Category: English

On my wedding day, my fiancée showed no regard for my dignity. In front of everyone, she laid out nine house rules that left me completely humiliated. Under the gaze of all those guests, I could only swallow my anger. Who knew that strictly adhering to these rules would lead to me being schemed against and killed? And on the third day of her vigil after my death, my wife, clutching my hefty insurance payout and vast fortune, couldn’t wait to remarry. Only later did I find out she’d had someone else in her heart all along. Those nine house rules were just a ploy to get their hands on my wealth. In a daze, I was back at the wedding day, faced once again with the moral blackmail of those nine house rules. But this time, I scoffed, then turned and married the bridesmaid. 01 “If you want to marry my sister, you have to follow our Shaw family’s nine house rules.” “Not following them means you’re disrespecting my sister!” The voice of my brother-in-law, Brandon, echoed in my ears. Coming to, I realized I had escaped the hell of excruciating pain from shattered bones. I was shocked to find myself back on this very day. In my past life, my wife’s nine house rules made me a laughingstock. I was guilt-tripped, becoming the prime sucker in their joint scheme. She’d dangled the marriage certificate as a condition, stringing me along. Until, at the wedding ceremony, I was completely ensnared by her nine house rules. One of them was— The wife can share all family assets with the husband and has the right to make decisions on the husband’s behalf. Not long after the wedding, I ended up in the hospital for a minor stomach issue. My entire fortune was swindled by my wife. Including the company’s finances, which she secretly transferred to her account in my name. To abide by these house rules, I was ridiculed by numerous business partners, and my company’s reputation plummeted. It wasn’t until my liquid assets were completely drained by her and my brother-in-law working together that I realized I’d been thoroughly conned. She frantically took out loans in my name to set Brandon up with properties. Because of this, I was saddled with billions in debt. Crushed by overwhelming pressure, I eventually jumped to my death from a building. I didn’t even get a gravestone. Under the watch of friends and family— My wife put on a show of mourning me for three days, only to spit viciously on my urn. And my brother-in-law, Brandon, even scattered my ashes for fun. 02 “Oh, Alex will definitely agree to follow these rules.” Before I could even react, my wife, Lily, was already smoothing things over for me. Lily Shaw said with a smile: “After all, he chased me for five years. What condition hasn’t he agreed to for me?” “He checked in on me every single day; my heart isn’t made of stone.” My brother-in-law scoffed, “I doubt it.” Then Brandon looked at me provocatively. Returning to this day, I suddenly understood. Lily wasn’t giving me an out, was she? Those two were clearly playing good cop, bad cop, forcing my hand! A dead silence fell, and I was once again surrounded by disdainful, contemptuous gazes. Just like in my previous life, I was utterly humiliated, trapped in a quagmire with no escape. Suddenly, the bridesmaid, Mia Lin, cautiously interjected, “Lily, no matter what, this is a bit too much.” “Aren’t these nine house rules a little too unfair to Mr. Chen?” My gaze shifted to Mia, and I couldn’t help but be startled. In that grand wedding hall, no one had dared to say a word against those grossly unfair nine house rules. Only Mia had mustered the courage to voice her dissent, only to be angrily shut down by my ungrateful self. Afterward, because of that one statement— She was brutally assaulted and humiliated by Brandon, had her hair pulled and face slapped by Lily, and was then cyberbullied online. I had been completely oblivious. Even now, I can still recall hearing her desperate cries for help from the next room on that day. But Lily had kept me outside the door, completely unaware that a girl was suffering such an insult at my wedding. So much so that later, when Lily cyberbullied her, branding her a homewrecker and a slut, she jumped from the rooftop of a 20-story building. Ending her life in its prime. No one ever knew that I insisted on marrying Lily Shaw to repay the girl who, when my family had fallen on hard times, had secretly funded my way through college. Only after Mia Lin’s death. Did I realize that she was the one who had given me aid back then, the secret crush I had longed for. Unfortunately, Lily had usurped her place, deceiving me for so many years. 03 Hearing Mia’s words, the siblings exchanged a look. The disgusting meaning in their eyes was unmistakable. I clenched my fists, rage and hatred boiling within me. This life, I absolutely would not let her, or myself, pay such a price as in the past. Seeing Brandon secretly signaling Lily, the tragedy of my past life was about to repeat itself. I immediately interrupted: “Lily’s right, I’ll definitely abide by these nine house rules.” “I’ve pursued Lily for so many years; everyone has witnessed my feelings for her.” At these words, the surrounding atmosphere relaxed. I secretly smirked: Heh, since my feelings for her are sincere and unwavering. Then if the wedding is canceled, it must be her fault. And it has to be a massive scandal. Today, I will ruin the reputations of the Shaw siblings! Looking at Lily’s smug face, I scoffed. You like scheming, don’t you? This life, I’ll give you a taste of your own medicine. Many of the wedding guests exchanged glances, their eyes filled with disdain and contempt. Anyone who had seen the nine house rules knew that if I really married Lily Shaw, I’d basically be her doormat. But what they didn’t know was—what kind of a huge drama was about to unfold today. As I gave them an out, the siblings’ plan succeeded, and their expressions brightened considerably. Mia Lin had escaped a terrible fate. This wedding, I was going to thoroughly expose Lily Shaw’s true colors. As for my dear brother-in-law, Brandon Shaw, I had no intention of letting him off the hook either. 04 With me smoothing things over, the atmosphere instantly became harmonious. Many of my good friends privately pulled at my sleeve, advising: “Are you crazy? Haven’t you simped for her enough? Now you want to be her grandson?!” “Don’t you know Lily Shaw is famously obsessed with spoiling her brother!” I smiled and reassured them. How could I not know? Having experienced the humiliation of my past life, I knew all too well. In my previous life, my financial power was completely controlled by Lily. She hide me, bought Brandon a house and a car, and even the compensation money after Brandon got into trouble was paid by me. Whenever I mentioned it, Lily would say dismissively: “He’s practically your brother now. What’s wrong with buying your brother a few things?” “Why are you, as a brother-in-law, so stingy?” But Brandon was truly capable of endless wrongdoing. After Lily married me, he had a backer and became increasingly lawless, causing bigger and bigger troubles. My entire family fortune was spent on Brandon alone. I, a CEO, couldn’t even afford to pay for meals when dining out for business. It was utterly humiliating. Yet I couldn’t break the agreement; the siblings’ intentions were truly malicious. A video of me agreeing to the nine house rules on the wedding day was maliciously recorded and circulated online for three days. Ostensibly to prove my love for my wife, Lily. In reality, it became the leverage the siblings used against me later. If I didn’t abide by the house rules, I would be constantly accused and insulted by netizens. My company’s sales would plummet due to a lack of credibility, and its reputation would be severely damaged. 05 Looking at the disappointed faces of my friends and family, I smiled and shook my head. This life, I did abide by the nine house rules, and they did record it and post it online as proof. But what if the wedding doesn’t happen, and I just happen to occupy the moral high ground? A smirk involuntarily touched my lips. Who wins or loses this round isn’t certain yet. This life, I will make you siblings lose everything and be despised by all. Seeing the wedding emcee take the stage, I smirked. It’s time. The words had barely left my lips when a heavily pregnant girl rushed onto the stage. She appeared suddenly from behind a screen. No one reacted in time. By the time they did, the girl had already snatched the microphone from the emcee. The host, flustered and confused, looked at me for a cue. I remained impassive, watching with amusement as she began to recount her tragic story. Lily and Brandon’s faces instantly turned deathly pale. “How did she get here?!” Brandon immediately rushed over, grabbing my collar, his face contorted with rage: “Get this bitch off the stage now!!” Lily’s expression was also very ugly: “Alex, are you just going to watch a stranger cause a scene at our wedding?” “This girl seems truly sincere; I’m afraid there really might be something to it,” I said, feigning difficulty. Watching their ugly expressions, I sneered inwardly. Of course, I was going to watch; after all, I was the one who brought her here. Brandon’s ex-girlfriend, a poor soul he had swindled out of money and taken advantage of. Just a little appetizer for the guests. There’s an even bigger surprise coming later. 06 “Damn it!” Seeing the girl lay out Brandon’s disgusting past misdeeds one by one, Brandon cursed but was helpless. I smirked triumphantly. He hadn’t forgotten that to use the nine house rules to control me— They had tampered with the wedding recording; it was being live-streamed to the entire internet. Meaning his so-called dark secrets were completely exposed to the public. For the moment, he couldn’t make a move. I opened my phone; sure enough, many netizens were furious: 【Damn, how can such a scumbag exist?!】 【Scammed her, used her, and then even got a bunch of thugs to assault her?! How can someone be this lawless?】 【Isn’t this an animal? Is this the so-called prestigious Shaw family?】 The girl was sincere and her story deeply tragic. The crowd’s emotions were instantly stirred. Seeing the guests looking at the Shaw siblings with increasingly ugly expressions, Lily, her face livid, immediately shouted: “Get her off the stage, now! This bitch is just slandering my brother!” I hadn’t even expected her to say more than a few words to defend Brandon. This idiot brought about his own destruction. The hot-tempered man snatched a wine bottle and violently hurled it at the frail, pregnant girl. Instantly, it caused public outrage: “Damn it! This animal! He’s trying to destroy the witness!” “He hit a nerve! It looks like what this girl said is all true!” I couldn’t react in time, only watching helplessly as the shattering wine bottle flew towards the girl. With that force, if it hit, it would undoubtedly be fatal or cause serious injury! Damn, miscalculated! I didn’t expect this idiot to lash out so desperately in public! My eyes were about to pop out of their sockets, while Brandon wore a smug, gloating smirk. As if he could already see the girl with her head bloodied. In a flash, Mia Lin tackled the girl to the ground, helping her dodge the blow. I breathed a sigh of relief. Indeed, no matter when, Mia was always that kind girl. At this moment, the wail of police sirens sounded from outside. Someone had called the cops. 07 Lily finally lost control of her expression; the sudden turn of events had disrupted all her plans. I saw Brandon’s face turn pale as he was about to flee. I immediately tripped him hard as he tried to run, and he face-planted spectacularly. He shattered his teeth, his face covered in blood. Lily, frustrated with his incompetence, slapped Brandon across the face: “Idiot! Hurry up and apologize to the young lady!” Then, forcing a smile, she turned: “Sorry, my brother is just hot-headed. His hand slipped just now.” “What the hell, does this woman take us for fools? Her expression changes faster than flipping a book!” Everyone present was an elite businessperson, and there were even many wealthy socialites. Brandon’s gloating face just now had been clearly seen by everyone. Someone even advised, “Mr. Liu, don’t go through with this marriage. I suspect this family is fraudulent.” My heart leaped with joy, but my face still wore a troubled expression. Watching the police arrive and take Brandon away, Lily immediately begged me: “Alex, you know, he’s my only brother. If he goes to jail, how will I, his sister, live?!” But any discerning person could see that Brandon had just attempted murder. If that bottle had connected, it would have been two lives lost. I looked at her pitiful, yet secretly scheming and vicious gaze. My memory flashed back to my previous life. Back then, controlled by public opinion, when the last of my family’s assets were squandered by Brandon, I finally let go of my last shred of dignity and pleaded with Lily: “Lily, our cars and houses have all been mortgaged. Give me a way out.” “Stop taking out loans in my name. I’m a person of some standing, after all.” “How do you think this makes me look to others?” Unexpectedly, that bitch sneered: “You deserve it. Who told you to be so incapable? You can’t even support me and Brandon after just a few short years.” “Useless! A spineless wimp like you didn’t deserve to marry me in the first place!” With that, her bright red high heels kicked me viciously in the abdomen, making me see black and my stomach cramp. The sharp heel even ground cruelly on my fingers: “Alright, don’t keep me from my beauty appointment. Get lost!” “Cry poor to me again, and I’ll post the video online!” 08 Brandon was eventually taken away by the police. As for how many years he’d get, that still required investigation. However, due to this incident, public attention was extremely high. He would undoubtedly have a very hard time in prison. Lily wasn’t flustered at all, still smugly threatening me. As if certain that I would do everything in my power to marry her. I looked at her confident face and couldn’t help but sneer. It was my mistake. I mistakenly believed she was the girl who had helped me back then. So I tried my utmost to please her, even debasing myself to suck up to her. Unexpectedly, by a strange twist of fate, I had been wrong about her all along. Which is why she was so confident now. Otherwise, the Shaw family, self-proclaimed high society but actually a fallen household— If they hadn’t married into my family, they probably wouldn’t even qualify to be noticed by the upper class. In my previous life, unaware of the truth, I probably would have exhausted myself trying to bail Brandon out. But this life— I couldn’t wait for these siblings to fall into hell, to experience the pain Mia and I suffered in our past lives. Looking at Lily’s unfazed, smug expression, I smirked. Still happy? Fool. Your turn is coming soon. 09 The wedding had become such a mess that it couldn’t proceed for the time being. Lily threw a fit: “If you don’t solve Brandon’s issue, don’t even think about marrying me today!” Mia, afraid I was in a difficult position, cautiously said, “Should I go talk to that girl?” Then Mia softly spoke well of me to Lily: “Lily, what Brandon did has already been exposed. In this situation, not even a miracle worker could get him out.” Her clear eyes looked at me with worry, a deep, hidden affection in them. Just like back then. I couldn’t help but feel a daze, mocking my own stupidity. It took a lifetime as the price to finally realize. Everything was explained. Only now did I understand the love in her eyes. If she didn’t like me, why would she have secretly funded me back then, helping me make a comeback? Facing two bastards who had bullied and oppressed her, she had mustered the courage to speak up for me. Unfortunately, she ended up paying such a tragic price. Remembering her desperate and sorrowful expression from my past life, I couldn’t help but clench my fists. Soon, Mia, soon. After I deal with Lily. This life, I will definitely make it up to you. 10 “I advise you to think of a way to get Brandon out right now.” “Otherwise, this wedding today, we might as well not have it.” Facing such a situation, she remained relentless and smug. She leaned close to my ear and said provocatively. I glanced at the time. It was time. Time to put an end to the tragedy of my past life. One second, Lily was still smugly waiting to see me rack my brains and look troubled for her. The next, her eyes bulged, and her face turned into a chaotic palette of colors. On the huge screen, a “spectacular” video was playing.

