Category: English

My sister loved me obsessively, a sickness. On my eighteenth birthday, she learned the truth: I wasn’t her real brother, just a changeling heir to a fortune that wasn’t mine. She locked me in her estate, showering me with twisted affection. To keep me to herself, she stripped our parents of power and exiled them. When her real brother sought revenge, she crippled him and left him in the mountains. She was paranoid, possessive, a beautiful monster who cut me off from the world. To make me jealous, she found a man who looked just like me—stubborn, calling her “sister” the same way. She made him a star, the youngest A-list actor ever, and named him Jaxson. No one knew why. No one knew my name was Cole. Everyone thought she loved Jaxson. He believed it too, flaunting his role as her fiancé. Drunk on her favor, he stormed into my prison. “You pretty boy! Did you get surgery to look like me? I’ll tear that face off!” He slashed my cheek, killed my dog, broke my hands, and poured pepper solution between my legs. When my sister arrived, he pointed at me—broken in a dog cage—and sobbed, “Darling, this impostor used my face to seduce you! Who do you choose? Me or him?” … I had been Rianne’s prisoner at Silverwood Manor for four years. Four years of relentless training, of honing my body and mind for a single purpose: escape. Today, I finally saw my chance. As I scrambled onto the garden’s back wall, my freedom a breath away, I saw them. A gang of thugs waited below, their faces grim. Leading them was Jaxson, the celebrity my sister kept on a leash. The moment he saw me perched on the wall, a cruel sneer spread across his face. He swung a steel pipe, and it connected with my leg with a sickening crack. “Well, well, what do we have here? Finally caught the rat trying to flee his cage! Feeling guilty, are we? Scared of me?” “So this is why Rianne is always coming out here,” he spat, his voice dripping with venom. “It’s you, you little leech, who’s been poisoning her mind!” The world dissolved into a universe of pain as I tumbled from the wall. I couldn’t even scream. Jaxson was on me in an instant, the steel pipe smashing against my face again and again. His cronies joined in, their steel-toed boots kicking me relentlessly. “Fucking homewrecker,” one of them snarled. “Let’s see you steal anyone’s girl after we’re done with you!” “You’re mistaken,” I tried to gasp out. “I’m…” Jaxson shoved the end of the pipe into my mouth, ramming it against my teeth and throat. The taste of blood and rust flooded my senses, choking me. I coughed, spraying a crimson mist onto the gravel. “Mistaken? Don’t give me that bullshit! You’re a goddamn slut who surgically altered his face to look like me, trying to steal my wife! You knew I was coming for you, that’s why you tried to run, wasn’t it?” He was screaming now, a madman consumed by jealousy. “I thought you’d hide in your little fortress forever!” The blows rained down, each one a fresh wave of agony. My face was a swollen, fiery mask. Warm blood streamed from my nose. I curled into a ball, trying to protect my head, and then it all clicked into place. The new head of security. He’d been bought. That explained his loud phone call outside my door, talking about Rianne being out of the country for a few days, about how the “opportunity was here.” He wasn’t talking to an accomplice of mine. He was tipping off Jaxson. It explained why he’d helped clear a path for my escape, diverting the other guards. He wasn’t helping me get out. He was leading me into a trap. Jaxson had been waiting for me all along. “You’ve really got it all wrong,” I rasped, my voice shredded. “I’m Rianne Blackwood’s brother. Not some boy toy!” Jaxson paused. The security captain stepped forward and murmured, “I have heard rumors that Ms. Blackwood has an adopted brother, a twin who looks just like her. But he was supposedly kidnapped four years ago, had his legs broken, and was sent abroad for treatment. Hasn’t been back since.” Jaxson’s eyes, cold as ice, scanned my face, then my intact legs. “This pretty boy doesn’t look a thing like Rianne, and his legs are fine. He’s lying!” Just then, a voice cut through the haze of pain. “Who’s there?!” It was Mr. Abernathy, the old butler, who had served my parents for decades. He was here, delivering something. He would recognize me! “Abernathy, help me!” I screamed, my throat raw. “It’s me, Cole!” The old man squinted, his gaze finding me on the ground. A flicker of confusion crossed his weathered face. “Mr. Pierce,” he said, his voice hesitant. “What are you doing here?” He looked at me, then back at Jaxson. “And who is this?” My heart sank. Four years. After our parents were sent away, Rianne had told the world I’d gone with them. I’d been locked away, hidden from every living soul. Even the maids who brought my food only passed it through a slot in the door. After four years, and beaten beyond recognition, how could he possibly remember me? I tried to speak, to prove who I was, but Jaxson’s boot came down on my mouth, grinding my face into the dirt. Darkness swarmed the edges of my vision. “Him?” Jaxson sneered. “Just some plastic surgery freak who thought he could use his face to seduce Rianne. Heard I was coming to teach him a lesson and got scared, tried to climb the wall and run.” The security captain chimed in with a laugh. “Doesn’t even know the real heir’s name and has the gall to impersonate Ms. Blackwood’s brother.” He squatted down and spat near my head. “The young master’s name is Spencer, you idiot. Not Cole. Got it?” But Mr. Abernathy’s face had gone pale. “Cole?” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Cole is the young master’s name!” “What?” Jaxson and the captain stared, stunned. “I thought Rianne’s brother was named Spencer!” Abernathy quickly explained my story, how I was the adopted son, the changeling. He told them how protective Rianne was of me, how she wouldn’t let anyone harm a hair on my head. A spark of hope ignited in my chest. I nodded frantically at Abernathy. Yes, that’s me! I’m Cole! The old butler knelt, peering at my bloodied face. With my one good hand, I fumbled inside my shirt and pulled out the small jade pendant our mother had given me. “That’s…!” Abernathy’s eyes widened, his voice shaking. “That’s the protective talisman my lady gave to the young master! Master Cole, is it truly you?” But Jaxson snatched it, ripping the cord from my neck. “He managed to get Rianne wrapped around his little finger. Stealing a piece of jade would be child’s play for a snake like him,” he sneered. “Exactly,” one of his thugs added. “Everyone knows you’re the one Ms. Blackwood really cares about. This bastard got a new face to look like you, hiding out here like a kept man. God knows what kind of dirty tricks he used to get her to protect him!” Jaxson’s eyes blazed with renewed fury. For three years, Rianne had forbidden anyone from setting foot on the estate grounds. If not for his fear of her wrath, he wouldn’t have had to resort to luring me out like this. His friends started egging him on. “What are you worried about? She said no one goes inside. We’re outside. We can waste this fucker right here and now. If she asks, we just say we thought he was some creep trying to break in.” “She loves you so much! You really think she’d punish you over some broken boy toy?” A dark realization dawned on Jaxson’s face. “You’re right! I’m only doing this because I love her so much. She might not even punish me. She might even be touched by my devotion!” With that, he ordered his men to drag me away, but Mr. Abernathy blocked their path. “Mr. Pierce, please, think about this! What if he truly is the young master? The consequences would be dire!” Jaxson’s face was a mask of pure menace. “What did Rianne send you to deliver to this pretty boy? Don’t you lie to me, old man!” His assistant ripped the box from Abernathy’s hands and tore it open. Inside lay an exquisite custom-tailored suit and a handwritten note. My love, I can’t wait to see you in this. Don’t be sad. I have a surprise for you when I get back. All my love. Jaxson’s face contorted in rage. He shredded the note. “See this?” he screamed at Abernathy. “If this was her brother, would she write something so intimate? You yourself said Cole is abroad with her parents. This imposter can’t be him!” Ignoring Abernathy’s frantic protests, he grabbed my hair and began dragging me away. Just as all hope faded, Abernathy’s phone rang. It was Rianne. The butler had barely answered when Jaxson snatched the phone from his grasp. He gestured for his men to gag me and for the security captain to pull Abernathy aside. “Hello? Darling,” Jaxson cooed into the phone, his voice sickeningly sweet. “I just ran into Mr. Abernathy. I absolutely adore the suit you sent. It’s perfect.” “And the note was so sweet, my sister. Made me want to fly over and see you right this instant!” There was a brief, cold silence on the other end. “Oh,” Rianne said, her voice tight. “I’m glad you like it.” She was furious, but she couldn’t let on. She couldn’t let Jaxson know I was her prisoner here, much less that she felt anything for me. It would put me in even more danger. “Where did you run into him?” she asked, her tone icy. “Did he say anything else?” “On the road back to the main house! He was being all secretive, wouldn’t let me open the box. I had to insist!” As he said this, Jaxson shot me a look of pure hatred. “This was for me, right, sister? It’s not like Abernathy was delivering it to some other little slut behind your back, is he?” The threat in his voice was unmistakable. “Don’t be ridiculous,” Rianne replied coolly. “You’re the only one I have. Abernathy is just getting old and eccentric. He probably wanted to hide it somewhere to surprise you later. Don’t overthink it. Put him on the phone.” Jaxson glared at the old butler before thrusting the phone at him. “Abernathy, since Jaxson has seen it, just give it to him. Don’t worry, I won’t blame you.” The last part of her sentence hung in the air, a veiled warning that made Abernathy’s blood run cold. “Yes, Miss!” Before he could say more, Jaxson moved to hang up. In that split second, I bit down. Hard. The man holding my mouth yelped in pain and his hand flew back. “Rianne, help me…” The words were a mangled, desperate croak. Jaxson’s face went white with fury. He lunged forward, his boot grinding into my mouth again. “I thought I heard someone call for help,” Rianne’s voice sharpened with suspicion. “What’s going on over there?” “It’s just my assistant, we’re running lines!” the man I’d bitten quickly improvised, his voice slick with false cheer. “Yes, Ms. Blackwood, we’re rehearsing. Jaxson has a kidnapping scene tomorrow…” “I see. Tell Abernathy to remember my instructions. I’m busy. Goodbye.” The line went dead. My world collapsed into despair. Jaxson pressed his foot down harder. “You dare call her ‘sister’ in front of me? Is that how you seduce her?” he hissed. “No one calls her that but me. You really deserve to die, you pretty boy!” He looked down at my ruined face, his eyes filled with a venomous satisfaction. “Not only did you copy my face, you even copied how I talk to her. Today, I’m going to make you regret ever being born.” He dragged me by the hair toward the main gate. Abernathy pleaded, “You’ve got the gift, you’ve taught him his lesson. Can’t you just let him go?” “Yeah, Jaxson,” the security captain added. “Just dump him somewhere else. If Ms. Blackwood asks, we’ll just say he ran away.” Jaxson seemed to consider it. He threw me to the ground. “Fine. Can you promise to leave this place and never see Rianne again?” I nodded frantically. God, all I wanted for the past four years was to escape this yandere nightmare. The next thing I knew, he was pulling out a knife, a cold smile on his face. “I don’t believe you. Better to make sure.”

