Category: English

In front of the orphanage, Lauren Murphy, the charity case I’d sponsored for years, stared at me with pure disgust. “If you don’t let Aaron get in the car, I’m not going to your house either.” If this had been before, my love-addled brain would have caved instantly. I would have meekly given in. But this wasn’t before. I had been reborn. Looking at the two people who had orchestrated my brutal death, a tidal wave of fury crested within me, transforming into a cold, sharp smile. “Then stay. You can rot here with your precious Aaron.” My voice was laced with ice. “After all, trash belongs in the trash heap.” … Everyone froze. They were used to the old me, the loyal lapdog who followed Lauren Murphy around, practically begging her to live at my house. The old me who, just to make her happy, had come here with her to invite Aaron to become the adopted young master of the Sterling family. The same two people who, when I fell ill, conspired to murder me and seize my inheritance. I remembered my last days, sick and helpless, as Lauren Murphy, heavily pregnant, stood over my hospital bed with Aaron at her side. “Did you really think this baby was yours?” she’d sneered. “If I hadn’t been pregnant with Aaron’s child, do you think you would have ever had the chance to be my husband?” Aaron had wrapped his arm around her, his face a mask of mockery. “How could my Murphy possibly carry the child of a moron like you? It would probably be born an idiot.” Now, seeing them standing before me, alive and well, I wanted nothing more than to tear them limb from limb. Go to my house? Go to hell. Aaron’s arrogant expression flickered with panic for a second before he regained his composure, looking down his nose at me. “Julian Sterling, so what if your family is rich? It’s all inheritance your father left you. You think you’re so great, flaunting the money he died for? If it weren’t for Murphy, I wouldn’t waste a second of my time on a brainless fop like you.” In my past life, he had said the same thing. I’d thrown away my pride and begged him for half an hour before he’d “reluctantly” agreed to come home with us. He’d acted as if he were the true heir to a great fortune. I let out a derisive snort and dropped the suitcase I’d been holding for him. It burst open, spilling a few designer clothes onto the pavement. In my past life, I’d carried his luggage like a servant while he and Lauren Murphy had swaggered into my car as if they were the masters of the house. After getting them settled, I had been about to get in the car, drenched in sweat, when Lauren Murphy had slammed the door shut. “I hate the smell of sweat,” she’d said. “You can ride in another car.” She was never kind to me, but she always justified it by saying, “I’m only so blunt with you because I see you as one of my closest friends.” Funny how she never used that “bluntness” on her dear “brother” Aaron. I kicked at the scattered clothes on the ground. “Is the orphanage that well-funded these days? Or are these just some high-quality fakes bought by someone desperate to look rich? You pretend to despise money, yet you’re obsessed with brand names. You really want to have your cake and eat it too, don’t you, Aaron?” His face flushed red, and he opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off with a dismissive glare. “My father’s death was an accident, but the money he left me is more than I could spend in several lifetimes. Other people can only watch and be jealous.” Seeing the envy twisting his features, a weight lifted from my chest. “What can I say? I was born lucky. Unlike some people, born to be thrown away by their parents.” I remembered him in my past life, sitting by my bed, sipping the nourishing broth meant for me. “Julian, you’re dying anyway,” he’d said with a click of his tongue. “No amount of this stuff will help you. I’ll enjoy it for you. No need to thank me.” The urge to kill him right then and there was overwhelming. The sight of him made me sick. I turned to get in the car, but Lauren Murphy grabbed my sleeve, her face dark. “Julian Sterling, how could you say that to Aaron? Apologize to him right now! Or I’ll never forgive you!” I shoved her away as if she were something filthy. She thought she still had me under her thumb. “Can’t you just put away your spoiled rich-boy attitude for once?” she snapped, her voice rising with impatience. “We had a deal to bring Aaron home. Are you backing out now just because he opened the car door for me? If you’re going to be this selfish and petty, then I have nothing more to say. I’m not leaving Aaron here by himself. You figure it out.” In my past life, whenever I displeased them, she would threaten to leave, and I would always cave. She thought it was her irresistible charm, but my concessions were born of a love that had made me blind and foolish. Lauren Murphy had spent a lifetime chipping away at my love until nothing was left. Now, she was nothing more than a pile of sickening filth to me. I rolled my eyes, mimicking her tone of disgust. “You’re the one who needs to figure it out. Go back to the Sterling mansion and enjoy your life of luxury, or stay here and suffer with your precious Aaron. The choice is yours. But I’m sure a person as loyal and righteous as you would never abandon her dear brother, right?” She was cornered, speechless. Just then, the orphanage director, Mr. Hoffman, chimed in. “Julian, this is your fault.” Mr. Hoffman was not only the honorary director of the orphanage but also the chancellor of our university, with a seven-figure salary—all funded by my family’s Sterling Group. Yet here he was, lecturing me. “The paperwork is all done, and now you’re backing out. Have you thought about the trouble you’re causing? You’re in your twenties, yet you’re still so immature! Is this what we teach you at the university? Now, stop this childish tantrum and take Lauren Murphy and Aaron home. No more nonsense!” After my father’s death when I was just a teenager, Mr. Hoffman had subtly inserted himself into my life as a father figure. Over time, he’d started to believe he actually was my elder and could scold me as he pleased. Looking at his self-righteous face now, I could only laugh. “Mr. Hoffman, as they say, don’t bite the hand that feeds you. Is Lauren Murphy paying your multi-million-dollar salary? Is Aaron? No. The Sterling family is.” In my past life, under their influence, I’d developed a people-pleasing personality, always backing down, always giving in. They’d walked all over me. Now, I was going to make it clear that they couldn’t just take what they wanted anymore. “Mr. Hoffman, if you can’t remember your place, if doing your job is too much trouble, you can resign. Or I can fire you.” I slammed the car door, leaving them staring in stunned silence, and told the driver to go. As the trees blurred past the window, the fury in my heart began to subside. I thought of my father, of the empire he had built, and I slapped myself, hard, several times. In my past life, I was a lost cause, a love-sick fool. I had failed them. This time, I would not repeat my mistakes. But when I got home, I found Lauren Murphy, Aaron, and my mother, Cassandra, sitting on the sofa, looking for all the world like a happy family. Before I could say a word, my mother stood up, walked over, and slapped me across the face. “Bullying your peers, disrespecting your elders! Julian! You are a disgrace to your father’s name! Do you think you can just do whatever you want out there with no consequences? As long as I’m alive, you will not use your power to bully people! First, apologize to Murphy and Aaron! Then, go to Chancellor Hoffman’s house and bow to him!” My cheek burned, swelling instantly. Lauren Murphy shot me a look of contempt, while Aaron’s eyes glinted with provocation. I pushed my tongue against the inside of my throbbing cheek and looked at my mother, my voice cold. “Use my power? I am the rightful heir of the Sterling family. I am the power. But you… you hit your own son for the sake of outsiders, without even asking what happened. What kind of mother are you? I’m not apologizing to anyone. Now, get this trash out of my house!” My father had established the orphanage to build good karma for me, and as a child, my parents often took me there to volunteer. I used to chase after Lauren Murphy, while my mother took an instant liking to Aaron. She’d even wanted to adopt him back then, but my father had refused. “I have one good son, Julian,” he’d said, hugging me. “That’s enough.” My mother was a kept woman, a canary in a gilded cage. She didn’t dare defy her benefactor, so she’d just bring Aaron extra gifts every time we visited. The designer clothes in his suitcase were from her. In my past life, when I’d asked her to adopt Aaron to please Lauren Murphy, she had smiled at me with genuine happiness for the first time. But now, I would not allow these vipers to defile my home. I told them to get out, but Aaron just smirked, stood up, and took my mother’s arm. “Mom, he’s just a spoiled brat. Don’t mind him. Let me give you a shoulder rub. Getting angry is bad for your health.” Lauren Murphy looked at me as if she were delivering a royal decree. “Auntie has already adopted Aaron. From now on, you and Aaron are brothers. You’re both young masters of the Sterling family, so stop trying to one-up him all the time. Oh, and Aaron will be starting at our university soon. You know how snobbish everyone is there, so Auntie and I have decided to tell everyone that Aaron is the younger Sterling son, who was raised abroad and just returned.” She then took Aaron’s arm, smiling sweetly. “Come on, let me show you your room. Auntie had them give you Julian’s old room. It’s the biggest and sunniest in the house.” Their shamelessness was astounding. I raised an eyebrow and stopped them. “Stay right there.” My voice was dangerously low. “Who gave you the audacity to be so presumptuous in my house?” I put extra emphasis on the words “my house.” Aaron’s brow furrowed. He strode over to me. “Julian, you’re being incredibly childish! Mom has already agreed. When an elder has spoken, you have no say in the matter!” Lauren Murphy chimed in with a huff. “Julian, I know you’re just jealous because Aaron is so much better than you. You’re afraid that Auntie and I will like him more, so you’re trying to stop this. But being so domineering will only backfire.” She stared at my face, a smug look on hers. “It will only make… us… despise you even more.” She waited, expecting to see me crumble, like a dog being disciplined. In my past life, their constant emotional abuse had turned me from a cheerful boy into a sensitive, insecure wreck. I’d even convinced myself that my life was only meaningful if they liked me. But my life was not theirs to dictate. I crossed my arms and gave them a mocking smile. “Oh, really? Well then, go ahead. Despise me all you want. Just get out of my house first. Then you can despise me to your heart’s content. Like I give a damn.” Lauren Murphy blinked, stunned. Aaron’s eyes were like daggers. “Julian, you’re just trying a new trick to get Murphy’s attention, aren’t you? But I suggest you quit while you’re ahead before you make a fool of yourself. You don’t want to end up crying and begging for her to look at you again, like a pathetic dog. It’s so embarrassing. Oh, right, you’ve never had any shame when it comes to chasing Murphy. I heard everyone at school calls you the ‘Simp Master,’ right? What a disgrace to the Sterling name.” Buoyed by his own twisted logic, Lauren Murphy lifted her chin again, confident that she had seen through my “hard to get” charade. “Some people are born into money, but they still reek of cheapness. Not like our Aaron. He’s so charming and well-liked wherever he goes.” I had no interest in arguing with dogs. My gaze fell on Cassandra, who had remained silent. “Are you just going to stand there and listen to these outsiders slander your own son?” Cassandra’s face was pale. She gritted her teeth. “Outsiders? I told you, I’m adopting Aaron. You deserve to be scolded for being so arrogant!” Seeing me raise an eyebrow, she quickly added, “But if you can get along with Aaron from now on, there’s still a place for you in this family. Julian, your father is gone. You have no other relatives in this world. I’m adopting Aaron to keep you company. Don’t be so ungrateful…” In my past life, Cassandra had trapped me in a vortex of emotional neglect, making me cling to her like a drowning man to a life raft. But when Lauren Murphy and Aaron had intentionally run me over with a car, and I had screamed for her help, she had simply turned up the volume on the TV, annoyed that my cries were disturbing her show. She’d even given a false testimony, claiming I was a jealous lunatic who had thrown myself under the car. She’d used the Sterling Group’s legal team to help the two murderers walk free. Now, she was trying the same trick again. But I wasn’t falling for her lies anymore. “Well, Mom, since you have a new son, why don’t you and your new son get out of my house together? And you don’t need to go to the company anymore either. After all, everything the Sterling Group owns was left to me, and me alone.” Not just the house, but all the assets of the Sterling Group, all the shares—my father had left them all to me. All Cassandra got was a room full of designer bags and clothes. In my past life, she had managed my assets until I came of age. I had been so lost in the emotional prison they had created for me that I’d never even thought about my inheritance. But I understood now. I had the money. That was enough. Before coming home, I had already been to the family trust and taken control of my assets. From now on, Cassandra would need my approval to spend a single penny of the Sterling family’s money. I clapped my hands twice, and two teams of security guards entered the room. “Throw this trash out.” Lauren Murphy and Aaron were still shouting, not understanding what was happening. As Lauren Murphy was being dragged away, she screamed at me, “Julian! You’ve gone too far this time! I’ll never forgive you, not even if you get on your knees and beg!” I clicked my tongue, and someone immediately gagged her. Aaron roared, “Stop! Do you know who I am? I’m the young master of the Sterling family! I’m your boss! Who dares to touch me! Don’t you want your jo— ah!” The guards were more efficient with him. A single punch to the face, and he spat out blood and two teeth. Cassandra was white with rage. “Julian! How dare you do this to your own mother! You will be struck by lightning! Aren’t you afraid of being cursed by everyone? Aren’t you afraid of divine retribution?!” She raised a hand to point at me, but a guard grabbed her finger and bent it back. A sharp scream echoed through the room. After they were thrown out, I had all their belongings burned in a bonfire on the lawn. Seeing her luxury goods go up in flames, Cassandra tried to rush into the fire, weeping. Aaron, still in the dark, held her back. “Let him burn it! Mom, I’ll buy you new things!” Lauren Murphy, furious, jumped up and down outside the gate. “Julian! If you want my forgiveness, you’ll have to piece this pile of ash back together!” I ordered the guards, “Take these barking dogs and dump them in the middle of nowhere.” That night, I fell asleep in front of my father’s memorial tablet. I woke up the next morning and lit three sticks of incense, bowing my head reverently. I had a feeling my father had given me this chance at a new life.

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I was a queen for three years, and a Queen Dowager for twenty. When I died, I was surrounded by my children and grandchildren, and the lords of the court wept at my funeral. By all accounts, a life such as mine should have held no regrets. And yet, when I was granted a second life, and my grandmother asked me who I would choose for a husband, I did not choose the Crown Prince again. Instead, I chose the Duke who guarded the Northern Marches. Let the north be the north, and the capital be the capital. My only wish was that our paths would never cross again. 1 In the Willow Courtyard, the air was so still you could hear a pin drop. Tendrils of frankincense smoke rose from a bronze censer, blurring my grandmother’s sharp, assessing gaze. She studied me from head to toe, as if trying to see straight through to my soul. “You have always favored the Prince,” she said, her voice a low command. “Why not choose him?” I knelt on the cold stone floor, my voice steady. “It is precisely because I favor him, Grandmother, that I cannot marry him.” “I will not break my own heart, waiting for a man who will never truly return to me. I will not let my spirit wither. I beg you to grant my wish.” A long silence stretched, and my legs began to ache from kneeling. Finally, I heard my grandmother let out a long sigh, her voice softening. “Very well. I shall go to the palace tomorrow and inform His Majesty. I will ask him to decree the marriage for you.” I bowed my head to the floor, my forehead touching the cool stone in a final gesture of gratitude. In this life, I would not marry Prince Apollo again. 2 Two days later, the King’s Road was as bustling as ever, the streets thronged with people. I had gone out for my usual errands when my carriage was blocked by the Prince himself, riding out from the palace. He reined in his warhorse and leapt from the saddle, the motion as fluid and graceful as a dancer’s. He was, as always, devastatingly handsome. But his brow was furrowed in a deep scowl, and when he spoke, his voice was ice. “I heard you begged the King for a betrothal. Are you that desperate, Seraphina?” His cold, dismissive gaze stung my eyes. I turned my head slightly, avoiding his stare. “Rest assured, Your Highness,” I said softly. “The marriage has nothing to do with you.” His face grew even darker. He let out a chilling sneer. “Nothing to do with me? I am the one who held you, who saved you. Who else would have you now? Had I known you would be so clinging, I would have left you to the bandits all those years ago.” I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath to steady my voice. “Your Highness, please do not be angry. It is truly not—” “Enough!” he snapped, cutting me off. His temper flared, and he vaulted back onto his horse, looking down at me from his superior height. “I will marry you. I will give you the title of Princess. But do not dare to dream of anything more.” With that, he glanced back at the modest green carriage trailing behind him, called out, “Let’s go,” and galloped away, leaving me to choke on the dust kicked up in his wake. As the green carriage passed, a pale, delicate hand lifted the curtain, revealing a familiar profile. It was my half-sister, Gladys. I shook my head with a bitter smile and turned to get back into my own carriage. We had been childhood friends, he and I. I didn’t know how we had come to this. He used to be the one who protected me most, always calling me his “dearest Sera.” At royal banquets, if he didn’t see me, he would pester my grandmother until he found me. When did it all change? I suppose it was after he saved me from those bandits. He had held me then, his voice tight with panic, terrified that I had been truly harmed. But when he heard the Queen suggest I be betrothed to him, his entire demeanor had shifted. From then on, whenever someone mentioned our unofficial engagement, his face would darken, and he would ignore me. At first, I didn’t understand why. It wasn’t until my past life, on the night my half-sister married the Duke of Ancora, that I finally understood. The Prince got drunk that night, and he spent the entire evening staring at a miniature portrait of Gladys. I finally realized he had already given his heart to someone else. It just wasn’t me. In my previous life, after the Duke died, my half-sister was sent to guard the royal tombs. The last time they saw each other, they stood on opposite ends of a grand hall during a court banquet, their roles and statuses a chasm between them, staring at each other in silent, heartbroken agony. Their love was truly a thing of profound depth. So, in this life, I decided to grant them their wish. 3 When I returned to the manor, my grandmother was already waiting for me. She was reclining with her eyes half-closed, a handmaiden kneading her shoulders with a gentle, rhythmic pressure. She looked no different than usual, but I knew. I knew my grandmother was in a foul mood. As I expected, she opened her eyes at the sound of my footsteps and gave me a thorough look-over. “Are you hurt anywhere?” A warmth spread through my chest. I shook my head. She sat up straight, her face hardening. “The Prince sent a messenger. He intends to take Gladys as his royal consort. The Queen Dowager has already given her blessing.” Gladys. My half-sister. I froze. This had not happened in my previous life. Where had I made a mistake? My grandmother was still smiling, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I had intended to make her a proper wife, but she seems eager to throw herself away as a mere mistress. If I hadn’t promised the King to keep your betrothal a secret for now, I would love to see the look on her face when she finds out…” I remained silent. In my past life, my grandmother had married me to the Prince and Gladys to the Duke, making her a Duchess. In this life, knowing my grandmother’s cunning, if I married the Duke, she would have schemed to make Gladys the Crown Princess. But Gladys had chosen to be a consort instead. A lesser position. Her previous words sparked a thought. “Grandmother, do you know why His Majesty wants to keep the betrothal a secret? And for how long?” My grandmother considered this for a moment. “Since the Queen’s passing, the King has not looked upon the Prince with the same favor as before. I suspect he has grown wary.” She looked at me. “It won’t be for long. The Duke returns to the capital next month. The decree will be announced then.” I silently counted the days. It was only a couple of weeks. A relief. Gladys’s ceremony was set for three days’ time. The Prince, eager to have her by his side before his own grand wedding, wanted to both please his beloved and deliver a sharp blow to my pride. Because it was a rushed affair for a mere consort, the ceremony was far from grand. But the Prince came to escort her personally, even bringing a pair of wild geese he had hunted himself—a traditional and deeply personal betrothal gift. It was clear he was giving Gladys as much dignity as he could. The normally serene Willow Courtyard was adorned with lanterns and colorful silks, a festive air all around. But if you looked closely, you’d see that none of the fabrics, none of the chests of gifts or finery, were of the true, deep crimson reserved for a royal bride. Even the veil on Gladys’s head was a soft rose-pink. I watched the joy on the Prince’s face slowly crack, then force itself back into a smile. His gaze drifted down to their intertwined hands. One feigning festivity, the other feigning shyness. Noticing my gaze, he lifted his chin defiantly and squeezed the woman’s hand beside him even tighter. I coolly shifted my gaze away, ignoring his childish games. It wasn’t until we had left the courtyard, out of our grandmother’s sight, that the Prince pulled me viciously into a corner. “Seraphina, when did you become so jealous and petty? You wouldn’t even allow Gladys to wear crimson, afraid people wouldn’t know she is just a consort? Do you know how much this wounds her? How is she supposed to hold her head high?” My brow furrowed in anger. I wrenched my arm from his grasp. “Your Highness, is it not proper for a consort to wear rose-pink?” “How could that be proper? Gladys is—” “She is what?” I stared at him, a half-smile on my lips. His face flushed a deep red, and he was rendered speechless. I knew what he wanted to say. He wanted to say that Gladys was the woman he cherished above all others, that she shouldn’t be treated like anyone else. I spoke slowly, deliberately. “If Your Highness feels she has been wronged, you are more than welcome to petition the King to make her your Princess.” It was common knowledge that consorts wore rose-pink. I didn’t know what he was making such a fuss about. If he was so worried about his precious love being slighted, why hadn’t he dared to ask the King to make her his wife sooner? In the end, it was simple fear. As I expected, he flew into a rage. “So this is the character of the great Duke’s daughter,” he sneered. “Since you refuse to give Gladys face, then on our wedding day, do not blame me for refusing to give you any.” I said nothing. Just then, Gladys came looking for him. I stepped aside, inviting him to leave. “Your Highness, please.” He snorted and stormed off. But Gladys did not follow him immediately. She stopped and looked at me, a self-satisfied smirk on her face. “The Prince is blaming you because of me again, sister? I am truly sorry—” She leaned in close, her voice a ghost of a whisper. “Tell me, sister, who do you think will be queen in this life?” 4 So, Gladys was reborn, too. I closed my eyes and let out a soft sigh. In our last life, she had married the Duke of Ancora. He was a soldier, a cold man who knew nothing of tenderness. Every time Gladys saw me, she would glare at me with seething hatred, as if I had stolen her grand destiny. So, in this life, she contacted Prince Apollo ahead of time, securing her place as his consort. She wanted to enter the East Wing of the palace before me, to lay her plans early. The threads of fate had diverged. But little did she know, I had no intention of ever marrying the Prince. All her schemes against me were destined to fail. I didn’t leave the manor in the following days, instead staying home to prepare for my own wedding. I had always felt a pang of guilt for the Duke. He, the Prince, and I had all grown up together. But my heart had only been for Apollo, and the Duke was a man of few words, so I often overlooked him. I still remembered him standing in the gloom of the dungeons, his dark eyes filled with an emotion I couldn’t comprehend. “Sera,” he had asked, “if I became king, would you marry me?” I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. The Duke commanded a powerful army, and he was suspected of treason. Apollo had used my name to lure him to the capital, where he was ambushed and killed. That was his end in our previous life. I hope that this time, we can both have a better fate. I tied off the last stitch and unfolded the crimson bridal veil I had just finished embroidering with twin griffins and silver clouds. I blew on it gently. My grandmother always said my needlework was clumsy, so I had taken lessons from the master embroiderer at The Gilded Needle. This was my finest work. The Duke… he would like it, wouldn’t he? My heart was full of hope. I never imagined my creation, my heart’s blood, would be so utterly desecrated. When I went back to The Gilded Needle to retrieve the veil, the embroiderer smiled at me. “The Prince took it,” she told me. Seeing my face fall, she looked at me, confused. “His Highness heard you had embroidered a veil for him and was so delighted he wanted to see it. Is… is something wrong, my lady?” I closed my eyes, suppressing the rage that surged within me, and bolted out of the shop. After asking countless people, I finally found where Apollo was. A royal guard tried to stop me, cautiously explaining that the Prince and his consort were flying a kite and it would be inappropriate for me to intrude. I pushed him aside with a cold laugh. On a sprawling green lawn, a woman was flying a kite, her pale hand stretched high. Soon, another, larger hand covered hers, and the woman leaned into his embrace with a shy, coquettish laugh. My sudden appearance interrupted their flirtatious display. The Prince’s face soured. He eyed me warily. “What are you doing here?” I held out my hand, getting straight to the point. “The veil. Give it back to me.” His brow furrowed. “It’s gone. Just make a new one.” My eyes widened in fury. Before I could speak, Gladys let out a delicate laugh. She covered her mouth with a silk handkerchief, her beautiful eyes dancing as she pointed to the sky. “Sister, your veil is truly beautiful. It makes the most unique kite in the entire capital, doesn’t it?” Following her gaze, I felt a jolt, as if struck by lightning. The kite she held by a string was made from my bridal veil. The crimson silk was a stark slash against the brilliant blue sky. Even the silver clouds I had so painstakingly stitched were vividly clear. Apollo— He had used the work of my hands, the proof of my heart, to please his mistress. Blood rushed to my head. I felt as if I were drowning in a sea of fire, the grievances of this life and the last pouring out like a flood, threatening to crush me. Losing control, I shoved him with all my might, my voice nearly a scream. “That was mine! How could you?!” “Are you mad—?” He stumbled back, his angry question dying on his lips the moment he saw my crimson-rimmed eyes. He had never seen me so emotional. For a moment, he was stunned, at a loss. After a long pause, he scowled, his voice hard. “Fine. It was made for me anyway. As long as it pleased me, that’s all that matters. Why make such a scene? This one is gone. Just go and embroider a new one.” I trembled with rage, forcing back the tears that pricked my eyes. I choked back the lump in my throat and stared at him, my voice clipped. “Who told you… this veil was embroidered for you?” He froze. After a moment of hesitation, the flicker of guilt on his face was replaced by mockery. “So you’ve learned to play hard to get, Seraphina. The royal decree is imminent. Can’t you just behave? It’s just one veil. On our wedding day, you’ll still be begging me to lift it. Must you act as if this is the end of the world?” I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm the storm in my chest. I turned, took the bow and arrow from a nearby guard, and in one swift motion, drew the string taut. With a whoosh, the arrow shrieked through the air. At almost the same instant, the kite dancing in the sky ripped apart. With the sound of a blade tearing through silk, the crimson veil was utterly destroyed. The Prince stared at me in disbelief, too shocked to speak. Gladys, beside him, shrieked and buried her face in his chest as if terrified. In the nearly frozen air, I stared at him, my face devoid of all expression. “Between you and I, Your Highness, we are like this silk. Severed and broken.” Without another word, I threw down the bow and turned to leave. Behind me, I heard Gladys’s tearful voice. “Your Highness, it’s all my fault. I thought sister would be happy to see you had turned her heartfelt gift into a kite… I didn’t realize… She seems so angry. Should you go and console her?” I felt a burning gaze locked on my back. After a brief silence, I heard a man’s hoarse, irritated voice. “Let her be. She’ll get over it once we’re married.”

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Seven years after we fled the country, my thirteen-year-old daughter, Anna, was a name whispered in concert halls across the world—a piano prodigy. She could conjure magic from the most difficult compositions, her fingers dancing over the keys to release torrents of beautiful music. Yet, one simple song—a lullaby—remained untouched. No matter how many times it was requested, she refused. She was terrified that if she played it, the melody would soften her heart, and she would forgive the man who had broken it. So, when that man, Julian Astor, appeared at our door with a grand piano handcrafted by a master artisan, asking her to play that one lullaby, Anna just calmly shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know that piece.” Julian’s eyes reddened. He took her hand, his grip desperate, and placed it on the cool ivory of the keys. “What do you mean you don’t know it? Anna, you’re a genius! Isn’t a piano what you always wanted? Daddy’s bought it for you. From now on, you just have to tell me what you wish for, and I’ll make it happen.” Anna coolly withdrew her hand. “That won’t be necessary, sir. I can earn my own money for pianos now. You should take this one back to your daughter.” The words struck Julian like a blast of arctic air. He pulled Anna into a clumsy, frantic hug. “Anna, what are you talking about? You’re my only daughter.” Anna tilted her head, a picture of confusion. “But didn’t you say only Sylvia’s daughter was worthy of being your child? Didn’t you give the piano you promised me to her?” She let out a small, careless laugh. “It’s fine, sir. If you love Sylvia, go ahead and raise her daughter. I have my mom. That’s enough.” A storm of emotions churned within Julian. Of all the scenarios he’d rehearsed in his mind, he had never imagined this—this unyielding, impenetrable wall. He didn’t know that we had already given him a thousand chances, each one met with his chilling indifference. In the five years we were married, he had endless opportunities to tell us the truth: that he was Julian Astor, the heir to the Astor fortune. But he kept his silence, a wall between us. Whenever Anna would say she wanted to play the piano for him, he’d play the part of the struggling father, brushing her off with a tired smile. “I’d love that, sweetie. But Daddy doesn’t have enough money right now. As soon as I do, I’ll buy you the biggest grand piano you’ve ever seen.” For five years, I took Anna to the city square every day to busk. And for five years, he watched us, his expression unreadable, his silence a heavy cloak. Every evening, as we trudged home, Anna’s eyes would shine with hope. “Mom, did we make enough for a piano today? I want to play Daddy a lullaby. It was the first song I ever learned!” And every time, I would count the meager collection of coins and bills in our jar and shake my head. “Almost, honey. We’re getting closer. Just a little more tomorrow.” Finally, a month before Anna’s birthday, as I counted the crumpled bills and heavy coins, my heart leaped. It was enough. Enough for the cheapest upright piano in the store. But when I took Anna’s hand and walked into the music shop, my world stopped. There, on the second-floor gallery, was Julian. He was holding another little girl, Sylvia’s daughter, as they admired a magnificent piano. My hand trembled as I pointed. “That piano… how much is it?” I asked the salesman. He gave me a practiced smile. “That one is a custom Steinway, ma’am. The gentleman ordered it a long time ago. It’s entirely handcrafted by a master in Germany. The price is eight hundred thousand dollars.” Eight hundred thousand dollars. The blood turned to ice in my veins. People had whispered that Julian wasn’t who he seemed, but living in our drafty, rundown apartment with its broken furniture, I never let myself believe it. To think he had willingly endured that squalor for five years… what a performance. Seeing my silence, Anna looked up at me, her face a mask of innocent curiosity. “Mom, does Dad have a lot of money? Did he order that piano for me?” She was too young to understand the scene playing out on the balcony above. I looked down at her faded, hand-me-down dress, my mouth opening and closing like a fish, no words coming out. Sensing my distress, Anna’s small voice piped up, “Mom, it looks like Dad is busy with that lady. Maybe we should just go home. We can come back and buy one another time.” Her voice grew quieter with each word, the disappointment on her small face a physical weight. But I was too lost in my own spiraling shock to notice. I just took her hand and led her away. Back home, I dug out our legal documents and searched his name and official residence online. The Crestwood Estates, a private, gated community in the heart of the capital. I’d heard of it, even from our side of the country. It was a place of legends, where land was measured in gold, a sanctuary for the nation’s absolute elite. Julian Astor, you played us for fools. I wondered, when you watched us leave every morning and return every night, rain or shine, to perform for spare change… were you feeling pity? Or were you laughing at us, two pathetic fools trying to claw our way up from nothing? A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I picked up the phone and dialed a divorce lawyer. Hours later, the sound of footsteps approached the door. Julian was home. Anna, as always, ran to the door to greet him, her face bright with love. But Julian didn’t even offer her a hug, his face a mask of exhaustion. Normally, Anna was used to his coldness. But today was different. She clung to the hem of his coat, refusing to let him pass. “Daddy, can you buy me a piano? My friend’s teacher taught her a lullaby, and I learned it just by listening. I want to play it for you.” “Alright, sweetie,” he said, the same old empty promise. “As soon as I make enough money.” “When is that?” Anna pressed, an uncharacteristic stubbornness in her voice. He hesitated, then finally sighed. “Soon. I promise.” Anna let out a whoop of joy, hugging my legs. “Mom, I’m getting a piano! I’m going to play so many songs for you and Daddy!” I smiled, my heart aching for her, but I allowed myself to hope. One day passed. Then two. A week crawled by. The promised piano was nowhere to be seen. One morning, I found Anna huddled under her covers, her small body shaking with silent sobs. Julian saw it too, but his face remained a blank slate. Then his eyes landed on me, and he brightened. “Oh, good, you’re here. Can you make some ginger tea and put it in a thermos for me? I need to take it with me.” Ginger tea. For Sylvia, of course. My own menstrual cramps were agonizing, a fact he had witnessed countless times, yet he’d never once offered so much as a painkiller. POP. That was the sound of the last thread of my patience snapping. The rage surged, hot and blinding, and before I knew it, the purse in my hand had connected with his head. The moment it happened, the tears came. He was the one who’d been hit, but I was the one crying, my sobs ragged and ugly. The blow had angered him, but the sight of my tears seemed to extinguish his temper. “You didn’t have to make it, Clara. What’s with the drama?” “The piano,” I choked out. “What about the piano you promised Anna?” He looked momentarily confused, as if he’d forgotten all about it. A flash of guilt crossed his face before he masked it with annoyance. “I’ll buy it. Do you have to hound me like a debt collector?” I’ll buy it. He’d said those words a thousand times over five years. A stone dropped in a well at least makes a splash. Julian’s promises vanished without a ripple. I stormed into Anna’s room and pulled her out from under the covers. “I’m divorcing your father,” I said, my voice shaking. “How would you feel about… going abroad? Just the two of us.” The idea of leaving the country was a foreign concept to a child like Anna, but it was our only real choice. The Astor family’s influence was too vast here. Only overseas could her talent truly flourish. My entire life savings would be just enough for two one-way tickets. Seeing my red-rimmed eyes, Anna wrapped her small arms around me. “Mom,” she whispered, “can we give Daddy one more chance?” Her voice was small but firm. “My birthday. If he forgets about the piano by my birthday… then we’ll leave.” “Okay,” I agreed. One last chance, Julian. That’s all you get. The next morning, we were back at our usual spot in the park. I was a graduate of a prestigious university, but after taking years off to raise Anna, no company would hire me. So, this was our life. I sold small toys and snacks from a folding table, while Anna sang and danced to draw a crowd. She was sweet and charming. Many people stopped by my little stall just because of her. “Excuse me, how much for the ice cream bars?” “Three dollars for one, five for two.” I looked up and froze. It was Sylvia. “I’ll take two, then. And please be quick, I don’t want my husband to see,” she whispered, acting as if she were a spy on a secret mission. She handed me a ten-dollar bill, darting her eyes around nervously as she stuffed the ice cream into her purse. Just then, a large hand shot out and grabbed hers. “Sylvia, I’ve told you a hundred times. You’re on your period, and you get cramps. No cold foods.” It was Julian. “We don’t want the ice cream,” he said, his voice flat. His eyes met mine, and his face instantly darkened. Sylvia, however, seemed oblivious. “Oh, come on, Julian. Look at her little girl, she’s so adorable. Let’s just buy two. It’s for a good cause.” The pity in her eyes was a dagger twisting in my gut. “Hiss—” In my distraction, the knitting needle I was holding slipped, piercing my finger. A bead of dark red blood welled up instantly. Seeing the blood, Julian frowned, taking an instinctive step toward me. “Julian! My stomach hurts so much!” The next second, Sylvia was clutching her abdomen, a pained expression on her face. Instantly, Julian turned, scooping her into his arms. As he held her, Sylvia rested her head on his shoulder and shot me a triumphant smirk. She knew. She’d known who I was all along. A sharp, acidic pain lanced through my heart. “Mommy, are you okay?” Anna, not understanding the adult drama unfolding, rushed to my side, blowing gently on my bleeding finger with her small mouth. “I’m fine, sweetie.” My heart melted. I pulled her into a tight hug. At least I still had Anna. As Julian started to walk away with Sylvia in his arms, Anna, still confused, called out to him. “Daddy, Mommy’s hurt! Come back and help her!” Julian’s steps faltered for a fraction of a second. Then, without turning back, he kept walking. I could faintly hear Sylvia’s voice drift back to us. “Julian, was that your daughter?” “No. I don’t know her. She must have mistaken me for someone else.” Mistaken me for someone else. Five years of devotion, five years of our lives, and all we were to him was a case of mistaken identity. I gently stroked Anna’s hair. “Did you hear that, honey? That man isn’t your daddy. We made a mistake.” That evening, the music shop called. A piano was waiting for me to sign for upon delivery. My heart hammered against my ribs. I rushed home with Anna, my mind racing. Julian was already there. Before I could speak, he pulled me into the bedroom. “Is your hand okay?” he asked, gently taking it to inspect the small wound. I pulled my hand back. “My hand is fine. Where’s the piano you bought?” “What piano?” I thought he was trying to surprise Anna, so I smiled. “Don’t play coy. The store already called me.” At that, Julian’s eyes flickered away. “They must have called the wrong number. Don’t worry, I’ll go buy one as soon as I have time.” As soon as he has time. He had enough time to stroll through the park with Sylvia, but not enough time to buy a piano he had promised his daughter weeks ago. The disappointment was a lead weight in my stomach. I didn’t know how I was going to explain this to Anna. Just then, my phone buzzed. A new friend request. My heart leaped, a dreadful premonition washing over me.

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My best friend got divorced. When I said I wanted one too, everyone laughed. My husband, Blake, laughed the loudest. “Your friend has a career and a degree. She can be beautiful and independent without a man. Do you have a degree? Do you have your own money? And you dare to talk about divorce?” I dropped out of an Ivy League school to help him build his company from the ground up. Now, that was a stain on my record. He thought I was no longer good enough for him. Seeing my silence, Blake’s laughter grew louder, crueler. “So why are you even trying to keep up? What would you have without me? Could you even survive? You want to be like her? You’re not worthy.” “Yes,” I said quietly. “I can.” I thought Blake was hilarious. I could walk away with half his fortune. I could go anywhere, find any man I wanted. Why couldn’t I survive? 1 The laughter in the private lounge intensified. Even my best friend, Phoebe, was teasing me. “Zoe, you adore your Blake. You’d never leave him. Besides, where would you find a man as good as him?” Blake sipped his whiskey, his arm draped casually over the back of the sofa, one leg crossed over the other. He took a drag from his cigarette and blew a perfect smoke ring. “She’s just getting ahead of herself. Thinks she can leave me and find someone with my kind of status.” One of Blake’s friends nearly fell off his chair laughing. “Zoe, if you actually divorce Blake, I’ll do a handstand and take a crap, I swear!” Another one chimed in immediately. “Hahaha! You’d have to take laxatives for that! I’ll be there to film it!” “Hahahaha!” Even the young hostess sitting next to Blake giggled. “Mrs. Thorne, we all know you’d never leave Mr. Thorne! A man like him? If you let him go, there’s a line of women waiting to take your place.” This was Hannah, the girl from the club who served the drinks. She knew perfectly well I was Blake’s wife, but she was still pressed up against him, her body practically draped over his. No one seemed to think anything of it. After her comment, the room erupted in another wave of laughter. I usually hated places like this. I only came tonight because Phoebe was celebrating her newfound freedom. I turned to Hannah first. “So, that line of women includes you, then?” The smile froze on her face. “Mrs. Thorne, I was just kidding! Mr. Thorne would never be interested in me!” She pouted and looked at Blake. “She can’t even take a joke!” Blake’s smile had vanished. His expression was unreadable. “I was joking too,” I said, my voice flat. “Why are you so worked up? Can’t you take a joke?” Hannah opened her mouth to retort, but a subtle shift in Blake’s expression stopped her. She lowered her head, her eyes red with fake tears, and started pouring drinks for everyone. Blake’s Friend #1, clearly feeling sorry for the hostess, grumbled at me, “It was a joke, Zoe! Everyone knows Blake is yours. No one’s trying to steal him! He’d never divorce you, you can relax!” I looked at him, my face a mask of calm. “So, when I do get a divorce, you’ll be here first thing to perform your spinning handstand shit, right?” He was speechless. Friend #2 slapped the table, laughing even harder. “Zoe, you’re hilarious! Hahaha! The way she says it with a straight face is so funny! Hahahaha!” I turned my calm gaze on him. “And when he starts his performance, please make sure you stand close. Get an even coating. Then send me the video. I’ll post it online so everyone can enjoy it.” He stared at me, dumbfounded. The jovial atmosphere evaporated, replaced by a strange, tense silence. This was Phoebe’s party. She tried to break the awkwardness. But I wasn’t done with her either. “He’s such a great man, my husband. Why don’t I give him to you? You’re single now. You two would make a perfect pair. What do you think?” Phoebe stared at me, a whole segment of orange in her mouth. She forgot to chew, swallowing it whole. “Cough, cough, cough…” Finally, I looked at Blake. Every eye in the room followed mine. His brow was furrowed so tightly it could have crushed a fly. “Zoe! Everyone is just joking. What is the point of making this so awkward? Apologize to them. Now.” “No, no, it’s fine!” Phoebe said quickly. “Zoe and I always talk like this. She was just kidding! Today is about celebrating my new life. Zoe, don’t be a spoilsport. Let’s raise a glass to me!” “To Phoebe!” “To being single!” Everyone stood up. Phoebe was trying to defuse the situation. So I smashed my glass on the floor, letting the “spoilsport” act play out to its conclusion. Blake exploded. He flipped the entire coffee table over. “Zoe! I’ve given you enough slack! Phoebe gave you an out, and you wouldn’t take it! What, you think you’re better than all of us? If you don’t apologize today, I’m divorcing you!” “Fine. Let’s do it.” I took out my phone and sent him the divorce agreement. “Read the terms. If you have no objections, I’ll print it out tonight, and you can sign.” Blake’s rage turned to shock, then to utter disbelief. He looked up, searching my face for any sign that I was joking. He must have seen it clearly—the date on the document was from six months ago. I grabbed my purse and left without a backward glance. I had long since grown sick of these self-important “high-society” gatherings. They always used me as the butt of their jokes, and Blake always laughed along with them. I had told him before, “Don’t invite me to these things anymore. I don’t like it.” He’d said, “They’re my business partners, my friends. You’re my wife. You need to get along with them. Besides, they’re just joking. Zoe, you’re not a child. Why can’t you take a joke? Don’t be so sensitive.” He always said that. Sometimes, I wondered if I really was too sensitive. I asked Phoebe once. She was a successful career woman; her opinion held weight. “Blake’s company is just getting started,” she’d said. “His friends are just teasing you to have some fun, to make conversation. It’s business. Don’t take it seriously. It’s all for Blake’s career.” Later, Blake’s company grew more and more successful. His “partners” became his clients. They depended on him for their livelihood. But they still used me as their favorite topic of conversation whenever I was around. Even the hostesses and waitstaff felt free to laugh at my expense. And Blake would still say, “Don’t be so petty. It’s just a joke.” Yes, they got used to joking. And I got used to being the joke. But I knew the reason they didn’t respect me was because Blake didn’t respect me. They were just trying to please him. 2 Blake’s Friend #1 brought him home. He was completely drunk. “Zoe, he’s all yours. I-I’m leaving!” He didn’t dare say another word and scurried away. See? Even a doormat can grow thorns if it stands up for itself just once. I had always held back for Blake’s sake, because I respected him and his degenerate friends. “Water… water…” Blake mumbled, leaning heavily on my shoulder. I helped him into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and aimed the spray at his mouth. He drank greedily, then slid down the wall and fell asleep on the tiled floor. I went back to our room and went to sleep. The next morning, I woke to the sound of Blake roaring. “Zoe! You just left me to sleep in the bathroom! Ah-choo! Where’s breakfast? Where’s my hangover cure? Why is there nothing to eat?” The doorbell rang. My takeout had arrived. I walked past the fuming Blake and grabbed my food. “Don’t even look. I ordered for one. If you’re hungry, order your own.” Blake’s chest heaved. He slapped the food out of my hands, sending it splattering across the floor. “You’ve been acting crazy since last night! Are you tired of this life or something?” “Yes.” He froze, seeing the calm on my face. A flicker of panic crossed his features, but it was gone as quickly as it came. “Are you trying to start a rebellion?” “We’re a married couple, not a monarchy. It’s not a rebellion. It’s an irreconcilable difference.” I placed the printed divorce agreement in front of him. “Sign it.” His laugh was cold. “For seven years, every penny in this house was earned by me. What have you contributed, besides cooking my meals and washing my clothes? And you have the nerve to ask for a divorce? Have you no shame? Your friend Phoebe is an Ivy League graduate. She’s got money, looks, and a career. Her husband wasn’t good enough for her, so she could trade up. You? What do you have without me? You want to be like her? You’re not worthy. “Last night, everyone was just joking around. And you’re blowing it up into this? Have I ever mistreated you? Women your age are slaving away in corporate jobs, living in tiny apartments. You’re a pampered wife in a mansion with a luxury car. I don’t get it. What more could you possibly want? Do you know how many women are after me out there? How much temptation I face? But I’ve never cheated on you! Zoe, have things been too easy for you? Are you looking for trouble?” I couldn’t remember the last time he had said so much to me at once. “Stop having a meltdown,” I said calmly. “Just sign it, and we can go to the courthouse. It’s open by now. I’ll head over first. Don’t be late.” In an argument, the one who talks the most loses. At least, that’s how it was with us. It used to be me, always apologizing, trying to smooth things over, then making him dinner and running his bath. Blake saw that his long speech had earned him nothing but a flat, indifferent reply. He snapped. “Fine! Have it your way! Zoe, don’t you dare regret this! After the divorce, I’ll be a prime bachelor, and you’ll be a washed-up divorcée! We’ll see who remarries first!” 3 It turned out getting a divorce was more complicated than I thought. There was a mandatory one-month “cooling-off” period. If either party changed their mind, the whole process had to start over. As we left the municipal building, I asked him, “You’re not going to change your mind, are you? Because starting the cooling-off period all over again would be really inconvenient for me.” Blake’s face, which had just regained some composure, turned crimson with rage again. I had stolen his line. “Zoe! You are unbelievable! I can’t wait to see how you survive without me.” He pulled out his phone and sent a voice message to his group chat. “Boys, time to celebrate! I’m getting a divorce! Let the pre-bachelor party begin!” I was in that group, too. It was the one Phoebe had made last night. All his friends and the hostess, Hannah, were in it. Hannah was the first to reply with a fireworks emoji. The others followed suit. Only Phoebe sent a question mark. 【Wait, are you guys serious?】 Blake replied: 【Zoe insisted. I’m just giving her what she wants.】 Phoebe immediately tagged me: 【Zoe, they were just joking yesterday. Why are you taking it so seriously? Just apologize to Blake and let it go! Where would you even go without him, honey?】 Blake stood beside me, preening like a peacock. His expression said it all: See? You have no friends. Even your best friend is on my side. Just apologize, and we can call this whole thing off. I pressed the record button. “I get half his assets. I can go anywhere I want. And I can find any man I want.” The silence in the group chat was deafening. Blake stared at me, stunned. “Zoe,” he finally managed, “I dare you.” He threw the words at me like a gauntlet and stormed off. Despite his temper, Blake had never been stingy. He gave me a three-million-dollar monthly allowance, which I barely touched and deposited into our joint account. He had seen the divorce agreement and signed it. He had agreed to the terms, which clearly stated the division of assets. When the day came, he would give me my share. Phoebe, probably feeling guilty, came to my house to talk me out of it. “Blake isn’t cheating on you. At his level, women throw themselves at him. Hell, even at my level, young guys hit on me all the time, and I can’t always resist. But Blake just flirts a little. He never crosses the line! You’re being ridiculous. He gives you three million a month and he’s faithful to you. What are you complaining about? Are you seeing someone else?” That was her conclusion. What Phoebe didn’t realize was that I had stopped wanting to hang out with her a long time ago. Whenever she asked, I’d make excuses. We used to be inseparable. But after we got married, things changed. Phoebe’s husband was an underachiever from a poor background who couldn’t handle his wife’s success. She was always complaining about how useless he was. And after complaining, she’d always say, with a sigh of envy, “I wish I were as lucky as you, finding a man like Blake. If I had a husband like that to go to bed with every night, I’d be smiling in my sleep.” She said it to my face, and she said it in front of Blake. Over time, it made me more and more insecure. I was always afraid he would leave me. Blake was my high school sweetheart. He went to a state college, then started his own business after graduation. I was in my sophomore year at an Ivy League school. Blake told me that even the best education just leads to a life of corporate slavery. It was better to be your own boss. He asked me to drop out and join him. The day I left school, my parents’ world collapsed. They locked me in my room to keep me from him. I climbed out the window and took a bus to the city that night. During those early years, we lived in a basement, slept on park benches, and collected cans and bottles to survive. Life was hard, but I never once thought about leaving him. Later, when his company took off, he came back with me to see my parents. He knelt before them, offering them sacks of cash. He built them a luxury villa and donated generously to our hometown. At every donation ceremony, he would proudly declare, “This is my wife’s hometown, which means it’s my hometown. Without my wife, I wouldn’t be where I am today.” My parents were so proud. They thought I had married the perfect man. The whole town held me up as an example. “Marry a good man like Zoe,” they’d tell their daughters. Back then, Blake gave me all the respect and recognition I could ever want. I could see the love for me in his eyes. But now, he just sat there and laughed while his friends made a mockery of me. He had become arrogant, always looking down on me from his pedestal, as if I were nothing more than a kept woman. He didn’t respect me anymore. Maybe… he just didn’t love me anymore. And love, it seems, can disappear. After Phoebe left, my parents came. “What is all this nonsense? Is Blake not good to you? You’re a housewife with no degree, no skills, no career. What will you do without him? Phoebe told me he’s not even cheating on you. He’s done nothing wrong. For someone with your qualifications, a man like Blake is the best you can do. You’ll never find anyone better if you divorce him!” They were the ones who had tried to stop me from marrying him all those years ago. Now they were the ones trying to stop me from divorcing him. I really didn’t understand.

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My bones had been pinned by a Soul-Binding Ward for thirteen years, and my soul had grown so bored it was threatening to fray apart. Then I met her—the trueborn daughter, cast out by House Croft. She lay upon my skeletal remains, tears streaming down her face. “I want to die,” she whispered. “You want to live. Let’s trade.” 1 I never imagined that as a wisp of a ghost, I could still be seen. Even less did I imagine that the one who could see me would be the long-lost, trueborn daughter of Marquess Croft. Six months ago, when House Croft was escorting her back to their estate, they passed by my little patch of earth. The carriage stopped beneath the peach tree that had been nourished by my corpse, and a flustered old servant, clutching her stomach, scurried into the bushes to relieve herself. Someone else stepped out of the carriage. It was Lydia, the daughter they had finally found. Her small, palm-sized face met my gaze, and it instantly turned a ghastly white. I hadn’t died prettily. That bitch, Genevieve, had gouged out my eyes and slashed the face that Emperor Alaric had once worshipped. Even my hands, so skilled with a blade, had been hacked off and thrown into the fishpond in the palace’s back garden. Now, my skeleton was nailed to this potter’s field, and I was bored to tears. I’d spend my days hanging upside down from a crooked peach tree, swinging like a pendulum. As a cold gust of wind blew, my blood-soaked head swung down, right in front of Lydia. Her dark, lustrous eyes widened in terror. My invisible blood dripped, drip by drip, onto her face. Baring my fangs, I blew a ghostly breath at her. “Let me get a whiff of that bread of yours, and I’ll let you live.” 2 Her hands trembled as she fumbled for what felt like an eternity before producing two cold, hard buns. I was profoundly disappointed. “Are you trying to get rid of a beggar? I want a smell of something good. Like that.” My long tongue shot out, pointing towards the jerky the grooms and footmen were chewing on nearby. She followed my gaze, her face flushing with embarrassment. Her lashes, like tiny fans, fluttered down as she spoke in a voice as faint as a mosquito’s buzz, “I haven’t been formally accepted back into the family yet. House Croft doesn’t support idlers. This is my own food.” My three-foot-long tongue froze, then slowly retracted. House Croft was so wealthy that even the scraps they threw to the dogs were finer than the buns in her hands. More than a decade ago, at a royal banquet, I had seen their adopted daughter, draped in gold and jewels like a celestial princess, outshining even the royal children. Back then, the Marchioness would even shed tears in public when mentioning her lost daughter. “She is my only comfort,” she would say, “saving me from a life of endless sorrow.” Yet, in just over a decade, she had neglected her own flesh and blood to this state. A child so unloved that no one of importance could even spare the time to escort her home. As I lay atop the tree, sighing at the cold indifference of the world, Lydia’s heart softened. “Here!” She mustered her courage, asked the groom for half a piece of his half-eaten jerky, and held it up, too timid to even lift her head. “Don’t cry,” she murmured. “I found a way for you.” I froze, only then realizing that bloody tears were streaming from my empty eye sockets again. “I wasn’t…” CRACK! 3 Before I could finish, the old servant’s disciplinary rod whipped through my spectral head and struck Lydia’s hand. “A lady must learn a lady’s etiquette! House Croft is a noble family of the highest standing. How could you eat scraps offered in pity? A single piece of jerky, and you’ve disgraced the entire House. You are base and vulgar, and you must be punished.” The jerky fell to the ground, covered in dust. The footman and groom stepped on it, then stood on either side of the old servant, their arms akimbo, sneering. “Look at her. Even the scullery maids are more refined. And she’s supposed to be a ‘lady’?” “If it weren’t for the marriage alliance they need her for, you think anyone would want her back? The Marquess and Marchioness saw her five years ago. Deemed her an illiterate embarrassment and left her there.” “Putting on airs as a lady. She should look at where she came from. An orphan girl raised cleaning out privies will never wash the stench away.” Lydia clutched her sleeves, so ashamed she couldn’t lift her head. But the trio only grew more smug, their words a torrent of mockery and humiliation. The constant smack of the old woman’s rod and the snickering of the men were grating on my nerves. My mind drifted back to the days when I killed. “Have you ever seen a human pendulum?” Lydia, her eyes brimming with tears, flinched. “You’re about to.” With a flick of my tongue, I coiled it around the old servant and hoisted her into the peach tree. A V-shaped branch clamped around her neck. I blew a puff of spectral air, and she began to swing, back and forth, her feet kicking wildly. “Faster?” I asked Lydia. Lydia was stunned speechless. The old woman was choking, on the verge of death. The footman and groom screamed and rushed to help. I let out a cackle. “Want to see a pinwheel?” I wrapped them in the branches, sending them spinning violently. They shrieked hysterically, piss and shit flying everywhere, crying for their mothers until their eyes rolled back in their heads. The little girl, through her fear, began to laugh. An hour later, the three of them lay unconscious on the ground in a neat, soiled row. “Looks like they’ve all disgraced themselves now,” I said. Lydia and I sat together, feasting on the jerky. “What’s your name?” she asked. “When I get back to the capital, I’ll save up and pay for a ritual to help your soul pass on.” My name was a burden she couldn’t bear. Besides, my soul couldn’t pass on. “I’ve been marked by a Soul-Binding Ward. Don’t waste your effort. Besides…” I didn’t tell her that my soul was on the verge of dissipating completely. “Just tell them you were attacked by a ghost. Looking like that, they’ll be too scared to say otherwise themselves.” I swung myself back up into the tree. “Live well,” I told her. “After all, living is the one thing I want most.” Living, to send all those bastards to hell. She stared, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. “You like the smell of meat. I’ll come see you again. I’ll bring you a whole roasted chicken.” She swore she’d be back with a roasted chicken, but six months passed, and I saw no sign of her. 4 “I know about the Soul-Binding Ward. To be free, it requires a life for a life. I went to the Grand Cathedral and got a talisman. If you just nod, I will give you my life.” A clap of thunder illuminated Lydia’s deathly pale face. She was a ghost of the vibrant girl I’d met six months ago. Collapsed beneath my peach tree, her energy was gone. “I didn’t forget you. I just… I couldn’t get out. I don’t have the chicken. Please don’t be angry.” Her voice was a wisp of air. “See? Even at death’s door, I was thinking of you.” She only wanted to die. She could have done it anywhere. But the capital was thirty miles away. She had walked the entire night through mud and rain to get here. “Who did this to you? The Crofts?” A grim smile touched her lips, her face streaked with a mixture of rain and tears. In the next instant, a sharp dagger sliced across her wrist. “It was the world. It was me, for being so foolish and weak. This is my fate.” Blood gushed from the wound, staining the rain-soaked talisman she clutched to her chest. It flared with a golden light. “Come here. Come hold me. You’re the only one who ever protected me.” Her voice was a plea. “Oh, right. You don’t have hands. Then… I’ll hold you.” No matter how I tried to save her, my efforts were futile. “I want to die, and you want to live. Let’s trade. I’m begging you.” When a person truly wants to die, no one can save them. She tore the wound deeper. The rain washed her blood down, a crimson tide that soaked my entire skeleton. “Living is already so hard,” she sobbed. “Don’t let me die with regrets. At least… if you live, someone will remember me, right?” Her spirit began to drift from her body, growing fainter and fainter, until only a single, fragile breath remained. I drew closer. “What are your wishes?” I whispered. “I’ll fulfill them. All of them.” She smiled and wrapped her arms around my skeletal frame, burying her face in my chest. “You have to live a good life,” she murmured. “I’ll be reborn into a better family. It’s a win-win for both of us.” A win? Unless I dragged every last one of them down to hell with me, her death would be for nothing. That night, a forgotten daughter of House Croft died. And in a potter’s field, a demoness was reborn. The peach tree withered overnight. Carrying Lydia’s body, I walked down the mountain. I knew nothing of the next life, but in this one, I would have my pound of flesh. 5 Before returning to the capital, I paid a visit to the Royal Chapel. There, an Empress Dowager spent her days in prayer, eating nothing but vegetables, all for the soul of her son. She used to despise me. The time she forced me to kneel, I lost my eight-month-old child. But now, after I told her the truth about how her son really died, she was more than eager to climb aboard my ship of vengeance and sail with me into a storm of our own making, all the way back to the Crimson Citadel. With our pact sealed, I returned to House Croft on the very day of the false daughter’s coming-of-age ceremony. The hall was filled with joyous celebration. Everyone crowded around the fake heiress, Isabelle, showering her with priceless jewels and treasures as if they were common trinkets. They congratulated her on becoming a woman, advising her to be graceful and proper, to secure her bright future. It was a picture of perfect, triumphant bliss. No one remembered that today was also Lydia’s birthday. The Marchioness pulled the charming Isabelle into her embrace, a dozen large chests laid out before her. “These are from your grandmother’s dowry. I only received them myself after giving birth to your brother. I’m not giving them to anyone else, only to my precious Isabelle.” Isabelle pouted, burying her face in her mother’s shoulder with a look of innocent cunning. “I knew Mother loved me best. I love you so, so much, Mother.” Haris, the heir of House Croft, stepped forward with a gentle smile, presenting his own gift. “Brother may not have family heirlooms, but this five-colored agate was a gift from the Emperor himself. I had to beg Prince Damien for it, so its significance is quite different.” Prince Damien? The Third Prince. It was him. Well now, what an unexpected delight. The Marquess, seated on his high chair, stroked his beard with satisfaction. “And Father’s gift is no less grand. I swallowed my pride and petitioned His Majesty. After you come of age, he will grant a swift betrothal between you and the Third Prince, so my little pearl may have her heart’s desire.” Isabelle’s eyes lit up, but she still stomped her foot playfully at the Marquess. “Father, you’re embarrassing me! Saying such things in front of everyone! I’m not speaking to you anymore.” The crowd roared with laughter, their words dripping with saccharine sweetness. Only my body—Lydia’s body—still carried the phantom pains of her hidden wounds. A cold wind blew, a chill that seeped into my bones, and I shivered involuntarily. “You know what shame is? I thought you were shameless by nature.” “Brother, you’re so mean! Mother, scold him for me.” “Alright, alright, I’ll scold him. Haris, don’t tease your sister. As punishment, you’ll take her shopping tomorrow, and you will pay for everything.” Haris feigned misery. “Mother, that’s cruel! You know very well my entire allowance is spent on this little glutton.” Isabelle stuck out her tongue and made a face. “Serves you right! Nya-nya-nya.” “And what about me?” My voice cut through the boisterous laughter, a discordant note that silenced the room. I stepped out from the shadows. “What do I get?” 6 The laughter died instantly. Every face in the room was etched with the displeasure of having their pleasantries interrupted. Haris shot me a cold glare. “So you decided to come back. I thought you had more pride than that. Couldn’t make it on your own, so you came crawling back, did you?” He sneered. “Do you have any idea how many days Isabelle couldn’t eat or sleep, worrying about you after you ran away?” “Running off with a man… you truly have no shame. You’ve brought nothing but disgrace upon this house.” Isabelle, who had stiffened at the sight of me, quickly masked a flicker of hatred. Biting her lip, her innocent eyes welled with moisture as she tugged on Haris’s sleeve. “Brother, please don’t say that.” “I’m not angry with sister anymore,” she said, her voice trembling. “Even though she threw me out of the house and I nearly died… I’m grateful for the years of comfort House Croft gave me. I’m content.” She then turned to me, her expression one of genuine concern. “I’m sure she was led astray. Now that she’s back, she must know her mistake.” She looked back at our parents. “Sister, you’ve returned. I think… I should give everything that is yours back to you now.” “But sister,” she added, her tone gentle yet pointed, “you vanished without a word and made Father and Mother worry sick. Don’t forget to apologize to them.” The Marchioness glared at me, a cold sneer on her lips. “I wouldn’t dare accept it.” “The last time you ‘apologized’ to Isabelle, you pushed her into the lake.” “If you apologize to me, who knows? You might just toss my old bones into a ditch next.” “Besides,” she said, her voice dripping with ice, “I only have one daughter. And that is Isabelle. Don’t you dare try to claim a place that isn’t yours.” Isabelle blinked her large, innocent eyes at me, a picture of helplessness. “Sister, just apologize. Please.” Seeing my impassive stance, the Marquess roared, “Kneel, you insolent whelp! Now!” 7 I didn’t move an inch, but a wave of sorrow and heartache, a phantom pain from Lydia, washed over me. Her soul was gone, yet her body still grieved. I looked directly at them, giving them one last chance. “Everything she has… shouldn’t I have it too?” “You dare compare yourself to Isabelle?” Haris snarled. “You’re a country bumpkin with no manners who has repeatedly disgraced this family. If Isabelle hadn’t protected you, you’d have died a thousand times over by now.” “Ran off with a man? Who told you that?” I asked coolly. Isabelle, feigning a look of innocent confusion, walked towards me. “Sister, don’t be afraid,” she cooed. “Now that you’re back, your family will take care of everything.” “That letter… I’ve already destroyed it for you. Just admit your mistake to Father and Mother, and you can still be the eldest daughter of House Croft. We can be a happy family again.” “Look at your sister! Even now, she’s speaking up for you, and still you’re so ungrateful, trying to frame her again and again! I was wrong to have doted on her so much. Tell me, in what way are you even her equal?” the Marchioness shrieked. “Your mother is right,” the Marquess grumbled. “If you weren’t my own flesh and blood, I’d have thrown you out on some remote farmstead long ago.” “Father and Mother are too soft-hearted. A menace like her doesn’t deserve to be a Croft.” “Please, don’t say that. You’ll hurt her feelings,” Isabelle said softly. She reached out, her hand closing around my arm in a show of sisterly affection. Her eyes darkened, and her sharp nails dug into my skin. “Isn’t that right… sister?” she hissed. Hss… She was poised, ready for me to shove her away in pain so she could collapse dramatically to the ground. But I didn’t even flinch. Frozen in place, she bit her lip in frustration and whispered furiously, “You’ve learned a few tricks, haven’t you? You filthy bitch. Why didn’t you just die out there?” Was this pathetic little scheme all it took to drive Lydia to her death? I almost had to laugh. “So, the story about me running off with a man… it came from your lips?” A flicker of contempt crossed her eyes, but her face contorted into a mask of pure victimhood. “Sister, are you blaming me? I didn’t mean to…” CRACK. I dislocated her jaw with a flick of my wrist. “As long as you admit it, that’s all that matters. No need to say more.” It happened so fast that the others only reacted when she started clutching her jaw, letting out muffled, panicked squeals. In an instant, they swarmed towards me, ready to seize me. But the nursemaid who led the charge didn’t even get close. A single kick from me shattered her femur, and she collapsed to the floor, screaming in agony. In the same motion, I had a dagger pressed against the paralyzed Isabelle’s throat. “Move, and she dies. Try me.” Perhaps my tone was too calm, making them think I was bluffing. They surged forward again. SLICE. With a twist of my wrist, a deep, finger-length gash opened on Isabelle’s cheek, blood pouring down her face. “Aaaah! It hurts! Father, Mother, Haris, it hurts so much! My face is ruined! My…” “Scream again.” She didn’t dare. I sliced off her earlobe with the dagger and ground it under my heel. The arrogant defiance from moments ago vanished, replaced by a mask of pure, shrinking terror. The others retreated, huddling behind the Marquess. Only then did I turn my attention back to Isabelle’s nursemaid, who was writhing on the floor. 8 “Tell me,” I said, my foot pressing down on her. “Who threw your mistress out of this house, and how did she end up in the lake?” The woman, sweating profusely from the pain, was still defiant. “Even if you kill me, my lady, I can only speak the truth. It was you! You couldn’t stand the Second Miss, and when you failed to kill her, you drove her out!” “The Second Miss was nearly abducted by ruffians! She still has the scars on her leg to prove it!” A stubborn one. Interesting. I had just lifted my foot when the Marchioness shrieked, “You ungrateful wretch! Have you lost your mind? If it’s gifts you want, I’ll give them to you!” “But if you dare harm my Isabelle, I will never acknowledge you! I will disown you!” She was so loud. Lydia, this must have hurt so much. SWISH. I tore the earring from Isabelle’s remaining ear and flung it. It struck the Marchioness’s elaborate headdress, sending it tumbling. Her hair fell in disarray around her pale, shocked face, her carefully crafted dignity shattered. “Next time, I’ll aim for your eyes. They’re useless to you anyway, since you’re blind to the truth.” The Marchioness collapsed to the ground in terror, silenced. The others, having witnessed my methods, didn’t dare make a move. 9 “I gave you a chance,” I said, my voice dangerously soft. “You didn’t take it. You have no one to blame but yourself.” The tip of my dagger rested on the nursemaid’s wrist. With a flick, I severed her tendons. “Still not going to tell the truth?” She didn’t answer, only screamed. I rubbed my temples, annoyed by the noise, and then plunged the dagger straight into her side, just deep enough to graze her lung. I even gave the hilt a deliberate twist. It wouldn’t kill her, but the pain would be worse than death. The blood that flowed from the wound was a stark, crimson warning that kept the others frozen in place. In the years I fought alongside Alaric, I’d spent time in dungeons, perfecting methods of torture to extract information. Using them on a mere house servant felt like overkill. But methods aren’t about sophistication. They’re about results. Sure enough, after just two stabs, the nursemaid pissed herself in agony. Just as she was about to speak, Haris cried out, “What do you want? We’ll give it to you!” “Do you want Isabelle’s chambers? Formal recognition? The betrothal to the Third Prince?” “Just put down the dagger, and we can talk. Don’t take a life, or even I won’t be able to help you.” His incessant babbling was interrupting my interrogation. A flame of rage ignited within me. “You. Come here. I’ll tell you what I want.” He hesitated, but after a tearful glance from Isabelle, he approached. “You…” Before he could draw the knife hidden behind his back, I seized him by the throat. A dozen slaps rained down on his face with sharp, cracking sounds. I slammed him to the ground, where he spat out a mouthful of blood and teeth before passing out, the hidden dagger clattering beside him. “You talk too much, you worthless fool.” The Marquess met my smiling eyes, his body trembling with rage, but for the sake of his children, he swallowed his pride. Gritting his teeth, he commanded, “Do as she says! No one moves!” I gave him a satisfied smirk and turned back to the nursemaid, patting her cheek with the cold blade. “Ready to talk?” She was no longer defiant. The truth spilled out of her like beans from a sack, a full account of the abuse and persecution Lydia had suffered. 10 The country girl who had returned home was never welcomed by her family. On her first day back, she made the false daughter cry and was locked away in the smallest courtyard to “learn her manners.” Later, she was accused of breaking the false daughter’s imperial gift, of setting fire to her own courtyard in a fit of pique, and even of pushing the false daughter into a lake out of jealousy over the Third Prince’s affections. Finally, using her status as the “trueborn daughter,” she was said to have driven the false one from the house. If House Croft hadn’t found her in time, Isabelle would have been “ruined by bandits.” A single, fingernail-sized scar on her leg was enough for the entire family to cast the true daughter out to “teach her a lesson.” And then, she supposedly ran off with a lover in a fit of anger. “It was all the Second Miss… no, it was all Isabelle’s command,” the nursemaid blubbered. “She couldn’t stand being second to the trueborn daughter, so she wanted Lady Lydia dead.” “From the very beginning, it was all the Second Miss’s scheme. Lady Lydia never did a single wicked thing.” “When Lady Lydia was locked in the ancestral hall, the Second Miss offered to bring her meals, but she never brought a single one. For a whole month, Lady Lydia survived on the servants’ leftover soup.” “The birthday gift Lady Lydia prepared for the Marchioness was a safety pouch she embroidered herself, stitch by stitch. Not that lump of dirt the Second Miss swapped it with.” “The Marquis’s cold medicine was also brewed by Lady Lydia, who watched the stove all night. But she was stopped at the study door, and the Second Miss added laxatives to it, framing her.” “Lady Lydia truly only glanced at the heir’s painting; she never touched it. It was the Second Miss who used her free access to the study to destroy it herself.” Confined, forced to kneel, beaten, and finally cast out to fend for herself. Lydia had endured so much in her own home. She had returned full of hope, seeking the love she had never known, only to find it had been given to another. Her own flesh and blood, the people who should have loved and protected her, gave her nothing but hatred and malice. Betrayed, despised, and persecuted by her own family. How helpless she must have felt. I sighed and continued. “And what about the elopement?” The nursemaid trembled. “Lady Lydia never eloped. After the Marquis and Marchioness threw her out because of the Second Miss’s ‘disappearance’—to teach her how hard life was for a woman without family protection—the Second Miss had already hired bandits to rape and murder her on the outskirts of the capital.” “As for the letter, it was written by Iris, the handmaiden. She’s skilled at forgery.” My cold gaze scanned the crowd and locked onto Iris. She began to tremble with fear. Before my blade was even raised, she fell to her knees, corroborating every word the nursemaid had said and adding many more details. Finally, she kowtowed, banging her head on the floor. “The Second Miss forced me! We’re just servants, how could we refuse? Please, my lady, spare me! Spare my life!” You see? When you’re the one holding the blade, everyone bows to you. Lydia, my dear, all you were missing was a knife. Isabelle’s guilt was undeniable. “Take Isabelle away,” I commanded. “And give her the full treatment.” “Who dares!” 11 The footman I had deliberately allowed to escape returned, bringing with him a furious Third Prince, Damien. What can I say? He lacked Alaric’s cunning. He didn’t even inherit a third of his mother’s looks. As a child, he had a certain charm, but now, every inch of him was detestable. “You have the audacity to look at me? Lydia, you are utterly depraved.” Cradling the broken Isabelle, and surrounded by his guards, he began to rant. “Grievously wounding a court official’s daughter and my fiancée… Lydia, you must be mad. You’re begging to die.” “Men! Seize this wicked wretch and deliver her to the High Court for severe punishment!” “Oh? Seizing their daughter in their own home? Have you asked for their permission?” I asked, a hint of amusement in my voice. Even after learning the truth, even after knowing all the suffering Lydia had endured, the entire Croft family remained silent as the Third Prince condemned their own pathetic daughter and sister. A daughter’s suffering was nothing compared to the family’s wealth and future. Oh, Lydia. They aren’t worth it. I had given them their chance. Now, they would reap what they had sown. The prince smirked, his arrogance a mirror of someone I once knew. “If I say you are not a Croft, who here would dare say otherwise?” The Marquess lowered his eyes, feigning indifference. The Marchioness’s lips moved, but no sound came out. Only Haris, battered and bruised, spat out venomously, “Kill her! I only have one sister, and that is Isabelle.” The prince shot me a look that said, See? No one will protect you, and looked down his nose at me. “Did you think that by harming Isabelle, you could marry me? Dream on.” “Now that the Crofts have disowned you, I will make you suffer a fate worse than death to atone for what you did to Isabelle. If you know what’s good for you, kill yourself here and now, in front of her. If you do, I might grant you the mercy of a complete corpse.” I took a sharp breath. “So, Your Highness, in your quest to be a white knight, you would ignore the truth and condemn me to death, in defiance of the law?” He scoffed. “What scheme? Isabelle never schemed against you. There was only you, running rampant through the house like a madwoman, killing at will.” “Isabelle was merely trying to stop your frenzy when you disfigured her. Lord Croft tried to reason with you, and you knocked his teeth out for his troubles. That is the only truth.” That he could twist the truth so blatantly in public was all the confirmation I needed. Seeing my strange smile, he waved his hand dismissively. “Men, take her to the High Court. Tell the Chief Justice to follow my version of events, and to interrogate her… harshly.” “I’m afraid, Your Highness, that I am unable to comply.” The Chief Justice of the High Court stepped out from the shadows. But he was on my side. I smiled, a smile as cold as the grave. “My apologies. I’m here on imperial orders to investigate a crime. As for everyone present who conspired to twist the truth and have me killed… you are all under arrest. Take them to the dungeons.”

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At eighteen, I stumbled upon Vaughn Vance helping a scholarship student with her torn blouse. His expression was grave, his movements clumsy and hesitant. At twenty-six, I married Vaughn Vance in a match arranged by our families. But everyone in New York’s elite society knew he kept a portrait of that same girl locked away in his study. Three years into our marriage, I asked for a divorce. He was silent for a long time before signing the papers. “If you ever need anything,” he said, “don’t hesitate to ask.” Later, I attended a gala on the arm of my law firm partner. A friend from college teased us, “Who would’ve thought the two of you, always at each other’s throats in debate championships, would end up holding hands?” Late that night, Vaughn’s name lit up my screen for the first time in months. “That riverside penthouse you insisted on,” his voice was a low growl. “Was it because you could see his law firm from the window?” 1 A bitter wind rattled the windows, but inside, the air was still and warm. Across from me on the sofa sat a man in a tailored suit, his tall, lean frame exuding an aura of cool command. His face was just as chiseled as it had been at eighteen, his features sharp and deep-set. The only thing marring his perfect facade was a fresh cut on his temple, a stark, angry line against his skin. An hour ago, I’d gotten a call from the police precinct. Vaughn had been in a fight. When I arrived, a woman was cupping his face, dabbing at the wound with painstaking care. I recognized her. Mia Foster. A classmate of ours from high school. The moment she saw me, she flinched back like a startled fawn. Vaughn immediately moved to shield her, his voice tight with displeasure as he spoke to me. “She’s… delicate. Don’t frighten her, Eleanor.” I said nothing, simply turned and followed an officer to handle the paperwork. By the time I returned, Mia was gone. The drive home was suffocatingly silent, at least on my end. Vaughn was on the phone the entire time. He was still on it now, his voice a low and gentle murmur, a caress meant only for the woman on the other end of the line. I had never seen this version of Vaughn before. A tenderness in his gaze, a focused devotion… he was giving every ounce of his patience to Mia. And in that moment, the thought of divorce, once a distant whisper, became a deafening roar. 2 If Vaughn and I were childhood friends, bound by destiny, then Mia was his North Star—the one he could only ever wish upon. We all met in high school. Unlike the silver-spoon world Vaughn and I inhabited, Mia was a scholarship student. She was beautiful, brilliant, and possessed an infectious optimism. The day she transferred into our class, she captured Vaughn’s attention, and he never looked away. I once thought his fascination was a fleeting novelty. That belief shattered the day Mia was framed for stealing class funds. A group of girls cornered her in the girls’ restroom. By the time I got there, the bullies had vanished, leaving Mia alone in the echoing, tiled space, her blouse torn open at the front, her shoulders bare and trembling. I was shrugging off my blazer to cover her when I saw him. Vaughn emerged from one of the stalls, holding her ruined shirt. Mia’s back was to him, her voice thick with tears. “You should go. If anyone sees you here, we’ll never be able to explain it.” “Then we won’t explain,” Vaughn said, his voice steady. “Just… put this on.” They stood in a tense standoff for a moment before Mia relented. But her fingers were trembling too violently to manage the remaining buttons. Without a word, Vaughn stepped forward. “Let me.” His face was a mask of solemn concentration, his large hands surprisingly clumsy as he fumbled with the small pearl button. As he finished, I saw the tips of his ears burn a tell-tale crimson. Then his head snapped up, his eyes locking with mine. A flicker of panic crossed his features before he regained his composure and strode towards me. “You’re here. Good. Help her.” He started to leave, then paused and turned back, his voice low and urgent. “And Eleanor? Keep this to yourself.” I promised I would. By that afternoon, a photo of Vaughn, his hand on Mia’s chest as he helped her with her shirt, had gone viral throughout the school. Vaughn was convinced I had betrayed him. That day, for the first time ever, he unleashed his fury on me. “Don’t think just because our parents have you on a pedestal that I won’t touch you, Eleanor,” he snarled. “You’re their choice for a daughter-in-law, not mine! No one decides who I marry.” I pressed my lips into a thin line. “Believe me or not, I had nothing to do with this.” He laughed, a cold, sharp sound. “You were the only other person there. Who else could it have been?” “It wasn’t me!” I lifted my chin, my voice stubborn. “Besides, why would I spread a rumor like that?” “Because you’re jealous that she and I are together.” My mind went blank. “W-what? When did that happen?” He looked at me, his eyes filled with a cruel pity. “I saw her… broken. It’s my job to protect her now.” “But… we were…” He cut me off, his patience gone. “Eleanor, don’t tell me you actually thought all those years I looked out for you meant I was in love with you?” An icy dread flooded my veins, rooting me to the spot. That night, the Vance family found out about Vaughn and Mia. His father dragged a defiant Vaughn to my house to apologize. Vaughn stood there, his jaw set stubbornly, and spat the most rebellious words I’d ever heard him say: “If you love Eleanor so much, why don’t you marry her yourself?” His defiance earned him a hail of fury from both our fathers. The Vaughn of back then didn’t understand the game. He hadn’t realized that I had been groomed since childhood to be a Vance. As the sole heir, he had no say in who he would marry. And so, in the end, he married me. After the photo scandal, Mia transferred schools. After graduation, Vaughn was sent to study abroad. He stayed for eight years. When he returned to take over the family company, he was a different man. The boyish arrogance was gone, replaced by a quiet, formidable presence. He came to me and proposed. “We’re both still single,” he’d said, his tone matter-of-fact. “We might as well get it over with.” I knew a dynastic marriage was my fate. Marrying someone I’d known my whole life seemed like a small mercy. It was only later that I learned the first thing he did upon returning was find Mia. But she, with all her pride, had turned him down. Marrying me was just his way of getting back at her. 3 “I have to go out. You should get some sleep.” Vaughn’s words pulled me from my reverie. He stood and walked towards the door, his voice softening as he spoke into his phone. “Don’t be scared, I’m on my way. They won’t touch you… Yeah, lock the door. I’ll be there soon.” I stood up too. “You’re leaving? It’s so late.” He barely paused. “Something came up. I’ll be back late.” As he reached the door, I called his name again. He turned, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. “What is it now?” “Vaughn,” I said, my voice unnervingly calm. “Let’s get a divorce.” Instantly, his eyes blazed with anger. He fought to keep his voice level. “What are you trying to pull now?” “Mia was scared tonight,” he said, as if explaining to a child. “She has no one here. She had to call me.” I stared at him, my gaze unwavering. “And ‘helping’ means showing up at the lounge she works at every night to play her knight in shining armor? The great Vaughn Vance, getting into a brawl at a police precinct over a waitress. Is that your idea of ‘helping’?” His lips thinned into a blade. His dark eyes held a dangerous warning. “I will get to the bottom of what happened tonight,” he said, his voice like ice. He paused, adding, “And it had better have nothing to do with you.” The words hit me like a physical blow. A cold shock coursed through me. In the three years of our marriage, Vaughn had never been truly angry with me. For a while, I’d allowed myself to believe he’d moved on from Mia, that he was ready to build a life with me. How foolish I’d been. It was all a fantasy. I remembered the portrait. For a while, a painting of Mia hung in his study. He’d painted it himself and made no effort to hide it from anyone, including his family. His grandfather had thrown a monumental fit, which ended with our wedding portrait being hung in its place. The painting of Mia was locked away in a cabinet. Now I understood. He hadn’t surrendered. He was just fighting a silent, private war against all of us. Outside, the wind howled. A draft slipped in from the open balcony door in the dining room, and I shivered. Just then, a shrill, piercing scream erupted from Vaughn’s phone. In an instant, the cold fury in his eyes shattered, replaced by raw, primal fear. He was already moving, a blur of panicked motion towards the door. “Mia, don’t be afraid! I’ll be there in ten minutes. Don’t you dare open the door for anyone—” His voice was cut off as he slammed the door behind him. The click of the latch was a final, deafening sound, sealing all his tenderness away from me. That night, Vaughn didn’t come back. I sat alone on the sofa until the sun came up. As the city awoke, two messages appeared on my phone. The first was a photo: Vaughn and Mia, walking side-by-side into a hotel. The second was a single sentence: Divorce him. Choose me? I scrolled up to see three older, unread messages from the same number: Eleanor, I’m back. I’m here if you need me. Always. Do you really love him that much? Could you try loving me instead? I blinked, my eyes stinging, and typed back a single word: Okay.

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1 I was the Celestial Princess, born of starlight and blessed by the All-Mother. My destiny was to undergo the final Ascension—a trial to become the last true god. But during my trial, as the last lightning struck, the storm raged on. Lyra, my lifelong handmaiden, then transformed. Nine amethyst tails unfurled—proof of divine bloodline. She wept in my mother’s arms: “Eloise’s trial will fail. I have the sacred blood!” The Queen, furious, dragged me to the Scourge Dais. “Today, I’ll have justice for my true daughter!” The King siphoned my millennia of power to Lyra. “This is what you owe her.” My husband Kaelen gazed at Lyra tenderly. “Fate’s threads weave true. At last, destined lovers unite.” Lyra demanded a final price: my flesh for my mother, my bones for my father. I died piece by piece, consumed by cosmic despair. 2 When I awoke, reborn into the past, I was standing on the Scourge Dais once more. My mother was just about to announce my true parentage to the assembled Celestials. But this time, something was different. Just as I braced myself for the denunciation, my mother’s voice rang out, sharp and unyielding as forged steel. “Eloise is the one and only Princess of the Celestials! This is not open for debate!” The sky, already a bruised tapestry of storm clouds, was ripped open by jagged white scars of lightning. A bolt of raw, divine power struck me, and the world dissolved into white-hot agony. The skin it touched blackened and split, a searing torment. But I had no skin left to burn. No flesh left to char. In my last life, my father had already seen to that. On that day, to erase any lingering doubt, he had put me on trial before the entire court. “You have been nurtured by the Celestial realm for seventy thousand years,” he had declared, his voice devoid of any warmth. “This is a debt you owe Lyra. Today, you will repay it.” By then, my seventy millennia of carefully cultivated essence—my very core—had already been drained from me by a secret Celestial artifact and poured into Lyra. I was nothing more than a mortal husk, collapsed and broken on the cold stone. “My power… I earned it through ages of toil,” I’d rasped, my breath shallow. “Lyra now wields it with no effort. Is that not enough?” Lyra’s reply was a cold hiss, her eyes like a serpent’s. “Enough? You dare speak of seventy thousand years? You stole my life! You stole my parents! For seventy thousand years, I should have been the princess, and instead, I lived as a servant because of you!” She turned to the King and Queen. “Father! Mother! If she does not repay her debt—flesh for my mother, bone for my father—then I would rather not be a princess at all!” My mother had flinched, a flicker of hesitation in her eyes. “Must it come to this? She has already been…” But Lyra threw herself into our mother’s arms, her expression a perfect portrait of pitiable suffering. “Mother…” The Queen said nothing. She sighed, a sound of resignation, and turned away. Seventy thousand years of raising me, undone by a single, whispered word from Lyra. The Celestial guards dragged my unresisting body to the execution block on the dais. The pain was so absolute that I tried to throw myself from the platform, to find the mercy of a quick end. But Kaelen, my husband, stopped me. “Lyra said you’re not to miss a single cut.” Driven mad by agony, I begged him, a primal plea. “For the love we shared, I beg you. Grant me this one mercy. Let me die with dignity. Let me die now!” Kaelen’s face was a frozen mask. “The love we shared? My wife has always been, and only ever will be, the Princess of the Celestials.” The flesh was carved from me, strip by agonizing strip. A torture so inhuman it shattered my soul. Lyra’s laughter echoed, wild and triumphant. “The highest form of this execution requires three thousand, three hundred and fifty-seven cuts. If I find any of you slacking, you’ll regret it.” The guards used the dullest blades. Every slice felt like it was scraping against my very spine. … Now, my father’s deep, imperious voice pulled me from the suffocating grip of that memory. “Eloise. As the Celestial Princess, why has your Divine Trial failed? Why have you not Ascended to godhood?” I lifted my gaze to meet his, a wall of ice. In my last life, I died never understanding how Lyra, a mere handmaiden, could manifest the nine tails—the ultimate proof of divine heritage. Reborn, I would not be so foolish as to walk the same path to ruin. 3 At the King’s question, the assembled Celestials erupted into a cacophony of murmurs. “The seven thunderbolts of the trial have all struck. Why is there no sign of her becoming a god?” “And the storm continues… It’s more than seven. Could her lineage be tainted? Is this a divine curse instead of a blessing?” I threw the question back at my father. “Am I the Celestial Princess or not? Father, are you not the one who knows this best?” I pressed on, my voice ringing with false innocence. “You watched me born, watched me grow. Could there have been a mistake?” The King was dismissive. “As ruler of the Celestials, my duties are vast. I have little time for the affairs of the inner palace.” The implication was clear: he could not, or would not, confirm my legitimacy. The doubts among the court grew louder. “The Princess is destined to become the last true god! The purity of her divine lineage is paramount to the honor of our race!” “If her blood is not pure, then where is the true heir?” My eyes found Kaelen. Though I already knew the answer that festered in his heart, I needed to hear it from his lips. “They all doubt me,” I said, my voice quiet. “Do you?” Kaelen, who had looked at me with such adoration only moments before, now had a storm of conflict in his eyes. “The entire court gathered to protect you through your trial. But seven thunderbolts have fallen, and you have not Ascended.” He couldn’t meet my gaze. “You are not the true princess… which means you are not my wife.” A bitter, humorless laugh escaped my lips. “Kaelen. Three thousand years we have been bound, and only today do I see you for what you are: a parasite. You never loved me. You loved the title: Princess of the Celestials. Future God.” He opened his mouth to defend himself, but a sweet, cloying voice cut him off. “Kaelen, darling, why waste your breath on this mongrel?” Lyra swept in, a vision of deliberate splendor, having dressed for the occasion. Before the entire court, she made her declaration. “Allow me to reveal the truth. I, Lyra, am the true Celestial Princess!” She let the ensuing chaos swell before continuing her tale. “Eloise’s mother was a handmaiden to the Queen. Consumed by jealousy, she switched the infants while the Queen was weakened from childbirth.” Lyra’s eyes met mine. She noticed my gaze lingering on her magnificent gown and smiled, a secret, triumphant smirk. She spoke to me then, a whisper carried on the wind that only I could hear. “I’ve always loved this dress on you. But it’s not just the dress. From now on, everything that was yours… is mine.” An uproar tore through the assembled nobles, but my father remained unnervingly calm. He simply asked, “Even if Eloise is an imposter, how can you prove that you are the true princess?” Lyra’s posture was one of pure arrogance. “Only those with the purest divine lineage can manifest the form of the ancient Nine-Tailed Vulpine, the mark of true god-kin. It has been tens of thousands of years since a child was born with the trait, but on the day the true princess was born, the sacred totem of the Nine-Tailed Vulpine shone with a violet light for three days and three nights.” As she spoke, a sliver of violet light pierced the gloom of the storm clouds, illuminating her in a solitary, divine spotlight. And there, for all to see, nine tails of pale amethyst unfurled behind her, like a blooming, deadly flower. A gasp went through the crowd. “By the All-Mother! It’s the blood of the Nine-Tails! The mark of a true god-kin, and the most noble violet, at that!” “She is the true princess! Have we been squandering our resources on a fake for all these years?!” Lyra swished her tails, a peacock displaying its lethal finery, the undeniable proof of her identity. Watching this perfectly orchestrated drama unfold, I saw all the seams I’d missed in my first life. It was too smooth, too rehearsed. And there was still one key player missing. I scanned the dais. My mother, the one who should have been at the forefront of my condemnation, was nowhere to be seen. 4 I tried to summon my own power, to manifest my true form, but just like before, nothing happened. The nine tails would not appear. In my previous life, desperate to prove my legitimacy, I had forced the transformation. But what had emerged was not my beautiful, elegant Vulpine tail. It was a thick, coiling tail of obsidian scales—a serpent’s tail. The sight had horrified even me, and it had sealed my fate as an imposter. If it weren’t for the memories of my own childhood, of my tail popping out uncontrollably whenever my power flared, I might have believed their lies myself. Now, in the present, my father draped a protective, sorrowful arm around Lyra’s shoulders. “My lords and ladies,” he announced, his voice heavy with feigned grief. “Our Celestial realm has been deceived by a lowly servant’s whelp for seventy thousand years! The princess who will bring us glory is here. It is Lyra!” At the pronouncement from their authoritative King, the eyes of the court turned on me, filled with accusation and hatred. “The daughter of a common servant, enjoying the honors of a princess for millennia! She must repay the debt!” “Cast the imposter from the Scourge Dais! Let her die in torment and regret!” I watched the mob’s fury rise, a familiar coldness seeping into my heart. For seventy thousand years, I had accepted their reverence, yes. But I had never shirked the duties of a princess. The Celestial population was sparse, and I had personally handled countless matters that never reached my father’s throne. Many of the nobles now screaming for my blood had accepted precious artifacts and elixirs from my own hand to break through their cultivation bottlenecks. For the honor of our people, I had trained without a single day’s rest, reaching the cusp of Divinity in a mere seventy thousand years. And now? I had done nothing but lose my title. The moment I could no longer benefit them, they wanted me dead. “The Scourge Dais? That’s too good for her!” Lyra spat, her voice laced with venom. “Without the realm’s resources, how could her essence have grown so powerful, so fast? Meanwhile, I, the true princess, was burdened with menial tasks, my own cultivation stagnating. Who knows how many millennia it will take for me to reach the power Eloise now possesses?” My eyes sharpened. This was the moment. In my last life, my father had heard these words and immediately agreed. “The Celestials possess a secret artifact, the Soul-Siphon. It can drain the essence of another and make it one’s own.” Just as I remembered, my father’s gaze turned on me, cold and hard. “This is what you owe her,” he said. “The debt is due.” I recoiled, feigning defiance. “Impossible! The essence I cultivated with my own blood and sweat? I will not give it as a gift to another!” Lyra’s eyes burned with envy. “If you weren’t a princess, with an endless supply of the realm’s treasures, you would be nothing!” The court roared its agreement. My father, taking this as his mandate, produced the Soul-Siphon—an obsidian amulet that seemed to drink the light from the air. It was clear he had it ready all along. “If you submit, you will suffer less,” he threatened. He lunged, a sword of pure energy materializing in his hand, aimed at my heart. I summoned a shield of my own, preparing to block the fatal blow. But with a deafening CLANG, his blade was struck from the air. A furious voice cut through the chaos. “Stop!” 5 All heads turned to see who possessed such power. There, standing before the King, her eyes blazing red, was my mother. The Queen. The King’s voice softened instantly. “Jocasta, my love, we have been deceived for seventy thousand years! The daughter you’ve protected with all your heart… she is not our blood!” I watched the scene unfold, a silent observer of my own past. In a moment, Lyra would rush to my mother, weeping about her tragic life as a servant. With the nine tails as proof of her divine blood, no one would doubt her. My mother, torn between pity and fury, would then personally escort me to the Scourge Dais. The Celestial lineage, since time immemorial, had been matrilineal. This was to ensure the sacred Vulpine blood—the spark of the gods—was passed down. Without my mother’s consent, my death would not have been so certain, so agonizing. Just as I remembered, the Queen pulled me towards the Scourge Dais. She turned to the assembled nobles and declared, “Today, I will have justice for my trueborn daughter!” Below the dais, Lyra shot me a playful, mocking wink. “Blood calls to blood, my dear. A mongrel like you could never compare.” She turned to the Queen. “Mother, I believe that after we transfer her essence to me, she should be flayed and boned. It’s the only way to appease my hatred.” The Queen glanced at Lyra, her expression darkening. She took a deep, shuddering breath, and then her voice rang out, clear and resolute. “Eloise is the one and only Princess of the Celestials! This is not open for debate!” The King’s face contorted. “Jocasta! The entire court saw Lyra’s nine tails. The proof of her blood is undeniable! Are you going to deny what is before our very eyes?” Lyra, stunned at this departure from the script, added her own poison. “Mother, if you claim Eloise is your daughter, then where is her tail? Where is her proof of the sacred blood?” The court echoed her sentiment. “If she is the princess, let her reveal her Vulpine form and prove it!” But the Queen, who should have been raining fury upon me, now looked ill, her face pale. She moved to shield me with her own body. “I am the Matriarch of the Celestials. The matter of the divine bloodline is mine to decide! All of you, leave this place!” Under the weight of her absolute authority, the nobles hesitated, some already beginning to retreat. But at that moment, a splash of liquid, cold and shimmering, hit me. I spun around to see Kaelen, an empty flask in his hand, his face a mask of cold indifference. “The Waters of Revealing will show one’s true form. We will see who my wife is, once and for all.” Kaelen. The greatest warrior of the Celestials, his Frostfang blade having defended our borders for millennia. At the foot of Mount Kunlun, he had taken my hand, his eyes full of wonder. “My sword will protect only one from this day forward. Where my wife’s gaze falls, there my blade will follow.” Only today did I understand. He was protecting his wife, yes. The Princess of the Celestials. Who that princess was… didn’t matter. Before I could even process the fresh wave of betrayal, a thick, coiling tail of obsidian scales burst from the base of my spine. A collective gasp of horror rippled through the court. 6 Scorn. Disgust. Mocking laughter. The thunder above me grew louder, a relentless, punishing barrage that showed no sign of stopping. In my last life, it was at this moment—gravely wounded by the heavenly trial—that my father had struck. He had used the Soul-Siphon while I was at my weakest, tearing my seventy thousand years of essence from my broken body. And just as before, a bolt of lightning struck me square on the crown of my head. Pain, absolute and blinding, threatened to tear me apart. Through the ringing in my ears, I heard Lyra’s sharp cry. “This is no ordinary trial for godhood! The heavens have thirty-six realms, and each has its own thunder. She is enduring the Thirty-Six Storms of Ascension, a trial no one has ever survived!” The sky felt as though it were collapsing, the black clouds pressing down on the terrified Celestials. But the single violet spotlight around Lyra remained, a sanctuary in the maelstrom. “You see?” she shrieked, her voice triumphant. “She is a cursed thing, an abomination condemned by the heavens themselves! I am the one born of auspicious signs, the one with the true divine blessing!” Even Kaelen turned to Lyra, his eyes full of pity and dawning realization. “So it was you all along. You are my true wife. The threads of fate weave true, letting destined lovers finally be together.” My father seized his chance. With a cry of triumph, the King launched himself into the air, the Soul-Siphon in his hand aimed straight for me. “Jocasta, you see the proof!” he roared. “Today, I will make her repay every moment of suffering our true daughter endured!” A single, soul-shattering cry from the Queen: “NO!” It was too sudden. She was too far away to stop him. The Soul-Siphon was already at my brow. The King’s methods were as swift and merciless as I remembered.

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For every wedding anniversary, Caleb brought a woman home. His excuse? For me to “train” her. At our tenth anniversary dinner, he brought home a cocktail waitress from some downtown club, still squeezed into a tacky bunny costume. “She doesn’t have a gown. Give her your wedding dress,” he commanded, his voice casual, as if discussing the weather. “And that jewelry set I gave you last month. As for shoes… I think the ones you’re wearing will do just fine.” He leaned in, his breath hot and laced with expensive scotch. “And listen, she’s young, doesn’t know much. You’ll have to put in the effort to teach her. Especially… the things in bed.” The entire room held its breath, waiting for the inevitable drama, waiting to laugh at my expense. And, as always, I didn’t disappoint. I announced I was divorcing him. Caleb burst out laughing, a sound dripping with contempt. “Pamela, you say that every year. I’m so tired of hearing it. More tired of it than the noises you make in bed.” He smirked, raising his voice for the crowd. “If you actually have the guts to divorce me, I’ll give you a hundred million dollars.” The room erupted in another wave of laughter. The whispers were loud enough for me to hear—I was just playing hard to get, a pathetic woman who didn’t know her place. But they didn’t know. This was the hundredth time I’d said it, and it was the one and only time I meant it. Every eye in the room was on me. Even the little nightclub bunny was giggling behind her hand. “Alright, place your bets! I bet she won’t even make it to the door before she comes crawling back.” “A million says she stays!” “I’ll put thirty grand on that!” This little betting game was an anniversary tradition, as stale and rotten as our marriage. The ones who lost money on me hated me. The ones who won didn’t respect me either. I shook my head, a bitter smile on my lips, cursing myself for being so weak. It had taken me ten years to finally find the courage to leave. “I’ll bet she leaves.” A deep, unfamiliar voice cut through the noise. The crowd murmured, telling him not to throw his money away. I tried to find the source of the voice, but the figure was lost in the shadows. “Caleb,” I said, my voice steady, “I’ll have the divorce papers sent to your office. Make sure you sign them.” I had threatened divorce hundreds of times, but this was the first time I had ever mentioned the papers. Caleb straightened up, the ash from his cigarette falling onto the polished floor. I pretended not to see. I knelt, unfastened the straps of my heels, and placed them neatly at the young woman’s feet. Her name was Lexi. She was barely twenty, and painfully beautiful. “These will pinch a bit at first,” I said softly. “You’ll get used to them.” “The dress and jewelry Caleb mentioned… I’ll have Martha bring them to you.” “Before you, there were nine others. If there’s anything you don’t understand, you can ask them. They all live on the third floor. Your room is the last one on the right.” Ten years of marriage. Caleb had brought home enough women to start his own harem. Tall, short, curvy, thin, innocent, glamorous, cold, bubbly—he had collected them all. The rumor was he fancied himself a modern-day sultan, assembling his collection of concubines. Well, I was done being part of the collection. I brushed a speck of invisible dust from the shoe and stood. Barefoot, I turned and walked towards the grand entrance. I had almost reached it when a powerful hand grabbed my arm and yanked me back. “Pamela, if you’re leaving, you leave with nothing. Is there a single thing on your body that wasn’t bought with my money?” My bare feet felt like they were standing on shards of ice. My breath hitched. “You want me to strip?” Caleb raised an eyebrow, his gaze sweeping over me, cold and clinical. “When your family went bankrupt, didn’t your mother strip you bare and shove you into my bed? How you came is how you’ll leave.” His voice dropped, laced with a cruel taunt. “Unless… you’ve changed your mind? Fine. Get on your knees and put her shoes on for her, and I’ll forgive you.” The crowd behind him howled with laughter. It was true. Shortly after Caleb and I had started dating, my family’s company had collapsed. My father, unable to face the ruin, jumped from his office window and was left in a persistent vegetative state. My mother, terrified the Vances would abandon us, drugged both me and Caleb, orchestrated a scandal, and forced his family to take responsibility. That night was the beginning of my humiliation. It was the end of the sweet, young love Caleb and I once shared. Forced to marry me, he brought another woman home on our wedding night to degrade me. He performed every imaginable act in front of me, even making me tear open the foil packet for him. I was the one who cleaned up the mess afterwards, on my hands and knees. I had lived a life of groveling servitude for ten years. I couldn’t do it anymore. “Fine. I’ll take it off.” Before anyone could react, I had unfastened my shawl. It was the dead of winter, but the hall was warm. The doorway, however, was a gateway to the biting wind. It whipped around my legs, raising goosebumps on my bare arms and shoulders. I reached behind my back and undid the clasp of my gown. The delicate fabric slithered down, exposing the curve of my shoulder and the swell of my breast. “Oh my God!” someone gasped. A few of the more timid women covered their eyes. The men, however, watched with rapt attention. Only Caleb’s eyes darkened to an inky black, his lips pressed into a thin, hard line. The only sign of his agitation was the slight tremor in the hand that held his cigarette. The dress pooled at my feet, leaving me nearly naked before them all. The cigarette in Caleb’s hand burned down to his fingertips. He dropped it, shucked off his suit jacket in one fluid motion, and threw it over me. “Pamela, you’ve got a death wish!” he snarled. He spun on the crowd. “All of you, close your eyes! If I hear one word about what you saw here tonight, you won’t live to see tomorrow’s sunrise! Now get out! All of you, GET OUT!” Caleb rarely lost his temper like this, especially not in public. The guests, all longtime acquaintances, knew better than to linger. They scurried out, and even the nine “concubines” quietly retreated upstairs. Only Lexi remained, frozen in place. “Are you satisfied now, Caleb?” I asked, tilting my head back to look at him, my gaze defiant. Tears burned behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I had cried too many tears for him. I wouldn’t shed another. “Can I go now?” “Don’t you dare pull these pathetic little tricks on me, Pamela,” he hissed, his disbelief still palpable. “It’s disgusting. Don’t you dare bring shame upon the Vance name.” I took a deep breath. “Caleb. This time, I really mean it. I want a divorce.” He looked at me as if I’d just told the world’s most hilarious joke. He grabbed the back of my neck, forcing my head down. “You dare divorce me? Can you afford your father’s hospital bills? Can you pay for your mother’s daily shopping sprees?” His voice was venomous. “Pamela, the first person to get on her knees and beg me not to divorce you will be your own mother.” His hatred for me and my mother was a raw, open wound. He hated her for the drugs, and he hated me for my inaction. “Even if your mother hadn’t drugged us, I would have married you! I would have helped you! But you had to use the one method I despise most!” he spat. “You, Pamela! You’re the one who destroyed what we had!” I had explained it a thousand times, but he would never believe me. Seeing my silence, his frown deepened. He dragged me over to Lexi, forced me to my knees, and pushed my head down. “Put her shoes on. You’ve been doing this for ten years. You should be an expert by now.” For a decade, I had not only cared for Caleb but also waited on his nine mistresses. I had done things—forced and voluntary—that made me despise myself. But now, all I wanted was for it to end. So, once again, I obeyed. I put the shoes on the girl’s feet. Perhaps my compliance bored him. With a grunt of frustration, he hauled me to his bedroom and, in front of me, began to undress Lexi. I had seen this scene countless times. Sometimes, he even made me participate, to “instruct” them. Just as I had done so many times before, I tore open a condom wrapper and held it out. This time, he shoved my hand away. “Not needed tonight.”

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The third time Professor Vance ignored my question, a line of text materialized in front of my eyes. One comment, glowing crimson, stood out from the rest. It was in that moment that I understood. I was the designated “evil rival” of this world, a character who didn’t even have the right to ask the male lead a question. Once I learned the truth, I promptly transferred to a different class with a different teacher. Later, when I won the grand championship in the National Mech-Crafting Competition and became the newest Gold-Tier Artisan, Kaelen Vance appeared on stage with a bouquet of flowers, his eyes filled with a soft light. “Aria,” he said, “if you ever have any professional questions, feel free to discuss them with me anytime.” I offered him a distant smile. “My master is more than capable of answering any questions I might have, but thank you for the offer. You should probably use that time to comfort your dear Chloe. She looks like she’s about to cry.” It seems that without the evil rival to drive the plot, the main characters’ halos just don’t shine as brightly, do they? 1 “Professor, I have a question. Why does this component assembly keep coming loose after I put it together?” It was the Q&A portion of Mech-Crafting, Section 7. I was the first to raise my hand, eager to ask Professor Kaelen Vance my question. He gave me a cursory glance before his eyes slid away, landing on Chloe, the girl in the row ahead of me who was currently dozing off. The moment his gaze touched her, his expression softened. He tapped her desk, his stern voice laced with an undercurrent of indulgence. “Chloe, do you have any questions?” I blinked, raising my hand a little higher. “Professor, I have a ques—” My words were cut short by a soft groan from Chloe. She stretched languidly, followed by a wide yawn, before asking in a daze, “What question? This component is so simple. Don’t you know how to do it, Professor?” A wave of laughter rippled through the classroom. Kaelen sighed, a hint of exasperation in his tone. “Go back to sleep.” “If there are no other questions,” he announced, “that’s all for today. Go to the materials lab and pick up one set of Kit #5 and one of Kit #6. Assemble them at home. I’ll be checking them tomorrow.” I shot to my feet. “Professor, I have a question—” It was as if he hadn’t heard me. He glanced at Chloe, who was already slumped back over her desk, blowing little spit bubbles in her sleep, and then turned and walked out of the classroom. I sank back into my seat, a mixture of humiliation, frustration, and wounded pride churning in my stomach. Why did he always ignore me? Why did he pretend not to hear me every single time I tried to ask him something? If he treated everyone this way, I wouldn’t be so upset. But it was so blatantly obvious that he favored Chloe. If she had a question, he would answer it with infinite patience. If she didn’t, he would still proactively ask if she understood the material. We were all his students. Why the differential treatment? It made me burn with jealousy, and I couldn’t help but resent her for it. Just as my glare was about to bore a hole through her back, several lines of text floated into view before my eyes. 2 I stared at the text, stunned. Male lead? Are they talking about Kaelen? My name is Aria. Since when was I a “goddamn snake”? And what budding romance? They’d only known each other for a week. Another comment, this one a conspicuous red, scrolled past, perfectly articulating my own thoughts. Exactly! That’s exactly right! If you’re going to be a teacher, you should treat all your students equally. Why should Chloe get special treatment? The floating lines of text provided the answer. Apparently, we were living in a novel, and I was the story’s designated “evil rival.” I was in love with Kaelen, and because I couldn’t stand his affection for Chloe, I constantly targeted her. According to the comments, I was about to steal Chloe’s materials to prevent her from finishing the assignment. But in a twist of fate, she would use the incomplete kit to create an even more powerful component, not only breaking the existing performance record for that part but also catching the eye of a legendary Master Artisan who would take her on as his final apprentice. Meanwhile, the component I was supposed to have stayed up all night perfecting wouldn’t even be deemed worthy of testing before being tossed into the recycling bin. By now, we had all collected our materials. Students who weren’t eating at the school cafeteria were free to go home. Chloe casually tossed her kit onto her desk, patted her stomach, and smacked her lips a few times before nudging her deskmate. “Nyx, wanna grab lunch at the cafeteria?” Her deskmate, Nyx, was a cool, aloof girl who preferred to be alone. I had tried to be friendly with her a few times before, but she’d been completely unresponsive. Yet, after knowing Chloe for less than a week, she was like a different person. Her icy gaze melted instantly. Though her expression remained neutral, her tone was soft. “Yeah.” The comments started scrolling again. I was, in fact, having a bit of a meltdown. I came from a wealthy family, raised as the apple of my parents’ eye. I had everything I could ever want. Because of my status, I was always surrounded by “friends.” I couldn’t say how many of them were genuine, but they all fell over themselves to please me. I had never been the one to initiate friendship. Except with Kaelen and Nyx. And, of course, they were the only two who treated me with disdain, while both giving Chloe their special attention. How could I not be furious? Watching them walk out, I grit my teeth and shot a look at Chloe’s materials on her desk. Just as they reached the door, Nyx paused. “You’re just going to leave your kit on the desk like that? Is that safe?” Chloe stuck out her tongue. “What could happen? Come on, let’s go, I’m starving.” The comments were a flurry of warnings. Steal it? My pride would never allow me to stoop so low. So I just gave the kit one last glance, then turned and left the classroom. I’d like to see how someone who slept through the entire class could possibly do a hundred times better than me. 3 “You see this part here? It’s a sliding component. You have to push this in first, then lock the piece below it into place. That should do it.” Professor Finch, the instructor for Section 1 of Mech-Crafting, patiently answered my question. It clicked instantly. I reassembled the part according to his instructions, and it worked perfectly. “Thank you, Professor Finch!” I beamed. He waved a hand dismissively. “A lot of people miss that little detail and fail the assembly. The fact that you noticed it on your first try is already very impressive.” I lifted my chin proudly. I was, after all, the top-ranked student in the Mech-Crafting department. That wasn’t just an empty title. Although, according to the comments, I wouldn’t be number one for long. My grades were apparently about to plummet… because after Chloe became a Master’s apprentice, I was supposed to become so consumed with jealousy that I’d spend all my time trying to sabotage her instead of improving my own skills. As if, I thought. I wasn’t stupid enough to waste my time trying to frame her. Getting obsessed with a man with questionable professional ethics and targeting a talented female peer over him? Was I insane? Speaking of which, how did she create a component with better performance? Could it be that the assembly didn’t actually require all these parts? With that question in mind, I started disassembling the component I had just put together. Professor Finch looked puzzled. “That was a solid assembly. It would have definitely tested above 90% performance. Why are you taking it apart?” Mechs were graded on a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being the lowest. Each grade was further divided into low, mid, and high tiers. The same went for their components. A component needed to test at over 80% performance to be usable. Below 85% was low-grade, 85% to 90% was mid-grade, and above 90% was high-grade. The Kit #6 we received today was for a Tier-2 component. The current market record for its performance was 96.8%. But the version Chloe was supposed to create would reach a staggering 98.91%. I don’t deny that geniuses exist. But I was considered a genius too. If she could do it, so could I. I pressed my lips together. “I want to see if I can make it even better.” A look of admiration crossed Professor Finch’s face. “I like your spirit. That’s excellent.” Then, his tone grew a little wistful. “Why did you have to transfer to Section 7? With your grades, Section 1 is a much better fit for you.” I was originally a student in Section 1. The only reason I transferred was because of Kaelen Vance. Three years ago, my parents and I were on vacation when our ship was hijacked by interstellar pirates. It was Kaelen, a mech pilot at the time, who led the team that rescued us. He was everything I’d ever imagined a hero to be. I idolized him. As I got older, that idolization blossomed into a crush. When school started a week ago, I learned that he had taken a teaching position in Section 7. I immediately applied for a transfer, just to be closer to him. It had only been a week, and the rose-tinted glasses didn’t just crack; they shattered. “You’re right, Professor Finch,” I said. “Section 1 is a better fit. Can I… can I apply to transfer back?” 4 Professor Finch’s eyes lit up. He immediately pulled open a drawer and started rummaging for an application form. “Of course, you can! Anytime! You just keep working on your component. I’ll fill out the paperwork for you!” Watching him furiously scribbling away, I couldn’t help but smile. Whatever those comments said, I had no intention of playing a supporting role in someone else’s story. I didn’t care how their plot unfolded. My goal had always been the same: to become a Gold-Tier Artisan. … I didn’t sleep at all that night. I assembled and disassembled the two kits over and over, my hands blistering, until I finally discovered a new method. As dawn broke, I headed to the academy with dark circles under my eyes, carrying my newly assembled components to find Professor Finch for testing. When he saw the pile of unused parts I had left over, his jaw nearly hit the floor. He immediately took me to the testing lab and placed my component in the analysis chamber. Three seconds later, a set of numbers lit up the display… 5 “Who took Chloe’s materials? If you come forward now, I’ll overlook it. But if I have to find out who it was…” I was five minutes late for class. As I reached the door, I heard Kaelen’s cold, stern voice. “Then I can assure you, this academy will not tolerate a student with such poor moral character.” What was going on? Chloe’s materials were missing after all? I scanned the room. Chloe looked completely unbothered. Nyx was her usual stoic self. The other students just looked confused. The comments were scrolling by in a frenzy. I rolled my eyes. I didn’t steal anything. Why would I delete the footage? “Professor,” I called out from the doorway. Kaelen narrowed his eyes at me, not inviting me in. “Chloe’s materials are missing. Did you know about this?” I nodded. “I do now. You just said so.” He let out a knowing “Oh.” His tone was infuriating. “And what are your thoughts on the matter?” His expression, his tone… it was a clear accusation. “They’re missing, so you find them. What other thoughts could I have? If you don’t know how to do that, Professor, I can help you pull the security footage.” My defiant attitude seemed to take him by surprise. He frowned. “Whoever was bold enough to steal them wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave the security footage behind.” “Speaking of which,” he added, his eyes fixed on me, “why are you so late today? What were you doing?” He might as well have just announced to the whole class that I was late because I was busy tampering with the evidence. Sure enough, his words made every student in the room turn to look at me with suspicion. The scrolling comments were just as annoying. I ignored him, walked straight into the classroom, and went to my seat. “What I do is my own business. I don’t need to report to you.” “And another thing,” I added, “even if the footage was deleted, I can recover it. Just because you can’t do something, Professor Vance, doesn’t mean I can’t. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to get ‘your Chloe’ the justice she deserves.” Then, right in front of everyone, I made a call. “Dad, a student in my class had something stolen. Could you have someone pull the security footage for me?” After I hung up, Chloe turned to look at me, a dismissive expression on her face. “Aria, you don’t have to go to all that trouble. The materials are gone, so be it. I’ll just get another set and redo the assignment. I just hope the professor can give me a little more time.” So this time, she had lost all her materials. She clasped her hands together, batted her eyelashes playfully at Kaelen, and pouted. “Please?” Kaelen chuckled. “You. You just don’t care about anything, do you? But this is more serious than just a missing kit.” I cut him off. “The components we build are all sent for official collection. We can’t be even one set short.” The materials we used were supplied directly by a mech factory, and our finished components were sent straight to that same factory for use. “At its simplest, this is about missing materials. But on a larger scale, this affects the academy’s partnership and trust with the factory. This matter must be thoroughly investigated!” There was another reason I wanted a full investigation. My father was on the academy’s board of directors, and the factory we partnered with was owned by my mother. What was stolen was, essentially, my family’s property. Of course I was going to find it. I was going to slap the truth in the faces of every single person who had doubted me. With a direct order from a board member, it took less than half an hour for the Dean of Students to arrive at Section 7 with security and the surveillance footage. Halfway through the video, I couldn’t help but laugh. “Chloe, is this what you call ‘missing’?” The security footage was crystal clear. After lunch, she had returned to the classroom, picked up her kit, and left with it. She still had it when she walked out of the academy gates. The Dean, being the resourceful man he was, had even managed to obtain footage from outside the campus. It showed Chloe boarding a maglev train and traveling to a mech parts factory where she worked part-time. At the factory entrance, she ran into a gray-haired man who was wiping tears from his eyes. He was a worker there who had lost a component kit he’d taken home to assemble. Mech materials were expensive, and he was terrified of having to pay for it and losing his job. When Chloe learned he had lost a Kit #6, her kind heart took over, and she gave him her own. With the truth revealed, Chloe hung her head in embarrassment. After a moment, she looked up, a strained smile on her face. “If I miss one assignment, the worst that happens is I get a bad grade. But that man is the sole provider for his entire family. If he lost his job, how would they survive?” “I admit I shouldn’t have given away the materials,” she said, tears starting to well in her eyes, “but when I saw how desperate he was, I just couldn’t bear it…” I snorted. “I have no problem with you doing a good deed. But you shouldn’t do it with things that don’t belong to you, and you certainly shouldn’t lie about it being stolen. If we didn’t have this video, your lie would have branded every single person in this class as a potential thief.” “You couldn’t bear to see that man get fired, but you could bear to see us carry the weight of a crime we didn’t commit?” Chloe sobbed her apologies. “It was my fault. I have no excuse. I’ll pay for the materials myself, as compensation to the academy.” I scoffed. “You should pay for it. It was…” Kaelen cut me off, his voice cold. “Chloe was just being kind. Is it a crime to do a good deed now? That’s enough, Aria. Stop wasting everyone’s time.” His words made me laugh out loud. “The ones wasting everyone’s time are you and Chloe, aren’t they? One of you lies about being robbed, and the other suspends class to play detective for her. And now you’re trying to pin the blame on me? Professor Vance, try not to be such a hypocrite.” My retort left him with a thunderous expression and her with a pale, stricken face. Whatever lingering admiration I had for him was now completely gone. I had planned to stay for the rest of the class, but now I couldn’t stand to be in the room for another second. I gathered my things and headed for the door. “Class is in session! Where do you think you’re going?” Kaelen demanded. 6 I turned to face him, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “I can’t afford to take your class, Professor. You should focus on teaching ‘your Chloe.’” His face darkened. “Do you think this class is a place you can just come and go as you please? Do you think your family owns this academy?” I rolled my eyes. “As a matter of fact, yes. They do.” He froze, about to say something else, but I had already turned and walked out. Whatever saccharine, exclusive love story they wanted to play out, I wanted no part of it. I had better things to do than waste my time on petty jealousy. Like assembling more components. Back in Section 1, I noticed that once I was away from the main characters, the floating comments disappeared. My life returned to its normal trajectory. And, because I hadn’t stolen Chloe’s materials, the plot had changed. She hadn’t been able to create that record-breaking component with a performance of 98.92%. But I had. My Kit #5 component tested at 99.36%, and my Kit #6 at 98.98%—both higher than her original record. I had thought that when these results were announced, the Gold-Tier Artisan, Master Valerius, might take me on as his apprentice, just as he was supposed to have done with Chloe. I was wrong. He never appeared, just as the original plot dictated. Without any interaction with the main characters, the comments remained gone. The days flew by in a blur of assembling and disassembling parts, and soon, it was time for the first-year final exams. The exam was designed by Master Valerius himself, and according to inside sources, he planned to choose one first-year student to be his final apprentice. I wanted to be that apprentice. So I practiced relentlessly, barely eating or sleeping, hoping he would notice me. What I didn’t know then was that some roles exist solely for the main character. No matter how hard a supporting character tries, it’s useless. The exam was scheduled for the afternoon. I couldn’t be bothered to go home for lunch, so I went to the cafeteria with a classmate. The moment I walked in, I saw Chloe. She was sitting with Nyx, her hair in a high ponytail, her face flushed with a healthy glow. The floating comments told me that she and Kaelen, through a series of entanglements, were now living together. They were in the honeymoon phase of their relationship, though they had to pretend to be just a normal teacher and student at the academy. I looked at the pink, bubbly blessings and envious comments on the feed and felt nothing. She saw me too and quickly looked away, offering Nyx a wry smile. “The difference between the rich and the poor really is huge. What they spend on one meal on the second floor is my entire month’s salary. There are less than thirty steps between the first and second floors, but the difference in status is a world apart.” “I’m glad I have you with me,” she added. “Otherwise, as the only poor person in this academy, I’d be all alone.” Nyx comforted her. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re much more capable than them. They all rely on their parents and families. You’re the only one who earns everything with your own two hands. In that respect, you’re stronger than any of them.” My classmate heard this and was about to explode. “Who do you think you’re—” I quickly grabbed her arm. “She’s not wrong. We’re not adults yet. Isn’t it normal to rely on our parents?” My classmate blinked, her mouth twitching. “Well… I guess so.” I pulled her toward the stairs. “So what’s there to be angry about? Let’s go eat. We have an exam this afternoon.” The old me would have blown up at those words. But the comments had told me what was supposed to happen. We were supposed to get into an argument, and because my group was larger, we would bully them mercilessly, even forcing them to eat food mixed with garbage. Kaelen would then swoop in and rescue them. Afterward, Chloe would tearfully challenge me in the middle of the cafeteria, declaring that if she beat me in the exam, I would have to publicly apologize. If she lost, she would drop out of the academy. Her courage, her defiance in the face of power, would make Kaelen fall for her even harder. It would also attract the attention of the story’s secondary male lead—my older brother, Adrian. And all of this would be witnessed by Master Valerius and the other masters from the second-floor dining area. Before the exam even began, my friends and I would already be disqualified in their eyes. Chloe, on the other hand, would earn their admiration. So I stopped my friend. I wasn’t about to engage in a self-destructive battle. What I didn’t expect was that even though I did nothing, Chloe still challenged me.

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1 My wife, Sarah, had a congenital heart defect. And she wanted to have a baby for her first love, Ryan. I refused, without a second thought. Ten months later, Ryan’s mother passed away. They said she died with her eyes wide open, heartbroken that she’d never held a grandchild. Crushed by guilt, Ryan killed himself in his cramped rental apartment. And then Sarah, on a family road trip she’d insisted we take, floored the accelerator and swerved our car directly into the path of a semi-truck. “You killed him!” she shrieked, her voice a terrifying mix of glee and madness in the final moments. “If you had just let me give him a child, he wouldn’t be dead!” “His family is gone,” she screamed over the blare of the horn, “so yours doesn’t deserve to live either!” And then I opened my eyes. I was back on the day she first asked. This time, I smiled. “Sarah, darling, of course. We’ll all support you.” … “Eric, I need to have a baby for Ryan.” The first thing I heard when my eyes snapped open was her voice, the same words that had started the nightmare. She launched into her practiced speech. “Ryan’s mother was my mentor, you know? She’s terminally ill, the doctors say she has less than a year. Her only wish is to hold a grandchild before she goes. Ryan doesn’t know who else to ask, so…” “Say no more, Sarah. I agree.” I reached out, my hand closing over hers with a sincerity that was pure performance. Sarah froze, her face a mask of disbelief. “Eric, did you… did you hear what I just said?” “I heard you.” My voice was a soft, understanding caress. “I know how much Ryan’s mother means to you. If it weren’t for her, you never would have come to this city for college, and we never would have met. In a way, she’s our benefactor.” My earnestness seemed to disarm her. The wariness in her eyes softened. “I’m so glad you see it that way. And don’t worry, Ryan and I already talked it through. We’ll use IVF, so there won’t be… you know. We would never betray you. But, for it to work legally, I’ll need to divorce you first and marry him. The baby needs to be on his birth certificate, legally part of his family.” She watched my face like a hawk as she spoke, waiting for the explosion. But it never came. Even the mention of divorce didn’t faze me. I just nodded thoughtfully. “That makes sense. I’ll have my lawyer draw up the papers. The legal process takes some time, though. Given the urgency with his mother, you and Ryan should probably get started on the… preparations… today.” My calm acceptance was finally too much for her. A flicker of suspicion returned to her eyes. “Eric, don’t you mind? Not even a little?” Mind? Of course, I minded. I couldn’t imagine a single man on earth who wouldn’t mind his wife having a baby for another man. Especially with Sarah’s heart condition. It was the entire reason I’d gotten a vasectomy the day after our wedding—to prevent any accidents that could put her life at risk. Last time, her request had sent me into a rage. I had vehemently refused, calling it insane, and even told her parents, hoping they would talk sense into her. Under pressure from everyone, Sarah had relented. But ten months later, Ryan’s mother died, whispering about the shame of facing her ancestors without a grandchild, her eyes refusing to close even in death. She was Ryan’s last living relative. A few days after the funeral, he hanged himself in his apartment. Before he did, he sent Sarah a long, rambling email. The gist of it was that while other women could have borne his child, he only ever wanted one with her. If she had given him a child, his mother wouldn’t have died in such sorrow. He would have still had a family in this world. Reading that email, learning of Ryan’s death, shattered her. She blamed me. She twisted reality until I became the villain who had murdered them both. She suggested a road trip to “clear our heads.” My parents came along. On the highway, she hit the gas, her face lit with a horrifying, ecstatic grin as she aimed us at the grille of a truck. “If you hadn’t stopped me, Eric, Ryan and I would have a child! He wouldn’t be dead! You killed him!” “He lost his whole family, so now you and yours get to die too!” My parents and I never had a chance. We were crushed under the wheels. The memory was a phantom ache, sharp and familiar, piercing my chest. But the smile on my face never wavered. I pulled Sarah into my arms, crushing her against me in a display of profound affection. “Whatever you want to do, I’ll support you,” I murmured into her hair. “If I’m worried about anything, it’s your health. You have to promise me you’ll take care of yourself through all this. Promise me.” 2 The next morning, Ryan was at our door to take Sarah for a “check-up.” They stood in front of me, holding hands, not a shred of shame between them as they walked to his car. Seeing them together, the sheer, laughable idiocy of my past self hit me like a physical blow. Sarah had been tutored by Ryan’s mother in high school. Naturally, she and Ryan had started dating, a romance that lasted all the way through college. But when it came time to discuss marriage, Sarah’s mother found out Ryan came from a single-parent home, with no car and no apartment in the city, and she forcibly broke them up. Shortly after, I met Sarah. I was instantly smitten. I pursued her for six months before she finally agreed to let me meet her parents. My family’s wealth was more than enough to satisfy her mother, who practically pushed us down the aisle. In my last life, I truly believed they had lost touch. I thought Sarah had only heard about his mother’s illness through an old alumni group chat. It wasn’t until I found gigabytes of chat logs on her phone that I saw the truth: they had never stopped talking. He sent her “good morning” and “good night” texts every single day. Their conversations had long ago crossed the line from friendship into something else entirely. After their car pulled away, I called my lawyer and told him to start drafting the divorce agreement. The call had barely ended when a flashy sports car screeched to a halt in my driveway. Leo, Sarah’s younger brother. He was a real piece of work, a spoiled brat who knew how to cause trouble. In the five years Sarah and I were married, she funneled him money from our accounts every year. The kid burned through tens of thousands of dollars annually. In my past life, I was so blindly in love with Sarah that I let her convince me her family was my family. A little money was nothing, I could always earn more. And so Leo had gotten used to hitting me up for cash under any and every pretext. If I remembered correctly, he was here today about an investment. He and a friend wanted to open some small factory and needed seed money. I’d seen the proposal last time—it was a joke. It promised quick, small returns upfront, but the business model was a minefield of hidden costs and liabilities that would lead to bankruptcy. Last time, I shut it down. This time, I looked over the file and told him, “This is a solid bet, Leo. Looks promising.” His eyes lit up. “So, you’ll spot me fifty grand, brother-in-law? We’ll split the profits seventy-thirty, your favor.” I closed the folder with a sigh of feigned regret. “Leo, my hands are tied. I just sank all my liquid cash into a new equipment order. But this is a golden opportunity. Don’t you still have that apartment I got you? Sell it. Use that cash to get in on the ground floor. Once my funds free up next month, I’ll buy you an even nicer place.” I’d always been good to him, so he didn’t question a word. All his money, including the deed to that apartment, had come from me. Lured by my promise, he sold the apartment that very afternoon and poured every last cent into the doomed factory. I was deeply satisfied with this outcome. I knew I’d never get back the money I’d given him, but if I couldn’t have it, I sure as hell wasn’t letting the Sullivan family keep it. Shortly after Leo left, my private investigator called. He told me Sarah and Ryan never went to the hospital. I just said, “I know.” For the next few days, Ryan and Sarah left together every morning. I showed no signs of impatience. In fact, I’d often ask how the “process” was going, if everything was proceeding smoothly. Two weeks later, Sarah showed me a positive pregnancy test. “That’s wonderful news,” I said, my eyes fixed on the two pink lines. A strange feeling settled in my gut. I’d already done my research. A proper IVF cycle required at least two months of prep time, and even then, getting pregnant wasn’t guaranteed on the first try. She was pregnant in just two weeks. The method they had used was painfully obvious. Seeing that I suspected nothing, Sarah let out a visible sigh of relief. And then, she finally remembered her own health. “Eric, you know about my heart,” she began, her tone shifting to one of delicate fragility. “Now that I’m pregnant, I think I should rest at home. And… Ryan’s mother is getting worse. She wants to see him get married, to see him happy. I want to give her that. Is that okay?” I nodded. “Of course.” “Oh, you’re the best, Eric.” She hugged me. “It’s just… a wedding costs money. And you know Ryan’s situation… I was thinking, maybe we could cover the cost?” 3 I couldn’t believe the audacity. It was one thing to cheat on me, to carry another man’s child. But to ask me to pay for their wedding? She had to be playing me for the world’s biggest fool. A cold, bitter laugh coiled in my gut, but my face only showed distress. “That’s a reasonable request, Sarah, but the timing is terrible. The company is in a tight spot right now, all our capital is tied up, and the board is watching every penny. And now that you’re pregnant, you’re my priority. Your heart, Sarah… I’ve been so worried. I already hired a private medical team to be on call for you 24/7. I just can’t move any more funds.” The thought of no wedding soured her expression. “Then what are we supposed to do? Ryan really doesn’t have the money for a wedding.” “Why doesn’t he borrow it for now?” I suggested, ever the problem-solver. “When our divorce goes through, I’ll be extra generous in the settlement. The board won’t question that. You can use that money to pay everyone back.” Sarah considered it for a moment, and to my dark amusement, she agreed. Ryan borrowed the money, and they quickly threw together a wedding. Fearing her parents would find out, Sarah only invited Ryan’s relatives and friends, keeping her side of the guest list completely empty. The wedding was that morning. By the afternoon, the videographer had sent the full wedding video to my inbox. I had, in fact, spent a fortune on a top-tier medical team to look after Sarah. They monitored her daily, ensuring she ate only the best, most nutritious food. Expensive prenatal vitamins and supplements were part of her daily regimen. I doted on the child in her womb as if it were my own. Sarah, of course, didn’t stay cooped up at home. Whenever she had a spare moment, she was at the hospital with Ryan. I turned a blind eye to all of it. Thanks to my meticulous “care,” the baby in her womb grew larger and healthier than average. An unborn child is, in a way, a parasite. The healthier the child, the greater the strain on the mother. For a normal woman, this is manageable. For Sarah, with her defective heart, it was a ticking time bomb. By the fifth month, her heart was already struggling to keep up. Some of her vitals were dipping into dangerous territory. But with the elite medical team there to immediately treat any discomfort, to soothe every flutter and ache, she had no idea how precarious her situation was becoming. Meanwhile, there was a positive development for Ryan’s mother. They had found a potential kidney donor. All they had to do was wait for the donor to pass, and she could have the transplant. The surgery, however, required a substantial sum of money. Sarah came to me. I gave her the same excuse about the company’s finances. So Ryan went to loan sharks. He figured that once I divorced Sarah, her massive settlement would be more than enough to cover the debt. The moment the doctors told me the fetus was past four months—a point where either carrying it to term or aborting it would pose a life-threatening risk to Sarah—a profound sense of relief washed over me. The net had been cast for a long time. It was time to settle the accounts. I called Sarah. “Sarah, let’s sign the divorce papers. Otherwise, you won’t be able to get a birth certificate for your and Ryan’s child.” After hearing this, Sarah and Ryan rushed over, practically vibrating with eagerness. She’d been nagging me about the divorce for weeks, and I’d kept putting it off. The meeting was in my office. My lawyer was present. Before signing, Sarah’s eyes scanned the document, going straight to the asset division clause. When she saw the line stating she would be leaving the marriage with nothing, her composure shattered. She stabbed a finger at the page. “What is this? When we divorce, assets are supposed to be split fifty-fifty. Why am I getting nothing?” I spread my hands wide. “It’s a sham divorce, remember? Just a formality. What does the asset split matter? Unless… you were planning on taking my money and running?” My words hit their mark. A blush crept up her neck. She shot a nervous glance at Ryan, then hardened her resolve. “It’s better to have everything clearly defined. Just in case… something unexpected happens.” Unexpected happens. Right. As if I didn’t know they’d rekindled their old flame and were planning to run off with half my fortune to live happily ever after. “Fine. Let’s get clear,” I said, pulling a stack of glossy photos from a file. “You committed adultery during our marriage. Therefore, you leave with nothing. Any objections?”

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