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I’d been secretly married to my CEO husband for six years, and for six years, he’d refused to let our son call him “Dad.” After he missed Leo’s birthday yet again, thanks to his personal assistant, Chloe, I finally pulled out the divorce papers. It was time for Leo and me to leave for good. The man who was always so composed lost control, storming into the office like a madman, demanding to know where I was going. But this time, Leo and I wouldn’t look back. 1 “Mr. Henderson, I’m heading overseas for further studies next month. Here’s my resignation.” My manager’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s so sudden. Are you sure, Olivia?” I offered the excuse I’d carefully rehearsed. “Leo’s father lives in Australia. I’m planning to take Leo there so our family can finally be together.” Mr. Henderson nodded, understanding. “Well, that makes sense. It’s been tough for you raising a child alone here; we all thought you were a single mom.” I managed a faint smile. I wasn’t before, but I was about to be. Stepping out of his office, I practically collided with Ethan Miller and Chloe Davis walking toward me. Ethan Miller was my boss, and the father of my son. Seven years ago, I was his personal assistant. One night, a drunken haze turned into a nightmare, and soon after, our son was on the way. This was our sixth year of secret marriage. And his sixth year of refusing to let Leo call him “Dad.” Ethan’s pace was deliberately slow, as if to accommodate the woman by his side. Chloe held a report in one hand and clutched the hem of Ethan’s suit jacket with the other, a sickeningly sweet display. As we brushed past each other, my heart gave a painful little lurch. I couldn’t help but speak. “Ethan…” He paused, his expression chilling. “Ms. Green.” His formal, detached tone was a clear warning, a reminder: This is the office. We are merely colleagues. I understood the unspoken message and pulled my scattered emotions back into myself. “Mr. Miller.” Ethan gave a noncommittal grunt and continued walking, as if I were a stranger on the street. A bitter laugh escaped me, and I swallowed the words about my resignation. It wouldn’t matter to him anyway. My phone screen lit up. It was a text from Leo’s smartwatch. [Mommy, is Daddy coming home for my birthday?] I froze, instinctively turning my head. I saw Ethan leaning in to talk to Chloe, his head bent close to hers. Someone passed by, and he instinctively pulled Chloe protectively into his arms, his eyes filled with an undeniable tenderness. Swallowing the bitter ache in my chest, I still sent Ethan a message. [It’s Leo’s birthday tonight. Are you free?] Across the hallway, I watched him pick up his phone. Less than three seconds later, he put it down, his expression unchanging. Staring at the chat screen, still devoid of a reply, I laughed, a sharp, self-deprecating sound. Olivia Green, haven’t you learned your lesson yet? What do you expect from a heart that was always cold? I shoved my phone back into my pocket, took a deep breath, and walked away. Ethan Miller, you’d be free very soon. 2 After leaving the office, I went straight to Leo’s preschool. The moment he saw me, Leo’s first words were, “Mommy, it’s my birthday today!” His second: “Mommy, will Daddy celebrate with me?” On the bustling street, my eyes instantly welled up. “Your daddy, he…” Before I could finish, my phone chimed. Ethan had finally replied. [Free. Coming home.] A surge of surprise and joy rushed through me. I practically shouted, “Don’t worry, Leo, Daddy’s coming home!” Leo clapped his hands, then threw himself into my arms, bouncing with excitement. In six years of marriage, this was the first time Ethan had ever agreed to celebrate Leo’s birthday. That evening, I cooked a table full of Leo’s favorite dishes, and he finished his homework early, eyes wide with anticipation. One hour, two hours, three hours… I sent text after text, each more hopeful than the last. But, as usual, there was no reply. Leo seemed to understand. He looked at me, his small voice filled with caution. “Mommy, is Daddy too busy?” A pang of pain hit my chest. I wanted to explain, to defend, but no words came out. Finally, all I could say was, “It’s okay. Mommy will always be with you.” Leo didn’t ask again. He quietly picked up his birthday hat. “Mommy, can you put it on me?” I nodded, reaching for it. But my eyes caught a glimpse of Chloe Davis’s latest Instagram story. [Such a perfect day. Loved every minute.] The accompanying photo was a gourmet meal from a high-end restaurant. Though her face wasn’t visible, I immediately noticed the wedding band peeking out from the corner of the frame. It was the ring I’d specifically chosen for our wedding. But he’d always worn it on his pinky finger, a deliberate choice, I knew, to avoid any suggestion of commitment. The irony burned. The ring meant to symbolize our marriage was his declaration of single status. On our son’s sixth birthday, he was having a candlelit dinner with his mistress at a fancy restaurant. All the bitterness within me transformed into a chilling calm. I ‘liked’ the photo, then put my phone down. I turned to Leo and placed the birthday hat on his head. “Happy birthday, Leo.” In the soft candlelight, Leo closed his eyes and pressed his hands together. “My birthday wish is to be with Mommy forever.” I picked up my phone and captured the moment. The thought of leaving, which had been a seedling in my mind, now fully blossomed into a towering tree. “Okay,” I said, my voice firm. “Mommy promises you that.” That night, neither of us mentioned Ethan again. It was as if our home had always only belonged to the two of us. After Leo fell asleep, I pulled the divorce papers from the drawer, already prepared. The last shred of doubt in my heart finally dissolved. At two in the morning, Ethan finally came home. When he saw the cake on the table, a flicker of regret, or perhaps just annoyance, crossed his face. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I forgot.” I found it laughable. All those messages, all those reminders on his phone. Had he truly not seen them? Or was the sweetness of his other life simply too intoxicating, making him forget everything else? I took out the divorce papers, turning to the last page, and handed them to him, forcing myself to sound composed. “Could you sign this, please…” Before I could finish, Ethan’s phone rang. Chloe’s slightly panicked voice drifted from the speaker. “Mr. Miller, I think the power’s out at my place. Could you come stay with me? I’m so scared.” Ethan instantly stood up, his eyes flashing with urgency. “Wait there. I’m on my way.” He hung up, then, without even glancing at the document, scribbled his signature. I stepped back, silently watching him leave. Ethan Miller, you will forever remember this. This home is the one you deliberately abandoned. 3 The next day, I went back to the office to hand over my work. Ethan approached me, offering a beautifully wrapped gift box. “This is for Leo’s birthday. I forgot to give it to him yesterday.” I paused, then took the gift and opened it. It was a small dog toy. Leo’s biggest fear was dogs. When he was five, Ethan took him to an amusement park. Midway through, he spotted a friend and let go of Leo’s hand. My young son got lost in the crowd. When we finally found him, he was huddled on the side of the road, trembling from fear of a stray dog. Since then, dogs had been Leo’s permanent nightmare. And the very person responsible for that trauma was now giving him a dog toy as a gift. I couldn’t tell if anger or disappointment was stronger. I casually put the box aside. “Thanks,” I said, my voice flat. Ethan looked at me strangely, then seemed to remember something. “Chloe’s apartment lost power, so I’m having her stay at the house.” “Don’t come to work today. Go back, pack some things, and take Leo to stay somewhere else for a couple of days.” His words, light as air, struck me like a heavy hammer. I stared at him in disbelief. “Are you saying you want to kick Leo and me out for Chloe Davis?” Ethan frowned. “Don’t put it like that. It’s just temporary.” “Since we agreed to keep our marriage a secret, of course, we need to avoid any suspicion in front of colleagues.” I smiled, a bitter, sarcastic twist of my lips. Just colleagues? Just avoiding suspicion? Or did he feel that Leo and I were simply inconvenient, a secret he preferred to keep hidden from the world as he pursued his new love? I didn’t want to look at him anymore. I sat back at my desk and resumed work. “Got it,” I said, my voice devoid of emotion. “I’ll pack our things as quickly as possible and take Leo. We won’t disturb you.” I was leaving anyway. A little sooner or later made no difference. Seeing me agree so readily, Ethan seemed taken aback. He opened his mouth, his tone unusually softened. “I’ll make it up to you both.” I didn’t look up, only remained silent. The damage was done. No amount of compensation could erase it. Back home, I packed our luggage and took Leo out. As I opened the door, I ran right into Ethan, who was returning with Chloe. He was effortlessly wheeling Chloe’s luggage with one hand, practically radiating ‘boyfriend of the year’ vibes. Our eyes met, and I distinctly saw a flicker of panic in his. Chloe let out a little gasp and asked, “Ms. Green, why are you at Mr. Miller’s house?” At her question, my first instinct was to pull Leo behind me, shielding him from her view. “I…” “They’re my relatives,” Ethan cut me off, his voice clipped, “just staying here temporarily.” His hand, gripping Chloe’s suitcase, tightened visibly. It wasn’t the first time. But each time I heard him deny us, my heart still twisted in pain. I was about to speak, but Leo beat me to it. “Hello, sir.” I spun around, disbelief warring with pain, only to see Leo’s eyes were slightly red-rimmed. “Mommy, let’s go.” All my words caught in my throat. I managed a strained smile and whispered, “Okay.” As we walked past him, Ethan grabbed my arm. 4 He stared at me, disbelief etched on his face. “Leo… what did he call me?” I smiled, a thin, cutting line. “Isn’t that what you always wanted, Mr. Miller?” For six years of our secret marriage, Ethan hadn’t just kept our relationship hidden. He had also actively refused to let Leo call him “Dad.” The only difference now was, then, he forced Leo to call him “Uncle.” Now, Leo was choosing to distance himself, to call him “Sir.” I lowered my eyes, tugging hard to free my arm, but his grip was unyielding. Ethan looked at me, his gaze complex. “Just give me a few days.” “I’ll explain it to Leo.” I reminded him, “Chloe’s waiting for you. Let go.” Ethan seemed to snap back to reality, reluctantly releasing my arm. I let out a dismissive snort, then took Leo’s hand and started to leave. But Ethan suddenly called out to us. “Wait.” He ran back to his car, pulled out a cake box, and handed it to me. “Happy birthday, Leo.” Chloe piped up at just the right moment, her voice sugary sweet. “Oh, Mr. Miller actually bought this cake for me, but it’s your son’s birthday, Ms. Green, so please don’t be offended!” The cake in my hands instantly felt like a thousand pounds. I was about to give it back, but then I saw the spark of surprise and anticipation in Leo’s eyes. My heart softened, and I hesitated. Leo, unaware of the adult war being waged around him, looked expectantly at Ethan. “Can you eat it with me?” Ethan hesitated for only a moment before agreeing. Leo cheered and ran into the living room, urging me to open the cake. I ruffled his hair and quickly cut slices. But the smile on my face froze the moment the cake touched Leo’s lips. “Spit it out! Don’t eat it!” I snatched the cake from Leo’s hand, almost frantically, my expression wild. Ethan’s face immediately darkened. “Olivia Green, are you out of your mind?” I looked up, my eyes burning. “Leo is allergic to mango, Ethan! Didn’t you know that?” At my words, Ethan’s face quickly filled with panic. “I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t know.” Sorry. From the moment Leo was born until now, I had heard that word countless times. Leo seemed to understand. He looked at Ethan, his expression blank, his eyes no longer holding any expectation. “It’s okay,” he whispered, burying his face in my embrace. “It’s normal that they don’t know.” He wouldn’t look at Ethan again. No longer hesitating, I picked Leo up and walked out. Even as I left the villa, I could still feel Ethan’s apologetic, panicked gaze on my back. But this time, Leo and I felt nothing. 5 Leaving the house, I went straight to the office and quickly cleared out my desk. I had planned to say a proper goodbye, but now, it seemed unnecessary. I placed the signed divorce papers on the table and let out a long breath. With our luggage, I took Leo to the airport. Before we boarded the plane, I asked Leo, “Will you be angry that Mommy’s taking you away?” He shook his head, pressing his cheek against mine. “I just want Mommy.” My tears finally broke free. All the pain transformed into a profound sense of release. I pulled out my phone and blocked Ethan’s number from every contact list. Ethan Miller, goodbye forever. The next day, Ethan arrived at the office on time. After what happened yesterday, he’d been restless, his mind unsettled. He clicked on his email, and a message with the subject line “Approved” popped up. “Resignation Request?”

