Category: English

1 Mid-wedding, the ring bearer, my older sister, Sarah, suddenly collapsed before me, frantically bowing her head to the ground, her voice raw. “Lily, please, give Eddy back to me! I did as you said, I slept with those thirty lowlifes. Please, just let me go!” My fiancé, Eddy Kingston, exploded. He immediately called off the wedding, then had his men drag me to ‘The Pit’ to pay for my sins. For two agonizing months, I was forced to ‘entertain’ clients almost non-stop. My body became a canvas of bruises and cuts, a landscape of agony. My legs… they were utterly broken, twisted in ways they weren’t meant to be, a twisted testament to their cruelty. Then, finally, Eddy remembered me. But I could only lower my head, numb and distant, automatically dropping to my knees at his feet, my trembling fingers already reaching, expertly, for the buttons on his shirt… When I stumbled out of The Pit, my body contorted in unnatural ways, Eddy Kingston was already waiting. My former rival-turned-fiancé, Leo Thorne, was right there beside him, phone held high, live-streaming, capturing every humiliating detail of my soiled, broken form. “Tsk, Lily,” Leo sneered, “finally out? Want to spend a few more months in The Pit? Haven’t paid enough for your sins, have you?” The familiar voice sent a tremor through my frame. I bit down hard, suppressing the metallic taste of blood that surged to my throat, then instinctively, skillfully, dropped to my knees at Eddy’s feet, my trembling fingers already reaching for the buttons on his shirt. Those two months had etched a new reality into my bones. The room had been plastered with Eddy’s photos, his cold, cutting voice looped endlessly, day and night, while nameless faces came and went, a constant, dehumanizing carousel. Eventually, whenever Eddy’s voice pierced the air, my body would instinctively begin to shed my clothes. I’d learned. I’d adapted. This was simply how it was. As my fingers reached the third button, Eddy slapped my hand away. He gripped my chin, forcing my eyes to meet his, a dark fury simmering in his gaze. “Lily Vance, are you out of your mind?!” My body instinctively recoiled, the memory of past beatings for disobedience flashing through my mind. But then I pushed myself back towards him, my voice a broken whisper. “No, please, don’t hit me. I’ll obey. I’ll do whatever you want. I know I was wrong. I shouldn’t have hurt anyone. I confess…” Eddy stared, a flicker of something in his eyes before it morphed into utter disgust. “What new act is this? Playing the victim? It was just two months in The Pit! With your connections, who would dare touch you? Lily Vance, drop the act!” Leo Thorne, still live-streaming, doubled over in cruel laughter. He maliciously patted my head, then aimed his phone back at my face. “Lily Vance, your acting skills have really improved, haven’t they? You like taking off your clothes, right? Come on, strip for the camera! Let the whole Metropolis get a good look at the little princess’s figure!” The old Lily Vance would have shattered a wine bottle over Leo’s head. But now, I merely turned, a vacant, mechanical smile plastered on my face, and resumed unbuttoning the few remaining fasteners on my clothes, obligingly facing his camera. The proud, defiant Lily Vance had been utterly destroyed in those two months, utterly destroyed by Eddy Kingston’s own hand. When I first entered The Pit, I’d smashed a camera that was filming me. For that, I was beaten for three agonizing days, then tossed into the back alley. My stomach gnawed with hunger, I had to fight stray dogs for scraps, for dead rats. One night, I got lucky. A client fell asleep, and I secretly grabbed his phone to call Eddy, begging him to save me. But his voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “Lily, you’re being disobedient. Compared to what Sarah endured, this is just a minor punishment. You deserve all of it!” I cried until my throat burned, but then I heard a soft, delicate sob from his end. “Eddy, maybe… just let it go. I’m fine, really. I’m already ruined anyway.” Only later did I learn that night, they stayed in a hotel. Countless intimate photos of them were printed and thrown at my face, plastered all over the walls of that cramped room, a constant, mocking reminder that Eddy Kingston never loved me. My fingers reached the final button. Leo’s increasingly lewd laughter filled the air, and I heard him maliciously reading out comments from the live stream. A stinging slap from Eddy snapped me back to painful reality. His face was livid, his eyes dark with a furious, dangerous glint. “Lily Vance! What in God’s name are you doing?! Have you sunk to such a shameless low? Would you willingly strip naked right here, right now?!” “Where’s your temper, Lily?! I only wanted you to learn your lesson, to humble you! You don’t need to put on this sickening act! Where’s your pride?! Where’s your courage to fight back?!” 2 I’d heard those words countless times over the past two months. They meant nothing to me anymore. Eddy, seeing my silence, angrily shoved me into the car and drove me home. When we arrived, Mom, Dad, and Sarah were already at the dinner table. They greeted Eddy warmly, ignoring me completely, as if I were invisible. “Lily, you’re so thin,” Sarah cooed, pulling me into a tight embrace. She pressed hard on the fresh wounds scarring my back. As she leaned in close, her voice dropped, thick with venom. “Haha, weren’t those men I found for you good? Did you enjoy yourself?” I froze, my face instantly draining of color. I instinctively pushed her away, desperate to demand why she was doing this to me. Why she framed me at the wedding! Why she continued to torment me! I was her own sister! But in the next beat, Sarah, with a theatrical stumble, collapsed onto the floor, scraping her arm and knees, the crimson of fresh blood instantly blooming against the pristine tile. “Lily,” she whimpered, her face awash in tears, her eyes wide and broken, “you still hate your sister, don’t you?” “Enough, Lily Vance! I knew you were faking it!” Eddy shoved me away, his eyes blazing. He swept Sarah into his arms, carefully placing her on the sofa. “You play the victim in front of me, but the moment you see Sarah, you turn into a monster! If you think the punishment wasn’t enough, then go right back to The Pit! She’s been ruined because of your actions, and you still refuse to show remorse! How can you be so utterly wicked!” Sarah’s triumphant gaze met mine, but I felt nothing, merely sinking back to my knees, an instinctive response to the furious shouts. Mom and Dad’s faces were grim, their voices cold, alien. “Lily Vance! You have utterly shamed the Vance name! Stripping on a live stream, in front of the entire city – where is the upbringing we gave you?! Who gave you the audacity to torment Sarah, time and time again?!” I numbly raised my head, meeting Mom and Dad’s angry, disgusted gazes, my heart plummeting to a cold, desolate hell. My upbringing, my dignity, they were long gone, stripped away piece by agonizing piece by endless torment and humiliation. All I knew was that if I didn’t comply, I would be beaten, I would starve. The searing pain of my legs being broken and reset… I was utterly terrified. I still was. “Mom, Dad, please don’t blame Lily,” Sarah said, her voice dripping with false concern. “Maybe she just can’t accept it yet. If it weren’t for me, she wouldn’t have been punished. Being forced to… serve… at The Pit, it was indeed too severe a punishment.” Hearing this, Dad, his face contorted in a furious mask, stomped over to me and delivered a brutal slap, the force so great that the metallic tang of blood instantly flooded my mouth. “You disobedient wretch! You ruined your sister and you still have the gall to throw a tantrum?! You will kneel here until you apologize to your sister! Not a moment before!” My body trembled, my face draining of color, inch by agonizing inch. The depraved tastes of The Pit’s clients, the countless times I’d been forced to kneel… those memories flooded back, overwhelming. A wave of raw despair washed over me, and I bit down hard, desperate to stifle any sound. Dad, misinterpreting my silence as defiance, crouched before me, about to speak. But my next actions cut him off. Trembling violently, tears streaming from my vacant eyes, my hands instinctively moved to my chest, unfastening the buttons Eddy had so carefully re-done. “I’m sorry. I’ll be good. I’m so sorry, please let me go. Don’t hit me, okay? I’ll undress faster. You can do whatever you want. I beg you…” 3 The living room fell silent, a chilling, sudden hush. Mom and Dad stared, uncomprehending, at my trembling hands. It was Eddy who snapped back to reality first. He tore off his jacket, roughly wrapping it around me, his face a thundercloud, dark enough to drip ink. “Lily Vance! What in God’s name is wrong with you?! This is your home! Why are you still acting insane?! No one here will hurt you! Can you stop faking it?! Aren’t you the one bullying Sarah?!” But I was lost, trapped in the nightmare. I thrashed, desperate to tear off the jacket, collapsing to my knees, endlessly fumbling for the buttons, a broken, desperate plea escaping my lips. “Please, I’ll unbutton. Don’t hit me, okay? I beg you…” The most terrifying memory flashed before me. One client, in a fit of cruel excitement, had sewn my clothes tightly onto my body, demanding I strip quickly. If I was too slow, a whip with barbs, scalding cigarette butts, or knives heated to a black char awaited me. I was perpetually starved, sleep-deprived, utterly powerless to resist. If my hands couldn’t tear the fabric, I used my teeth. By the time I was naked, my body was a canvas of fresh, bloody wounds. Even now, those scars resurface, phantom pains that never truly heal. After exhausting myself with the struggle, Mom and Dad finally called Dr. Ethan Caldwell, the Kingston family physician. He administered a strong sedative, and only then did a fragile calm finally settle over me. “Miss Vance’s mental state is deeply troubled,” Dr. Caldwell said, his voice grave. “She appears to have suffered profound psychological trauma. I strongly recommend she see a professional psychologist immediately.” He paused, his gaze softening with a flicker of raw concern. “Her condition is critical. She needs to be hospitalized without delay!” Mom’s expression flickered, a momentary shadow of worry crossing her face. But then her eyes fell on Sarah, who looked on the verge of tears, and the fleeting concern vanished, replaced by her usual cold indifference. Eddy stared at me, his gaze contemptuous. “Mental illness? Lily Vance? How can that be? She’s not the type to break down! She’s capable of orchestrating bullying against Sarah, of openly assaulting her – how could she be mentally ill?” “Lily Vance, how long will you keep up this farce? You were a ‘server’ for a couple of months, and now you’re suddenly mentally ill? Are you saving all your defiance for feigning madness?” “Or are you changing tactics now? Pretending to be mentally ill to gain sympathy? Do you think that incident will just disappear so easily? How will you ever repay what you owe Sarah?!” I stared blankly at the ceiling, my eyes vacant, utterly unmoved by Eddy’s mockery. Then Sarah leaned close, a cruel glint flickering in her eyes. “Lily, what’s that on your neck?” she cooed, reaching out to tug my collar down, exposing a constellation of purplish-red marks. “You… you didn’t find yourself a boyfriend, did you? What about Eddy? You’re almost married! How could you do such a thing?” I flinched, shrinking back, curling into a tight ball, tears silently streaming down my face. Eddy froze, his gaze locked onto my neck. After a long, agonizing moment, he finally suppressed his raging fury. He seized me, hauling me off the bed and dragging me downstairs. Only after shoving me into the car did he finally speak, his voice choked with barely suppressed rage. “Lily Vance, who is that man?! Who gave you permission to see someone else, to be with someone else?! Just because I punished you, you deliberately sought this out, didn’t you?! Do you have no heart?!” “Tell me! Who is he?! Are you faking madness because you want to run off with him?! What do you take me for, Lily Vance?! A complete fool?!” I couldn’t bear it any longer. I screamed, covering my ears, frantically shrinking into myself, desperate to escape Eddy’s grip. Sobbing brokenly, I pleaded hoarsely, dropping to my knees before him, frantically bowing my head to the ground. “I beg you, please let me go. It hurts so much, I’ll be good, I don’t need money, please don’t hit me, okay? I can do anything. You can record whatever you want. Just please, don’t hit me. Don’t hit me…”

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I died in my wife’s courtyard, forced to give my lifeblood for her childhood love. Before my last breath, my five-year-old son Ethan begged Queen Eleanor three times to save me. First, Ethan rushed in, saying I was coughing blood. She sneered, “He’s teaching the boy to lie,” and had him removed. Second, Ethan pounded on her door, crying I was convulsing. She scoffed, “It’s just a little blood, not his heart,” and sent him away. Third, Ethan knelt, forehead to the ground, pleading I was unconscious. Enraged, Eleanor yanked him up, tore his clothes, and threw him out. “Your father won’t die! Disturb me again, and I’ll dump him in a pauper’s grave!” Desperate, Ethan traded his princely amulet to a beggar for a healer. But Marcus Thorne, Eleanor’s lover, intercepted the healer, smirking, “Your father sent all healers to my kennels for my dogs. He’ll have to wait.” 1 To stop the last healer, my son had cried and pleaded before Marcus Thorne. The boy who had once refused to acknowledge Marcus’s existence now called him “Uncle Marcus” with every breath. He cast aside all his pride, willingly kneeling before the man. “Uncle Marcus, I beg you, please let a healer tend to my father.” He spoke between agonizing thumps of his head against the ground. Blood stained the flagstones, only sweetening Marcus’s mood. He chuckled, stroking the small dog in his arms, a triumphant grin on his face. “Look at this. Our little Lord. Even more obedient than my own dog.” He paused, a cruel glint in his eyes. “Come on, bark for me.” My son stiffened, tears mixing with fresh blood as they hit the dirt. “Woof.” The servants present burst into laughter, their scornful gazes raking over my son’s small, trembling body. “Calling himself a Lord? He’s worse than a street urchin!” “Shh! Don’t be foolish! If the Queen hears you, do you want to lose your head?” “What does it matter? Everyone in the capital knows the Queen only cares for Lord Marcus. Haven’t you noticed the Lord Heir is five years old and still doesn’t even have a proper name?” Hearing the servants’ whispers, Marcus’s smugness grew. He sneered, then turned and walked away, leaving my son kneeling in despair, his body trembling uncontrollably. I lay in my sickbed, as if sensing something, and convulsed, spitting out a mouthful of blood. The door creaked open. “I’m sorry, Father. Your son is useless. I couldn’t find a healer.” Ethan came to my bedside, clumsily trying to wipe the blood from my lips, his eyes frighteningly swollen. But I could no longer see clearly. Through my blurring vision, I knew: I was dying. I wouldn’t live to see my child grow up. To spare him my dying sight, I summoned my last ounce of strength, forcing a smile, and sent him away. “Father wants some almond pastries from the bakery down the street. Will you go buy some for him, please?” My son froze for a few seconds, as if realizing something, and shook his head violently. “No, I won’t go. I’ll stay with you, Father. Please don’t make me leave.” He gripped my hand tightly, as if he intended to shed every tear he possessed in that moment. Swallowing the bloody foam in my mouth, I feigned anger. “Are you disobeying your father? Buy the almond pastries, and Father will eat them with you.” Seeing my feigned anger, my son no longer insisted. He quickly wiped away his tears and agreed. “Okay, I’ll go buy them right now. Father, wait for me. You must wait for me.” As he stepped out of the room, I used my last breath to shout. “Ethan!” Meeting his confused gaze, I explained. “Father has given you a name.” “From now on, you shall be called Ethan. It means bright and upright.” “Father hopes you will be righteous, healthy, and… forever joyful.” My son turned, his expression panicked. “Father…” My consciousness began to blur. I bit hard on my lip, a bloody smile touching my lips. “Go now. Father will wait for your return.” My son seemed relieved and ran off with hurried steps. As his figure vanished, I closed my eyes. “Ethan, I’m sorry, Father lied to you.” 2 When I opened my eyes again, I found myself a spirit, following my son out of the Royal Palace. “Waiter! Waiter! I want some