. This recital was the final “gift” I was preparing for Ethan. Over the following days, I went to the studio to “rehearse” every day. The bodyguards stood guard outside the door, never more than a step away. But they didn’t know that what I played in the practice room each day was just a recording. I myself was in the soundproof room, confirming the final escape route through encrypted networks with black market contacts. Everything was proceeding methodically. Until three days before departure, an unwelcome visitor shattered the calm. Mara, her belly protruding, wearing sunglasses and surrounded by bodyguards, swaggered into my studio. The guards outside tried to stop her, but were blocked by Mara’s people. “Stella, stop playing that cello. It sounds awful.” Mara pushed open the practice room door, removed her sunglasses, and looked down at me sitting behind my cello. I stopped playing and looked up at her. “Mara, trespassing is illegal.” “Trespassing? Get this straight. Half of everything Ethan owns is mine. I’m the legal Mrs. Laurent!” Mara walked up to me and slapped a photocopy on my music stand. “Look clearly. This is my marriage certificate with Ethan. What are you? Just a pet he keeps on the side!” I didn’t even glance at the paper. I stood up and smoothed my skirt. “Is that so? If you’re the legal Mrs. Laurent, then why are you running to me like a rat that can’t see daylight, belly and all, looking for validation?” “You!” Mara’s sore spot had been hit. Her face instantly twisted viciously.

Stella POV “You think Ethan really loves you?” Mara glared at me through gritted teeth. “He just pities you! Your crippled hand. I had someone crash into you! Not only didn’t Ethan blame me, he married me! You really think you’re some kind of treasure?” Mara thought revealing the truth would make me break down, make me go crazy. Instead, I just looked at her quietly, even with a trace of pity. “Mara, you’re truly pathetic.” I laughed softly. “You think you won? You used every means, took on charges of deliberate assault, all for a piece of paper. But whose bed does he sleep in every night? Who does he hold in the palm of his hand? You’re carrying his child, yet you don’t even have the right to stand by his side openly.” “Shut up!” Mara lost all rationality from the provocation and raised her hand to slap my face. I didn’t dodge. I even tilted my face slightly upward. Just as Mara’s hand was about to land, the practice room door was violently kicked open. “Stop!” A roar rang out as Ethan charged in like an enraged lion, grabbed Mara’s wrist, and flung her viciously to the floor. “Ahh!” Mara clutched her belly, screaming in pain. Ethan didn’t even look at her. He anxiously pulled me into his arms, checking me over. “Stella, are you okay? Did she hurt you?” I shook my head, my voice trembling slightly. “Ethan, who is she? Why did she say… she’s your wife? And about my hand…” Ethan’s body went rigid, panic flashing in his eyes. He turned his head and stared at Mara on the floor with a look that could cut her into a thousand pieces. “Ethan… my belly hurts so much…” Mara’s face was deathly pale. Blood was seeping out beneath her. Ethan clenched his jaw and coldly ordered the bodyguards: “Take her to the hospital. Without my permission, she’s not to leave that hospital room!” The guards quickly dragged Mara out. Only the two of us remained in the practice room. Ethan turned around and held me tightly, his voice shaking. “Stella, don’t listen to that crazy woman’s nonsense. She’s insane. She escaped from the psychiatric hospital. My only wife is you.” I leaned against him, listening to his strong heartbeat, feeling nothing but deep irony. Even now, he was still lying to me. He thought he could control everything, playing everyone like puppets. “Ethan, I’m so scared.” I hugged him back, burying my face in his chest, my voice muffled. “You’re all I have. You must never lie to me.” “I swear, I’ll never lie to you, never leave you.” Ethan kissed the top of my head, his tone bordering on deranged. I closed my eyes and smiled. Yes, you’ll never leave me. Because I’m the one who’s going to abandon you. After Mara’s disruption, Ethan’s control reached its peak. He took me straight home, confiscated my phone, cut off the internet, and even had the windows sealed shut. “Stella, it’s too dangerous outside. Just stay home. The recital is canceled. I’ll stay with you. We won’t go anywhere.” Ethan was like an obsessed madman, never leaving my side for a moment. I didn’t resist or throw tantrums. I let him do as he pleased. He didn’t dare sleep through entire nights, staring at me fixedly, afraid I’d disappear if he blinked. Two days left until departure. I knew I had to make Ethan lower his guard, or I’d never be able to leave.

Stella POV Late at night, Ethan leaned against the headboard, eyes bloodshot from exhaustion, still gripping my hand tightly. I slowly opened my eyes, looked at his haggard appearance, and reached out with my undamaged left hand to gently stroke his cheek. “Ethan, I can’t sleep with you watching me like this.” My voice was soft. Ethan grabbed my hand and pressed it against his face, his voice hoarse. “Stella, don’t be angry with me. I’m just so terrified of losing you. Don’t believe a single word that crazy woman said.” “I don’t believe her. I only believe you.” I sat up and voluntarily embraced him, kissing the corner of his lips. “Ethan, we’ve been married five years. How could I doubt you because of some stranger’s words? I was just frightened by her.” Ethan’s body trembled violently. He held me even tighter, as if trying to fuse me into his bones and blood. “Stella… my Stella…” He buried his head in the crook of my neck. A tear actually fell. I felt the wetness on my neck, my heart ice cold. Crocodile tears. “Ethan, tomorrow is my birthday.” I said softly. “Since the recital is canceled, why don’t you go to the office tomorrow to finish your work, then come home early to celebrate with me? Okay?” Ethan looked up at me. The defensive walls in his heart finally cracked. “Okay, I promise you.” Ethan kissed my forehead. “I’ll come back early tomorrow. Be a good girl and wait for me at home.” “I’ll wait for you.” Early the next morning, Ethan unusually put on a black suit. Before leaving, he held me and kissed me over and over, as if he could never get enough. “Stella, wait for me to come back.” “Okay.” I smiled and straightened his tie. As the door closed with a click, I dropped my smile. I turned and walked into the bedroom, retrieving a waterproof bag from a hidden compartment under the bed. Inside were my new passport and documents, along with a plane ticket to Vienna. The name read: Sera West. From today on, Stella no longer existed in this world. I didn’t take a single thing Ethan had bought. Not one piece of clothing, not one piece of jewelry. I changed into the most ordinary black athletic wear, put on a baseball cap and mask. When I reached the living room, I stopped and removed the ring I’d worn on my fourth finger for five years. The diamond ring clattered onto the table. Beside it was a document I’d prepared long ago. “Waiver of Property Rights.” I wanted nothing. Only freedom. I took one last look at this cage that had held me for five years, then turned without hesitation and opened the door. The bodyguards outside started to block me. I pulled out Ethan’s backup phone and said coldly: “Mr. Laurent asked me to get something from the underground garage. Are you going to follow me?” The guards exchanged glances, not daring to disobey Ethan’s orders, and stepped aside. I entered the elevator and pressed the button for the second basement level. As the elevator doors closed, I completely severed all ties with this world. In the underground garage, an inconspicuous black car with fake plates was already waiting. I opened the door and got in. “Airport.” The car shot out of the garage like an arrow and merged into the endless stream of traffic. Several hours later. Thirty thousand feet above sea level. The international flight to Vienna cruised smoothly through the clouds. I sat in the window seat, watching the brilliant sunset outside, and gently removed my mask.The flight attendant pushed her cart over, smiling as she asked: “Miss West, would you like something to drink?” I turned my head and smiled. “Champagne, please.” I raised my glass and clinked it gently against the clouds outside the window. Goodbye, Ethan.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “383075”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

Working during my shift, looking at an ECG chart—someone reported me for trading stocks. The hospital immediately moved to fire me to appease the public outrage. “Thiago, you’ve crossed the line this time. You’re a doctor. How could you trade stocks during work hours?” The administrative director looked genuinely regretful. I’d already explained myself countless times. No one listened. I glanced out the glass window at Williams, the new doctor walking past, and suddenly spoke with complete calm. “Is this about the promotion slot?” The administrative director froze. “There’s only one promotion slot this year. Because Williams’s dad is the deputy director, the promotion has to go to him. So you have to fire me. Is that it?” I asked again. The administrative director hadn’t expected me to call it out so bluntly. He looked uncomfortable. “That’s not what’s happening here…” I laughed. I’d worked at this hospital for ten years. I’d performed nearly two thousand surgeries as lead surgeon. I’d handled countless difficult cases. I’d trained countless new doctors for the hospital. Even when Williams first joined the hospital, I was the one who trained him. During that time, there had been many promotion opportunities. All went to others. Every time, the hospital told me the same thing: just wait a little longer. I waited ten years. But now, to let Williams get promoted without any competition, they wanted to fire me. I looked at the administrative director, removed my ID badge, and placed it on the desk. “You don’t need to fire me. I quit.”