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The day Jimmy Slade fully seized control of the Slade family, Portside burned with fireworks all night. Everyone speculated he was finally going to marry me. But I waited from dusk till dawn. What I got instead was the news of Thorne Group’s assets being frozen, accusations of my own alleged misdeeds about to land me in prison. I got Jimmy Slade’s hard-won triumph, and the announcement of his engagement to the novel’s heroine. The system’s cold voice chimed: “Congratulations, Host. Mission successfully completed. Would you like to depart this world?” I nodded without hesitation. Later, when Jimmy learned I had died, he panicked. Didn’t he want me ruined and dead? Why was he crying? 1 “Host, detaching from the body will take three days. Please wait quietly.” The system’s voice continued, and I watched a video on my tablet, completely unfazed. Just then, the doorbell of Thorne Manor rang, as I expected it would. The maid rushed over. “Miss Thorne, it’s the police.” “Let them in.” I set down the tablet. Last night, when everyone thought I would become the mistress of the Slade family, news broke that Thorne Group was involved in illicit activities. Right below it, pinned at number two, was a trending topic about me, Iris Thorne, organizing illegal operations and selling prohibited products. The accuser: Jimmy Slade. Public opinion swiftly turned. Everyone praised Jimmy Slade for his righteousness. He smoothly ascended to the position of Slade family patriarch. He also smoothly canceled his engagement to me and announced his wedding date with his childhood sweetheart, Charlotte Summers. “Miss Thorne.” I recognized the lead officer, a man named Officer Wells. He was famously stubborn, unwilling to wrongly accuse the innocent, and equally unwilling to let the guilty escape. He looked at me with an unreadable emotion in his eyes. “Hello, Officer Wells.” I smiled and greeted him, then extended my wrists, waiting for him to cuff me. He hesitated, not moving. It wasn’t until the young female officer beside him prompted him, “Wells, this isn’t the time for personal feelings.” Oh? Personal feelings? The system’s voice came: “Just pulled a clip. After the accusations against you came out, even with evidence, Wells refused to believe it. He insisted on investigating the truth to clear your name.” Hearing that, I couldn’t help but laugh aloud. Officer Wells and the young officer both looked at me. The young officer indignantly said, “Beauty doesn’t automatically mean a kind heart. Wells, I will report your behavior to the Chief.” In the end, it was the young officer who put the handcuffs on me. They were cold and metallic, a first for me. I was about to walk out. Officer Wells raised a hand to stop me. “Did Miss Thorne do all those good deeds just to cover her tracks?” I met his questioning gaze. I knew what he was about to say next. He was going to say, “I don’t believe it.” But whether he believed it or not didn’t matter. 2 I was merely the villainess in this novel. My mission was to clear all obstacles for Jimmy Slade, help him become the Slade family patriarch, and complete the romantic subplot. Thorne Group and my own existence were the last hurdles for Jimmy Slade to overcome. To complete the mission, I could play the fool and offer everything on a silver platter. The system had warned me two weeks ago: “After Jimmy Slade takes the shares from your hands, Thorne Group will be shut down, and you will go to prison. Are you just going to watch him frame you step by step for the next two weeks?” I merely smiled. I even reminded it: “This is just a mission.” In the novel, the Slade and Thorne families were always rivals, their previous generations constantly vying for supremacy in Portside. Later, they were manipulated by a villain. The two families were involved in a transaction that led to Portside’s most severe explosion. That was when I transmigrated, becoming the sole survivor of the explosion. Five-year-old Jimmy Slade became the sole heir to the Slade family. His uncles all tried to seize the opportunity to eliminate Jimmy and take power themselves. Jimmy’s grandmother wanted to use Thorne Group to protect Jimmy, so she gave me 10% of the shares. Thus, defying the opposition of Thorne Group’s shareholders, I chose to put aside the family feuds and proactively proposed a marriage alliance with Jimmy. 3 “Yes, Officer Wells, I was indeed covering up my crimes. I am a truly wicked person. You misjudged and misplaced your trust.” I smiled sweetly at him, then followed the young officer out of Thorne Manor. The mansion was surrounded by reporters, undoubtedly arranged by Jimmy. Their gloating faces were truly quite unbearable. “Did you ever imagine this day, after all the atrocious things you’ve done?” “Justice is served. You will pay the price for your actions!” Jimmy stood outside the mansion, watching my humiliation with cold detachment, Charlotte clinging to his arm. From afar, they truly looked like a match made in heaven. I suddenly remembered Jimmy in his youth, crying, his eyes red, burying his face in my embrace. “Iris, wait for me. I will definitely marry you. The day I become the Slade family patriarch, I will set off fireworks all night for you. All the billboards in Portside will display our photos. I will tell the whole world how much I love you.” Jimmy had done it. Only the object of his affection wasn’t me. The promises of youth ultimately became lies. In this mission, the romantic subplot wasn’t particularly important. The system even said that if I wished, I could choose to stay and build an empire with Jimmy. But the first time Jimmy chose Charlotte and left me forgotten in the rain, I understood. Some plotlines, even if altered, can’t fake genuine affection. Besides, I didn’t love him. 4 Jimmy approached, his bodyguards clearing a path. He drew close, still wearing the suit, tie, and even cufflinks I had personally designed and meticulously selected for him. He leaned in slightly. “Iris Thorne, you could beg me.” “If you just soften your stance, I can get you out.” I scoffed internally. No, I wouldn’t. I’m not one to be strong-armed. I looked back at Officer Wells. “Officer Wells, someone is challenging authority.” Jimmy’s face instantly turned to ice. Officer Wells quickly stepped forward, placing himself between Jimmy and me. “Mr. Slade, please do not obstruct the police.” Jimmy laughed in exasperation, clenching his fist and warning me, “Iris Thorne, the Thorne family caused the death of my parents. Blood for blood. This is what you owe me.” I pursed my lips. So, he was blaming the explosion on the Thorne family. Suddenly, the symptoms of departing the world began to manifest. A metallic taste welled in my throat, which I desperately swallowed down. “Then how about I pay with my life?” “The crimes you’ve committed are enough to execute you hundreds of times over!” Jimmy roared. My face was pale, but I smiled at him, my eyes curving. “Then I wish Mr. Slade a prosperous future and boundless success.” After the last word, I got into the backseat of the police car. I didn’t look back. The system’s voice carried a hint of indignation: “You’re the most cold-blooded, ruthless, and formidable host I’ve ever guided. You’re the first one to deliberately set herself up for death.” I looked out the window, ignoring the system, clenching my fists, enduring the sharp pain as my fingernails dug into my flesh. Jimmy was my masterpiece, ruthless, decisive, and efficient. This was good. 5 The moment I stepped out of the police car, I completely collapsed. I violently vomited a large mouthful of blood, which, by sheer coincidence, splattered all over Officer Wells’s uniform. My stomach pain was so intense I could barely stand upright, and cold sweat soaked the back of my clothes. “What’s wrong with you?!” Officer Wells immediately rushed to support me. My hand gripped his arm, my whole body weak and lifeless. When I looked up, my face was utterly bloodless, as pale as if I were already dead. Someone nearby quickly called for an ambulance, but before it arrived, my vision went black, and I passed out. In a haze, I heard the doctor speaking to Officer Wells. “She has late-stage stomach cancer. She won’t live for more than two weeks.” Officer Wells said nothing. When I opened my eyes, I met his gaze, which was filled with complex emotions. “Officer Wells, are you feeling sad for me?” He still said nothing, merely pouring me a glass of water. One of my wrists was handcuffed to the bedframe. “Will my illness cause trouble for your case? If not, you can fast-track the judgment. I plead guilty.” I added. Officer Wells’s grip tightened on the cup. He stared at me with an indignant intensity. “Iris Thorne, do you think that because you’re dying, you can take responsibility for anything and everything? Guilty is guilty, innocent is innocent. Don’t try to disrespect the law.” I smiled faintly, then took the cup from Officer Wells’s hand and took a sip. “Officer Wells is right to admonish me. I trust Officer Wells.” 6 Officer Wells left. It was the young officer’s turn to watch me. She didn’t seem to like me, always wearing a stern expression, but I quite liked her. In the novel, her character was very well-written—clear in her loves and hates, brave in pursuing what she believed in. The system suddenly spoke in my mind: “I’ve used points to block your pain. You will complete your death in three days. I’ve already chosen your next mission: how about pursuing Officer Wells? A bit of a romance subplot.” Uh… “I refuse.” “Refusal invalid.” You truly are my wonderful system. Officer Wells and I are different. He’s a star in the sky; I’m dust on the ground. We’re destined never to truly intersect. The hospital room television was showing Portside’s auction. Jimmy and Charlotte were attending together. She intimately linked her arm through Jimmy’s, a wedding ring on her middle finger. I designed it myself. Unfortunately, it wasn’t my size. “Our wedding is set for the eighth of next month. Everyone is welcome to attend.” Charlotte handled the reporters with composure, but Jimmy… his expression was terrible, his thoughts seemingly far away. He didn’t even react when Charlotte called him. Until someone suddenly asked, “Mr. Slade, how much do you know about Miss Thorne’s situation? Did you hesitate at all to expose her and sacrifice your own? Many in the industry believed you would marry Miss Thorne.” Jimmy frowned, glanced at the reporter’s press pass, then suddenly let out a cold laugh. “You used to work for Thorne Group, didn’t you?” The reporter instantly fell silent, his microphone held awkwardly, unable to raise or lower it. He could only force a “yes.” Jimmy gave a mocking smile. Speaking into the microphone, he was also, in essence, speaking to me. “Never hesitated for a second. Iris Thorne broke the law. She deserves what’s coming to her. I never even considered marrying her.” 7 Suddenly, the young officer switched off the television. She looked at me. “You have terrible taste in men.” I raised an eyebrow playfully. “But he wasn’t wrong, was he? I committed a crime, he reported me, and I’m facing punishment.” She snorted. “You’re right. I just don’t like his face. I’ve heard plenty about you and Jimmy. You helped him so much, and he stabbed you in the back. Aren’t you angry?” she asked, looking at me curiously. I merely smiled. “Of course I am. I almost burned down the Slade family estate.” “You wouldn’t dare!” she snapped, instantly standing up. I couldn’t help but laugh aloud. She was the same age as Charlotte. But far more innocent. Charlotte was Jimmy’s childhood sweetheart, his white moonlight, the heroine of this world. After the Slade family’s troubles, she was sent abroad; the Summers family didn’t want to get involved. Later, when Jimmy began to succeed, Charlotte returned and started rekindling their old flames. I used to mock Charlotte endlessly back then. A five-year-old child. How much profound love could there be? “I wouldn’t dare.” “You better behave!” the young officer glared at me. I nodded. 8 By the third day, my body’s functions began to fail. I coughed up large mouthfuls of blood, ceaselessly. My heart stopped several times. My entire body was bloodless, sweat and blood mingling on my forehead. The doctors and nurses were frantic. I called out to the system in my mind: “Can’t you let me die quickly? It’s too much trouble for the doctors, and it weighs on my conscience.” The system remained silent, giving me a six-dot ellipsis of exasperation. Officer Wells rushed in, drenched, as a torrential downpour raged outside. The sky was gloomy, which only added to my own disquiet. “The doctor said she won’t make it through the night,” the young officer said, her eyes red. Officer Wells looked at me, lying unconscious in the hospital bed, his expression grave. “How can this be so sudden? Didn’t they say she had another two weeks?” “She’s been depressed every day,” the young officer explained. “The doctor said maybe it’s because she has no will to live.” I wanted to object. I felt I’d been quite content these past three days. No work to deal with, no social gatherings to attend, no need to keep my nerves on edge. The system asked, “Do you want to say goodbye to them? Wells has been tirelessly working on your behalf these past few days.” “No,” I refused coldly. He wasn’t doing it for me, but for justice. If I hadn’t been the one reported today, he would still have acted the same way. Officer Wells leaned close. “Iris Thorne, I’m trying to find evidence. I will clear your name. You wouldn’t want to die with a bad reputation, would you?” What a foolish person. I really wanted to open my eyes and tell him. There’s no need to insist. This is the destined ending. Suddenly, the monitor blared, beeping—then a long, flat line. My blood pressure plummeted. Officer Wells froze for a few seconds, his face full of shock, until a nurse pulled him away. Only then did he react. “Prepare for CPR! Defibrillate!” The doctors began resuscitation again, continuously pressing on my chest, shocking me. Ultimately, my heart stopped. A flat line on the monitor. Officer Wells’s pained voice and the system’s cold voice sounded simultaneously. “Iris Thorne!” “Congratulations, Host, on successful detachment!” 9 I floated in the air, the system a white wisp on my shoulder. I was a bit exasperated. “Couldn’t you wait until Wells was further away before I died?” “Uh—” “Because time was up,” the system replied innocently. The doctor reluctantly announced my death. Wells clenched his fists, seemingly unable to comprehend my passing. “If I hadn’t said those things to her, would she still be alive?” he muttered, rigid. “No!” the young officer cried, her eyes red. “Wells, she was already dying! Even if not from cancer, she would have died by execution!” He shook his head. “I’ve found clues. What if she was innocent?” The young officer slapped him, turning Wells’s head to the side. “Wells, you’ve never been so irrational on a case before. Why is it that with Iris Thorne, you can’t control your emotions? If she was innocent, we will clear her name. She didn’t die unjustly; she died of illness. Birth, aging, sickness, death—these are things we cannot control!” Wells looked like all the strength had left his body, sinking weakly onto a chair in the corridor, consumed by deep self-reproach. I felt even guiltier. “System, can you give him a dream?” “I don’t want to owe anyone favors.” The system twitched its lips. “I asked if you wanted to say goodbye earlier. You refused. I can’t interfere now.” Fine.