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In the empty gym, I knelt on a yoga mat, my body posed in various ways by unseen, strong hands. It had been so long since I’d felt that kind of release, and in my mind, the deepest desires simmering within me were finally unleashed. Until, in my fantasy, one of them whispered into my ear, “Daisy, do you prefer it from the front or the back?” “Both… I like both…” My name is Daisy Miller, and I own a gym. To outsiders, I had it all. Graduating from a performing arts school, I was pretty and fit, and I married Mark, a beefy bodybuilder. Everyone must have imagined I lived a life of constant ecstasy. But the truth? That was a whole different story. Ever since Mark decided to enter the National Bodybuilding Championship two months ago, he hadn’t touched me once. No matter how much I flirted with him, even going as far as to pull down his pajama pants, the answer was always the same: “Haven’t I told you? I’m abstaining until after the competition.” “Not a single drop of protein can be wasted!” Watching Mark walk off to the guest room, clutching a pillow, a hollow ache settled in my chest. All that man cared about was lifting weights, hoarding his ‘premium protein’ to burn it all on gym equipment. He didn’t spare a thought for how long his wife had been craving intimacy. Didn’t he worry I’d stray? The next day, as I changed in the gym, I seethed internally. The fitness industry was cutthroat, and profits were slim. Luckily, Mark had a reputation in the bodybuilding world, drawing in plenty of clients. But there was a downside. Over time, our regular clientele became nothing but a bunch of muscleheads, with hardly any women around. I knew, deep down, that these gym bros stayed not just for Mark’s professional guidance, but more importantly, because they all wanted to sleep with me. While I despised the industry trend of using looks to retain clients, I found myself reluctantly bowing to reality. Every three days, I scheduled a “Spin-Cycle Special.” On Spin-Cycle days, every single member showed up. I’d change into a thong and low-rise yoga pants, dim the lights, crank up the DJ music to maximum hype, and lead the class from the front, wearing my headphones. As the movements grew more intense, I’d deliberately arch my back, raising my hips to expose a few inches of butt cleavage, swaying provocatively. In the floor-to-ceiling mirror at the front, I could clearly see the muscleheads staring, their eyes fixated on my ass and the distinct outline of my bikini line. Initially, every time I did this, I felt deeply embarrassed. The yoga pants were so thin and tight, it was practically like being nude. But somewhere along the line, this secret, audacious display began to fill me with a thrill I’d never known. Especially when those men, thinking I couldn’t hear them over my headphones, breathed heavily and mumbled lewd comments about my rear. It made my skin tingle, as if I was being zapped by electricity. “The boss lady’s waist… that big, white ass, she really knows how to move it…” “So round and firm, just makes you want to take a bite…” “If I were her husband, I’d keep her in bed all day!” Their filthy whispers made my face flush, a mix of shame and heightened pleasure. I twisted my hips harder, the movements growing wilder, revealing more… and more. Yes, just like men liked hearing women moan, I liked hearing men spout dirty talk. It made me feel incredibly good, incredibly aroused. Normally, after these unspoken “benefits” were over, we’d all hit the showers, change, and head home. But for some reason, after today’s spin class, seeing the longing, disappointed looks in those muscleheads’ eyes, my long-empty body urged me to keep provoking them. So I put down my bag, turned, and walked to the dumbbell rack. I spread my legs, arched my butt, bent forward, and gripped a barbell, once again showcasing my round backside to them. “Ma’am, that’s not the right posture… you’ll hurt your back…” Before I could even lift the barbell, a young, muscular man stepped forward. He placed a hand on my lower back and another on the inside of my thigh. So hard! That was my first sensation upon touching a man’s body again. I snuck a peek back. It was Alex Stone, a new member who’d joined two days ago. I hadn’t realized how powerfully built he was, and his body heat was scorching! “When doing deadlifts, you need to engage your back, glutes, and thighs…” Alex didn’t let go. He held my bare, slender waist and pressed close from behind, then reached down to pat my lower abdomen, thigh, and back, forcing my butt to arch even higher. “Hips up… yes… just like that… spread your legs a little wider…” As Alex guided me, he kept pressing his lower abdomen into my butt, occasionally brushing a sensitive spot. As an adult woman, I knew exactly what he was doing. And I also knew that my firm, elastic curves were clearly exciting him. This was the first time in two months I’d been this close to a man. So I didn’t stop him. Instead, I moved with his rhythm, slightly bending my knees, subtly swaying my hips, gently grinding against his lower abdomen. All I could think was, If I licked his abs, he’d probably be incredibly sensitive. With a body this strong, he must be amazing in bed. Finally, my body went limp, and I couldn’t hold the barbell any longer. It crashed to the floor with a “thud.” Only then did I realize I was completely surrounded by men. The one pressing against me from behind wasn’t even Alex anymore; it was an even taller, stronger musclehead. “You… you guys keep working out. I… I need to shower.” Finally, I couldn’t bear their ravenous gazes any longer. I bolted into the shower room like a thief and stripped off my clothes. The water poured down from the showerhead, splashing over my bare skin, but it couldn’t extinguish the fire raging within me. If… if I hadn’t run, they would have pounced, torn my clothes off. I trembled, goosebumps rising all over my skin. I would have been… overwhelmed, maybe even taken by several of them at once. My hands trembled on the wall, and I instinctively arched my back, hips thrust out. My mind raced with forbidden images of a man in front, one behind, gripping my hair, holding my waist… A forbidden shiver coursed through me, turning into a desperate excitement. I reached down, my fingers exploring—

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“Godmother, open wide.” The words barely registered. Tonight, I lay naked, clutching a pillow, my hips arched high, head thrown back in a submissive arch, sandwiched between two strong men. “Mmmph… I can’t… it’s too much… too much…” I was a widow. Since my husband passed, I’d poured my heart and soul into raising my son, Leo, hoping he’d make something of himself. But one ordinary night, things began to slide into a chasm beyond my control. That evening, I was woken by a full bladder and groggily made my way toward the bathroom. Yet, as I passed Leo’s room, I noticed his door was ajar, and faint, muffled sounds of gasping drifted out. So late, and Leo’s still awake? I crept closer, then froze. Through the crack, I saw him on his bed, pleasuring himself. A black lace thong was draped over his face. I bit down on my lip. Although I’d had my suspicions, seeing it laid bare sent a scorching flush through me. What made my breathing hitch even more was the screen of Leo’s phone, clutched in his other hand. At first, I assumed it was just one of his private videos. But when the faint, disturbingly familiar sounds from the speaker reached me, I realized it was a video of him in bed with a woman. And the woman pinned beneath him, clutching a pillow, thrusting her hips wildly to meet his rhythm, was none other than Leo’s godmother, Denise. Denise was my college friend, my closest confidante. Years ago, we’d both been pregnant around the same time and joked that if we had a boy and a girl, we’d tie our families together. If we had two boys or two girls, they’d become godchildren to the other. But I never in my wildest dreams imagined her taking her ‘godmother’ duties right to his bed! I couldn’t bear to watch another second. I hurried back to my room without even making it to the bathroom, my mind racing as I sat on my bed. My son was at the peak of his vitality; every time I washed his underwear, I found evidence of nocturnal emissions. It was natural for him to have needs. But why, why with Denise? My thoughts involuntarily drifted to my own godson, Alex. Every time he saw me, he’d hug me tight, kissing my cheek. He’d say he was giving me a massage, but his hands would invariably stray, roaming over me. I used to feel a little smug, thinking I still had my charm. Now, thinking back, he must have been interested in me all along. Especially when he’d ask during our ‘massages,’ “Godmother, did that feel good?” It was utterly mortifying. Just then, a soft knock came at my door. “Mom, are you asleep?” I glanced down at my lace nightgown. Two thin straps barely supported my pale, soft breasts, and the sheer skirt offered little coverage. I pulled a throw over my legs before telling him to come in. Leo, clad only in boxers, pushed the door open, his expression odd. I instinctively crossed my arms, shielding the parts my nightgown didn’t quite cover. “What is it, Leo?” “Tomorrow, I want Godmother and Alex to come visit.” I bit my lower lip. I hadn’t expected him to approach me about this in the middle of the night. I wasn’t ready to face Denise. Especially with my son so full of vigor – if they got carried away, should I just leave them to it? Denise usually seemed delicate and fragile, but she had a naturally alluring face, a waist like a serpent’s, breasts full and rounded, and buttocks firm and lush like peaches – the kind of figure that made men go wild. She was at an age of intense vitality, capable of draining even the strongest man dry. Wouldn’t such frequent activity affect Leo’s energy? But looking at his hopeful expression, I relented. The next evening, I tidied the house, welcoming Denise and Alex through the door. Alex was taller than Leo, well over six feet, and with his love for fitness and basketball, his physique was astonishingly well-built. As soon as he stepped inside, he swept me into a hug, unabashedly burying his face in my chest, rubbing against me. “Godmother, I missed you so much!” “Godmother, your breasts are so soft, so much bigger than my mom’s, and they smell incredible.” “Oh, stop it, you! What are you doing?” I flushed crimson. “You’re a grown man, still wanting milk?” “It’s not like I haven’t had them before, Godmother. Let me taste them again.” With that, Alex directly pulled down my neckline and began kissing and sucking at my chest, almost tearing my bra in the process. I tried to push him away, but he wouldn’t budge. Not until he’d sucked greedily a few times, satisfying his craving, did he finally let me go. “Godmother, you look truly beautiful today.” Perhaps it was the fire sparked within me by Leo and Denise’s secret, but I found myself strangely enjoying Alex’s awestruck gaze tonight. My choice of a form-fitting, low-cut short dress had certainly paid off. Denise, too, seemed to have dressed up. Though a widow, she wore a striking red dress, her alluring, upturned eyes radiating an intoxicating blend of innocence and brazen allure. She exuded the sensual air of a seasoned woman. There was no need to ask; my son must have been… nourishing her. I shot a resentful glare at Leo. That rascal, so much energy, but he shouldn’t squander it like that! Denise, unaware I knew their secret, openly settled beside Leo. They even shared a drink, their eyes locked in an almost inappropriate way, a sickly sweet gaze that stretched like taffy, her expression the shy demeanor of a new bride. Leo’s hand was under the table, and if I wasn’t mistaken, his hand was on Denise’s thigh, maybe even lower. Before long, Denise’s cheeks were flushed, soft whimpers escaped her lips, and she practically melted onto Leo’s lap. Though I couldn’t see what they were doing, the wet, sticky sounds she made—”gurgles and squishes”—were both utterly mortifying and incredibly arousing. That little hussy, was she… pleasuring him down there? My body felt hot, and a sense of urgency began to prickle. If Alex noticed, it would be over for me. Thankfully, Alex’s attention was fully on me; he hadn’t even glanced their way. “Godmother, I’ve learned a few new special pressure points. Let me give you a massage!” I didn’t dare stay in the living room. Taking his hand, I led him to the master bedroom and lay face down on the bed. To my surprise, when Alex placed his hands on my buttocks, I didn’t feel any discomfort. Perhaps it was the wine, or perhaps the countless suggestive interactions over the years had accustomed me to something like this inevitably happening. So not only did I not refuse, I even lifted my hips slightly to make it easier for him to pull down my dress. “Godmother, your backside is so beautiful.” My face was pressed into the pillow, my disheveled long hair falling, covering my face and, mercifully, my blush. But as Alex’s hands grew bolder, my legs began to tremble. A forbidden thrill, a rush of excitement from doing something wrong, spread through me. My butt cheeks involuntarily clenched, then relaxed, then clenched again. My unprecedented submission emboldened Alex further. As he unhooked my bra, he continued, “And your skin is so fair, like a cream cake.” Then, his warm breath suddenly ghosted over my lower back, and he gently bit my backside. His warm, moist tongue traced a path from my tailbone, up the curve of my waist and hip, all the way to my neck, and then to behind my ear. “Oh…” I shuddered. It tickled. It tickled so much. It was a tickle that went straight to my core, like an electric shock. I involuntarily arched my upper body, trembling uncontrollably. My period was still a week away, and this was when my desire was at its peak. I unconsciously curled my toes, biting down hard on my lower lip. I dared not open my mouth, straining every muscle in my body to fight the intense, aching numbness that reached my very core, terrified I would let out a shameless, wanton moan. Finally, when I regained my composure, I collapsed back onto the bed, breathing heavily. “Godmother has been so good to you, and this is how you treat her?” “It’s precisely because Godmother is so good to me that I can’t bear to see you widowed any longer.” Alex leaned down, biting my earlobe. “I’ll make you… feel like you’re flying…” Just then, the bedroom door suddenly opened. Leo, naked, carrying a flushed Denise in his arms, walked in and laid her down beside me. As if on cue, Alex abruptly pulled down my panties…

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I was pinching the small of my athletic younger brother’s back, trying to get a new sweater on him. His grunt coincided with my phone ringing. “It’s too small, I can’t get it on.” “No way! I bought it according to your measurements.” “It’s stuck! Easy, ouch, ouch, ouch.” “Okay, okay, I’m helping, aren’t I?” I gave it a good tug and cooed, “There you go, sweetie. All better now, let your big sis see.” “You sure?” Later, I heard that the boss took a mysterious call during a meeting, his face growing darker by the second. He didn’t say a word, just reamed out 28 department heads until they were teary-eyed. 1 My brother pointed at my phone. Only then did I realize I was on a call, the screen clearly displaying the name [Ethan Vance]. I picked up the phone, about to explain, but only heard the dial tone. He’d hung up. Not long after, a message came through: [If you’re recovered then get your ass back to work you’re not the CEO’s wife yet to be acting all high and mighty.] Two lines, no punctuation, which my brain automatically converted into his calm, cold tone. He must have heard me talking to my brother, full of energy, and figured I was recovered and just slacking off at home. Damn capitalist. I quickly replied: [Understood, Mr. Vance. I’ll be back tomorrow.] The “typing” indicator appeared on his end but nothing came through. He probably wanted to chew me out but held back. That mouth of his, never held back when he wanted to criticize someone. But I’d been with him for four years and this was my first time off, and it was sick leave. The next day, my colleague, Deb, saw me and immediately warned me to be careful. “He’s been in a foul mood. Yelled at all the VPs until they cried in yesterday’s meeting.” I timed it perfectly, made a cup of coffee, and knocked on his office door, bringing him the day’s schedule to review. “Mr. Vance, good morning. Here’s today’s agenda. “Two regular meetings during the day, and a dinner with the Sterling Group tonight.” He didn’t touch the coffee. His long fingers rested casually on the desk, his voice icy. “Have the new girl, Isabelle, join me for dinner tonight. You don’t need to go.” “Wh— Alright, Mr. Vance. I’ll let her know to prepare.” I swallowed my questions and quietly exited his office. He disliked subordinates questioning his decisions, and hated people prying even more. I smoothed over my irritation and walked over to Isabelle Reid. Upon hearing the news, Isabelle covered her mouth dramatically, her eyes glistening with tears. “Really, Sophia? I’m sorry, I’m just so excited…” Deb, never one to miss a chance to stir the pot, leaned in. “Isabelle, you’re really something. Only been filling in for a few days and you’re already aiming to take your mentor’s spot.” “Not at all! I still have so much to learn from Sophia. But Mr. Vance is so sweet, isn’t he?” Sweet? I turned my head and met Deb’s equally puzzled gaze. 2 I hired Isabelle a month ago, after my surgery date was confirmed. Although Deb offered to cover for me during my leave, I declined her kindness. I had my own plans. Four years ago, right after college, fate threw me at Ethan Vance’s side. Back then, he’d just left Vance Holdings to start his own company. In just four short years, he built it into an industry leader. I was by his side, benefiting from his success, but also living in his shadow. Now, everyone in the company respectfully called me Sophia, but only because I stood next to him. In reality, the doubts never ceased. Even in Ethan’s mind, I was just someone easily replaceable. Only by leaving him could I prove that I’d lasted this long by his side because of my own abilities. Besides, I’d heard when I first joined the company. He took one look at me and decided to hire me. All because I bore a resemblance to his old flame who lived abroad. I hadn’t quite believed it. Until the day Isabelle came for her interview. Ethan looked up, a flicker of recognition in his eyes, as if seeing an old acquaintance. Only then did I start to believe the rumors were true. Except this time, when people joked, they no longer mentioned that “one that got away.” “Isabelle looks a bit like Sophia, doesn’t she?” “Looks like Mr. Vance has a type.” Late at night, staring at a photo on my phone, I gradually understood. Isabelle didn’t just look like me; she looked even more like his old flame. The photo on my phone was a picture of a palm-sized photograph. One day, about a year ago, the cleaner found a photo in the trash after tidying the