almond pastries!” My son clutched the server’s sleeve, calling out anxiously. Seeing my son’s disheveled face, the server irritably waved him off, shooing him away. “Go on, scram, you little street urchin! Is this any place for the likes of you?” Other customers in the shop covered their noses, looking at him as if he were a pile of refuse. “Exactly. Look where you are. What kind of person dares to waltz in here?” “Filthy!” The server, hearing the customers, quickly offered a few appeasing smiles, then brutally twisted my son’s ear. “You little rascal! Get out!” My son cried out in pain. “I’m the Royal Heir! My father is sick, and I need to buy him almond pastries!” Everyone froze, then burst into laughter. The server put his hands on his hips and spat directly at my son’s face. “You? Ha! I spit on you!” “Go on, take a look in a puddle. See if anything on your body resembles a noble child! If you’re the Royal Heir, then I’m your great-grandfather! Now get out, out, out!” He then forcibly ejected my son from the shop. My son wiped the grime from his face, trying to go back inside, but the server kicked him hard in the stomach. The pain made him unable to rise. Just as despair washed over him, a hand suddenly reached out. “Child, are you alright?” A young woman carefully brushed the dust from my son’s clothes, her voice full of concern. “Mother…” My son instinctively called out, seeing the woman’s tall figure. Then, realizing his mistake, he mumbled a thank you. The woman waved her hand, then pulled out a packet of almond pastries and offered them to my son. Perhaps having endured too many indignities that day, faced with a stranger’s kindness, my son’s eyes suddenly welled up. Clutching the oiled paper bag, he bowed repeatedly. “Thank you, madam.” The woman, a little embarrassed, replied, “No need to thank me. This packet of almond pastries isn’t even mine.” “It’s from Queen Eleanor. To celebrate the Prince Consort’s recovery, she’s been distributing food and pastries outside the city. I just happened to get one.” “If you truly wish to thank someone, then wish Queen Eleanor and the Prince Consort a long and loving life together.” My son stiffened, the memory of Eleanor dragging him from the main hall flashing in his mind. Then, the images he’d witnessed: Eleanor forcing Father to offer his vital essence. His eyes gradually dimmed. “I understand. Thank you… Queen Eleanor.” My heart felt a hundred times more painful than the moment it had been pierced. I watched my son’s desolate expression and remembered the past. In truth, Eleanor once loved me and our son dearly. On the day of his birth, she risked both our lives to bear a child of my bloodline. When I was cornered by the Crown Prince, she fearlessly stormed into the East Palace, her eyes blazing, and brought me back to our home. She even whispered to me on her birthday that her wish was for our family to never be separated. But all of that ended the day Marcus Thorne returned to the capital. He leveraged his childhood bond with Eleanor, repeatedly feigning helplessness and innocence to gain her sympathy. Then, he deliberately poisoned himself, framing me and our son, causing Eleanor to completely turn her back on us. From that moment on, everything changed. On the street, the young woman nodded approvingly and asked, “By the way, where is your mother? How could she let you run off alone?” My son froze, about to speak, when a gentle male voice sounded from behind them. “My dear.” A tall, young man, holding a boy about my son’s age, smiled and called out. “It’s getting late. We should head home.” “Mom, let’s go home,” the boy said, clutching a candied hawthorn stick, his smile innocent and lively. The woman hummed in acknowledgment and hurried to walk between the two, one hand holding the man’s, the other the child’s, gradually receding into the distance. It wasn’t until their figures completely vanished that my son slowly withdrew his envious gaze. He looked at the almond pastries in his hand and finished the sentence he couldn’t before. “My mother… she died.” 3 After bidding farewell to the kind stranger, my son hurried back to the Royal Palace, clutching the almond pastries. But just as he entered the gate, he collided with a casually strolling Marcus Thorne. Marcus recoiled, a look of instant disgust flashing across his defined features, and raised his hand, delivering a harsh slap to my son’s face. “You filthy mongrel! Who gave you the right to touch me?” My son, caught off guard, stumbled and fell. Blood quickly welled up at the corner of his mouth, and the oiled paper bag in his arms flew from his grasp. Ignoring the pain, my son scrambled to retrieve it. But Marcus wasn’t satisfied. He grabbed my son’s hair, forcing his eyes open. “Just as I thought, a bastard like your useless father, always playing the victim.” “I’m warning you, stop putting on that pathetic act. If the Queen sees it, I won’t spare you, understand?” His eyes were cruel, as if he wished my son would simply vanish. I was driven to a frenzy of my own, frantically trying to pull his hand away, but it was all useless. Self-reproach and powerlessness choked me, yet Marcus only smiled wider, a look of triumph on his face. He motioned for a servant to open the spilled paper bag on the ground. Seeing this, my son immediately began to struggle. “Those are for Father! You can’t touch them! Give them back!” At the word “Father,” Marcus’s face darkened. He raised his foot and kicked my son directly in the stomach, making him cough up a mouthful of blood. “What ‘father’? From now on, I’m your father!” With that, he poured all the almond pastries onto the ground and ground them underfoot, repeatedly. Witnessing this, my son’s eyes instantly reddened. He bit Marcus hard, thinking he could make him stop. Marcus cried out in pain and ordered the servants to lift my son. He unfastened the jade pendant from his waist, shoved it into my son’s mouth, and repeatedly stabbed at it. “You filthy mongrel, I’ll teach you to bite!” Blood quickly stained my son’s clothes. He thrashed in agony, like a fish dying on land. “Mmmph… Father… save me…” My heart shattered. I furiously clawed at Marcus, like a madman, wanting him to let go. Let go of my Ethan! It was no use. I then knelt on the ground, kowtowing repeatedly to Marcus. You want my lifeblood? Take it! You want the Prince Consort’s title? It’s yours! I’ll give you anything, just please, don’t hurt my child! Marcus couldn’t hear me. He only admired the growing wounds around my son’s mouth, laughing heartily. As he basked in his triumph, a gentle female voice suddenly sounded from behind him. “Marcus?” Eleanor’s disbelieving voice startled everyone present. My son’s unfocused eyes suddenly brightened, his lips moving. “Mother…” Eleanor’s expression tightened. She started to walk over, but Marcus, turning, drew her into his embrace, stopping her. “Eleanor, why did you take so long?” He subtly motioned for the servants to block my son from view, then expertly held Eleanor close. Eleanor sensed something was wrong and frowned. “What are you doing?” Marcus’s eyes flickered, and he put on a vulnerable expression. “You weren’t here just now. The Heir, I don’t know who provoked him, but he kept insulting me, and… he even deliberately tripped me. You know, my body is just recovering from the poison. The healers said…” Eleanor’s face darkened, and the confusion in her eyes instantly morphed into furious disappointment. “Arthur Blackwood truly knows less and less how to raise a child!” “With a father like him, it’s no wonder the Heir is so unruly.” With that, she turned and swept out. I stood in front of Eleanor, explaining frantically. No, it’s not like that. Ethan is very well-behaved. Marcus is lying to you! Don’t abandon my Ethan, don’t abandon him! My son heard her words too, and, despite the pain, called out, “Mother!” But as soon as the word left his lips, a servant clapped a hand over his mouth. Eleanor paused, her back to us, wanting to turn around. “Did the Heir call for me?” A flash of malice crossed Marcus’s eyes, then he feigned letting go of Eleanor’s hand. “Then go be with the Heir. I’m fine. Even if he did poison me and almost kept me from seeing you again, he’s still a child. I forgive him.” “Eleanor, go to him. Don’t worry about me.” Hearing that, Eleanor’s momentary hesitation instantly solidified into resolve. “An unpolished gem is useless. Since Arthur Blackwood can’t teach him manners, Marcus, you help me teach him well.” “Save him from being lawless and bringing shame upon me.” “I’ll wait for you in the annex.” Watching her retreating back, the light in my son’s eyes gradually faded, until only a dead silence remained. Marcus smugly curled his lips, walked over to my son, and looked at him with feigned pity. “See? Your mother doesn’t even want you.” “How pathetic.”

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1 At the wedding, my fiancé’s best friend, Julia, appeared in a stunning bridal gown. She usurped my place as the bride, exchanging rings with Andy Thorne, speaking vows meant for me. The sudden swap of brides left me exposed to the whispering judgment of every guest. I tried to demand an explanation from Andy, but he simply shrugged, utterly unconcerned: “Julia was merely showing consideration for your difficult pregnancy, stepping in to spare you. Instead of being grateful and resting, you’re indulging in petty jealousy, judging a true friend with a malicious heart? When will you stop with this ridiculous jealousy? Julia and I are just friends, a bond deeper than any romantic dalliance. Even if there were anything more, it wouldn’t be your place to question it.” Before every single guest, Andy and Julia shared a long, passionate kiss. After the ceremony, he carried her—drunken and oblivious—to our bridal suite to rest, leaving me alone, at the mercy of his groomsmen, who relentlessly plied me with drink. While I faced the terrifying prospect of miscarriage, brought on by emotional distress, Andy was celebrating his wedding night with his “best friend.” Later, when I had a small package delivered to him—a chilling, undeniable testament to the life he’d carelessly destroyed—Andy gripped my shoulders, his eyes wild with frantic desperation. “Julia and I are done! Stop these cruel jokes, give me back our child!” At the wedding venue, Julia glided in, adorned in the bridal gown I had personally designed, as Andy’s groomsmen erupted in cheers. I, the rightful bride, was barred at the entrance by security, forced to watch as they exchanged rings, a silent, helpless witness. For this wedding, I had tirelessly worked through my pregnancy, even lying awake all last night, trembling with anticipation. All because, after seven years of loving him, Andy Thorne was finally willing to make me his wife. Yet today, the very rings and gown I had carefully prepared, the symbols of our union, were now adorning Julia. For a moment, I truly believed exhaustion had finally driven me to hallucinate. “Look at Clara, she’s completely dumbfounded!” “After chasing Andy for so long, and only getting a proposal because she was pregnant, the bride suddenly gets swapped for Julia. She’s definitely going to throw another tantrum.” “Clara always tried to control Andy, stopping him from hanging out with us, especially forbidding him from being with Julia.” “Now, she just looks like a pathetic clown!” Andy’s groomsmen gossiped freely, their voices loud and utterly heedless of my presence or feelings. I knew they were doing this deliberately. They had always been Andy’s closest confidantes, especially Julia, the only woman among them. A single phone call from her, and Andy, even if he was in bed with me, would immediately stop everything and rush to meet her. This had caused countless arguments between Andy and me. But due to the strategic alliance between the Vance and Thorne families, and my genuine love for him, I always ended up apologizing first, seeking reconciliation. Andy would always “forgive” me, saying, “Clara, Julia and the guys are my best friends. You know your husband, I’m loyal to a fault. How could I ignore a call from my friends?” Unlike other young lords, Andy valued sentiment. In the early days of our relationship, he had been endlessly attentive, showering me with affection. It had utterly captivated me, drawing me into his world. The security guard still held me back, unyielding, as on the dais, the officiant had already begun the exchange of vows between the “bride and groom.” Andy knelt before Julia, his voice imbued with tender emotion, “Clara, will you marry me?” A flicker of jealousy and resentment crossed Julia’s eyes. She glanced at me in the distance, then demurely accepted Andy’s proposal. The hall immediately erupted in a cacophony of whispers. “Isn’t that Julia Davis, the youngest of the Davis family? Why is that Thorne boy calling her Clara?” “Ah, you don’t know. Today was supposed to be the Thorne-Vance wedding, and Clara is Lady Vance’s name. But for some reason, Lady Vance never showed up!” “Could the bride have been swapped? I heard Andy and Julia were childhood sweethearts, perfect for each other. If it weren’t for Clara suddenly appearing and clinging to Andy, they would have been together ages ago.” “Exactly. The Thornes and Davises have been wealthy for generations. The Vances are just nouveau riche. Why would Andy choose a crude upstart over a refined childhood sweetheart?” Julia. Always Julia. Every time she appeared, everyone seemed to believe she was a better match for Andy. Yet she always played the innocent, claiming she and Andy were “just friends.” Listening to the mounting whispers from the guests, I hardened my heart, pushed past the security guard, and burst through the doors. I stormed directly to Andy, my voice trembling with suppressed rage. “Andy Thorne, what is the meaning of this? Today is our wedding! You gave my gown and rings to Julia, and you’re declaring vows to her?!” 2 “Are you truly blind to Julia’s intentions for you? Or perhaps… you reciprocate them? You will give me an explanation today, or we are finished, right here, right now!” Andy, who had initially reached for my hand upon seeing me, flinched back as I flung his arm away and launched into my furious interrogation. His face darkened, yet his words remained dismissive: “What do you mean? Julia was merely showing consideration for your difficult pregnancy, stepping in to spare you. Instead of being grateful and resting, you’re indulging in petty jealousy, judging a true friend with a malicious heart?” I stared at him, utterly incredulous. “Stepping in for me?” Since Andy and I began our relationship, this wasn’t the first time Julia had “stepped in” for me. When Andy took me to various business galas, Julia was always trailing by our side, pointedly ignoring my conversations with Andy. When others invited Andy to open the dance with his girlfriend, she would preemptively link her arm through his, sneering at me, “Clara, a country bumpkin like you, can you even dance? Scram.” Andy would frown, about to speak up for me, but then Julia would feign wounded innocence, her eyes welling up, “But I’m your best friend, are you going to abandon your friends for a pretty face?” and he would helplessly close his mouth, allowing me to be pushed aside. Even during intimate dates between Andy and me, his groomsmen would barge in, egging Julia on to kiss Andy. “No offense, sister-in-law, but let Julia test if Andy’s lips are good for kissing!” They laughed raucously, pushing the heart-shaped cake I had personally baked towards Julia. Julia squeezed me out, settling beside Andy, playfully chiding, “Andy and I are just strictly platonic friends!” Yet, with a glance full of adoration, she fed him the cake, as if she were his lover. I closed my eyes, battling the sharp ache in my chest, as I looked at Andy Thorne, the groom in his pristine suit—the very image I had longed for in my dreams. “Andy, today is our wedding. I don’t want to argue with you. Just make Julia give me back my gown and rings, promise that you’ll cut all ties with her, and I will pretend none of this ever happened.” Andy scoffed, a cold sneer twisting his lips. “Clara, what is wrong with you? When will you get over this ridiculous jealousy? Julia and I are just friends, a bond deeper than any romantic dalliance. Even if there were anything more, it wouldn’t be your place to question it.” Julia glared at me. “Clara, I was just being kind, stepping in as the bride for you! Look at you, with such a big belly, how inconvenient would it be to wear a wedding dress?” She turned, pouting sweetly to Andy. “Andy, I’ve seen enough of women like Clara—always so dramatic, constantly jealous, terrified their man will cheat. You mustn’t pity her!” Andy looked at me thoughtfully, the disgust in his eyes deepening. The officiant, looking uncomfortable, cleared his throat. “Mr. Thorne, the vows are complete. It’s time for the groom and bride to kiss, if you please…” “Julia, look up.” Andy shot me a provocative glance, then tilted Julia’s chin and kissed her. The crowd gasped, then Andy’s groomsmen led a boisterous round of applause. “Congratulations, Andy, on winning your beautiful bride! Later, you must have a drink with us, your buddies!” “Oh, look, the bride’s blushing…” Amidst the chorus of blessings, I stood frozen, my face ghostly pale. My lips trembled, a voice that sounded alien to my own escaped me. “Andy…” Andy finally released Julia, raising an eyebrow at me, his voice languid. “Clara, do you truly think that just because you’re carrying my child, you can walk all over me? I’ve been too lenient with you lately. Don’t forget who was begging for my attention, desperate to be with me in the first place.” The smile faded from Andy’s lips. He issued his final command. “Clara, this kiss today is a lesson for you, and a compensation for Julia. You are still my bride. When my parents arrive later, during the toasts, you will follow behind Julia and me.” I listened numbly. Andy took my silence as acquiescence. He roughly pulled me forward, causing me to stumble, almost losing my balance. Julia looked at me with disdain. “Clara, you truly are useless. If it weren’t for your brother, Julian Vance, willing to throw money at the Thornes, Mother and Father would never have considered you as a daughter-in-law.” Julian Vance was my brother, though not by blood. When I was nine, my parents adopted twelve-year-old Julian, the orphaned son of their close friends. When I turned twelve, my parents, like their friends, passed away. A fourteen-year-old Julian raised me, taking on the roles of both father and mother. 3 He had built an empire from nothing, becoming a new magnate in the City, yet was ridiculed as “nouveau riche” by these old-money families. To be with Andy, I had indeed begged Julian to invest a considerable fortune into the Thorne family. The Thornes, though boasting a vast and venerable estate, were in steady decline. Even if the Thornes disdained my background, they could not refuse the money practically handed to them. After I insisted on keeping Andy’s child, Julian, uncharacteristically, flew into a rage and severely beat Andy. And he had refused to see me ever since. During the wedding preparations, I hesitated for a long time but still sent him an invitation. It too, sank without a trace. “Father, Mother, you’re here.” A middle-aged couple, impeccably dressed in expensive attire, stepped out of their car. Andy smiled, striding confidently to greet them. “Mr. and Mrs. Thorne.” Julia followed closely behind, her smile sugary sweet. She had changed out of the bridal gown, but still wore a vibrant, striking crimson gown, as if afraid no one would notice her. Mrs. Thorne caressed Julia’s hand, her face beaming. “Julia, you look absolutely beautiful today!” She turned to me, her smile instantly vanishing. “Clara, what is the meaning of this? You’re marrying my son, and you’re not even wearing a wedding dress?” I tried to explain, but Julia viciously pinched me from behind. The pain made me almost stumble. Mrs. Thorne’s expression grew even more severe. “You’re just pregnant, aren’t you? Are you really so delicate? When I was pregnant with Andy, I wasn’t nearly this fragile!” Julia echoed triumphantly, “Exactly. An upstart from nowhere, acting like some pampered princess.” It was true, I had been pampered growing up, but it was due to my health. As a premature baby, my parents showered me with endless care. After they passed, Julian was equally devoted. If I hadn’t fallen for Andy, I would never have had to endure such hardship. I clutched my lower abdomen. The rapid succession of shocks left me feeling disoriented. Coupled with the recent pain, my stomach was now subtly aching. Andy frowned, glancing at me. He supported me, but his voice was laced with sarcasm. “If you’re not feeling well, stay out of the way. Why try to be strong? You were so demanding just now, and yet you still need Julia to stand in for you during the toasts?” Seeing me silent, head bowed, he let out an impatient “Tsk,” clearly bored. He turned away, ignoring me. I watched as he, arm-in-arm with Julia, toasted his parents, then went around, toasting each guest. Everyone seemed to have accepted Julia as the true bride of the ceremony. Cheers of “May Andy and Julia enjoy a hundred years of happiness!” and “May you soon be blessed with children!” rang out continuously. Andy thanked each person, never once correcting them. Finally, the wedding concluded. Everyone had eaten and drunk their fill and were preparing to disperse. Mrs. Thorne forcefully dragged me to the door, making me stand with her to see the guests off. I stood there, feeling utterly disgraced, enduring the strange, pitying glances of the departing guests. Then Andy approached, carrying a drunken Julia in his arms. “Mother, Clara, Julia’s had too much. Give me the car keys, I’ll take her home first.” Mrs. Thorne looked at the mumbling Julia with tenderness, then chided him, “Home? Where would she go? Julia needs a good rest! And you needn’t bother taking her. Isn’t there a large room upstairs? Let Julia sleep there!” I froze, then cried out, anxious, “Mother, that’s Andy and my bridal suite…” Mrs. Thorne cut me off, displeased. “What’s wrong with the bridal suite?! It’s settled!” I pleaded with my eyes towards Andy. A flicker of hesitation crossed his face, but ultimately, he agreed. Mrs. Thorne shot me a dismissive look, then joined Mr. Thorne downstairs to rest. I stared blankly towards the master bedroom on the second floor. Andy had carried Julia in a while ago, but he hadn’t reappeared. My heart ached with a bitter pang. I tried to console myself, to believe in Andy. It wasn’t until my vision blurred that I realized I was weeping. Shadows fell, and I found myself encircled by a group of men. “Hey, Clara, why are you crying? Aren’t you happy you’re married?” The man who spoke was Marcus, the one among Andy’s groomsmen who targeted me the most. Simply because Julia disliked me, he took pleasure in tormenting me, eager to curry favor with her. Seeing that Andy was taking an unusually long time to come downstairs, Marcus’s expression soured. With a retaliatory smirk, he filled a glass to the brim and forcefully pressed it to my lips. “As your brother-in-law, I’m toasting you, sister-in-law. You can’t refuse me, can you?” I was shaking with rage. “Don’t you know I’m pregnant?” I asked, my voice trembling. Marcus scoffed, deliberately raising his voice. “So what if you’re pregnant? Besides, who knows whose baby that is in your belly?”

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Four years ago, my birth parents, in their misguided devotion to the boy they believed was their true son, cast me out of the Sterling Manor. After leaving, I moved abroad, where I painstakingly built my own empire from the ground up. Just this year, I sold my company for a staggering sum—billions in assets—and returned to Coastal City, settling back into my adoptive parents’ old house. As I was making plans to renovate the aging property, the very ‘son’ who had replaced me, Miles Sterling, tracked me down. “Do you honestly think I’d be here if Mom and Dad didn’t want to see you?” he scoffed, his voice laced with disdain. “You should be begging me. Without my permission, you’ll never set foot back in the Sterling family again! Now, I’m giving you a chance: come back with me.” 1 I looked at Miles Sterling, his head held high in haughty arrogance, and simply shook my head. “No, thank you. I’m doing quite well on my own,” I replied, my voice even. When it came to Miles, I honestly couldn’t be bothered to argue. As for the Sterling family, I had even less interest. Everything they had, everything they represented, held no appeal for me anymore. “Ethan, I’m giving you an opportunity here!” Miles retorted, his tone chilling. “Otherwise, you’ll be stuck in this backwater forever, tilling the soil for the rest of your life!” He saw my lack of reaction and simply reiterated, cold as ice, “Ethan, this is your chance! Just get down on your knees and beg me, and you can come back to the Sterling family!” I merely shook my head, my gaze unwavering. “Miles, I have no interest in the Sterling family. You can leave now.” My voice was flat, devoid of emotion. The Sterling family, in my eyes, was nothing. Yet, these people persisted in holding their heads so absurdly high. Miles, hearing my blunt refusal, exploded. “Ethan, I’m giving you a chance! Don’t you realize that ever since you left, our family’s business has boomed? The company is practically ready to go public!” He gloated, a triumphant smirk on his face. “If it weren’t for me, how could the Sterlings have grown so big? I’m here out of pity, giving you a lifeline. Don’t be ungrateful!” He prattled on, his words grating on my nerves. I found Miles utterly insufferable. With a decisive push, I ushered him out of my house. “Miles, I’m not interested in the Sterling family. Please, leave.” My words undoubtedly stung him. He spun around, his face flushed. “Ethan, Mom and Dad want to see you! Come with me, now!” I didn’t answer. Instead, I simply closed the door on him. I was long past caring about the Sterling family. So, I ignored Miles entirely. But I hadn’t anticipated that my refusal would lead to Richard and Eleanor Sterling themselves showing up at my doorstep. Eleanor, my birth mother, wept dramatically when she saw me. “My child, you’ve suffered so much these past years,” she sobbed, reaching for my hand. “Come home with Mom.” I gently pulled my hand away, shaking my head. “Mrs. Sterling, have you forgotten? It was you and Mr. Sterling who threw me out of this family, all those years ago.” My words caused both Richard and Eleanor to flinch, an awkward silence descending upon them. Richard, my birth father, glared at me, indignant. “We took you in back then, but you were so wayward, always clashing with Miles! Why else would we have sent you away?” I listened to Richard’s self-righteous tone and shook my head. They would never, ever believe they were in the wrong. And besides, when had I ever truly clashed with Miles? 2 Years ago, when Richard and Eleanor brought me home, I truly believed I had found my birth parents, that a wonderful new life awaited me. What I found instead was darkness. The very day I arrived at Sterling Manor, Richard and Eleanor made it clear they considered me, a country boy, utterly unfit for their family. They barely fed me, often leaving me meager scraps to eat alone. They constantly compared me to Miles. I studied tirelessly, desperate for them to see my efforts, to earn their approval. But back then, Richard and Eleanor had eyes only for Miles. Once, Miles had an accidental fall, and they somehow managed to blame me for it. Miles claimed I had pushed him down the stairs. In a fit of blinding rage, Richard brutally beat me senseless, then threw me out of Sterling Manor. For four long years, they never once inquired about my well-being, never cared if I lived or died. And now, they had the gall to show up, asking me to return to the Sterling family? At that moment, looking at the elderly couple before me, my eyes held nothing but cold indifference. The day they beat me within an inch of my life and cast me out, the only thing left between us was a bitter, festering hatred. “Mr. Sterling, if you weren’t willing to acknowledge me as your son then, why would you even consider bringing me back now?” I asked Richard, my voice frigid. I had no idea what their true intentions were. But knowing the Sterlings as I did, their sudden desire for my return certainly wasn’t out of simple goodwill. They might even want to harm me. The thought solidified the coldness in my gaze. Richard looked at me. “Miles said you were struggling too much out there, so he asked us to bring you home!” he said, pointing at me. “You should learn from Miles; he’s so good. You pushed him down the stairs back then, and he still forgave you and wants you back in the Sterling family!” “Mr. Sterling, I assure you, I’m not struggling,” I stated, my voice devoid of warmth. “And I have no need to return to the Sterling family.” “Brother, stop pretending!” Miles burst out, tears welling in his eyes, his voice choked with sobs. “I’ve seen you so many times, working under the table, even begging on your knees for bosses to give you a job!” Miles’s words made Richard’s face fall. Richard valued his reputation above all else, and the thought of his son begging for work was an unbearable humiliation. “Typical. A child raised in the sticks, without a shred of pride, kneeling before others!” Richard sneered, his face etched with disgust. “If you didn’t have my blood in your veins, I would have thrown you out long ago!” I shook my head. Not only have I never knelt for anyone, but I haven’t even been in this city for years. How could Miles have seen me? He was just trying to provoke me, to disgust me. “Miles, you claim I knelt for a job. Tell me, where did I kneel?” I demanded, my gaze sweeping over his face. Miles’s face still feigned hurt. “Brother, stop trying to act tough! Look at how you live! This house is drafty, the walls are practically crumbling. You’d be much better off coming back to the Sterling Manor with us!” he said, gesturing at the old house. I glanced at my adoptive parents’ home. It was indeed on the verge of collapse from years of neglect. I had come here today to hire a construction crew to renovate it, only to find three people with serious issues on my doorstep instead. 3 “Ethan, come, let Mom take you home. Don’t worry, as long as you treat Miles well, we won’t make things difficult for you!” Eleanor cooed, gently pulling my hand. Her words, though, only made me want to laugh. These two were truly delusional. They’d rather cast aside their own flesh and blood for a boy who had swapped lives with their son. At this point, I was beyond exasperated with their entire family. “Brother, come back with us! I’ll make you a branch manager!” Miles chimed in, grasping my hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you everything! You won’t have to worry about finding work anymore!” Miles looked remarkably sincere, so much so that even Richard and Eleanor seemed touched by his apparent goodwill. But as I looked at Miles, my brow furrowed. There was a glint of triumph in his eyes, and an almost indiscernible urgency. I said nothing. At this point, I was more curious to see what game the Sterlings were playing. I followed them back to Sterling Manor. I was certain their sudden change of heart masked some underlying scheme. Why else would they, after all these years of never bothering to check on me—never even knowing I’d lived abroad—suddenly want me back? The very day I returned, Richard unceremoniously tossed me into the utility room. “This room is small, but it’s still better than your dilapidated shack,” he sneered. “You’ll stay here for now. Don’t think that just because you’re back, you’ll be treated like a Sterling heir. Only when you’ve truly proven yourself will I consider accepting you.” I looked at Richard, letting out a weary sigh. Perhaps I had incurred his wrath in a past life. Why else would he treat his own son this way? I couldn’t even begin to comprehend the twisted logic of the Sterling family. I simply lay down and fell asleep. After a day of such commotion, I was utterly exhausted. When I woke, it was already evening, and my stomach growled with hunger. The Sterlings were at dinner. The moment I stepped out of the room, Richard slammed his hand on the table, bellowing, “Ethan, what are you doing out here? You’re ruining my appetite! Get back to your room! I’ll have someone bring you a tray later.” He looked at me, his eyes cold. At that moment, I let out a humourless laugh. “Mr. Sterling, did you bring me back to Sterling Manor just to torment me?” I asked, my voice cutting, my gaze fixed on him. Richard flinched, a flicker of awkwardness crossing his face. But quickly, his eyes hardened with chilling indifference. “This is to temper your spirit, to teach you that the Sterlings have rules too! Until I formally acknowledge you, you won’t sit at this table!” He looked at me, his voice sharp. “Otherwise, get out of Sterling Manor!” I nodded slowly. “I never planned on returning to Sterling Manor in the first place! You dragged me back here!” I said, then turned, walked back into the room, grabbed my bag, and prepared to leave. Seeing me about to walk out, Eleanor rushed forward and grabbed my arm. “Ethan, your father is just testing you! Don’t you want our family to be whole again? Hurry, be a good boy and go back to your room!” She tried to push me back inside. I shook my head. “Mrs. Sterling, I have no interest in such ‘tests.’ And I have no interest in the Sterling family.” With that, I prepared to leave.

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Two years after my childhood friend, Bob, had rejected my ninety-nine marriage proposals, he called me, his voice a heart-wrenching sob. His grandmother was gravely ill, he choked out, and her dying wish was to see him married. He not only agreed to marry me, but he’d also prepared a wedding gown for me and booked a venue. But when I arrived at the grand hall, dressed in the gown, his friends suddenly erupted in laughter. “She’ll believe anything, won’t she? And she actually swapped the discount, mail-order dress for a haute couture one! What a prime example of a simpering puppy!” Then they bellowed to the bewildered guests, “The groom’s mistress is here to crash the wedding!” “Security! Get the mistress!” Guests rose from their seats, their gazes converging on me, eager for the spectacle. Bob, meanwhile, gazed with sickening devotion at his lifelong crush, Valerie. “I promised I’d help you ruin the wedding, and I always keep my word,” he murmured, his voice laced with possessive triumph. “As long as I’m here, what you can’t have, no one else will!” Seeing Valerie finally smile, he then turned to me. “Valerie said that since you helped out this time, you can be a bridesmaid at our wedding. She even said you can continue to revolve around me afterwards.” It turned out he’d tricked me into coming here, all to help his precious Valerie sabotage the wedding of the man she couldn’t have. But then Bob saw the bride’s photo on the display stand, and his eyes suddenly went bloodshot. … The security guard’s hand on my shoulder jolted me awake. This was another elaborate charade. Bob brushed the guard’s hand away, a forced look of apology on his face. “My apologies, everyone, a misunderstanding! This is just a friend of mine. We were only playing a prank!” The guards grumbled and walked away. Bob, with an almost sickening gentleness, smoothed the wrinkles from my gown. “Elara, are you alright?” Bob’s friends were practically rolling on the floor with laughter. “Bob, you’re something else! Can’t believe she actually showed up just from one phone call!” “Yeah, that wedding dress looks expensive, though. Didn’t you say you told her it was a ninety-nine-dollar mail-order one?” “What a true simpering puppy, buying her own wedding dress! She must be absolutely desperate to marry Bob!” The spotlight from the chandelier hit my face, and the guests’ whispers drifted to me, each word more cutting than the last. My heart slowly sank. Bob raised a hand, feigning a punch at his friends. “Elara was a great help this time. You guys be nice to her!” Then he turned to me, his smile sickeningly sweet. “Thanks for today.” Just as I thought I detected a sliver of remorse, he rubbed his hands together, excitement bubbling in his voice. “Valerie said you did her a huge favor this time. When we get married later, we’ll ask you to be a bridesmaid!” He leaned in conspiratorially, lowering his voice. “She won’t even mind if you keep revolving around me afterwards! How about that? Wasn’t today worth it?” His friends, seeing his gesture, chuckled. “Bob, don’t stand so close to her. She’ll get the wrong idea again!” “She came running to marry you without a second thought, and she never learns even after being fooled so many times. How much must she love you?” It turned out they all knew about my ninety-nine marriage proposals to Bob. Each time, he’d neither accepted nor rejected, just laughed it off, telling me to stop being silly. In the past, I would have been heartbroken, crying and running away. But this time, I merely rubbed my aching shoulder and spread my hands to his friends. “Well, since you’re all here, aren’t you going to offer a wedding gift?” Valerie, who had been hiding to the side, enjoying the spectacle, gasped in horror. “Elara! You didn’t seriously think this was your wedding, did you? Bob, darling, did we take this too far?” Valerie was Bob’s lifelong crush. He had manipulated and ridiculed me for her countless times. But Valerie, all along, only saw him as a backup. She went through boyfriends one after another, and every time she broke up, she would run to Bob, crying in his arms. Bob would affectionately ruffle her hair. “Silly girl, don’t worry, she’s just gone crazy from all the times I’ve rejected her.” Then his gaze flickered over my face, full of disdain. Even in that fleeting second, my heart still stung as if pricked by needles. He thought I had been tricked into coming here. But the truth was, last night, when he called, I was at the hospital, visiting his grandmother. The old woman was perfectly lucid, even pulling me into a conversation over pumpkin seeds. On the phone, his voice was choked with tears. “Elara, are you still willing to marry me?” My heart pounded for less than a second, then… “Grandmother… she’s fading…” I looked at the vibrant old woman before me, and the hand holding my phone slowly grew cold. If I hadn’t witnessed it myself, I would have thought he’d seen the digital invitation I’d posted on my social media and finally come to his senses, filled with regret. I answered calmly, “Alright.” After hanging up, someone sent me a screenshot of a group chat. Bob had posted my digital invitation in his friends’ group. [Look at this, Elara is harassing me into marriage to this extent!] His friends replied almost instantly: [There’s not even a picture on this invitation, she needs to commit to the bit if she wants to fool anyone!] [She must have found out Valerie was coming to see Bob, and she’s gone crazy with anxiety, hasn’t she?] Bob posted a sunglasses emoji: [I just called her and told her to come get married tomorrow.] A friend replied: [No need to guess, she definitely cried with happiness and said yes instantly!] Bob: [You guys all come tomorrow, at the address on her digital invitation. I’ve even got her a ninety-nine-dollar mail-order wedding dress ready.] [If it wasn’t for Valerie, I wouldn’t even spend ninety-nine dollars on her.] [Bob, maybe you should pity Elara and just enjoy having both of them tomorrow!] [Ugh, don’t disgust me. She’s not even fit to carry Valerie’s shoes! If Valerie hadn’t begged me, I wouldn’t have given her another chance to cling to me!] I thought that after all this time, such cruel words wouldn’t hurt me anymore. But my vision slowly blurred, and tears still ungracefully streamed down my face. My decades of devotion were worth less than a single request from Valerie. As long as Valerie was happy, he would gladly trample my dignity into the dirt. Bob and I grew up in the same neighborhood. Our fathers were colleagues. One day, they were down in the mine for inspection when an accident occurred, and the mine collapsed. To save my father, his father was permanently buried underground. Bob was only ten years old that year. His mother couldn’t bear the pressure of life and secretly ran away, leaving him and his grandmother to rely on each other. Out of guilt, I tried my best to be good to him. Falling in love with him seemed like a natural progression. But he fell for the beautiful transfer student, Valerie. He found me annoying trailing behind him, so he changed my college application to a school a thousand miles away. Valerie needed research data for a project, and he’d call me in the middle of the night, demanding I rush over. I had followed him like a loyal dog for fifteen years. But now, fifteen years had passed. My debt was repaid. It was time to let go. Valerie dramatically clutched my hand. “Elara, your diamond ring is huge!” Bob glanced at it, scoffing. “Probably from a discount store. Lab-grown diamonds aren’t worth much these days.” His friend, Butch, chimed in, egging him on. “Exactly, Elara! Don’t be so vain. If you’re really desperate to get married, Bob’s out of your league. Maybe I could stoop to it!” He grinned, exposing a mouthful of yellowed teeth, and reached out to touch my hand. I slapped his hand away hard, snarling, “Get lost!” Butch’s face crumpled in anger. He spat on the floor and cursed, “Pah! You think you’re some prize? Trying to be nice and you act like a spoiled brat. Do you really think I’d want you?!” Bob, hearing my words, flared with anger. “Elara, did I give you permission to talk to my friend like that?!” I watched his face redden with rage, and my heart grew colder with each passing moment. No matter how much I gave him, in his eyes, I was still worth less than Valerie. Even his hangers-on could mock and demean me at will. Valerie’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink. She tugged at Bob’s sleeve. “Bob, darling, don’t be so harsh on a girl. After all, she came to help.” She then walked towards me, her expression innocent. “Elara, thank you so much for today. Renting that wedding dress must have cost a lot, didn’t it? And it looks like haute couture! You really went all out!” Bob put his arm around her, his face filled with feigned concern. “Valerie, you’re just too kind. I’m sure she just rented it!” He glanced at me, his eyes full of mockery. “This is the most luxurious hotel in the city. Even I only rented it for an hour. How could she find a wealthy husband to book out the entire place?” Valerie pouted and burrowed into his embrace, like a delicate white flower, pure and utterly endearing. “Bob, darling, how can you say that about Elara? She’s genuinely devoted to you!” Having followed him for so many years, I had long seen through her true nature. A pure and innocent façade in public, but in private, she indulged in smoking, drinking, and every vice imaginable. Yet, Bob was completely ensnared by her false purity; he had even paid for her abortions. When I tried to kindly warn him, all I received was his furious glare.

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I was chosen as a Thorne family daughter-in-law from childhood. At twenty, I married Asher Thorne, a man with autism. For five years, Asher consistently disliked me. He recoiled from my touch, let alone shared a bed with me. Then, he met a girl. In front of her, he reined in all his quirks, awkwardly striving to be agreeable. He would write songs for her, and give her gifts. Even his study, a sanctuary I was forbidden to enter, was flung open to her without reservation. I knew Asher had found someone he liked. And I knew I no longer wanted to care for him. So, I sought out Grandfather Thorne. I told him I wanted a divorce. 1 Before I met Asher, my life had been far from easy. My mother, an aesthetics devotee, was captivated by my father’s striking looks. She fell head over heels, diving into a whirlwind romance and sharing a bed with him before doing any proper background check. And then, there was me. It was only after I was born that my mother discovered my father was from a prominent, wealthy family. The kind who could wave a hand and ensure she’d never worry about money again. But the bad news was, my father was a live-in son-in-law, a man who married into wealth, taking his wife’s name. In other words, he was a social climber, relying on his wife to enter high society. And my mother? She was his mistress. When his legitimate wife came to catch him in the act, she found my mother. Usually, my father acted quite grand around my mother, but in front of his wife, he was as subservient as a beaten dog. My father immediately cut all ties with my mother, disowning me in the process. My mother raised me alone, and our lives were difficult. She drove a pedicab, set up small street stalls, and was once chased by city inspectors for miles, losing a shoe along the way. Eventually, she grew tired of that life. She told me she would find me a better path. I don’t know what methods my mother used, but she somehow obtained a paternity test proving my father was indeed my biological parent. Then, she stormed to my father’s mansion, creating a scene and demanding he take responsibility for me. Concerned about a scandal, the wealthy family agreed. From that day, my mother and I were separated. The day I was sent to Sinclair Manor, my mother’s smile was tear-streaked. “Aurora,” she said, “you’ll never go hungry again.” But my mother was too naive. My father saw me as a stain on his reputation, and Mrs. Sinclair detested me. Those below them were quick to shift loyalties, naturally treating me with disdain. As for my half-sisters, they devised new ways to torment me every single day. My mother would never know any of this. That encounter at the gates of Sinclair Manor was the last time I ever saw her. She had terminal cancer and couldn’t afford the medical bills. After sending me to my father, she took her own life by jumping into the river. I grew up in Sinclair Manor as an adopted daughter, living cautiously. When I was fifteen, I met a boy at the Sinclair estate. He had cut his arm on rose thorns, and the wound was still bleeding. Yet, he seemed completely oblivious, listening to music in the garden with headphones on. I thought for a moment, then brought him antiseptic to clean the wound and a bandage to cover it. Later, I learned his name was Asher Thorne. His grandfather had brought him to visit the Sinclairs. For reasons unknown to me, Grandfather Thorne took a liking to me and wanted me as his grandson’s wife. Being an old, established family, my father naturally agreed without hesitation. My sisters, upon hearing the news, scoffed and ridiculed me. “Do you really think you’ve landed a good catch? If it were a truly good match, why would it be your turn?” “That Asher Thorne, he’s had autism and bipolar disorder since childhood. He’s not normal.” But because of the engagement to Asher, Mrs. Sinclair finally treated me with some semblance of kindness. My life at Sinclair Manor became much more bearable; at least they stopped bullying me. I often thought back to that first meeting, the slender boy quietly listening to music in the garden. He didn’t know he had unknowingly helped me so much. I was genuinely grateful to him. I began to learn about his condition, studying how to interact with him in the future. Then, at twenty, arranged by both families, I married Asher Thorne. 2 I didn’t realize how much Asher resisted marrying me. After I moved in, he never gave me a kind glance. He wouldn’t allow me to touch him, let alone share a bed with me. On our wedding night, he threw a terrible tantrum in the bridal suite. “Go away.” “Don’t be in my room.” “Get out. Get out now.” I hung my head in shame, a wave of humiliation washing over me. That day, Grandfather Thorne sought me out. He explained that Asher had always been solitary and disliked interacting with people. The caretaker who looked after Asher had recently passed away, and Asher’s condition had been particularly bad lately. He asked me to be patient and give Asher some time. I nodded in agreement. From then on, I took on the responsibility of caring for Asher. I juggled my time between school and Thorne Manor. I had to remind Asher to take his medication on time, take him for regular hospital check-ups, and meticulously plan his meals and choose his clothes. Thankfully, Asher wasn’t a block of wood. He gradually began to respond to me. For instance, he stopped saying “Get out” to me. For instance, when he saw me asleep on the sofa, he would awkwardly cover me with a blanket. And for instance, when I had terrible period cramps, he would brew me a cup of warm ginger tea. But he never shared a bed with me. The Thorne family had a single male heir in each generation, and Asher was the only one of his generation. Grandfather Thorne was eager for great-grandchildren and pressured me many times. But if Asher wasn’t willing, there was nothing I could do. Finally, in our fifth year of marriage, Grandfather Thorne completely lost his patience. Without my knowledge, he drugged Asher. Then he put Asher in my bed, locked the door, and trapped us inside. That night is still vivid in my memory. The pain. It was excruciating. Driven by the drug, his eyes were glazed over, his body acting purely on instinct. But he had no experience, and his movements were rough. I felt a tearing pain, and tears streamed down my face. As dawn approached, I couldn’t bear it anymore and passed out. The next afternoon, I was awakened by the sound of things being smashed. 3 Asher was in a terrible rage. He smashed my phone, shattered the flat-screen TV on the wall, and tables and chairs crashed to the floor. When he saw me awake, he walked over to me, holding a mirror. The mirror reflected my image. I hadn’t even had time to put on clothes, my body covered in red marks and bruises. He pointed at my reflection in the mirror, his eyes filled with undisguised contempt. “You’re so dirty, so disgusting.” “I hate you.” “I never want to see you again.” That day, my body felt terrible; I stumbled when I walked. But when Asher had one of his episodes, he’d disappear. I had no choice but to go look for him. I didn’t bother eating, searching from noon until after midnight. I searched almost every place he usually went, until my calves trembled uncontrollably. But I still couldn’t find him. As I stood exhausted and desperate at the front door, gasping for breath, Asher finally returned at one in the morning. A girl stood beside him. She had a dimple when she smiled, and it was incredibly sweet. The girl looked up at him. “It’s my first time meeting someone with such similar interests as you.” Her voice was soft and admiring. “Meeting you was the greatest gain from this concert.” It was then I realized Asher had gone to a concert alone. His phone had died, and he couldn’t remember his way home, so the girl had brought him back. Asher walked very slowly; the way home was short, but he took a long time. They talked about music, about composers and performers I didn’t know. Asher had loved music since he was a child. He had studied under famous masters and opened his own studio after graduating, composing many renowned pieces. I stood silently by the front door, listening. They talked for thirty minutes, but Asher never noticed I was there. It was the butler who couldn’t bear it any longer and spoke up. “Master Asher, it’s very late. You should go to bed.” He paused, then added, “Mrs. Thorne has been waiting for you.” The girl looked over, pausing slightly, then asked Asher, “Is this your wife?” Asher’s face flushed with discomfort. After a moment of silence, he nodded. Then he immediately added: “Under duress.” “Don’t like her.” “Hate her.” In that moment, I stood rooted to the spot. A surge of shame inexplicably rose, making me feel utterly mortified. The girl’s name was Ivy. Ivy tugged on his sleeve, her eyes curving into a sweet smile. “It is getting late. We’ll see each other next time.” From that day on, my relationship with Asher plummeted back to freezing point. He refused to speak a single word to me. On his birthday, I gave him a new pair of over-ear headphones. I had heard the sound quality was excellent, and they had sold out many times, so I had specifically pre-ordered them six months in advance. But Asher simply took a lighter and, in front of me, burned the headphones into shattered pieces. “Don’t like you.” “Don’t like what you give me either.” “Trash. Don’t want it.” That birthday, he went out and spent it with Ivy. Ever since that first meeting, he and Ivy had kept in touch. Recently, Ivy had even interned at his studio. When he came home that evening, he was wearing a silver ring. It was a birthday gift from Ivy. I looked at the scattered remains of the headphones on the floor, an immense weariness rising from the depths of my heart. The next day, Grandfather Thorne suddenly called, asking me to come to his study. He wanted me to retrieve a document and give it to his secretary. But I remembered Asher had always forbidden me from entering his study. I hesitated. Grandfather Thorne urged me, saying the document was urgent and his secretary was already waiting at the door. After a moment’s thought, I went to retrieve the document. Before leaving, I restored everything in the study to its original state. But Asher still found out I had entered his study. His phone was linked to the study’s surveillance camera. He rushed back from his studio, his brow furrowed with irritation and gloom. “You can’t go in, you can’t!” His emotions, like an invisible storm, raged through the room. Because I had entered his study to retrieve a document, he even had the entire room thoroughly cleaned from top to bottom. I stared at him blankly, voicing the confusion in my heart. “Why can’t I go in?” During this time, Asher often invited Ivy to visit our home. They would discuss music in the study, spending the entire day there. Why could Ivy enter, but not me? “Also, I’m not dirty. Why did you have people clean the study?” His face grew even colder. “She’s different from you.” “She understands music. She’s a kindred spirit.” “You don’t. Going in just makes it dirty.” After all these years, I was accustomed to his terse expressions, and I instantly understood his meaning. When his emotions flared, I usually tried to calm him. But that day, knowing he was furious, I couldn’t bring myself to soothe him as usual. I closed my eyes. “Asher, speaking like that is truly hurtful.” At that moment, my blood sugar dropped, and I stumbled, taking a step back. But I was standing right in front of the study door. The door wasn’t closed, and that step backward inadvertently took me inside the study. Asher misinterpreted it as me challenging him. His eyes turned chilling, veins bulging on his forehead. He pointed at me and said many terrible things, which ultimately distilled into three sentences: “Get away from me!” “This is my home, not yours! Get out!” “Don’t ever appear in my house again!” These words weren’t new to me. When I first entered Sinclair Manor, my half-sisters had said the same thing. Back then, I’d quietly cried into my pillow, feeling utterly worthless. I thought, one day, I must have a home of my own, a home no one can ever kick me out of. After marrying Asher, I mistakenly believed this villa with him was my home. Although it couldn’t shield me from every storm, it was my refuge. But today, he screamed at me, telling me the house was in his name, his family paid for it, and this wasn’t my home. He told me to get out. Emotions surged, a sense of helplessness threatening to swallow me whole. I hung my head, calculating the days. It had been ten years since I met Asher at fifteen. At fifteen, thanks to our engagement, I had five years of comfortable living. At twenty, I married Asher and meticulously cared for him for five years. Five years for five years; I had repaid the Thorne family’s kindness. I was weary of this life. I wanted a divorce. 4 Once the thought of divorce took root, it grew like a seed bursting through soil, rapidly spiraling out of control. A week later, I met with Grandfather Thorne. I told him I wanted a divorce. Grandfather Thorne sat on the sofa in the old manor, tapping the table with his index finger. “Why?” he asked. I told him Asher had someone he liked. In front of her, he would rein in his temper, awkwardly trying to be agreeable. He would write songs for her, give her gifts, stubbornly trying to please her. With Ivy around, Asher’s mood would significantly improve. Whether objectively or subjectively, she was a better fit for Asher than I was. Grandfather Thorne listened, saying nothing. After a long silence, he cleared his throat and asked me seriously, “Aurora, do you know why I chose you as my grandson’s wife?” “Because I brought Asher a bandage?” I asked him. He shook his head. “No. I investigated you. I knew you were kind-hearted, and I knew your awkward status, how you were disliked at Sinclair Manor.” His gaze was steady. “You needed this engagement. With the engagement, your life would be much easier, out of respect for the Thorne family.” He paused, his voice softening slightly. “And precisely because of that, you would see Asher as a lifeline, grateful to him, tolerant of him, even indulgent.” He sighed. “When I learned you chose psychology as your major in college, I knew I hadn’t been wrong; you truly were that way.” He sighed again. “A child from Asher’s background, if he hadn’t fallen ill, would naturally be highly sought after. But he, unfortunately, developed this condition. I only have this one grandson, so naturally, I had to plan for him, to find him an absolutely loyal wife who would care for him for life.” He looked at me directly. “The Ivy you speak of, I don’t know what kind of girl she is. I don’t feel comfortable entrusting Asher to her.” He continued, laying bare his reasoning. “Aurora, you grew up in Sinclair Manor; you know what wealthy men are like. It’s not unusual for them to have one woman outside, let alone ten. Compared to them, Asher is inherently simple, not given to that kind of recklessness. He’s already quite good.” His gaze sharpened. “Besides, as long as I’m alive, no woman can challenge your position as his wife. What more could you be dissatisfied with?” I understood his meaning, but I no longer wanted to live a life with a fixed horizon, confined to caring for an autistic man. “Asher drove me away,” I told Grandfather Thorne earnestly. “Now, my presence only irritates him. Lately, his episodes have become more frequent too.” Hearing this, Grandfather Thorne’s expression gradually grew serious, and he began to reconsider my relationship with Asher. After a long while, he finally relented. “Aurora, let me think about the divorce. You should go home for now.” He added, “And Asher is your husband, after all. His opinion must also be sought in this matter.” I nodded, standing to leave. Asher would surely agree. He would probably be eager to sign the divorce papers. A gentle spring rain was falling today, and the wind outside was strong. As I left the old manor, I saw Asher. He stood by the partially open door, wearing a white shirt and holding an umbrella. A large puddle had formed at the tip of the umbrella. I wondered how long he had been standing there, and how much he had heard. The moment he saw me, his lips tightened, and his face turned pale. “You said you want to divorce me?”

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My husband replaced the child I bore after a difficult labor with my sister’s. He simply uttered, dismissively, “If her posthumous child were a boy, it would be easier for her in her in-laws’ family.” When my sister posted a photo of my husband and my child on social media, I merely typed a single question mark in the comments. My husband immediately called, his voice laced with blame, “It’s just a child swap, do you have to make everyone miserable?!” My mother thrust my sister’s baby against my chest, demanding, “How could you be so heartless? Not even feeding the child!” When I fully awoke, I asked for a divorce, and that’s when they panicked… 1 When Leander walked in, the baby was crying. I sat comfortably on the sofa, watching TV, paying no mind to the fuss, not rushing to greet him as I used to. He clicked off the television. “The baby is crying so loudly, why aren’t you doing anything?” I lazily lifted my gaze to him, a faint, unreadable smile playing on my lips, saying nothing. Just then, the nanny, hearing the baby’s cries, hurried over to soothe him. The house fell silent, leaving only the sound of our breathing. Perhaps unnerved by my stare, Leander faltered first. He stepped forward, putting an arm around my shoulder, and gently swayed me. “Still mad?” I subtly pulled away from his touch. Leander sighed, helplessly dangling the bag he held in front of me. “Here, your sister asked me to bring this to you. She still cares about you, her little sister.” “And what you did on social media last time, she didn’t even blame you. You should really apologize to her first.” My attention fell on the bag in Leander’s hand. It was clearly a bowl of leftover meat congee, with sticky green onions clinging to the outside of the plastic container. The stale, cold smell of it wafted up. His words left me momentarily bewildered, then a sharp, mocking realization dawned. “She’s holding my child in her arms, and my husband is sitting beside her.” “And just for adding a question mark, I have to apologize to her?” At my blunt retort, Leander’s face flushed with sudden anger. “Amelia, she’s your sister, and I’ve explained the reason to you countless times!” “If you had an ounce of compassion, you wouldn’t make such a big deal out of this and upset everyone!” I stared at him, unblinking, my voice hoarse. “That’s my child, the one I gave birth to.” Leander snapped, “That’s my bloodline! I can give it to whoever I want to raise!” How utterly absurd. I couldn’t help but laugh, though the tears streamed down my face even harder. That day, I had been alone in the hospital, enduring over ten hours of excruciating pain, to bring my child into the world. No one was by my side. When complications arose during labor, I even signed my own critical condition notice. My husband and my mother had been with my sister the entire time, never once appearing at my bedside. When I awoke after childbirth, the baby lying next to me wasn’t mine. He had swapped my child, offering only a flippant explanation: “If her posthumous child were a boy, it would be easier for her in her in-laws’ family.” The most ridiculous part was that I, the birth mother, saw my child for the first time in my sister’s social media post. And I wasn’t even allowed to ask a single question? The thought of my child made my eyes burn with unshed tears. Seeing my distress, Leander’s tone softened. He whispered consolingly, “Audrey just lost her husband. Her mother-in-law has been desperate for her to leave an heir for their family. Your sister is already pitiful enough. If you compete with her for the child, how much harder would her life be?” “Besides, you and Audrey are twins. What difference does it make whose child it is? And I’m not prejudiced against girls…” Just then, my phone screen flashed with a message. It was from Audrey. She had set that family photo, the one with my husband and child, as her profile picture. “Baby says he’s hungry, wants chicken soup.” She’d accompanied it with a playful emoji, then a photo of the baby. Less than two seconds later, she immediately recalled it. “Oops, sorry Amy, I looked at the wrong profile picture and sent it to you by mistake. You didn’t see it, did you?” 2 Leander and I, from dating to marriage, had always used matching couple profile pictures. So, the person she originally meant to send it to was none other than my husband? Seeing her profile picture of a family of three, it felt even more ironic. “Ding-dong!” Leander’s phone screen also lit up. He eagerly opened it, his eyes alight with a smile as he read the message. I subtly curved my lips, watching him walk straight into the kitchen, packing up all the chicken soup the nanny had prepared for me. The nanny stood by, wanting to speak, but seeing my lack of reaction, she didn’t interfere. Just before leaving, Leander seemed to suddenly remember me. He leaned down and placed a kiss on my forehead. “Amelia, darling… I have something urgent at the office. I need to go deal with it now.” He left without a backward glance. I grabbed a tissue and vigorously wiped my forehead. He didn’t have a habit of eating supper. It was truly pathetic that he could have just said he was going to Audrey, but instead chose to tell a flimsy, transparent lie to appease me. Twenty minutes later, Leander returned. He carried the chill of the night, snow still clinging to his overcoat. He poured out the now-cold chicken soup and offered it to me. “I don’t eat supper. You drink this chicken soup. Don’t prepare it for me in the future.” I looked at the layer of congealed fat floating on the soup and, right in front of Leander, I spat. Leander, who had been distracted, finally noticed the soup had congealed from the cold. He then abruptly poured the chicken soup into the trash can. “It’s cold, don’t eat it!” With that, he turned and walked into the bedroom. I watched his retreating back, forcing down the bitter ache in my heart, a mocking smile playing inexplicably on my lips. Of course, I knew why he was so out of sorts. Just before he returned, Audrey had updated her social media: “It’s not that I don’t want to see you, but with so many shackles on me, how could I dare?” The accompanying picture was of a snowy night, a man holding a bag, leaning against a car. That man was my husband, who had rushed out enthusiastically only to return dejected. In the past, if something like this happened, I would have gone crazy, weeping, throwing tantrums, threatening to hang myself to get Leander’s attention. But now, I was calmer than I ever thought possible. That night, I slept unusually soundly—until, in the dead of night, Leander’s liquor-laced arms slithered around my neck. His hand naturally slid under my clothes, and he mumbled, “Amy, we haven’t slept together in so long, you must miss me, right?” I slapped him. “I just finished my confinement period!” He paused, as if the alcohol was clearing from his head a little. “Can’t we? You had a natural birth; aren’t you supposed to recover quickly? Audrey had a C-section; she has a nasty scar. Why are you so delicate?” I was so angry I wanted to laugh. I had a difficult birth, a long incision below, and I was still bleeding, still trembling from the pain. And he called me delicate? I pushed him away, turned on the light, and stared at him. “I don’t like the way you smell. Let’s sleep in separate rooms.” Proud as he was, he naturally slammed the door and left. That was Audrey’s signature perfume; how could I not recognize it? Yet, I had been foolishly self-deceiving myself all this time, believing he loved me, believing his extraordinary care for Audrey was just him extending his love to my family. How intimate must they be for his body to carry her scent? During our recent struggle, a sharp pain shot through my lower body. I forced myself to move, enduring the agony, to the living room to find pain medication. Leander appeared behind me, I don’t know when. “Why are you bleeding so much?!” He immediately scooped me into his arms. “I’m taking you to the hospital.” I was startled, but too weak to struggle from the pain. I felt like I would faint at any moment. Leander drove incredibly fast. When we were still two kilometers from the hospital, Leander’s phone rang with an urgent chime. He answered, his face twisting dramatically. He slammed on the brakes, speaking into the phone. “Don’t cry! I’ll be right there!” The car screeched to a halt. He got out, opened the passenger door, and said, “Audrey’s in trouble. You go to the hospital by yourself first. I’ll pick you up later.” I was left abandoned on the road, alone in the dead of night. It was half past two in the morning, and snow was still falling. Just as I felt myself slipping into unconsciousness from the pain, someone took me to the hospital. By the time everything was handled and I returned home, dawn had already broken. “Why didn’t you answer your phone? Who is he? Why did he bring you back?” 3 Leander glared at Aaron beside me, his eyes practically spitting fire. I turned to Aaron and thanked him. “Thank you for bringing me back. I’ll treat you to dinner sometime.” Aaron smiled in response, then shot Leander a deep look before leaving. I had no desire to deal with Leander, but he relentlessly followed me. “Do you know how worried I was when you wouldn’t answer your phone and I couldn’t find you?! Your recklessness has its limits…” Before he could finish, I turned and looked at him. “My phone was in your car.” He had been too anxious to rush to Audrey, completely disregarding whether I had my phone or any money on me. “I left messages with the hospital security and front desk.” If he had truly bothered to look for me, he wouldn’t have failed to find me. Leander choked, speechless. I couldn’t be bothered to see his reaction, so I walked straight to my bed and lay down. A moment later, Leander entered the bedroom with my phone. His tone was softer. “What do you want for breakfast? I’ll cook for you.” After a sleepless night, I was too exhausted to think straight, so I mumbled, “Congee, I guess.” When I woke up, Leander walked eagerly towards me and took my hand. “Awake? Come, sit down. I’ll get you some congee.” But a long time passed, and he still hadn’t moved. I turned my head to see him distracted by his phone, walking towards me with the bowl of congee inattentively. While replying to a message, he bumped into the table, and the steaming congee spilled onto my hand. I let out a muffled groan, rolling up my sleeve to reveal the already blistering skin. Yet he was still frantically wiping his phone screen, terrified of missing a message. I glanced at the familiar profile picture on his screen, then got up to run cold water over my hand. Hearing the running water, Leander finally put his phone away. Seeing my hand, he panicked, grabbing my wrist. “It’s that bad? I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.” I pulled my hand back. “It’s fine,” I said flatly. Leander looked surprised. “Really fine?” I shook my head. “Mm-hmm.” In the past, I had always been delicate, often clinging to him, playing up even the smallest injury for his sympathy, wanting him to comfort me. But now, I no longer cared about him. His comfort meant nothing to me. Leander, however, was clearly nervous. “It doesn’t look good. I’ll go buy some medicine for you. Wait at home; I’ll be back soon.” But I simply pulled open the drawer, took out the medicine, and applied it myself. The baby was crying again, and the nanny was soothing him. I sat quietly on the sofa. Two hours passed. I completely erased the last flicker of hope I had, born of indignation. I had already expected this outcome, so why had I dared to hope he would care? Just then, the lock on the front door turned. It was my mother, whom I hadn’t seen in a long time. I forced a smile. “Mom, you’re here…” Before I could finish, she raised her hand and slapped me. 4 “The baby’s crying so desperately, how could you bear not to feed him? What kind of mother are you?!” I was about to speak when I saw Audrey and Leander behind my mother, and Audrey’s mother-in-law, Mrs. Thompson, holding the baby. Without thinking, I walked over, my gaze hungry for the child. “Baby, let me hold the baby.” Mrs. Thompson quickly stepped back. “Oh no, you can’t! My grandson shouldn’t be held by just anyone!” “I hear you’re still bleeding from childbirth. That’s bad luck, it’ll bring bad fortune to my grandson.” With that, she carried the baby around the house, looking around. “My, this villa is impressive, and a swimming pool too! Much better than our home was. My daughter-in-law is truly luckier than my son.” Audrey stepped forward, grabbing my hand, a smile on her face. “Amy, I said I wanted to hold a full moon party for the baby, and Leander and Mom both said to have it here. It’s spacious, it won’t bother you, will it?” “But, it’ll be perfect to celebrate with your baby at the same time.” I trembled with rage, about to speak, but Leander pulled me away. He gripped my scalded hand tightly, oblivious to the pain he caused, forcing a tight, insincere smile. “I just realized Audrey and Mom were coming over after I left the house, so I went to pick them up.” He then whispered in my ear, “Auntie Thompson is here, don’t say anything out of line.” At the same time, Mom walked up to me, her face displeased. “Amelia, if you mess things up for Audrey, don’t you dare call me your mother ever again!” My eyes filled with tears. “Mom, that’s my child. Can’t I even look at her?” Mom, I’m your child too. Why do you only love Audrey and not me? “Go back to your room and see your baby. She’s crying too loudly.” Mom ignored my words, only showing impatience. Mrs. Thompson muttered behind her, “Girls just don’t have good fortune. Her crying is so grating, like she’s calling spirits. Boys are so much better.” On the day of the full moon party, many relatives from our hometown arrived. I barely recognized any of them and couldn’t be bothered to greet them. All I wanted was to catch a few more glimpses of my child. But Mrs. Thompson kept the baby tightly guarded, unwilling to let me even approach. Mom shoved the baby that wasn’t mine into my arms. The child suckled forcefully, but I felt not a shred of maternal affection. Instead, a chill spread through me, pushing me to the brink of collapse. No matter how much I begged, she refused to let Audrey return my child. Leander and Audrey welcomed guests downstairs, acting like a loving couple. When Leander’s colleagues came in, they repeatedly called Audrey “sister-in-law.” Leander awkwardly cleared his throat, but didn’t object. I stood behind them, watching coldly. He sensed my gaze and froze. But Audrey, swaying her hips, walked up to me, covering her mouth and laughing at Leander. “He actually mistook me for Amelia! Leander, do you often mistake me for my sister?” Soon, only a few close friends remained at the party, urging each other to play Truth or Dare. I was pulled to sit down with them. The bottle landed on Audrey. Everyone egged her on, and she, with an implied smirk, said, “I choose Truth.” “What makes you feel happiest right now?” Audrey glanced at Leander and smiled. “Having the person who loves me and the person I love both by my side.” Then it was my turn. Audrey chose for me. “Our Amy has never had any secrets since she was little, so it has to be Dare!” Everyone cheered. Audrey then sighed. “Seeing Amy and Leander reminds me of how they just got married, but now…” Then she let out a little giggle. “Never mind. How about Amy’s dare is to reenact what happened when she was my bridesmaid at my wedding?” I clenched my fists, seeing the cruel amusement in her eyes. When Audrey got married, I was her bridesmaid and they threw me into the swimming pool. When I was pulled out, my makeup was completely smeared, my hair plastered to my face. I looked awful. Even now, I didn’t want to recall it, yet they constantly brought it up as a funny story. Leander, lost in Audrey’s face, chimed in, “Today’s a happy day, a little reenactment won’t hurt.” His friends, already tipsy, paid no mind to my struggles and lifted me, chanting, “Into the water! Into the water!” “Splash!” I was thrown into the pool. The biting cold enveloped me. I choked on a mouthful of water, struggling frantically like a dog being toyed with. Everyone on the shore laughed. Leander stood beside Audrey, watching her laugh. I struggled to swim to the edge. Audrey, covering her mouth, giggled. “Amy didn’t get out of the water that fast back then. No, that won’t do, we have to do it again.” With that, the group threw me back into the water. Again, peals of laughter. I refused to give up, still swimming hard to the edge. Audrey walked to me, pretending to pull me out, but then stumbled and fell into the pool herself. Leander immediately jumped into the water, pulled Audrey out, and looked at me with an expression that could have killed. Then he brutally pushed my head underwater. “How could you be so vicious? It was just a joke, and you actually pulled her into the water!” He was like a madman, pushing my head underwater again and again… I choked on water, slowly suffocating. I had no strength left to struggle, and my grip on him loosened. I slowly sank, blood now pooling beneath me, I don’t know when it started. Only when the pool turned a distinct red did someone finally gasp, “My God, she’s bleeding! Stop it!”

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My brother, Liam, was my target. All I needed was for him to spend one birthday with me before I turned eighteen. Just one, and the mission would be complete. But Liam hated me. He hated me for being born, for supposedly killing our parents. More than once, his words had cut me to the bone: “Olivia, why wasn’t it you who died that day?” I never dared to hope he’d celebrate with me. Until today, my eighteenth birthday. My last chance. Gathering every shred of courage, I dialed his number, my heart a trembling bird. “Liam,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, “please, could you spend just one birthday with me? Just one? Otherwise… I’ll die.” His voice, when it came, was laced with venom, utterly devoid of care: “Then die. And be quick about it.” The line went dead. A desolate, bitter laugh escaped my lips. Alright, Liam. As you wish. … That night. Liam, who had been celebrating his adopted sister’s birthday, was called back. It was he who performed the autopsy on my body. 1 “Host, this is your last chance.” “If your brother, he still won’t…” The System’s voice trailed off. I knew it couldn’t bring itself to finish the sentence. It had been with me since birth, a constant companion for eighteen years. Even a cold machine could develop feelings. Yet my own brother, my only blood relative, hated me with such intensity. I pressed my lips together, gathering my courage, and dialed Liam’s number. But it was Chloe’s cheerful voice that answered. “Olivia? Is everything alright?” My heart clenched. Chloe. Liam’s… adopted sister from the orphanage. But in his eyes, she was the true sister, wasn’t she? Swallowing the bitter tang of jealousy, I asked, my voice hoarse, “Is Liam there?” Chloe’s voice vibrated with excitement. “He’s about to set off fireworks for me! It’s my birthday today!” I froze. Even though this wasn’t the first time Liam had celebrated Chloe’s birthday, my heart still gave an inevitable, painful twist. 2 Liam had adopted Chloe on my seventh birthday. From that day on, my birthday became hers. Every year since, he’d take her out to celebrate, leaving me behind. I never dared to ask him to stay, let alone to celebrate with me. I slowly raised my head, watching the clock hand sweep across the wall. My time was running out. “Put Liam on the phone.” Chloe’s innocent tone barely concealed her smug pride. “What do you want Liam for? He pulled half a month of all-nighters just to get three days off to celebrate my birthday!” I bowed my head, the bitterness in my heart deepening. Liam was willing to spend three days celebrating with Chloe. Would he agree to spare three minutes? Three minutes to share a slice of cake with me? “Chloe, who is it?” Liam’s voice cut through my thoughts. “It’s… it’s Olivia.” A rustle, then the phone was in Liam’s hand. “Hello?” Fear and tension choked me. For a moment, I couldn’t speak. Until Liam’s impatient voice cut in, “If you’re not going to talk, I’m hanging up.” “No—” I blurted out, my voice raw. Swallowing hard, I pleaded, my words barely a whisper, “Liam, could you… could you spend one birthday with me? Just this once?” My heart hammered in my chest, a frantic drum of hope and dread. After a long moment, Liam spoke. His tone was like ice, freshly forged and sharp. “How dare you even think of celebrating your birthday?” My heart instantly froze. All these years, I’d grown accustomed to his coldness. But now, facing imminent death, my eyes welled up, blurring my vision. I choked back a sob, begging, “Just this once, Liam, please, I’m begging you, just this one time, will you celebrate with me?” In my panic, to add weight to my plea, I blurted out the System’s existence. “Otherwise… the System, the System will erase me. I’ll really die, Liam.” 3 The sound of my own ragged breathing and pounding heart filled the silent room, shockingly loud. I clutched my phone, waiting for Liam’s verdict. It might have been only a second, but it stretched into an eternity. Finally. His voice, cold, hateful, and utterly indifferent, came through. “Then die. And be quick about it. You killed Mom and Dad. Your death would be a fair repayment.” I froze. Every single one of Liam’s words was a gleaming, sharp blade, stabbing my heart, again and again. Tears streamed down my face, uncontrollable. I’d known it, deep down. I should have known I didn’t deserve a birthday. But still, a sliver of hope had clung to me. After all, we were the only two people in the world bound by blood. We were supposed to be siblings, relying on each other. But my brother… he still wished for nothing more than for me to die. Fine. Truth be told, I didn’t really want to live either. 4 A barely audible sigh echoed in my mind. “Host, do you… want to try one last time? Go find Liam, even if he just stays with you for a minute. I’ll petition headquarters; it’ll count as him spending your birthday with you.” I forced a bitter smile, thanking the System for its kindness. “No need.” What would be the point? To be so utterly despised by my closest, my only relative? What was the meaning of living on? I’d known since childhood that Liam hated me. The System had told me everything: how Mom had suffered complications during my birth; I was supposed to die. But she hadn’t wanted me to, she’d fought with all her might to bring me into the world, trading her life for mine. That very night, Dad, distraught over Mom’s death, had been in a car accident. And so, from the moment I was born, I carried the guilt of having killed both our parents. Liam’s hatred for me was boundless. But Liam. I lost Mom and Dad too. Just like you. 5 The clock struck eleven. I snapped back to reality, wiping away my tears. Gently, I untied the pretty ribbon on the cake box and lifted the transparent lid. The sweet scent of cream filled my nostrils. Before I died, I wanted to taste a birthday cake. After all, I’d never had one before. And I wouldn’t get another chance. I took out the ‘18’ birthday candles and carefully placed them on the cake. Then, I pulled a lighter from the drawer. The wind outside blew in through the open window; I tried a few times, but the candles wouldn’t light. I stood up, walked to the balcony, and prepared to close the window. Just then, a spectacular firework burst forth in the inky night sky. A cascade of light rained down. So beautiful. I stood by the window, letting the night wind whip through my oversized, thin dress, and seep into my hollow, desolate heart. One firework after another soared, trailing silver tails, erupting into a million glittering stars in the sky. Sixteen in total. Chloe was sixteen this year. As the last embers faded, a drone formation slowly ascended, spelling out eight words: “Happy Birthday, My Sister.” The wind was so strong, it stung my eyes. How wonderful. Chloe, cherished by her brother. How truly fortunate. 6 The wind howled in my ears. I took a step forward. This lifetime, I had never known love. Next lifetime— Never mind. Let there be no next lifetime. 7 I took another step. My body leaned out over the railing. Then, without a moment’s hesitation, I plunged forward, falling straight down. Liam. Goodbye. 8 The height of the fall meant my death was gruesomely stark. My soul floated in mid-air. Even I, seeing myself, found the sight unbearable. My face was a mangled ruin, joints dislocated, skin and bone separated. I was like a dirty, broken, unwanted rag doll. Thankfully, it was late, and few pedestrians were out. Someone must have called the police. The wail of sirens grew louder, approaching rapidly. I looked up. Lights flickered on in surrounding apartments, and curious faces peered from windows. “Host, it wasn’t time yet,” the System whispered, its tone tinged with regret. I knew what it meant; it wasn’t yet midnight. “It doesn’t matter,” I murmured. “Half an hour wouldn’t have made a difference anyway.” “But I detect your brother’s car heading this way,” the System continued. “Perhaps he’s coming back to celebrate your birthday.” Really? I looked at my pathetic, lifeless body, cordoned off by yellow tape. All I could think was: Liam will be happy I’m dead, won’t he? Investigators were still documenting the scene. Sure enough, Liam’s car drove through the complex gates. “Host, your brother really did come back,” the System said, sounding genuinely mournful. “If you hadn’t jumped early, you could have completed your mission.” My heart, however, felt little stirred. Perhaps after death, emotions simply faded away. My soul drifted uncontrollably towards Liam. He stepped out of his car, Chloe close behind him. She was on tiptoes, craning her neck, eager to see the scene. Liam gently pressed her head into his chest, his voice filled with a tenderness I had never once heard directed at me: “Don’t look, Chloe. It’ll scare you.” 9 Chloe nodded obediently, then nestled closer in Liam’s arms, whining playfully, “But Liam—you promised to stay with me past midnight!” Liam’s expression softened into one of pure indulgence. He stroked Chloe’s hair, comforting her. “Be a good girl, Chloe. Liam will be back to celebrate with you as soon as he’s done.” Chloe pouted, grumbling unhappily, “It’s all because of that person who jumped! Why couldn’t they jump earlier or later? Why now?” Hearing her, Liam lightly tapped Chloe’s head. “Chloe, show respect for the deceased. As a medical examiner, it’s my duty to perform autopsies and assist with investigations.” So that was it. Liam had only been called back to dissect my body. Not to celebrate my birthday. It was fine. Truly. I hadn’t held out any hope. Chloe shook Liam’s arm, muttering, her head still buried against him, “I know, I know. I just want you to spend more time with me, Liam!” Liam’s expression was one of helpless affection as he gently squeezed her cheek. Floating there, watching the scene of deep sibling affection unfold before me, I felt a pang of envy. I had never once acted childish or affectionate with Liam. And he had never once been so gentle with me. Between us, there had only ever been his raging hatred and my careful, timid existence.

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I placed a Charm of Devotion upon the General, making his world revolve solely around me. But the charm’s power was fleeting, lasting but a single day. Each time it faded, he seethed with a murderous rage. Later, I was captured by the enemy and bound to the city walls. Fearing I would cast my charm, he didn’t wait for their demands. An arrow flew from his bow, straight into my heart. As I watched the blood trickle down the shaft of his arrow, a rare smile touched my lips. “System,” I whispered, “is it time for me to go?” 【Tallying rewards. Estimated completion: ten days.】 I sighed. “Ten more days…” 1 There was barely a breath left in me as I hung from the city wall. The staff, the brand, the whip—all the agonies Marcus suffered in the last life, I endured in this one for him. On the verge of death, I saw him below. A flicker of joy sparked in my heart. So, even when it was me on the wall, he still came. I summoned every ounce of my remaining strength, my lips parting, wanting to shout to him, to tell him to ignore me, to save himself. But before a sound could escape, the arrow left his bow without a moment’s hesitation. It was a perfect shot, not a hair’s breadth off. Right in the heart. He wanted me dead. The smoke of battle billowed and the war drums thundered, but my world fell silent. A void opened in my chest, blood pouring out, yet I felt no pain. He cradled my broken body, a tenderness in his eyes I had never seen before. “I could not risk the soldiers and the people behind me. I would have done the same for anyone. I had no choice. Elara, in this life, I owe you.” I laughed. He probably didn’t even realize it himself, but what he owed me was far more than just this one life. Once, in the same scene, facing the same impossible choice, he had thrown down his weapons, dismissed his army, and walked into the city alone to be tortured to death. But that was because the person hanging on the wall was Livia, not me. It wasn’t that he had no choice. It was that I was not his choice. “System, the mission is complete, isn’t it? I can leave now.” 【Affirmative… Please wait for the System to complete its tally. Estimated time: ten days.】 “An arrow is sticking out of my heart, and I have to live for ten more days?” The System was uncharacteristically silent. “What’s wrong?” 【Host, you could choose not to leave. The mission is successful. You can choose to stay here, to not return to the Wastes.】 I smiled, but my voice was inexplicably bitter. “Here? This place is worse than the Wastes.” Yes, Marcus had lived past his twenty-seventh year. My mission was a success. I could return to my own world, and I, too, could live past my own twenty-seventh year… I wanted to go back. I wanted to go back right now. After a long pause, the System finally spoke. 【Understood, Host. I guarantee that for these ten days, you will feel no pain or suffering. You can live healthily, happily, and bid a proper farewell to this world.】 This was the System’s final gift to me. It wanted this broken woman, with an arrow in her heart, to live well for ten more days. 2 I had never truly lived well. This was already my second attempt at saving Marcus. I was transported from the Wastes, my mission to ensure the great general, who was fated to die young, survived past the age of twenty-seven. Once he passed his twenty-seventh birthday, I could return to my own world with a lifetime supply of food. Starving to the point of death, I had accepted without hesitation. The System told me that starting from the age of twenty-three, Marcus faced a death curse every year. So, I traded one of my eyes to the System for the Charm of Devotion. Though I lost sight in one eye, whenever I invoked the charm, his world would narrow to only me. He would do anything I said. On the day of his fated death, I just had to keep him from going anywhere, and the mission would be complete. So, in four years, I used the charm five times. He called me a sorceress, a witch who bewitched and controlled him. But every time I chanted the spell, it was to keep him alive. What I didn’t know was that the charm could fail. That day, he had rushed to the city walls without a care in the world. Because hanging on that wall was the moonlight of his youth, Livia. To save her, he entered the city alone, was tortured, and died. My mission failed. We were both reborn on the day we first met. The System’s rule was that upon mission restart, skills were nullified, but traded items were not returned. So this time, I traded my sense of smell for the charm once more. Everything that followed unfolded just as it had before. Except the one captured by the enemy and hung on the wall was me. I finally understood. Marcus’s fated doom wasn’t a series of accidents. It was always Livia. 3 When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in Marcus’s room. In four years of marriage, I had never once set foot in here. The sound of a woman’s weeping came from the doorway. “If I had known this would happen, I would never have let Lady Elara fetch the medicine for me. That day, she was craving the berry tarts I make, and I spent the whole day in the kitchen.” “If only I had gone myself, then my lady wouldn’t have…” “Don’t say that. It’s not your fault.” Marcus’s voice was cold, but the tone was uncharacteristically gentle. “It is my fault. I am the daughter of a disgraced official. My life is worthless. It should have been me who died…” “Nonsense! “Don’t you dare speak of yourself that way!” I had heard enough. I pushed the door open. “My… my lady… You’re not…” Livia, her face a canvas of tears, was nestled against my husband’s chest. She stared at me, utterly shocked. Marcus seemed just as surprised, frozen in place. So, this was the scene that played out while I was dying. The System had promised the wound wouldn’t hurt. Why, then, did my heart still twist in agony? I walked past them and called out, “Anna.” The young maid scrambled in, looking as if she’d seen a ghost. But her face held a joy that was starkly absent from the other two. “I’d like some tea.” I don’t know what possessed Marcus, but he suddenly grabbed my arm. “You’re not dead? Your wound…” I slapped his hand away. “That’s right. Much to your disappointment, I didn’t die.” His chest was still smudged with the powder from Livia’s makeup. The sight of it nauseated me, and I took a step back. But the man who usually wouldn’t deign to touch me suddenly gripped my wrist in a vice. “I was worried about you. Why must you be so hostile?” I struggled, wanting nothing more than to be free of his touch. “My lady, you misunderstand. The General and I… it’s nothing. I was just worried about you, that’s all… Please don’t quarrel with the General because of me.” “You think too much, Lady Livia. I am simply thirsty,” I cut her off. She was about to say more, but Marcus waved his hand. He swept me up into his arms and carried me straight to the bed. The moment he set me down, he began untying my clothes without a word. “What are you doing!” “Don’t move! I need to see the wound.” In the middle of our struggle, we heard a thud from outside. “Lady Livia! Lady Livia, what’s wrong?” Marcus’s body tensed instantly, his head snapping back in alarm. “I’m fine. The General should go and see. Lady Livia is frail.” I used to be consumed with jealousy over Livia. Now, this show of understanding surprised Marcus. He awkwardly patted my head. “Don’t be angry. I’ll call for the physician to check on you.” I smiled and nodded. The second he closed the door, I grabbed the nearby curtain and vigorously wiped the spot on my hair where he had touched me. 4 “The physician said her wound is almost healed, she’s perfectly fine. She’s just pretending to be gravely injured to make the General feel guilty and dote on her more.” “A self-inflicted wound. I heard she went to that den of thieves on her own. It was probably all a deliberate act.” “But she almost died!” “What do you know? It’s all an act. She’s fine.” “You haven’t heard the rumors. What good could come to a woman in an enemy camp? The General is just too kind. It’s a miracle he didn’t just gift her a silken rope to hang herself.” Because of Marcus’s attitude towards me, the servants in the General’s manor never treated me with respect. I was outside getting some air while Anna brought me my favorite fruit. Just as Marcus walked in, the fruit “accidentally” slipped from my hand and hit the gossiping old woman. He picked it up and dismissed the servants. “Why are you still so ill-tempered?” I didn’t answer, merely complaining to Anna that the fruit here was terribly sour. He walked over to me, took out a jade bracelet, and slipped it onto my wrist without asking. “This bracelet is of the finest quality, soaked in the best perfumes. The fragrance is exquisite. It suits you.” I looked up at him. In the depths of his dark eyes, there was a flicker of hope. If this were before, my eyes would have reddened with joy. But now, this fragrance, my nose couldn’t smell it. And this blind eye of mine could no longer turn red. I slid the bracelet off. “I don’t care for such things. The General should give it to Lady Livia.” He frowned. I braced myself for a tirade, but instead, he just clenched his jaw. “Very well. I will find something else you like.” I knew. That arrow at the city gate. He felt guilty. That’s why he was acting like this.

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I was Eleanor Whitmore, the trueborn daughter of the Duke of Kensington. But when my grandmother fell gravely ill, I willingly retreated to a convent, dedicating three years of prayer and solitude to her recovery. When I finally returned to the grandeur of Kensington Manor, I found that my brother, Alexander, the one who had always cherished me, had a new focus for his affection: Lila, a girl my mother had taken in as her ward. He had thrown a lavish coming-of-age ball in her honor, a spectacle where he declared to all of high society that she was the true daughter of the Duke, and I was merely the adopted one. He even promised her the engagement my mother had arranged for me, his words a venomous whisper: “Look at you, Eleanor. You’re a disgrace, utterly uncivilized. How could someone so coarse ever be worthy of the young Lord Ashton?” In my last life, my weakness was my undoing. I let them break me, let Alexander and Lila torture me until my last breath. But this is not that life. I have been born again, and this time, I will not yield. With a heart of ice, I marched toward Lila, who stood resplendent in a gown of sapphire silk—the very gown my mother had sewn by hand for my debut. I grabbed the delicate fabric and, with a vicious tug, tore it from her body. “What do you think you are?” I snarled, my voice cutting through the stunned silence. “A little street rat, daring to put your hands on something that belongs to the daughter of this house?” 1 The ballroom fell silent. Every eye was on us. Alexander was the first to react. He shoved me aside, his face a mask of fury, and wrapped Lila in his arms, covering her with his own coat. “Eleanor, have you lost your mind?” he roared, his eyes blazing at me. “What are you doing?” He turned to the servants. “How can the House of Kensington have a daughter like this, attacking her own sister? Bring Lady Lila’s gown back to her at once!” I tossed the ruined silk to a trembling maid. “My sister, Alexander?” I asked, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “Lila is my sister? Tell me, does your conscience not ache when you speak such lies?” Lila clutched Alexander’s arm, her eyes welling with perfectly formed tears. “Alexander, please, don’t be angry with Eleanor for my sake,” she whispered, her voice a delicate tremor. “It’s just a dress. If she wants it, she can have it. After all… she went to the convent to pray for me. I owe her this much.” She paused, letting her words sink in, a masterpiece of manipulation. “If I hadn’t fallen so ill back then, it would have been my duty, as the Duke’s daughter, to go and pray for Grandmother. Mother was so moved by Eleanor’s filial piety that she adopted her. It’s only right that I show her some charity.” Her twisted narrative spread through the crowd like wildfire. The whispers began, sharp and cruel. “So, Eleanor is just the adopted one? No wonder she looks so plain.” “Utterly brazen for a charity case. You’d think she’d show some gratitude.” “Lady Lila is far too kind. A servant like that should be dismissed, not treated like a sister.” Alexander pointed a commanding finger at the maid holding the dress. “Bring that gown here.” Lila’s personal attendant, a stout woman named Mrs. Gable, snatched the dress and presented it to Alexander with a fawning smile. “My Lord, here it is. We must help Lady Lila change back immediately.” I moved so fast she didn’t see me coming. I seized her wrist and my hand cracked across her face in a slap that echoed through the hall. “You are a servant in this house,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “Who gave you the audacity to snatch something from my hands?” Mrs. Gable cradled her cheek, wailing. “Miss Eleanor! Lady Lila has always been the mistress of this house! She treats us with kindness! I’m an old woman, I’ve never been struck in my life! My Lord, you must defend me!” My eyes bored into hers. “You’ve served this family for years, woman. Open your eyes and think very carefully before you speak again. Who is the true lady of this house?” Her bravado vanished. She glanced at my face, then back at Alexander, stammering, “My… my Lord…” 2 Alexander’s expression flickered, but before he could speak, Lila tugged his sleeve. “Brother, today is a happy occasion. Let’s not ruin it over a silly dress. I can simply wear something else.” His anger flared anew. “Absolutely not! Mother designed this gown especially for your debut. It cannot be replaced. The royal decree will be arriving soon—Mother promised she would petition the King to have you named a Countess upon your coming of age!” I stared at the brother who had once doted on me. Everything changed the day Lila, a starving orphan, had collapsed before my mother’s carriage. Mother, ever compassionate, brought her home to be my companion and later adopted her as a ward. From that moment on, Alexander had eyes for only one sister: Lila. He praised her endlessly. Lila was gentle, obedient, and graceful, everything a lady should be. I was a tomboy, too wild, a disappointment. To please her, he orchestrated this grand lie, declaring her the trueborn heir at her debut ball. In my last life, that lie was my death sentence. I was scorned, beaten by my own brother’s command, and thrown into a damp, dark woodshed to “reflect” on my sins. While they feasted and celebrated Lila’s triumph, she crept into the shed and released a viper. By the time Alexander remembered me the next day, my body was already cold. This time, I met his furious gaze without flinching. “That gown was made for me, brother,” I said, my voice steady. “Mother stitched it with her own hands. How can you so blatantly favor Lila, passing off a crow as a phoenix? Do you have no fear of Mother’s wrath when she returns?” Mother had gone to the country estate to bring Grandmother home. A sudden storm had delayed them, causing them to miss my return from the convent—a return she had planned to welcome herself. I had come back alone, not wanting to trouble her. I never imagined I’d walk into this betrayal. Alexander had, of course, timed Lila’s ball perfectly to coincide with Mother’s absence. Lila clutched the gown to her chest, biting her lip. “Sister, I know you want this dress, but… it was a gift from Mother, a symbol of her love. I would give you anything else, but I cannot give you this. I fear it would break her heart.” A sneering voice cut in from the crowd. “Eleanor, have you no shame? They call you a ‘ward’ to be kind. In truth, you’re just a beggar the Duchess picked up off the street. You should be grateful they feed and clothe you, yet you act like a trueborn lady? Have you looked in a mirror? Do you really think you’re worthy of any of this?” I turned to see Penelope Reed, the illegitimate daughter of a high-ranking minister and Lila’s most ardent sycophant. Ever since she’d caught wind that Lila was the “true” Kensington heiress, she’d been stuck to her like a shadow, hoping to ride her coattails into prominence. A cold smile touched my lips. “A beggar, you say? And what are you, Penelope? The product of your father’s back-alley affair, a stain on his name not even worthy of being called a true bastard. If I were you, I wouldn’t dare show my face in public. The Reeds must have hides as thick as castle walls.” Penelope flushed crimson, utterly speechless. Mrs. Gable scurried to Lila’s side. “My Lady, we must hurry and redo your hair. The auspicious hour is almost upon us.” Alexander’s anger softened as he looked at Lila. “Bring the jewels I chose for her,” he commanded. A maid brought forward a velvet tray. Resting upon it was a piece that made my blood run cold: a delicate, golden circlet, studded with more than a dozen fiery sapphires. It was my grandmother’s. I remembered her teasing me as a child, her voice warm with love. “One day, my sweet Eleanor, this will be the centerpiece of your dowry. It was a gift from the Queen herself. It will be the first treasure everyone sees.” And now, Alexander had stolen it for Lila. 3 “That belongs to me,” I choked out. “Grandmother gave it to me. Alexander, how could you give it to someone else?” He ignored me, gently placing the circlet in Lila’s hair. Only then did he turn, his face a mask of cold dismissal. “What is this nonsense? Grandmother said it was for the truest granddaughter of the House of Kensington. That is Lila. Are you going to lie about this, too?” Lila smiled, a faint blush on her cheeks, her eyes dancing with triumph. “Sister, when you have your own debut, I promise I’ll give you a beautiful hairpin. But this… this was Grandmother’s most treasured possession, a gift from the Queen, meant for my wedding day. I’m afraid on this, I cannot yield.” It was the same in my last life. Every time we clashed, she would play the part of the magnanimous, long-suffering victim. It made Alexander pity her gentleness, admire her grace, and despise me all the more for my “crude” and “grasping” nature. My eyes burned with unshed tears. I lunged forward, pushing past the servants who tried to stop me, but Alexander’s hand shot out. The slap was a crack of thunder in the silent room. “How did our family produce someone so greedy, so shameless, so utterly devoid of dignity?” he spat, his face contorted with disgust. “Alexander, please,” I sobbed, the sting on my cheek a pale imitation of the pain in my heart. “I don’t care about anything else, but that was from Grandmother. Give it back to me.” He stepped closer, his voice laced with ice. “Are you going to continue with these lies? This tantrum? Guards! Take her away. Ten lashes with the riding crop. That should be enough to help her reflect on her station.” The guests whispered amongst themselves. “This adopted girl is truly shameless. Does she really think she’s a lady?” “I suppose if you play a role long enough, you start to believe it.” “If I were Lila, I’d have her thrown out on the street. What an embarrassment.” I stared at my brother, the man who had just condemned me to a whipping without a flicker of hesitation, and the last embers of love for him in my heart turned to ash. It was happening all over again. He would do anything to make Lila happy. “What’s all this? The ceremony hasn’t begun?” A smooth, masculine voice drifted from the doorway. Lord Alistair Ashton, the heir to the Viscount of Blackwood, stood there, a vision of aristocratic elegance. My fiancé. Or he was supposed to be. “Lila, my dear, your eyes are red. Who has been upsetting you?” he asked, striding toward her. He reached out as if to wipe a tear, then seemed to think better of it in public. Alexander pointed a trembling, accusatory finger at me. “It’s Eleanor! This wretched girl. She tried to steal Lila’s gown, then her circlet, all while insisting she’s the true daughter. I was just about to have her disciplined.” Alistair’s gaze fell upon me, cool and appraising. I clenched my fists. “Second sister,” he began, his tone dripping with condescension, “perhaps three years of pious austerity in the convent has made you… covetous of such beautiful things. It must be what’s compelling you to tell these fantastic tales. I never imagined the House of Kensington would harbor someone with such vulgar ambitions.” He turned back to Lila. “Your sister has a kind heart and doesn’t hold a grudge, but I do. If you continue to cause Lila distress, know that I, Alistair Ashton, will not be so forgiving.” I almost laughed. Vulgar ambitions? He, the heir of a crumbling house, was threatening me, the true daughter of a Duke? I saw the way Lila looked at him, her eyes soft with adoration. I knew from my past life that they were already secretly in love, their vows pledged in the shadows. Today was meant to be their triumph, the day they cemented her status as both the Kensington heiress and his future bride. I once believed that when my world came crashing down, he would be the one to save me. Instead, he had joined my tormentors, humiliating me before the world. That was a debt I would not forget. Alistair produced a small, exquisitely carved wooden box. “A gift, for you,” he said, his voice a low murmur meant only for Lila. She opened it, and the ladies nearby gasped. Inside lay a delicate silver locket, shaped like two entwined hearts. For an unmarried man to give such a gift was a public declaration of love. “My Lord, he truly adores you! A lover’s locket!” “The wedding can’t be far off now.”

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