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When our daughter passed away, Ian Blackwood promised her that he would never have another child. So, for all these years, no matter how openly he flaunted his mistresses, not a single one dared to provoke me with talk of children. Until our daughter Lily’s third death anniversary. I received a pregnancy test result at her graveside. The name on the form was Jenny Hayes, the innocent bridesmaid Ian had practically stolen from someone else’s wedding reception. He glanced at the paper, delivered to me like a cruel gift. There was no gentle interruption to his reverie. He merely chuckled, an unsettling amusement in his eyes. “The little rascal is playful. Don’t mind her. You go ahead with your remembrance; I’ll be back in a moment.” That day, I waited from morning until night. What I saw instead was a photo Jenny posted on social media: Ian kissing her belly, with the caption, “Our family of three.” They expected me to rage and make a scene, to even beg him, as I had in the past. But I simply exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I quietly took the divorce papers, signed three years prior, and submitted them for registration, keeping it a secret from everyone. No one knew that Lily, on her deathbed, had also made a wish to me. The day her father broke his promise would be the day she agreed to let me divorce him. 1. It was eleven thirty-one in the evening. A biting wind swept through the cemetery. My hands, trembling from the cold, clutched my phone as I called Ian again. The custom ringtone – a recording of him and Jenny’s intimate whispers – played for a full minute and twenty-six seconds. Finally, a robotic voice announced that the call was unanswered. I had calculated the time: it took twenty-five minutes from Jenny’s place to the cemetery. That left three minutes, just enough for him to light an incense stick for Lily and say a few words. But he didn’t answer. I knew his phone would likely be unreachable tonight. Six months ago, when I was ill and called him for help, he told me that when he didn’t want to take my calls, he’d let the ringtone play until I couldn’t bear their voices anymore and would be sensible enough to stop bothering him. I gave a self-deprecating smile. Just before I put my phone away, he sent a rare, unsolicited message. Don’t call. She’s been threatening to get an abortion, and I can’t calm her down. I’ve given her Lily’s necklace for now. I’ll order a new one tomorrow. A day earlier or later, Lily won’t mind. I gripped the phone, yet strangely, I couldn’t muster any anger. Last time, when Jenny threw Lily’s photo in the trash, I slapped her. That night, Ian’s men “accidentally” injured my arm, putting me in the hospital for two weeks. I had known for a long time that Lily no longer held the same place in his heart. But Lily was young, innocent. She always appeared in my dreams, begging me to give her father another chance. I sighed, and then Jenny’s message arrived. Sister, I’m so sorry, I’m pregnant. He said the cemetery was too unlucky, bad for me and the baby, so he made an excuse to miss it. Oh, and do you know when this baby was conceived? It was during the time you went to the temple every year to pray for Lily. I told him you’d be upset, but you know he always likes to force things. The more I resisted, the more intensely he wanted it. Afraid I wouldn’t believe her, she sent a screen recording of hundreds of flirtatious videos on her phone. The last date was January 21st – the same day, three years ago, Lily was diagnosed with her illness. I distinctly remembered Ian abandoning millions in business deals to rush back, crying hysterically outside the operating room, kneeling and begging the doctors to save our daughter. Afterwards, every year on that day, he would clear his schedule to go with me to the temple to pray for Lily. Until Jenny appeared, and I was the only one who went. It turns out that wound in his heart had healed long ago. I didn’t reply. Almost stubbornly, I stood there until the date on my phone changed to the next day. I didn’t feel the sadness I expected. I simply touched the serene smile on Lily’s tombstone. “Lily, it’s time. Dad isn’t coming this year. From now on, you and Mom will go our own way.” 2. That night, I dreamt of Lily crying, throwing herself into my arms, saying she didn’t like Daddy and didn’t want him anymore. I woke up, choking on my own sobs. In the dead of night, the space beside me remained empty. Only Lily’s favorite teddy bear, the one she cherished in life, still carried her scent. When Lily passed, Ian was inseparable from me. Whenever I’d wake from a nightmare, he’d be the first to notice, then he’d hold me, soothing me with soft words or weeping alongside me. Back then, I thought we would reconcile. I never imagined his philandering would remain unchanged, even after Lily and I had left. I couldn’t fall back asleep. After typing out the divorce papers, word by word, he returned. I handed him the signed agreement, still warm from the printer. He paused for two seconds, then scoffed. “So, just because I didn’t visit our daughter? It’s been years; are you still using these tactics? Isn’t it tiresome?” He paused again, seemingly realizing something. “Besides, Jenny’s pregnancy makes it difficult for her to move around. Or do you think this child threatens your position, so you’re playing hard to get to test me?” “Don’t worry. Once the baby is born, as long as you treat it as your own, no one will challenge your status as Mrs. Blackwood.” “While I’m in a good mood, take the hint. Don’t, like before, cry and tear up the agreement, saying you can’t live without me, if I actually sign.” I felt no anger at his mockery, nor did I bother to explain that my past actions were forced, a desperate charade. I just looked at him calmly. “Do you remember what you promised Lily?” His face stiffened, and beneath his serious demeanor was an undeniable hint of guilt. “I will always love her, but the Blackwood family cannot be without an heir. She will understand me.” As he finished speaking, his phone rang. He smiled happily as he answered Jenny’s call. “How could such a small baby be making a fuss?” “Alright, alright, I know you miss me. I just came back to grab some fresh clothes; I’ll be right there.” His voice was tender. For a fleeting moment, I was transported back to when we were most in love. When he learned I was pregnant, he was just as gentle. He would lie on my belly every day and talk to the baby. When the baby’s movements made me uncomfortable, he would sternly tell her not to bother Mommy. He hung up, then glanced at me. “Enjoy your life as a rich wife. Don’t cause trouble for Jenny, and your future will be one of comfort and security.” Watching him rush away to someone else, aside from a pang of bitterness reserved for Lily, I felt very little emotion left. I had the cemetery exhume Lily’s grave. I took out her urn. Then, I carried the divorce papers to the Blackwood family estate and handed them to Ian’s father. “Back then, besides Lily not wanting me to divorce him, you also said I was the only one who could curb his inherent arrogance.” “But now I can’t do it, and he no longer has Lily in his heart either.” Ian’s father, stroking the agreement, looked at me regretfully. “You know he just loves playing games and excitement. Wait a couple more years; he’ll settle down eventually. You two have so many years of history.” We had been entangled for ten years, from campus to marriage. He once defied his elders in the ancestral hall, staining a marriage contract with his own blood, just to marry me, an unsuitable match, vowing to marry no one else in this life. Just when I had finally softened his family’s hearts with my sincerity, he had lost his feelings for me. I smiled and shook my head. “No more waiting. I need to start a new life too.” He sighed, then retrieved the real divorce agreement, swapped out three years ago, from his safe and handed it to me. “The process has been re-approved. Pick up your divorce certificate in three days.” 3. After completing the registration, I returned home. The house had acquired some unfamiliar items. Jenny sat on the sofa. Ian stood beside her, directing the moving company as they cleared things out of Lily’s bedroom. He paused when he saw me. “Jenny’s pregnancy is unstable; she needs care. I’ve brought her home. You and the new nanny look after her. After all, you’ll be relying on this child in the future.” “Lily’s room is empty anyway, so I’ve put some odds and ends in there for storage. The master bedroom, where you sleep, is for Jenny and me. You can clean up the guest room and move in there.” Jenny stood up, stroking her belly, looking shyly at me. “I’m so sorry, big sister. Arthur just cares so much about me and the baby. Don’t worry, I won’t cause you any trouble.” “Once I’ve had the baby, I’ll definitely restore Lily’s room to its original state.” This wasn’t the first time Jenny had tried to provoke me using Lily. Last time, she sent a voice note of them flirting. Jenny said she wanted to give him a child as cute and well-behaved as Lily. So, Ian took her to the children’s room, jokingly saying Lily was kind and would surely grant their wish if she heard it. In front of Lily’s portrait, Jenny emotionally begged Lily to be reincarnated into her womb and become part of their happy family. By the time I arrived, the entire bedroom was filled with a disgusting odor, and Lily’s favorite bedsheets were soiled. I used the most vicious words to curse them, to curse her. And Ian, from beginning to end, acted like a cold psychopath, holding Jenny in his arms, covering her ears, watching my hysteria. The next day, I was sent to a mental hospital for a week under the pretext of being mentally unstable. Thinking of this, I no longer felt that same anger; only a sense of the ridiculous. I calmly glanced at Ian, who looked at me with the guarded expression of an enemy. “Whatever you want, arrange it however you like. I have no objections.” With that, I turned and went back to the master bedroom, pulling out my suitcase to pack. He watched me toss items into the suitcase, one by one, until half the closet was empty. Ian was somewhat surprised by my obedience and meekness. He tentatively spoke. “Father’s birthday banquet is on Friday. I plan to announce this news publicly as a gift. If you have time, whisper a few words to him so he won’t be angry when he hears it then.” I didn’t speak, merely nodding perfunctorily. Friday was the day I would receive my divorce certificate. Seeing that I still had no reaction, his brows furrowed deeper. “Did you change your tune today? Or do you realize nothing can threaten me, so you’re trying a gentle, devoted wife approach?” “Since you’re so sensible, make some soup for Jenny. She liked the last one. It’ll also be a test to see if you can take good care of her.” During a previous attempt at reconciliation, I had humbled myself to make him soup and deliver meals. But he had fed it, mouth to mouth, to Jenny right in front of me. Since then, I had been so disgusted that I never cooked again. I remained silent for a moment, then pulled out paper and pen, writing down the ingredients, steps, and cooking time, and handed it to him. “I need to clear the room for you first. Have the nanny make it. I’ll cook again when I have time.” He looked at the note, a playful smile playing on his lips. He attributed my newfound obedience to my realization that I had lost all my leverage and would no longer cause trouble for him. At the dining table, the nanny served Jenny the soup. But after her first sip, she clutched her stomach, crying out in pain. A few fresh drops of blood stained the floor. Ian’s face registered an unprecedented panic. He glared at the nanny. “What happened?!” The nanny’s gaze subtly flickered towards me. Before I could explain, Jenny looked at me with red eyes. “Sister, I know you don’t like me, but you’re a mother too. Why would you hurt my baby?!”

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The day the true heiress returned, my parents tossed my luggage out of the mansion. “Isla is our real daughter. The moment I saw her, I knew – blood runs thicker than water!” Isla flashed me a triumphant smile. “Sister, what’s mine, you should return.” I looked at the golden aura above her head – the [100% Guaranteed Elite Family Recognition] halo – and neither cried nor made a scene. Instead, I sent samples of her hair to seven other notoriously ruthless elite families in the city. Half a month later, Isla called me, sobbing. “Please, take these fathers away. I can’t take it anymore!” I calmly hung up the phone. “This is just the beginning.” “Tonight, all eight family dinners clash. Good luck.” … My name is Iris Fitzgerald, and for twenty years, I was the daughter of the Fitzgerald family. Today, that identity expired. The mansion’s ornate iron gates slowly closed before me, like a guillotine drawing a line in the sand. My suitcase lay roughly discarded by the roadside, its contents spilling out, clothes soiled with mud. My perpetually bewildered mother was cradling her biological daughter, Isla, sobbing uncontrollably. “My Isla, you’ve suffered so much out there all these years.” My supposed father, Mr. Fitzgerald, eyed me with the cold, assessing gaze of someone appraising merchandise. “Iris, we’ve raised you for twenty years. We’ve been more than generous. From today, you have no further connection to this family.” Isla lifted her head from her mother’s embrace, her face still streaked with tears, but her eyes held undisguised scorn for me. “Sister, don’t blame Mom and Dad. They just love me too much.” I calmly observed the halo above her head. That golden glow was dazzling, almost blinding. I said nothing, merely bending to quietly gather my scattered belongings. Isla seemed to think this wasn’t enough. She stepped closer, looking down at me. “By the way, Sister, you’re used to living in a mansion, but renting outside isn’t cheap. Do you need me to advance you some wages? You could always work as a maid for us. At least you’d have a place.” I finally met her gaze. “No need.” My eyes swept past her, to the second-floor balcony of the mansion. There, a pile of her freshly discarded clothes lay, next to the vanity where she had just brushed her hair. Perfect. That’s where I’d find what I needed. I turned and walked away, dragging my suitcase, without a single glance back. They thought I was utterly defeated. They had no idea the game had only just begun. That evening, I used my savings to rent a small apartment downtown. After settling in, I contacted a maid who still worked at the Fitzgerald mansion, someone I had helped in the past. Half an hour later, a same-day delivery package was on my table. Inside was a comb, with a few strands of long hair tangled in it. I took out the eight pre-prepared sealed bags and eight envelopes. The eight most influential elite families in the city. Each a hundred times more prominent than the Fitzgeralds. Coincidentally, each of these eight families had some long-standing mystery concerning their bloodline. Either a daughter lost years ago, or a patriarch with an almost insane obsession with pure lineage. They would stop at nothing, spare no expense. I put on gloves and carefully divided the hair into the sealed bags. Then, I wrote an anonymous letter to each family. The content was largely similar: “Your lost bloodline. I’ve found her.” “Here is the evidence. Do with it what you will.” No sender, no superfluous explanations. After all that, I leaned back in my chair, watching the city lights twinkling outside my window. Isla, you have that recognition aura, don’t you? I’ll give you all the recognition you can handle. The days that followed were unusually peaceful. I found a part-time job at an art gallery, working nine to five. Isla probably assumed I was traumatized into silence, sending me messages every other day. They were always about her latest designer bag, or some lavish party the Fitzgerald couple had taken her to. [Sister, Dad bought me a pink Porsche. Look, isn’t it pretty? [image]] [Mom says my skin is amazing, so she’s taking me to Switzerland for the most exclusive treatment. Ugh, sometimes being too pampered is a hassle.] I ignored them all. She was like a boxer punching air, talking to herself, perfectly content. Until half a month later, the first big fish bit. Mr. Davies, chairman of Davies Group, a real estate mogul, publicly announced a search for his lost daughter. Twenty-two years ago, he’d lost a child. Now, thanks to a mysterious DNA sample, he’d found her! At the press conference, Mr. Davies wept tears of joy, a bewildered young woman standing beside him. It was Isla. In the photos, she wore an expensive but ill-fitting gown, her smile stiff. I turned off the news just as my phone rang. It was Mr. Fitzgerald. His voice was thick with barely suppressed rage. “Iris! Was this your doing? How can Isla be Mr. Davies’s daughter?” I feigned surprise. “Mr. Fitzgerald, what are you talking about? Isn’t Isla your biological daughter? What happened? Does this bloodline come with a ‘buy one, get one free’ deal?” “You!” He was too furious to speak. “Mr. Fitzgerald, instead of worrying about this, you should probably figure out how to explain it to Mr. Davies. After all, your ‘true heiress’ seems to be his as well. I hear Mr. Davies is notoriously ruthless with those who deceive him. You wouldn’t want to sacrifice yourself for a two-for-one daughter, would you?” I hung up and blocked his number. I could imagine the Fitzgerald household was in utter chaos. They thought they had welcomed a unique bloodline, only to find they had a bargain-bin version. Isla’s social media paused for two days. On the third day, she reappeared. This time, it was a photo with Mr. Davies, captioned: “Turns out, I have two loving fathers.” Below, my mother was the first to like it, commenting: “Both of you are Mom’s good daughters.” I nearly laughed out loud at the forced harmony. Isla had probably convinced herself, and the Fitzgerald family. What’s wrong with an extra dad, if it means extra pampering? Unfortunately, she didn’t understand. When a miracle happens repeatedly, it ceases to be a miracle. It becomes a joke. Sure enough, less than three days later, a second missing persons announcement rocked the city. Mr. Allen, founder of Allen Tech, an internet giant with a multi-billion dollar valuation, announced he had found his long-lost daughter. The token of his successful search was another unheralded DNA sample. And the girl he excitedly embraced was, once again, Isla. The city exploded. [What kind of lucky charm is this Isla? Even lottery tickets don’t hit this often!] [I suggest an investigation. This might be a new type of scam.] [^ The DNA results are all confirmed. All three families match. This is a scientific anomaly.] Isla’s phone was practically vibrating itself to death. When she called me, her voice was tinged with tears. “Iris, what is going on? Why does Mr. Allen also say I’m his daughter?” I slowly sipped my tea. “Congratulations, Isla. Your fatherly love quota has doubled again.” “Don’t be so sarcastic! Is this your doing?” she shrieked. “Me?” I chuckled. “I’m just a fake heiress kicked out of my home. How could I have such power? You should ask yourself why you’re so… generous?” Silence on her end, punctuated by heavy breathing. I knew she was starting to question her own infallible aura. The Fitzgerald and Davies families had already fallen out. Mr. Davies believed Mr. Fitzgerald was a con artist, deliberately using his daughter to climb the social ladder. Mr. Fitzgerald believed Mr. Davies was a thief, trying to steal his precious daughter. The two families began sabotaging each other’s businesses. And at the center of it all, Isla was experiencing a chilling dichotomy. The Davies family demanded she study from five in the morning until midnight. If she didn’t get a perfect score in any subject, she was confined for three days. Mr. Davies even set up a dedicated punishment room for her. The Allen family enrolled her in an entertainment company but forbade her from smiling at any male. Her phone and computer were monitored, her social media accounts rigorously scrutinized. One time, she simply greeted an elderly security guard, and all her luxury items were confiscated. She was even sent to a “female etiquette electroshock school” for a three-day intensive training. The Fitzgerald family, in the most awkward position, wanted to intervene but dared not offend the other two families. They could only call daily, feigning concern, and emphasizing that they were her “first” father. Isla’s schedule was packed to the brim. She no longer had time to flaunt on social media. Her messages to me changed from boasting to complaining. [Today, I just looked at my riding instructor for too long during equestrian class and Mr. Davies made me stand still for two hours.] [Dad Allen assigned me eight bodyguards. Two female bodyguards stand outside the restroom door when I use it! They even record the time and duration of each visit and report it. Is he a pervert?] [My mom wants me to come home for dinner, but I have to attend a family dinner at the Davies’ tonight. What do I do? Mr. Sullivan also said if I’m a minute late, he’ll leak scandals about me to the media and ruin me.] I looked at her pleas, my mood pleasant. This is just a few fathers. You can’t handle it? Don’t worry, there are five more waiting in line. Plus a bonus. When the fourth and fifth elite families successively announced they had recognized Isla as their daughter, the entire society was speechless. News headlines shifted from the astonished “Elite Family Miracle” to the mocking “Revolving Elite Families, Enduring Isla.” Isla became the biggest running joke in the city. A walking daddy collector. She was utterly broken. That afternoon, I was organizing paintings in the gallery when Isla burst in, her face devoid of makeup. She grabbed my hand, her eyes bloodshot and raw. “Iris, I was wrong. I was so, so wrong!” She was trembling all over, her Chanel suit wrinkled, her hair dishehevelled. “Please, make them stop! I don’t want so many fathers anymore! I just want the Fitzgeralds. My mom and dad are enough!” Other colleagues in the gallery cast curious glances our way. I gently pulled my hand free, calmly looking at her. “You shouldn’t be telling me this. You should tell them. Tell them you’re not their daughter.” “I did!” she wailed. “But they don’t believe me! They all did DNA tests, and the results all show I’m their biological daughter! They think everyone else is lying, trying to deceive me!” That certainly fit the character of those obsessive patriarchs. “Iris, I know it was you! You sent my hair to them, didn’t you?” She had finally figured it out. I neither admitted nor denied it. “What do you want from me? Will you only be satisfied when I’m dead?” she asked, looking at me with desperation. I picked up the water glass on the table and took a sip. “I don’t want anything.” “I just think that if it’s a windfall from heaven, it’s better to have a few more to ensure a balanced diet of nutrition.” “You!” She trembled with rage. Just then, her phone rang furiously. She glanced at the caller ID, her face instantly turning ashen. Her hand shook, and the phone dropped to the floor. The screen displayed “Mr. Sullivan”—the media mogul, the sixth father to recognize her. He was known for his fiery temper and extreme possessiveness. The phone rang incessantly, like a death knell. Isla stared at the phone on the floor as if it were a bomb. She dared not answer. I bent down, picked up the phone, and pressed to hang up. Then, I saw her packed schedule of reminders.