office and brought it to me. “Ms. Bell, Mr. Vance threw this photo in the bin. I don’t know if he still wants it.” “Give it to me, I’ll ask him.” I took the photo. Ethan had a boyish smile, looking about seventeen or eighteen. Next to him stood a girl, pretty, with a radiant smile. They stood together like a golden couple, exuding the same air of privilege, a perfect match. On a whim, I secretly took a picture of the photo with my phone. When I placed the original photo on Ethan’s desk to return it, he glanced at it. His outstretched hand paused mid-air, then retracted. “I threw it out.” “She got married.” I silently cursed myself for being nosy. “Then I’ll shred it before throwing it away, just to be safe.” “Forget it, give it to me.” My fingers had just touched the photo when his hand landed almost simultaneously on top of mine, covering the back of my hand. The moment he looked up, I pulled my hand back, my throat tight. “Okay, Mr. Vance.” The electric warmth that had coursed through me replayed in my mind. Ethan had surely forgotten it long ago. 3 After briefing Isabelle on the dinner etiquette and procedures, Deb pulled me aside. “The days you were out, she was wearing low-cut dresses with slits practically up to her navel.” “You hold back a little. Don’t tell her everything.” I appreciated her concern and chuckled. “Mr. Vance didn’t scold her, so he must like it.” “Besides, I don’t plan on sticking with Ethan Vance forever.” I turned to make coffee. The spoon stirred my thoughts, which gradually settled. Before leaving work, I placed a bottle of milk on Ethan’s desk, as usual. He had his legs lazily propped on the edge of the desk, his silhouette long and lean. “Mr. Vance, I’ve briefed Isabelle on all matters related to tonight’s dinner.” “Remember to drink the milk before you have any alcohol.” He glanced sideways. Looked at the milk bottle, then his gaze landed on my face. “You’ve lost weight.” Then, his tone shifted. “Am I not paying you enough?” “Huh?” I was slightly taken aback, then immediately understood. It had only been an afternoon, and what I’d let slip to Deb had already reached his ears. A bit fast, but not unexpected. I said seriously, “Mr. Vance, I was originally planning to tender my resignation once Isabelle was fully up to speed.” “Thank you for your guidance these past few years…” “What are they offering?” He frowned slightly, as if discussing a difficult business deal. As if I were an item in a shop window. Anyone could buy me, as long as the price was high enough. I shook my head firmly but gently. “It’s not about the money.” “Then what is it? Because I asked Isabelle to accompany me to dinner, or because you haven’t rested enough from your illness?” “If something is making you unhappy or uncomfortable, you can tell me.” His tone actually had a hint of coaxing. The golden evening sun slanted in, a ray landing right on his Adam’s apple as it bobbed. His chiseled face was in shadow, as beautiful as a sculpture. Seeing I wasn’t speaking, he reached up, loosened his tie, and undid two shirt buttons, revealing a sliver of skin on his chest. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. 4 In that instant, an air of desire seemed to bloom in the room. I looked away. In front of employees, he was always impeccably dressed, never giving anyone reason for inappropriate thoughts. Could it be… Isabelle’s flirting had opened up a new world for him? His voice pulled me back to reality. “If it’s because of Isabelle, I can understand. If you mind…” “No, it’s not that,” I quickly explained. “Isabelle is very smart, a very suitable replacement for me.” He adjusted his cuffs, stood up, and undid another shirt button. A hint of lean, firm pectoral muscle was visible. His broad shoulders tapered sharply to a narrow waist, enough to make one blush. I fanned myself with my hand. “Spring weather is so strange. It was so cold yesterday, and so hot today.” “My matter isn’t urgent. I’ll talk to you in detail later.” “Mr. Vance, you should get ready to leave.” “I’ve already told the driver; if you drink too much tonight, he’ll take you directly back to the Vance estate.” He looked at me, his tone cool, his eyes holding a predatory glint. “Don’t worry. If I drink too much, Isabelle can take care of me.” “She can take me back to my place, where I live alone.” “Of course, she could stay the night, if I wanted.” “After all, I’m pretty big—”

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A few days before the wedding, I stumbled upon a viral love story online. Under every one of the blogger’s late-night melancholic posts, an anonymous commenter would reply instantly. Each reply brimmed with deep affection for the blogger. Like other netizens, I was completely captivated by this moving romance. Until one day, the blogger posted a beautiful photo, tinged with tears: 【I know it’s you, but it seems impossible for us. I wish you a happy marriage.】 That person still replied in a heartbeat: 【Anyone but you is just settling.】 My heart plummeted. The person in the photo was none other than my fiancé Ethan Sterling’s childhood sweetheart, Clara Finch. 1 My hand trembled, and the last stroke on the wedding invitation went completely askew. I put down the calligraphy pen and clicked on the original post details, only to find it no longer existed. I inadvertently noticed Clara Finch’s username—【LittlePhalaenopsis】. Looking at the Phalaenopsis orchid design printed on our wedding invitations, my heart jolted. The flowers for our wedding were chosen by Ethan; they were Phalaenopsis orchids. In Clara Finch’s follow list, I found an account with a Phalaenopsis orchid as its background. 【My family found a marriage partner for me. I’ll just let her do the laundry, cook, have kids, and bear the risk of her figure changing for you.】 【Marrying her is a task I have to complete, but being with you is my life’s true wish.】 So, what I thought was a marriage материалов for love was just Ethan finding a tool for procreation. If you set aside me, the sacrificed party, their so-called love seemed quite “deep.” I rubbed my sore wrist, gazing at the pile of wedding invitations I’d spent the afternoon handwriting. A sharp pain pierced my chest, and my vision blurred. At seven in the evening, Ethan came home, casually tossing his suit jacket into my arms and asking with a frown: “Why isn’t dinner ready yet?” Due to years of business dinners, Ethan had a sensitive stomach. To take care of him, I quit my job and meticulously prepared stomach-friendly meals every day. Thinking about it now, isn’t that what a housekeeper does? “I didn’t make any,” I replied. “So you want me to eat that garbage takeout? Lila Shaw, do you think just because we’re about to get married and make it official, you can start slacking off?” My voice was hoarse: “About the wedding…” Ethan turned around, annoyed: “I told you to handle it. Can’t you see I’m swamped every day?” I met his impatient gaze, no longer tiptoeing around: “Let’s just forget about the wedding.” It took Ethan a moment to process. He stared at me, puzzled: “Forget it? Weren’t you the one crying and begging for a grand wedding?” I gave a bitter smile: “No wedding, and no need to get married. Let’s break up.” Seeing my swollen eyes, he finally sensed something was wrong. “Are you okay, Lila? You were the one who insisted on marrying me. My parents condescended to meet yours and even specifically allowed your… less well-off relatives to attend. Now everyone knows we’re getting married, and you’re saying forget it. What are you trying to pull now?” Ethan, always cold and arrogant in front of me, would bend over backward to cheer up another woman under her posts. For five years of our relationship, I was always the one actively sharing life’s little joys, while he was like a robot, just replying “Hmm” or “Okay.” Sometimes, if I accidentally sent an emoji, he’d call me childish. Turns out, it wasn’t that he was reserved. Indifference. It was just because he didn’t love me. “I said, I don’t want to get married. You don’t have to force yourself anymore. Wouldn’t it be better to focus on protecting your Phalaenopsis?” Ethan froze, his face instantly darkening: “Two years ago it was a photo in my wallet, last year it was a plane ticket, and now it’s a post? Can you stop making such a fuss!” With that, Ethan walked into the bedroom and slammed the door shut. I felt like all my strength had been drained, and I collapsed onto the sofa. Every year, I’d find new evidence of Ethan’s lack of commitment to our relationship, always trying to salvage it with big fights. I forgot that leaving is the best escape. 2 When I woke up the next day, I found a light blanket covering me. Ethan was sitting nearby, leisurely sipping an Americano. He had a tall, imposing figure and a distinguished air, things that had made my heart flutter countless times. Seeing me awake, he said gently, “Today is Grandpa’s 80th birthday. I took a special day off from the company. Let’s go wish him a happy birthday together.” In the past, to accommodate Ethan’s schedule, the Sterlings always arranged old Mr. Finch’s birthday on a weekend. I clicked on Clara Finch’s account and, sure enough, saw her IP address had changed from Sweden to San Francisco. They called it the old man’s birthday banquet, but it was really just a welcome home party for Clara. Fine. Since the Sterlings would all be there, it was the perfect opportunity for me to announce the cancellation of the wedding. Seeing me start to put on makeup, Ethan frowned: “Haven’t I told you not to wear heavy makeup? Who are you dressing up so beautifully for?” After college, several guys had pursued me. Thinking back, Mr. Sterling had strongly pushed for Ethan and me to get together, probably because he valued my simple family background, my no-makeup-for-work demeanor, and my obedient nature. He figured once I married into the Sterling family, I’d be a contented, non-threatening housewife, focused on husband and children. I finished my makeup, put on high heels I hadn’t worn in ages, and retrieved the handwritten calligraphy birthday gift from the study. It was rare for Ethan to see me in full makeup. A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes, but he quickly suppressed it. 3 As we opened the door to the Sterling mansion, I saw Clara Finch laughing and chatting amidst a group of elders. When Ethan arrived, Clara gasped, then skipped over and threw herself into Ethan’s arms. “Ethan, my dearest! I haven’t seen you in years! Did you miss me?” Ethan glanced at me, slightly uneasy. I ignored him and walked straight to old Mr. Finch, presenting the framed calligraphy: “Grandpa, happy 80th birthday.” Clara covered her mouth, feigning surprise: “Lila, you’re giving calligraphy too? Three months ago, I specially flew to England and spent $150,000 to commission a piece from the calligraphy master, Adrian Quillan. Whose work is yours?” “I wrote it myself.” Clara immediately had someone lay both pieces on the table for comparison. “I don’t know much about calligraphy, so I can’t tell good from bad.” Ethan said disdainfully, “How can her amateurish stuff compare to a master’s?” I nodded. “Master Quillan is 76 this year. Everyone in the field knows he stopped writing in cursive after 70 and only does formal script. This cursive piece by Master Quillan is indeed rare.” Clara’s expression changed. “I have a senior fellow apprentice who is Master Quillan’s student. I’ll call him right now and ask.” Clara instantly looked flustered. Ethan slapped my phone out of my hand. He snatched up my calligraphy, tore it into pieces with a few rips, threw it on the floor, and stomped on it hard. “Are a master’s affairs something someone like you can speculate about?” Before I could say anything, Clara started crying pitifully. “It’s all my fault. Why did I have to mention the $150,000? Lila’s probably never even seen that much money in her life.” Ethan pulled Clara into his arms. “There, there, Clara, don’t cry. She’s just unsophisticated and petty. Be good, you won’t be pretty if you keep crying.” Mrs. Sterling said sharply, “Lila, you’ve been here for so long. Why aren’t you in the kitchen yet?” Every time I visited, I would cook a table full of delicious food for them. My filial piety towards the elders was, in their eyes, no different from a housekeeper’s. Mrs. Sterling said gently to Clara, “Clara, dear, tell us what you want to eat. Lila can make it.” Clara pointed at my hands. “No wonder Lila’s hands are so rough. It must be from all the cooking. Not like mine; these hands only know how to play the piano and get manicures.” Ethan smirked. “That’s about all she’s good for.” I crossed my arms. “Sorry, these hands of mine aren’t cooperating. My carpal tunnel is acting up. I can’t serve anyone today.” 4 Mrs. Sterling frowned. “I just thought your cooking was decent and wanted to give you a chance to show off. How did it turn into serving us? What, not even married into the family yet and you’re already trying to pin labels on me?” Mr. Sterling slammed the table: “Enough! Today is Grandpa’s 80th birthday. Why are you all arguing over such a small matter?” Mr. Sterling had always been relatively nice to me. I’d wait until after dinner to bring it up. Even without my cooking, a table full of dishes was quickly laid out. Clara had already taken a seat next to Ethan. I was about to sit further away, but Ethan pulled me back. “Still mad after a few words?” I couldn’t be bothered to argue anymore. Clara bit her chopsticks, pouting. “Ethan, dearest, I want some of that fish roe.” Ethan stood up, brought the fish roe over, and thoughtfully placed it in front of Clara. Then, uncharacteristically, he put a large shrimp on my plate. I picked the shrimp off my plate and said coldly, “Don’t you know I’m allergic to shrimp?” Ethan slammed his chopsticks down. “Eat if you want to, leave if you don’t! We’re getting married in a month, what’s all this drama about? You’re such a handful!” My temper flared. “Grandpa, I’m sorry, I really can’t take it anymore. I’ve decided not to marry Ethan Sterling.” “What?!” Mr. and Mrs. Sterling shrieked in unison. Old Mr. Finch walked over unsteadily and grasped my hand. “Why suddenly not getting married? You’re already engaged, how can you not get married?” Ethan’s face was dark; he turned stiffly. “All these elders are here. You need to think before you speak!” “It’s precisely because the elders are here that I need to make things clear.” With that, I pulled out my chair and walked out, feeling a sense of relief. Clara whimpered and ran over to tug at my sleeve. “Lila, Lila, are you angry because I’ve been clinging to Ethan? I just haven’t seen him in years and got a little too excited. Please don’t misunderstand.” Ethan looked like he understood completely, pulling Clara to his side with a smirk. He scoffed mockingly, “Let her throw her tantrum. She does this once a year, like clockwork. We’ve spoiled her! Let’s eat, don’t mind her!” 5 I walked back to the villa, the cold wind hitting my face. In less than an hour, my luggage was packed. As I was buying a plane ticket, a notification for Clara’s post popped up. The picture was of a single, ice-white Phalaenopsis orchid, with two hands clasped in the blurred background. 【Haven’t seen you in years, and you give me white Phalaenopsis again. Besides you, who else still treats me like a child?】 The post blew up again, with a stream of【99】【So jealous】scrolling across the screen. But this time, that “Robert” account didn’t appear in the comments. I casually liked it, then swiped out, quickly bought a ticket for an evening flight, and rushed to the airport with my luggage. While going through security, I received a message from Ethan: 【Clara is planning to come work at my company. Tidy up the guest room on the third floor. Remember, no air freshener; she doesn’t like the smell.】 【Still daring not to reply?】 【Clara’s family and mine are old family friends. Don’t project your dirty thoughts onto us. Do I need to explain what ‘old family friends’ means?】 I didn’t reply. Instead, I opened the chat with my parents and told them I was coming home. Opening the door to my parents’ house, I was greeted by the aroma of hot food and their warm embrace. Ethan was always busy, and to take care of him constantly, I hadn’t been home in years. I told them I wasn’t planning to get married. My parents were surprised for a moment, then quickly accepted it. After all, on the day of our engagement, Ethan’s parents had been so snobbish, looking down their noses and openly mocking the precious local homemade gifts my parents brought, making my parents feel incredibly awkward. 6 Ethan must have gone back to the villa and found me gone, because he started calling. The custom ringtone he’d set for me echoed in my ears, over and over. I pressed the power-off button. Then I pulled out some calligraphy paper from under the cabinet, ground the ink, dipped the brush, and started practicing. Soon, the paper was densely covered with my writing. Satisfied, I turned my phone back on and opened the camera to take pictures. A notification for 99+ missed calls from Ethan popped up. I calmly swiped the notification away. After finding a good angle and taking several photos, I uploaded them to my social media. I woke up to find it had gone viral. There was a familiar profile picture in my DMs. It was Leo Bell, a senior from my hometown who was in the university calligraphy club with me. After a pleasant chat, we agreed to meet up tomorrow to catch up. 7 When I saw Leo Bell, he was holding a bouquet of larkspur, symbolizing freedom. Leo smiled shyly, just like the innocent young man from years ago. “I remember you like larkspur.” A delicate fragrance filled the air, and my heavy heart seemed to skip a beat or two unexpectedly. “You actually remembered.” Leo looked at me, his eyes shining like stars: “I remember a lot of things about you.” I felt a little embarrassed: “What should I give you in return?” Leo thought for a moment: “Well, then write a piece of calligraphy for me.” Leo walked me to my door. I didn’t let him leave, excitedly pulling out calligraphy paper: “What would you like me to write?” Leo picked up the inkstick and began to grind it for me. “May Lila be like the free-flying larkspur, and find her freedom in this life,” Leo said slowly, word by word. My brush paused, and my nose tingled. He looked at me quietly, his eyes holding a universe of stars. Once the characters were dry, he carefully wrapped it up as if it were a priceless treasure. “This wish, I’ll need your help to make it come true.” Under his caring gaze, I nodded vigorously. Suddenly, there was an urgent knock on the door. I thought my parents were back. When I opened the door, I saw a haggard-looking Ethan. He had dark circles under his eyes and a short stubble on his chin, looking utterly exhausted. 8 “Lila, why didn’t you tell me you came home…” Ethan’s voice was hoarse. Leo called out from the room: “Is that your aunt and uncle back?” Hearing an unfamiliar male voice, Ethan looked stunned. He gripped my shoulders tightly, demanding sharply: “Who is that man in there? You’ve only been back a few days and you’re already shacking up with a new guy?!”