“Just because Williams’s dad is the deputy director?” I asked one more time. The administrative director looked embarrassed at being exposed, awkwardly rubbing his nose. Still spouting official nonsense. “Don’t misunderstand the hospital’s position. You’ve worked here for ten years. You know very well how good the hospital has been to you. The hospital personally cultivated you into what you are today. How could we possibly want to let you go?” “How about this—I’ll discuss it with the hospital leadership. We’ll forget about the firing and keep your position. Just a disciplinary action. Take some time off at home to rest.” Listening to his tone, as if he’d shown me extraordinary mercy and I should be grateful. I wanted to laugh. “So you do know I’ve worked here for ten years.” “In those ten years, I’ve performed nearly two thousand surgeries as lead surgeon. I’ve trained over thirty new doctors for the hospital. Even now, almost everyone in neurosurgery was brought up by me personally.” “Every busy holiday season, I practically lived in the operating room. Last New Year’s, I covered night shifts alone for an entire month.” “Ten whole years. Except for when my grandfather died two years ago, I never took time off.” “During those ten years, the hospital had promotion quotas every year. Colleagues around me came and went. Some were people I trained myself. They all got promoted. I stayed in the same place.” “I asked the hospital about it. What did you tell me? You said I was still young. I could wait.” “But what about now? I’m nearly forty.” “Just because there’s only one promotion slot this year, and Williams’s dad is the deputy director, I deserve to be kicked out?” I slowly stood up, trying to keep my voice steady. “I waited ten years. How much longer do you want me to wait?” The administrative director’s expression soured. “Dr. Thiago, you’re a veteran of this hospital. You should know the hospital faces difficulties too. As a doctor, isn’t saving lives the most important thing? Why obsess over a little empty title?” “You should be understanding toward the hospital.” “I understand the hospital. Who understands me?” I laughed bitterly. “If doctors should save lives and everything else is just empty titles, then why is Williams so obsessed with this promotion? Why don’t you hospital administrators voluntarily resign and go back to frontline work?” I’d completely torn off the facade. The administrative director’s face darkened too. “Thiago, if you insist on putting it that way, there’s nothing more to discuss.” “I’ll tell you straight—you were born without advantages. You don’t have a good father. Who else can you blame?” “You can only blame yourself.” “If you still want to stay at this hospital, go home quietly and rest.” “Otherwise, wait to be fired.” Born without advantages. No good father. My heart felt like it had been stabbed. I took a deep breath and placed my ID badge on the desk. “You don’t need to fire me. I quit.” The administrative director frowned deeply. The hospital’s neurosurgery department was entirely supported by me right now. They didn’t actually want to fire me. They just wanted to use this as an excuse to cancel my promotion opportunity. Seeing that I really intended to resign, he panicked. “Thiago, the hospital has invested so many years in training you. Over a little empty title you’re going to resign? Do you think that’s appropriate? You’re not young anymore. How can you still be so impulsive? Do you really think that leaving the hospital this way, with your character and medical ethics, any other hospital will want you?” “When the time comes, the hospital can issue an industry-wide notice. You’ll simply disappear from this profession. Is it worth it just to prove a point?” “I’d say, wait a little longer. Next year—at the latest next year—your promotion will come through.”

Wait a little longer… Over these ten years, the phrase I’d heard most was “wait a little longer.” Last Christmas, the hospital was incredibly busy. The mother of a city government official had a sudden brain hemorrhage and was rushed to the hospital for emergency treatment. Only I could save her. The deputy director told me then that by spring this year, he’d definitely get me promoted. Now, he’d personally let his son take my slot. And he wanted to use smearing my name as a way to nail me to the pillar of shame. “Thiago, the hospital still values you highly. You need to be grateful…” He was still spouting official talk. I interrupted him. “Values me?” “Because of ‘valuing me,’ I’ve waited ten years. In those ten years, I’ve worked tirelessly and given everything. But how has the hospital treated me?” “They’ve stripped away my promotion opportunities again and again. I’ve watched people ten years younger than me, interns I personally trained, get promoted to attending physicians while I’m still an ordinary doctor. And you still want me to be grateful?” How ridiculous. I pulled at the corner of my mouth, as if I’d heard the world’s biggest joke. “I used to think that once I got promoted this time, I’d dedicate my entire life to the hospital.” “Now I realize how laughable I was.” I looked at him, my expression settling into calm. “I really should thank you, Director Harrell.” Thank you for waking me from my stupidity. I turned and left, walking numbly toward my office. As soon as I sat down, Williams came in cheerfully with pastries, distributing them to all the colleagues. Everyone congratulated him. “Williams, is the promotion settled?” “Congratulations!” “You’re only 24—you’re the youngest person in our hospital to be promoted to attending physician!” “Our department’s counting on you from now on.” Williams smiled shyly. I sat in the corner. Someone saw me and muttered uncomfortably under their breath. “What about Dr. Thiago’s situation? Are they really going to fire her?” “I heard she just went to see Director Harrell. Is there still a chance to turn things around?” “I heard that even if they don’t fire her, she’ll still get a disciplinary action.” “What can Dr. Thiago do?” “What else can she do? Her parents are old and need support. Her kid’s still in school. Middle-aged people’s pain is mortgages, car loans, kids, and elderly parents.” “Forget about disciplinary action—even if they really fired her, she’d have to beg the hospital on her knees.” The office was very quiet. Their voices weren’t loud, but every sentence was clear, like knives stabbing into my heart. The facts were harsh. Because of heavy family burdens and the hospital’s job stability, I’d endured year after year. I kept my head down, my chest tight with frustration. Just then, a bag of pastries appeared in front of me. I looked up to see Williams’s smiling face. “Dr. Thiago, these are my pastries. Please try them.” Before I could respond, he smiled again. “Who knows—maybe we won’t see Dr. Thiago anymore after this.” He blinked, as if concerned, but his eyes carried malice. “Where are you planning to go for your next job, Dr. Thiago? Do you need my help?” Other colleagues heard the commotion and looked over. Their eyes were full of schadenfreude, watching Williams’s mockery and passive-aggressive jabs at me. His smile grew more brazen—the triumphant superior humiliating a complete failure. I didn’t say anything. Seeing my silence, he lost interest and left. I looked at that bag of pastries. It was glaring and painful. The smiley faces on it seemed to mock my failure.

