1
Lately, Charlotte had been getting a lot of calls from a restricted number.
She claimed it was her cell carrier, pitching new plans.
But I knew the truth. She had a different carrier.
I didn’t bother calling her out on it, but she just got bolder.
The day I got food poisoning, she was at the office, screwing her male assistant.
When I called her office line, all I could hear over the phone were the muffled sounds of their passion, punctuated by her sharp, dismissive words to me:
“If you’re going to die, then just die. Stop bothering me!”
Later, we were out together, and I found a designer men’s watch in the car’s center console.
Before I could say anything, Charlotte snatched it away, her voice cold.
“Don’t touch that. It’s not for you.”
I just nodded and pulled the car up to the bridal shop.
The custom wedding suits we’d ordered… it was time to cancel them.
I’d just stepped into the bridal shop when Charlotte caught up to me.
She tossed a windproof lighter at me.
“Oliver, you need to work on not losing things all the time.”
Charlotte had a touch of OCD. She couldn’t stand clutter in her car.
The lighter hit me in the face, a sharp, stinging pain, but I didn’t react. I just said, calmly, “I don’t smoke. You know who this belongs to, don’t you?”
At that, her expression softened. She carefully picked up the lighter from the floor and slipped it into her pocket.
I knew it was Leo’s.
Every time Leo deliberately left something behind to provoke me, I would lose my temper.
But not this time. I didn’t complain.
I just turned and gave my phone number to the sales assistant.
The assistant smiled brightly. “You’re just in time. Your custom suits are finished and ready for a fitting.”
Before I could refuse, Charlotte, the same woman who had just been yelling at me, had already disappeared into the changing room, her face a mask of indifference.
Ten minutes later, I stood before her in my suit.
She smirked. “A monkey in a suit is still a monkey. Tacky as hell.”
I didn’t argue. I just asked the assistant to take a picture of me.
Charlotte, though visibly annoyed, started to move into the frame. I shifted away.
Just then, her phone rang—Leo’s special ringtone.
Leo’s voice was frantic. He’d lost his limited-edition Dupont lighter and was dramatically offering himself to whoever was kind enough to return it.
I thought he sounded like a moron, but Charlotte was completely invested. She hung up, and without even bothering to change out of her wedding gown, she hiked up the skirt and dashed out of the shop.
As I heard her car speed away, I paid the remaining balance for the suits.
Then I picked up a pair of scissors and, without a moment’s hesitation, cut my wedding suit to ribbons.
It was one in the morning when I got a text while packing my things.
It was from Charlotte:
[At a karaoke bar.]
After six years together, my girlfriend was finally, for once, volunteering her whereabouts.
I glanced at it and didn’t reply.
After taking out the trash, I took a long bath and fell straight to sleep.
When Charlotte came home the next day, she found me on my way out to take out more trash.
She gave me a strange look. “Is your phone broken?”
When I shook my head, her brow furrowed in annoyance.
I knew why she was reacting this way. In the past, whenever she stayed out too late, I would text and call her relentlessly.
2
I’d even cross the entire city just to bring her home.
But last night, not only had I not tried to find her, I hadn’t even replied to her text.
As I was about to step outside, Charlotte asked, “Oliver, where’s the photo of us that was on the wall?”
I met her gaze, about to lay it all on the line, when her phone rang again, right on cue.
She brushed past my shoulder, already deep in conversation as she walked into the house. “Don’t worry, Leo. I’ll bring it over as soon as it’s ready.”
Hearing the sound of the shower running, I continued downstairs to take out the trash.
On my way back up, a wave of dizziness hit me. Probably low blood sugar from skipping breakfast and a busy morning.
I stumbled back into the apartment, drenched in a cold sweat, and grabbed a sandwich from the counter. I had just taken a bite when Charlotte appeared before me, her voice sharp and accusatory.
“Oliver, are you some kind of starving animal?”
She snatched the sandwich from my mouth, plate and all, and threw it in the trash.
I stared at her, stunned. “I’ve taken care of you for six years. Don’t I even deserve a single bite of the breakfast you made?”
Charlotte’s eyes were hard as stone. “Why don’t you take a good look at yourself in the mirror and tell me what part of you deserves anything?”
Without another glance, she put on her coat and slammed the door behind her.
Faced with this new wave of the silent treatment, I instinctively picked up my phone and opened her chat.
I saw she’d changed her background photo.
It was a side profile of Leo kissing her on the forehead.
I ‘liked’ the photo and then unpinned her chat from the top of my list.
During my lunch break, I had an appointment with a real estate agent to look at apartments. As I stepped into the elevator, I ran into Charlotte and Leo.
Leo looked like he’d just woken up, and Charlotte was gently fixing his bangs.
Seeing me, Leo didn’t flinch. He even greeted me cheerfully. “Ollie, perfect timing. I just got this haircut, but Charlotte thinks it’s messy and insists on fixing it. Is she this controlling with you at home too?”
Even if I weren’t in the picture, Charlotte was still his boss, yet he called her by her first name. It was clear their relationship was an open secret at the office.
I had no intention of responding to his provocation, but then I saw Charlotte poke Leo’s cheek, not trying to hide it at all. “Only you’re allowed to boss me around, huh? I can’t boss you back?”
Leo looked up at me. “Why don’t you tell Ollie here how you boss me around?”
They both burst out laughing. Charlotte laughed so hard she practically fell into him, completely ignoring my presence.
The next second, the elevator shuddered to a halt, plunging us into darkness.
I turned on my phone’s flashlight and saw Charlotte holding Leo, murmuring soft words of comfort.
It didn’t take long for the elevator to be fixed.
When we reached the ground floor, Charlotte offered to give me a ride.
Before I could answer, Leo suddenly announced that the ordeal had made him dizzy.
Without a second thought, Charlotte pushed me aside, bundled Leo into the passenger seat, and sped off toward the hospital.
I silently picked up my phone, which she had knocked to the floor, hailed a cab, and went to see the apartment.
That evening, Charlotte personally delivered a dessert to my desk.
Half an hour earlier, I had seen a new post from Leo:
[A little low blood sugar doesn’t call for this many desserts! There’s no way I can finish all of this!]
3
The picture was a table laden with French pastries.
I thanked her but didn’t touch the dessert box.
A flicker of confusion crossed Charlotte’s face. “Oliver, why are you being so polite to me?”
I didn’t answer her directly. “If you don’t mind, I need to go print something.”
By the time I returned with my printed resignation letter, Charlotte was gone.
She had left a sticky note.
It said to find her upstairs when I was done.
I tore off the note and threw it away, along with the dessert.
I didn’t go find her. Instead, I walked into my boss’s office and resigned.
“Oliver, why are you being so polite to me?” my boss had asked, echoing Charlotte’s words.
He tried to convince me to stay, but seeing my mind was made up, he finally accepted my resignation.
If the handover went smoothly, I would be free after this week.
At ten that night, Charlotte called me while I was at a work dinner.
A female colleague accidentally answered.
By the time I got the phone, Charlotte’s voice was dangerously cold.
“Oliver, where are you this late at night? And who was that woman?”
“Out,” I replied.
“Send me your location. I’m coming to pick you up.”
She hung up before I could say another word.
I sent my location and stayed until the restaurant closed.
Charlotte never showed up.
I opened Leo’s social media and, unsurprisingly, saw a picture of him in a hospital bed with an IV drip.
I took a cab home alone, showered, and went to sleep.
At three in the morning, a disheveled Charlotte shook me awake.
Her voice was ice. “Oliver, I’m hungry. Make me a bowl of shrimp dumplings.”
She was allergic to shellfish and didn’t even like dumplings.
I knew who they were for.
I tried to pull her hand away, but my fingers brushed against the scar on her arm.
Years ago, a fire had broken out in the school auditorium. Charlotte had dragged me out of the smoke-filled room after I’d passed out. Her arm was badly burned, leaving a permanent scar.
If it weren’t for her, I’d probably be dead.
A bowl of shrimp dumplings in exchange for my life. It was a fair trade.
Seeing me get dressed without a word, ready to head out, Charlotte grabbed my arm.
For the first time in a long while, her voice was hesitant. “Maybe… maybe you should just wait until morning. Anyway…”
I cut her off. “Does he want anything else besides the dumplings?” I asked softly.
After a moment of silence, Charlotte let go of my arm.
“No,” she said.
At dawn, Charlotte stood at the door with an insulated food container.
“Oliver, I have to go abroad next week. Make some time this Saturday to have dinner with my parents and discuss the wedding…”
Before she could finish, I cut her off. “No need.”
Charlotte was clearly taken aback. “What do you mean?”
I lied without batting an eye. “Let’s talk about it when you get back. Work is more important.”
She stared at me, as if she had more to say, but luckily, her phone rang again.
She shut the door, eager to take the call.
On Friday, my last day of work, Charlotte pulled me into her car the moment I stepped out of the office.
At a high-end restaurant, she placed a piece of sashimi on my plate. “Which wine do you want?”
I scrolled idly through my phone. “Whatever. You pick.”
My indifference made her pretty face darken.
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After the crash, dying, I didn’t call my wife—the chief of surgery. I waited calmly for the ambulance.
In my last life, she answered first, rushed to save me with a top medical team. Later, I learned who was in the other car: her first love, the one who got away.
He missed the golden hour for treatment, lost an arm and a leg. Unable to accept it, he jumped from the hospital roof.
My wife told me not to feel guilty. But on our wedding night, she drugged me, sliced my tendons, and dragged me to his grave, forcing me to kowtow and apologize.
“You were faking! If not for you, Julian would’ve lived!”
She ran me over repeatedly until I was pulp.
Now, back at the crash, I won’t fight for her. Let her save him this time.
1
My neck was pinned against the seat, unable to move. Blood trickled down from my temple. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I pulled out my phone and deleted every trace of Evelyn Reed.
The paramedics from the first ambulance rushed to the other car. After I saw Evelyn get her precious Julian onto a stretcher and into the vehicle, only then did I dial 911 and request another unit.
Gasoline was leaking, and the hiss of sparks began to spread. I used every last ounce of strength to free myself, but the car exploded just as I scrambled clear.
The emergency room was a chaotic swarm of people. Evelyn came over, gave me a cursory glance, and declared my injuries minor—just some external wounds that needed simple dressing and observation.
Nearly every doctor and nurse, following her lead, was focused on saving Julian Cole.
It was the Reed family hospital, after all. What Evelyn said was law.
The pain in my leg gradually faded, replaced by a terrifying numbness.
In my previous life, Evelyn had rushed to me the moment I called, but in doing so, she’d let Julian miss his window for optimal treatment, leaving him disabled.
His death became a landmine in our marriage, ready to detonate at the slightest touch.
On our wedding night, she’d tricked me into taking an overdose of sedatives, telling me it was to help with the champagne, and then she’d severed my tendons.
When I came to, she’d thrown me from her car in front of Julian’s grave, forcing me to kneel and beg for forgiveness. Her eyes were bloodshot as she screamed at me, “Leo Vance, why don’t you just die? Why did you have to provoke him with my reputation, making him rush to clear the air about us? You’re the one who should be dead.”
She’d vented her rage by running me over repeatedly, not stopping until I was pulp.
I never imagined I would be reborn, right back at the scene of the crash.
I didn’t want the regrets of my last life to repeat themselves. So this time, I waited. I let her save Julian first before I called for help.
I just never thought she would abuse her authority to pull every available resource to save him, leaving me with nothing.
With what little strength I had left, I called out for a doctor, a nurse, anyone. Finally, a young physician approached.
“Doctor, help me. I can’t feel my leg.”
He didn’t even bother to look at my leg. He just sneered.
“Mr. Vance, I know who you are. You’re Dr. Reed’s husband, right? She already said you’re fine. Your external wounds are treated. You just need to be observed.”
“Dr. Reed also mentioned you get pretty jealous, that you’ve pulled a lot of stunts to get her attention. Hey, you should give me some tips, man.”
After three years with Evelyn, I never imagined this is how she talked about me behind my back.
2
I watched the frantic activity around me, but not a single person came to check on my condition.
After what felt like an eternity, a young nurse finally called out, “Dr. Reed, Mr. Vance’s blood pressure and heart rate are dropping fast! You need to come look!”
Evelyn came over, pried my eyelids open, shone a penlight in my eyes, and took my blood pressure before giving me a rough shove.
“Hey, Leo, that’s enough. I can handle your tantrums on a normal day, but look at where we are. Julian is in emergency surgery. If we’re a minute too late, he could lose his leg. I’ll let the fact that you were stalking and threatening him slide this one time, considering you’re injured.”
My mind went blank. In our three years together, forget having the time or energy to stalk someone—I was the one being monitored, even when I went to the bathroom.
I closed my eyes, refusing to engage. She pinched my right thigh, hard. “Alright, stop playing dead. Get your IV drip and go home. Don’t cause any more trouble.”
My leg was truly numb. But no one believed me.
Evelyn then led a procession of medical staff, wheeling Julian towards the ICU, leaving only the young nurse to watch over me.
“Head nurse, it’s bad! Mr. Vance’s BP is down to 60 over 40!”
“Damn it, it’s crush syndrome! He’s going into shock! Get the crash cart, push one of epi, and call for backup in OR two!”
They finally realized the gravity of the situation and started scrambling to save me.
Staring up at the shadowless lamp above, I felt a strange, sharp sense of being alive.
It was only in this second life that I began to truly understand my relationship with Evelyn.
Three years ago, when my younger brother needed a massive sum for his uremia treatment, it was Mr. Reed, Evelyn’s grandfather, who provided the funds. Though my brother passed away in the end, I was eternally grateful to the Reed family. Even when the condition for their generosity was that I marry into their family, I agreed.
When I met Evelyn, we hit it off. She was obsessed with medicine, so her grandfather poured all his energy into me, making me the acting CEO of the Reed Corporation.
This all changed six months ago when Julian returned from abroad. Evelyn grew distant, often staying out all night.
Julian was her first love. Though his family was poor, he had refused to marry into hers. Mr. Reed, admiring his pride, had given him money to study overseas instead.
Everyone whispered that the golden couple was finally reunited, a spark ready to ignite a wildfire. They said I’d been wearing a green hat for a while.
I didn’t believe it at first. Evelyn even introduced us, and Julian and I got along great, adding each other on social media and lamenting we hadn’t met sooner.
But soon after, Julian began to provoke me relentlessly through private messages.
When Evelyn claimed she was on duty, Julian would send me a video of them at an amusement park, kissing each other.
When Evelyn said she wasn’t feeling well and was on an IV drip, Julian would send a photo of her asleep beside him, her head resting on his shoulder, a blissful smile on her face.
And every time, before I could confront her, she would wrap her arms around me, her tone affectionately chiding.
“Leo, are you made of wood? Can’t you tell when someone isn’t feeling well?”
“Leo, you don’t love me at all. I’m exhausted from my shift, and you’re here accusing me, questioning me.”
But she didn’t know that when she worked late, I would wait with a late-night snack to drive her home. When she was sick, I would stay up all night by her side.
She was an untouchable goddess, and I was the dirt beneath her feet.
I loved her. If she said it, I believed it.