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1 After ten years of grinding at the company, my boss, convinced my pregnancy was to blame for a drop in performance, tried to force me out. I filed a labor arbitration claim against him and cut off all my business partnerships. Eventually, the company went bankrupt, and the boss faced court enforcement. Desperate and cornered, he blamed everything on me. On the day I was supposed to give birth, he intentionally ran me over with his car in a fit of rage, killing me. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day my boss first started making my life hell. Suddenly, a few lines of comments popped up above my head: [The protagonist’s reborn! Go get ’em! Ruthlessly crush everyone, equally!] [Love watching the protagonist go insane, if it’s not messy, I’m not watching!] … I looked at the floating comments above my head, bewildered. The slight bump of my belly and my hurrying colleagues jolted me awake. I had been reborn! I gasped, taking deep, excited breaths, my eyes welling up. It’s real! It’s real! My baby’s still here. Amber frowned, her face etched with disdain. She rapped a file box sharply on my desk. “Manager Lee, are you dense?” she snapped. “I told you pregnant women aren’t suited for work. Look at you—I’m just trying to brief you on a project, and you start crying! Honestly, first thing in the morning, how unlucky!” Seeing me ignore her, Amber tossed a final remark over her shoulder as she sashayed away. “You can explain to the boss why your sales are down now that you’re pregnant.” I looked down at the date on my phone. On this very day in my previous life, the boss had sent his conniving assistant, Amber, to subtly torment me. At noon, he called me in, using my declining sales performance as an excuse to force me into early maternity leave, even though I was only five months pregnant. In the afternoon, he had me move out of my manager’s office and removed me from the company’s organizational chart. That evening, I received my termination notice. I had worked at this company for ten years; no one had more seniority than me, except the boss himself. The company had grown from a cramped storage room of less than 100 square feet to its current 20,000 square feet. Over those ten years of growth, I had contributed 70% of the company’s revenue. Yet, simply because I was pregnant with my second child at an older age, and my performance wasn’t what it used to be, I was forcibly laid off. My decade of dedication had been utterly wasted on a scumbag. In my previous life, after being laid off, I collected evidence and filed a labor arbitration lawsuit demanding legal compensation. I also severed ties between my loyal clients and the company’s business. Without my clientele, the company’s revenue plummeted, leading to its eventual collapse and bankruptcy. All of Leo’s assets were seized by the court to repay bank loans. Cornered and desperate, Leo blamed everything on me. On the day I was supposed to give birth, he ran me over with his car right outside the hospital in a fit of rage, killing me. Even after hitting me, he wasn’t satisfied, repeatedly running over my body with his car. Now, with a second chance at life, I absolutely would not let that tragedy repeat itself. At noon, in the conference room, lines of comments appeared before my eyes again. 2 [Don’t agree, protag, absolutely do NOT agree to maternity leave!] [This jerk is discarding you after using you, he deserves to rot in hell.] [Just send the boss to jail, then become the boss yourself.] I paused for a second. This time, I certainly wouldn’t agree to maternity leave. Sending the boss to jail seemed like a pretty good option. I declined the iced coffee Leo offered, making no comment on his forced maternity leave demand. “Thank you, Mr. King. The doctor advised me not to drink coffee.” Leo gave an awkward smile, while Amber stood by, seething. “Manager Lee, this coffee was specially handmade for you by Mr. King. Don’t be so ungrateful.” Leo lowered his gaze, smirking, tacitly approving Amber’s behavior. Just then, the comments popped up again. [Go get her, quickly, that scheming bitch! Roast them!] [Isn’t that bitch trying to usurp the original wife?] [Let that witch know the scumbag boss’s wife is pregnant. That’ll infuriate her.] I leaned back in my chair, half-joking, “Assistant Amber is still young. In a couple of days, when you get pregnant, the doctor will tell you if you can drink iced coffee.” Others might not know about the boss and his assistant’s frequent office rendezvous, but I certainly did. It wouldn’t be surprising if she ended up pregnant one day. It was just a pity for his long-suffering wife at home, toiling to give him a third child, a son to ‘honor the ancestors.’ Amber’s face turned green with rage. “Leo, fire her! Fire her now!” I stared coldly at Leo, speaking unhurriedly, “Mr. King, your wife must be seven months pregnant by now, right? You’ll be a dad of three soon. You must know what a pregnant woman can and cannot eat.” I paused, “Right, Mr. King?” Leo nodded, his face flushed with embarrassment. I turned to Amber, smirking. Amber’s eyes turned red with fury; she looked like she wanted to kill me. I let out a soft laugh, then pressed Leo further, raising my voice to ensure all my colleagues in the outer office could hear. “Mr. King, I’m an old-timer here, a loyal employee to the bone. No one knows my contributions over the years better than you.” My voice sharpened. “I know you’re considering my pregnancy and hard work, but are you really going to fire me just because I won’t drink iced coffee? Using someone and then discarding them isn’t your style, is it?” Playing the moral card, holding someone to account—who couldn’t do that? Outside, everyone was watching the drama unfold. Leo, losing face, could only bite his lip and scold Amber. This time, I wasn’t forced out of the manager’s office, though my approval authority was suspended. Leo also didn’t bring up maternity leave again. I was happy to enjoy my newfound leisure, opening the blinds daily to bask in the sun and sipping plain water. I followed the guidance of the comments, avoiding conflict and deliberately slacking off. I’m a person who finishes what I start, with efficiency. Even if I wasn’t pursuing new business, I still wanted to complete any unfinished tasks for my clients to give them a satisfactory conclusion. My position in the company was now awkward. Many colleagues, accustomed to sucking up, treated people differently based on their status. The water cooler in the office ran empty. I called the facilities team twice, but they ignored me. Left with no choice, I took my cup to the pantry for water, only to run into Amber. “Well, well, well, the old-timer pregnant employee is different, alright. She’s even coming to the pantry to sponge off company resources now.” I had to admit, she was good at provoking me, trying to get a rise out of me. I clenched my cup tightly, glaring at her, truly wanting to smash my thermos into her face. But I knew this little schemer was deliberately trying to anger me. I took a deep breath, calming myself. I kept reminding myself that it wasn’t time to go all out yet. Just endure a little longer. A colleague nearby, Sarah, couldn’t stand it and spoke up for me. “Assistant Amber, it’s normal for Manager Lee to come out for water if her office dispenser is empty.” Amber looked haughty. “Who are you? Don’t you want to work here anymore? She does nothing all day and expects others to change her water. Is she some kind of queen because she’s pregnant? Should everyone bow down to her?” The entire office fell silent. Everyone tried to make themselves scarce. The pantry faced Leo’s office, and a furious Leo, with visible scratch marks on his face, was now standing behind the blinds, watching us. Amber, a fresh graduate, daring to strut around the company like she owned it, was clearly a result of Leo’s implicit approval. Sarah’s face was grim. I narrowed my eyes, making a quiet decision. Half an hour later, Leo came out to make an example of me, clearly siding with Amber. 3 Leo wanted to fire Sarah, the colleague who had just spoken up for me, and demanded that I sign her termination papers. I refused. Amber, having been rebuffed, then had Leo personally accompany her to my office to question why I wouldn’t sign. “Sarah didn’t do anything wrong, and she didn’t resign voluntarily. Why should I sign it?” I challenged. “She’s still under contract. Just because she stood up for me this morning and argued with Assistant Amber, she’s going to be fired in retaliation?” Leo was speechless, his face flushed with anger. The two of them playing this card at such a crucial moment was truly malicious. Sarah had just helped me out this morning, and this afternoon I’m supposed to sign her termination? What would other employees think of me, Skylar? That I’m just like Leo, discarding people after using them? Ridiculous! Amber linked her arm through Leo’s, ostensibly scolding me, but actually fanning Leo’s anger. “Skylar, are you the boss, or is Mr. King the boss? You’re just a lowly employee. Since when does the company’s decisions fall to you?” She smirked. “Are you getting too big for your britches just because your past performance was good?” I noticed the comments section really hated Amber. Whenever she confronted me head-on, new comments would pop up, this time directly citing legal statutes. [Unjust dismissal of an employee during contract period: N+1 compensation. Employees cannot be terminated during pregnancy.] I chuckled, waving my hand at them. “Fine, do what you want. I just want to remind Mr. King: Sarah has been with the company for five years. If you fire her without cause, it’s N+1 compensation. Her base salary is $10,000. You guys can pay up!” I continued, “And I’ve been with the company for twelve years, with a base salary of $15,000. If Assistant Amber doesn’t like me, Mr. King, you can also fire me. Just pay the N+1 compensation.” I leaned in conspiratorially. “But you can’t fire an employee during pregnancy, otherwise it’s against the law, you know!” Amber’s face was livid. She brazenly declared, “Pay then, just pay! Take the money and get out! Pregnant women get double to get out!” Leo immediately slapped Amber across the face, then forced a smile. “What are you talking about? How could I fire you? Sarah’s situation, I simply misspoke.” Amber tried to say something else but clamped her mouth shut after a sharp glare from Leo. I provocatively raised an eyebrow at Amber, feeling like her lungs were about to explode. Leo currently didn’t dare to forcibly terminate me. He would only occasionally send Amber, his tool, to annoy me. And I, too, began to prepare my plan. Many employees at the company had elderly parents and young children, and Sarah’s incident today served as a warning. The external economic environment was tough, and everyone wanted to secure their jobs, unwilling to directly oppose the boss. It had to be said, Leo’s goal was achieved: all my colleagues at the company began to deliberately isolate me. In the department meeting, Leo pointed out that the sales sector I was responsible for had suffered losses and asked everyone for explanations. At first, everyone hung their heads in silence. Leo then directly called on Sarah. Sarah’s face changed dramatically, filled with apprehension for a few seconds, then she bit the bullet. “Manager Lee didn’t consider the company’s actual situation; she didn’t push down costs enough.” After Sarah sat down, various departments involved in different aspects of the process stood up one by one to speak. They all pointed to my personal issues as the cause of the losses. I snorted, watching their performance quietly. Finally, Leo even feigned asking me “why?” 4 Just then, comments popped up again. [It’s a trap! Just make them understand how hard your pregnancy is.] [Exactly, this jerk is just trying to pressure you. Play along.] I leaned lazily in my chair, answering nonchalantly. “I’m getting older, plus I’m pregnant. My body just can’t keep up. Hope everyone understands.” Leo was momentarily speechless. Other colleagues looked down, lost in thought. Just then, Amber, the boss’s mouthpiece, spoke up again. “Don’t use pregnancy as an excuse. If you can’t do the job, just get out and let someone capable take over as manager.” She then added, “Considering Manager Lee’s pregnancy, how about we cut her salary and reassign her role? All those who agree, please raise your hand.” I looked around. Besides Leo and me, everyone raised their hand. Another batch of comments appeared. [OMG, all that just to cut her salary and demote her.] [So disgusting. If the protagonist didn’t have a plan, I’d want her to smack that witch to death.] [Hurry up and get your revenge! I want to see that scumbag and witch bite the dust!] Amber’s face was filled with triumph. She deliberately tried to embarrass me. “It’s a unanimous vote, Skylar. What’s your take?” Comments: [Agree first, then screw them over.] I smiled faintly, forcing a grin. “No problem. I’ll follow the company’s arrangements.” Demotion and salary cut, then forcing me to resign? Excellent! Absolutely excellent! Afterward, many colleagues privately contacted me, apologizing for what happened today. I told them I understood. Some even urged me not to put up with the disdain and simply resign and go home to rest. My husband, seeing me on the phone all evening, asked worriedly if I needed help. I shook my head, refusing. It wasn’t time yet. After my demotion, I immediately posted on social media: “I’ve been reassigned and am no longer responsible for sales. If you need anything, please contact my other colleagues.” For the next two weeks, I lived like a pampered slug, focusing on my health. Because of my non-intervention, the company’s revenue dropped by half! Our company was sales-driven, and everyone, from front-line to support staff, had a salary structure of base pay plus performance bonuses. The more you did, the more you earned. With the sudden drop in revenue and poor performance, employees began to complain. Funds weren’t coming in, forcing them to take out loans to do business. The first to lose patience was Leo. “The company understands you’re pregnant, but why aren’t you handling any business? You need to write a 3,000-word self-reflection and present it at the department meeting.” He lectured, “Don’t slack off just because you’re pregnant. Powerful women in the workplace work until they give birth and then rest. You’re a modern woman; you can’t be lazy.” He added, “As sales manager, you need to set an example for your team.” Just then, the comments popped up angrily. [OMG, since when do modern women have to work until they give birth?] [I really want to slap him twice. He’s an animal with no upbringing.] [Don’t be scared, don’t be scared. The protagonist will take care of him. Let’s wait and see.] I was actually quite angry, but the comments made me laugh. I rolled my eyes, utterly speechless, and kindly reminded him. “Mr. King, you’re a busy man, so you forget things. I’m just an admin now, so I don’t have any performance targets.” I added with a saccharine smile, “And I’m not a ‘powerful woman.’ I need to go home early to prepare for childbirth.” Leo’s face flushed with embarrassment. He strategically took a sip of water. Just then, his phone rang. After he answered, his expression instantly changed. His previous worried frown transformed into a triumphant grin. “It’s good that you have that kind of awareness. The company can still run without you.” He scoffed, “Don’t be so arrogant. If you’re old, go home and rest. Women should prioritize their families.” Watching Leo’s smug retreating figure, I smiled. Excellent. The fish had taken the bait.