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My wife’s male assistant deliberately ruined a painting I’d spent two years creating. Infuriated, I punished him by making him my manservant for three days, tasked with cleaning my art studio. At first, Eleanor Brooks said nothing, acting as if nothing had happened. But three months later, Eleanor’s company filed for bankruptcy, and she was imprisoned. To repay millions in debt, I worked three jobs a day, toiling relentlessly. For three long years, I lived on the run from creditors, once cornered in an alley and humiliated. For a mere hundred dollars, I even tested haunted houses overnight. Then, while clearing tables, I overheard Eleanor, who should have been in prison, throwing a lavish birthday party for her male assistant. A friend asked, “Eleanor, you bought Aiden a million-dollar watch, and your ‘good’ husband is testing haunted houses for a hundred bucks. Can you really be so heartless?” Eleanor scoffed, exhaling a plume of smoke. “He deserved it, for forcing Aiden to be a manservant back then. These three years are his punishment.” “Once these three years are over, I’ll pretend to make a comeback. He’ll still be my good husband.” My body swayed in the cold wind, like a stunned puppet. So, these three years of living hell, this was all a punishment orchestrated by you. If that’s the case, then I will return it to you, twofold. 1 I felt as if I’d plunged into an ice-cold abyss, and from within, I heard the conversation between Eleanor and her friend, Grace Sloane. “Eleanor, he’s still your husband, after all. Before you got married, he was a spoiled young man, living a life of luxury. Aren’t you being a bit too cruel to him?” “The last time I saw Arthur Blackwood, he looked so haggard, so thin. He must be at his breaking point.” Eleanor spoke calmly. “It was agreed for three full years. Not a day less.” “Anyway, it’s only another month until three years are up. He’s lasted this long; a couple more days won’t make a difference.” Grace hesitated, clearly wanting to say more. “But he came to me recently, just asking to borrow a few hundred dollars.” “The once privileged Mr. Blackwood, I’d never seen him so desperate.” Eleanor snorted. “You didn’t lend it to him, did you?” “Of course not! You said anyone who lent him money would be considered to have cut ties with you. How would I dare?” Through a cloud of smoke, Eleanor smiled coldly. “Good to know you’re sensible.” “Arthur Blackwood’s temperament, so demanding and arrogant. Aiden accidentally stained his painting, and Arthur heartlessly punished him by making him a manservant for three days. That kind of overbearing attitude needed to be fixed. See, this three-year punishment has clearly worked, hasn’t it?” Eleanor’s tone was filled with pride and satisfaction, as if her punishment had reformed me, making me a new man. Grace sighed, swallowing the rest of her unspoken words. She had actually concealed a few things. That day, I had knelt. I had even unbuttoned my shirt. “Just five hundred dollars, please.” “Eleanor got sick in prison and needs medical expenses. I’m still short five hundred dollars.” They exchanged glances, then burst into laughter. “Is this still the former Mr. Blackwood?” “You were so proud back then, wouldn’t wear shoes under a thousand. Now you’re selling yourself for five hundred dollars.” I could only listen in humiliation, my face devoid of any expression. What expression could I even have? All my pride, my self-respect, had been trampled into worthlessness by reality. “If you’re willing to add more money,” I choked out. “Whatever pose you want me to strike, I will.” Their laughter grew even louder. Finally, the woman who had been silent all this time, sitting on the sofa, sighed and spoke. “You should leave.” “Even if you bowed a hundred times today, we wouldn’t help you.” Because Eleanor had already given strict instructions. A punishment was a punishment. For three full years, they were not to show any pity or offer me any convenience. Only then could they truly get revenge for Aiden, her assistant. How did I manage to scrape together those five hundred dollars later? I went to the hospital and sold my blood. I took the five hundred dollars to the prison, but was told Eleanor had been released on medical parole. That money, after much effort, was entrusted to Eleanor’s friend. I was so anxious at the time, I almost knelt. “Please, you must get this money to Eleanor. She mustn’t have any more trouble.” But at that very moment, Eleanor was with her assistant, Aiden, checking in at Disneyland. She treated the five hundred dollars like a receipt, tossing it to a staff member. “Dirty money from an unknown source, how unlucky.” Just like my sincerity, it was trampled upon so carelessly. 2. Now, Eleanor herself had arranged for antique porcelain vases, worth a fortune, to decorate Aiden’s birthday party. Every detail was meticulously planned. But I had no desire to watch any further. Several times, I almost lost control and charged in. I wanted to appear before Eleanor, slap her hard across the face. I wanted to demand why she had deceived me for three years, all because I made Aiden a manservant for three days. I wanted to show Eleanor all the wounds I had suffered, all the scars on my body, over these three years. But in the end, I did nothing. I watched Eleanor, who was supposed to be released from prison in three days, dressed in an expensive designer gown, like a powerful female CEO. She had thrown a grand and respectable birthday party specifically for her male assistant, inviting friends from their circle to celebrate and wishing Aiden a spoiled birthday. Then, I turned around expressionlessly and returned to my cramped, underground rental. It was dark and damp, and I had lived there for three years. The bathroom was right outside the door, the walls covered in years of accumulated mold, constantly emanating a foul smell. I remembered when I first moved in, I was nauseous to the point of vomiting every day. For the first twenty-five years of my life, I lived in luxury, the privileged eldest son of the esteemed Blackwood family, never knowing hardship. I was an internationally renowned painter, accumulating numerous international awards. At the height of my success, I was even pursued and proposed to by Eleanor Brooks, the eldest daughter of the Brooks family. After marriage, I effortlessly lived the life of a “winner.” Until Eleanor hired a timid and gentle male assistant named Aiden. He was the son of my family’s housekeeper, yet he constantly tried to compete with me. His clothes weren’t as luxurious as mine, so he would retort that I was a frivolous pretty boy. His abilities weren’t as strong as mine, so he would gossip behind my back that I only succeeded because of my birth or because of women. He even deliberately sought to become Eleanor’s assistant, and never stopped badmouthing me to her, saying how I bullied his housekeeper mother at home, ruined his clothes, and even made him kneel as a manservant. I believed that the truth would speak for itself and never paid these things any mind. But then came that day. I had finally completed a painting I had worked on for two full years. Just as I was about to frame it, I stepped out for a moment, only to return and find it splattered with ink. Aiden stood nearby, holding the ink bottle, a smug look on his face. “Didn’t you spend two whole years on that painting? Let’s see how you’ll impress Eleanor without it.” I was furious that time. I threw a punch that landed squarely on his face. “Didn’t you always spread rumors that I made you a manservant? Well, for these three days, you can properly be my manservant and clean my art studio.” Just then, the door was pushed open, and a figure burst in. Eleanor frowned, shielding Aiden behind her. “Arthur Blackwood, can’t you control your privileged temper?” “Aiden tries so hard. He may not have a good background, but why do you always target him?” My chest heaved with anger. “Eleanor, get this straight, he was the one who…” Before I could finish, Aiden, playing the victim, hid behind Eleanor, looking terribly wronged. “Eleanor, it’s all my fault. I wanted to help Mr. Blackwood clean his studio, but I accidentally stained his painting. He said he’d sell me to a club as a gigolo, and called my mom a cheap tramp who raised a little tramp.” He spoke tearfully and pitifully. Eleanor didn’t even ask me or investigate; she just believed him outright. She looked at me coldly. “Arthur Blackwood, what’s happened to you? I’m so disappointed.” I was even more enraged. Even with Eleanor trying to persuade me, I insisted that Aiden serve as a manservant for three days. On the last day, Eleanor acted as if nothing had happened, merely sighing lightly. “Arthur, when will you ever get rid of that temper? It’s just a painting.” “Alright, you’ve vented your anger now, let’s just put this behind us.” I was naive enough to believe that it was truly over. But days later, news broke of Eleanor’s company’s bankruptcy. Eleanor herself was soon imprisoned, leaving a huge mess for me to deal with. Initially, I didn’t think it was a big deal. Even if the Brooks family went bankrupt, I still had my parents. I called them immediately, but their numbers were all disconnected. I completely panicked. I rushed home to find them, only to be told by the butler that they had hurried back upon hearing about the Brooks family’s troubles, but were caught in a landslide on the way and both perished. Overnight, my world collapsed. With no parents or wife to rely on, I had no choice but to sell our property and move into a damp basement. To escape gambling debts, I barely slept. They even found my basement, a group of people barging in with sticks and beating me. Two of my ribs were broken, and my wrist was shattered, rendering me unable to hold a paintbrush again. It took me three years to accept my fate, giving up everything just to survive. But now, I’m told that it was all a lie. Eleanor, with her punishment, had stripped me down to the bone, transforming me completely. Just then, my phone rang. It was from Eleanor. “Arthur, I’m getting out of prison in three days. Don’t forget to pick me up.” 3. I unconsciously clutched my phone, a dull ache throbbing in my heart. Even now, Eleanor was still acting. She was clearly at the birthday party already, celebrating Aiden’s birthday, with such a huge, beautifully decorated cake. Yet she was still treating me like an idiot. I stared at the line of text, tears blurring my vision until I could read it clearly again. I typed back: “Okay, I’ll pick you up in three days.” Three days later, I didn’t expose Eleanor’s lie. I went to the prison gates to pick her up. From a distance, I saw Eleanor wearing shabby clothes, pretending to be destitute after bankruptcy, and even using makeup to create a fake scar on her face. Seeing me, she limped, excitedly rushing towards me. “Arthur!” She embraced me, tears welling up in her eyes. “In prison, I truly atoned. They said my behavior was excellent, so they released me early.” “Arthur, you’ve really had a tough time these past few days.” She appeared so genuinely affectionate, as if she had truly suffered in prison for three years. But I subtly pushed her away. “It’s good that you’re out.” Eleanor paused, seemingly noticing my unusual demeanor, but then she suddenly grabbed my wrist. “Arthur, what happened to your wrist?” Her anxious expression seemed genuine. But I found it amusing. Eleanor, what are you playing at? It was clearly your people, pretending to be creditors, who came and beat me to this state. Now you’re acting innocent? I just felt apathetic, perhaps also afraid of directly confronting the truth. “Nothing, I just fell accidentally.” I pulled my hand away. “The doctor said it will heal with time.” Eleanor finally breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good.” She took my hand, gently intertwining her fingers with mine. “The injury is on your right wrist. If it gets serious and affects your painting, you’ll be crying again.” Her voice was deliberately doting, but to me, it was incredibly piercing. I was born with immense artistic talent. I had won countless international awards, and everyone said I had a very bright future. But to get money for medicine, to get Eleanor out of prison early, I was willing to let them break my wrist. Now I couldn’t even hold a paintbrush. But now, she was telling me it was all just a punishment game she orchestrated. How ridiculous. I remained silent the entire way, Eleanor seemed very nervous, chattering on about many things. Clearly, these were lines she had prepared from online research, trying to convince me she had really spent three years in prison. But I listened absently, only asking a faint question after she finished. “Eleanor.” “Did I do something wrong?” Eleanor froze instantly, her eyes red as she looked at me. “What is it, Arthur? Why do you ask?” I suddenly remembered the last time, when I was finally allowed a visit. I was so happy, taking the allowance I had saved for a long time to buy meat and vegetables, and preparing them for Eleanor. No wonder she wrinkled her nose and refused to eat it. She must have thought the meat was cheap. And yes, I thought she had spent three years in prison, enduring hardship. But in reality, she was taking her male assistant on a round-the-world trip, enjoying delicacies and imported foods. How could she truly suffer with me? Even that prison visit was a meticulously staged play for which she paid a hundred and twenty dollars. I just felt that for these three years, I had been utterly foolish, manipulated like a toy. Seeing me cry, Eleanor immediately panicked and came forward to wipe my tears. “Arthur, why are you crying? Did someone bully you?” I looked into her eyes. “If someone bullied me, what would you do?” “Would you still, as you swore before, protect me no matter what, even if it meant sacrificing your life?” Eleanor nervously wiped my tears with a tissue. She nodded without thinking, her resolve firm. “Whatever it takes, Arthur, just tell me, and I’ll do it.” I looked into her sincere eyes. “Really?” “I want you to kill Aiden.” Eleanor suddenly looked up, staring at me in shock. “What did you say?” A flicker of panic crossed her eyes. “Did you misunderstand something?” She was so afraid I would discover something amiss. Even her body began to tense. “My company went bankrupt three years ago. Aiden resigned and went abroad; I haven’t had any contact with him.” “Did he come to bully you while I was in prison? If so, I’ll definitely get revenge for you!” I took her hand, scoffing. “I’m kidding.” “Killing is against the law.” “You just got out of prison; how could I bear to put you back in?” “I was just teasing you.” I turned away, lowering my gaze to pick up something. Eleanor didn’t see my true emotions. She thought I was truly just joking and breathed a sigh of relief. “Arthur, I’m sorry.” “You’ve suffered a lot these past three years.” I didn’t turn back, but in my heart, I thought silently. It’s alright. Your karma is yet to come.

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I was always a bit slow, my mind only grasping half of what people said. When my grandmother cursed, “I’d rather raise a pig than you,” the next day, I brought her a big, fat pig. That night, the pig gored her. My father called me a “debt collector’s nightmare.” I promptly dug out his hidden loan shark ledgers and went door-to-door, helping him collect debts. The debts remained uncollected, but my father ended up attracting the attention of the police and was promptly hauled off to jail. My mother, furious, smashed a bowl and pointed a shaking finger at me. “You ungrateful wretch, why don’t you just take my life too!” I nodded earnestly, then served her rat poison. That was the end of her. When I opened my eyes again, I had transmigrated into a dark romance novel, a plaything controlled by dangerous men. The male lead summoned me to his office and tossed a hotel room key card onto the desk. “Spend tonight with some important clients for me. This deal must close.” I obediently took the card, and that night, I got him roaring drunk, then sent him off to the room himself to entertain the clients… 1 When the two dark-suited bodyguards escorted me to Adrian Danny’s private estate, he was already dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. I stood in the opulent great hall, still wearing my usual vacant, slightly bewildered expression. I spoke softly, “Adrian, was last night successful? I was very obedient. I made sure to deliver your sincerity, just as you instructed.” “Shut up!” Adrian hurled a crystal ashtray at my feet. It shattered, fragments scattering across the polished floor. He strode toward me in a few quick steps, grabbing my jaw in a grip so tight I thought my bones would splinter. “Skye Reynolds, are you playing games with me?” His gaze was as venomous as a viper’s. “Who gave you the audacity?” I winced in pain, my eyes wide with innocent confusion. “Adrian, I wasn’t playing games. You told me to make sure the clients were satisfied. They thought I wasn’t enough, that you needed to be there yourself to show sincerity.” I saw the thunderous look on his face and belatedly realized I’d made another mistake. Mistakes called for apologies. I immediately lowered my head. “I’m sorry, Adrian. I was wrong. I didn’t realize you couldn’t personally entertain them. Even though the clients were very satisfied, I won’t do it again!” Adrian looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel. He stepped forward and clamped his hand around my throat. “Shut up! If you mention that again, I swear I’ll kill you!” I quietly closed my mouth. His grip tightened, stealing my breath. Suddenly, he flung me away, gasping for air. He walked to the window, his back to me, his voice dark and low. “Fine. Very good, Skye Reynolds. Since you’re so obedient, I suppose I should reward you, shouldn’t I?” He roughly dragged me toward the basement, deep within the mansion. The original Skye’s memories flashed through my mind. Many terrible things were hidden down there. He slammed the door shut and retrieved a leather whip, studded with barbed hooks, from the wall. “Today, I’m going to teach you what obedience truly means.” He raised the whip, bringing it down viciously toward my shoulder. He expected me to collapse, to grovel on the floor and beg for mercy, as Skye always did. But the moment the whip descended, a surge of pure terror made me instinctively lunge sideways. My movement snagged a heavy decorative stand, ripping its power cord from the wall. The stand swayed precariously, and a massive brass statue on its top toppled, plummeting directly toward Adrian. A sickening thud and Adrian’s piercing scream erupted simultaneously. The brass statue, with unerring precision, landed squarely on his already battered body from last night’s… client entertainment. He instantly curled into a fetal position, his face ashen, writhing on the floor in agony. The bodyguards, hearing the commotion, burst in, eyes wide with shock. They hastily carried Adrian out, calling for his private doctor. Hours later, a pale, furious Adrian lay on his bed, his eyes so dark they could curdle milk. When he saw me, a rare, chilling smile touched his lips. “I’ve found you a new place. You always loved acting, didn’t you? Sterling Productions’ rising star, Harry Hayes, is looking for a new personal assistant. He’s quite good at training people, especially at discovering raw talent like yours.” He reached out and patted my shoulder. “I remember you always used to pester him. Now, I’ve given you my blessing.” Harry Hayes… Fragments of the original Skye’s memories flickered in my mind. He was a celebrity, all charming smiles and dazzling charisma to the public. In private, he was a monster who reveled in tormenting and humiliating women. In the original story, Skye had a past with him. At first, she thought it was a rekindling of childhood friendship, but over time, his true nature emerged. Skye was driven to the brink of insanity, leaving her with profound psychological scars. Adrian walked to his desk and picked up a note with an address, tossing it at me as if I were a beggar. “Tonight, eight o’clock, go to this address and find Mr. Hayes. Tell him I, Adrian Danny, sent you as a gift. Tell him to… take good care of you.” He emphasized the word “care” with a sinister weight. I bent down and picked up the note, blinking up at him. “Thank you, Adrian. You’re so kind to me.” I carefully folded the note and tucked it into my pocket. “Don’t worry, I’ll learn from Mr. Hayes and serve him well. I won’t let you down!” Adrian watched my innocent display, his eyes cold and lifeless. He waved his hand, dismissing me like a fly. “Go on, then, my dear fiancée. Your Harry was just mentioning you not long ago.” 2 At the mansion gates, I rang the bell. The door opened. Harry Hayes stood there, a perfectly calibrated warm smile on his face, his eyes full of an almost drowning tenderness. “Skye, you’re here,” he said, his voice intimately natural. “Come in, it’s cold out.” He stepped aside, a picture of solicitousness. I looked up. “Harry, Adrian sent me to help.” His smile was gentle. “Yes, I truly need a trustworthy assistant these days. Adrian has given me a wonderful gift.” He led me into the living room. “It’s been too long since we’ve had a proper chat, Skye. Do you remember when we were children? You always followed me around like a shadow. From now on, I’ll take care of you, alright?” I cradled the glass of water he’d given me, nodding obediently. “Yes, I’ll do whatever you say.” A flicker of satisfaction crossed Harry’s eyes. “Such a good girl.” He smiled contentedly, sitting down beside me, close enough for me to smell his clean, crisp scent. He was about to say something more when the electronic lock on the apartment door chimed. Someone was entering. A man in a flashy pink shirt sauntered in, humming a tune. It was Danny Thorne, the notorious playboy from the Thorne family. In the original story, he and Harry were two peas in a pod, close friends who shared a love for debauchery. He and Adrian, however, utterly despised each other. “Harry, I heard Adrian sent his precious fiancée here for you to ‘train’?” Danny’s eyes, full of amused curiosity, landed on me the moment he walked in. He assessed me like a new toy, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. “Well done, brother. Quick moves.” Harry didn’t seem surprised by Danny’s appearance. He merely smiled, a hint of boastfulness in his voice. “You’re well-informed. Skye is a bit shy, don’t scare her.” Danny plopped onto the sofa, crossing his legs, his gaze shifting between me and Harry, his tone light and suggestive. “Adrian’s cast-off idiot? Could be interesting, couldn’t it?” Harry frowned. “Danny, tone it down. Skye isn’t like those other women.” Danny scoffed. “What’s the difference? They’re all women. Besides, between us brothers, what’s mine is yours, right?” He winked suggestively. “Good things are better shared, wouldn’t you agree?” Harry didn’t contradict him, silently assenting. He turned to me, his voice soothing. “Don’t be scared, Skye. Danny is just joking. He just wants to… be friends.” He took my hand, and Danny, grinning, crowded in, sandwiching me between them. “Come on, Skye. Let me show you the surprise I prepared.” I was led into the bedroom. Harry picked up a black lace nightgown, barely more than a few scraps of fabric. “Skye, put this on and let me see.” I looked at the garment in his hand and shook my head vigorously, my face a mask of earnestness. “Oh no, Harry. I can’t.” “Why not? Aren’t you always a good girl who listens to me?” “Because there are other people here.” Harry chuckled, his smile suggestive. “It’s fine. A good girl should be open and honest.” “Open and honest…” I murmured, as if convinced by the phrase. I took the nightgown and blinked. Then, I pulled out my phone and tapped open a live-stream app. Open and honest. That surely meant everyone should see, right? 3 In the bedroom, the live-stream camera was pointed directly at the nightgown. I held my phone, watching the furious scroll of comments on the screen, my face alight with pure, unadulterated joy. “Harry, Danny,” I said, my voice clear and tinged with excitement, “look! So many people! They all want to see the surprise Harry prepared for me. Does this count as being open and honest?” The moment the live-stream appeared, Harry and Danny froze. Their faces were blank, clearly overwhelmed by what I’d done. Harry could clearly see the words “scumbag,” “call the police,” and other furious comments flashing across the screen, along with the terrifying surge in viewer numbers. “Turn it off! Turn it off now!” Harry was the first to react, his voice a hoarse roar as he lunged for my phone. Danny, his face chalk-white, instinctively tried to shield his face, cursing incoherently, “Skye Reynolds, are you insane?” Their menacing expressions and shouts startled me. My hand trembled, and the phone clattered to the floor. [What happened? Black screen?] [Sounds like a fight?] [I hear Harry yelling!] “I didn’t mean to, Harry, please don’t be angry…” My voice was choked with sobs as I bent down to pick up the phone. But Harry stomped on it viciously. The screen shattered instantly. His chest heaved, his eyes bloodshot, glaring at me as if he wanted to devour me whole. The live stream was cut, but the damage was done. Almost the second the screen went black, Harry and Danny’s phones began to vibrate like death rattles. The names flashing on their screens were their agents, company executives, and even close brand partners. Harry answered his call. His agent’s panicked roar blasted through the receiver, audible even without speakerphone. “Harry, what in God’s name are you doing? What was that live stream? Do you have any idea you’re finished? Get back here and fix this now!” Danny’s situation was equally dire. His father probably wished he could stuff him back into his mother’s womb. The bedroom fell into a deathly silence. After a long moment, Harry abruptly lifted his head, his gaze fixed on me. “Harry knows you didn’t mean to, Skye.” I sniffled, looking up at him timidly. He continued, his voice laced with practiced persuasion. “But Skye, because of that live stream, a lot of people outside have misunderstood Harry and Danny. They think we hurt you, and they want to send us to jail. So Skye, now you’re the only one who can help us.” Danny chimed in, equally eager. “Yes, Skye, you have to be a good girl and listen, or we’ll abandon you.” I nodded vigorously. “I’ll be a good girl!” A flash of triumph flickered in Harry’s eyes. He began to instruct me, word for word. “It’s simple. Tomorrow, we’ll hold a press conference. Then, you’ll step forward and tell everyone, all the cameras…” He paused for emphasis. “You’ll say that everything tonight – coming to my house, and the live stream – was all your idea. That you wanted attention, that you deliberately planned it. Harry and Danny were just tricked by you, and we’re innocent. Remember?” I nodded hard. So, under the blinding flash of cameras and the barrage of microphones, I repeated his instructions, word for word. But when Harry and Danny heard my confession, their faces twisted in horror. “Damn it, what are you saying?!”

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After the eighth failed attempt at IVF, my husband and I decided to adopt. The final step in the adoption process was a home visit. The caseworker looked at my husband, Liam, and me, a hint of doubt in her eyes. “You two seem like an excellent match, but your file shows that Mr. Walker adopted a daughter three years ago? Where is the child now?” I froze. “That’s impossible. This is our first application.” Liam, however, offered an awkward laugh. “Oh, that was a proxy adoption for my boss. His circumstances made it difficult for him to have her under his name, so she was temporarily registered under mine.” 1 The caseworker’s pen hovered over the paper, her brow furrowed. “A proxy adoption? Mr. Walker, that’s not in accordance with regulations.” Liam’s smile began to falter. He squeezed my hand, his palm damp with sweat. “It was a unique situation. My boss is in a very sensitive position, you understand. We’ve already initiated the transfer of custody, and the child’s registration will be moved very soon.” His voice sounded earnest and sincere, as if he were genuinely going above and beyond for his superior. I sat beside him, squirming with discomfort. In five years of marriage, this was the first I’d heard of Liam having a daughter under his name. A three-year-old daughter, a “proxy” daughter. This was a plot twist even TV dramas wouldn’t dare to attempt. The caseworker was clearly taken aback by his explanation. She looked from Liam to me, her probing gaze making me want to sink into the floor. “Ms. Rosenthal, were you aware of this?” What could I say? If I said no, our home would be a mockery, and our adoption application would be immediately rejected. If I said yes, I’d be an accomplice, a complete fool. My face felt flushed, and I could only manage a stiff nod. “I was.” The two words felt like knives, cutting into my throat. Liam gave me a grateful look, a look that made my stomach churn. The caseworker jotted down a few notes, asking no further questions, but the atmosphere had turned icy. She performed her duties methodically, inspecting the room we had prepared for a child – pink walls, a charming crib, piles of imported toys. I had decorated it all myself, filled with hopeful anticipation for our future child. Now, it looked like a cruel joke. After seeing the caseworker out, I could no longer maintain my composure. “Liam Walker, you’d better give me an explanation.” He closed the door, his smile vanishing instantly, replaced by a look of utter exhaustion. “Willow, please don’t be angry. I was going to tell you about this.” “Tell me when? When our adopted child arrived, would you then inform me they had a sister?” My voice trembled uncontrollably. “No, no!” he quickly denied. “That child… it’s a very complicated situation.” “No matter how complicated, she’s legally your daughter! And you kept this from me for three whole years!” I gestured towards the nursery. “How many IVF cycles did we go through for a child of our own? How much pain did I endure? Have you forgotten all that? We struggled so hard to reach this point of adoption, and you test me with something like this?” Liam was speechless. He walked towards me, trying to embrace me, but I pushed him away. “Don’t touch me!” His eyes reddened, his voice pleading. “Willow, believe me, my boss and I have a purely professional relationship. Helping him out with this was a huge boost for my career.” “So for your career, you can just casually adopt a child? What do you take our marriage for? What do you take me for?” “I just wanted to give us a better life!” His voice rose, then quickly softened. “This will all be sorted out very soon, I promise. Please don’t overthink it, okay?” He always downplayed everything. But my mind was a chaotic mess. Would a man really “proxy adopt” a daughter for his boss? My head was spinning; I couldn’t make sense of it. That night, we slept in separate rooms. It was the first time in our five years of marriage. Lying on the cold guest room bed, my eyes wide open, I couldn’t sleep a wink. 2. The next morning, Liam acted as if nothing had happened, making me breakfast. He pushed a glass of milk towards me, cautiously observing my expression. “Willow, I know you’re still upset. But we need to provide a reasonable explanation to the adoption agency.” I had no appetite; my chest felt heavy. “What do you plan to say? Continue with the story about proxy adoption for your boss?” “It’s the best explanation we have right now.” He nodded. “I’ve already consulted a lawyer. As long as my boss provides a statement confirming the child is his, and we process some additional paperwork, the custody can be transferred.” He spoke with such conviction, as if everything was under control. But the cloud of suspicion in my heart only grew heavier. “Who is your boss? Why can’t he raise his own child? Where’s the child’s mother?” I fired off a volley of questions. Liam’s eyes flickered away. “My boss’s family situation is… complicated. His wife isn’t well and has been recuperating abroad. This child… was the result of a moment of weakness.” “A love child?” I blurted out. Liam’s face paled, and he nodded with difficulty. “Something like that. That’s why his wife can’t know, and why the child couldn’t be registered under his name.” The explanation sounded perfectly plausible. A wealthy man’s love child, entrusted to a trusted subordinate to avoid disrupting his family and business – it made logical sense. Yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. “Willow, I know this has caused you distress.” Liam took my hand, his posture humble. “But look at how much we’ve suffered to have a child. Now that we’re so close to the finish line, we can’t let my mistake ruin everything, can we?” He touched upon our shared heartache. Five years of marriage, and no children. From initial hope to desperate medical treatments, to repeated IVF failures – my body and spirit had endured immense pain. Finally, we had to give up and chose adoption. This was our unspoken grief. Liam knew children were my biggest weakness. “As soon as the home visit approval comes through, I’ll immediately deal with that child’s situation. I promise it won’t affect us,” he vowed. I looked at his bloodshot eyes, and my resolve wavered. Perhaps I was truly overthinking things? Perhaps he was just momentarily foolish, doing something stupid for the sake of his career? “I want to meet the child,” I finally said. Liam froze. “And her ‘mother’,” I added. He was silent for a long time, so long I thought he would refuse. “Alright,” he finally said. “I’ll arrange it.” His quick agreement made me even more uneasy. He seemed convinced that once I met them, all my doubts would vanish. Was this confidence, or was it arrogance? 3. The meeting was arranged at an upscale family restaurant. When I arrived, Liam was already there. Beside him sat a young woman and a little girl. The woman appeared to be in her mid-twenties, with delicate features, dressed in a white sundress, exuding a gentle demeanor. The little girl, about three years old, had two pigtails and sat quietly in her chair, holding a small cake. Seeing me, Liam immediately stood up, looking a bit flustered as he introduced them. “Willow, this is Holly. And this is her daughter, Rosie.” Holly also stood, offering me a somewhat shy smile. “Mrs. Walker, it’s lovely to meet you. I’m so sorry to have caused you so much trouble.” Her posture was humble, full of gratitude and apology. I didn’t speak, my gaze fixed on the little girl named Rosie. The child looked up at me, her eyes dark and bright like two grapes. Whether it was my imagination or not, I couldn’t help but notice a striking resemblance in her features to Liam’s. Especially her nose – it was almost an exact match. My heart plummeted. “Mrs. Walker, please sit down,” Holly warmly invited. I sat beside Liam, who immediately pulled out my chair attentively and poured me a glass of water. “Rosie, say hello to Auntie Willow,” Holly prompted her daughter. The little girl looked at me timidly, then softly murmured, “Hello, Auntie.” Her voice was sweet and gentle. If not for the circumstances, I probably would have adored her. “Rosie is a very good girl,” I managed a stiff smile. Three lines of blank space.

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I only learned the truth after I died. My prestigious parents never wanted me back. My husband’s love was a lie. But they were bound to a system: win my affection, or die. The moment the fake heiress pushed me down the stairs, the sting of my husband’s cold indifference and her triumphant smirk was a special kind of hell. They threw a party to celebrate my death. Then I opened my eyes again. It was the day they came to take me “home.” 1 Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair stood at the door to greet me, their precious daughter Isabelle between them. The second she saw me, Mrs. Sinclair’s face lit up with a brilliant smile. “Rose, welcome home!” Last time, I was so lost in the joy of finding my family that I never saw the lie coiled behind her smile. Isabelle rushed forward and grabbed my hand. “This is wonderful! I’ve always wanted a sister, and now my dream has come true!” My new parents beamed at her, their eyes overflowing with an adoration they couldn’t hide. They had no idea that I could now hear the voice of the system in their heads. [Warning, Host: The target has appeared!] [Mission: Raise the target’s Affection Score to 100 to complete the task. Upon completion, you will receive your reward and be unbound from the system.] [If the target’s Affection Score drops into the negative, an electrocution punishment will be administered every hour.] [If the target’s Affection Score reaches -100, the mission is a failure. Annihilation will be immediate.] In my last life, they used this system to climb the social ladder, stepping over my corpse to become titans of the city’s elite. This time, I wouldn’t make it so easy for them. I ripped my hand out of Isabelle’s grasp and snarled, “Who the hell are you to call yourself my sister?” “If your mother hadn’t stolen me from my crib and swapped us, I would never have been separated from my parents. You’re a thief who stole my life, so how dare you stand here with that smile on your face!” Isabelle’s eyes instantly welled with tears. She stared at me, speechless and pathetic. Mrs. Sinclair couldn’t bear to see her darling suffer. She pulled Isabelle into a protective hug and shot me a reproachful look. “Rose, is that any way to speak to your sister? Isabelle was just a baby back then. She’s innocent in all of this.” I met her gaze with cold calm. [Target’s Affection Score: -10. Current Score: -10. Initiating electrocution punishment.] I saw her body give a slight, sharp jolt. She immediately let go of Isabelle and forced a placating smile. “Rose, dear, that’s not what I meant. I just hope you can give Isabelle a chance. After all, we’ve raised her for eighteen years.” Mr. Sinclair stepped in to play peacemaker. “Alright, alright, let’s not just stand here in the doorway. Rose, it’s your first day home. How about I give you a tour of the house?” He reached for my arm, but I didn’t budge. “I want to change my name. I hate being called Rose.” The family that raised me already had three daughters. My adoptive father was already disappointed, and the fact that I wasn’t his biological child made me the extra, the disposable one. Rose. It felt like a weed. Mr. Sinclair’s face was a mask of indulgence. “Of course, darling, anything you want. What would you like your name to be?” I looked at Isabelle, my voice dripping with malice. “I want to be called Isabelle.” The color drained from her face. She tugged on her mother’s sleeve, her voice a desperate whine. “Mommy, I’m Isabelle! She can’t just take my name!” I laughed, a cold, sharp sound. “Your name?” “Don’t tell me that after living in this house for so long, you’ve actually started to believe you belong here. Your real father is a man named Jack Wright. You’re the one who should be called Rose.” Mrs. Sinclair looked at Isabelle, her expression pained. The memory of the electric shock was still fresh, and she didn’t dare refuse me again. “Isabelle, sweetie, she has a point. That name was meant for her. Why don’t you just… let her have it?” Isabelle’s eyes went wide with disbelief. “Mom!” Her mother had always given her everything she ever wanted, would have plucked the stars from the sky for her if she’d asked. She started to protest again, but Mr. Sinclair cut her off with a sharp tone. “Isabelle, that’s enough! I’ll take both of you to get your names legally changed this afternoon.” [Target’s Affection Score: +10. Current Score: 0.] [Target’s Affection Score: +10. Current Score: 10.] Mr. Sinclair wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, his voice carefully gentle. “Isabelle, can we go inside now?” See? It wasn’t so hard to make them bend to my will. 2 In the end, the former Isabelle wasn’t named Rose. Mr. Sinclair gave her a new name, Anabelle. And on my very first night in the Sinclair mansion, I was treated to quite a show. Spencer Lockwood, Anabelle’s childhood sweetheart, made his entrance. And from his mind, I heard the same familiar, robotic chime I’d heard from her parents. In my past life, Spencer had approached me with practiced ease, showering me with subtle affection and quickly maxing out my favorability. His reward was becoming the undisputed heir to the city’s largest conglomerate. At my funeral, I’d watched him kiss Anabelle in the walk-in closet, his voice thick with devotion. “Anabelle, you’ve always been the only one I love.” This time, just like before, he approached me with a charming smile. “You must be Isabelle’s sister. It’s a pleasure. I’m Spencer.” I ignored his outstretched hand and remained seated on the sofa. “You might want to get your facts straight, Mr. Lockwood. I’m Isabelle now. The person you’re referring to is named Anabelle.” Spencer blinked, a flash of irritation crossing his eyes before he could hide it. “Spencer, you’re here!” Anabelle’s voice was a burst of delight. She practically flew to his side, linking her arm through his possessively. He tweaked her nose playfully. “I heard your sister had arrived. I came to say hello. And maybe snag a free dinner.” At the mention of me, Anabelle’s mood soured. “Oh, so you didn’t come to see me. It’s always about my sister, isn’t it? Fine, maybe I should just leave!” Spencer quickly pulled her back, producing a necklace from his pocket with a flourish. “This is the latest piece from Mignot’s. I bought it the second it was released. Now, tell me, who was I thinking of?” A blush crept up Anabelle’s cheeks. She cooed for him to put it on her, then shot me a look of pure provocation. [Target’s Affection Score: -20. Current Score: -20. Initiating lightning strike punishment.] Spencer’s hand froze. He stared at me in disbelief. “Isabelle…” Before he could finish, his body shuddered, his face contorting in agony. In my last life, starved for affection, I was putty in his hands. A few trinkets were all it took for him to conquer me. But this time, I was no longer a desperate fool chasing after love. I watched him, my expression unreadable. “Spencer, I want that necklace, too.” Anabelle shrieked instinctively. “No way!” she cried, turning to him. “Spencer, you wouldn’t, would you?” He nodded grimly. “This is a gift for you. I would never…” [Target’s Affection Score: -20. Current Score: -40. Initiating punishment of a thousand needles.] Wracked with a pain so intense he could barely stand, Spencer lunged forward and ripped the necklace from Anabelle’s throat. “I’m sorry, Anabelle, but your sister can have this one! I’ll get you a better one tomorrow, I promise!” He’d been so rough that his nails scratched her neck, leaving a thin line of blood. Anabelle clutched her throat, her voice a wail of betrayal. “Why? Why is everyone doing this to me?” Spencer tried to comfort her, but she shoved him away. He clenched and unclenched his fists, finally forcing a smile in my direction. “Isabelle, the necklace is yours. Does that… make you a little happier?” [Target’s Affection Score: +1. Current Score: -39. Score remains negative. Host is advised to improve it immediately.] A muscle in Spencer’s jaw twitched. His smile became even more strained. I dangled the necklace from my index finger. “Thanks.” 3 After dinner, I headed upstairs. Mrs. Sinclair eagerly led me down the hall. “Isabelle, this is the room we prepared for you. We hope you like it!” Here we go again. The same old script. The room they’d “prepared” was a former maid’s room, a glorified closet that barely saw the light of day. They’d given it a hasty paint job, and the chemical smell of it still hung heavy in the air. Last time, I’d been so grateful, so desperate to be a part of their family, that I accepted it without a word. I thought living in that cramped, dark room would earn me their love. All it earned me was a lonely death. This time, I refused. “Who would want to live in a shoebox like this? I think Anabelle’s room is much nicer. I’ll take that one.” Before Anabelle could even start her tantrum, Mr. Sinclair agreed. “Done.” [Target’s Affection Score: +10. Current Score: 10. Please continue your efforts.] He let out a sigh of relief and quickly ushered his wife and other daughter away, terrified that lingering any longer would cause my score to drop again. The night was deep, but I wasn’t asleep. I tiptoed to my parents’ bedroom. Anabelle was sleeping with them tonight. To my surprise, Spencer was there too. Anabelle was sobbing. “The second she gets here, everything becomes hers! You don’t love me at all! My name, my necklace, even my room… she’s taken everything! You promised I was your only treasure, so why are you treating me like this?” Mrs. Sinclair, her eyes filled with pain, pulled her daughter into an embrace and explained everything about the system. Anabelle didn’t believe it. “That’s ridiculous. Things like that don’t exist.” “It’s true,” her father and Spencer said in unison. Anabelle froze, her red-rimmed eyes wide with shock. “So… you still love me? You’re only being nice to her to raise your scores and get the rewards?” Spencer nodded. “Of course! Do you really think we could ever like someone as crude and unrefined as her? Anabelle, you’re the one we cherish.” Mr. Sinclair added, “She’s just some wild girl raised in the middle of nowhere. She can’t hold a candle to you. A few sweet words and cheap gifts, and she’ll be eating out of our hands.” Mrs. Sinclair patted Anabelle’s back reassuringly. “You’re our precious daughter. If it weren’t for the system, we’d never let you suffer like this. Just wait. Once the mission is complete, you can do whatever you want to her.” Anabelle’s tears finally stopped, a smile breaking through. Watching them, I felt nothing. In my last life, a few of Anabelle’s hand-me-down dresses and bits of jewelry were enough to make me weep with gratitude. I fell headfirst into their trap, willingly handing over my affection point by point. Only now, looking back, did I realize that not a single one of them, not the Sinclairs, not Spencer, had ever respected me. They never even saw me as human. [Target’s Affection Score: +10 for each host. Please continue your efforts.] The system’s voice chimed for all three of them simultaneously. They looked around, confused. “What was that? We didn’t do anything.” Anabelle let out a condescending laugh. “She’s probably lying in my bed right now, feeling so grateful to Mom and Dad. Maybe she’s even clutching that necklace Spencer gave her, smiling to herself and thinking he’s actually falling for her.” Spencer scoffed. “As if. I would never fall for a woman like that.” They didn’t understand. The higher you climb, the harder you fall. After gifting them a few points, I returned to my spacious, beautiful new room and slept soundly. Once the truth was out in the open among them, they dropped all pretenses. A river of gifts flowed into my room as they focused solely on raising my score. Mr. Sinclair found any excuse to wire money to my account. Soon, all three of their scores hit 90. But for the past few weeks, Mr. Sinclair had been growing anxious. His score was stuck at 90. No matter what he bought me, it wouldn’t budge. Mrs. Sinclair and Spencer were facing the same problem. After a hushed conference, they decided to throw a massive birthday party for me. It just so happened to be Anabelle’s birthday, too. At the party, Mr. Sinclair publicly announced my true identity as his long-lost daughter and presented me with a lavish gift, his eyes shining with fatherly pride. In my previous life, the Sinclairs never once acknowledged me. Anabelle told everyone I was her personal maid. The other wealthy daughters treated me like a pack mule, loading me up with their shopping bags and sometimes even hitting me when they were in a bad mood. I endured it all for the sake of a family that never wanted me, trying so desperately to be the good, obedient child they craved. The moment their mission was complete, they cast me aside. I died without ever receiving a single drop of genuine love from them. This time, I lifted my glass of champagne, walked over to Anabelle, and poured its entire contents over her perfectly coiffed head. Anabelle shrieked. “Ah— what are you doing?!” Her exquisite makeup streamed down her face, leaving her a pathetic, dripping mess. I calmly handed my empty glass to a waiter. “Dad just announced that I’m the true Sinclair heiress. You’re an imposter who’s been living my life for years. Don’t you think you deserve a little punishment for that?” All eyes swiveled to Mr. Sinclair. He was famous for doting on Anabelle, for never even raising his voice to her. Now that I had publicly humiliated her, how would he react? A vein throbbed in his temple. He looked ready to explode. Just as he was about to erupt, the system’s voice cut through the air.

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My father won five million dollars in the lottery. My friend and I were planning to open a shop, just three thousand dollars short. I asked my family for a loan, but they flatly refused. “How old are you? Solve your own problems.” “Our money doesn’t grow on trees. Why should we let you waste it all?” Left with no choice, I took out a high-interest online loan. Just after the money arrived in my account, my cousin posted a picture of a brand-new Electric Falcon 7 on social media. “Thanks to Uncle for the support, I finally got the car I’ve been dreaming of.” It was then I realized that because my uncle casually mentioned his son wanted a car, my father had immediately transferred two hundred thousand dollars to him. Hearing that he hadn’t even bothered with an IOU, I felt utterly disheartened. Ten days later, my mother called, immediately launching into a furious tirade. “Ethan, it’s your father’s birthday today. Why aren’t you coming back to celebrate?” “Not even a phone call. What kind of son are you?” “Raising a dog would be better than raising you!” I calmly replied: “If that’s the case, then just pretend you never raised me.” 1 No sooner had I spoken than my mother exploded. “Are you even human? You’re making me furious! After twenty years of hard work, I raised such an ungrateful brat!” “We gave birth to you, raised you, fed you, clothed you, sent you to college. Now your wings are strong?” “How dare you say such things to us?” Her voice was sharp, every word laced with poison. “I get it. It’s just because we didn’t lend you money to open your shop last time, isn’t it?” “What a joke! With your pathetic self, you think you can start a business?” “With that little bit of skill, you’ll lose everything after three days of enthusiasm!” “Three thousand dollars thrown into water would at least make a splash. Given to you? You probably wouldn’t even have a whisper left!” She grew more agitated with each insult, her words becoming increasingly hurtful. “The money is ours. How we use it is none of your business!” “You good-for-nothing, can’t earn money so you eye your family’s wealth. Have you no shame?” “I’m telling you, even if this money is thrown away, burned, or donated, it’s better than you throwing it down the drain!” “You’re not cut out for business. Just get a regular job and earn your few thousand dollars.” “Your ambition is sky-high, but your fate is thin as paper. That’s exactly what a waste like you is!” I gripped the phone, my fingertips icy, silent. On the other end, I heard her ragged breathing, as if she was about to faint from anger, interspersed with sounds of her slapping her chest and others trying to console her. After a while, someone else took the phone. “Ethan, it’s your Aunt Lillian.” “Don’t be angry with your mother. She only means well.” “You, son, how could you not come back for your father’s birthday, such an important occasion?” “What’s so difficult that a family can’t get past it?” “Your parents worked hard to raise you. What will relatives and friends think if they knew you were acting like this?” “You can’t be so selfish…” She stood on her moral high ground, rattling off those righteous words like a mantra. I listened quietly until she angrily asked, “Why exactly won’t you come back? You must have a reason, right?” I took a deep breath. “The reason is simple.” “My father casually gave you two hundred thousand dollars to buy a car, without even needing an IOU.” “But when I needed just three thousand for my startup, he wouldn’t lend me a single cent.” “Is that reason enough?” The line went silent for a moment. A few seconds later, Aunt Lillian’s voice became hesitant. “Well, this… this was your father’s decision. We couldn’t really say anything…” “Besides, that money was a loan to your cousin. He’ll pay it back eventually…” “Pay it back?” I interrupted her. “Without an IOU, how will he pay it back? Aunt Lillian, honestly, do you even believe what you’re saying?” She choked, unable to utter a coherent sentence. At that moment, my mother snatched the phone back, her rage burning even fiercer due to my defiance. “Yes! We gave it to him! So what?” “Our money, we can give it to whoever we want!” “We’re happy to buy your cousin a car! What right do you have to question me? Who do you think you are?” “I’m telling you, Ethan, with your attitude, you’ll never get a single cent from us again!” “Opening a shop? If you lose money, go sell your blood, sell your kidney!” “Just don’t come to us!” “We raised you for so long, and you haven’t shown much promise, but you’ve learned to tally up debts with your family?” “Your cousin at least knows gratitude. He often comes back to visit us during holidays.” “And you? Haven’t shown your face in half a year, and the one time you call, it’s for money!” “Do we owe you something?” “If I had known you were this kind of person, I should have aborted you when I was pregnant!” 2 I listened, and a sudden urge to laugh welled up. When her shouting finally paused, I spoke softly: “You’re right.” “It’s your money. Give it to whoever you want.” “I truly have no right to question it.” I paused, feeling my throat tighten, but I pressed on. “Since that’s the case, from now on, pretend you never had me.” “I’ll disappear quietly. I won’t ask you for another cent, and I won’t bother you again.” A few seconds later, my mother’s furious scream came through the phone. I didn’t listen further and hung up. The world was finally quiet. I stared at my phone screen. The three thousand dollars from the online loan had been deposited. The interest was high, and the repayment schedule was suffocating. Originally, this should have been a warm start, backed by my parents’ support. Now, it was just a debt. I opened my cousin’s social media. The post showing off his Electric Falcon 7 was still there. In the photo, he sat in the brand-new driver’s seat, hands on the steering wheel, a radiant smile on his face. Below it was a string of likes and congratulations, my parents’ accounts prominently featured. They had even commented things like, “Family doesn’t need formalities,” and “Our nephew is so accomplished.” How ironic. From childhood, my parents were always exceptionally strict with me. No noise while eating, perfect posture, always in the top ten academically. As for pocket money? Non-existent. They’d say, “What does a child need money for? Just focus on your studies.” But whenever my cousin, Leo, came to visit, my father would always smile and pull a few bills from his wallet, tucking them into Leo’s hand. “Here, Leo, buy something nice.” Then he’d turn to me and say, “You’re the older brother, you should defer to your younger cousin.” I was eight then, Leo was six. In sixth grade, I saved up three months’ worth of discarded items to sell, just enough to get twenty dollars to buy a set of encyclopedias. My mother found out, confiscated the money, and lectured me. “What’s the use of reading these frivolous books? You should be doing more math problems with that time.” The next day, I saw Leo playing wildly with a new remote-control car in the living room. That car cost exactly twenty dollars. In middle school, the school organized a field trip to the Ocean Park, costing one hundred and fifty dollars. I cautiously asked my parents. My father didn’t even look up. “What’s so great about that place? It’s a waste of money. Stay home and study on the weekend.” I locked myself in my room until I heard laughter from the living room. My uncle’s family had arrived, and my father excitedly announced that he would take Leo to the Ocean Park next week. “Don’t worry about the expensive tickets, your Uncle will take you. We’ll play all we want!” Later, I cried under my blanket. That was the first time I wondered if I was truly their biological child. But the next day, my mother earnestly told me, “We are strict with you because we have high expectations for you.” “Your cousin’s family isn’t well off. We should help them when we can.” “You’re the older brother, you need to be sensible.” Her words were so sincere, her eyes so earnest, that my doubts felt like a sin. Throughout my three years of high school, my monthly allowance was fifty dollars. At school, that money was barely enough for the cheapest cafeteria meals, and I often went hungry. I dared not participate in any activities that required money. Even sending a greeting card for a classmate’s birthday was something I hesitated over for a long time. Once, my father visited me at school and happened to see me eating plain rice with free seaweed soup in the cafeteria. He frowned. “Why are you eating so poorly? This is when you’re growing. You need balanced nutrition.” I thought he pitied me, that he would give me more money. Instead, he turned around and said, “But it’s good to be tough. It builds character.” A few days later, I heard Leo had enrolled in piano lessons, tuition costing four hundred and eighty dollars. My father sponsored two-thirds of it. I went to college out of state, thinking I could finally breathe. But my living expenses were still tight, eighty dollars a month. After paying for phone and internet, there was barely enough left for food. My roommates would gather for meals, go to the movies, shop, all happily. I could only find excuses to stay in the library. Once, I couldn’t refuse, bit the bullet and went, then ate instant noodles for half a month afterward. During winter break of my sophomore year, I was going to the bathroom at night and overheard a conversation from my parents’ bedroom. “Honey, is Ethan’s allowance too little? Prices have gone up.” My father frowned. “Too little? What’s too little? Boys need to be raised tough.” “By the way, Leo said yesterday he wanted a new phone. I took three hundred from your account.” My mother chuckled softly. “That’s fine. The boy is so sweet. He even said he’d take care of us when he earns money.” I stood outside the door, my hands and feet freezing. 3 After graduating from college, I struggled to find a job. I called home, cautiously asking if they could help me look for any opportunities. My father was blunt: “We don’t have those connections. You need to make your own way.” “Also, we won’t spend another cent on you. You’re twenty-two; it’s time to be independent.” That month, I lived in a partitioned room in a slum, eating two steamed buns a day. I submitted hundreds of resumes, received only three interview invitations, all of which failed. At my lowest point, I had only seven dollars and thirty cents left in my bank account. Just as I was at my wit’s end, my cousin’s social media updated. He had landed a job at a local state-owned enterprise, with excellent benefits. In the photo, he wore a brand-new suit, with an impressive office building in the background. My parents were the first to comment below: “Our nephew is amazing!” “Keep up the good work. Auntie is proud of you!” I later learned that my father had pulled several strings to get him that position. He had an old classmate who was a manager there. My father treated him to three dinners, gave him two good cartons of cigarettes and a large cash gift, just to get my cousin in. I asked my mother why. She replied casually, “Your cousin doesn’t have as good an education as you. If we don’t help him, who will?” “You’re a graduate from a top university. Do you still need someone to worry about you?” Every single incident, taken individually, could be given a righteous excuse by them. To toughen me up, to help relatives, to make me independent, to be fair… These justifications, strung together, formed the fabric of my life for over twenty years. Putting down my phone, I started packing. This tiny apartment, less than ten square meters, was my only refuge after graduation. A bed, a simple wardrobe, a secondhand desk—that was all my worldly possessions. As I cleaned out the desk drawer, I found an old tin box. Opening it, I found a few odds and ends: an elementary school award certificate for good citizenship, a middle school math competition certificate, a photocopy of my university acceptance letter, and a few crumpled family photos. The newest family photo was taken two springs ago. I stood at the very edge, my expression stiff. My cousin stood between my parents, smiling brightly. My father’s hand rested on my cousin’s shoulder, and my mother had her arm around him. Anyone who didn’t know us would think they were the biological father and son. I stared at the photo for a long time, then tore it in half, then into shreds, and threw it into the trash. The next day, I went to work as usual. During my lunch break, I received a call from an unknown number. “Ethan, it’s me, your Uncle James.” I paused. “Can I help you?” “What did you mean by that yesterday? What do you mean, ‘pretend you never had me’?” “Do you know how furious your mother is right now? Her blood pressure is through the roof!” I coldly replied, “Then you should take her to the hospital, not call me.” “You!” Uncle James choked. “How did you become like this? Do you know how hard your parents worked to raise you?” “Is it just because we didn’t lend you money? Does it have to escalate to this?” “It’s not just about the money, but it doesn’t matter anymore.” “Is there anything else? I need to rest.” “Wait!” Uncle James quickly said, “There’s something I need to clarify. About your cousin’s car… that money, your father offered to give it. We didn’t ask for it!” “And we will definitely pay it back, we’re just a bit tight on cash right now…” “Uncle James,” I interrupted him. “Whether you pay it back or not is between you and my father. It has nothing to do with me.” “I’m still taking my nap. Hanging up.” “Ethan! Ethan!” I hung up the phone and blocked the number. During a break at work that afternoon, I secretly searched for commercial rental information, contacting several real estate agents. After work, I looked at two places, neither ideal. Either the rent was too high, or the location wasn’t good. That night, I returned to my apartment and made a bowl of instant noodles. As I was eating, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to find my parents, along with a few relatives. Uncle James, Aunt Lillian, and a distant aunt. They squeezed into the narrow apartment, all looking grim. “Ethan, you’ve really grown up, haven’t you?!” My mother spoke first, her voice sharp and piercing. “Saying such outrageous things on the phone, and even cutting ties with us? Who taught you that?!” “Exactly, it’s utterly disgraceful.” Aunt Lillian folded her arms, her eyes sweeping around the room, her lips pursed. “Your parents worked so hard to come here, and you’re making your elders stand?”

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By the new intern’s second week, I kept a dark blazer at my desk out of habit. It was necessary. Whenever I wore a dress, she’d conveniently pass by and “compliment” me loud enough for the whole office: “So brave, Summer! Wearing a princess dress with skin that dark.” Nathaniel—my boyfriend and my boss—just watched, sometimes chuckling with the guys. If I stumbled with files, she’d clap and say I was faking it. If I drank strawberry milk, she’d clutch plain milk and ask if I was trying to act like a kid. I endured it, over and over. Until yesterday’s presentation. She glared at a typo on my slide and remarked, dripping with meaning: “Some people dress to get attention, but can’t even do their work right.” Every eye turned to me and Nathaniel. All the anger I’d held in finally snapped. I threw my half-full water glass in her face. Before I could process it, Nathaniel stood and threw his coffee at me, in front of everyone. That night, I resigned. 1 When Nathaniel threw the coffee, I didn’t flinch. The scalding liquid streamed down, soaking into my blouse. He’d thrown it with such force that the cup made a dull thud against my cheek before clattering to the floor. A fiery, stinging pain shot through my nerves as my skin instantly turned a blotchy red. I looked up at him, stunned. His hand was still frozen in the air, as if he, too, was shocked for a moment. But that flicker of surprise was immediately replaced by a deeper, more profound annoyance. “Summer, did you have to make a scene? Right here, right now?” The blue glow of the projector highlighted the sharp, tense line of his jaw, making him look like a stranger. Whispers broke out around the conference table. Some people ducked their heads, pretending to be absorbed in their documents. Amber Jones, the intern, slowly closed her laptop, a small, triumphant smile playing on her lips. “Easy there, Mr. Shaw. Don’t be so harsh. Look, you’ve scared the poor girl speechless.” Her words were like gasoline on a fire. Nathaniel snatched a folder and slammed it onto the table. The loud bang made everyone jump. He glared at me, his face a cold mask. “This is a professional office, not your living room. Anyone who can’t separate their personal drama from their work has no place on this team. This is your only warning. One more time, and you’re out.” The room was deathly silent. I touched my dripping face and felt a hysterical laugh bubble up inside me. Twelve years. I had known Nathaniel since we were kids. I had been in love with him for twelve years. He always said I was immature, too emotional. But this was the first time he had ever publicly humiliated me. My eyes burned. The suppressed snickers in the room felt like a tidal wave, washing over me as colleagues whispered to each other. Amber leaned against Nathaniel’s side, her red lips curved into a victorious smile. I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned and walked out of the conference room. I didn’t know where I was going, but I knew I couldn’t stay there, facing them. Outside, the sunlight was blinding. The glass doors of the office building reflected my pathetic image: makeup streaked and ruined by the brown liquid. I went to a convenience store and bought a pack of wet wipes and a face mask. The young cashier girl looked at my sorry state and quietly slipped two extra strawberry candies into my bag. Clutching the candy wrappers, I stood by a trash can, and was suddenly thrown back to my first day of kindergarten. Nathaniel had done the same thing then, pressing a strawberry candy into my palm and promising he’d always be there for me. 2 Nathaniel and I went way back—back to sharing a playpen and wearing matching onesies. Our families were next-door neighbors, and our moms had joked about arranging our marriage while they were still pregnant. When I started middle school, a group of girls decided to make my life hell. They’d hide my homework, splash ink on my skirts, and “accidentally” hit me with the ball during gym class. The worst of them was the class president, Liz. She once threw a meticulously crafted art project of mine into the trash, then smirked and said, “It was so ugly, the teacher wouldn’t have looked at it anyway.” I went to our homeroom teacher, my eyes red with tears. She just patted my head. “Liz is the class president, Summer. She’s just trying to motivate you to do better.” That night at dinner, I silently pushed rice around my bowl, trying not to cry. My dad noticed something was wrong, and was about to slam his chopsticks down and march to the school. Just then, Nathaniel’s dad stopped by to ask my dad to go fishing. He heard the story and turned, yelling into his living room: “Nathaniel! Starting tomorrow, you walk your sister to and from school!” The next day after school, Nathaniel kicked open the back door of our classroom. He grabbed Liz by the collar, dragged her to the front of the class, and said in a low, dangerous voice, “You’re the one who’s been bullying my sister?” At fourteen, he was already taller than most of the teachers, with a glare that could make a high school thug run for the hills. Liz was shaking like a leaf. Her little gang of followers shrank in their seats, silent. Before he left, Nathaniel tapped the chalkboard with an eraser, sending a cloud of chalk dust into the afternoon sun. “Let’s get this straight. Summer Lane is with me. You got a problem with her, you got a problem with me. Got it?” After that, no one ever bothered me again. And I, in turn, stuck to Nathaniel like glue. When he played basketball, I held his jacket on the sidelines. When he went to the internet cafe with his friends, I sat on a stool beside him, doing my homework. Nathaniel would always scowl at me. “Summer, can you please stop following me everywhere? My friends are making fun of me because of you.” But I didn’t care. Day after day, year after year, his gruff dismissals softened into resigned sighs. At the university freshman orientation party, I performed a dance in a white dress. When I came off stage, I saw him clutching my jacket, his eyes darting away, a suspicious blush creeping up his neck. “Seen enough?” I teased, poking his chest. He was so flustered he dropped his phone, fumbling three times before he could pick it up. “Who—who was looking at you? I was watching the host…” Later, at a family New Year’s dinner, our parents started teasing us. “So, when are we making this childhood engagement official?” Nathaniel didn’t say anything. He just quietly peeled a shrimp and dropped it into my bowl. I ducked my head to hide my smile. The idiot’s ears were so red they looked like they were about to bleed. 3 Life was moving along predictably until Amber Jones showed up. Amber was the new intern, and on her first day, she made the rounds with a tray of Starbucks, handing out coffees to everyone. “Please take good care of me, everyone!” As she passed my desk, the ends of her chestnut curls brushed against my keyboard, and the cloying scent of her perfume made me sneeze. She stopped, her eyes widening in mock surprise as she took in my pink computer, pink thermos, and pink mousepad. “Oh. My. God,” she gasped, taking a dramatic step back and covering her mouth. A peal of laughter erupted from her. “It’s the 21st century. Are there really girls who are still obsessed with pink?” The entire office looked up. My ears burned. The stares of my colleagues felt like needles on my back. Amber wasn’t done. “Wow, you even have a pink mouse! And is that a Lolita-style dress you’re wearing?!” A buzzing filled my ears. I’ve always loved cute, pink things and frilly dresses. It was a preference that had always drawn comments—some boys in elementary school had called me a poser, some girls thought I was being extra. But most people were kind, telling me the style suited me. This was the first time I had been so maliciously mocked in public. The shame was suffocating, as if I’d been stripped naked in front of everyone. I froze, my cheeks on fire, my fingers twisting the hem of my dress. “Oh, sweetie, I’m just kidding! You’re not actually mad, are you?” Amber leaned in conspiratorially. “Honestly, the pink Lolita thing is cute on you. It makes you look so… young.” “That’s enough,” a sharp voice cut in. I turned to see Nathaniel, his brow furrowed, his gaze like daggers aimed at Amber. “You’re a new intern. Is this really how you want to spend your first day? This isn’t a comedy club. One more stunt like this and you’re out.” But Amber’s eyes just lit up. She tilted her head, sizing him up, and bit her lip with a playful smile. “I’m so sorry. I was just trying to be friendly with my new colleague. I promise it won’t happen again.” HR eventually intervened and, in a stroke of cosmic irony, assigned Amber to the desk diagonally across from Nathaniel. From then on, she paraded around the office every day in flawless “no-makeup” makeup and four-inch heels. Sometimes, she would “accidentally” spill coffee on Nathaniel’s reports, then apologize with a pout. Other times, she would lean over his desk to ask for help, “unintentionally” flashing her lace bra and cooing, “Nate, can you help me check these numbers?” And I never wore one of my Lolita-style dresses to the office again. Two months later, I realized with a jolt that Nathaniel and Amber had actually become friends. That morning, he brought me breakfast as usual. But instead of my favorite strawberry yogurt drink, it was a carton of plain milk. “Milk makes me break out, remember?” I asked, holding the carton. Nathaniel was busy adjusting Amber’s monitor. “Don’t be so dramatic,” he said without turning around. “You’re twenty-five, not five. Stop drinking that sugary kids’ stuff.” Amber turned around, twirling the carton of milk she was drinking between her fingers. “Sorry, sweetie! I was the one who wanted milk. But honestly, what kind of adult still drinks that syrupy-sweet stuff?” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re not trying to act younger than you are, are you?” Smack. I slapped the milk carton down on her keyboard. White liquid splattered across her brand-new designer blouse. “Do you just love telling other people what they should like?” The office fell silent. Amber’s eyes instantly welled with tears. “I… I just thought milk was healthier. Summer, please don’t be mad. It’s my fault.” “Summer!” Nathaniel grabbed my wrist. “It’s not like you’re lactose intolerant. What’s the big deal? And Amber’s not wrong. You need to grow up and act your age.” I looked at the impatience in his eyes and suddenly lost the will to argue. 4 Amber’s attacks became a slow-drip poison in my professional life. At lunch, if I used a sanitary wipe to clean my utensils, she’d tap her bowl with her chopsticks and announce, “Attention everyone! Her Royal Highness is about to dine!” Her clique would perform exaggerated bows, and someone even started filming. When the department rearranged the seating chart, I was carrying a heavy box and stumbled. Amber started laughing and clapping. “Look, everyone! The Disney princess can’t carry her box! Where’s Prince Charming to come to the rescue?” She’d playfully shove a male colleague toward me. “Go on, it’s an honor to help a princess in distress!” At first, Nathaniel would frown and say, “This is an office, not a playground.” Amber would just sway his arm and pout. “Oh, you’re no fun! It’s just a joke. Summer doesn’t mind, right?” But lately, Nathaniel had started just watching in silence. Amber would lean in close to him, whispering just loud enough for me to hear, “Don’t you think she’s just so… fake? That whole innocent act doesn’t really fit in with the rest of us. I’m just trying to help her fit in, you know? For the team.” I saw Nathaniel’s eyelashes flutter. After a moment, he gave a quiet, “Hmm.” In that moment, I understood. In his eyes, my love for frilly dresses was just an affectation. My preferences were childish. So when I saw Amber toying with Nathaniel’s tie clip later that day, shooting me a triumphant smirk, for the first time, I didn’t feel a pang of jealousy. On the first day back after the New Year, I had just settled at my desk when Amber’s cheerful taunt cut through the morning quiet. “Summer, if I had your confidence, I could do anything! Look at you, wearing a dress like that even when you’re so dark-skinned. If I were you, I’d never dare. Is this look supposed to be Snow White, or more like… African tribal princess?” Nathaniel was sipping his coffee. I saw his shoulders shake with a suppressed laugh, the latte in his mug rippling. Amber, encouraged, pressed on. “And honey, at your age, isn’t it a little late to be playing dress-up…?” The water in my glass flew before my reason could catch up. Her carefully tattooed eyebrows began to melt. The glue on her eyelash extensions turned milky white. Her foundation streaked, carving pale yellow rivers down her cheeks. She looked like a cheap oil painting caught in a downpour. “Summer!” Nathaniel seized my wrist, his grip like iron. “Where are your manners? Apologize to Amber. Now.” His nails dug into my skin. The pain made my vision swim. I stared at his cold, furious face and laughed. “Why should I apologize? For what?” “For throwing water on her!” he snarled, his voice low and menacing. My eyes burned. “Didn’t you hear her? She’s been mocking me for months! If anyone should apologize, it’s her.” “You could have told her to stop. You could have argued back. You don’t get to resort to violence,” he said, his tone infuriatingly self-righteous. “This is a workplace. No one is going to coddle you. Apologize.” I let out a cold laugh. “No. I did nothing wrong, and she doesn’t deserve an apology.” Nathaniel looked at me with an expression of profound disappointment. “How did you become like this? Summer, I’m so disappointed in you.” “Funny. The feeling is mutual.” He opened his mouth to say more, but I cut him off. “Are you done? I said I’m not apologizing. What are you going to do, call the cops?” A bitter, angry smile twisted his lips. He grabbed the cup of coffee from his desk and, without a moment’s hesitation, threw it straight at my face. I froze. For a second, he seemed to freeze too. I took a deep breath, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Nathaniel, we’re done.”

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