[You have one new email—] The computer screen suddenly flickered. I clicked on it. Sender: Louise, Director of Human Resources, Aisha Hospital Group Headquarters. The content was simple. [Hello Dr. Thiago, I am Louise, Director of Human Resources at Aisha Hospital. We are currently in urgent need of a Chief of Neurosurgery. I have long admired your reputation and would like to establish cooperation with you. Salary range: $100,000-$150,000. Looking forward to your reply.] Her contact information was attached below. Seeing those four words—Chief of Neurosurgery—I suddenly smiled. That was the promotion I’d sought but never obtained at this hospital for ten whole years. I looked at the glaring bag of pastries on the desk. And fell into memory. In my third year at the hospital, they approved three promotion slots. They went to two male colleagues whose performance and ability were far inferior to mine. At the time, the department head sighed privately to me, “In this field, female doctors just don’t have it as good as male doctors. But your abilities are definitely there. Wait a bit longer. We’ll see about next year.” In my fourth year, I participated in a major surgery—a brain aneurysm operation for a celebrity. It was very successful. The hospital’s reputation skyrocketed. The deputy director excitedly patted my shoulder and said, “You’re the pride of our hospital! This year I’ll definitely push for your promotion!” But in the end, the promotion slot went to the doctor who’d been my assistant. He explained to me, “John has been at the hospital for several years. He’s a few years older than you. Be understanding toward him. This promotion slot goes to him first. The hospital is like a small society—you need to understand interpersonal dynamics. But don’t worry. Next year, the slot will definitely be yours.” I believed his words. I waited year after year. Ten full years. Still no promotion that should have been mine. And this time, I didn’t want to wait anymore. Following the email prompt, I added Louise as a contact. [Hello, I’m Thiago. I look forward to cooperating with your hospital.] After sending the message, I used my computer to draft a resignation notice and submitted it to the hospital. As soon as I clicked submit, the hospital made an announcement in the work group chat. [@Everyone @Thiago, Due to patient complaints, the hospital conducted a thorough investigation and confirmed that Dr. Thiago did indeed trade stocks on her computer during work hours. This constitutes a major error during work time. The hospital firmly rejects this kind of irresponsible behavior! To set the record straight, after deliberation, the hospital has decided to issue disciplinary action against Dr. Thiago—] The hospital immediately posted the announcement in the group chat and on the bulletin board. My name was completely nailed to the pillar of shame. Before I could feel angry, the deputy director called. “Thiago, I heard from Director Harrell that you’re dissatisfied with the hospital’s decision?” Before I could respond, he continued. “Thiago, you’re a veteran of this hospital. You should understand hospital rules. You made the mistake first. You should accept the criticism.” I laughed. “Deputy Director, did I really make a mistake?” I didn’t understand why, even now, he was still lying. He coughed lightly. “Thiago, the patient complaint is verified. The hospital has no choice. No matter how resentful you are, you should be understanding toward the hospital.” “Of course, you are a veteran who’s worked with the hospital for so many years. The hospital still values you. Although there’s really no way around this year’s promotion slot, there will still be opportunities next year.” “You have to believe—the hospital still values you highly.” “Values me?” I looked at the group announcement. “Valuing me means stealing my promotion slot year after year. Valuing me means framing and slandering me for negligence to steal the promotion slot? Valuing me means publicly humiliating me?” “If this is your way of valuing me, I really can’t accept it.”

Seeing I wasn’t complying, he laid it all out. “Thiago, you’re not young anymore. You should wise up. The disciplinary notice has already gone out. The entire industry will see it. Do you think with your disgraceful record, besides our hospital, any other hospital would want you?” “If you continue being ungrateful, I can guarantee you—leave this hospital, and you won’t even be able to stay in the medical profession.” “Think about your parents, your child, your car loan and mortgage. Don’t be impulsive.” My breathing caught. Just because I’m middle-aged with heavy burdens, they were certain they could control me. That’s why they dared to bully and exploit me so brazenly. “Go post an apology statement. Rest at home for a few days. That’ll be the end of it.” “Thiago, I value you. This is for your own good. I’m willing to give you a chance. You need to cherish it.” His tone was relaxed, completely confident, as if certain I’d continue to endure just like I had all these years. “I’m truly touched by your kindness.” I hung up directly. I looked at the surgery schedule in my hand. Three days from now, there was a brain arterial dissection aneurysm surgery. The patient was… a renowned mathematical scientist. The lead surgeon column had my name. The assistant was Williams. I closed the page, stood up, gathered my things, and walked out. They thought I was easy to control. They thought I didn’t deserve promotion? Since the promotion slot went to Williams, let him do the surgery. I wanted to see whether this “favored son” they spoke of could successfully complete this operation! I left the hospital and went to Aisha Hospital. This was an international chain hospital. In terms of resources, they were first-tier, in a league of their own. Their cooperation intentions with me were very clear and direct. Even after learning about my disciplinary action from my former hospital, they immediately signed a contract with me. The salary and benefits were exactly as previously discussed. Chief of Neurosurgery. Annual salary of $100,000. My own medical team and laboratory. To celebrate my joining, Aisha even held a special welcome reception, publicly announcing my addition to the medical staff and showering me with praise. I was praised so much I felt a bit embarrassed. But seeing the value and friendliness Aisha Hospital showed me from top to bottom, my heart warmed. On the second day after I joined Aisha Hospital, my phone was flooded with calls. When I woke up, I had over fifty missed calls, all from the deputy director and the hospital director. Seeing I hadn’t answered, they kept sending messages. Before I could read their messages clearly, my phone rang again. Still the deputy director. After a few seconds’ pause, I answered. The deputy director’s furious shouting immediately came through. “Thiago! The surgery’s about to start! Where are you?! Get over here now!” I spoke calmly. “I resigned. I sent my resignation letter to the hospital email. Didn’t you see it?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “383076”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

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The housekeeper Levitt’s daughter Lavinia stays at my place every weekend during school breaks. Out of respect for her mother’s years of service to my family, I never said anything. Until one day I came home to find the door code had been changed, with a note stuck on the door: “Freeloaders who mooch off other people’s homes are forbidden entry.” I tore down the note and knocked on the door, asking Levitt: “What’s this about?” Lavinia sat on the sofa with her legs crossed, saying: “Can’t you read? Living in my house every day—have you no shame? If you have nowhere to live, go sleep on the streets. I hate freeloaders like you the most!” I looked at her in confusion. Levitt immediately came forward to explain in a low voice: “Miss Alice, I’m sorry. My daughter doesn’t know I’m a housekeeper. She’s been spoiled and doesn’t like living with outsiders.” “By the way, don’t you have another house in the suburbs? When my daughter comes to stay on weekends, you can go live in the suburban house.” With that, Levitt shut the door right in my face. Standing outside, I calmly dialed the police: “Hello, someone has illegally entered and occupied my house. Please come as soon as possible.”

I never imagined that as the daughter of the wealthiest person in the city, I would be called a freeloader to my face. The key point being—this villa was mine. Twenty minutes after calling the police, a patrol car pulled up in front of my villa. The two officers had just gotten out and hadn’t even asked about the illegal entry situation when Levitt frantically opened the door. She rushed over to me, her face pale: “Miss Alice, what’s going on? Why did you call the police?” I glanced at her without speaking. The officer looked her up and down and asked: “Are you the person Miss Alice mentioned—the one who illegally entered and occupied her house?” Hearing this, Levitt panicked instantly: “No, no, officers, this is all a misunderstanding.” “I’m Miss Alice’s housekeeper, responsible for taking care of her daily needs.” “My daughter’s school is on break, so she came to stay for a couple days. The door lock just broke, and when we had someone fix it, they changed the code. There’s no occupation of the house.” She pointed at the villa door and smiled apologetically: “Look, I opened the door right away, didn’t I?” The officer looked at me, then at her, and asked: “Miss Alice, do you still want to pursue this?” I was about to speak when Levitt suddenly lowered her voice, pleading humbly in my ear: “Miss Alice, Lavinia’s father died young. I’ve raised her alone—it hasn’t been easy. She just started college, when vanity is strongest, and having lacked affection since childhood, her personality is a bit extreme. If she finds out I’m just a housekeeper, she definitely won’t be able to accept it.” “I did this just to make her feel better.” “Please, for the sake of the twelve years I’ve served your parents, forgive me this once.” Hearing Levitt mention my parents, my heart did soften a bit. Levitt had been with my family for twelve years. My mother’s health was poor before she died, and Levitt was the one who personally cared for her, serving tea, attending to every detail. The day my mother passed, Levitt cried harder than anyone, kneeling by the hospital bed holding my mother’s hand, saying she would definitely take care of me. After that, she did exactly that. After my mother died, she kept the house in perfect order and looked after me like her own daughter. Whenever I tried to give her tips in the past, she would always decline repeatedly before accepting. Three months ago, her daughter Lavinia got into the same university as me. Levitt was both happy and worried. She was glad Lavinia was doing well, but stressed that university tuition was too expensive for her to afford. Understanding how hard it was for her to raise a child alone, I offered to cover Lavinia’s four years of university tuition. Levitt was so moved she cried. She clutched my hand, thanking me over and over, saying she would definitely repay my kindness. But starting last month, things changed. That day I came home and suddenly saw Lavinia at my house. I looked confused, but Levitt pulled me aside to quietly explain: “Miss Alice, Lavinia has nowhere to go on weekends during break. I haven’t seen her in so long, so I let her stay for a couple days.” I nodded without saying anything. The house had plenty of rooms anyway. Letting the mother and daughter reunite wasn’t a big deal. But later, I gradually noticed something was wrong.

The so-called “couple days” turned into a fixed arrangement every single weekend. Every Friday night, Lavinia would show up at my house right on schedule and only leave Monday morning. At first, Lavinia just liked taking photos in the living room and posting on Twitter to show off to her classmates that she lived in a big house. I could understand that—everyone wants to look glamorous in front of others. But what I couldn’t understand was how Lavinia always looked at me with disgust and disdain, as if I owed her millions. Several times, when I was sitting on the sofa watching TV, she deliberately covered her nose and complained loudly: “So annoying! How can such a luxurious villa have this constant stench of poverty?” I thought she genuinely smelled something odd, so I specifically asked Levitt to give the house a thorough cleaning. But Lavinia only got more exaggerated—either spraying disinfectant everywhere I sat, or putting disposable covers on the sofa for me to sit on. A few times I even saw her throw things I’d used straight into the trash. When I questioned her, Levitt would always sheepishly explain in private: “Lavinia is just worried those things aren’t clean and might affect your hygiene and safety, so she’s being extra careful.” I didn’t think much of it. After all, besides attending classes, I had to handle various company matters large and small. I was swamped every day and didn’t have the energy to argue with her over these things. Until this afternoon, when I saw that note on the door, it finally dawned on me. Lavinia thought I was living in her house. Originally I planned to teach Levitt and Lavinia a lesson. But now, Levitt kept pleading with me: “Miss Alice, I promise there won’t be a next time.” “I’ll explain the situation to Lavinia today and won’t let her come stay anymore.” “Please, for the sake of all the years I’ve served your parents, forgive me this once.” Seeing Levitt’s humble expression, I sighed: “Fine.” “I won’t pursue it.” After the officers left, Levitt let out a huge sigh of relief, thanking me repeatedly with an excellent attitude. After that day, Lavinia indeed never came to my house again. Levitt remained as diligent as ever, keeping the house spotlessly clean. The only thing she didn’t do well was that things kept going missing from the house. Today a bottle of wine, tomorrow a set of dishes, the day after a set of expensive clothes. Every time I asked, Levitt had excuses and reasons: “Miss Alice, I’m so sorry. I accidentally broke that bottle of wine while cleaning.” “Miss Alice, that set of dishes was used for too long. When I was washing them I noticed cracks and worried they might cut you, so I threw them away.” “Miss Alice, I took those clothes to the dry cleaner and they lost them.” Although the reasons sounded far-fetched each time, given her decent attitude, I didn’t make a big deal of it. I thought that was the end of it. Until that day, after paying respects to my parents, I decided to go thoroughly clean their suburban villa where they’d lived for half their lives. That was my parents’ favorite place. The yard was filled with my mother’s most beloved flowers, and the house was full of souvenirs my father had brought back from around the world. Before my mother died, she held my hand and said that house was her and my father’s life’s work, telling me to take good care of it. I treasured that villa deeply. Even though I was afraid of the painful memories and moved out to live alone, I would still personally go clean it regularly, carefully wiping every piece of furniture and trimming the flowers in the yard. But this time, when I arrived at the villa entrance, I froze. The villa’s gate, which was always kept closed, was wide open. From inside the villa came faint sounds of deafening music and noisy laughter. I immediately went forward and pushed open the half-closed door. After seeing what was inside, I was completely stunned.

The villa living room was a complete mess. Empty bottles, snack bags, fruit peels, and cigarette butts were scattered all over the coffee table, sofa, and floor. The genuine leather sofa worth hundreds of thousands had cigarette burn holes all over it. My mother’s beloved Persian rug was covered in footprints and several wine stains. The souvenirs hanging on the walls—some had been taken down to use as photo props, others were smashed and thrown in corners. Seeing this scene, I instantly clenched my fists. This villa was where my parents had lived for half their lives. Every piece of furniture, every decoration inside was carefully chosen by them. I was always so careful when walking around, afraid of bumping into anything, yet now it had been ruined beyond recognition. I scanned the room and found Lavinia sitting on the sofa directly facing the door. Around her were college classmates from our class: “Lavinia, your family is so rich! Even a random suburban villa is this luxurious.” “Right? I just looked it up—any random painting on this wall is worth millions!” “Oh my god, your mom is so powerful. She truly deserves to be the billionaire female CEO!” “For the sake of being classmates, after you graduate and inherit the family business, can you let us work at your company?” Lavinia’s lips curled up high from the praise: “No problem. Stick with me and you’ll never lack money.” Hearing this, the classmates were thrilled, frantically flattering Lavinia. Just then, Lavinia saw me standing at the door. Her smile vanished as she walked over arrogantly. Slap! Without a word, she viciously struck my face: “You bitch, you even followed me here?” The sudden slap left me stunned in place. The classmates present all widened their eyes: “Lavinia, what’s going on?” Lavinia pointed at me with utter contempt and disgust: “This Alice is the freeloader I just told you about!” “Living in my city house isn’t enough—now she wants to stay in the villa my mom specially bought for me!” I looked at Lavinia in disbelief: “Who told you this is a house your mom bought you?” Lavinia sneered: “My mom told me herself, of course.” “You bitch, you’re just after my mom because she’s a company CEO, so you live at my house every day trying to get her attention, aren’t you?” “Living at my house and deliberately creating opportunities to be alone with my mom isn’t enough—now you want to defile my villa too?” “Let me tell you, my mom said she lets you live at my house because you’re a pitiful orphan and she kindly took you in. Don’t even think about taking my place!” So this is what Levitt told Lavinia? No wonder Lavinia treated me so badly before. In her understanding, Levitt was the CEO who lived in a villa. And I was the poor orphan Levitt took in? So Lavinia always believed I was living in her house and trying to steal her position as the only daughter. How absurd! As Lavinia spoke, she turned to shout at the classmates: “Do you know how shameless Alice is?” “She stays at my house every day and won’t leave no matter what.” “I specifically put up a note telling her not to live in my house anymore, but she got so angry she called the police claiming my mom was bullying her.” “My mom was worried she’d make a scene that would damage the company’s reputation, so she made peace and bought me this separate villa to live in.” “Sometimes I really don’t understand—I’m my mom’s biological daughter, a legitimate heiress, and I often stay on campus. But she, a poor orphan, stays at my house all day long, acting like it’s her own home. Now if I want to wear my own clothes or drink my favorite wine, my mom has to secretly bring them from the city villa, just to avoid her saying we’re bullying her.” “I’ve never seen such a shameless bitch in my life!” My eyes widened. No wonder things kept disappearing from my villa recently—Levitt had been secretly taking them for Lavinia to use? What a Levitt. Since you’re treating me like a fool, don’t blame me for being ruthless!

I immediately took out my phone and called the legal department: “Come to my parents’ suburban villa right away with your people…” Before I could finish, Lavinia snatched my phone and smashed it hard on the ground: “You bitch, why are you so good at acting?” “‘Your parents’ villa’? This is the fucking villa my mom bought for me!” The classmates also hurled contemptuous insults at me: “No wonder everyone stays on campus but she’s always making excuses not to. I thought she was busy with important stuff, turns out she was being a parasite at Lavinia’s house, stealing someone else’s mom. Disgusting.” “Exactly. Her own parents died, so she goes looking for other people’s rich parents. If her parents knew how shameless she is, they’d probably come back to life from anger.” “Some people are just that low. The moment they see rich people, they do everything to get attention, trying to climb their way to success through a benefactor.” “Lavinia, you’re still too nice. If someone tried to steal my parents, I’d tear them apart!” I ignored everyone’s mockery and looked at Lavinia, saying sternly: “I advise you to call your mother and ask her properly whose villa this actually is.” Hearing this, Lavinia’s expression darkened. She immediately grabbed my collar: “You bitch, don’t think I don’t know—you’re just taking advantage of my mom’s soft heart, trying to trick her again to benefit yourself!” Suddenly, she looked at my neck, her eyes lighting up: “That jade necklace looks expensive. Did you trick my mom into buying it for you too?” With that, she yanked hard, viciously tearing the necklace from my neck. Lavinia’s movement was so fast and fierce I couldn’t react—the necklace was in her hand. Seeing this, my face changed drastically: “Give the necklace back!” Seeing my sudden panic, Lavinia looked at me with vicious eyes: “So nervous? Looks like this necklace cost my mom quite a bit, huh?” I panicked and quickly said: “It was from my mother. It’s not valuable, but it’s very important to me. Give it back.” I reached out to grab it. This jade necklace was a protective charm my mother obtained for me with her life. I was sickly as a child. At ten years old, I was critically ill and comatose in the hospital. The doctors told my parents to prepare for the worst. My mother couldn’t accept it and went to a temple to pray for me. To show sincerity, on a sweltering summer day with temperatures over 100 degrees, she prostrated herself step by step from the foot of the mountain to the summit. She kowtowed until her knees were bloody, exposing white bone, banging her head until it bled and she became delirious, finally obtaining this jade necklace. Perhaps even heaven was moved by my mother. I, who had been comatose, miraculously woke up, but my mother fell gravely ill as a result. Before dying, my mother placed the necklace in my hand, instructing me to keep it safe. I treasured this necklace immensely and carried it with me from childhood. It was something my mother traded her life for, and my forbidden treasure. I absolutely would not allow anyone to damage it! “The more you want it, the more I want to destroy it.” Before I could touch it, Lavinia threw the necklace hard on the ground. Accompanied by a crisp sound, the necklace shattered into pieces. Fragments scattered everywhere. “No!” Watching the jade necklace my mother traded her life for break like this, my heart felt like it was being cut by knives. I couldn’t breathe. “You bastard!” Unable to bear it any longer, I slapped Lavinia across the face. “You bitch, how dare you hit me?” Lavinia covered her face and shrieked: “Teach this bitch a lesson!” “Whoever does the best job gets a million dollars from my mom!” Hearing this, the classmates’ eyes lit up as they punched and kicked me. “How dare you hit Lavinia? Her mom is the richest person in our city—who do you think you are?” “Exactly. What kind of necklace could a poor person like you afford? That was obviously something you conned from Lavinia’s mom. She’s destroying her own property—why are you so worked up?” “Shameless bitch. Not only do you steal someone else’s mom, but you dare hit Lavinia. You’re asking for it.” “How dare you mention your own mother. Your parents deserved to die early for raising a shameless bitch like you!” I was beaten to the ground, trembling with rage, and said through gritted teeth: “You’ll regret this!” Hearing this, everyone present burst into laughter as if they’d heard the biggest joke. “Hilarious! Lavinia’s mom is the richest woman in the city. What are you to make us regret anything?” “Exactly. You’re at most a lowly orphan who lives in other people’s houses. You already depend on finding parents everywhere to survive, and you dare threaten us?” “A bottom-tier poor person without even her own house can only rage impotently like this.” Those people held me down on the ground, mocking and humiliating me without restraint. Lavinia, supported by the crowd, grabbed my hair and said arrogantly: “Regret? I’ve never regretted anything in my life. I’ll just wait and see how a poor person like you can make me regret it!” As soon as she finished speaking, luxury cars sped over and stopped at the villa entrance…

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During my company’s long holiday, my birth mother insisted on arranging for me to take a budget road trip to Alaska in a broken-down RV with a 50-year-old homeless man named Derek Stone. Derek was balding with terrible breath and looked absolutely greasy. “Aria, this is all to build your resilience and work ethic. Hothouse flowers can’t withstand storms.” “Besides, Derek is experienced. He can protect you along the way. This is a growth opportunity others would beg for!” Under the approving gazes of my relatives, I obediently agreed. Then I turned around and gave this precious ride-share ticket to my pampered sister, who kept going on about wanting to experience “vagabond literature.” Half a month later, my birth mother received a desperate call from the police station. Her eyes rolled back and she collapsed to the floor. “You’re quitting that part-time job tomorrow. You’re going to Alaska with Derek during the holiday.” My mom, Rachel Lane, slammed her fork down on the table, her tone brooking no argument. My hand froze mid-air, gripping my spoon. I instinctively looked up. “Mom, my project bonus just came through. I was planning to use it for Grandma’s surgery fees. I need to stay at the hospital during the break…” “You don’t need to worry about the surgery fees. I’ve already taken care of it for you.” Mom dismissed me casually, then pulled out an elegant Chanel gift box from behind her and pushed it toward my sister, Lydia. “Lydia, see if you like it? Didn’t you say you wanted this shade?” Lydia squealed with delight, tearing open the packaging and rubbing the lambskin bag over and over. “Wow, Mom, you’re the best!” “This bag costs over thirty thousand, right? Where’d you get the money?” My heart lurched violently. I shot to my feet, my voice trembling. “Mom, that’s my project bonus I deposited in the account. That’s Grandma’s life-saving money!” “Smack!” A sharp slap landed across my face, instantly swelling half of it red. Mom pointed at my nose, her face full of disgust. “All you care about is filthy money. That’s your sister’s graduation present!” “Grandma has doctors there. What are you yelling about?” The slap sent my head to the side, and I tasted blood in my mouth. The relatives around us all set down their forks. My uncle spoke up with a meaningful tone. “Aria, you’re in the wrong here. Money is just material possession. Your mother is teaching you about the importance of family.” Just then, the private dining room door was pushed open. A middle-aged man reeking of sour stench, with sparse, greasy hair, walked in. He wore a tattered tank top of indeterminate color, his yellowed teeth on full display. As soon as he entered, his murky eyes shamelessly scanned my chest and thighs. “This must be Aria, huh? What a pretty girl.” The man chuckled darkly and extended his hand—fingernails caked with black grime—directly wiping it across my clean white blouse. “I’m Derek Stone. Aria, Uncle will take real good care of you on this trip.” My stomach churned. I jerked backward. “Mom, you want me to go on a road trip with someone like this? This is a death sentence!” “Outrageous!” Mom slammed her hand on the table so hard the dishes rattled. “Derek is an experienced traveler! He’s been all over—what hasn’t he seen?” “Having you go with him is your good fortune!” “Look at you now. All you know is making money. You have zero resilience for life.” “I’m doing this to build your endurance and work ethic. Hothouse flowers can’t withstand storms.” Lydia sat beside us eating cherries, adding her snide commentary. “Exactly. I’ve always dreamed of that kind of gypsy vagabond lifestyle—so free and romantic.” “Too bad I’m too delicate to go, otherwise this soul-touching opportunity wouldn’t even be your turn.” She continued stroking her new bag as she spoke. Her eyes were full of mockery. Derek leaned closer to me, his intense halitosis assaulting my senses. “Baby, I’ve got grass mats laid out in the back of the RV. We’ll squeeze in together—nice and warm.” The relatives all nodded approvingly, as if I were about to embark on some stairway to heaven. “Aria, listen to your mother. Don’t be ungrateful.” “Right. Young people today are too soft. They need to toughen up at the bottom.” I looked at these hypocritical faces, at Derek’s bone-chilling leer. The last trace of warmth in my heart completely extinguished. I lowered my eyes, concealing the violence churning beneath them. When I looked up again, my face wore an obedient smile. “Fine. I’ll go.”

Mom froze for a moment, then smiled smugly. “See how easy things are when you’re obedient? Derek, she’s all yours. Make sure you take good care of her.” Derek rubbed his hands together, grinning so hard drool nearly spilled out. “Don’t worry. I guarantee she’ll never forget this trip for the rest of her life.” I sneered inwardly. Indeed, someone would remember this trip for the rest of their life. “Aria, make sure you take lots of photos for me to see.” Lydia smiled brightly. I looked at her and replied softly. “Don’t worry, Lydia. Such a good opportunity—I’ll definitely share it with you.” When I got home, Mom tossed me a torn burlap sack. “There are two packs of crackers in there and a sleeping bag. Use them on the road.” I opened the sleeping bag. A pungent moldy smell made me dizzy, and there were even mysterious stains of unknown color on it. “Mom, Alaska drops to below zero at night. This sleeping bag has holes—it’ll freeze someone to death.” “Freeze to death?” Mom was stuffing expensive beach dresses into Lydia’s suitcase without even looking back as she scolded me. “Derek brought thick blankets. Can’t you squeeze in with him? Why do you have to be so delicate!” She turned around and stuffed a thick wad of cash into Lydia’s hands—at least fifty thousand by my estimate. “Lydia, when you go to Hawaii with your friends, buy whatever you want. Don’t deprive yourself.” “I already bought you imported sunscreen for there.” Lydia hugged Mom’s arm and whined. “Mom, you’re so biased. Aria gets to go cleanse her soul in Alaska, and you give me all this money. What if she gets jealous?” Mom snorted coldly. “She’s going to atone for her karma. What does she need money for? If she were half as sensible as you, I wouldn’t have to work so hard making these arrangements.” I stood in the shadows, watching this mother-daughter bonding scene, my nails digging deep into my palms. At midnight, I was awakened by suppressed voices. On the balcony, Mom was speaking in a lowered voice on the phone, her tone carrying a humility and ruthlessness I’d never heard before. “Derek, I’ve placated her. Pick her up at dawn during the holiday.” I don’t know what the person on the other end said, but Mom’s voice trembled, then turned firm. “I know. That incident must stay buried.” “The person is yours to handle however you want. Whether she lives or dies, she’s your goods. As long as that secret never comes to light, I don’t even want the thirty thousand. Consider it your service fee.” Leaning against the door, my whole body turned cold. Goods? Secret? So this wasn’t some road trip at all—it was a dirty transaction. I didn’t make a sound, just bit my lip hard. I’d always known Mom hated me. Ever since I was five years old, when Dad died in a car accident on his way to pick me up from school, I became the jinx she cursed. She took all her resentment out on me. Kneeling punishments and hunger were routine. She cursed me with the most vicious words. I always thought she just resented me for taking away her happiness. But I never imagined she actually wanted me dead. Even a vicious tiger doesn’t eat its cubs. Mom, if that’s how it is, don’t blame me.

Early the next morning, I deliberately sat in the living room, flipping through a book while sighing dramatically. Lydia walked by wearing an expensive facial mask, glancing at me sideways. “Aria, you’re about to go suffer, and you still have the mood to read?” “Lydia, you don’t understand.” I deliberately put on a yearning expression. “I used to think it would be hard too, but last night I looked up information and discovered that people like Derek are actually hidden masters.” Lydia frowned. “That balding, bad-breath homeless guy? A master?” “Yes! Look at these photos.” I opened my phone and showed her several carefully selected, heavily filtered photos of Alaska from online. Lone pilgrims, and silhouettes of beggars packaged as wandering poets. “Derek has transcended worldly concerns. The routes he takes are all wilderness areas where you can see the purest starry skies. This kind of soul-shaking experience, you couldn’t buy for millions in big cities.” I deliberately lowered my voice and leaned in mysteriously. “I heard these wandering ascetics have quite a few Alaska antiques and treasures—the savings from decades of wandering.” “Such a shame. A vulgar person like me only thinks about overtime pay. For someone like me to go to such a place would be a complete waste.” Lydia’s eyes lit up. That kind of untested arrogance and pathological longing for niche aesthetics was instantly ignited. “Aria, are you saying Derek is actually rich? And this trip is actually high-end?” “More than high-end—it’s an admission ticket for spiritual aristocrats.” I closed the book with feigned regret. “If you could go, with your temperament, you’d definitely write a bestselling vagabond literature book.” Lydia bit her lip, her eyes flashing wildly. “Aria, how about… we switch?” My heart pounded, but my face showed panic. “No way! Mom will kill me. She said this was a special blessing meant for me!” “I’ll talk to Mom!” Lydia snatched the book from my hands. “Someone as money-obsessed as you really doesn’t deserve to go to Alaska.” I watched her determined expression and said silently: Dear sister, you’re opening the gates of hell yourself. “Just don’t tell Mom I encouraged you, or I can’t take the responsibility.” “I know, look how timid you are. Go to your overtime work!” Lydia strutted back to her room and even began searching for her most worn-out yet decadently beautiful clothes. I stood at the end of the hallway, looking at the gloomy sky outside, feeling the air was fresh for the first time. The day before departure, my mom Rachel called me into her room. “Aria, this is the budget travel liability waiver the tourism bureau requires. Sign it so Derek doesn’t have to worry along the way.” She handed me a stack of densely worded contracts, urging me to sign quickly. I pretended not to understand the complicated clauses, but as I flipped pages, my fingertips keenly caught a line of hidden small print at the bottom. This wasn’t any liability waiver at all. It was an accidental death and disappearance insurance policy worth eight hundred thousand dollars! The beneficiary column clearly read: Rachel Lane.

At that moment, I felt all the blood in my body freeze. My birth mother not only wanted to sell me to a vagrant to settle a debt, but she also wanted to drain every last penny of value from my life after selling me. She wanted me to die in that desolate wilderness. “What are you looking at? Sign it quickly! Derek is still waiting outside for the receipt!” Rachel impatiently slapped the table, her tone vicious. I took a deep breath and showed a miserable smile. “Okay. I’ll sign.” I wrote my name stroke by stroke. Rachel snatched the contract away, a flash of wild joy in her eyes, then immediately locked it in a drawer. That evening, Lydia snuck into my room, her tone imperious. “I’ve prepared everything. I’ll go in your place at dawn tomorrow.” “Remember, you need to hide at a friend’s place for the next two weeks. Don’t let Mom find out. When I come back, I’ll be the goddess who cleansed her soul.” I looked at that face written with greed and stupidity, pretending concern as I grabbed her hand. “Lydia, it’s really hard out there, and Derek has a bad temper. You can still change your mind.” “Change my mind? I think you just can’t bear to part with those antique treasures!” Lydia shook off my hand and snorted coldly. “Mom said Derek is cold on the outside but warm inside, and very knowledgeable.” “I even prepared a basic phone. Mom said for complete immersive wandering, I can’t bring a smartphone or GPS. Aria, just wait and watch me become famous!” I sneered inwardly. To prevent me from calling the police for help, Rachel would make up any excuse. “Fine. Take this burlap sack and don’t blow your cover.” At three in the morning, the sky was dark as ink. Rachel was clanking around in the kitchen making noodles. Lydia wrapped herself up tightly, wearing a thick mask and wide-brimmed hat, carrying that worn burlap sack. “Derek, take her away. If this child throws a tantrum on the road, discipline her as you see fit.” Rachel lowered her voice. Her tone held no reluctance whatsoever—instead, it carried the relief of shedding a burden. Derek’s nauseating voice sounded outside the door. “Hehe, Ms. Lane, just wait for good news.” I hid behind the second-floor curtains, watching Derek roughly shove Lydia. Lydia clearly hadn’t realized the danger yet. She even turned and waved toward the window, thinking she was heading toward poetry and distant places. Derek stuffed her into the back bed of that dilapidated RV. It was a cargo area welded shut with wire mesh, like a mobile cage. “Click”—the rusty padlock was locked. The broken RV emitted a harsh roar and disappeared into the thick fog. I stood in the darkness, watching that broken taillight completely extinguish. “Lydia, don’t blame me. This is the growth opportunity you begged for yourself.” I whispered to the empty room. Just then, Rachel’s relieved sigh came from the living room. “Finally got rid of that jinx. Lydia, Mom’s counting on you for the rest of my life.” I coldly curled my lips. My dear mother, the Lydia you’re counting on is now sitting in the express train to hell. I opened my phone and called Grandma’s attending physician. “Doctor, I’ve gathered the surgery fees. I’ll pay first thing tomorrow morning. Please arrange the surgery as soon as possible.” Mom, since you want to play, I’ll play with you to the end. When the first rays of morning sunlight entered the living room, Rachel was happily drinking soy milk. She saw me walking down the stairs. The cup in her hand crashed to the floor with a clang, milk splashing everywhere. “You… why are you here?”

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After I died in the study room fire, I opened my eyes again and found myself ten years in the future. I dug out my phone from my backpack and carefully called my brother Ethan: “Ethan, can you come pick me up?” He didn’t answer. On the other end of the line, I could only hear heavy, labored breathing. I couldn’t help but feel afraid: “If you can’t, could you lend me some money? “Ethan?” Ethan, who was in the middle of attempting suicide, stumbled out of the blood-stained bathtub. Through gritted teeth, he said: “I don’t care who you are. Wait for me.” Cold raindrops fell. I held my backpack over my head, waiting anxiously for Ethan. He had always been exceptionally talented since childhood—noble and cold. He was the carefully groomed heir of the Ashford family. But toward me, Ethan never showed a kind face. In his heart, I was the Ashford family’s adopted daughter of unknown origin. Stupid, malicious, and very restless. Not only did I frame the scholarship student he liked, but I also deliberately barged into his room wearing thin pajamas while he was showering. Eighteen-year-old Ethan wrapped himself in a towel, his face terribly dark: “Iris, you’re so shameless!” “Get out!” These were the last two sentences he said to me in my previous life. So when the study room caught fire and I was nearly suffocating from the smoke, using my last breath to call him and apologize, he didn’t answer. Reborn into this life, I wanted to live with a new identity and originally had no intention of contacting him. It’s just that… I didn’t have a single dollar in my backpack. My ID had also been canceled. The person most capable of helping me, and most likely to want me to stay away from the Ashford family, was definitely Ethan. As long as he could lend me some money and help me solve my identity problem, I would definitely turn over a new leaf in this life and be a good person. I promised to stay far away from him. Before long, a Mercedes came speeding through the night. The window rolled down, revealing a mature, handsome face. Twenty-eight-year-old Ethan wore a well-fitted black suit. Compared to his eighteen-year-old self, he had gained a bit more composure and restraint. Only his expression was as indifferent as before. When his gaze casually swept over me, I lowered the backpack that had been covering my face. He suddenly froze. Until I ran over and greeted him through the car window: “Ethan.” He remained in a daze for a long time. Ten years. For Ethan, I had been dead for ten years. During those ten years, countless women dressed themselves up to look like me, trying to climb into his bed. Every single one was verbally humiliated by him. And now, I stood right in front of him. Just as young as the photo on the tombstone. My eyes were clear, and when I looked at him, they carried a familiar timidity. The white pleated skirt and bear backpack I wore were identical to what I had been wearing when he identified my body at the morgue all those years ago. Even the phone I clutched in my hand still bore the cracks from when he had smashed it. “Get in.” His voice trembled slightly.

“Ethan, can you lend me some money? “My ID has been canceled too. Can you help me deal with it? “Ethan?” Ethan was distracted. The car drove very fast, and the streetlights rapidly flickered across his hard profile. I tried to remind him. I was worried he would take me back to the Ashford family. Or do something else, like send me to a research facility or something. “Did it hurt?” Ethan suddenly asked me. “What? “A little…” I tried hard to recall. There were only some blurry fragments in my memory. When I was suffocating from the smoke, I actually felt somewhat relieved. Having grown up in an orphanage, I was used to freedom. After being adopted by Mrs. Ashford, everyone said I was lucky. The Ashford family was the wealthiest in the city, and Mrs. Ashford treated me like her own daughter. Only I knew how suffocating those days were. Mrs. Ashford’s demands on me were extremely high. Learning music, horseback riding, endless tutoring sessions… If I showed the slightest dissatisfaction, what awaited me was the strictest family discipline. Being locked in the basement and made to kneel. Cane strikes on my body left bruises that wouldn’t fade for days. Once, when Ethan discovered the injuries on my arm, he asked me what happened. I quietly told him: “I was punished with family discipline.” Ethan sneered: “Iris, you’re getting better and better at lying. “What family discipline does the Ashford family have? “Mrs. Ashford has always wanted a daughter. She treasures you like a precious gem, and you’re doing well for yourself, completely unmotivated every day!” Ethan didn’t know the Ashford family had such discipline. He also didn’t know that Mrs. Ashford required me to make Ethan fall in love with me. When she learned that the scholarship student Olivia had stolen Ethan’s first kiss, Mrs. Ashford slapped me hard across the face. “Useless! “You can’t even handle a scholarship student. What a waste raising you! “Iris, I’m warning you, the person who marries Ethan must be you!” I looked at Mrs. Ashford in confusion. Until my death, I never understood. Why was I the only one punished with family discipline? Why did I have to be the one to marry Ethan? Ethan was so outstanding that even if it wasn’t Olivia, countless prestigious families would be lining up to arrange marriages with him. Why did it have to be me, an orphan with mediocre qualifications? But I had no choice but to listen to Mrs. Ashford and break up Ethan and Olivia. In the school library, I gave Olivia two million dollars. This was all the money I could access. I handed over the bank card and tried to persuade her gently: “Take the money and study abroad. “The Ashford family will never agree to you being with Ethan.” Olivia took the money, her eyes full of smugness and mockery. “Iris, so you’re in love with your adoptive brother! “Ugh, how disgusting.” My heart ached. She wasn’t wrong. If I were Ethan, I would find myself disgusting too. Olivia immediately turned around and gave the card I had given her to Ethan, crying pitifully: “Ethan, your sister is forcing me to leave. “My mother is seriously ill at home. I can’t be as selfish and cold-blooded as Iris, who doesn’t even look for her biological parents just for money. “Please, stay away from me from now on. I’m really scared…” That day, I naively thought the matter was settled and called Mrs. Ashford, who was on a business trip, from my room. “Mrs. Ashford, can I not marry Ethan?” There was a few seconds of silence on the other end, then came Mrs. Ashford’s cold voice: “Yes. “But you must bear him a child.” I couldn’t help but question her: “Why? “Did you adopt me to make me a child bride for Ethan? “But I don’t want to…” I didn’t want to force someone. I didn’t want to make him hate me. Mrs. Ashford angrily interrupted me: “Shut up! “Do you want to leave the Ashford family and go back to that rundown orphanage?” I fell silent. The Ashford family was very wealthy, but it wasn’t my home. I felt very uncomfortable there. She laughed coldly: “You can leave the Ashford family if you want. After the child is born, you can get lost.” This was the condition. It was also how I would repay the Ashford family’s kindness. I held the phone and thought for a long time. Until Ethan suddenly burst in and smashed my phone. He warned: “Iris, stay away from Olivia!”

I pulled myself out of the memories. Ethan hadn’t immediately agreed to my request. I didn’t know if he was too distracted to hear clearly, or if he was thinking about something else. It was very quiet in the car. Until I heard the sound of dripping water. Strange, why would such a nice car be leaking rain? My gaze swept around questioningly. Finally settling on Ethan’s wrist. On his pale, strong wrist was wrapped a dark-colored tie. At this moment, blood was winding down along the tie, dripping into the car drop by drop. I cried out in shock: “Ethan, you’re hurt?” His expression was too calm. It was also very dark in the car. So much so that I hadn’t noticed until now that his face was pale and he had lost so much blood. “Let’s go to the hospital first, okay? “Ethan! Go to the hospital!” The twenty-eight-year-old man was even more stubborn and difficult to read than his eighteen-year-old self. I couldn’t help but raise my voice a bit. Only then did Ethan slowly lift his eyelids. “Let’s go home first.” I blurted out: “I don’t want to go back to the Ashford family.” He paused for a moment, then quickly said: “To my private residence. Iris, don’t be afraid.” Perhaps I had been dead too long, and all the past barriers and disgust had faded. He actually called me by name in a rare moment, as if trying to comfort me. I thought of something and asked Ethan: “Are you married now? “Is your wife… Olivia?” His expression suddenly darkened. I immediately fell silent. I assumed that Mrs. Ashford didn’t approve of Olivia, so he ultimately couldn’t have his wish. I said nothing more. Ethan took me back to his private residence. It was far from the city center, a very remote old building. There wasn’t even an elevator. The apartment was on the top floor. I climbed up out of breath and discovered there wasn’t even a fingerprint lock. I stood in the dim hallway, very puzzled. After hesitating for a few seconds, I couldn’t help but ask: “Ethan, did you go bankrupt?” He took out his keys and suddenly smiled: “No.”

The door opened. The furnishings inside were very ordinary. There were drops of blood on the floor, winding all the way to the bathroom. I walked into the bathroom and saw that the bathtub water had been stained red with blood. On the floor was a blood-stained razor blade. My mind went completely blank. Ethan wasn’t injured. He was attempting suicide. I couldn’t help but recall the heavy breathing when I called Ethan. At that moment, Ethan was lying in the bathtub with his eyes closed. Just as the blade was about to cut the skin on his hand, his phone suddenly rang. He glanced at it casually and actually forgot to breathe for a moment. The caller ID showed: Iris. Iris, who had been dead for ten years. The only number saved on this phone. The blade slipped away. He hesitantly pressed the answer button. He heard a familiar voice, tinged with timidity: “Ethan.” … I closed my eyes. I couldn’t quite understand. Why would twenty-eight-year-old Ethan, the sole heir of the Ashford family, heaven’s favored son, choose to commit suicide? “Iris, you sleep in my room tonight.” Along with Ethan’s voice came the sound of the second bedroom door being locked. I snapped out of my shock. I turned around and stared at Ethan without saying a word. “Were you just trying to kill yourself? “Why?” I tried to stay calm, but my voice still trembled uncontrollably. Ethan had already treated his wound. His wrist was covered with hemostatic medicine and wrapped in white gauze bandages. His tone softened: “Did I scare you?” Was this about scaring me? I still looked at him in disbelief. “I almost forgot, you’re still an eighteen-year-old girl.” He lifted the corner of his mouth in self-mockery. “Iris, it’s okay. “I didn’t cut an artery. The blood just looks scary. I’ll go clean up the bathroom now. “You go back to the room and sleep first.” He pushed me into the room. “Ethan, throw away the blade.” I was almost begging him. He smiled and touched my head, his fingers lingering in my hair for a moment. “Okay.” The bedroom door closed. This was the second time I entered Ethan’s room. The first time was to complete Mrs. Ashford’s task of bearing his child. Back then, I shamelessly bought thin pajamas and snuck in while he was showering. Ethan came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, his hair wet. Seeing me lying on his bed, his eyes were full of undisguised disgust. Later, he had the servants throw out everything I had touched, and even had the floor wiped several times. I didn’t dare sleep in Ethan’s bed. I placed my backpack on the floor, then sat on it and took out my phone to search for news related to Ethan. “Ethan’s company swallows Ashford Group’s business, Ashford Group enters bankruptcy liquidation” The first news article stunned me. Not only did Ethan not inherit the Ashford Group, he actually destroyed it? “Tech mogul Ethan still unmarried, only because he can’t forget his old love” I clicked on it. The accompanying photo was actually of Ethan paying respects at my tombstone. I’d rather believe he wanted to blow up my grave than believe it was about being unable to forget an old love. “Ethan exposed for chaotic private life, illegitimate daughter already attending elite elementary school” The photo captured the little girl’s full face. I couldn’t help but pause. This child didn’t look like Ethan at all. It must be fake news! … My finger slid across the screen. Ethan suddenly walked in. I immediately stood up awkwardly and explained: “Ethan, I didn’t touch your things. “I didn’t dirty the floor either.” His eyes darkened, and he handed me a set of men’s pajamas: “Iris, sleep first.”

I looked at Ethan anxiously: “I’ll sleep in the second bedroom instead.” He refused outright: “No one has lived in the second bedroom. It’s not convenient.” “It’s okay, I can clean it up.” Ethan’s attitude was very firm. “…No.” I didn’t dare provoke eighteen-year-old Ethan, and I dared even less to provoke the twenty-eight-year-old him. What surprised me most was that he was actually willing to let me sleep in his bed, while he made a makeshift bed on the floor beside it. I couldn’t sleep. A small night light was still on in the room. I noticed that the moon-shaped night light was mine. It was very old now. I called out softly: “Ethan.” Ethan looked up at me. I spoke the long-overdue apology: “I’m sorry.” I thought he should know which incident I was referring to. Ethan suddenly sat up. His eyes were very deep, staring straight into mine: “Iris, what were you thinking that day?” I felt somewhat embarrassed. I stammered to explain: “The book said adolescent boys are very restless. I thought you might want to. “And you should have been… your first time. Supposedly it would be quick, so it shouldn’t hurt too much. “That day was also the seventh day after my period ended…” Under Ethan’s gaze, I forced myself to finish the last sentence: “The book said this is the ovulation period.” Ethan fell silent. His eyes grew even darker. After a long while, he turned his face away, his earlobes turning faintly pink. He cleared his throat lightly and said: “I was asking about the day of the study room fire. “You called me. I didn’t answer at the time. “For these ten years, I’ve been thinking that if I had answered, I could have saved you. “Iris, have you ever blamed me?” So he meant that incident. I felt somewhat annoyed and pulled the blanket over my head. In a muffled voice, I replied: “No, Ethan, I couldn’t have run out anyway.” After saying this, I suddenly froze. I couldn’t have run out. Why? It seemed like something had been forgotten by me. I tried hard to remember but couldn’t recall. The next day, I woke to the sound of an argument. My gaze accidentally swept past the window, and I was startled by the scene outside. Outside the window was actually a desolate, lifeless cemetery. I jumped out of bed and ran to the door. I suddenly heard Mrs. Ashford’s angry voice: “Ethan, you ungrateful wretch! “Going to such great lengths to destroy Ashford Group, what exactly do you want?” Ethan laughed mockingly. “You don’t know what I want? “Mrs. Ashford, everyone outside is saying I have an illegitimate daughter. Do you think I knew nothing about what happened back then…” Mrs. Ashford was furious: “Don’t talk to me about that. You’ll owe the Ashford family forever! “If it weren’t for you, Iris wouldn’t have died. You should atone…” Ethan’s expression changed. After seeing me come out, he quickly walked toward me. Mrs. Ashford also turned around. She had aged, looking haggard. She no longer had her former elegance and grace, and her features had become even more harsh. The moment she saw me, Mrs. Ashford cried out. “Iris! “Ethan, is she… Iris?” Mrs. Ashford’s lips trembled, and a tear slid down the corner of her eye. This reminded me of when she came to the orphanage. Among so many pretty and lovely girls, she walked straight toward me, looked at me with disgust, and didn’t even want to hold my hand. She said condescendingly: “Change her name. Call her Iris.” As if she didn’t like me, but had no choice but to choose me. I nervously hid behind Ethan. Ethan raised his eyebrows: “I found a woman who looked similar and had plastic surgery to make her look like Iris to sleep with me. “What’s so shocking about that?” Mrs. Ashford angrily threw her purse at him: “You’re truly insane! “Crazy! Disgusting!”

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