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When I was eighteen, I walked in on Connor Walker helping a scholarship student with her bra strap. He was a boy then, his expression serious, his movements clumsy and hesitant, the tips of his ears flushed scarlet. Eight years later, at twenty-six, I married Connor, a union mandated by our families. Yet, I was keenly aware of the whispers in Manhattan’s elite circles – how a portrait of that scholarship student was locked away in his study. Three years into our marriage, I suggested divorce. He signed the papers after a long, heavy silence. “If you ever need anything,” he’d said, his voice quiet, “don’t hesitate to ask.” Later, I walked into a gala, hand-in-hand with my law firm’s new partner. My best friend, Mark, teased, “You two were locked in a fierce debate in college, now who’d have thought you’d be intertwined like this?” Deep into the night, Connor’s number lit up my phone. “You insisted on that riverfront condo because you can see his law firm from there?” 1 Outside, the raw wind howled, but inside, the apartment was bathed in a comforting warmth. Across from me on the sofa, Connor sat, impeccably dressed in a sharp suit, his long frame lean, his face still etched with the same strong lines as when he was eighteen. Only the fresh cut above his brow stood out, a jarring splash of red. An hour earlier, the precinct had called – Connor had been in a fight. When I arrived, Chloe Davis, our old high school classmate, was cradling his face, meticulously cleaning the wound. She looked up, startled, a wild bird, and flinched away. Connor immediately pulled her behind him, shielding her. “She’s easily spooked. Don’t scare her.” I said nothing, simply followed the officer to complete the paperwork. By the time I returned, Chloe was gone. On the drive home, Connor was on the phone the entire way, his voice soft, almost caressing, as he soothed the person on the other end. I had never seen him like that—his eyes gentle, filled with doting affection, utterly focused. Every ounce of his patience was reserved for Chloe. The thought of divorce, sharp and clear, sparked in my mind at that very moment. 2 Connor and I were childhood sweethearts, bound by years of shared memories. But Chloe Davis was his elusive “white moonlight,” the one he loved but could never have. In high school, Chloe had transferred to our exclusive academy on a scholarship. Her striking beauty and brilliant mind quickly captured Connor’s attention. Then came the day Chloe was accused of stealing class funds, her clothes torn off by a group of girls in a humiliating attack. I raced to the girls’ restroom, only to find Connor emerging from a stall, holding Chloe’s clothes. Chloe had her back to him, her voice thick with tears. “Just go, please. If anyone sees you, it’ll be impossible to explain.” But Connor simply said, “No need to explain. Just put your clothes on first.” Amidst the tense standoff, Chloe fumbled, panicked by the stubborn clasp of her bra. Connor didn’t hesitate. “Here, let me.” His expression was grim, his movements clumsy. When he finally fastened the clasp, his ear tips were flushed a fiery red. The moment he turned and our eyes met, a flicker of panic crossed his face, quickly replaced by a calm command: “You help her now.” As he left, he added, “Keep this quiet.” I agreed, but by that afternoon, a photo of Connor helping Chloe with her clothes had spread like wildfire across campus. Connor was convinced I was the leak. For the first time, he unleashed his fury on me. “Layla, don’t think just because my parents favor you, I won’t do anything. You’re just the daughter-in-law they picked, not my choice!” I stood firm, defiance hardening my voice. “It wasn’t me!” He scoffed, a cold sneer twisting his lips. “Who else saw? You’re just jealous of her and me.” His words struck me like a blast of icy air. “When did you two…?” He impatiently cut me off. “You didn’t actually think me looking out for you meant I liked you, did you?” That night, the Walker family learned of the incident. Connor was dragged home and forced to apologize. He stood there, chin defiantly jutted out. “If you like Layla so much, why don’t you marry her?” He was met with a harsh punishment, physical in nature, from both parents. Back then, he hadn’t yet seen the truth: I was raised from childhood to be the future Mrs. Walker, and as the sole heir, he had no say in his own marriage. In the end, he married me. Chloe transferred schools, and he was sent abroad for eight years of higher education. When Connor returned eight years later, his aura had completely transformed. The boyish awkwardness was gone, replaced by a composed, reserved presence. He found me and proposed marriage. “Since we’re both still single, let’s just do it.” I knew I couldn’t escape the arranged marriage. Marrying someone I knew felt, at the time, like a stroke of luck. Later, I would discover that the first thing Connor did upon returning to the States was to seek out Chloe. But Chloe, with her fierce pride, had rejected him. Marrying me, it turned out, was nothing more than a childish act of spite directed at her. 3 “I have to go out. You should sleep first.” Connor’s words pulled me back from my thoughts. He rose and walked toward the door, his voice softening as he spoke into his phone, “Don’t be scared, I’m coming now, they won’t dare do anything… Mm, lock the door, wait for me.” I stood up too. “So late, and you’re still going out?” He paused briefly, a mere hitch in his stride, then continued toward the door. “Something urgent came up. I’ll be back very late.” Just as he reached the threshold, I called out to him again. A flicker of impatience crossed his face. “Something else?” “Connor,” I said. “Let’s get a divorce.” Fury instantly blazed in Connor’s eyes. He clenched his jaw, his voice strained. “What are you stirring up now?” “Chloe was startled today. She has no one else here, so she could only turn to me for help.” I looked at him, my gaze unwavering. “Helping her means going to her upscale club every day to back her up?” My voice rose. “The esteemed Mr. Walker, getting into a brawl and ending up at the precinct for a club employee – that’s your idea of helping?” Connor’s thin lips formed a cold, hard line. His deep-set eyes held a dangerous warning. “I’ll get to the bottom of what happened tonight.” He paused, then added, his voice chillingly low, “And it better have nothing to do with you.” It was as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my head. My blood ran cold. In the two-plus years of our marriage, Connor had never once lost his temper with me. It had almost made me believe he’d moved on from Chloe, that he truly wanted to build a life with me. Now, it was clear I had been hopelessly naive. A sudden memory surfaced. Connor’s study had once held a portrait of Chloe. He had painted it himself. He hadn’t hidden it from anyone, not even his family. Grandpa Walker had thrown a colossal fit over it, eventually settling for a compromise: our wedding photo, mine and Connor’s, hung in the study instead. The portrait of Chloe, he had locked away in a cabinet. In that moment, I suddenly understood: he had not compromised. He was simply, in his own way, silently defying his family. Outside, the wind howled fiercely. The balcony door in the dining room had been left open, and a rush of cold air swept in, making me shiver uncontrollably. Just then, Connor’s phone emitted a sharp, piercing shriek. Almost simultaneously, the icy darkness in Connor’s eyes shattered, replaced by a raw, primal fear. He strode quickly toward the door. “Chloe, don’t be afraid, I’ll be there in ten minutes. Don’t open the door for anyone…” As he spoke, he was already out the door. The door opened and closed, sealing off all his fleeting tenderness. That night, Connor never came back. I sat alone on the sofa until dawn. As the sky brightened, two messages landed on my phone. One was a photo of Connor and Chloe walking side-by-side into a hotel. The other was a single line of text: “Divorce him. Pick me instead, okay?” Scrolling up, I found three unread messages: “Layla, I’m back.” “Whenever you need me, I’m here.” “Do you love him that much? Could you love me instead?” I blinked my burning, tired eyes, then quickly tapped a few words onto the screen: “Okay.” 4 Connor arrived home the next afternoon. He was wearing a brand-new suit, a brand he would normally never even glance at. He looked immaculate, not a trace of perfume on him. If it weren’t for the glaring red marks on his throat, perhaps no one would have believed that he and Chloe had stayed in that hotel room until the afternoon. Likely out of guilt, he had brought me a gift. “I’m sorry. I said some harsh things last night. I apologize.” He placed the gift in front of me. I pulled out the divorce papers, already prepared, from a drawer and slowly slid them across to him. “Take a look. If everything’s in order, sign them.” Connor’s brows furrowed. “Just helping an old classmate, and you’re making this a big deal? Layla, when did you get so petty?” I ignored his words. “Our prenuptial agreement dictates that our pre-marital assets remain separate. As for post-marital cash, it’s a fifty-fifty split. And for the houses, I only want the riverfront condo.” Connor finally looked at me directly, his deep eyes filled with probing inquiry. After a long moment, he gave a cold laugh. “Is this your new tactic?” He didn’t believe me. He thought this was just another attempt to win him back, to manipulate him. And of course, the Walker family’s position in the social elite was unshakeable. How many old families would have done anything to marry their daughters into it? In his eyes, I had no reason to give up the title of Mrs. Walker. But I had considered giving up long ago. It was a perfectly ordinary day. Connor, as usual, had been out entertaining clients, returning home completely drunk. As I helped him, he suddenly pointed at me and snarled, “Layla, your affection disgusts me.” I froze. A bitter, suffocating ache filled my chest. I distinctly remembered him liking me too. That year, in freshman high school, Connor and I weren’t in the same class. Our classrooms were directly across the hall from each other. When an earthquake hit the neighboring state, we felt the strong tremors here. That day, Connor was the first person to burst out of his classroom, sprint into mine, and wrap his school jacket around my head. He practically dragged and lifted me, pulling me downstairs. That earthquake caused no damage, and my only injury was the bruising on my wrist from his desperate grip. His friends used to tease him, saying I was his most valuable possession. They even joked about us getting married on the spot. I expected Connor to get angry, but instead, he said, “We will get married.” “Oh, come on, don’t speak too soon! You’re still years away from legal age!” But Connor had declared, “If I get married and she’s not by my side, none of you better show up.” When we married, all his friends came. But what did it matter? 5 Connor was convinced I was playing a game, using reverse psychology to threaten him. He sat across from me, his gaze cold and indifferent. Every time we’d argued before, I was always the one to back down first. So he assumed this time, too, I would soften and yield. But what he didn’t know was that I was absolutely determined to leave. I pulled the divorce papers closer, gripping the pen. Under his chilling stare, I flipped to the last page and signed my name. Then I handed him the pen. “If there are no issues, just sign here.” At that moment, Connor finally realized I wasn’t joking. He lowered his gaze, his voice incredibly deep, almost a whisper. “Are you sure?” I glanced at my watch. “If we go to City Hall now, we can still make the last appointment.” He didn’t speak, just stared at me, his dark eyes searching for a flaw in my resolve. I don’t know how long passed, but finally, he lowered his gaze. “Then let’s do it.” He signed his name. His pen paused suddenly. “Grandpa’s birthday gala is next month. I hope we can keep our divorce quiet until after that.” I had no objection. I stood up and pulled out the suitcase I’d packed long ago from the corner. “Layla.” His voice softened, losing some of its cold edge. “You can continue living here.” “No need.” If we were divorcing, there was no reason to maintain any ties. “If you ever need anything in the future,” he added, “don’t hesitate to ask.” I didn’t linger. As I reached the front door, he quickly followed. “I’ll drive you.” “No, someone’s already coming to pick me up.” Downstairs, I saw a tall figure standing under the streetlamp in the distance. The moment he spotted me, he strode forward, his long legs covering the ground quickly, and naturally took my suitcase. Once in the car, I looked at the proud, elegant man in the driver’s seat. “Jackson Reed,” I said, “give me one month.” Jackson chuckled softly, then leaned over, reaching for my seatbelt. “Just one month. I can wait.” 6 Jackson Reed and I were college classmates. Both top students in the law school, we were peers, and competitors. We met during a major debate competition. The topic was: If you had the superpower to make someone love you back, would you use it? Jackson and I were on opposing sides, and that debate was fierce. In the end, my side won. After the debate, he stopped me. “If I had that power, I’d use it without hesitation.” I was young and headstrong then, full of proud defiance. My words aimed directly at his heart. “Then you don’t deserve to be loved.” Jackson looked at me deeply. “I love her, but I also respect her. As long as I don’t give up, she’ll see me.” I smiled meaningfully. “So even the brilliant scholar has an unrequited love, huh?” He said nothing, just watched me in silence. Later, we started interacting more frequently through student council, constantly clashing, outwitting each other at every turn. Over four years, we surprisingly became good friends. On graduation day, Jackson asked me out for a drink. I went. He asked me what my plans were after graduation. I said, half-joking, “What else? For people from families like ours, it’s marriage, kids, and securing long-term partnerships for the family business.” Jackson looked at me very seriously. “Can you wait, then? Five years at most. Can you wait for me?” The bar was too loud. I didn’t actually hear what he said clearly. I drained my glass. Almost the instant I set it down, Jackson leaned in and kissed me. That day, I fled. Not because of Jackson’s boundary-crossing action, but because I realized I was attracted to him, and I had responded. I was terrified of that feeling of losing control. I turned off my phone, cutting off all contact with the outside world. A week later, when I finally reconnected with my classmates, I learned that Jackson had gone abroad for advanced studies. He was gone for four years. Now he was back, and I was a married woman. 7 “We’re here.” I snapped back to reality, realizing the car had pulled up outside my apartment building. As I stepped out, he followed. My suitcase was in his hand; he showed no intention of giving it back. We entered the elevator and went up to my floor. At my front door, he didn’t step inside. “Layla, want to open a law firm with me?” I was surprised he’d suggest such a thing. After marrying Connor, I’d stopped practicing law. As Mrs. Walker, it wasn’t appropriate to be in the public eye frequently or to do anything that might tarnish the Hayes or Walker family names. For years, I’d just managed small businesses, gradually forgetting I was once a law student. The moment Jackson brought it up, I admit, my heart stirred. But I quickly dismissed the idea. “I’m an amateur now. I’d only drag you down.” Jackson had thrived over the years, a rising star everyone in the legal world was betting on. At parties, old classmates spoke of Jackson with envy: “Jackson Reed, the hotshot partner, is earning seven figures a year, pushing for eight. You folks dragging the industry down should really reflect on yourselves.” Jackson didn’t see it that way. “You can do it, Layla. You always could.” He reminded me of our campus days, of my fierce competitive spirit, of the times I’d cornered him in debates, leaving him speechless. “Layla,” he said, “since you’re starting a new life, why not take one more step forward?” His words swayed me. As I approached thirty, I found the courage to live for myself. The following days, my life became a blur. I was out early and home late every day. It was exhausting, but I felt an unprecedented sense of fulfillment. It wasn’t until I received a call from Grandpa Walker that I realized a whole month had simply vanished. “Layla, what have you been so busy with lately? Why haven’t you come to see your grandpa?” The Walker family elders had always been kind to me. Grandpa Walker especially so. There were no granddaughters in this generation of the Walker family, and Grandpa Walker would have showered me with everything good. I explained I’d been busy with work. He said, “Day after tomorrow is Grandpa’s eightieth birthday. Don’t forget. Oh, and your grandmother ordered a custom gown for you, sent it to the estate. When you have a moment, see if it fits.” I nodded repeatedly, chatted a bit more, then hung up. The estate Grandpa Walker mentioned was the Walker family’s wedding gift to Connor and me, quite a distance from the city center. For convenience, we usually stayed at The Bayview Lofts. After work, I drove back to the estate to pick up the gown. Divorce was one thing, but showing respect to elders was another. Arriving at the house, I headed straight for the walk-in closet. The housekeeper said my gown had been put away there. The walk-in closet was in the master suite, but for convenience, there was a separate door to it from the hallway. Just as I reached the door, the master suite door swung open without warning. Chloe Davis appeared before me. Seeing me, she recoiled like a startled rabbit, looking flustered. “Ms. Hayes?” I nodded, not intending to linger, and continued walking. I hadn’t taken two steps when Connor’s lazy voice drifted from behind me: “Who are you talking to…” His voice suddenly cut off. I felt a hot gaze on my back. I turned, nodding blandly at him. “Just came back to pick up the gown Grandpa sent.” Connor’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Did you get it?” “I’m just going to,” I replied. I entered the walk-in closet and found the gown in the bottom drawer. Without lingering, I quickly left. But as I reached the turn in the staircase, Connor called out. “Layla, next time you plan to come here, give me a heads-up.” He leaned against the railing on the second floor, his shirt unbuttoned haphazardly, revealing clear scratches and hickeys. “Chloe is sensitive. You showing up like this makes her very uncomfortable.” I pursed my lips. “While I understand your urgency, we’re not divorced yet. If this gets to the family estate, it’ll be difficult for you to explain.” Before he could speak, I added, “Tomorrow is the day we finalize the divorce. Don’t be late.”