Julian grew bolder, even coming to my office to flaunt his position and humiliate me. When I told Evelyn, she would just dismiss it, saying I was being petty for a grown man.
She insisted it was all in the past, that they were just old friends catching up, that nothing was happening. She’d accuse me of thinking so little of her, her eyes welling with tears.
After Julian jumped, she didn’t cry, didn’t grieve. She just told me to focus on the wedding.
I helped her pick her favorite dress, try on the most beautiful makeup, only for her to butcher me like a fish on our wedding night.
I realize now that when you truly hate someone, you can be perfectly calm, without a single ripple on the surface.
Unfortunately, I was too lost in the joy of my own survival to see it. By the time the fire started, I realized it was all just a beautiful, empty illusion.
Under the influence of the anesthetic, I drifted into a deep sleep, and the world around me slowly faded to black.
3
When I woke up, Mr. Reed was sitting beside me, leaning on his cane.
I looked around the luxurious VIP room. The walls were stark white, devoid of any color.
I felt a dull ache in my leg. As I tried to lift the blanket, Mr. Reed gently pressed my hand down.
“Leo, my boy, I’ve failed you. It’s my fault I didn’t rein Evelyn in, and that’s why your condition was delayed. Aiya.”
Confused, I tried to lift my leg, but my body wouldn’t respond. I froze. My lower right leg was gone.
In the last life, Julian became disabled and jumped from the roof. This time, I was the one who was disabled. Was I supposed to die, too?
Surprisingly, I felt no grief, no despair. It was as if it wasn’t my leg that was gone.
“Leo, you just focus on healing. Grandfather will hire the best doctors to fit you with a prosthetic. You’ll be just like you were before.”
I didn’t respond. The silence grew awkward. Mr. Reed called Evelyn, thoughtfully putting her on speakerphone, hoping she would come see me.
“Evie, where are you? Get to the Special Care unit, room 1, right now.”
I heard Julian’s laughter from the other end. Evelyn must have been feeding him fruit. “Evie, it’s too sour! No more, no more, haha!”
Then, Evelyn’s voice. “Come on, just one more bite. It’s sweet! Hi, Grandfather, what’s up?”
Yes, they were so sweet. The only thing sour here was my heart.
Mr. Reed’s face hardened. “Evelyn Reed, if you continue to fool around with that shameless creature, I will disown you as my granddaughter.”
“Grandfather, I don’t know what kind of spell Leo has put on you. He’s just the man who married in. You’re giving him far too much importance.”
Mr. Reed probably regretted putting her on speaker. But it didn’t matter. I’d figured it out. I was just the man who married in.
And a man like that should know his place. How could he ever hope to reach the lofty heights of the Reed family’s heiress?
“You get over here right now. Leo is seriously injured. If you insist on being stubborn, I’ll cut off all of Julian’s treatment.”
Evelyn cared too much about Julian. She came, reluctantly.
“Leo, I’ve got to hand it to you. You run to Grandfather with every little thing, don’t you? Didn’t I tell you to go home after your IV? Why are you still in the hospital?”
She looked at me with disdain, as if I were a dog.
“Evie, apologize to Leo.”
“Apologize for what? Grandfather, it was Leo who blew things out of proportion, spreading dirty rumors about Julian and me. That’s why Julian got hurt so badly! If I had been a minute later, he would have lost his leg!”
Evelyn glared at me, as if I were the world’s greatest sinner.
“Evelyn, I lost a leg in this accident. Do you think that’s enough?”
She stared at me. “Leo, you’re still throwing a tantrum. He was hurt badly, so I spent some time with him. What’s the big deal? Can’t you be a little more magnanimous as a man?”
Remembering all of Julian’s provocations, I didn’t back down. “How am I not magnanimous, Evelyn? My fiancée has been sleeping with her ex-boyfriend for half a year. The other man has been flaunting it in my face. You tell me, how much more magnanimous am I supposed to be?”
“You’re being unreasonable,” she snapped, slamming the door on her way out.
Mr. Reed, seeing the tension between us, tried to placate me.
“Leo, you’ve always been a sensible boy. I think very highly of you. I was going to entrust the Reed family business to you. Evie has been spoiled since she was a child. I’ll have a good talk with her later, make her apologize. Couples don’t hold grudges overnight. Just humor her a little, and it will be fine.”
I looked at this white-haired man, my benefactor, my heart a mix of emotions. “Grandfather, when I was working myself to the bone to manage your business, she still looked down on me. Now that I’m disabled, you expect us to live happily ever after? Do you even believe that yourself? I’ve humored her for three years. If you raise a cat for that long, at least it knows you love it. But her?”
“Leo, I know you’re upset about the leg. Don’t worry, I’ll find the best team for your surgery. You two will have a good life together.”
I cut him off. “Grandfather, if your grandson had married into a family with a girl like that, would you still advise him to make it work? I’m a person. I have dignity.”
“Then what do you want to do?”
“The debt of gratitude has been paid. I want to break up.”
4
Half an hour after storming out, Evelyn returned, immediately confronting me.
“Leo, I’ve been gone for so long, and you didn’t even come looking for me. Are you trying to end things?”
“Yes. I want to end things. I want to break up.”
She stared at me in disbelief. “Leo, have you had enough of this drama? Fine. I’ll forgive you this time. Don’t let it happen again.”
She held out a peeled orange. I looked at it, feeling sick to my stomach.
I swatted the orange from her hand. “Evelyn, I said I want to break up. Did you hear me? And I don’t want Julian’s leftovers.”
Now Evelyn was truly furious. She raised her hand to slap me, but I caught her wrist.
“Evelyn, when I loved you, I was willing to indulge you, to give in to you. Now that I don’t, you can forget about ever walking all over me again.”
“Leo, is it really that serious? You’re demanding a divorce over something so small? Are you really going to give up the fortune Grandfather promised you?”
In her eyes, every fight about Julian was just me making a mountain out of a molehill, always ending with me backing down and choosing to believe her.
I threw back the covers, my voice calm. “You tell me if it’s serious.”
She saw the stump of my leg, wrapped in thick, blood-soaked bandages.
Her hand trembled as she reached for the dressing. “How…?”
Then, she lifted her chin, her pride returning. “Are you sure you want to break up? It’s just a leg. You can get a prosthetic.”
I looked at her exquisite face. A true beauty. I had been blinded by it for so long.
At the door, Julian was leaning on his crutches, enjoying the show.
“Evelyn, your lover is here. Aren’t you going to invite him in?”
She saw him and rushed to his side. Julian didn’t hide the triumphant look in his eyes. Mr. Reed clutched his chest, gasping with rage at the sight.
“Mr. Cole,” I said, “now that Evelyn and I are splitting up, you’d better be ready to catch this heaven-sent fortune that’s coming your way.”
“I don’t agree,” Evelyn said, always so domineering.
“I don’t care. It’s a breakup, not a divorce. I don’t need your consent. The sooner I leave, the sooner I can make room for you two golden lovebirds.”
Evelyn started to say something, but Julian cut her off.
“Evie, Leo must have misunderstood our relationship again. Don’t be impulsive. You two should talk it out.”
Julian was still acting. I couldn’t stand it. I threw my phone at him. “Mr. Cole, why don’t you explain this?”
Evelyn picked up the phone. “Leo, I’ve explained this to you so many times, and you still don’t believe me. You actually hired someone to stalk us and take secret photos, threatening to expose us to the media. Julian was rushing to explain things to you when he got into the accident.”
She took out her own phone, intending to find proof of my “threats,” but instead, all she found were the countless photos, videos, and humiliating messages that Julian had sent me.
I had asked her about these photos before. She’d told me they were just friends, that I shouldn’t overthink it, that I was being small-minded.
“Evelyn, I’ve already died once. Being run over by a car, again and again… it hurts. It hurts so much that it was enough to make me forget my love for you. Let’s just let each other go.”
Evelyn froze for a few seconds, her eyes wide with shock. She spoke in disbelief. “You’re… you’re reborn, too!”
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The moment I caught my husband with a student again was the final straw. I tore the house apart in a blind rage.
His mother said I was incompetent, unable to keep my own man in line. His sister said I deserved it.
I demanded a divorce.
But Mark threatened me with the children, and for their sake, I chose to endure it.
I didn’t realize that one moment of endurance would stretch into a lifetime of misery. Mark was a philanderer his entire life, and I was his servant. In the end, he died peacefully in his sleep, a ripe old age.
And me? After a lifetime of thankless labor, I was cast aside by my own children, left to die of sickness in a rented room.
But God, in His mercy, gave me a second chance. I’ve woken up just before the day I first asked for that divorce.
1
I open my eyes to the spittle-flecked face of my mother-in-law, a woman who’s been dead for twenty years.
“Chloe! You dare wreck my house? Who do you think you are?” she shrieks. “He was just talking to a student, and you act like a rabid dog. You have no class, no upbringing!”
“It’s your own fault you can’t control your husband, yet you blame him. You deserve this,” she continues, her voice dripping with venom. “Go on, get a divorce if you have the guts! My son is a university professor. You’re just a housewife. Let’s see what man would want you, a piece of used goods.”
My sister-in-law, Megan, chimes in, her face alight with malicious glee. “Don’t worry, Mom. She’d never dare leave him.” It was Megan who had encouraged her mother to slap me just moments before.
“Still breaking things, are you? I’ll beat the defiance out of you!” my father-in-law, slumped in his wheelchair, slurs, his mouth twisted from the stroke. He’s telling Mark to hit me.
My cheek is already swelling as I turn my head. Mark is sitting on the sofa, engrossed in the television.
“Your mother wants me to divorce you,” I say, my voice flat. “Do you agree?”
He doesn’t even look up. “I don’t care. If you want a divorce, fine.”
“Good,” I say. “I agree. We’ll go to the courthouse tomorrow.”
Mark scoffs. “A divorce is fine. But don’t even think about taking the children. And there are no joint savings. You won’t get a single penny.”
There it is. The old threat.
I, Chloe, used to be a fiery woman. The first time he cheated, I demanded a divorce without hesitation. But Mark always knew how to play me. He knew the children were my weakness.
The children!
My mother-in-law starts to say something, but Megan pulls her back. They all know. The moment the kids are mentioned, I fold. I’ll endure anything.
But not anymore. I don’t care about the children anymore.
God has been good to me, giving me this second life. This time, I will not sacrifice myself for anyone.
Just like before, I say nothing more. I get up and walk back to my room.
“See, Mom? I told you. She doesn’t have the guts.”
I ignore Megan’s taunts, a cold smile playing on my lips as I start to move my things. My “room” isn’t really a room, but a tiny, cramped alcove partitioned off from my father-in-law’s bedroom.
After his stroke, he needed constant care. The original plan was for me to look after him during the day and for my mother-in-law to take the night shift, giving me a chance to rest. But she claimed to be a light sleeper, that any little noise would keep her awake. She insisted I move into the alcove to be closer to him.
The thought of it makes me want to laugh with rage. Mark gets the master bedroom all to himself, sleeping soundly every single night.
Well, I’ve decided. Whoever’s father he is can be the one to take care of him. My mother-in-law loves to gossip to the neighbors about how unfilial I am? Fine. I’ll be unfilial. Let her precious son Mark be the dutiful one for a change.
I quickly pack up my bedding and march straight into the master bedroom.
Mark follows me in, his brow furrowed. “What are you doing, moving in here? What about Dad? What if he needs to use the bathroom at night, or needs water, or needs to be turned over?”
2
I start tossing Mark’s clothes onto the floor. “We’re getting a divorce. Your father is no longer my father. He’s your problem now.”
“What the hell is wrong with you? Are you done with this tantrum or not?”
I laugh. “A tantrum? What if I’m not done?”
He calls it a tantrum. I used to believe him. Arguing with him was a tantrum. Smashing things in a hysterical fit was a tantrum. Going on a hunger strike was a tantrum.
But I see it clearly now. Hurting myself isn’t a tantrum. Hurting them is.
Look at him. All I did was move out of that miserable little alcove, and he’s already following me, desperate to talk. On a normal day, he barely speaks three sentences to me.
So, this is how you make them uncomfortable. Good to know.
Mark’s face is a dark cloud as he storms out of the room. I don’t care what they’re plotting out there. I change the sheets on the bed and then head into the bathroom for a long, hot shower.
Usually, this would be the time I’d rush to pick up the kids from school. Then I’d have to cook dinner, clean up after everyone, help the kids with their homework, and then bathe them. After all that, it would be time to bathe my father-in-law and give him his medicine. Only when he was finally asleep would I get a moment to myself.
I was nothing but a beast of burden in this house.
After my shower, I start taking stock of my savings. I have a two-year degree and had only worked for a few years before getting married. After the wedding, Mark’s salary went directly to his mother. I had to submit a weekly report just to get grocery money. If I needed anything for myself, I had to ask my mother-in-law for permission. Mark would never give me money directly.
But I wasn’t entirely without an income. My English is excellent, and I took on occasional freelance translation jobs, earning a few hundred dollars each time. Right now, I have just over ten thousand dollars saved. It’s not much, but it’s enough to tide me over until I find a job after the divorce.
And I don’t have to worry about the house.
This house was left to me by my parents. It’s large and spacious. It’s a pre-marital asset; Mark can’t touch it. The moment we got married, he moved his parents in. His sister Megan lived with us too, until she got married.
I realize it now. Mark probably only married me for this house. They were a family of parasites, planning to bleed me dry from the very start.
This time, I will not compromise. I will kick every single one of them out.
Just then, my mother-in-law starts pounding on the door. “Chloe, what are you doing hiding in there? The kids will be out of school soon, go get them! And you haven’t cleaned up the living room, you lazy bum.”
I swing the door open. “They don’t like it when I pick them up. Let Mark go.”
She shrieks. “How could Mark do something like that?”
“Why can’t he? They’re his children too.”
“Fine! If you won’t go, then nobody will!”
It’s another one of her classic moves. In the past, seeing that no one else would do it, I’d get angry but eventually give in, unable to bear the thought of the children waiting alone. I always ended up doing it myself.
This time, I’m not playing her game.
A moment later, I hear the front door slam.
3
She’s gone. She won’t be back until just before dinner.
I open the bedroom door. The living room is empty except for the shattered remains of my outburst and my father-in-law in his wheelchair. I pretend not to see him.
I walk into the study, power on the computer, and start looking for a job.
My English skills are top-notch. I studied international trade in college and have always loved the language, so I never let it get rusty. I polish my resume and send it out to over a hundred companies.
Once that’s done, I go straight back to the bedroom, lie down, and go to sleep.
I’m so tired. I don’t want to think. I don’t want to care about anything.
“Where’s dinner? Why hasn’t anyone cooked?”
“Are you dead? You’re home all day and you don’t cook? You don’t clean up the floor?”
“Mark, look at this woman you married! Lazy and useless! She’s just lying in bed instead of making dinner. Does she have a death wish? Is this a rebellion?”
My mother-in-law’s screeching voice wakes me. I pull the comforter over my head in annoyance.
“Get up.” Mark is in the room.
My anger flares. I sit bolt upright. “Are you insane? Can’t you see I’m sleeping?”
“Sleep, sleep, sleep! That’s all you do!” he seethes. “It’s dinnertime. Why didn’t you cook?”
“I’m not eating.”
“I’m not asking if you’re eating. Mom told you to cook. Why didn’t you?”
I feign surprise. “Are you deaf or just stupid? I said I’m not eating. Whoever is hungry can cook for themselves.”
“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? What did my mom ever do to you to deserve this drama? Chloe, don’t push it!”
“I am pushing it. What are you going to do about it? Divorce me? Then get the hell out! Go find your precious Lily! Let her come and wait on your whole family, hand and foot.”
Mark takes a few deep breaths. “Fine. You don’t cook, the kids can starve too.”
I roll my eyes. He always pulls this card. So unoriginal.
As we’re arguing, the children come home. Sophie and Leo are nine-year-old twins.
The moment he walks in, Leo says, “Mom, why are you fighting with Dad again? Can’t you just be quiet for once?”
Sophie nods in agreement. “Yeah, Mom, you’re being really loud. And you didn’t even pick me and Leo up from school today.”
Mark’s face is grim. “Look at the state of your mother. Don’t you ever turn out like her. A classless shrew with no manners.”
I almost choke on my own rage.
I look at the two children I gave birth to, my eyes cold. Genetics are a powerful thing. Leo and Sophie have perfectly inherited the selfish streak of the Lee family. All they ever see is me, shouting and screaming. And every single time, they take Mark’s side.
In my last life, when I was on my deathbed, their first thought was how to get rid of me, not how to get me to a doctor.
I finally see it clearly. A husband like this? Children like these? I’d rather have none at all.
I force a smile. “Alright, alright. I won’t fight with your dad anymore. Now, hurry up and take him out of here. I have a headache today. You two don’t bother me either.”
The two little ones exchange a confused look, wondering why I’ve suddenly given in.
Mark glares at me. “The kids are home. What are you still doing in bed? I told you to make dinner.”
I completely ignore him.
He raises his voice. “Chloe, did you hear me?!” He continues to shout when I don’t respond. “Are you deaf? I told you to go and cook! How long are you going to keep this up? I already told you I was just having a normal chat with a student. Why are you being so controlling? What will people think of me?”
I sit up and gesture for the children to come closer. When Sophie and Leo are beside me, I say, “See? I’m not arguing now. It’s your father who’s yelling. Can you two please make him be quiet? He’s supposed to be a professor, but he has no self-control. Don’t be like him when you grow up. He’s acting like a lunatic.”
The twins look up at Mark. “Dad, please stop fighting.”
My mother-in-law bursts into the room, shoving the children aside. “What do you two know? Your father is just disciplining his wife.”
Sophie, pushed off balance, falls to the floor and starts wailing.
My mother-in-law shoots me a look from her beady, triangular eyes. “What are you crying for, you useless girl? All you do is cry. Did someone in this house die?”
If this were the past, I would have rushed over, scooped Sophie into my arms, and started a screaming match with her mother.
But not now. I’m not that stupid anymore. In the past, it only took a few words from my mother-in-law to win them over, making them forget everything. They’d even tell me to be more forgiving. Now, without my protection, let’s see if they still remember how “good” their grandmother is.
Mark frowns at his mother. “That’s enough, Mom. Just go and make dinner.”
Her eyes widen. “Me? What’s she doing then?”
Mark sighs, exasperated. “She’s not feeling well today. You can cook this once.”
I watch my mother-in-law with a cold smile.
See? If your heart is hard enough, anything is possible.
After she leaves, Mark leads the children out of the room. I call after him, “Don’t forget the courthouse tomorrow. To sign the papers.”
Mark whips his head around. “Fine. Let’s go. Just don’t you regret it.”
That night, I do nothing. My mother-in-law clatters and bangs around the kitchen, cursing under her breath as she cooks. She curses me, and she curses the children.
I don’t help with their homework either. Mark has no choice but to do it himself. I can hear his roars of frustration from my room. It’s almost funny. When I used to help them, everyone said I had a bad temper and was a poor teacher. Now that it’s Mark’s turn, his mother doesn’t dare say a word.
After what feels like an eternity, the kids are finally bathed. Then, my father-in-law starts banging his bamboo cane on the floor. It’s a special tool my mother-in-law made for him. Whenever he needs something, he bangs it, and I’m expected to come running.
Tonight, of course, I’m not going anywhere.
“Chloe, hurry up! Your father soiled himself! Get in here and clean him up!”
“Did you hear me? Are you dead in there?!”
My mother-in-law is pounding on my door so hard the frame is shaking.
I walk out and state calmly, “Mark and I are getting a divorce. I have no obligation to take care of him. Mark is the dutiful son. Go find him.”
“You black-hearted witch! It was the worst day of Mark’s life when he married you!”
I retort coolly, “Regret it? Good. Then hurry up with the divorce. There are plenty of women lining up to marry your son.”
It feels so good.
Unwilling to make Mark do it, my mother-in-law has to clean up her husband herself, grumbling and cursing the whole time. The pulling and lifting and cleaning of his mess leaves her exhausted.
The next morning, I get up and get dressed. I hear my mother-in-law complaining in the kitchen. “Son, are you really going to divorce her? My old bones were killing me last night. Who’s going to do all the housework?”
“Don’t worry, Mom. I’m just scaring her with the divorce. Even after we sign, there’s a thirty-day cooling-off period, right? She’ll back out for sure. You’ll just have to tough it out for a while. Let her see that the house runs just fine without her.”
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My husband’s true love was getting married.
To make her regret her choice, he abandoned our entire Holy Order—and me—and ventured into the mortal wilds to hunt abominations.
I burned nine hundred and ninety-nine whispering runes, begging for a word, but received no reply. In the hundredth year, I stopped trying. I lay upon my enchanted frost-crystal bed, content to receive the life-sustaining elixirs sent by the Archon himself.
Then, suddenly, he returned.
Staring at my swollen belly, he seethed, his words laced with venom. “I have been gone a century, and we have not once met. Whose bastard do you carry?”
I remained unbothered. “You may have no appreciation for your own consort, but others have a keener eye for treasure.”
1
Kaelen ripped me from the frost-crystal bed, his eyes burning with murderous rage.
“You faithless whore! I am gone for a mere century, and not only do you shame me by swelling with another’s child, but you dare to be defiant about it!” he roared. “Tell me! Who is the wretch you lay with?”
His movements were brutal. With a sweep of his arm, he sent a row of crystal vials crashing to the floor, their contents spilling in a glittering, useless mess.
The Order’s Elder, my husband’s own mentor, rushed in at the sound. He paled when he saw the crackling arcane energy gathering in Kaelen’s hands.
“Kaelen, you must not harm the Lady-Regent! She carries—”
“What Lady-Regent?” Kaelen cut him off with a snarl. “She is not worthy of the title!”
His grip on my wrist was agonizing. I wrenched myself free, fury finally bubbling to the surface. “If I am not worthy, are you? Kaelen, for one hundred years, what did you leave me besides a crumbling Order and not a single word of guidance?”
“By the very laws you wrote into our Codex, a consort whose partner is missing for five years may be considered widowed. By that law, you and I have long been finished!”
Kaelen’s face flushed a deep, mottled red with rage. He refused to hear another word, dragging me violently from the Grand Master’s spire.
“So you’ve found a way to justify your treachery! I will let the entire Order see the corruption that rots in your very bones!”
I was still weak from an old wound, and the pregnancy had left me even more drained. I was no match for Kaelen’s raw power.
The Elder, Valerius, broke out in a cold sweat, grabbing Kaelen’s arm without a thought for his own safety. “My boy, listen to me, I beg you! Release the Lady-Regent, she is…”
His plea only fueled Kaelen’s fury. He spun around and struck me across the face. The slap, empowered by his magic, sent a ringing through my ears, but it couldn’t drown out his furious accusations.
“Elder Valerius has always been a man of impeccable judgment! What dark spell have you woven to cloud his mind so? You are a sorceress of the vilest sort, and I will purge you from this sacred place today!”
Valerius froze, swallowing the words of protest. He knew that any further pleading would only provoke Kaelen to more extreme violence. If this child were lost, it would be a disaster not just for Kaelen, but for the entire Order—a truth he could not yet speak aloud.
I was hauled like an animal to the Hall of Penance, a place thronged with acolytes, where a woman with the grace of a celestial being was already waiting.
It was Elara, Kaelen’s chosen protégé.
A hundred years ago, when Kaelen left to hunt demons, Elara had announced she was entering a deep meditative seclusion. Now it was clear: her seclusion was a lie. They had gone to the mortal realm to live as husband and wife.
Seeing my protruding belly, a cruel smile played on her lips. “I thought I would need to work a little harder upon my return. I never imagined you, old woman, would be so wanton as to bring about your own destruction.”
Before I could respond, Kaelen shoved me before the assembled disciples. His voice, amplified with magic, boomed across the nine spires of our citadel.
“Seraphina, you have committed a sin of monstrous proportions. In recognition of your three years of service managing this Order, I will spare your life. If you willingly step down and pledge your undying loyalty to Elara, I will grant you a place within these walls.”
He paused, a cold smirk on his face, the edge of his blade glinting menacingly. “But if you refuse… I will cleanse this house of your filth myself!”
His self-righteous words were laughable. When he left, he had held my hand, his voice thick with false emotion, promising to find the tears of a Southern ocean siren to cure the poison that afflicted me. It was only for that promise that I agreed to abandon my own magical pursuits and take on the burden of running the Order for him.
Now, the poison had seeped deep into my very essence, but the siren’s tears he spoke of never materialized.
No wonder…
No wonder he hadn’t killed me outright in the spire. He needed a grand, public excuse to install his lover in my place.
Whispers erupted among the acolytes.
“I knew it. The Grand Master has been gone a century. How could his consort be with child?”
“I saw Elder Valerius tending to her so carefully… I thought there must be some other explanation.”
“So, she was unfaithful…”
“Silence!” Elder Valerius roared, stepping forward to shield me. He turned his piercing gaze on Elara, whose face was a mask of innocence. His words were heavy with meaning. “I know full well who the father of Seraphina’s child is!”
Kaelen’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Elder! I have been gone a century! How could a child of mine possibly appear now?”
But Valerius was resolute. “His lineage is true and just. You will not question it further!”
Elara, sensing the tide turning, clutched Kaelen’s sleeve, her voice a pathetic whimper. “Master, the Elder has always loved you most. How could he possibly condone Seraphina’s adultery? She must have ensnared him with dark magic! Look, his own aura is clouded… I fear…”
Kaelen’s eyes hardened. He drew his sword with a sharp rasp. “Seraphina, you dare to consort with demons and heretics! You court death!”
I felt no fear. I asked him one question. “Others may not know why the Elder’s aura is disturbed, Kaelen, but are you truly going to feign ignorance?”
2
As Grand Master, Kaelen had vanished for a hundred years without a trace. No one knew if he was alive or dead. Elder Valerius, who had raised Kaelen as his own at the behest of his dying father, was sick with worry. How could he not be?
Kaelen knew he was at fault. As he was about to speak, Elara shoved me violently towards the great incense brazier at the front of the hall.
“You venomous witch! Not only do you cheat, but you dare to slander the Master!”
A sharp pain exploded at the back of my head. The world tilted, a wave of nausea washing over me as the brazier’s sharp corner broke my skin. Blood, hot and sticky, matted my hair. I stumbled and fell to the ground, a sudden, sharp cramp seizing my abdomen.
Elder Valerius’s face went white. “Summon the Master Healer! Now!”
The nearby acolytes hesitated, their eyes darting to Kaelen.
The Elder’s voice cracked like a whip. “What is this? Does an old man’s command mean nothing now?”
Elara sneered. “The Master Healer is a figure of great importance. Why would he attend to a common slut?”
Kaelen’s voice was a low growl. “Someone attend to the Elder. See that he is not further bewitched by this demonic influence.”
At his command, a high-ranking disciple cast a binding spell, trapping Valerius where he stood.
The Elder stared in disbelief. “This is insubordination! Treason!” He struggled against the magical bonds, and the disciple, with a slight frown, cast a second spell—a lightning rune.
A bolt of raw power struck Valerius, and he cried out in agony before collapsing, silenced. Kaelen watched, unmoved.
“Kaelen, have you gone mad?!” I bit my tongue, forcing myself to find clarity through the pain. “Release us, if you value your life! This child… this child is not one you can afford to harm!”
He ignored me, summoning a powerful artifact. With a flick of his wrist, a sound like tearing silk filled the air, and an immense weight crashed down upon my shoulders, forcing me to my knees. The impact on the stone steps sent a jarring pain through my bones, as if they were shattering.
Kaelen’s voice rang out. “As Grand Master, I have always been just! Our Order has been disgraced by this harlot, and she will be dealt with according to our laws.”
“Seraphina, do not say I did not give you a chance. If you will not rid yourself of that bastard spawn, then I will purify my own house myself.”
My knees screamed in protest, but I crawled forward, terror seizing me. “What are you going to do?”
Kaelen tilted his head, lightning crackling in his hand. “I will use the sacred Skyfire to burn the filth from your soul. For breaking your vows, for carrying a bastard, for weaving dark spells to bewitch the pure of heart—today, before all, you will receive forty-nine bolts of Skyfire as a lesson to all who would follow your path!”
My breath caught in my throat. I looked up at the sky, where dark clouds were already gathering. Skyfire was the judgment of the heavens, a power that had reduced countless mortals and monsters to ash. My own magic had been nullified, my body weak. A single bolt would be a death sentence for me, let alone my child.
Amid the rising cheers of the crowd, Kaelen began the incantation. A bolt of pure energy tore through the sky. I could only curl around my belly, shut my eyes, and brace for the end.
But the pain never came.
I looked up. A Shadowguard stood before me, his body smoking from the impact of the Skyfire he had taken in my stead. He swallowed a mouthful of blood and spoke, his voice steady.
“Grand Master, the Lady-Regent’s station is now one of great importance. She is beyond your authority to harm. I urge you to cease.”
It was the first time anyone had dared to so openly defy Kaelen. He narrowed his eyes, his power sweeping over the guard. “And who are you? You have some skill, but you are not of my Order. Our internal affairs are no concern of yours.”
The Shadowguard was undaunted. “The truth of this matter cannot be revealed publicly. If the Grand Master wishes to know, perhaps we could speak in private—”
Kaelen laughed, a short, ugly sound. His sword flashed out, striking at the guard. “I will see for myself what manner of man dares to so brazenly covet what is mine!”
The Shadowguard, already weakened from blocking the Skyfire, was no match. The blade struck true, shattering his life force. He collapsed, dead before he hit the ground. A gasp rippled through the younger acolytes.
Warm blood splattered across my pale face. Elder Valerius had been taken away. My own power was a stagnant pool. I was truly alone, with no one left to protect me.
Kaelen stood a few paces away, his face a mask of pure killing intent. “Seraphina, and here I thought you had allied yourself with some great power. You betrayed me for a guard who must hide in the shadows?”
At this point, I had nothing left to lose. “This child… he is… he is the—”
Before I could finish, another roar echoed from the heavens. The second bolt of Skyfire shattered the feeble shield I had managed to conjure, striking my belly with its full, devastating force.
3
I convulsed, curling into a tight ball, the pain so absolute it stole my voice. It felt as if my womb was being torn open. Blood flowed freely, staining the pristine white marble beneath me.
My hand, trembling, reached out and clutched the hem of Kaelen’s robe, leaving a streak of blood. “Please,” I begged, my voice a ragged whisper. “A healer… the child…”
All my pride was gone. I just wanted someone to save my baby. Amid the overwhelming agony, I felt a terrible stillness inside me. I could have sworn I’d felt him kick just this morning.
Kaelen’s foot came down, crushing my hand without a hint of mercy. “It is far too late for begging.”
Elara stood beside him, her gaze dripping with contempt. “Master, even in this state, she still tries to protect her bastard. She must have truly fallen for her lover.”
Kaelen’s eyes went cold. “A treacherous harlot like you… drowning would be too kind. Today, I will make an example of you and purge this Order of its sickness.”
Two disciples seized me, hauling me to my feet. They wrapped heavy iron chains around my body, cinching them tight over my still-bleeding womb.
“No… Kaelen, what are you doing? Let me go!” I screamed. “If you touch my child today, you will face a fate so dire you will regret this moment for all eternity!”
No one listened.
I was bound brutally to a great stone pillar and hoisted a hundred feet into the air.
“Kaelen, let me go!” My voice was shrill with terror.
Hearing the fear in my voice, a smile finally touched his lips. “When you were so bold as to take a lover within these sacred walls, did you not once imagine the shame of this day?”
The enchanted iron chains tightened, activating the protective magic woven into my undergarments—the Vestments of Woven Light. Seeing it shimmer, Elara’s eyes flashed with jealousy.
“Master, this witch has shamed you so profoundly, yet she still has the audacity to wear the Order’s most sacred treasure!”
At her words, Kaelen sneered. With a mere thought, the Vestments vanished.
I felt a sudden coldness, and a moment later, heard the gasps and lewd laughter from the crowd below. I realized with dawning horror that I was naked. I tried to cover myself, but my limbs were bound fast.
“Kaelen, for what you have done today, you will surely live to regret it!”
The sound of mocking laughter echoed from all sides. Kaelen took Elara’s hand, and together they ascended the steps of the hall to sit upon the throne of judgment. His voice was imperious. “There is no one in this world who can make me feel regret!”
“Let the punishment begin!”
At his command, a wind rose from nowhere. Thirty-six Gales of Atonement, each crackling with lightning, swirled towards me.
I hung naked and exposed, the winds tearing strips of flesh from my body.
One gale, then two…
The crowd roared its approval. Some began to throw stones. I screamed, but my cries were lost in the storm. My flesh was flayed away, my blood painting the ten thousand marble tiles of the hall a gruesome crimson.
Beneath the chains, the pain in my belly had turned to a numb ache. I felt something shift inside me, something giving way.
“No, Kaelen, please, stop…” I shrieked, tears and blood streaming down my face.
Kaelen watched, deaf to my pleas, a cold smile on his face as the torture continued for two full hours. By now, every last member of the Order had gathered to watch the spectacle.
When the gales finally subsided, I was a raw, bloody mess, not a single patch of skin untouched. Only the faintest breath proved I was still alive.
“The child…”
Kaelen rose, surveying my wretched state from his high throne, a look of satisfaction on his face. “This, Seraphina, is the price of betraying me.”
He leaned forward. “As for that bastard… beg me. If you beg me nicely, I might just let it live.”
Hearing this, I threw away my last shred of dignity and began to plead, my voice raw. “Please, Kaelen! I will be your slave for the rest of my life, just please, spare my child! I’ll do anything you ask!”
With a flick of his wrist, he used his magic to lift me, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Then confess. Confess before the entire Order. Tell them exactly what sins you have committed.”
I looked down at the faces of the disciples who had once called me Lady-Regent with respect, and I began to speak, my voice a hollow murmur. “I am a harlot… I should not have taken a lover… I have brought shame upon this Order… I am a sinner…”
Hearing my confession, Kaelen finally seemed satisfied. He laughed, a triumphant, ugly sound. “Since you have seen the error of your ways, I will grant you your life.”
His smile turned cruel. “But this unholy spawn cannot be allowed to exist. I will send it to be reunited with its father!”
He drew his sword, the sharp tip aimed at my swollen abdomen, where the fate of my child was already sealed. I raised a hand, a futile, final gesture to protect him, my eyes filled with utter despair.
A flash of cold steel, a searing pain deep within me.
And at that exact moment, a wave of power so immense it could level mountains crashed down upon the hall.
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The year of my SATs, I fell head over heels for Julian Ashford.
My downfall came swiftly after my scores weren’t good enough. He slapped my pregnancy test results down in front of my father.
“Mr. Chen,” he sneered, his voice dripping with venom, “that daughter you were so proud of? I knocked her up. Congratulations, you’re going to be a grandfather.”
He paused, letting the words hang in the air like a death sentence. “But don’t expect me to stick around.”
Then he was gone, off to study abroad, leaving nothing but ruin in his wake.
I learned the truth then. He believed my father was indirectly responsible for the death of his first love, and to avenge her, he would drag me down into the abyss.
My father suffered a massive heart attack and died. My mother, shattered by grief, had a psychotic break and drove her car into a tree, leaving her a paraplegic.
And me? I lost my spot at a top university and became a teenage single mother, a pariah in everyone’s eyes.
Ten years later, I saw Julian Ashford again. He knelt before me, weeping, telling me he still loved me.
1
I had just tucked Chloe into bed when the text from Carter came through.
It was blunt, as always: “The Onyx Lounge, 9 PM. Dress well, but not revealing. Important client.”
I set my phone down and kissed my daughter’s forehead, whispering for her to go to sleep. Nine-year-old Chloe obediently closed her eyes, her small hand clutching the corner of my shirt, unwilling to let me go.
When my patron gave an order, I obeyed. I quickly applied a light layer of makeup to hide the exhaustion etched onto my face.
When I arrived at the lounge, I could hear voices from behind the private room door.
“Carter, you old dog, your girl’s got a reputation. Hottest thing in this city,” a man boomed. “Heard she was a top student, too?”
“You’re giving her too much credit, Vance,” Carter’s voice, laced with a smug sort of self-deprecation, replied. “She’s just got a high school diploma. Never went to college. If she had, I wouldn’t be able to afford her.”
He chuckled. “But she is a looker, I’ll give her that. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have kept her around for eight years.”
“She’s just the right price,” Vance added crudely. “A hot little thing you can keep on a short leash for a bit of cash.”
Carter’s ego was fragile, and he loved to use me as a trophy to polish it. After eight years as his mistress, I was used to his public posturing.
I was about to push the door open, my expression carefully neutral, when Vance’s tone shifted, becoming a warning.
“Hey, watch your mouth. Some of us brought family tonight. Aimee comes from a good family. Keep your sleazy talk to yourself. Don’t want to scare the girl.”
I pushed the door open, and a different voice, a voice cold as ice, cut through the chatter, freezing me in place.
“Aimee isn’t feeling well tonight, so she won’t be drinking. I’ll have a glass on her behalf…”
He looked up, and our eyes met. The words died on his lips, his hand, holding a glass mid-air, frozen in time.
Ten whole years, and this is how Julian Ashford and I were reunited.
2
Every eye in the room landed on me. I saw it all: admiration, amusement, contempt.
Carter’s tie was crooked. I glided to his side, my movements fluid and practiced, and straightened it with an affectionate smile before sinking into the seat beside him.
Julian’s shock morphed into a cold distance. The moment he understood my role in this room, his eyes filled with an undisguised, cutting mockery.
Ten years. He was here in a tailored suit, a successful man with his respectable fiancée, Aimee, by his side.
And I was the mistress of 48-year-old Carter, a plaything to be summoned and dismissed at will.
“Sweetheart, I told you nine. You’re half an hour late,” Carter chided, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “Think you’re a big shot, keeping these gentlemen waiting? Apologize.”
I scanned the room. Besides Aimee, there was another young woman sitting beside Mr. Vance, clearly in the same position as me. Our purpose here was painfully obvious.
I immediately plastered on a smile, offering a string of charming apologies and downing three glasses of wine as penance.
“Carter, you’re too soft on her,” Vance jeered, his eyes raking over my body. “Just a few drinks for being this late? That’s not nearly enough.”
Carter was a self-made man with no powerful connections in this city. It was clear he was the lowest man on the totem pole at this dinner. He hesitated for a second, then gestured for me to pour drinks for the table.
I understood. With a sweet smile and a string of apologies, I made my way around the table, filling each glass.
When I got to Vance, his hand brushed my thigh, a little too deliberately. I instinctively glanced at Carter, relieved to see he hadn’t noticed. If he had, it would be me, not Vance, who paid the price. I deftly sidestepped Vance’s leering gaze and moved on to the last person.
Julian.
He had watched the entire sordid display, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. As I poured his drink, our eyes met again, and his were filled with nothing but ice.
I returned to Carter’s side, playing the part of the devoted lover, practically feeding him every bite.
That’s when Carter’s wife walked in.
3
She was a vision of power, dressed in a designer suit, impeccably maintained.
Lorraine. Carter’s wife.
Her sudden appearance sucked the air out of the room. The men exchanged furtive, gleeful glances, anticipating a spectacle. I saw the color drain from Carter’s face, his body going rigid.
I expected a scene straight out of a movie—screaming, accusations, a slap across my face.
But she did none of that.
She didn’t even spare me a glance, ignoring me completely, as if I were a piece of furniture, unworthy of notice.
Lorraine sat down with practiced elegance, a polite smile fixed on her face as she greeted the men at the table. Her composure was absolute as she took command.
“Darling, what are you gaping at?” she said to Carter, her voice smooth as silk. “We owe these gentlemen an apology.”
She turned to the table. “It’s all my fault we’re late. Carter insisted on taking my car to see my parents yesterday, and the foolish thing broke down on him. Can you believe it?”
Carter, snapping out of his stupor, quickly agreed, eagerly pouring drinks for everyone.
Lorraine took a glass from him. “My sincerest apologies. My husband here is a bit of a softie, you see. Completely wrapped around my finger,” she said with a self-deprecating laugh. She paused, her tone sharpening slightly. “But when it comes to business, you can trust him completely. And from now on, for anything he can’t handle, you can all contact me directly.”
With that, she raised her glass and drained it. Then another, and another. Three full glasses of hard liquor, and her expression never changed.
“Bravo, Lorraine! A true powerhouse!” Vance exclaimed, leading a round of applause. “With a wife like you, Carter, you’ve hit the jackpot!”
The other men chimed in, a chorus of praise for the brilliant, formidable woman who had just masterfully asserted her dominance.
I felt nothing. Not even a flicker of shame.
I was the mistress. I didn’t deserve to feel anything.
Throughout the entire ordeal, Lorraine granted me a single, sideways glance, and in it, I read her message loud and clear:
You are nothing.
4
“I’m going to the ladies’ room.”
Aimee suddenly stood up and, with a subtle nod, indicated for me to join her. I obeyed, following her out of the suffocating room.
In the bathroom, her voice echoed off the cold tiles, her reflection meeting mine in the mirror.
“You’re so young and beautiful,” she said, her tone gentle. “Why do this? Why sell yourself for… dirty money?”
I was grateful for her kindness, for the escape she’d provided, but all I could manage was a bitter smile.
“Because I have no skills and no education. This is the best way I know how to survive.”
Aimee sighed. “That’s no excuse to debase yourself.”
I studied Julian’s fiancée. She was serene, elegant, her every gesture radiating a lifetime of privilege. A person like her could never understand why someone with two hands and two feet would sell her body for a few thousand dollars a month.
How could I explain it to her?
How could I explain that I was a failure, that my mother’s exorbitant medical bills couldn’t be paid by delivering pizzas or waiting tables?
After the dinner party dissolved, the room emptied until only Carter, Lorraine, and I remained.
Only then did Lorraine drop her mask. A cold smile spread across her face as she slapped me, hard.
“You filthy whore,” she hissed, her voice low and vicious. “Good for nothing but spreading your legs for men. Shameless bitch!”
She screamed, kicking and punching me, a torrent of vile insults pouring from her lips. “Trash with no one to teach you manners.”
I wanted to tell her that my father was dead and my mother was a paralyzed invalid, that yes, there was indeed no one left to teach me how to be a person.
But the words wouldn’t come. I curled into myself, shielding my face as she beat me.
Carter tried to intervene, but Lorraine stopped him with a single sentence.
“You dare protect her? I’ll file for divorce tomorrow!”
He hesitated, his attempts to hold her back becoming half-hearted and theatrical.
Lorraine’s rage escalated. She snatched a heavy glass ashtray from the table and raised it, ready to bring it down on my head.
Suddenly, an arm shot out, grabbing her wrist.
“This is a public place,” a cold voice said. “Settle your personal affairs in private. I don’t want this turning into a scandal that affects our business.”
Julian had returned. His face was a thundercloud as he held Lorraine back.
5
Carter shot Julian a grateful look, asked him to take me to a doctor, and then quickly escorted his raging wife out of the room.
The car ride was suffocatingly silent. Julian’s jaw was clenched, his knuckles white on the steering wheel as he stared straight ahead.
I sat in the back, only speaking when I realized we weren’t heading towards my apartment.
“I don’t need a hospital. You can just drop me at the next corner, Mr. Ashford.”
“I never realized you were this pathetic, Claire,” Julian suddenly bit out, his voice like shards of glass.
“So you didn’t get into an Ivy League school. You still had a place at a top-tier state university. And you threw it all away for this? To degrade yourself like this? Didn’t your father, the great moral compass, teach you better? Or is he happily spending the money you earn on your back? I heard he was fired from the school, after all.”
He spat out the words “Mr. Chen” with a mouthful of scorn.
If I told him that, thanks to him, my father had been dead for ten years, would he laugh?
“Mr. Ashford, I’m not going to the hospital. Please stop the car.”
He ignored me, his taunts continuing. “What’s wrong? Too ashamed to tell the doctors your wounds are from your lover’s wife? So you do feel shame.” He laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. “You’ve been a mistress for eight years. Why pretend to have dignity now?”
I was exhausted, physically and mentally. I ignored his words, my only thought on getting home to Chloe.
“Mr. Ashford, let me out.”
His eyes, a furious, mocking glare in the rearview mirror, met mine. “You didn’t fight back when she was hitting you, but you’ve got plenty of nerve with me.” He sneered. “I’m your patron’s biggest client. I suggest you put on that same ass-kissing smile you had at dinner.”
I nodded, seeing his point. I forced a smile onto my bruised face.
“You’re right, Mr. Ashford. I should know my place. When the wife wants to let off steam, I let her. But I made sure to protect my face. It would be harder to find a new client if I were scarred.”
The car screeched to a halt as Julian slammed on the brakes. He whipped around, his eyes blazing with a terrifying intensity.
“Get out,” he snarPEG. “Don’t dirty my car.”
I opened the door without a word and stepped out, just as he’d commanded.
It wasn’t that I had become numb, a person who felt nothing. It was that after ten years of being ground down by the sheer effort of survival, even feeling an emotion was exhausting.
The time it would take to wallow in self-pity was better spent earning money.
6
When I got home, the scene that greeted me stole the breath from my lungs.
Chloe’s small body was curled on the floor, her face a terrifying shade of blue. A choked gasp escaped her lips as her tiny hand reached helplessly towards the cabinet where I kept her asthma inhaler.
Panic, cold and sharp, seized me.
My daughter was the only thing that could shatter my composure. With trembling hands, I administered the medicine, holding her, rocking her, until her breathing finally evened out. Only then did I let the sobs wrack my body.
Chloe, now cradled in my arms, patted my back with her small hand.
“Don’t cry, Mommy,” she whispered. “I’m sorry… I’m being a bother.”
She was comforting me, like I was the child. She was always so considerate.
After she fell back asleep, I stared at my own wrecked reflection in the mirror and slapped myself, twice. The sting of Lorraine’s slaps was on my skin; the sting of my own was in my soul.
In my rush to attend that humiliating dinner, I had carelessly left my daughter’s life-saving medicine just out of her reach.
I returned to her side, the sight of her peaceful, sleeping face finally calming the storm inside me.
If my father hadn’t been snatched away ten years ago, if my mother hadn’t been so broken by grief that she’d crashed her car in a daze… then Chloe would be nestled in her loving grandmother’s arms right now, eating fruit peeled for her by a grandfather who would have spoiled her rotten.
But now, all she had was a disgraced mother and a grandmother who was a mad, paralyzed amputee.
When our world fell apart ten years ago, Chloe was only three months in my womb. I was too consumed by grief and chaos to even think about an abortion. By the time I remembered I was pregnant, selling off our assets to pay for my mother’s treatment, my belly had already begun to swell.
I fainted from exhaustion countless times while caring for my incontinent mother, yet the child inside me clung to life. The first time I felt her faint, determined heartbeat, I abandoned any thought of ending the pregnancy. I was young and foolish, thinking that life couldn’t possibly get any worse.
If we had to die, I thought, we would all die together.
My mother hated Julian, she hated me, and by extension, she hated our child. She refused to see Chloe, forcing me to split my time, my very soul, between caring for them both in two different places.
The thought of not wanting to live became a concrete plan when Chloe was two. My mother’s mental state had deteriorated. In her madness, she saw me as the murderer of her husband, cursing me with the foulest language, striking me whenever I came near. She tried to kill herself in a dozen different ways.
I was at the end of my rope. I brought my mother home, fed both her and Chloe milk laced with sleeping pills, and prepared to end it all with charcoal fumes.
Perhaps it was a miracle.
Through the thick smoke, it was Chloe who woke up first. She stumbled to my side and, mimicking something she’d seen on TV, began to press on my chest with clumsy, desperate hands. Her cries of “Mommy!” alerted a neighbor, and we were saved.
After that day, no matter how hard life became, I never dared to entertain the thought of suicide again.
Chloe and my mother had to live, and they had to outlive me.
7
To cover my mother’s thousands in monthly nursing home fees and Chloe’s expenses, I started working in a seedy karaoke bar, pouring drinks for men.
Many times, I teetered on the edge of full-blown sex work; it paid so much more than just being a hostess.
Then, when I was twenty, I met Carter, a man twenty years my senior.
He was the first benefactor in my wretched life. He stopped me from being passed around, telling me I only needed to be with him. He took care of my mother’s nursing and medical bills. The relief was immense.
Eight years ago, he started by giving me three hundred dollars a month. Now, it was a thousand.
When I found out he was married, I tried to break it off.
He just showed me a video of his wife with some young stud in a swimming pool and pulled me into an embrace.
“Our finances are too entangled, Claire. We can’t divorce,” he’d said. “Besides, she can’t have children. We’ve had an understanding for years—we both do our own thing. You just stick with me. I’ll take care of you.”
When survival itself is a luxury, dignity and morality become worthless.
So I settled into my role as his mistress.
I wasn’t afraid of retribution. My retribution had already begun the day I met Julian Ashford at sixteen, and it had never stopped, flaying me alive, piece by piece, for ten long years.
8
My tragedy began in my first year of high school, with a case of love at first sight for Julian Ashford.
Back then, he had a shadow, a girl named Sylvia who followed him everywhere. The whole school assumed she was his girlfriend.
I was the other star of our school—proud, confident, and secretly nursing a crush from afar.
In our senior year, Sylvia transferred, and they broke up. My grades had never dropped from the top of our class; I was on track to be a top scholar in the state.
That’s when Julian made his move, approaching me under the guise of needing help with his studies.
My heart, already primed for love, was ecstatic. I fell headfirst into the web of affection he spun, believing it was real. We began a secret, whirlwind romance.
Then, just before the final exams, I discovered I was pregnant. The panic and fear shattered my focus. My scores were a disaster, only good enough for a decent state university, not the Ivy League I had dreamed of.
The night before the truth came out, he held me, promising we’d get married after a graduation trip.
The next day, he threw my pregnancy test and my disappointing exam results in my father’s face.
“Mr. Chen,” he’d snarled, “that daughter you were so proud of? I knocked her up. Congratulations, you’re going to be a grandfather.”
He revealed everything, leaving no room for mercy, and was on a plane out of the country that same day.
Only then did I understand the cruel joke of our “love,” built entirely on a foundation of revenge.
My father had been Julian and Sylvia’s homeroom teacher their senior year. Sylvia had also been a brilliant student, but in the final, crucial year, her grades plummeted as she started showing up late and leaving early.
My father blamed it on teenage romance, believing it was poisoning the academic atmosphere of the honors class. For an entire week, during morning assemblies, he made Sylvia and Julian stand in front of the entire school, publicly shaming them.
The combination of public humiliation and private torment was too much. Sylvia, who was already struggling, developed severe depression and took her own life.
The school, desperate to avoid a scandal, paid off Sylvia’s guardians and covered up the suicide, claiming she had simply transferred.
Julian channeled all his hatred onto my father.
It was from Julian’s venomous tirade that we learned the full story. Sylvia’s parents were dead, and she lived with her uncle, who resented her, and an aunt who made her life hell. After she started high school, her uncle became a gambling alcoholic, beating her and even threatening to pull her out of school to sell her body.
Her tardiness, her absences—that was the reality of her desperate struggle. Julian had been her only lifeline.
My father’s public punishments were the final straw that broke her.
“Now I’ve knocked up your daughter,” Julian had spat at my father. “Don’t forget your principles now, you sanctimonious ‘educator.’ Make sure you punish her properly. And you’ll have to take your precious, proud daughter to some back-alley clinic for an abortion. Can’t have anyone knowing, can we? It would tarnish your spotless reputation.”
“If anyone finds out Mr. Chen’s daughter got pregnant out of wedlock, you won’t be able to rest in your grave.”
That night, my father hit me for the first time in my life. Then he held me, sobbing, an old man on the verge of retirement, apologizing over and over.
“It’s my fault… I’ve ruined you…”
Then he collapsed from a heart attack. He died in the hospital. My mother, lost in a fog of grief, got into a car accident that severed her spine.
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A new law introduced the “Absolute Equality” marriage contract, and the internet exploded.
I proposed to my long-term girlfriend, suggesting we sign up for an AE marriage. No expensive engagement rings, no dowries. We’d split the mortgage and car payments fifty-fifty, take care of our own parents, have two kids—one with my last name, one with hers—and split every single expense after the wedding, right down the middle.
On the day we went to get our marriage license, a frantic man burst into the government office, screaming at the crowd, “Don’t do AE! Don’t do it! DON’T DO IT!”
I scoffed. “What a simp.”
The new era of Absolute Equality marriage was here, and I was going to be a pioneer.
1
I met my girlfriend, Mia, in a college club. She was confident and beautiful, I was outgoing and handsome. The attraction was instant. After a few dates, we naturally fell into a relationship.
On our dates, I’d always offer to pay, but she’d insist on splitting the bill later. I’d try to refuse, but she was so persistent I couldn’t say no. I thanked my lucky stars for Mia. Not only was she gorgeous, but she was also kind, considerate, and—best of all—had her head on straight.
Not that I was a slouch, either. I didn’t smoke, drink, or gamble. I was a good-looking guy. Mia had scored, too.
My friends, especially my old roommates, were insanely jealous. Their girlfriends were drama magnets, constantly creating problems. Every holiday demanded a gift, and they were always getting angry over nothing. They never offered to pay for anything on dates, always expecting the guy to foot the bill. One of my roommate’s girlfriends even demanded a $10,000 “engagement gift.” It was outrageous. Did these women have any idea what a burden that was? It was like they were selling themselves.
Compared to them, Mia was an angel. She was a firm believer in the new era of AE marriage: no grand gestures, shared mortgage and car payments, separate finances for our parents, a 50/50 split on all living expenses, and two kids, each taking one of our last names.
In a world full of gold-diggers, I had found a real gem. I was determined to marry her.
After graduation, I became a programmer at a tech company, making about $5,000 a month. Mia went to a media company as a content manager, earning around $3,000. Once our careers were stable, we started talking about marriage.
To boost marriage rates and promote stability, the government had introduced a new smart chip. Once surgically implanted in the brain, the chip could monitor a person’s emotions and physical state, ensuring absolute equality between spouses. It was linked to our bank accounts and would automatically split all our expenses, which sounded incredibly convenient.
Just as we arrived at the registrar’s office, a man burst in, looking completely unhinged, shouting, “Don’t do AE! Don’t do it! DON’T DO IT!” He was quickly silenced and dragged away by security.
I snorted. “Pathetic.” I glanced at Mia, worried he might have rattled her. But thankfully, Mia was a woman of firm convictions. She didn’t waver.
The AE marriage chip was free, a government incentive to get people married. It had been out for a few years with a perfect track record. Not a single complaint from any woman.
After signing the papers, we were led to an operating room.
I woke up three days later.
I shook my head, feeling no different with the chip inside. There was a new app on my phone, linked to our genetic codes. We could type or speak to an AI assistant.
We bought a house and a car at the same time, both with loans, with our families each contributing half of the down payment.
Our wedding was simple but heartwarming. Mia was busy with her friends and family, and I felt a little awkward standing alone with my relatives. Usually, the bride and groom greet guests together. But we had agreed to split the wedding costs and keep our own gift money, so it made sense for her to focus on her side.
Seeing her laughing with her loved ones while my own relatives whispered and shot me curious glances made me uncomfortable. I tried to act casual as I walked over to her. Mia gave me a strange look but then smiled and took my arm. To everyone else, we now looked like a normal couple.
After we finished with her family, we naturally moved on to mine. Mia’s demeanor changed. Her lively energy was replaced with a quiet elegance. Her smile was reserved, her greetings polite and proper. I was a little annoyed by the sudden shift, but my relatives were full of praise, which made me feel proud, so I let it go.
We agreed to alternate household chores month by month. We drew straws for the first month. Crap. I drew the short one.
I rarely did chores, so I was clumsy at everything. I could never seem to mop the floor clean, and Mia would sometimes frown at the puddles I left behind, though she never criticized me. I didn’t know how to cook, and I got home late from work anyway, so we decided to eat out or order in.
After we got married, the AE Butler automatically opened a new joint account and transferred $2,500 from each of our accounts into it, for a total of $5,000. The Butler explained that this money was for shared daily expenses. Every night at midnight, it would calculate the day’s spending, split it, and transfer funds from our individual accounts to replenish the joint one, keeping it at a neat $5,000.
The money for takeout came from the Butler account since we were eating together. After ordering our food, I added a pack of cigarettes for myself and a bubble tea for Mia.
Mia paused, then leaned against me, her voice sweet. “Honey, maybe I should drink less bubble tea, and you could smoke less? We need to save up to pay off our loans.”
“Of course, of course.” Mia earned less than me, so she was under more pressure. I understood.
I did a quick calculation. After my monthly loan payments and living expenses, I still had plenty of money left for myself. I didn’t have any expensive hobbies. Besides, after six months at my job, my salary would increase, and I’d get a raise every year as long as I wasn’t laid off. Mia’s situation was different; her salary was fixed. No wonder she was stressed.
During dinner, Mia was watching an online course. She said she wanted to get a teaching certificate.
“Why are you bothering with that? It’s a waste of energy. You might not even get a teaching job, and even if you do, the pay might not be as good as what you’re making now.” I didn’t get it. Studying for a certificate was time-consuming and difficult, with no guaranteed outcome. Why not just relax and play some video games after work instead of wasting time on something so pointless?
Mia pressed her lips together and was silent for a moment before saying firmly, “I’m going to do it.”
Fine by me. I didn’t push it. I wasn’t going to argue with her over something like this. We gave each other plenty of space.
After dinner, I quickly cleared the table. Mia put on her headphones and focused on her lesson while I sat next to her, playing games on my phone. My new colleagues were amazing gamers, and it was a blast ranking up with them.
Later that night, after we’d been intimate, I was drifting off to sleep when my phone buzzed with a notification: Transaction complete: $35.00 deducted.
As a numbers-oriented guy, I was instantly awake. Something was wrong.
Tonight, my meal was $10, Mia’s was $8. The cigarettes were $12, and the bubble tea was $5. The total was $35. A 50/50 split should have been $17.50 each!
Mia woke up too. Her phone was on silent, but she picked it up and checked the message. She had only been charged $10.00.
“Why was I charged so much more than you?”
“I don’t know…” Mia seemed just as confused.
“Even if the cigarettes were just on me, that’s still only $23.50. How did it come to $35?” I couldn’t figure out the calculation.
I quickly opened the app and asked the AE Butler.
The Butler explained that because I had eaten some of Mia’s food, but she hadn’t eaten any of mine, I had to pay for a portion of her meal.
!!!
This was ridiculous! We were married! Isn’t it normal for a couple to share food? Besides, I didn’t stop her from eating mine; she was the one who said it was too greasy!
The Butler replied, “But you are an AE couple.”
Whoever designed this chip was an idiot. It wasn’t smart at all; it was completely rigid.
Mia, however, seemed to have figured something out. She let out a sigh of relief, lay back down, and went to sleep. I was helpless. The Butler’s programming was unchangeable. I just had to remind myself to be more careful in the future.
The next day, I drove to work. Mia’s office was in the opposite direction, so she took the subway. I had offered to let her take the car every other week, but she said the subway was a direct line to her office and more convenient than driving. It was fine by me. I had to transfer if I took the subway, so driving was definitely easier.
At the end of the month, it was time to make our loan payments. My share came out to $1,478.
I asked the Butler again. What was the reason this time? Was I being charged more for using our shared car more often?
The Butler replied: “The monthly car payment is $576, which is $19.20 per day, or $0.80 per hour. On workdays, you use the car for 12 hours, which amounts to $9.60 per day. The remaining 12 hours are split between you and Ms. Shaw, so your daily car payment is $14.40. The system detected that you worked 26 days this month. For the four days you did not use the car, your payment is $9.60 per day. Your total car payment for the month is $412.80. Your mortgage payment is $1,065.20. Your total loan payment is $1,478.”
“That’s not fair!” I tapped furiously on the screen. “It’s our car! She’s the one who chooses not to drive it! I only drive it for work!”
The Butler responded, “Ms. Shaw’s commuting expenses are also calculated separately.”
I understood the logic, but it still felt wrong. If she wanted to take the subway, that was her choice, but the car was ours. She owned half of it. Why was I paying the lion’s share?
Sometimes I really wanted to complain about this app, but there was no complaint button. The automatic payments couldn’t be canceled unless we got divorced, and I couldn’t unlink the chip.
The next month, it was Mia’s turn for housework. Her company didn’t have overtime, so she got home early and had plenty of time. Mia was meticulous and loved to keep things clean. By the time I got home, the house was always spotless and bright. Dinner was on the table, cooked by Mia herself. She’d been wanting to stop eating takeout for a while.
“Honey, you’re amazing! This looks delicious!” I gave Mia a big hug. But her reaction was lukewarm. She seemed a little down. I figured she was just tired.
Women really are naturally talented at cooking. The simple dishes she made were incredible. I ate three huge bowls of rice.
“It would be amazing to eat your cooking every day. It’s a waste of your talent not to cook,” I said sincerely.
“You think so?” Mia’s reply was distracted. She was watching her online course while she ate. Seeing her disengaged, I lost interest and started scrolling through short videos on my phone. After dinner, Mia automatically went to do the dishes. I took a shower, got ready, and settled in for some gaming before bed.
The next morning, when I saw the charge on my phone, I was once again baffled. On the expense list, there was an item for “Labor Fee: $10.”
I asked the Butler, what labor fee? We hadn’t hired anyone. This charge was completely random.
The Butler replied: “As you did not cook a single meal last month, cooking cannot be considered a shared chore within your AE marriage. Ms. Shaw’s monthly salary is $3,000. After deductions, her base salary is $2,200 per month, which works out to an average of $12.50 per hour. Cooking, grocery shopping, and washing dishes took a total of two hours. Therefore, you must pay Ms. Shaw $25, which is split between you at $12.50 each. This amount will be directly deposited into Ms. Shaw’s account.”
When I saw the grocery bill, which was in the high double-digits, I knew it wasn’t that simple. I ate more, so according to the Butler’s twisted logic, I was paying the larger share. With the labor fee on top, it would have been cheaper for me to just order takeout.
“Good morning, honey. What do you want for dinner tonight?” Mia had woken up and seemed to be in a great mood.
“Whatever’s easy. Don’t spend too much time on it. You’ll be tired,” I said casually as I got up to wash. The sink was sparkling clean.
“Tsk, she really puts in the effort…” I muttered to myself. That spot was hard to clean. I’d never even tried.
Mia cooked every day, a variety of dishes, usually three dishes and a soup, catering to both our tastes. It was a bit more expensive, but her cooking was definitely better than takeout.
At the end of the month, besides the extra car payment, I had another charge of $140, also listed as “Labor.”
“Didn’t we already pay for the cooking every day?” Where did this charge come from?
The Butler replied: “Ms. Shaw spent a total of eight and a half more hours on housework than you did. The hourly rate for a domestic worker in this city is $35 per hour. Therefore, a total of $297.50 should be paid to Ms. Shaw, which is split between you at $148.75 each.”
?
That’s not right!
I typed again: “Why isn’t it calculated based on Mia’s own hourly wage?”
The Butler: “Housekeeping is not within Ms. Shaw’s professional scope of work.”
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In my past life, I snatched up the guaranteed early admission to Harvard that a high-society heiress had thrown away.
After graduation, I married into a dynasty of wealth, transforming from a small-town girl into the wife of the city’s most powerful man. By twenty-eight, I had flawlessly navigated every single crossroad that could alter my destiny.
But then I woke up, and I was eighteen again.
And floating before my eyes were lines of text, like comments in a live stream.
[Chat: The MC is so damn lucky. She just swooped in and stole the supporting character’s entire life.]
[Chat: In the last life, it was like the heiress was cursed or something. Threw away her Harvard acceptance to run off with some punk to a third-rate college, and even pushed away the rich guy who’d adored her since childhood. She had a royal flush and played it like a losing hand!]
[Chat: She was nerfed by the plot to make way for the main character, duh! Thank god she’s been reborn. This time it’s gotta be the ultimate revenge story!]
[Chat: I can’t wait to see how Luna becomes the main character now that she can’t ride the heiress’s coattails!]
That girl, Luna? That’s me.
But…
Who says I can’t be the main character?
The one who only wants something back after they’ve lost it… they’ve already lost the game from the start.
01
My eyes fluttered open, the world swimming back into focus. The first thing I saw was the ecstatic, almost manic glee in my deskmate Scarlett’s eyes.
She bolted out the back of the classroom, sprinting to the room next door and shouting for Shaffer—the man who, in another lifetime, became my husband.
She threw herself onto him, sobbing her heart out.
“Shaffer, I won’t be a fool again! I swear it!”
Shaffer froze for a long moment before a look of pure joy washed over his face. He fumbled to comfort her, his hands hovering awkwardly.
The spectral comments appeared again.
[Chat: Now THIS is how it’s supposed to be. The Manhattan heiress belongs with the tycoon’s son. What right does some country bumpkin like Luna have to a power-fantasy plot?!]
[Chat: Luna is nothing but a thief, a bottom-feeder! We don’t acknowledge a main character like her!]
[Chat: Good, the heiress finally woke up. This time, Luna can get sent packing back to whatever hick town she came from!]
I stared blankly at the calculus workbook on my desk. The intricate equations were a stark declaration that I had truly returned to my senior year of high school.
There was one month left of classes before final exams.
Someone slid into the seat beside me. Scarlett’s eyes were red-rimmed but shone with a brilliant, triumphant light. She shot me a smug smirk, her face a mask of absolute certainty.
“I’m going to take back everything that’s mine, Luna. Just you watch.”
I just smiled, saying nothing.
I was looking forward to it, too.
To see what path I would forge for myself, now that I had a second chance.
02
The school bell shrieked, and our homeroom teacher walked in, beaming.
A look of unadulterated joy exploded across Scarlett’s face.
The comments streamed by in a frenzy.
[Chat: Here it is, here it is! The heiress’s early admission letter!]
[Chat: This is the first turning point for Luna’s destiny. If she hadn’t taken the spot that belonged to the heiress, how could she have ever gotten into Harvard?]
[Chat: People like her who steal the fruits of others’ labor without putting in the work are just rats in the gutter. And then she even stole the heiress’s fiancé and became the envied wife of a tycoon. Shameless!]
A moment later, our teacher spoke.
“Scarlett Vance, congratulations! You’ve officially received an early acceptance offer from Harvard!”
As a wave of applause filled the room, he looked at me with a touch of sympathy.
“Though you and Scarlett both won awards in the National Math Olympiad, there was only one spot for early admission based on that achievement.”
In my past life, Scarlett had beaten my score by a mere half a point. When the rankings came out, I was the one cut.
But then, to everyone’s astonishment, she had refused it.
“Sir, getting in through early admission is the easy way out. Give the spot to someone who needs it more.”
That one sentence made the entire class see her in a new light. Our teacher had even joked with her.
“Well then, I’ll be waiting for you to make valedictorian and bring glory to our school!”
The reality, however, was that she had been completely brainwashed by her bad-boy boyfriend, vowing to attend the same college as him to live out some grand, dramatic romance. She was sick of their current life of sneaking around, of having to steal moments just to hold hands.
Back then, Scarlett was drowned in praise.
But I, the one who received the cast-off offer, became the butt of everyone’s jokes.
“Charity case.”
“Bottom-feeder.”
“Shameless.”
I didn’t care.
My grades hovered right on the edge of the Ivy League cutoff. I cherished that opportunity. Scarlett had the wealth and connections to absorb the blow of a less-than-perfect transcript, but for a girl from a small town like me, there was no safety net. A stable future was far more important than a few thoughtless insults.
But this time, things were different.
Scarlett’s voice rang out, firm and clear.
“I accept the early admission to Harvard!”
03
Amidst a chorus of envious sighs, she turned to me.
“You must be crushed, Luna, aren’t you?”
[Chat: Oh, you know she is. Luna’s probably grinding her teeth to dust right now!]
[Chat: This is the best part! Just thinking about the heiress dumping that delinquent loser and going to the same university as the male lead is so satisfying!]
Scarlett took a deep, shaky breath, her body trembling slightly as if the reality of her rebirth was finally sinking in.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “This acceptance letter is mine.”
I offered a faint smile. “Congratulations.”
Ten years.
In my previous life, from eighteen to twenty-eight, I’d powered through my bachelor’s, master’s, and doctorate degrees, all while fighting my way up the ladder at the Astor Corporation.
Meanwhile, Scarlett and her delinquent boyfriend were playing games of cat and mouse, having tearful fights, secret abortions, and dramatic episodes of running away from home.
What I had over her wasn’t just a decade of knowledge, but also sharp judgment and the unshakeable confidence that comes from weathering storms.
A single set of final exams.
This time around, I could trust myself completely. No slip-ups, no second-guessing.
But Scarlett saw my composure as a fragile front. She shot me a disdainful look.
“I can’t wait to see the look on your face in two months when final grades are released!”
She was gloating, utterly convinced she was about to witness my downfall.
04
Her victory lap lasted less than a single class period. The moment Zane appeared, the color drained from her face.
Zane was a real troublemaker, and also Scarlett’s current boyfriend.
As the sole heiress to the immense Vance family fortune, one of the city’s most prominent families, Zane’s motives for pursuing her were painfully obvious.
He stormed into the classroom, his face a thundercloud of fury, and kicked my desk with a loud bang.
“You said we were going to the same college! What the hell is this now?”
Scarlett glared at him, her eyes blazing. “Why should I listen to you? With your grades, you’ll be lucky to get into a no-name state school. Who do you think you are to tell me what to do!”
The commotion drew a crowd of onlookers at the classroom door.
Shaffer, in the class next door, heard Scarlett’s raised voice and rushed in, immediately placing himself in front of her as a shield.
His voice was cold and hard. “If you want to cause a scene, get out. This isn’t the place for your theatrics.”
Humiliated, Zane’s anger boiled over. He pointed a shaking finger at Scarlett, his words turning vile. “You’re still hung up on this prissy little bitch? You have no idea, do you? She’s dying for it, said she’d give me her first time right after graduation.”
He let out a harsh, ugly laugh. “Never thought I’d see a high-society princess so desperate to get into my pants. Pathetic, isn’t she?”
Scarlett trembled with rage, then suddenly whirled around and pointed at me. “It was you, wasn’t it? You’re mad you didn’t get my spot, so you brought him here to threaten me! To ruin my reputation! You’re shameless, Luna! You and him, you’re both just trying to steal what’s mine!”
The chat exploded with indignation on Scarlett’s behalf, cursing me out.
[Chat: I knew it! How else would Zane find out so fast? Luna must have been in on it with him from the start!]
[Chat: The heiress was totally manipulated by Zane last time. She’s innocent and kind, raised like a princess by her family and Shaffer. How would she ever recognize a calculating predator like Zane? And with a schemer like Luna in the mix, it’s no wonder she fell into their trap.]
[Chat: Last time, she suffered so much because of those two. Now that she’s awake, they’re going to get what’s coming to them!]
I almost laughed out loud. “If you’re having delusions, go see a shrink! I haven’t moved from my desk this entire class, are you blind? Don’t you dare try to blame me for the mess you dragged in.”
The surrounding students exchanged glances, nodding in agreement with my words. Scarlett’s face flushed a deep crimson, and she fell silent.
Zane was kicked out, but he left chaos in his wake. My textbooks were scattered all over the floor.
I quietly bent down to pick them up, my eyes meeting Shaffer’s as he did the same.
05
Our eyes locked, and for a heart-stopping second, it felt like yesterday.
Just a moment ago, it seemed, he was whispering my name in bed, gently soothing me after we’d made love. We had been married for three years, and we were planning to have a child.
Then I woke up, and I was eighteen again.
The young man before me was no longer the man I knew.
At eighteen, Shaffer Astor did not love Luna.
Yet, at this moment, he was looking at me with a flicker of confusion. “Have we… met somewhere before?”
I paused. For three years of high school, I had been buried in my books. We’d had zero interaction. Even after I became Scarlett’s deskmate this semester, she was too busy with Zane to ever give Shaffer the time of day, forbidding him from even coming to our classroom to see her.
Why would he suddenly ask me that?
Before I could answer, a panicked Scarlett cut in. She shoved me aside, planting herself in front of Shaffer. “Shaffer, don’t be ridiculous! She’s just some girl from the middle of nowhere. How could she possibly have ever crossed paths with us?”
Shaffer’s gaze wavered, but he eventually nodded. “Sorry. I must have been mistaken.”
He handed me the notebook I’d dropped. It was open to a page where I’d scribbled dense formulas, solving the most difficult problem from the national competition.
Shaffer looked surprised. “You actually solved it? Can I see your methodology?”
Shaffer was the top student in our entire year, but he had skipped the competition for Scarlett’s sake.
Instantly, Scarlett tensed up and snatched the notebook from his hand. “Shaffer, why are you asking her? Her score wasn’t even as high as mine. What kind of brilliant solution could she possibly have? Besides, if even you couldn’t solve it, how could she?”
She looked like she was on the verge of tears. Having been reborn, she was terrified of making a single misstep, of repeating the mistakes of her past life and pushing the man who loved her most into someone else’s arms.
“Shaffer, you’re not even asking if I was scared… Don’t you care about me anymore?”
The chat was filled with reassurances.
[Chat: Don’t you worry, heiress! Shaffer would abandon anyone before he’d abandon you.]
[Chat: Even in the last life, after he married Luna, the second he heard Scarlett was in trouble, didn’t he drop everything and run to her? Miss Scarlett is the queen of his heart.]
[Chat: I don’t know… I feel like seven years later, he genuinely loved Luna. They went through so much together, from college to the Astor Corporation. It’s natural they’d fall for each other. And Luna is brilliant in her own right. It was Scarlett who chose the wrong guy.]
[Chat: Is the person above me brainwashed by the plot? It’s obvious the later events were plot-driven. The MC is just a country girl. How could she ever compare to the heiress! Besides, who knows if her intentions toward the male lead were pure in the first place?]
Not good enough for Shaffer. This wasn’t the first time I’d heard those words.
In college, we began collaborating on research projects. Even our professors said we were intellectual equals, a perfect match.
But no one ever said we were suited to be together, to get married.
Because a single cufflink Shaffer wore was worth more than I could earn in a year. Meanwhile, I was still wearing a pair of canvas shoes that had been washed until they were faded and white.
Class was an abyss that an ordinary person could strive their entire life to cross and still never reach.
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On the day of my son Murphy’s engagement party, I was the one paying for everything, the one who had organized every last detail.
Yet when the time came for speeches, Murphy stood before the guests, beaming, with his arm around his future mother-in-law. “Mrs. Ingram is not just my fiancée’s mother,” he announced to the world. “She’s the woman I’ve always wished I could call ‘Mom.’”
When it was my turn, Murphy’s tone soured. “And this is my mother,” he said with a dismissive wave. “No real talents to speak of. She’s a community organizer from our small town, an expert in… pig farming.”
As I moved to take the stage for my scheduled speech, Murphy blocked my path.
“You raise pigs for a living. What do you know about giving a speech? These are respectable people I’ve recently met. I’d rather not be embarrassed.”
His contempt was a physical blow. I kept my voice steady, reminding him, “A son shouldn’t be ashamed of his mother. Don’t forget who I am.”
Murphy was unfazed. “If I’d had a choice, I wouldn’t have been born from you.”
In that moment, I gave up on him completely. I vanished from his world. He would search for me everywhere, only to find that I would never look at him again.
Catherine Ingram, his fiancée’s mother, was on stage, delivering a long, self-important speech with no intention of stopping. Murphy did nothing to intervene. He paid no mind to me, his own mother, the one he’d just described as “always covered in pig slop.” Instead, his eyes were fixed on his “elegant and sophisticated” future mother-in-law, practically glowing with admiration.
I reined in my temper. “She’s already three minutes over her time,” I reminded him.
He didn’t even turn around. “You wouldn’t have anything good to say anyway. Just let it go. Let Mom speak.”
Let Mom speak? I tried to ignore the sting of him calling another woman “Mom,” and reasoned with him patiently. “I am your mother. This is your engagement party. It wouldn’t be right if I didn’t say something.”
It was as if he hadn’t heard me. His gaze remained locked on Catherine, filled with a worshipful awe.
After a long moment, he finally drawled, “You’re a pig farmer. What do you know about giving a speech? Everyone here today is a respectable person I’ve just gotten to know. I’d rather not be embarrassed.”
Embarrassed?
Having me as a mother embarrassed him?
A knot tightened in my chest. I caught the eye of the event coordinator. “Cut the microphone.”
He understood immediately.
Silence. Blessed silence.
The sudden quiet in the hall registered with Murphy even before it did with Catherine. He spun around and roared at me.
“Helen Archer! What do you think you’re doing?”
He glared at me as if I were his mortal enemy.
“What am I doing?” The disappointment was a chasm opening inside me. I took a breath, my voice turning cold. “I paid for this party. I planned every detail. I don’t think it’s unreasonable for me to have a chance to speak. And I think we should stick to the agreed-upon schedule.”
“What schedule? What do you know about schedules?” he retorted. “You barely finished high school. Could you even string a proper sentence together up there?”
He wasn’t wrong.
I hadn’t had much of an education. I wasn’t worldly. But even if I could barely read, I had built a successful pig farming business from nothing. I had raised him, put him through university, and funded his first startup. When Catherine had kept raising the price of the dowry, making things difficult for him, I was the one who made sure he didn’t lose face.
And now? He was ashamed that I raised pigs. Ashamed that I wasn’t “respectable.”
I was done pretending. I laid the truth bare. “You and Catherine planned this whole thing, didn’t you?”
“You never intended for me to go on that stage.”
Murphy said nothing. He just met my gaze, his silence a confession, utterly fearless.
In that instant, any desire I had to smooth things over for him vanished.
I crushed the speech I had written in my hand. “A son shouldn’t be ashamed of his mother,” I said, my voice heavy. “Don’t forget who I am.”
Murphy muttered under his breath, but I heard him clearly. “If I’d had a choice, I wouldn’t have been born from you.”
The look on his face was serious. This wasn’t a tantrum. He meant it.
He truly wanted to be rid of me.
And so, as he stared at me in confusion, I decided to grant him his wish. I walked steadily to the center of the stage.
And announced in a clear, ringing voice, “Today’s engagement ceremony is canceled.”
As I began to gather the dowry money from the display table, it was Catherine who reacted first, not Murphy.
“Helen, darling, there are so many people here. This really isn’t appropriate.” She smiled, a brittle, false thing, but her eyes were glued to the stacks of cash in my hands.
When we had first discussed the engagement, Catherine had been difficult, insisting on a dowry of fifty thousand dollars, plus a suite of expensive jewelry. She wouldn’t budge.
Murphy had just started his company. I had given him every penny I had. Before that, I’d bought him a car and sold property to help him. The family savings were completely gone.
But when I tried to negotiate with Catherine, Murphy had agreed without a second thought.
“Whatever you say,” he had said to her, not even glancing at me.
The next morning, he showed up at my farm with a group of men.
I hadn’t slept. I was in a daze. Before I could even understand what was happening, they were loading my pigs onto a truck, one by one. It wasn’t until they had taken half of the prize breeding stock I had invested so much in that I snapped back to reality.
“Put them down! Put them all down!” I screamed, rushing forward to wrestle my farm’s future from the hands of strangers.
I managed to grab one prize piglet, holding it tight in my arms, only for Murphy to rip it away from me himself.
“If you don’t want to sell the pigs, fine. But you have twenty-four hours to come up with the dowry money.”
His eyes were hard, his expression impatient.
I was furious, but I tried to reason with him. “These breeding pigs are the future of this farm. Your mortgage payments depend on the profits from next year’s sales.”
Murphy was silent.
“When we agreed on the dowry,” I continued, “you didn’t even consult me. But since you agreed, I won’t argue. The simple fact is, we don’t have that kind of money right now. You know how important these pigs are. Why don’t we just postpone the wedding until next year, after the pigs have gone to market…”
“Postpone what!” he interrupted, his patience gone. “A man’s word is his bond!”
His tone was final, leaving no room for discussion.
“I already promised Catherine!”
“Besides, Catherine had a psychic do a reading. Our wedding date cannot be moved!”
He treated her words as gospel, completely ignoring our financial reality.
My heart turned to ice.
I tried one last time. “Are you sure about this? Your mortgage payment depends on these pigs.”
His expression didn’t change. “Catherine said that after we’re married, she’ll give us the dowry and her daughter’s inheritance. I can use that to pay the mortgage.”
His naivete was almost laughable.
“After you’re married,” I said with a bitter smile. “Did you not see the message your uncle sent you? I don’t think your Catherine is as simple as you believe.”
Mentioning the information my friend Michael had dug up sent another shiver of fear through me. After Catherine had left our house, I’d had a bad feeling. I asked Michael to look into her.
What he found was that Catherine was running a pyramid scheme. Her fancy titles and credentials were all things she’d bought for a small price. For years, she had been moving in different circles, building a respectable facade to run her shady dealings.
To put it bluntly, she was a con artist.
The moment I got the news, I sent it to Murphy. I thought it would be a wake-up call. Instead, it just made him angry with me. I stayed up all night, planning to talk to him in the morning. I never imagined he would think I was just an uncultured hick, making a fuss over nothing.
“What do you know?” he’d sneered. “That’s called being savvy! Could you do what she does?”
He worshipped her. And he ignored my desperate warnings, showing up at dawn to sell my pigs.
In that moment, an immense weariness washed over me. There was nothing more to say.
Fine.
I had spent my life raising pigs, tied to this small piece of land. I had done it all for Murphy, to give him a better future, to not hold him back.
Now, he was throwing it all away himself. In a way, it was a release for me, too.
With that thought, I stepped aside and watched coldly as Murphy emptied my farm. The money from the sale was used to fund his and his fiancée, Chloe’s, wedding. It didn’t even cover half of my initial investment.
And my farm was finished.
The result? I wasn’t even allowed to give a speech at my son’s engagement party.
A sour taste filled my mouth, but I spoke to the event coordinator with grim determination. “The money’s been spent, the guests are here. Let’s not waste it. Instead of an engagement party, let’s have a debt settlement ceremony.”
The coordinator was stunned. “Ma’am, are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
I was surprisingly calm. I met the shocked gazes of the crowd. “Since you’re all here, please do me the favor of witnessing the settlement of debts between myself and my son, Murphy.”
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My boyfriend, Damian Thorne, was the heir to one of the most powerful families in the country, worth hundreds of billions.
To test me, he never bought me a single gift in the seven years we were together. He never spent a dime on me. Even when we bought condoms at the convenience store, we split the cost.
Later, when my mother fell gravely ill, I borrowed from every friend and relative I had. I was just two thousand dollars short of her surgery fee. But no matter how much I begged Damian, he refused to lend it to me.
I handled my mother’s funeral alone. When I went home to pack my things, I stumbled upon a list of gifts he had bought for his neighbor’s sister.
A mansion in a gated community, luxury handbags, jewelry worth millions…
And a chat log with his friends.
“Damian, is it true that Sophia knelt and begged you for two thousand dollars?”
“Chloe was right,” Damian’s voice, cool and dismissive, echoed from the recording. “Kneeling for two grand? What is she if not a gold digger? We’ve only been together seven years, and she’s already this desperate to get money out of me.”
So, his seven-year test was nothing more than a game prompted by his neighbor’s sister.
It didn’t matter anymore.
The moment my mother died, I had already decided to leave him.
1
I had just put the gift list back when the front door opened. Damian stumbled in, reeking of alcohol, and plopped down beside me.
“You disappeared for a few days. I thought you had some backbone, that you wouldn’t come back,” he slurred. “But you just can’t stay away from me, can you? You came crawling back.”
He was just short of saying I had come back to swindle more money out of him. Maybe, in his mind, that’s all I had ever been—a gold digger, after his fortune.
I didn’t even bother to look at him. I just shifted away, avoiding the arm he tried to sling around my shoulders.
He froze, looking from his hand to me, assuming I was still sulking over the two thousand dollars.
“I’ve had a bit to drink. I’m thirsty. Go make me some soup to sober me up.”
He always did that, slipping into his rich-boy persona without thinking. But when he was first pursuing me seven years ago, he’d put on a clumsy act, pretending to be poor, and had me completely fooled.
“Sophia,” he’d said, his face earnest, “I don’t have anything. I can’t give you a stable future. But we can work hard together, build a good life for ourselves.”
Looking at his sincere face back then, I had nodded.
I needed money, yes, but I could support myself. I chose Damian because I was moved by his words—we can work hard together, build a good life for ourselves.
But the longer we were together, the more I realized he was different. He would unconsciously show his disdain for anything cheap. He would order me around to do things he could easily do himself.
It wasn’t until I saw him step out of a luxury car at my part-time job, surrounded by an entourage as he entered a high-end club, that I was certain our relationship was built on a foundation of lies. And that he was terrified I was after his money.
Damian’s voice cut through my thoughts. “If you want money in the future, just ask me directly. Using your mother’s health as an excuse… aren’t you afraid of being struck by lightning?”
His words were so absurd I almost laughed. I lifted my eyes and looked at him coldly. “If I ask you directly, will you give it to me?”
He faltered, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. But then, as if confirming his own suspicions, his expression turned to one of scorn. “Chloe was right. You’re only with me for my money.”
He pulled out his phone and sent me a transfer for $1.88.
The transaction note had two words: Gold Digger.
In seven years together, I had never spent a single cent of his money. On holidays and anniversaries, I would buy him gifts. He accepted them without a second thought, but because he never got me anything, he would sarcastically ask if I thought it was a man’s God-given duty to buy presents for his girlfriend.
This was the man who called me a gold digger. This was the billionaire heir.
I thought of the gift list for Chloe. I thought of my mother, ravaged by illness, dying in pain because I couldn’t afford her treatment.
I couldn’t stand to be in his presence for another second.
As I stood up to leave, the door opened again. Chloe waltzed in, shrugging off her coat to reveal a sexy outfit underneath. The moment she saw me, she feigned a startled gasp and quickly put her coat back on.
“Sophia? What are you doing here?”
I turned to Damian. “If I remember correctly, this is the apartment we rent together. Not only did you give someone else the passcode, but you’re also letting them just walk in whenever they please?”
At my words, Chloe put on a look of utter grievance and ran to Damian’s side, clutching his arm. “Damian, how can you call me ‘someone else’? I just forgot my keys and wanted to crash here for the night. Besides, if it weren’t for you agreeing to split the rent, Sophia would have to pay for this all by herself. If anything, she’s the one getting the better deal.”
I wondered how many times she had said things like that behind my back.
Damian, far from seeing anything wrong, seemed to think Chloe had a point. “Chloe’s right. I have my own place. Splitting the rent here is a bad deal for me. What’s the difference between this and paying for sex?”
He pulled out his phone and held up his payment QR code to my face.
“You don’t want people calling you a gold digger, do you? Then pay me back for my half of the rent for the past seven years.”
2
This small, 400-square-foot apartment was where Damian and I had started.
After graduating, I stayed in the city to earn more money. All I could afford back then was a tiny, cramped room far from the city center.
It was Damian who said it was too far, too inconvenient for him to visit. It was Damian who said the place wasn’t fit for human habitation, that the thought of being intimate with me there killed the mood. He was the one who suggested we rent a bigger place together.
So, I took on the burden of the high rent, finding another part-time job to fill the time I saved on commuting.
And now, not only did he want me to pay back his half of the rent for the past seven years, but he also felt like he’d been cheated, that he’d essentially paid to sleep with me.
“Damian,” I asked, my voice trembling, “what have I been to you all these years?”
The tears welling in my eyes were for myself. For the seven years of my youth wasted on a man like this.
The hand holding the phone in front of me wavered for a second as a tear fell. He pursed his lips and pulled his hand back.
“I was just joking. It’s not a big…”
He didn’t finish.
Chloe clicked her tongue, her face a mask of disdain. “And she says she’s not after your money. If it weren’t for you, Damian, could she afford a place like this? Damian, you should just end the lease next month. You can’t keep letting outsiders take advantage of you. Or, you could have Sophia sign an IOU. That would be fair.”
If it weren’t illegal, I would have slapped both of them. But if I did, they would find a way to sue me for every penny I had. It was the favorite sick game of the rich and bored.
Seven years. I had played along long enough.
I was done.
“I’m not signing an IOU. If you want the money, you can sue me. We’ll see if the court agrees with you. And I’m not staying in this apartment anymore. Since Miss Chloe wants to stay the night, she should remember to pay Damian her share of the rent. Otherwise, she’ll be a gold digger too.”
I tried to leave, but Damian grabbed my arm. The playful expression was gone, replaced by an angry scowl. “Sophia, are you serious? Chloe and I were just kidding. I suggest you think carefully. If you leave here, you’ll never live in a place this nice again.”
I was so wrong. So unbelievably wrong. I shouldn’t have let him talk me out of breaking up with him when I first found out who he really was. I shouldn’t have believed his talk of an equal relationship, one not ruled by money, every time he accused me of being a gold digger.
I had only held onto the memory of him warming my cold feet with his stomach on the coldest winter nights, of his warm hands gently massaging my cramps away.
We had been in love. We had been happy.
But our love could never be tainted by money, not even a little.
“Damian, let’s break up.”
Only when those words left my mouth did the smirk finally leave his face, replaced by a flicker of panic.
“Break up? Sophia, you’re breaking up with me? I don’t agree. What right do you have to dump me? There’s a limit to your tantrums.”
He always put himself on a pedestal, as if being with me was a gift he was bestowing upon me.
I just looked at him calmly. “I’m not throwing a tantrum. Since you’re so convinced I’m a gold digger, after your money, you should find someone from your own circle. Have a truly ‘equal’ relationship.”
I didn’t want to say another word to him. I turned and went back to the bedroom to continue packing.
About thirty seconds later, I heard him roar. “Sophia, don’t you regret this.”
I ignored his threats, and I didn’t care that he slammed the door on his way out with Chloe.
I had endured a love where I was treated like a thief for seven years.
I didn’t blame Damian for not being able to save my mother. He had no obligation to lend me the money.
But when I was at my most desperate, when I was on my knees with a signed IOU, begging him to save my mother, he had looked right through me, still thinking I was a gold digger.
In that moment, my love for him, our seven years together, died.
3
In the middle of the night, I walked the empty streets with all my belongings. There was no place for me in this vast city, and no reason for me to stay. My mother was gone. My love was gone. Every second I stayed was just another second of pain.
With nowhere else to go, I spent the night in a nearby hospital lobby.
The first thing I did the next morning was quit my job.
My supervisor was shocked when she received my resignation letter. “You’re quitting? Did Mr. Thorne approve this?”
She added, “By the way, if you leave now, you won’t get much of a bonus this month. We’ll just deposit the rest of your salary into one card.”
I frowned, the information overload making my head spin. What did she mean, one card? And what bonus? Most importantly, who was Mr. Thorne?
Seeing my confusion, my supervisor looked just as baffled. “Aren’t you and Mr. Thorne dating? He specifically told finance to split your salary. Your base pay goes to you, and your bonuses and raises go to a separate card. He said you were saving money. I have to say, it’s rare to see someone so frugal, especially when you’re dating someone like Mr. Thorne.”
So, all these years, I had only been receiving my starting salary. My repeated requests for a raise… it wasn’t because I wasn’t working hard enough. It was because Damian had been diverting my earnings into another account.
When I went to finance for my pay stubs, I saw the bonus column. Two thousand dollars. The exact amount I had been short a few days ago. The day I had lost, trying to scrape together that final two thousand, was the day my mother died, waiting for a surgery she never got.
The most laughable part? The total sum of the bonuses Damian had withheld from me over the past seven years was more than enough to cover my mother’s medical bills.
I was such a fool.
So focused on working hard, terrified of being fired and losing my only source of income. So completely and utterly fooled by Damian Thorne.
To prove to him I wasn’t a gold digger, not only had I never spent his money, but I had let him steal my own hard-earned wages.
And I had stayed in this relationship, full of lies and insults, for seven years.
Just as I was about to confront Damian with the pay stubs, he sauntered in as if he owned the place.
“Sophia, we have a little argument and you run away from home and quit your job? Your temper is getting worse and worse.”
Chloe trailed behind him, a look of smug satisfaction on her face. She walked over, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “Sophia, you’re so ungrateful. You’re living off Damian’s money, in a house he pays for. Without him, could you even survive in this city?”
Shameless people really can tell the most blatant lies without batting an eye. I was so angry I almost laughed. Before I could retort, Damian cut me off.
“Chloe’s right. If it weren’t for me these past seven years, you would have starved to death. Let’s just say you were having a moment today. I’ll grant you a day off. I won’t even dock your pay for it.”
4
The more I saw of Damian’s true colors, the more I wondered how I could have been so blind for seven long years.
People around us started to whisper and point. When Damian did nothing to stop them, their voices grew louder.
“Mr. Thorne hid his identity because he didn’t want Sophia to feel insecure. He asked us all to keep it a secret. That just shows how much he cares about her.”
“She’s living off his money, in a house he pays for, and she still throws tantrums at him.”
“She wants to marry into wealth, but she doesn’t have what it takes. Without Mr. Thorne, she’s nothing.”
The more people gossiped, the more smug Damian looked. Chloe kept fanning the flames, piling on baseless accusations.
“Sophia, didn’t you even lie about your mother dying just to get two thousand dollars from Damian? You’re a gold digger who wants to play the victim. You can’t have it both ways.”
Her words were like cold water on hot oil. The office erupted. Everyone looked at me with contempt, their insults flying.
I looked at Damian. He still had that nonchalant expression, as if Chloe was just voicing his own unspoken grievances.
I curled my lips into a hollow smile. Just as I was about to speak, Damian grabbed my arm, playing the magnanimous peacemaker.
“Alright, alright, what’s past is past. It’s not like I’m short on cash. If you want money in the future, just ask me directly. No need to make up excuses.”
His words only fueled the office’s indignation. Everyone seemed to think I was ungrateful.
“Exactly! Mr. Thorne is so rich. If you want money, just ask.”
“Cursing your own mother for money… that’s just inhuman.”
“I can’t believe Sophia is that kind of person. I used to see how frugal she was and even brought her food sometimes.”
“Someone like her… Mr. Thorne should just dump her and make sure she can’t survive in this city.”
I saw the colleagues I had once been close to joining in, trampling on me. I thought about everything Damian had done.
Suddenly, it all felt so meaningless.
Even if I threw the pay stubs in his face right now, he and Chloe would just twist it into something else, and everyone would continue to humiliate me.
I quietly put the pay stubs back in my pocket. I looked up at Damian and smiled.
“We’ve been together for seven years. Why don’t you calculate exactly how much of your money I’ve spent? And if you can’t name a single cent that was spent on me, then perhaps you should pay back the hundreds of thousands you owe me. Otherwise, you, and this company, can expect to be sued.”
A relationship supposedly free of money, yet constantly steeped in it. The billionaire heir, so generous in the eyes of others, had been living off the money I was saving for my mother’s life.
Damian’s mind raced, and a flash of panic crossed his eyes. Of course, he couldn’t think of anything he had spent on me. This was a man who insisted we go Dutch on condoms. I had always thought it was just rich people being stingy, but now I realized it was because I wasn’t worth a single penny to him.
He probably wanted to argue, but I didn’t want to hear it. As I turned to leave, Chloe suddenly pushed me. I lost my balance and fell to the floor.
“Sophia, stop trying to change the subject. How could Damian possibly owe you money? If you dare to spread rumors, we’ll call the police and have you arrested. If you go to jail, who will take care of your mother, lying in a hospital bed waiting for you to earn money for her? You should apologize to Damian right now!”
Chloe thought she could threaten me. But I had nothing left to lose.
Just then, my supervisor, who had been passing by, saw Damian and squeezed through the crowd. She was holding an application form.
“Mr. Thorne, Sophia’s mother passed away a few days ago. You still haven’t approved the employee bereavement fund payment. Also, I’ve withdrawn Sophia’s application for a two-thousand-dollar salary advance, as you instructed. It’s such a shame. I heard her mother was just two thousand dollars short of her surgery fee.”
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I am a humble stone spirit from the court of the Lady of Petrifaction, iron-hearted, incapable of love or sorrow. Yet, I found myself tethered to the body of a woman drowning in sentiment.
She was a pitiable soul, loved by no one.
When she miscarried, her husband was out having fun with her adopted sister.
And her own mother accused her of being ungrateful, constantly saying how much better it would have been if the adopted sister were her real daughter.
Later, her husband came home, the adopted sister in tow, and said, “Serena is staying for a few days. You can give her your room.”
A dull ache pulsed in my chest, and my eyes began to well with tears. I knew it was the lingering love this body still held for him. But it didn’t matter. In one week, the host’s emotions would fade completely, and I would be free to be myself again—the stone spirit with a heart of iron…
1
This time, I didn’t throw a fit like she always used to. I simply said, “Alright.”
I gathered my things and started to walk out.
Aaron watched me, his eyes narrowed. “What are you plotting now?”
His gaze was filled with suspicion, as if I were the one who had committed some unforgivable crime. But from the very beginning, I had always been the one reacting to their cruelty.
I replied meekly, “A few days ago, Mom told me I should act more like a proper older sister.”
Aaron’s expression softened slightly. “It’s good that you’re finally willing to listen.”
He smiled and patted my stomach. “Go on to the guest room for now. I’ll be there in a bit, and we can do some prenatal bonding with the baby.”
His face held a rare gentleness, but the sight of it sent a blade twisting through my heart. Just a week ago, the body’s original owner, Elara, had slipped and fallen in the bathroom. With the last of her strength, she had called Aaron.
All she received was his irritated voice on the other end. “Elara, can you stop calling me all the time? Not even the cops check up on me this much! It’s so annoying!”
“Ah! Aaron, be gentle…” A soft, feminine moan drifted through the line, and just before he hung up, I heard him whisper a soft apology, his voice low and coaxing.
Elara had lain there on the cold tiles, a pool of blood spreading around her.
The plea for help never left her lips.
I clutched my chest, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm—thump, thump, thump. The pain was staggering as I stumbled out of the room. A suffocating pressure tightened around my heart, as if it were being torn apart.
I knew this feeling. It was grief.
Behind me, Aaron was already eagerly helping Serena with her luggage, not sparing me a single glance.
I slept in the cold, damp guest room. Aaron never came.
This wasn’t the first time. The original owner had cried and raged over it, but it had never changed anything.
And me, a stone spirit with a heart of iron? I certainly didn’t care.
Even if I was still trapped with all her emotions.
The next day, we went to visit my mother.
Serena immediately claimed the passenger seat, a smug smile on her face. “You know I get carsick, sister.”
She always did this. In the beginning, Elara would gently protest, but Aaron would always give her the silent treatment. After a while, she just stopped trying.
Perhaps I was lost in thought for too long, because Aaron impatiently yanked open the back door and shoved me inside. “What’s with the attitude now? I’ll have Mom set you straight.”
I fell hard onto the back seat. A sharp pain shot through my hand, and blood instantly welled up.
I looked down. A lace bra was lying on the seat.
The metal clasp on the back was what had sliced my palm open.
2
Seeing the bra in my hand, Aaron’s face flashed with guilt. But it was Serena who let out a little gasp, leaning over to snatch it away. “I was wondering where this went! It must have fallen out here.”
Aaron sighed. “How many times have I told you not to be so careless?”
Then he turned to me, offering a flimsy explanation. “Elara, don’t get the wrong idea. This must have fallen out of her luggage when I helped her move last time.”
My bleeding hand was nothing compared to the agony in my heart, but I had no desire to argue. “Let’s just go,” I said. “Don’t keep Mom waiting.”
The original Elara was a devoted and filial daughter. She had been sent to live with her grandmother as a child and cherished every reunion with her parents.
After we parked, Serena grabbed Aaron’s arm and started pulling him upstairs. In the past, he would have followed without a second thought, but this time he hesitated, looking back at me. “Elara?”
I snapped out of my daze and slowly followed.
Serena’s expression instantly soured.
…
“You’re here! No need for such formalities, come in, sit down!”
“Serena, you’re back too! How’s work? You haven’t come to see your mother in so long.”
My mother beamed as she ushered Aaron and Serena inside, leaving me to stand awkwardly on the doorstep. At the same time, a faint wave of disappointment washed over me. So this was Elara’s mother.
Seeing me just standing there, my mother turned and snapped, “What are you doing, just standing there like a statue? The cooking isn’t finished. Go and do it. Don’t think you can get out of everything just because you’re pregnant.”
“Let me tell you, when I was pregnant with you, you gave me nothing but trouble. And I still had to cook for everyone when I was eight months along.”
“I should never have had you. If only Serena were my real daughter. She’s so beautiful and thoughtful…”
She rambled on, her voice dripping with disdain for me.
Her sharp words were like an invisible hand, squeezing my heart until it felt like it would burst. My pulse quickened, pounding against my ribs.
So this is what it feels like when your heart breaks completely.
I saw Aaron frown at me and Serena smirk in triumph. I had no choice but to retreat to the kitchen.
Tears blurred my vision. I leaned against the counter, forcing myself to calm down.
From outside the kitchen came the sound of their cheerful laughter. They were a perfect, happy family.
No one gave a second glance to the pale, trembling woman in the kitchen.
I had heard that Serena’s mother died saving mine. Wracked with guilt, my mother adopted her as a goddaughter, and from that day on, Serena became the treasured jewel of the family.
Because of a single, childish comment—that I didn’t like her, that I might bully her—I was sent to my grandmother’s in the countryside before I was even eight.
When I was finally brought back home, they constantly reminded me to give in to Serena, to let her have her way.
Even Aaron doted on her. “Elara,” he would always say, “it’s your family’s fault she’s an orphan. This is a debt your family owes her.”
But the one who owed the debt was my mother. Why was I the one who had to bear all the blame?
The original Elara never understood. Neither did I.
I was bound by karma. I couldn’t divorce him, nor could I cut ties with my mother.
But even though my heart was breaking, I still had to eat.
As a stone, I could neither eat nor drink. Now, I cherished food.
At the dinner table, as they chatted, Serena suddenly spoke up. “By the way, Aaron, now that my sister is pregnant, it’s not very convenient for her to keep working at her old company. Why don’t you let her join yours?”
Aaron frowned. “She doesn’t have the qualifications. I can’t bend the rules for her.”
My chopsticks paused. A sharp, needle-like pain pierced my heart.
The year Elara graduated from high school, Serena had hidden her university acceptance letter. Thinking she had failed, she got a simple job right after graduation. Though she eventually earned a degree through self-study, in the eyes of someone like Aaron, it held far less weight than a degree from a traditional university.
When Aaron found out about it, all he had said was, “That’s just fate.”
Remembering this, I clung to a final shred of hope and asked the question Elara had never dared to ask. “Aaron, can’t you make an exception, just this once?”
3
Aaron’s brow furrowed, and he answered without a hint of hesitation. “If I make an exception for you, then others will ask me to make exceptions for them. If I let you in today, someone else will want a spot tomorrow.”
My mother chimed in, “Aaron’s right. You can’t set that kind of precedent, or the whole company will fall into chaos. If you find your job inconvenient, just quit. It’s not like anyone is counting on you to support the family.”
So, giving his own wife a job would disrupt the company, but letting the clueless Serena become his personal assistant was perfectly fine.
I managed a weak smile. “Forget it. I was only joking.”
The table fell silent. After a moment, Aaron hesitated. “Well, maybe… you could be my assistant? Usually…”
“Sister, I’m so sorry!” Serena cut him off, her eyes welling with tears. “If I hadn’t been so thoughtless back then and lost your acceptance letter, you wouldn’t have…”
Clatter!
Before she could finish, my mother slammed her chopsticks on the table. “That was years ago! Are you still blaming your sister for it now?”
“Elara, can’t you be more understanding for once? Missing out on a university degree hasn’t affected you that much!”
Her shrill accusations echoed in my ears, a roaring sound that made me want to vomit. I knew this was the original Elara’s trauma response. She had endured so much scolding that her body reacted this way automatically.
My heart throbbed with a searing pain. I tried to stand up to get my phone, but the world swam before my eyes. My legs gave out, and I crashed heavily against the table. With a series of sharp cracks, the dishes and food went flying.
Sharp porcelain shards dug into my elbow, and blood welled up instantly.
My mother jumped, her voice hesitant. “What’s… what’s wrong with you? Are you not feeling well?”
She reached out to help me, but Aaron’s cold voice stopped her. “Is faking sick really that interesting, Elara? You send me every one of your check-up reports. I know you’re perfectly healthy.”
But in all this time, he had never once gone with me to a check-up. He had no idea that after every appointment, I would go see a therapist.
Aaron’s words ignited my mother’s anger. She shot me a glare. “This family has no peace with you in it! Come on, let’s go eat out!”
She grabbed Aaron and Serena, one in each hand, and pulled them out the door. Just before she left, Serena turned back and gave me a triumphant smile.
I sat there, a pathetic figure amidst the wreckage of the meal, gasping for breath, unable to move for a long, long time.
The sky turned completely dark, and they never returned. I stared at the calendar, silently counting down in my head.
Five days left…
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