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1 At my birthday gala, Lucian suddenly ushered in a young woman, introducing her as an inexperienced intern. She “clumsily” spilled my cake, then “thoughtlessly” adorned herself with my necklace. Yet, Lucian’s only retort was always, “She’s still so young.” It wasn’t until she “naively” climbed into Lucian’s bed, then “innocently” knelt before me, heavily pregnant, saying, “Mrs. Thorne, Mr. Thorne said if you couldn’t give him a child, I would…” I finally gave Lucian two icy choices: “Either she ends the pregnancy, or we end our marriage.” Lucian, his face etched with guilt, explained, “Grandfather Thorne decreed that only a woman who bears an heir can be the Mrs. Thorne. But your uterus is damaged. Skylar’s child… will be formally adopted by you. Eleanor, I only love you too much!” Later, when Lucian joyfully brought their son home to the Thorne estate, he was still trying to reason with me: “Just be understanding, Grandfather Thorne only wants to see them. It won’t affect your standing.” I nodded, obliging, not a tear or protest. The moment he left, I dialed his rival’s number. “I accept your offer. Being a mother to someone else’s child, it’s all the same, isn’t it?” When Lucian walked in, cradling the infant, Skylar and Grandfather Thorne followed close behind. The baby was tiny, swaddled in a blanket embroidered with gold thread. Lucian looked down at the child in his arms, his gaze so tender it stung. “Eleanor.” He looked up, his tone flat, as if announcing something utterly inconsequential, “The baby will live here from now on.” My heart twisted with bitterness, but words failed me. Just three months prior, he had knelt before me, pleading with me not to divorce him, explicitly promising that once Skylar gave birth, she would be transferred to a branch office, never to interfere with our lives. Yet now, he had brazenly brought the mother and child into our marital home. A fragile belief, already teetering on the brink, finally shattered within me. Skylar stood behind Grandfather Thorne, watching me with feigned timidity. For a mother, she was still just as “naive,” unable to even offer a greeting. Finding it tiresome, I turned to go upstairs. She called out, her voice laced with a sob, “Sister, I know you hate me, but the baby is innocent… please, be kind to him in the future.” Lucian frowned, stepping in front of her, his tone tinged with reproach: “Eleanor, don’t frighten Skylar.” I scoffed. How was it that merely standing there made me the villain? Grandfather Thorne hobbled over, tapping the baby’s cheek, his smile indulgent: “This child looks just like Lucian did as a boy. Clearly a Thorne, through and through.” When he turned to me, his eyes turned cold: “You can’t bear a child. We can’t just let the Thorne line end, can we?” I lowered my gaze, my nails digging savagely into my palms, the pain a dull throb. Lucian finally looked at me, his voice softening slightly: “Eleanor, the baby needs breast milk. Once he’s weaned… I’ll arrange for Skylar to move out!” I suddenly felt like laughing. This was his own promise, yet now he delivered it with the tone of a patron? I was about to say it wasn’t necessary, when Skylar interrupted, “Mr. Thorne, quick, look! The baby seems hungry…” Lucian immediately turned, skillfully supporting the baby’s head as he murmured soothing words. I stood there, feeling utterly like an outsider. … Late that night, Lucian finally returned to our room. He carried the faint scent of baby milk and Skylar’s perfume. As the mattress dipped, I turned my back to him. His hand settled on my waist. “Eleanor, don’t be stubborn.” I didn’t move. He sighed, then spoke, seemingly to himself: “Grandfather is old; he just wants a great-grandson… we already agreed, didn’t we? Once the baby is a little older, he’ll be legally adopted by you. You’ll still be Mrs. Thorne!” I opened my eyes, staring at a point in the darkness, and asked softly, “Lucian, do you remember why I can’t have children?” His breath hitched. Three years ago, during that car crash, I lunged to shield him from a fatal blow. When the doctors said I might never conceive again, he swore, his eyes red-rimmed: “Eleanor, all I need is you.” Now, he had secretly gotten another woman pregnant, then used the pretense of adoption to ensure her smooth delivery, and finally… brought the child into our home. All under the guise of wanting to give me a child. … The next morning, Skylar was already seated in my designated chair at the dining table, holding the baby. Lucian sat beside her, gently coaxing the infant, his expression soft. Grandfather Thorne chuckled, saying, “This child is so well-behaved, truly blessed.” Skylar shyly lowered her gaze: “Grandfather, the baby cried all night. Mr. Thorne only managed to get him to sleep past midnight…” Lucian smiled, reaching out to ruffle her hair. So this was the picture of a happy, harmonious family of three. I turned to head upstairs, but Grandfather Thorne’s voice, brooking no argument, stopped me: “From today, Skylar and the baby will reside in the master suite.” I froze. No matter how many, or how spacious, the rooms in the mansion, there was only one master suite. Lucian abruptly stood up: “Grandfather!” But Grandfather Thorne sharply rapped his cane: “What? You’d inconvenience my great-grandson for a woman who can’t lay an egg?” Lucian fell silent. Skylar stood behind Grandfather Thorne, cradling the baby, a subtle smirk playing on her lips. Too weary to argue, I turned back to the room, mechanically packing my belongings. Lucian suddenly entered, grabbing my hand. “Eleanor! Don’t do this…” I looked up at him, my eyes utterly devoid of emotion. “Lucian,” I said softly, “If I don’t leave, are we four supposed to squeeze into one bed?” 2 His face faltered slightly. He said nothing, but his grip on my hand loosened. The answer was glaringly obvious. As I carried my suitcase downstairs, Skylar stood in the living room, holding the baby. With a facade of apology, she suggested, “Sister, the guest room is so spacious and comfortable. There’s no need to move out!” She clearly wanted to witness the drama of a wife being demoted to a concubine, but I had no intention of indulging her. “No need. I wish you,” I glanced at the baby in her arms, my voice laced with hidden meaning, “and the Thorne family’s flesh and blood, a long and prosperous life.” I deliberately emphasized “flesh and blood,” watching her feigned smile freeze for a fraction of a second. She was, of course, nowhere near as simple-minded as Lucian claimed. At least in front of me, adjusting her expression was a matter of milliseconds. “Sister, don’t say that. Mr. Thorne still cares about you most deeply…” Before she could finish, I was already at the door. It was a perfect storm; my marriage had ruptured, and the deluge arrived right on cue. I stood there, watching the pouring rain, for a long while. Lucian didn’t come after me. The water streaming down my cheeks—I couldn’t tell if it was rain or tears. My phone suddenly lit up. Lucian, from behind the closed door, sent me a message: [Eleanor, you’re not as understanding as you used to be. Go stay in the executive apartment provided by the company for now. Once you’ve calmed down, I’ll come get you.] I let out a hollow laugh. I calmly stepped into the rain, hailed a cab, and left. Perhaps because I had already made my plans, Lucian’s full immersion into fatherhood didn’t stir much emotion in me anymore. After two days of silence, I returned to the mansion to retrieve the last of my belongings. Skylar sat in the living room, draped in my silk robe. “Sister, you’re back?” She gently patted the baby in her arms, parading him like a prized possession. I headed straight upstairs, unwilling to exchange another word with her. But the moment I pushed open the master bedroom door, my composure shattered. The sheets had been changed to her preferred taupe, and my vanity was laden with skincare products that weren’t mine. The gowns I’d worn to countless meetings and events with him… were haphazardly stuffed into a corner of the closet. In their place hung Skylar’s dresses. Even the wedding photo above the bed had been replaced with their family portrait—Lucian cradling the baby, the woman nestled against his shoulder, her smile dazzling and sickeningly happy. I bit down hard on my lower lip, gasping for breath to keep the stinging tears at bay. It was then I realized that saying goodbye to a relationship didn’t always require a dramatic breakdown. Once calm, I entered the private vault and retrieved my mother’s urn. As I descended the stairs, I heard Skylar on the phone. “Mr. Thorne, the baby misses you…” Her voice was sickeningly sweet. “Yes, Eleanor came back for her things. The baby and I will get along just fine with her…” I scoffed. Three days living here, and she already acted more like the lady of the house than I, his wife of three years, ever did. No wonder she’d usurped me. As I walked out, Skylar suddenly called my name: “Sister!” She scurried over, pushing the baby in her arms towards me. Her smile was feigned innocence. “Do you want to hold the baby? Get a head start on feeling like a mother…” Though the infant was innocent, the stain on my marriage turned my stomach. “No, thanks.” I turned and walked away. Behind me, she inexplicably stumbled, shrieking as she fell backward— “Ah!” I instinctively spun around, reaching out to catch her. But she deliberately swung her shoulder, knocking the urn from my grasp. The ceramic urn shattered on the marble floor with a sickening crash, splitting into two halves, grey-white ashes scattering across the tiles. I froze, then heard a furious roar from behind me: “Eleanor! What are you doing?!” Lucian stormed in, roughly shoving me aside. He anxiously helped Skylar up. “Are you alright?” Skylar, her eyes red-rimmed, shook her head: “I’m fine… thankfully, I protected the baby. Mr. Thorne, it’s true I’m an intruder, so Sister Eleanor pushing me to vent her anger is understandable…” Lucian turned to me, his gaze complex: “An intruder? Eleanor, how many times have I told you, it was my idea to have Skylar move in…” I stared blankly at my mother’s ashes, spread across the floor. I knelt, my eyes burning red. “Momma…” But he, mistaking my grief for an excuse for pushing Skylar, irritably loosened his tie: “Every time we argue, you cry and call for your mother. Have you ever considered that your mother, in heaven, would want you to be a proper lady of the house?” Skylar, feigning concern, edged closer: “Sister, I’m so sorry. I broke the baby formula you bought for the baby. How much do I owe you…?” “No need!” Lucian cut her off, glaring coldly at me. “How dare she use anything she bought for the baby? As for you, Skylar, did she do anything to you while I was away?” Watching him dote so carefully on Skylar, I suddenly felt overwhelmingly weary. There was no longer any point in explaining. “Lucian,” I said softly, “Let’s get a divorce.” 3 His face instantly contorted. “What nonsense are you spouting now?!” I produced the divorce papers I’d already prepared and placed them on the coffee table. “Sign them,” I said. “You made your choice a long time ago.” He seized my wrist. “I told you! Skylar and I aren’t what you think! You’re the one I love!” His desperation was suddenly pathetic. “Then make her move out,” I said, enunciating each word. “Immediately. Now.” He froze. Skylar’s timely sob broke the silence: “Mr. Thorne, don’t argue with Sister Eleanor… the baby was just startled and spit up…” Lucian released my hand. “Eleanor! You can be angry with me, but you shouldn’t push a woman holding a baby!” His reprimand was a blunt blade, cruelly severing my last thread of hope. I watched him turn and hurry toward Skylar. I finally had to admit that in Lucian’s heart, I would always come second to that mother and child. Standing on the roadside, I suddenly remembered our wedding day, and Lucian’s vows before the minister: “To love only you, for the rest of my life.” Thinking about it now, his ‘rest of his life’ was remarkably brief. My phone vibrated. It was a message from Lucian: [Just stop being difficult, and you’ll always be Mrs. Thorne.] I smiled faintly and blocked all his contacts. Always? From the moment he secretly got Skylar pregnant, there was no ‘always’ for us. 4 Before leaving Bayview City, I went to the company to complete my resignation handover. As I looked at the company Lucian and I had built from the ground up, a tide of reluctance surged within me. But I knew, there was no place for me here anymore. The glass wall still displayed “Never Give Up,” a motto we’d written together. In the break room, the old coffee maker from our startup days still sat there. But now, his world held things far more important. That child, that woman, that so-called “family.” Ms. Davis, her eyes red-rimmed, helped me clear out my office. “Ms. Sterling, Mr. Thorne certainly wants you to enjoy a life of leisure at home, but if you’re truly leaving, I’ll miss you terribly… Does Mr. Thorne know about your resignation?” Her final question was a probe. She also knew that ever since Lucian had an intern assistant, the Thorne household had been in turmoil. “Of course, it’s all been made clear.” I tucked the last file into a box. The moment I stood up, my vision suddenly swam. I instinctively clutched the desk. Ms. Davis gasped, “Ms. Sterling, you look terrible!” … Hospital lights are always so unsettling. The moment I opened my eyes, Ms. Davis leaned in, her face alight with barely contained joy: “Ms. Sterling, you’re pregnant! Six weeks along!” I froze, my fingers unconsciously tracing my lower abdomen. A child… here? A child who arrived so suddenly, just as I decided to leave… Ms. Davis continued to chatter excitedly, but her words were a dull buzz in my ears. Did Lucian know? Would he, for this child… My phone suddenly vibrated, Lucian’s name flashing on the screen. I answered with a trembling hand, and before I could speak, his enraged roar ripped through the phone: “Eleanor! Why would you do something like this?!” I froze. “What?” “Skylar found a doll under the baby’s crib!” His voice was glacial. “It had pins stuck in it and the baby’s birth date written on it!” I let out a humorless laugh. So that was it. He hadn’t called to check on me after I collapsed; he had called to accuse me. “Lucian,” I said calmly, “Do you remember what today is?” Silence hung on the other end for a beat. “Three years ago today, you were in that car crash. I lunged to shield you.” My voice was barely a whisper. “The doctors said I might never be able to conceive again. But now, I’m…” The sound of something shattering on the other end drowned out the word “pregnant” that left my lips. On his end, Lucian rushed to comfort someone nearby. “There, there, don’t cry. I’ll make this right for you and the baby.” Only then did he ask, “What did you just say? I didn’t hear you!” I suddenly felt there was no point in saying anything more. I hung up. “Ms. Davis,” I said softly, “Don’t tell anyone about my pregnancy yet.” She looked at me, stunned. “But Mr. Thorne…” “Especially not Lucian.” I stroked my flat stomach, and finally, tears fell. “This child… has nothing to do with him anymore.” … The sunset outside the window bled red, like spilled blood. It was like Lucian, three years ago, holding my blood-soaked body, crying out, “Eleanor, it’s okay if we don’t have children. But I can’t lose you!” Now, he had pushed both the child and me away. 5 The moment I managed to push myself up into a sitting position, the hospital room door burst open. Grandfather Thorne hobbled in, leaning on his ebony cane, two bodyguards flanking him. “Eleanor Sterling!” The cane slammed heavily against my bed rail. “You viper! Now the baby is in the ICU, are you satisfied?” I couldn’t stop a bitter laugh from escaping. When Lucian and I had struggled to build the company, he used to affectionately call me “Granddaughter-in-law.” Now that someone else had borne him a great-grandson, I was a viper. My voice was hoarse. “If the baby is in the ICU, perhaps you should be waiting by the operating room door.” Enraged, the old man swung his cane, striking hard against the back of my hand where the IV drip was inserted. The needle was ripped out. Beads of blood welled up and rolled down the back of my hand. “Still feigning innocence!” he raged. “I consulted a spiritual master! It was that cursed doll of yours! Now the baby’s lungs are filled with blood, you—” He choked on his words, nearly collapsing. The bodyguards immediately steadied him. I looked at the raving old man and felt only sorrow. He didn’t know that the child in my womb was his only great-grandchild. I looked at him, incredulous: “You think I would curse an infant?” Lucian stood just behind Grandfather Thorne, but he made no move to speak. “Stop making excuses!” Grandfather Thorne gasped, straightening up. “The master said this is a ‘matriarchal curse.’ To break it, the matriarch who cast it must have her head shaved clean.” He didn’t give me time to process the absurd demand, instead gesturing to the bodyguards, “Hold her down.” I was so weak; did they even need to hold me? Yet I still looked at the figure behind him, suddenly desperate to know: who would Lucian choose this time? As the bodyguard produced the scissors, Lucian finally moved— He took a step back. That single step brought tears of laughter to my eyes. He averted his gaze, his voice trembling: “Eleanor, just for the sake of the baby…” My heart turned to ice. As the razor touched my scalp, I smiled. “Do you remember three years ago, when I had to shave my head after my injury?” The blade already sliced through the first strand of hair. Black strands floated silently onto the stark white sheets. “Back then, I thought I was ugly, hiding in my room for three months, refusing to see you. You stood outside my door for three months, speaking through it every day—” Lucian’s body suddenly convulsed. “—saying that once my hair grew back, you’d comb it for me every day, buy me the best hair oil, and promise I’d never grow a single grey strand.” Memories flooded back like a tide—how could we not have been in love? Back then, he’d bring me different hair growth recipes every day, nurturing my hair with endless care. And now… for a baseless accusation, they were simply shaving it all away… Lucian suddenly lunged forward, grabbing the bodyguard’s hand, his voice raw: “Stop!” But it was too late. Amidst the grief, warm liquid began to stream down my thighs. I looked down and saw beads of blood hitting the floor, one by agonizing one. Lucian’s gaze followed mine, and his face instantly turned ashen: “Eleanor?!” He trembled as he pulled back the blanket, his whole body swaying the moment he saw the blood. “This is…”

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1 My husband, David, and his sister, Michelle, brought a girl home, claiming she was Daisy, our daughter, who’d vanished three years ago. The girl’s face did bear a resemblance to Daisy—maybe a five-point match, as they say—but a cold certainty settled in my gut. “David Miller,” I said, my voice flat, “I’m not so out of touch I wouldn’t recognize my own child.” Yet, he swore it was her. He even had a paternity test report, but I refused to believe it. I took the little girl’s image to the media, hoping to find her real family. I even involved the police. David couldn’t stand my persistence. He had me committed to a psychiatric ward. Then, one day, a stranger online inexplicably tagged me, claiming to know Daisy’s whereabouts. I clicked the link. The address led to a secluded, rural property. In the video, a little girl, emaciated and covered in grime, mimicked a hog, scrabbling for scraps of feed. Her eyes were wide with a terror that clawed at my heart, and she even let out guttural grunts, mimicking the animals. Her face was identical to my missing Daisy. The moment I saw this girl, the one David brought home, I knew, with every fiber of my being, she wasn’t my daughter. I raced to the Sheriff’s Department. “Ms. Miller,” the deputy said, his tone weary. “This case is closed. Your husband has repeatedly confirmed this is your child. Please, don’t misuse public resources.” No matter how I explained, how I pleaded that the little girl was not my child, no one believed me. The officers watched me with an air of polite exasperation. Of course, they wouldn’t. A paternity test had confirmed the five-point resemblance was indeed my daughter. A moment later, David arrived, striding into the precinct. He grabbed my hand, his eyes burning with anger, but he quickly masked it with an apologetic smile for the officers. “My apologies, officers. My wife… since our daughter disappeared, she’s been quite distressed. Her mental state isn’t quite stable.” He tried to tug me away. I erupted, yanking my hand free. “Enough!” I cried, tossing the official case closure document at him. “How could I not know what my own daughter looks like? This isn’t Daisy! Daisy doesn’t look like this!” An officer intervened gently, “Children change as they grow, ma’am. It’s been over three years since your daughter vanished.” David’s voice softened, laced with a feigned helplessness as he looked at me. “Sarah, I know Daisy’s disappearance has haunted you, left you sleepless. Now that she’s finally back, why won’t you believe her? She is our daughter. Please, let’s not make a scene. What will others think of her, seeing you like this?” Every eye in the room fell on me, scrutinizing me as if I were truly a madwoman. Three years ago, our family went hiking with David’s sister, Michelle, and her family. My daughter, Daisy, and Michelle’s child, Chloe, went ahead to scout the trail. That’s when Daisy mysteriously disappeared. The police searched endlessly, but she was never found. Every waking moment since, I’ve been consumed by her absence. At night, as soon as I close my eyes, her face fills my vision. The little girl David brought back from the authorities, while resembling Daisy, had an entirely different personality and even the most basic habits were off. I couldn’t understand why every family member, even David, insisted she was our daughter. David led me home. The moment he opened the door, the girl rushed towards me. “Mommy!” she chirped, her voice overly sweet. “The relatives brought so much crab! Daisy loves crab! It’s so fresh and sweet. Mommy, do you want to try some?” She hugged my leg. A jolt of revulsion shot through me, leaving my body rigid. Instinctively, I pushed her away. She stumbled, falling to the floor, and instantly burst into tears. “Mommy, don’t you love Daisy anymore?” Seeing her fall, David quickly scooped her up, his eyes blazing with fury as he glared at me. “Sarah Miller, that’s enough! This is our daughter! Why are you kicking her like some maniac?!” The girl clung to David’s neck, whimpering softly, “Daddy, it’s okay. I know Mommy hasn’t accepted me yet.” She reached out a hand towards me. I grabbed her wrist, my grip tight. “Who are you, really? Why are you pretending to be my daughter?” Tears streamed down her face. She sobbed piteously, burying her face against David’s shoulder. “Daddy, why won’t Mommy believe I’m Daisy…?” David carried her to the sofa, calming her. Then he strode back, grabbing my arm, dragging me forcefully to stand before the girl. He released me with a shove, throwing me off balance, and I landed hard on the floor. I looked up. The girl’s lips curved into a fleeting, triumphant smirk. A moment later, her voice turned saccharine again. “Daddy, you hurt Mommy.” “Mommy, I really am Daisy! Look at my necklace. We picked out the beads together at the jewelry store. It’s our secret.” I scrambled forward, frantically examining the necklace around her neck. Her tears flowed anew, uncontrolled. “Mommy, I really didn’t lie! I’m Daisy! Don’t you want me anymore?” I froze. The necklace… it was the one Daisy and I had chosen together. Even the yellow crystal on it had a faint crack, just like I remembered. Just as I was about to question her further, David pulled me roughly away, separating us. “Sarah Miller, that’s enough! You’re questioning our daughter over and over again! She’s been through so much these past few years. It’s perfectly normal for her personality to have changed!” I knew David loved our daughter fiercely. From her infancy, he’d handled everything—her diapers, her outfits. He was devoted. I just couldn’t fathom why he couldn’t recognize his own child. I even began to wonder if my own mind was truly unraveling, but when she touched me, I felt a visceral revulsion I couldn’t control. Just then, David’s adoptive sister, Michelle, arrived. Michelle had always doted on Daisy, spending as much time with her as I did, if not more. 2 When I saw Michelle, it was like seeing a lifeline. “Michelle,” I pleaded, my voice cracking, “Look at this girl! She’s not Daisy, is she?” Michelle’s face registered a flicker of surprise, then an awkward glance at the girl. “Sarah, are you… are you seeing things? This is Daisy.” She even pulled out her phone, showing me photos of Daisy taken years ago, comparing them. It was strange. I remembered Daisy looking differently three years ago, but all the photos Michelle showed me now featured this girl’s face. A cold dread seeped into my bones, a chilling sense of unease spreading through me. David, holding the girl’s hand, looked at me with a mocking glint in his eyes. Just as I was about to speak, the front door opened. My mom had returned from her small town. I felt a surge of desperate hope, clutching her hand tightly. “Mom, you see it, don’t you? She’s not Daisy.” My mom pulled out her phone, carefully comparing the photos. Then, she shook her head slowly. I saw her reaction. Mother knows best, I thought. She must feel it too. But then, she sighed, her gaze filled with a weary sadness. “Sarah, honey, have you been worrying too much about Daisy lately? Are you starting to imagine things?” “This is your daughter, Daisy. You can’t even recognize her. I think you’re really sick, dear. It worries me, you’re still so young…” Her comforting words continued, but my mind was a maelstrom of frantic thoughts. “I’m not sick! She’s not my daughter!” But no matter what I said, everyone stared at me with startled eyes, as if mocking me, the madwoman. A memory flashed in my mind. Daisy had a small, heart-shaped birthmark on her lower back. I refused to believe this girl had it too. I grabbed her, pulling her shirt up. She struggled, resisting frantically, and her shirt accidentally tore. She began to cry, small, helpless whimpers. David instantly scooped her into his arms, then slapped me. My mother, horrified, stepped forward. “Sarah Miller, when did you become so unreasonable? This is your own flesh and blood!” David carried the girl away. I stood there, stunned. I had seen it. The birthmark was there. How? Had I misremembered? Was my daughter’s mark not what I thought? They looked similar, but the eyes, the eyebrows, the chin… they were all wrong. My Daisy had a round face, but this girl’s face was slightly longer. I frantically searched for photos, but every picture I remembered, every image of Daisy in my mind, had been replaced by this girl’s face. Then I remembered. Daisy and Michelle’s daughter, Chloe, were very close. They were together that day when Daisy mysteriously disappeared. I turned to ask Michelle, but she wasn’t there. I tried to call her, but my call wouldn’t go through. My messages on the chat app came back with a red exclamation mark. Why? She had just been here a moment ago. 3 David took the girl directly to his parents’ house, clearly to keep me from “going crazy” again. Still refusing to believe she was my daughter, I started posting messages online, hoping her real parents would see them. The posts gained significant traction. David saw them and accused me of deliberately stirring up trouble. The internet, however, seemed to pity me, while simultaneously condemning me as a madwoman. And that little girl… she sent me messages every single day. “Mommy, Daisy misses you so much. Please, don’t argue with Daddy anymore.” “Daisy will be good.” David also apologized for hitting me, urging me to see a psychiatrist. I ignored his pleas. Instead, I began to sift through Daisy’s belongings, until I found a medical report. It clearly stated that my daughter had a severe seafood allergy; she couldn’t eat any of it. I remembered vividly how, because of this, David and I had stopped buying seafood, terrified of risking her health. The time she accidentally ate a single shrimp at preschool and broke out in hives was etched into my memory. She’s not allergic to seafood! Like a drowning person clutching at a straw, I immediately drove to David’s parents’ house. I saw Michelle peeling crab for the girl. Overwhelmed, I lunged forward, grabbing the girl’s hand. “You’re allergic to seafood! How can you eat crab? Tell me, where is my daughter?!” The girl cried piteously, looking at me with wide, bewildered eyes. “Mommy, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I pulled her, intending to take her to the hospital. Michelle quickly intervened, grabbing my arm. “Enough! Isn’t it too much, the way you’re questioning this child?” My eyes fixed on Michelle, and in that instant, I suddenly saw it. The girl’s eyebrows… they looked so much like Michelle’s. As I froze, Michelle let out a sharp cry. I felt a forceful shove. Both the girl and I tumbled down the stairs. I heard footsteps from the entrance and turned to see David rushing towards us, his face etched with panic. Michelle, meanwhile, scrambled down the stairs, feigning terror. “David!” she wailed, her voice thick with tears. “Sarah’s really gone crazy! She actually tried to kill Daisy!” As I fell down the stairs, my instinct took over. I wrapped my arms around the girl, shielding her body, taking the brunt of the impact myself. David quickly lifted the girl into his arms. She clung to his sleeve, her eyes wide and innocent. “Daddy, I thought Mommy came to find me because she remembered me. But she just kept pulling my hand, no matter if I wanted to or not.” “When Aunt Michelle tried to help me, she actually tried to push me down the stairs! Does Mommy really not love me anymore?” Her cries were unbearable. I couldn’t control my voice. “Enough! You’re not my Daisy! And I didn’t try to push you!” David held her close, his eyes blazing with fury at me. “Sarah Miller, I misjudged you! Do you think a child, so small, just rolls down the stairs on her own?!” “No, I didn’t…” I started to protest, but Michelle interjected from the side. “David, I think Sarah’s condition is getting worse. She’s starting to hallucinate, even doing things that could harm people.” I remembered the medical report I’d found earlier. “No! I didn’t! David, this girl is allergic to seafood, she can’t…” The little girl, still nestled against David, continued to sob. “Daddy, Aunt Michelle, my body hurts so much.” I grabbed David’s pant leg, desperate for him to take her to get checked for allergies. David, with a look of utter helplessness, shook my hand away. My head hit the floor, and everything went black. 4 When I next awoke, I found myself in a hospital bed. A nurse walked in. “Severe mental disorientation. You’ll be staying here for a while.” I grabbed her hand. “Where is this? Where’s David?” “Your family admitted you to a psychiatric facility. Your mental condition is quite serious. You can only leave once you’re fully recovered.” Just as I was about to speak again, someone pulled open the curtain of the adjacent bed. “Keep it down, will ya?” It was a boy, no older than ten, hunched over a laptop, eyes fixed on lines of strange code. Trapped there, I found him to be a quiet companion. He often advised me to give up struggling, saying I’d only leave when family came to collect me. Out of sheer desperation, I began drawing. I drew Daisy, over and over, trying to capture the girl I remembered. I still believed my daughter was out there, vanished. The more I drew, the more sketches piled up. The boy, observing my frenzy, eventually used his computer to generate a picture from my drawings. I stared at the AI-generated photo. This was my daughter. My Daisy. Tears streamed down my face. “Please, kid,” I pleaded, my voice hoarse. “Can you find this girl for me? She’s my daughter.” I poured out everything that had happened, telling him about the fake Daisy, the pig farm video, my family’s disbelief. He listened, then used his laptop to log into my old social media accounts. There, among my posts, were old sketches of Daisy. I saw a private message, an account tagged. I found the account. It was empty, yet the profile page boasted hundreds of thousands of likes on old posts. An unsettling feeling seized me. I urgently begged the boy to do something. His fingers danced across the keyboard. Soon, that account was open on his screen. In the private section, there were several videos, each with tens of thousands of likes. In them, a small girl, mimicking a hog, was eating from a trough. Her clothes were filthy, her body emaciated. I watched video after video, tears streaming down my face, uncontrolled. This girl… this was my daughter. The one who’d been missing for three years. I scrutinized her face, confirming it again and again. It was Daisy. Seeing my desperate state, the boy quickly pinpointed the IP address.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392656”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel