Category: English

I am a Prince of the Veridian Empire. In my most glorious years, I tormented the man they now call the King’s Shadow, Leon. I trampled upon his brokenness, mocking him for the pleasures he could no longer have. After I lost everything, he was the one who played with me until I shattered. “Even without that, Your Highness,” he would murmur, “I have a thousand ways to serve you.” “A eunuch, you say? The pleasures a eunuch can offer… are more varied than you can possibly imagine.” 1 I was sprawled across Leon’s lap like a discarded rag doll, completely spent. He looked down, savoring the blankness in my eyes. His long, elegant fingers, slick with a moist sheen, slowly wiped themselves on the small of my back. I had already wept myself hollow. My limbs were weak, pliant, and useless. I never knew. I never knew a eunuch could possess such skills. His methods of torment were more numerous, more inventive, than any whole man’s. And I, a Prince of the Veridian Empire, had been reduced to this pathetic state before him. Utterly his to take, his to command. The shame. The burning, unbearable shame. I swung my hand, striking him across the face. I did it with the hand that wore my signet ring, not just reddening that pale, handsome cheek, but carving a fine, bloody line into the skin. I snarled through gritted teeth, “You insolent dog, you don’t know your place.” But my tears and curses earlier had earned me no pity from him. He had simply watched, his expression one of rapturous madness, his pupils dilated with an almost feral excitement as he held me captive, a plaything he could not be denied. I was a fish on his chopping block, and he had gutted me again and again. This time, Leon offered no argument. He simply touched a thumb to the cut on his cheek, smearing the blood slightly. “My apologies, Your Highness. The fault is mine.” There was not a shred of remorse in his voice. It was a promise, clear as day: he wasn’t finished, and he would dare to do it again. And why shouldn’t he? Given his station now, why would he ever need to bow his head to me? My fury was impotent, a pointless gesture. A wave of exhaustion washed over me. I lay limp on his lap, listlessly twisting the ring on my finger. “How is my mother?” “Thanks to your… generosity, Your Highness, the Queen Mother’s illness has greatly improved.” As it should. She had been wasting away all winter. If I hadn’t come crawling to Leon, hadn’t stripped myself bare for his amusement, she would have been left to die. The King’s Shadow. A title of such power. This damned servant, once nothing, was now a lord in his own right. And I, the true prince, was now just a beaten dog, living in constant fear. Ever since my bid for the throne failed and my brother was crowned, I was no longer the exalted Fourth Prince. I couldn’t even summon a royal physician. The new king, my brother, refused to see me. Every door was barred. So, on the day of the first snow, I went to the one person I had sworn I would never beg from. The brazier in Leon’s chambers burned bright, melting the fine snowflakes from my hair and brows. The warmth was so sudden, so enveloping, it made me want to weep. He was dressed in the severe black and silver of the Obsidian Directorate, lounging on a divan and stroking a white cat in his lap. “Your Highness knows as well as I do,” he said, his voice a low purr, “that if His Majesty wants the Queen Mother dead, no one can save her.” He was right. If he wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here. The only person who had the new king’s ear was Leon. It was Leon, after all, who had crushed all opposition to put my brother on the throne. My fists clenched. I bowed my head. “For the sake of what we once were, I’m begging you…” “What we once were?” Leon scoffed, finally looking up at me. His eyes were like chips of ice. “Your Highness, is there anything left between us?” There had been. Once. But not anymore. In the struggle for succession, he had chosen my brother, Julian. He had hurt me, and I had humiliated him. Whatever bond we had was long since buried under a mountain of hate. I was speechless. “Your Highness,” he said, his voice turning silken and dangerous. “If you’re going to beg, you should look the part.” He set the cat aside. “I’ll save the Queen Mother. But what will you give me in return?” What could I give? I had nothing left. “What do you want?” Leon paused, wiping his hands on a silk cloth. Then he said one word. “Undress.” My mind went white, then flooded with a hot, furious disbelief. “What did you say?” The flickering lamplight danced across his face, making his handsome features seem almost demonic. He repeated the word, his tone flat and even. “Take off your clothes.” He tossed the cloth into the fire, holding his long, pale hands over the flames to warm them. “I want to see you, Your Highness. The more you bare for me, the faster the Queen Mother’s recovery will be.” 2 That day, I shattered my own pride. Piece by piece, I shed my fine clothes, stripping away the dignity of my royal blood along with them. He pressed me down onto his lap and explored every inch of me, inside and out. When the torment became unbearable, I bit down on his arm, tears streaming down my face. When the waves of pleasure crested, I moaned his name. Through it all, Leon remained cold, detached, as if all my writhing and weeping couldn’t stir a single ember of interest in him. Not because he lacked the means, but because he lacked the desire. For me. Even as a eunuch, he had no interest in me. He didn’t want me. He only wanted to know the most exquisite way to humiliate me. This was his revenge. Revenge for how I had once shamed him. The white cat sat by his feet, looking up at me with curious, tilted eyes, letting out a soft meow. He was toying with me, just as he toyed with the cat. How dare he! How dare he debase me like this! My teeth sank into his arm, drawing blood. Leon merely pinched my chin, his fingers probing at my teeth. He chuckled. “Such sharp teeth.” My face was a mess of tears. I trembled against his lap, a broken thing. His gaze darkened for a moment. He released my jaw, but his words were still barbs. “You can’t take this much? You’re more delicate than my little Snow-Puff.” He was comparing me to a cat. I snapped my mouth shut, biting his fingers instead. Leon didn’t flinch, letting me chew until his hand was slick with blood. With his free hand, he idly stroked my hair twice. “Always biting,” he murmured. “One of these days, I’ll have to file down those sharp little fangs of yours.” 3 I spent the entire winter in the Obsidian Directorate’s fortress. I was only allowed to return to the Rosewood Palace once my mother was well. A lady-in-waiting stopped me at the door. The Queen Mother was awake, but she wasn’t seeing visitors. Not even me. Three days later, my mother requested permission to leave the capital and retire to the Royal Sepulcher to “tend to the late king’s memory.” She left without a single word of farewell. I saw her carriage pulling away and I ran, chasing it past the palace walls, my throat raw from shouting her name. I fell, scrambled back up, and kept running. I was finally caught at the Crimson Gate. Leon’s arm wrapped around my waist, a band of steel. “Stop, Your Highness. It’s long past the gates. Where do you think you’re going?” The road ahead was empty. The carriage was gone. I shoved him away like a madman, my eyes burning. “Go away! Get away from me! All of you, just go!” My voice cracked into a hysterical shriek. “Leave! Just leave me! Leave me with nothing!” Let me be utterly alone, trapped in this gilded cage to rot. Leon frowned, clamping a hand over my mouth and pinning me against the cold stone of the palace wall. “What are you shouting for?” he hissed. “You useless thing. Can’t you survive without your mother?” I glared at him, a venomous, hateful stare. He wasn’t intimidated in the slightest. His voice softened, turning into a low, coaxing murmur. “I won’t leave. How about I take care of you, hmm?” I couldn’t push him away. I could only stare at him as fresh tears spilled from my eyes. Leon watched me for a long moment. “Don’t cry,” he commanded. I cried harder. What right did he have to tell me what to do? He didn’t want me. Just like my mother. 4 Leon wasn’t always a eunuch. He was born Caelan de Valerius, son of the Minister of Justice. At eight, he wrote an ode so brilliant the King himself praised him as “a dragon destined for more than this small pond” and appointed him as my eldest brother’s companion. When I was five, Caelan stole my candied fruits. At six, he took me hunting for birds’ nests. At seven, he bribed me with sugar sculptures to call him “big brother.” At nine, he tricked me into fishing the most prized koi from the imperial gardens so we could roast it over a fire. My mother was so furious her hair practically stood on end. She grabbed my ear and yelled, “Stay away from that little hellion from House Valerius!” So, Caelan taught me how to climb walls and crawl through doggy doors to escape her. When I was thirteen, the Crown Prince was accused of treason and sentenced to death. House Valerius was dragged down with him, branded as co-conspirators. His entire clan was executed. Only Caelan was spared, brought into the palace to serve, reborn as the young eunuch, Leon. It wasn’t me who saved him. It was my second brother, Julian. Julian knelt in the snow before the King’s chambers for half a day to beg for Caelan’s life. The act shattered his already fragile health, leaving him with a sickness that would never heal. Leon once told me he would have rather died than have Julian kneel for him, to have been the cause of his lifelong ailment. Leon adored Julian. But that day… that day, I had also knelt. I knelt in my own palace for a day and a night, my forehead bruised and bloody from kowtowing, begging my mother to intervene, to save Caelan’s life. But in the end, I was powerless. Leon was assigned to Julian’s Ivory Palace, and from then on, we were strangers. I thought he blamed me for not saving him. I once cornered him in a corridor, trying to explain in a low, humbled voice, trying every means I knew to have him transferred to my service. But Leon refused. He said he wanted to stay with Julian. He said, “The Fourth Prince is showered with every imaginable favor. The Second Prince has nothing. I have to stay with him.” And among all those favors showered upon me, the one I truly wanted was missing. Leon’s. He gave the part of him that should have been mine to Julian. Later, the rivalry for the throne between Julian and me grew fiercer. My personal attendant, Pip, a boy who had been with me for years, “slipped” and drowned in a pond. Pip, who always covered for Caelan and me when we snuck out to play. Pip, who knew just how to rub my stomach when I ate too much. And it was Leon who had killed him. With his own hands. Pip knew how to swim. He crawled out of that pond three times, and three times Leon kicked him back in, until he didn’t surface again. I hated Leon. I hated him with a fury that burned away my sleep. I used my father’s favor to have Leon transferred to my palace. I took a whip to him, grabbing him by the collar and demanding to know why. Why he had killed my friend. Leon just laughed, a low, chilling sound. “Because he was in the Second Prince’s way.” I slapped him across the face. “A fine dog Julian has raised.” I sneered. “The servants whisper that you’re his bedwarmer, his little pet. I didn’t believe it, but now I see I thought too highly of you.” I pressed my foot down on the scar between his legs, on his wound, on his nothingness. “Tell me,” I hissed, “can you even please him, without your… equipment? How exactly do you serve him?” Leon let me crush him, swallowing the pain. A smile played on his lips. “Is that jealousy I hear, Your Highness?” The words stung like a wasp. A sharp, piercing pain shot through my heart. Blinded by rage, I kicked him away. I shielded my wounded heart with the most vicious words I could find. A prince like me, was I supposed to kneel and beg for a scrap of affection from this heartless, treacherous slave? “Jealousy?” I spat. “I’m just disgusted.” “I can’t imagine how my brother can even stomach it. A rootless thing like you. What kind of pleasure could you possibly give? Aren’t you afraid of dirtying him?” I forced a contemptuous smile, my eyes crimson with malice, and I ground my heel down, tormenting him with a mad frenzy. I wanted him to hurt. I wanted him to hate. I wanted him to feel the same tearing pain that I felt. “I gave you a chance to be a man, and you refused. So be a good dog for me now.” Leon stayed in my palace for a year and a half. I unleashed all my hatred and fury upon him. He always remained silent, his eyes downcast, enduring it all. Until he was transferred out of my service and into the Heartstone Palace, to serve my father, the King. From there, Leon rose meteorically. He became my father’s most trusted advisor, Director of the Obsidian Directorate, the keeper of the King’s seal. And after my father died, it was Leon who put Julian on the throne, abandoning me completely. 5 During the Spring Hunt, the new king, Julian, seemed to finally remember me, the loser in the game of succession. He invited me to join him. When it was time to depart, a pageboy came for me. As I approached the royal carriage, I could hear laughter from within. It was Julian, whining like a child. “I take it back. That was a bad move. I don’t want to play my piece there.” Leon’s voice, calm and measured, replied, “Your Majesty, a move made cannot be unmade.” “And what if I do?” Leon sighed, his patience seemingly infinite. “Nothing, Your Majesty. You are the king. Whatever you do is right.” Julian chuckled twice, then broke into a fit of coughing. The pageboy announced my arrival in a hushed tone. I boarded the carriage, my eyes fixed on the floor. I knelt, prostrating myself fully. “Your servant, Adrian Thorne, greets His Majesty. Long may you reign.” The carriage fell silent. Another bout of coughing, then Julian’s gentle voice. “It’s only been a few days, Adrian. Must you be so formal? You treat me like a stranger.” My eyes remained downcast. “I would not dare.” “Don’t kneel. Get up,” he said, a note of displeasure in his tone. I rose obediently. I saw Leon holding a small bowl, stirring a concoction of pear water with a silver spoon. He waited for it to cool before handing it to Julian. “Drink this.” He was capable of such tenderness. Just not for me. The one Leon chose, from beginning to end, was always Julian. Even the throne, Leon had won it for him. My father had once doted on me more than anyone. Yet on his deathbed, he named Julian his successor. It was Leon who delivered the decree. I didn’t believe it. The court didn’t believe it. But Leon crushed all dissent, killing a few key nobles with brutal efficiency to force Julian onto the throne. He knew. He knew how desperately I wanted to be king. He knew how much my mother and I had sacrificed for that ambition. He knew that for one of us to rise, the other must fall. He knew it all. And he chose Julian. In truth, Leon had always chosen Julian. I was the fool who thought I could ever compete. Only after I had fallen, broken and defeated, did I understand. What isn’t yours can never be taken, no matter how you fight. Now, having lost everything, I had finally accepted it. I was a prince of the blood. What kind of servant couldn’t I have? Was it really worth losing myself over a castrated slave?

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1 When my wife’s chartered fishing boat sank, it left us buried under a mountain of debt. I sold my ancestral home and spent my days and nights diving in the deep, dangerous waters. It took me five grueling years, but I finally paid it all off. As I walked into the seafood restaurant, the last of the money clutched in my hand, still smelling of the sea, I saw her. My wife. She was feeding sashimi to another man, her one true love. The restaurant owner was bowing at their side, obsequiously offering a dish of caviar. “Ms. Thorne,” he stammered, “your husband just sold his last trawler to cover the final payment. About that money…” She wiped a smudge of oil from her lover’s lips, a lazy smile on her face. “Take it, of course. The usual deal. Seventy-thirty split.” She looked at the man beside her. “My darling wants a private island in the Maldives. This should be enough for a few blades of grass, don’t you think?” My phone buzzed. A news alert popped up on the screen. ‘Thorne Shipping becomes the nation’s largest maritime transport company as of 9:00 a.m. today.’ I tapped on the link. There, under the name of the chairwoman, Guinevere Thorne, was my wife’s ID photo. The pouch of money slipped from my grasp, its sharp edge slicing a bloody line across my palm. Five years ago, Guinevere’s chartered boat sank, and we were left to pay for the damages. Three million dollars. I sold our family home and became a fisherman to make ends meet. I had just sold my last boat, the final remnant of my family’s legacy, to scrape together this last payment. And now I find out that Guinevere is the chairwoman of the largest shipping company in the country. Even the boat owner, my supposed creditor, was just one of her lackeys. He was now raising a glass to her. “Thank you, Ms. Thorne, for your guidance all these years. And for letting me earn a little extra on the side.” He lowered his voice. “Once this is all over, I’ll find a way to run him off the island for good.” Guinevere waved a dismissive hand. “A fool like him who only believes in the Sea Goddess? Just tell him she came to you in a dream. He’d probably kill himself if she asked. That’s how I got him to give up his kidney, pretending to be lost at sea.” A chill shot through me, quickly replaced by a hot surge of rage. Six years ago, her ship was caught in a typhoon. Thirteen people died. She was the only one missing. I spent my life savings trying to get the maritime authorities to help, but no one would listen. In the end, I dragged my broken body to the temple of the Sea Goddess and prayed until my forehead was raw. “I beg you, great Goddess, I will give twenty years of my life for Guinevere’s safe return.” On the third day of my vigil, the statue seemed to glow, and a voice echoed in my mind, telling me it would take one of my kidneys to save her. I didn’t hesitate. That night, I was drugged. When I woke up, the pain from the fresh incision was agonizing. But the next day, Guinevere miraculously returned. I’ve been a vegetarian ever since, a token of my gratitude. And it was all a lie. A cruel scheme to treat her lover, Fabian. I was shaking with fury, the beautiful memories of seven years ago swirling in my head. She had been a tourist, lost on the island when we met. It was love at first sight. I was her guide for weeks. Her confession of love was as grand and dramatic as a summer storm. She never once told me who she really was. Fabian’s voice cut through my thoughts again. “How could a lowly fisherman like him ever be worthy of the great Ms. Thorne? If it weren’t for his family’s nautical charts, our Gwen would never have wasted her time on this pathetic wretch.” “Exactly,” Guinevere laughed. “And it cost me a life, too. That old hag wouldn’t budge, so I swapped her cancer medication with vitamin pills. She probably would have lasted a few more years otherwise.” Their casual laughter pierced my eardrums, and a deathly cold spread through my body. When my mother was diagnosed with lung cancer, there was an imported miracle drug that could have saved her. It cost over a million a bottle. Someone had offered me a fortune for our ancestral nautical charts. I was tempted, but my mother threatened to kill herself if I sold them. 2 On the third day, she took the medicine I had bought by selling one of our boats, and she was gone. In the blur of the funeral, I never even noticed when the charts were stolen. I had blamed the black-market dealer who sold me the medicine. I had blamed my own bad luck. But I never once suspected that the person closest to me was the one who had destroyed my family. I wanted to rush in, to tear them apart with my bare hands. Fabian spotted me. “Gwen,” he called out, “your husband is here with the money.” Guinevere quickly tossed her designer jacket to the owner, revealing the coarse fisherman’s clothes underneath, still bearing the patches I had sewn for her. She lowered her head, her voice a soft murmur. “Darling, you’re just in time. I was about to ask for an advance on my salary to buy you some supplements. You need to take care of yourself.” For the first time, I realized how good a powerful CEO could be at playing poor. The owner tapped his ledger. “Your wife has been taking advances all year. She hasn’t even settled the rental fees! She still owes me at least thirty-nine thousand!” I tossed the pouch of money onto the table. “The boat is paid for. The rest is not my problem.” The owner clicked his tongue and flung a piece of cod at my face. “You think you can just walk away from your wife’s debts? If you can’t pay, you can roll around on the deck like a flounder. A thousand a roll.” Guinevere put her arm around me. The light reflecting off the multi-million-dollar watch on her wrist was blinding. Five days ago, I’d thrown out my back unloading cargo at the docks. She, on the other hand, had been celebrating the gift of this very watch with a passionate night with Fabian. Her voice was a soft whisper. “I’m sorry. It’s all my fault for being so useless and dragging you down. But a thousand dollars… it would take me days at sea to earn that.” A bucket of ice water was dumped over my head. I was humiliated but powerless to resist. As I completed my third roll, Fabian, looking bored, tossed a coil of fishing wire in front of me. “Roll over this, and I’ll give you two thousand.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I tried to stand, but Fabian kicked me back down, the heel of his leather shoe grinding into my fingers. “The fish are more obedient than you.” The owner held me down as I was forced to roll back and forth over the sharp wire mesh. My body was a canvas of bleeding cuts. The taste of salt and blood filled my mouth. I limped back to our shabby hut. Everything of value was already sold. There was nothing left to hold on to. The wind began to howl, and the flimsy hut swayed precariously. My mother’s portrait fell from the wall, the shattered glass cutting my already mangled finger. To pay the debt, I had once snuck into a fish farm during a storm to collect the dead fish, and a wire fence had torn a chunk of flesh from that same finger. The wound had gotten infected, and I’d had to have the tip amputated. And at that very moment, Guinevere and Fabian were entwined on the most luxurious cruise ship, the price of a single night’s ticket more than I could make in two years of back-breaking, twelve-hour days of hauling cargo. Even the protective amulet I had prayed for at the temple, the one I had given her for her safety, had been casually tossed to Fabian as a toy for his cat. “Who believes in that Sea Goddess nonsense these days?” Years of devotion, all for nothing. I didn’t need them to drive me away. I was already leaving. As I finished packing, Guinevere sauntered in, a fresh love bite on her neck. She saw my luggage and her brow furrowed. A gust of wind tore through the hut, sending the thatched roof scattering like a broken kite. She wiped the grit from her face in disgust and placed a tube of cheap herbal ointment in my hand. “I saw you got hurt on the deck. I bought this for you.” Tears blurred my vision. I slapped the tube from her hand. Normally, I would have chided her for wasting money. But I had seen the news. I knew she had booked out an entire hospital just because Fabian had caught a chill from the sea breeze. As she was gazing at the stars with him from the deck of their luxury yacht, did she ever spare a thought for me, sleepless in the pouring rain? 3 Last month, during typhoon season, while I was risking my life to repair the fish farm nets, she was using the salted cod I had prepared to pamper Fabian’s cat. I used to think Fabian was one of the boat owner’s men, that Guinevere was powerless against his arrogance. Now I saw it was her indulgence that had fueled his cruelty all along. “Guinevere,” I asked, my voice raw, “you were the only one who knew where my family’s nautical charts were kept. Did you really not take them?” The sea wind stung my eyes. Her face contorted in a sudden rage. She grabbed a nearby oar and swung it at me. “What right do you have to suspect me?” I instinctively raised my arm to block the blow. A splinter from the oar pierced the old scar on my forearm, a memento from a time I had defended her from a group of thugs. Blood gushed from the wound. She panicked. “Are you crazy? Why would you block it with your hand—” Before she could finish, Fabian ran up, whining that he wanted to learn how to drive the trawler. I used work as an excuse to escape their nauseating flirtation. I worked until sunset. Then Fabian appeared at the port with a group of men. Crate after crate of seafood was dumped into the ocean, swallowed by the waves in an instant. “All losses today will be covered by Caden Thorne,” he announced, his face a mask of malevolence. He ignored the desperate pleas of the other fishermen and proceeded to release a catch of rare, deep-sea oysters back into the water. Guinevere arrived and kicked me hard in the back of the knees, forcing me to the ground. “Apologize to Mr. Lowell right now! With all these losses, we’ll be ruined for years!” But I knew. The value of the entire ship’s cargo was less than what Guinevere spent on a single meal.

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During the night shift, I refused my stepsister’s request to administer an IV to her patient. I had to watch with my own eyes as the seven-year-old boy died from an allergic reaction to the wrong medication. In my last life, the moment I’d finished hanging the IV bag, the boy’s furious family stormed the nurses’ station, beating me black and blue. “It was you! You gave him the wrong medicine! You poisoned my grandson!” But it was just a simple glucose drip. Nothing should have gone wrong. Someone called the cops as my consciousness began to fade. I thought salvation had arrived. Instead, my own brother, a police officer, shoved my face to the ground. “Your fingerprints are on the IV bag, you murderer.” Then Ryan, the medical examiner I’d grown up with, presented the autopsy report, pointing a damning finger at me. “Time of death was around 5 a.m., exactly when you were administering the drip.” I had no defense. In the end, the boy’s enraged family cornered me and beat me to death. Even as I died, I couldn’t understand. Why would the brother who had always doted on me, and the childhood friend who had always protected me, do this? Then I opened my eyes. I was back in that same night. 1 “Caroline, listen. Amber’s stomach is killing her. Since you’re on the night shift anyway, could you just cover for her?” My brother Alva’s warm voice on the phone sent a violent tremor through my body. My eyes shot to the wall clock. It was 2 a.m. I stared at the frantic, fluorescent-lit chaos of the nurses’ station, and it took a long moment for the reality to sink in. I had been reborn. Amber, seeing me dazed, gave me a sharp shove, her face a mask of impatience. “So, are you going to do it or not? If you say yes, I’m out of here.” She clutched her stomach theatrically. “It hurts so bad, I need to go home and rest. Just remember to change the IV for the patient in bed 6 at 5 a.m.” Last time, I’d caved for Alva’s sake and agreed to cover for her. The moment I’d reached the patient’s bedside, I knew something was wrong. The little boy was almost completely cocooned in his blankets, only his face visible, ghostly pale in the moonlight filtering through the window. Just as I was about to check on him, Amber’s call came through. “Is the new bag up yet?” she’d asked. “This kid… he’s sleeping so soundly it doesn’t seem right,” I’d replied, a knot of unease tightening in my gut. “I’m going to check his vitals first.” Amber had exploded on the other end of the line. “Oh, come on! He’s been a terror all day. He’s finally asleep. Are you seriously going to wake him up?” Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread. “Where are his parents? Why is there no one with him?” “Just stop worrying about it! It’s not like you even have to find a vein, just switch the bag on the stand. Why are you making such a big deal out of it? Do you have to wake him up just to feel like you’ve done your job?” I glanced at the label on the new IV bag. It was just glucose, for hydration and energy. My shoulders relaxed. I let my guard down. That single moment of carelessness cost me everything, branding me with a death I didn’t cause. The next morning, as I was getting ready to clock out, the family from bed 6 had descended on the nurses’ station and, without a word, began to tear me apart. That’s when I learned that the boy, Jacob Vance, had died of anaphylactic shock. And I was the last person to touch his IV. But I’d hung a glucose drip, the same one he’d been on for days. He couldn’t have been allergic to it. After it all went down, Amber had shoved all the blame onto me. “Caroline was the one who administered the drug. It had nothing to do with me.” I thought for sure that Alva, my brother, and Ryan, my closest friend, would help me uncover the truth. Instead, my own brother, the cop, pointed me out in a lineup. “The fingerprints on the IV bag are Caroline’s. She’s the killer, no question.” And Ryan, the brilliant M.E., had thrown the autopsy report at my face. “The time of death coincides exactly with when you were in his room. What else is there to say?” My words were useless. In the end, the grieving family cornered me outside the police station. And as Alva and Ryan watched on with cold, indifferent eyes, they beat me until I stopped breathing. Until the very end, I couldn’t understand why. Why would the two people I trusted most in the world abandon me to such a fate? The phantom sting of torn skin and shattered bones still lingered, a ghostly echo in my new body. Reborn into this life, I would not let that tragedy repeat itself. 2 Alva’s anxious voice on the phone pulled me from my dark memories. “Caroline? Are you going to help or not? Just give me a yes or no so I can come pick Amber up.” In my past life, I hadn’t noticed his urgency. His haste to have me cover the shift, and later, his haste to convict me. It was as if he was terrified the blame might somehow splash back onto Amber. Could Alva have been involved from the start? A chill, colder than any hospital draft, snaked up my spine. I glanced at Amber out of the corner of my eye. She couldn’t hide the panic in her expression. Her eyes kept darting toward Room 302, as if some terrible secret was coiled up in the darkness there. I cleared my throat, forcing my voice to be steady. “No, I can’t. I just got back from assisting in the ER, and I’m dead on my feet. Besides, I have my own patients to look after. I can’t help you.” Amber stared at me, her mouth agape. She’d clearly expected me to fold. Her face flushed a deep, angry red. “Seriously? It’s just hanging one IV bag! How much effort is that? You won’t even do that?” Even Alva’s voice turned sharp over the phone. “Caroline, it’s a small favor. Does all the affection I’ve shown you over the years mean nothing?” I was done arguing. I hung up and went back to my duties. Amber rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath. “So cheap. Knew I couldn’t count on you for anything.” Last time, I’d helped her without a second thought, and my reward was her pushing me off a cliff. She could find someone else to take the fall. Amber went around the nurses’ station, asking one person after another. But her reputation preceded her. She was bossy, arrogant, and constantly trying to ditch her shifts. No one, except the old me, ever wanted to deal with her. Eventually, her “stomach ache” miraculously subsided. Cursing, she stomped off to the restroom. Why was she so desperate for someone to cover for her? Could it be that something had already happened to Jacob Vance? To test my theory, as soon as Amber was gone, I pulled on a pair of gloves and slipped into Room 302. In the pale moonlight, Jacob’s face was a waxen, bloodless white. I pulled back the blanket to check his temperature. My hand recoiled. I froze, paralyzed by the truth. His body was already cold. Rigor mortis was setting in. He’d been dead for at least an hour. Amber had gone in to change his IV at one o’clock. Had she realized back then that she’d made a fatal mistake? Was that why she was so desperate to find a scapegoat? The thought sent a wave of nausea and terror through me. My first instinct was to report it to the hospital administration immediately. But I took one step toward the door and stopped. That idea was a death sentence. If I, with no reason to be here, was found in the room of a deceased patient not under my care, what would happen? With Amber’s talent for deflecting blame, would she twist the situation and point the finger at me? It wasn’t a possibility. It was a certainty. Making sure no one saw me, I fled the room. It took me a long time, sitting at the nurses’ station, for my trembling to subside. As my mind cleared, one critical point slammed into me. If the patient had died around one in the morning, why did Ryan’s autopsy report in my past life state the time of death was between five and six? He was hailed as a prodigy in the medical examiner’s office, capable of pinpointing a time of death to within the hour. He never made mistakes. How could a professional of his caliber make such a catastrophic error? 3 A splitting pain shot through the back of my head. I pressed my hands to my temples, but I couldn’t make sense of it. Ryan and I had been inseparable since we were kids. He was my knight in shining armor for so many years. Why would he send me to my death? I spent the rest of the night focusing on my own work, deliberately ignoring Amber. She paced back and forth at the nurses’ station, a caged animal, unable to settle. As the clock hand crept toward five, I saw her pick up a medical tray and sit down, showing no intention of going to the patient’s room. She waited. She waited until the other nurses were occupied with their own rounds, leaving just the two of us at the station. She shot me a single, silent glance before finally heading toward Room 302. Calculating the time, I knew the family’s arrival was imminent. I found a discreet corner to hide in and waited. Soon enough, the same agonizing wails from my past life echoed from Room 302. “My baby, my sweet grandson! Wake up, please, don’t scare Grandma!” “Son, open your eyes! Look at Mom and Dad! What’s wrong?” “My Jacob! The doctor said you’d be home in a few days! How could you just be… gone? How are we supposed to live without you?” A storm of noise erupted, and the family swarmed the nurses’ station like a tidal wave of grief and rage. Jacob’s father, a thick-necked man with a booming voice, demanded to know who the nurse on duty was. Who had administered the last IV? Amber cowered in a corner, not daring to speak, her eyes frantically searching for me in the chaos. One of the other nurses, her face pale with fear, pointed a trembling finger at Amber. “Bed 6… that’s Amber’s patient. She’s always been in charge of him.” Before Amber could utter a word, Jacob’s father lunged forward and a sickening crack echoed as his fist connected with Amber’s eye socket. She staggered back, and before she could regain her balance, Jacob’s mother drove a foot into her stomach. Caught between them, Amber collapsed to the floor, howling in pain as Jacob’s grandmother fell upon her, yanking at her hair with savage force. “It was you! You killed my grandson! I knew there was something wrong with you from the start!” “You murderer! I want you to pay with your life! I’ll kill you!” Seeing me step out from my hiding place, Amber’s bloodied face lit up as if she’d seen a savior. She pointed a shaking finger at me and shrieked. “It was my shift, yes, but Caroline was the one who gave him the medicine! It must have been her! She gave him the wrong dose!” In my last life, exhausted from a long night, I was just about to go home when the family cornered me. Faced with their questions, Amber had immediately pointed at me. “Caroline was on duty tonight. She administered the IV. It had nothing to do with me.” I never even had a chance to explain before they were on me. Jacob was only seven years old, their only child. His father looked like a man you didn’t cross, his mother was a lawyer, and his grandmother was notoriously unreasonable. The 25-year-old me had stood no chance, a lamb to the slaughter. This time, Amber wasn’t getting away with it. 4 The family’s furious gaze shifted to me. I immediately held up my hands. “Don’t even try to pin this on me. I did not give him that IV last night, and everyone here can prove it.” The other nurses, seeing an ally, quickly chimed in. “It’s true. Amber asked Caroline for help last night, but Caroline said no. Amber was the one who went to the room.” “Who says?” Amber shrieked, her voice raw and laced with blood. “I asked her again later, and she agreed! At five o’clock, none of you were here!” Her blood-streaked face, twisted by her screams, was a horrifying sight. “This is a person’s life we’re talking about! Do any of you dare to swear you saw me give that IV?” she challenged them. “I’m telling you, Caroline gave him the wrong medicine and now she’s trying to pin it on me to save her own skin!” At the mention of a human life, the other nurses fell silent. No one wanted to get involved. Seeing the anger in the family’s eyes rekindle and turn toward me, I spoke up, my voice clear and firm. “I never went into that room. If you don’t believe me, you can check the security cameras.” “The hallway camera is broken,” Amber shot back, a smug, almost imperceptible smirk playing on her lips. She was holding a winning hand, and she knew it. Of course. She knew the camera was broken. That’s why she waited until the other nurses were gone. The whole thing was a premeditated setup to frame me. Jacob’s father had lost all patience with our back-and-forth. With a roar, he kicked over a computer monitor at the station, then slammed his fists on the desk. “I don’t care! One of you did this, and one of you is going to pay with your life!” Just then, a voice from the crowd shouted, “The police are here!” My heart seized. Through the parting crowd, I saw the familiar face of my brother, Alva. He was here. Finally. But the moment he saw Amber lying bloodied on the floor, his expression was one of pure shock. “What happened? Why are you the one who’s hurt?” Amber clutched her wounds, tears streaming down her face. “Alva, it really wasn’t me who gave the medicine. You have to believe me, you have to help me.” Something was wrong. The situation had exploded so suddenly, no one had had time to call the police. How did Alva get here so fast? It was as if he’d known someone was going to die here tonight. As I stared at him, my mind reeling with suspicion, he strode forward and slapped me across the face. The force of it was staggering, my ear rang, the world tilted. “Caroline,” he said, his voice a distorted buzz in my ringing ear. He sounded like a complete stranger. “You’ve disappointed me so much. Since you made this mistake, you need to have the courage to admit it.” Then, he turned to the family, his face transforming into a mask of placating sympathy. “I apologize on Caroline’s behalf. I hope you can see that she’s still young and won’t be too hard on her.” He paused, letting the words sink in. “I will personally arrest her and make sure she faces the full force of the law.” My own brother. Without a shred of investigation, he had just declared me guilty in front of everyone. At that moment, my heart didn’t just feel cold. It felt dead. 5 I clutched my swelling cheek, hot tears streaming down my face. “I didn’t do it,” I sobbed. “Amber did. My fingerprints won’t be on the IV bag. Go check. You’ll see.” Amber flinched, then looked at me with a wounded expression. “I’ve already taken a beating for you, and you’re still trying to slander me?” Finally, Jacob’s mother, the lawyer, stepped forward. “Fine. We’ll let the police conduct a thorough investigation. I want the person who killed my son found, and I want them to pay.” During the agonizing wait for the fingerprint analysis, everyone was on edge. Everyone but me. I was calm, confident. I hadn’t touched the bag, so my prints couldn’t possibly be on it. But when the results came back, I was slapped in the face by reality all over again. Ryan was at the police station, standing by with the detached air of an observer. Alva held the report, his gaze sweeping over the room before landing squarely on me. “The prints on the right side of the IV bag are a confirmed match for Caroline. The evidence is irrefutable.” The moment the words left his mouth, every eye in the room turned to me. Ryan’s face was a mask of grim disappointment. “Impossible!” My prints could not be on that bag. Not unless Alva had used his position to forge the evidence. Living in the same house, getting my fingerprints would have been child’s play for him. But I had no way to prove it. And this was the man who prided himself on his integrity, a man who claimed to despise injustice. In my past life, I was naive enough to believe I’d actually done something wrong, that his disappointment in me was justified. I never blamed him for his harshness. Now I saw the truth. It was a trap he and Amber had set together from the very beginning, and I had walked right into it. All the memories of his kindness, his brotherly affection, seemed like a cruel joke. When it came down to a choice between me and Amber, I was always the one to be sacrificed. I didn’t need a brother like that. Just as Jacob’s parents were about to erupt, I raised my voice, posing a question. “Hasn’t anyone found it strange? When you found Jacob, he already had signs of livor mortis. Does that look like someone who just died?” I pressed on. “If you calculate the approximate time for lividity to appear, it means he was likely dead before two in the morning. At that time, I was in the ER assisting with a procedure. The surgeons in the operating room can verify my alibi.” If I could prove Jacob died around 2 a.m., then I couldn’t have been involved. “If you truly want to find the real killer,” I said, my voice ringing with conviction, “you should demand a full autopsy. I’m sure Jacob, wherever he is, would want the truth to come out so he can rest in peace.” Jacob’s parents, their faces etched with grief, fell silent for a long moment before finally nodding. “We agree. We want an autopsy.” Amber, looking as if she had been prepared for this all along, exchanged a quick, subtle glance with Ryan. “Then let’s have the police department’s own Ryan, the renowned medical examiner, perform it. I’m sure he will uncover the real killer.” 6 Jacob’s mother’s eyes lit up, a flicker of hope in her grief. “Is he the one they call the genius M.E.? Good. If he’s handling it, I can be at ease.” She began to weep again. “Finally, we’ll find the monster who killed my boy. Oh, my poor, ill-fated son.” In my past life, I too had been filled with that same hopeful anticipation, only to be sentenced to death by Ryan’s own report. I knew this move. I had seen this play before. But I was not the same person I was then. Seeing my hesitation, Amber’s tone turned mocking. “What’s wrong, Caroline? Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet about the autopsy now. What exactly are you so afraid of?” I looked down at my phone, at the message I had already composed, and hit send. Then I lifted my head and stared directly into Ryan’s eyes—the same eyes that once held galaxies, that once held only me. I asked him, my voice earnest and clear, “Ryan, with your skills, you will find out the truth. You’ll clear my name, won’t you?” Ryan adjusted his glasses, his gaze a mixture of sincerity and a subtle, condescending pity. “I won’t frame an innocent person, Caroline. And I won’t let a guilty one walk free.” Fine. This was the last chance I would ever give him. If he failed to grasp it, he would be sealing his own doom. “Okay,” I said. “I agree to have Ryan perform the autopsy.” While we waited for the results, Alva cornered me. His words were earnest, his tone filled with what sounded like concern. “Caroline, listen to me. Before the autopsy report comes out, you should confess. You’ll get a lighter sentence. Medical malpractice leading to death… it’s three years, tops. Even if you go to prison, I can pull some strings, take care of you. When you get out, you’ll still be our family’s little treasure.” Amber stood beside him, nodding eagerly, her face full of anticipation. In my last life, panicking from my first-ever encounter with a patient’s death, I had been easily swayed by his words. I was so touched, so stupidly grateful, believing he was looking out for me. The truth was, I never even made it to sentencing. I was beaten to death by the family right outside the police station. They just wanted me to be the scapegoat for Amber. They could dream on. I tilted my head, glanced at Amber, and called out to her. “Amber, did you hear that? Now’s your chance to confess. It’s not too late.” Alva shot up from his chair. “What is that attitude? I was telling you to confess! Since when did I ask Amber to take the fall for you?” I spread my hands, shrugging. “Once the autopsy report is out, everything will be crystal clear, won’t it?” Amber’s chest heaved with fury. “Fine! We tried to help you, and this is the thanks we get. You clearly don’t appreciate my brother’s kindness. Go on then. Wait for the consequences of your own actions.” We’ll see who reaps those consequences. Two days later, we were all gathered at the police station again. Ryan, with grave solemnity, unfolded the autopsy report and, with his own finger, pointed at my name. “The time of death was between five and six a.m. The cause of death was an allergic reaction to penicillin. The evidence is conclusive: Caroline injected the wrong drug, leading to fatal anaphylactic shock.” 7 The words, a carbon copy of the sentence that condemned me in my past life, crashed down on me like a meteor. Even though I had prepared for this, the pain was so sharp it stole the air from my lungs. For Amber’s sake, my brother and my childhood friend had both betrayed their professional ethics, conspired to pin a death on me. Before I was eight, I was the treasure of their world. Alva and Ryan hovered around me constantly, making sure I got the best treats, protecting me from any bullies. But everything changed the day Amber arrived. Suddenly, I was the invisible one, the afterthought. If that’s how it was, then I didn’t need a brother or a childhood friend anymore. I was temporarily detained, pending further investigation. But I wasn’t worried. After a couple of quiet days, Jacob Vance’s family was back at the police station, raising hell, demanding my life and my money. In my last life, taking advantage of a moment when most of the officers were out on a call, Amber had suggested I go out and apologize to the family in person. And so, right under the noses of Alva and Ryan, I was beaten to death by the enraged family at the station’s entrance. This time, Amber tried the same trick. “We can’t let the family keep making a scene like this,” she said to the officers. “Why not let Caroline apologize to them face-to-face? It might calm things down.” Her underlying meaning was clear: It’ll save you, the police department, from further embarrassment. Anyone with eyes could see her true intention: to let the family kill me, leaving no one to contest the official story. To my horror, her proposal was met with unanimous agreement from both Alva and Ryan. Ignoring my protests, they dragged me toward the entrance of the police station. A wall of large, red-faced men turned to see me, and without a word, they surged forward. In that split second, as a baseball bat swung towards my head, a sharp voice cut through the chaos. “The person who killed Jacob Vance was not Caroline!”

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My living expenses were managed through a linked family account my mother controlled. Every single purchase triggered an interrogation. Right now, my heart was hammering against my ribs as I stared at the order I’d just placed: a special rush delivery from a 24-hour pharmacy. As expected, my phone buzzed. “What did you buy?” Her voice was laced with ice. I watched the red dot of the delivery driver on the map. “A late-night snack for an adult.” A sharp crack echoed through the receiver—the sound of a teacup shattering. “Cancel it!” I leaned against the door, a small, bitter laugh escaping my lips. “Too late.” “He’s knocking on my door right now.” 1 “Maya, did you get to campus okay? Is your dorm room all set up? Remember to change the sheets to the pure cotton set I packed for you. Other fabrics are bad for your skin.” Over the phone, my mother’s voice was an invisible net, instantly tightening around the fleeting freedom I had just tasted. “I know, Mom.” My reply was mechanical. My eyes scanned the room, where my three roommates were bustling about. Their parents had already left, but mine insisted on “remote supervising” every single step of my move-in process. “Right, about your allowance,” my mother’s tone suddenly turned serious. “I’ve set up a linked family account for you. That way, I can see every one of your expenses.” “There are too many temptations at college. I need to help you stay on the right track.” My heart sank. A linked account meant every cent I spent would be instantly reported to her. She would know what I bought, when I bought it, and how much it cost. This wasn’t financial support; it was total surveillance. “Mom, the other students just get…” “The other students are the other students. You are my daughter,” she cut me off. “It’s settled. And remember, not a single penny on anything you shouldn’t be buying.” After I hung up, my roommate, Chloe, leaned over curiously. “Your mom really cares about you. She even set up a special account for you.” I forced a smile, not explaining the suffocation and control that lay beneath her so-called “care.” College life officially began, and so did the escalation of my nightmare. Every purchase, no matter how small, was followed by a call from my mother within five minutes. “Maya, did you just buy a bubble tea?” “Those drinks are unhealthy. Didn’t I pack you herbal tea bags?” “What was this $5 charge for?” “Oh, laundry detergent? Doesn’t the dorm have washing machines? Why would you buy your own?” “You bought a book? What book? A textbook? Send me the title.” Every day, I had to explain, defend, and even apologize for every trivial expense. My roommates quickly noticed my predicament. They shopped online, ordered takeout, and went out freely, while I lived under my mother’s financial microscope, where even a box of tampons required her approval. 2 One Friday night, a month into the semester, the dorm room was unusually lively. “No classes tomorrow!” Chloe suggested. “Let’s order some late-night food and watch a horror movie! My treat.” “No way,” said another roommate, Dana. “You paid last time. Let’s split it.” “How about… I get it?” I ventured, mustering my courage. “Consider it a thank-you for putting up with me this past month. My mom’s constant check-ins… I know it’s been disruptive.” I scratched my head, embarrassed. It was the first time I had ever offered to treat anyone. It was also my first attempt at a “large” purchase on the linked account—four barbecue platters, totaling $28. The moment the payment confirmation chimed, my phone began to vibrate violently. The word “Mom” on the screen made my heart race. “Hello, Mom…” “Maya Thorne! Where are you right now?” Her voice was a piercing shriek. “It’s ten-thirty at night! What did you spend twenty-eight dollars on? Who are you with?” I hurried out of the room, lowering my voice. “Mom, I’m just in the dorm with my roommates. We ordered some food…” “Liar!” Her voice escalated. “In the dorm? What in the dorm costs twenty-eight dollars? Are you out messing around with boys? I knew it! The moment you left home, you’d turn into this!” “It’s just barbecue, Mom, I can put my roommates on the phone…” “Don’t bother! Get back to your room this instant!” “No, video call me now! I want to see with my own eyes where you are!” she commanded, hysterical. I didn’t have a chance to explain. I mechanically obeyed. My hand trembled as I started the video call, the camera panning across my three stunned roommates and the freshly delivered food on the table. My mother’s face appeared on the screen, her makeup perfect but her features twisted with rage. “Hi, Mrs. Thorne…” Chloe managed a timid greeting. My mother ignored her, her eyes locked on me. “This is what you call ‘just some food’?” “Eating something so greasy this late at night? Can your stomach handle that? Is this what your allowance is for? To be wasted like this?” The barrage of questions continued. My roommates’ expressions shifted from surprise to awkwardness, and finally, to cold detachment. Dana simply turned around, went to her bed, and drew the curtain. “Mom, please, can we talk about this later?” My voice was practically a beg. “Now. Immediately. Send that barbecue back!” she ordered. “And then you will write me a formal apology, detailing your actions and thoughts tonight. I want to see it by tomorrow morning!” After the call ended, the room was shrouded in a dead silence. I stood there, holding the now-cold food, tears streaming silently down my face. “Maya,” Chloe finally broke the silence. “Is your mom… always like this?” I nodded, unable to speak. The aroma of the barbecue was suddenly nauseating, as suffocating as my mother’s omnipresent control. “Uh… we get it,” Dana said, peeking out from behind her curtain. “But maybe… don’t offer to treat us next time.” I knew then, just as before, that I wouldn’t be making any friends here. That night, I curled up under my blankets, writing the “apology” my mother demanded, my tears staining the screen of my phone. At two in the morning, my phone vibrated again. A long string of messages from my mother. [Is the apology finished?] [I’m doing this for your own good. The world is a dangerous place.] [You don’t know how to manage money. I am teaching you.] [Starting tomorrow, the daily limit on your account is reduced to $10.] [Learn your lesson. I love you.] I stared at the messages, and a horrifying realization dawned on me: This wasn’t love. This was a prison built in the name of love. My mother had woven an invisible net with money, trapping me completely, and I didn’t even have the courage to fight back. The next morning, while my roommates were still asleep, I quietly got out of bed and deleted the lie-filled apology. Instead, in a notebook, I wrote a single line: “How to apply for student loans and on-campus jobs.” My mother might never understand that her control wouldn’t make me better. It would only teach me how to lie, how to hide, and, eventually, how to rebel. And on that day, as I wrote that line, I knew I had finally taken the first step toward breaking free. 3 I stood before the campus job board, staring at a faded flyer for a full ten minutes. “Coffee Shop Help Wanted, $12/hour.” It wasn’t much, but it was enough to buy the basic necessities my mother wouldn’t approve of. I pulled out my phone, carefully took a picture of the contact information, but my finger hovered over the call button before retreating. The ten-dollar daily limit my mother had set meant that even buying a bottle of shampoo required me to “save up” for three days. My period had started unexpectedly yesterday, and I’d had to borrow a pad from Chloe. The pity in her eyes was more painful than any of my mother’s lectures. “Maya?” I spun around. It was Sarah, a senior from the student government. She was the president of the literary society and had once praised a book report I’d written. “Hi, Sarah.” I instinctively tried to block the job board, as if it were something shameful. “Looking for a part-time job?” she asked with a gentle smile. “The lit society is actually looking for an editorial assistant. Just organizing submissions every week. It pays a stipend.” My heart leaped. “Is there… an interview?” “Just send me some of your work.” She handed me a flyer. “Oh, and there’s a city-wide college writing competition next month. First prize is a thousand dollars. You should enter.” A thousand dollars! That was more than my mother gave me in five months. The hand holding the flyer trembled. Back in the dorm, I quickly tucked the flyer between the pages of a textbook. The room was empty; my roommates were probably at the dining hall together. They rarely included me in their activities after the “barbecue incident.” My phone vibrated. It was my mother’s routine check-in. “Did you check in for your morning class? Send me the screenshot,” she said through the speaker. “And I see from the account you only spent $2.50 at the dining hall yesterday. What did you eat?” “Vegetables and rice…” I answered quietly. “What about protein? Haven’t I told you to eat a balanced diet?” She sighed. “You’ll get sick like this. What will you do if you get sick?” I stared at the travel photos my roommates had pinned to the wall and suddenly interrupted her. “Mom, I want to apply for a work-study job.” A few seconds of silence on the other end. “A work-study job? Are you short on money? Didn’t I give you an allowance?” “It’s not about the money…” I chose my words carefully. “It’s about… gaining experience.” “Nonsense!” Her voice shot up again. “A student’s job is to study! What experience? That’s all a waste of time! Have you been influenced by some bad classmates again?” I bit my lip and didn’t argue. After hanging up, I pulled the old notebook from under my mattress, flipped to the page with “student loans,” and drew a thick X through it. My parents would definitely be notified about a loan. That path was closed. In the back of the notebook were fragments of a story I’d been secretly writing—a girl locked in a high tower, weaving a rope from her long hair to escape. I added a few new lines: The girl discovered that the witch who guarded her was afraid of mirrors… The next day at the literary society meeting, I gave my three revised short stories to Sarah. “This is really good!” she said, her eyes lighting up as she read. “Especially this one, ‘The Tower.’ The metaphor is so clever. Are you really just a freshman?” I stared at the tips of my shoes, unaccustomed to praise. “It’s… just something I wrote.” “No, you have talent,” she said seriously. “You have to enter the competition. The deadline is next Friday. Do you want me to look over your final draft?” As I left the student center, a light rain began to fall. I stood under the eaves, watching the raindrops splash on the pavement, and was suddenly reminded of my mother forbidding me from jumping in puddles as a child. I lifted my foot and stomped hard into the nearest puddle. Muddy water splattered my pants, and a strange thrill shot through me. My phone rang again. A video call request from my mother. I took a deep breath and answered. “Maya, where are you? Why is that a classroom building behind you? Aren’t you supposed to be in the library at this time?” Her eyes scanned my background like a searchlight. “I… I just finished an elective class,” I lied, my heart pounding. “What elective? It’s not on your schedule.” “It’s… literary analysis. It was a last-minute addition.” I quickly changed the subject. “Mom, my phone’s about to die. I’ll talk to you tonight.” After hanging up, I realized I was drenched in a cold sweat. It was so easy to lie. My mother wasn’t all-knowing after all. The realization was both terrifying and exhilarating. The following days, I lived a double life, like a spy. By day, I was the obedient student under my mother’s surveillance, sending her check-in screenshots on time and eating meals meticulously calculated to the cent. By night, I scribbled furiously in a corner of the library, pouring years of suppressed imagination into my competition entry. The day I finished the final draft of “The Tower,” I uploaded it to a cloud drive and typed in the submission email address, my fingers trembling. The thousand-dollar prize was the goal, but more importantly, this was the first thing I had ever decided to do entirely on my own. “Once you send it, there’s no turning back,” Sarah said with a smile, standing beside me. I shook my head, clicked send, and watched the words “Message Sent” appear. A wave of relief washed over me. “I won’t turn back.” On the way back to the dorm, the linked account notification chimed—my mother had deposited next week’s “limited allowance.” I stared at the number and suddenly smiled. She didn’t know that her daughter had found another key and was slowly turning the lock on the tower door. 4 Downstairs from the dorm, I saw Chloe holding hands with a boy, saying goodbye. When she saw me, she hesitated for a moment before walking over. “Maya… that’s Ethan, from computer science. We’re…” She blushed. “Congratulations,” I said sincerely. At the same time, I realized that if my mother knew I was associating with a classmate who was in a relationship, she would undoubtedly cut off my allowance completely. Chloe suddenly lowered her voice. “Actually… we all really admire you.” “Admire me?” “Your mom… if it were me, I would have lost my mind by now.” She gave an awkward laugh. “But you’re still doing your own thing. I saw you at the literary society the other day…” I was stunned. My “underground activities” weren’t as secret as I thought. “Um…” Chloe hesitated. “It’s my birthday next week. My boyfriend booked a karaoke room. Can you come? Of course, if your mom…” “I’ll be there,” I interrupted, without hesitation this time. “Whether she agrees or not.” The moment I said it, I felt something shatter inside me. It wasn’t fear. It was the shackles that had bound me for years. That night, my mother called for her usual check-in. I answered her questions calmly while writing a new line in my notebook: Linked account transaction records can be faked. The girl in the tower finally understood that the witch’s power came from her fear. And a mirror would force the witch to see her own twisted reflection.

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On my eighteenth birthday, I confessed my love to Eleanor, my aunt by title but not by blood. She responded by shipping me off to a university abroad. Years later, when the brain cancer I developed became a torment of unbearable headaches, I had no choice but to call her for help. But her beloved Julian slandered me, claiming I’d fallen into a life of hard drugs overseas, that my pain was nothing more than withdrawal. Eleanor had me brought back immediately and locked away in the family’s desolate, cliffside estate to “detox,” with guards ordered to watch my every move. Without treatment, the pain in my head escalated into an agony beyond endurance. In the dead of one night, unable to bear it any longer, I slipped out of a window and threw myself from the cliff’s edge. A year after my death, Eleanor Brown finally remembered me. 1 Eleanor came to the estate to bring me home herself, only to find the vast, sprawling villa utterly empty. With a furious kick, she sent a decorative screen in the grand hall crashing to the floor. “Leo, I don’t have time to play your childish games of hide-and-seek! Get out here now!” The screen fell, stirring up clouds of thick dust. The only answer was the hollow echo of her own voice. Eleanor covered her nose, backing away toward the door. After a moment, she began to shout again, her voice laced with venom. “You’re a grown man, how can you have so little self-respect! Just think of the state you were in when you came back last year. Even I, your aunt, found you filthy. It was utterly disgusting!” “If Julian hadn’t begged me, I would have washed my hands of you for good. I would have let you rot!” My soul stood just a few feet in front of her. I couldn’t help but let out a bitter, silent laugh. “Let me be perfectly clear, Leo,” she continued, her voice sharp as glass. “If you don’t clean up your act after I let you out this time, I won’t hesitate to lock you up for another ten years. I’ll make sure you learn your lesson for good!” She vented her fury, but I still didn’t appear. Annoyed, she waved a hand, ordering her staff to search the rooms and drag me out. A few of them went upstairs, but moments later they came screaming back down, their faces pale with terror as if they’d seen a ghost. Her assistant leaned in close, whispering in a trembling voice, “Ms. Brown… that phone call from a few days ago… I think it was real. I think… Leo is dead.” Eleanor’s brow furrowed. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’d never have the guts to kill himself. He just loves hurting himself to get my attention. He’s been pulling that trick since he was a child!” She strode past them and went up the stairs herself. Only then did she notice the long, dark streaks staining the hallway walls. They were dried blood. Her elegant eyebrows pinched together as she threw open the doors to the guest rooms, one by one. “Leo, what kind of sick game are you playing now! Have I been too soft on you all these years? Do you really think I won’t do something you’ll regret?!” My soul drifted up the stairs behind her. I watched her stop in front of a locked room. A large, dark pool of dried blood had seeped out from under the door. When she first had me locked away here to “detox,” she was afraid I’d escape, so they only gave me a few sets of pajamas. In the beginning, I could wander the empty villa. When the headaches came, I would pace the long hallways. When the pain became unbearable, I would slam my head against the walls, desperately trying to find a moment’s relief. But my guards grew tired of my agonized cries. They saw that Eleanor never once visited, never even called to check on me. It was as if she had forgotten I existed. So they locked me in that one room on the second floor. To make sure I couldn’t escape, they fitted the door with a heavy, solid lock from the outside. From then on, my entire world was confined to that small space. Every time a wave of pain hit, I would writhe on the small bed. When it became too much, I would kneel by the door and bash my head against the wood until blood streamed down my face. But I never dared to scream out loud. That would only earn me a beating. When the agony was at its peak, I would grip the bedsheets, tearing them into strips and stuffing them in my mouth to bite down on, to stifle the sounds. I begged one of the guards, pleaded with him to call Eleanor. He just sneered and kicked me to the floor, telling me Ms. Brown was busy with her engagement plans for Mr. Julian. She had no time for a degenerate lowlife like me. I refused to believe she could be so heartless. I kept begging him to call. Finally, annoyed beyond measure, he dialed the number—a number I knew by heart—right in front of me. The moment the call connected, I spoke in a trembling voice, telling Eleanor I had brain cancer, that the pain was killing me, and I begged her to save me. I told her the doctor’s official diagnosis was in my suitcase. All she had to do was open it. But she cut me off. “Leo, Julian was right about you. You’re a pathological liar. You’ll never change.” “Even now, you’re not thinking about getting better. You’re still trying to trick me with stories about being sick just so I’ll let you out! Honestly, if you actually died, I might even respect you for having some backbone.” She hung up. I was beaten again and locked back in the room. Now, Eleanor’s gaze fell upon that very lock. She had someone open it and stood in the doorway, her face a cold mask. “Leo, how long are you going to keep this up? You’ve been targeting Julian ever since we started dating. You’ve said so many horrible things about him to me, but he never once held it against you.” “If Julian hadn’t found out you were on drugs, you would have overdosed and died in some foreign gutter by now!” “Leo, you know my patience has its limits. Get your ass out here and come home with me!” She waited only a few seconds before her anger boiled over. She shoved the door open with a furious cry. 2 “Leo, you really are incorrigible! I never should have listened to Julian and come to get you!” The door swung open, and Eleanor froze. I stood behind her, following her gaze into the room. It was just as I had left it. The small window I’d escaped from was still open, creaking back and forth with the gentle breeze. Weather-beaten and dry, it groaned with every movement. Eleanor always hated noise, but now, her face showed no irritation. Only shock. From her perspective, it was a shocking sight. A black, dried puddle of blood stained the floor at her feet. The walls and the door were smeared with it. The bedsheets had been torn to shreds, and even the pillow hadn’t been spared. The curtains had been taken down long ago; the guards were afraid I’d use them to hang myself and implicate them. I died in the early morning of the day after I finally spoke to Eleanor. After a full night of torment, the morning breeze had felt almost sweet. It reminded me of when I was seven years old, when my parents died and Eleanor brought me to the Brown estate. From that day on, she was the only person I depended on in the entire world. I had been willing to risk breaking every bone in my body to climb out of that one small, unbarred window. The guards heard the noise. As they watched with panicked eyes, I didn’t hesitate. I leaped from the cliff’s edge. They were terrified. They called Eleanor, their voices shaking, to report what had happened. But that day was her engagement ceremony to Julian. They had barely gotten the words out before she hung up. She was busy greeting guests, and had no patience for their hysterics. Perhaps she heard them. But even if she did, she probably thought it was just another one of my desperate stunts to get her attention. Her only reply was, “From now on, don’t report anything about him to me ever again.” Eleanor walked to the window and looked down into the yawning abyss. She let out a cold snort. “Leo is such a coward. He’d never jump from this high up. Julian was right, he’s far too manipulative. He needs to have that side of him beaten out.” “Who were the guards here? Bring them to me. I have questions.” A moment later, her assistant returned. “Ms. Brown, those men quit right after… after Leo’s suicide. Should we… send a team down the cliff to search for his body?” She laughed, a chilling, humorless sound. “Search for what? If he’d really jumped, the body would have been found by now. The police would have contacted us.” “He’s such a compulsive liar. He thinks he can fool everyone, but I know him too well. He can’t fool me.” Eleanor ordered her assistant to leave a team behind to continue the search. “Search everywhere, top to bottom, inside and out. I want him brought to me today, no matter what.” “He and Julian both have a rare blood type. He’s given blood to Julian before. Julian is injured now, and I need Leo here, just in case.” I stood right behind her, my entire soul trembling with a cold rage. She had left me here to rot for a year without a single thought, and now she was here only because her precious Julian might need me. For my blood. I thought I meant something to her. She wasn’t always like this. From the age of seven to seventeen, she had cherished me, held me in the palm of her hand. And I, in turn, had fallen hopelessly in love with this woman, three years my senior, my aunt in name only. Then Julian appeared, and everything changed. Julian was the liar, but Eleanor only ever believed him. On my eighteenth birthday, I took my chance and confessed my feelings. Eleanor scolded me, told me she was my aunt, that my feelings were wrong, unnatural. The next day, she sent me abroad. I knew, without a doubt, that Julian had been whispering in her ear again. He even fabricated the story about me being on drugs, a convenient excuse for Eleanor to have me brought back and locked away, just to get me out of the picture. And now that he was hurt, he needed his backup blood bank. But if I really were a drug addict, how could he possibly use my blood? It was such a simple, obvious contradiction. But Eleanor, blinded by her affection for him, couldn’t see it. The assistant looked at Eleanor, his expression troubled. “Ms. Brown, the guards said they saw him jump with their own eyes. It’s unlikely he could have survived.” “I know you don’t want to believe it, but they sounded sincere. It didn’t seem like they were lying. If we just call the police and have them organize a search, we’ll know the truth.” Eleanor scoffed. “He has you all wrapped around his little finger. He’s just hiding somewhere, trying to get out of giving blood to Julian. He’s probably laughing at us right now.” “Cancel all his credit cards. Once he runs out of money, he’ll come crawling back.” With that, she stormed out, rushing back to be with the injured Julian. My soul, unable to resist, followed her. 3 When Eleanor walked into the hospital room, her expression softened the moment she saw Julian in the bed. “How are you feeling today? Any better?” “I’m fine,” Julian said with a weak smile. “See? I’m perfectly fine. There’s no need for me to be cooped up in here.” Eleanor picked an apple from the fruit basket and began to peel it. “You were hit by that car because you pushed me out of the way. Of course I’m going to stay until you’re fully recovered.” “Julian, you’re the most important person in the world to me. You can’t be so reckless with your life ever again.” I remembered when she used to say those same gentle words to me. But since Julian’s arrival, I had long ceased to be her priority. He was the one who told her that since she wasn’t my blood relative, it was inappropriate for her to be so involved in my life now that I was an adult. From then on, Julian became the intermediary for everything concerning me. He concealed the fact that I had a brain tumor, insisting instead that I was a degenerate addict. He had me locked away on the cliffside estate under the guise of helping me, yet never once came to see me. And now that he was hurt and needed my rare blood type, now that he needed his walking blood bank, he finally remembered I existed. But they didn’t know. They didn’t know that I was already a pile of bones, lying alone and forgotten on a desolate ledge halfway down the mountain. “Eleanor, Leo wouldn’t come back? He still resents me, doesn’t he?” Julian said, pushing back the covers as if to get out of bed. “I’ll go to him. I’ll apologize to him myself.” Eleanor rushed to stop him. “Julian, you were only trying to help him. He’s the one who’s ungrateful. It’s not your fault.” “I’ve already canceled his cards and sent people to find him. Don’t worry, I will find him and make him give you blood.” She carefully fed Julian the apple she had just peeled. “Julian,” she asked thoughtfully, “did Leo ever mention anything to you about having bad headaches while he was overseas?” A flicker of panic crossed Julian’s face. He stammered, “N-no. Leo grew up rough, he’s always been strong as an ox! Eleanor, why are you suddenly asking this?” Eleanor seemed lost in thought. “It’s nothing. It’s just… when I went to the villa today, the room was covered in blood. But you’re right. He’s always been so healthy. He rarely even catches a cold. It’s impossible he could be sick enough to die.” Julian visibly relaxed. My soul raged beside them. I wanted to scream, to tell her that this man was lying to her again. But I could do nothing. Even if she could hear me, she wouldn’t believe me. She would always choose to believe Julian. In her eyes, I was just a twisted, jealous boy. Julian tested the waters. “Eleanor, if Leo doesn’t want to come home, maybe we should just let him go. As long as he’s happy, right?” Eleanor’s face instantly darkened. “Absolutely not! I have to ensure you’re safe. His blood type is the same as yours. You lost so much blood, and the doctor said you might need a second transfusion if complications arise. The hospital’s blood bank is already depleted.” “I raised him for so many years. It’s time he paid me back! Giving a little blood won’t kill him. Hell, even if it cost him his life, he should give it willingly!” For a moment, my entire being trembled. How could she say something so monstrous? She once promised she would always be my family, that I would never have to experience abandonment a second time. Had she forgotten all of it? Julian lowered his head, a triumphant smile hidden from her view. He had gotten the answer he wanted. He always pretended to be the bigger person, masterfully manipulating Eleanor, poisoning her against me. And even now, he continued to hide the truth, ensuring she would despise me completely. “Eleanor, don’t say that about Leo,” he said, his voice full of false sympathy. “He would be so hurt if he heard you.” Even now, he had to play the saint. Eleanor just scoffed. She was about to say more when her phone rang. I saw the caller ID: Detective Marcus. Our cousin, a police detective. She answered, and her face went rigid. She stood up, her expression turning grim. From the other end of the line, I heard his voice: “Eleanor… Leo is dead.”

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The mission was a success. I returned to my own world, waking from the coma that had held me captive. My children, all grown up now, stood vigil by my hospital bed. My wife, Florence, threw her arms around me, her embrace a desperate anchor. Her parents, my in-laws, were weeping with joy. I was just about to dismiss the System, to choose to stay here, in my life, when the door creaked open. A man who was my spitting image—a near-perfect double—walked in. My own two children rushed to him, clinging to his legs with a familiar affection, and called out, “Daddy!” Every eye in the room swiveled to me. The air crackled with a thick, suffocating awkwardness. The man shot me a triumphant, mocking smirk. I put the System on hold. “Let me think about it,” I transmitted. “About whether I want to stay.” 1. My children, Lily and Sam, clutched at the man’s—at Alex’s—clothes, their eyes fixed on me with a wariness usually reserved for monsters. A sharp, needle-like pain pricked at my heart. My wife, Florence, squeezed my arm, her grip tightening. I looked at the others. They had been happily explaining the new emergency alert system they’d installed on my phone, clearly not expecting Alex to make such a dramatic entrance. My father-in-law, his face a mask of embarrassment, finally broke the silence. “Liam, while you were… unconscious, Alex was the one who took care of us. We were going to introduce you two properly when we got home.” My mother-in-law chimed in, her voice strained. “Yes, that’s right. Now that you’re awake, you two should get along. For our sake.” Alex just smiled, a lazy, confident expression as he strolled over to my bedside. His eyes were glittering with provocation. I remained silent, freezing the System in my mind. I’ll give you my answer in a couple of days. A soft sigh echoed in my consciousness as the System went dormant. Seeing that I was ignoring him, Alex feigned a wounded look. He forced a smile for the benefit of the room. “My apologies. It was presumptuous of me. Liam has every right to be upset. I’ll just… I’ll go.” He didn’t give anyone a chance to respond, turning on his heel and walking out. “Alex, wait!” my mother-in-law cried, stamping her foot in frustration before hurrying after him. Florence flinched, starting to rise as if by instinct, but my gaze caught hers and she froze, slowly sinking back into her chair. She hugged me tight, her voice the same soothing murmur she’d always used to comfort me. “Don’t overthink this, Liam. You’re my husband. You’re the only one.” But then Lily, my daughter, hitched up her little dress and ran out after them. My son, Sam, shot me a look of pure hatred before slamming the door so hard the walls vibrated. I didn’t understand. How had my sweet, loving children turned into these hostile strangers? Sensing the tension, my father-in-law excused himself to handle the discharge paperwork. A short while later, I was in a wheelchair, being pushed out of the hospital. But as we drove, I realized this wasn’t the way home. “Dad,” I said, my voice raspy. “If I remember correctly, this isn’t the road to our house.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel for a split second. Then he chuckled, a hollow sound. “Your memory’s as sharp as ever, Liam.” He took a long, meandering detour before finally pulling into our driveway. I didn’t understand the purpose of the scenic route until the moment I stepped through the front door. The large family portrait that had hung in the entryway—the one of the four of us, smiling in the summer sun—was gone. In its place was a new photo. Florence, her parents, Lily, and Sam, all beaming. With Alex. Stunned, I stared at the picture on the wall before storming upstairs and throwing open the door to what used to be my bedroom. Of course. The cuckoo had taken over the nest. Alex had made my room his own. My chest heaved. The decor was completely different, all sleek, impersonal modernism. And there, sitting on the edge of the bed, was Alex, reading a bedtime story to my daughter. A bitter, mocking laugh escaped my lips. For five years, I had slavishly completed every task the System threw at me, all for the singular goal of coming back to my family. And now? Now there was no place left for me in my own home. “You were going to take me somewhere else at first, weren’t you?” I asked, my gaze locking onto my once-kindly father-in-law. He had the decency to look away, shamefaced. “We’ll get the room cleared out for you right away, Liam. This will always be your home.” The moment the words left his mouth, Alex, in the bedroom, put on his wounded act again. He stood up silently and began gathering his things, only to be stopped by Lily. When she thought no one was looking, she launched herself at me, shoving me with all her might. I stumbled, falling hard against the floor. She grabbed the nearest object—a heavy book—and started hitting me with it, screaming through her tears. “You just came back and you’re already bullying my daddy! You’re a bad man!” “Get out!” “Get out of my house! Leave!” I just stared at the contorted, furious face of the child before me, utterly frozen. 2. Lily’s outburst shocked everyone. Florence grabbed her arm, her brow furrowed in anger. “Lily! What has gotten into you?” But my daughter was inconsolable, her tears fueling a torrent of accusations. The commotion woke Sam, who started crying in the other room. Alex scooped him up, a look of pained helplessness on his face. “Stop, everyone, please stop fighting. This is all my fault. I’ll just leave, okay? I’ll go!” He made to walk out, but my father-in-law’s voice boomed through the house. “Everybody, quiet!” He turned to Alex. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying in this room.” My breath caught in my throat. I looked at him, searching for some sign of the man I used to know. He just frowned at me. “Liam, I’ll have the entire third floor cleared out for you tomorrow. For tonight, you can sleep in the guest room.” He sighed. “Let’s just have some peace.” His words sent a jolt through me, reminding me of a conversation from before our wedding. “Sir, this is the master bedroom, isn’t it? Why are you and Mom giving it to us?” Back then, he had looked at me with such warmth, his smile genuine. “Liam, you’re our son-in-law. Of course, we want you to have the best.” The memory was a shard of glass in my heart. I turned away, swiping at my eyes, and walked toward the guest room without another word. My father-in-law started to say something, then stopped himself. I was exhausted. I collapsed onto the guest bed, burying my face in the pillow, welcoming the darkness. Suddenly, a warm, fragrant embrace enveloped me. Florence. She pressed a soft kiss to my cheek. “Is my husband in a bad mood today?” she whispered, her voice a low murmur. I opened my eyes and looked at her. She offered a small, hesitant smile. “I need to wash up,” I mumbled, pulling away. Florence hugged me again, a quick, tight squeeze, before grabbing her phone and disappearing into the en-suite bathroom. I expected her to be quick. A shower for her was usually a ten-minute affair. But this time, the sound of running water was a constant drone. It was still going when I finally drifted off into a restless sleep. I awoke later to the soft click of the bedroom door closing. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. Her phone, left on the pillow beside me, flickered to life. A new message. From Alex. “Waiting for you ;)” My heart skipped a beat. My hand shot out, grabbing the phone. I swiped to unlock it, my thumb tracing the familiar pattern of my own birthday. Password incorrect. It had always been my birthday. I tried again. And again. Not mine. Not hers. Not the kids’. Then, a sickening thought occurred to me. The contact info for Alex. His name in her phone had a birthday next to it. With trembling fingers, I punched in the date. Unlocked. A wave of ice washed through my veins, chilling me to the bone. I opened their chat history. For the entire hour Florence had been in the bathroom, she hadn’t been showering. She had been on a video call with Alex. The phone slipped from my numb fingers. I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm the storm raging inside me. After a long moment, I got up and walked silently to the door of my old bedroom. 3. I stood outside the door, forcing myself to watch, a glutton for punishment. I stayed there until my legs gave out and I crumpled to the floor. A faint clatter from the kitchen drew my attention. I turned my head. It was Sam, my seven-year-old son, standing on a stool, clumsily stirring something in a pot on the stove. Fearful he’d get hurt, I pushed myself up and went to him. “Daddy doesn’t like cilantro… no onions,” he mumbled to himself, a miniature adult concentrating on his task. He carefully lifted the small pot off the stove, and for a second, my heart swelled with a painful tenderness. Then he turned and saw me. His expression soured instantly. “What are you doing here, you bad man!” His words hit me like a physical blow. The “Daddy” he was so carefully cooking for… was Alex. My lips trembled. “Sam, I’m your father. How could you—” “You’re not my daddy!” he shouted back, his voice cracking. He shoved past me, carrying the pot of hot soup toward the master bedroom. The push sent me stumbling backward, the corner of the counter digging sharply into my spine. The pain was excruciating. I limped back to Alex’s door. Sam was carefully blowing on a spoonful of soup before holding it up to Alex’s lips. Alex praised him with a wide grin, while Florence pulled our son into her lap, ruffling his hair. “Our little Sam is even more caring than his big sister,” she cooed. I stood in the shadows of the hallway, a ghost in my own home, watching the three of them. They were a perfect picture. A happy family. My eyes burned with unshed tears. I turned and walked away. The next morning, Florence woke me, a habit she hadn’t yet broken. She leaned in for her customary good-morning kiss. I turned my head, and her lips met empty air. She froze, a flicker of confusion in her eyes, before taking my hand and leading me to the dining table. But my seat was gone. Alex sat in my usual spot, a smug, self-satisfied smile playing on his lips as he watched me. Florence’s face flushed with embarrassment. She quickly guided me to her own chair, pushing me down gently. “Um…” the nanny began, wringing her hands nervously. “I… I didn’t prepare a breakfast for Mr. Liam…” A stunned silence fell over the table. “Didn’t Alex tell you?” my father-in-law asked, his brow furrowed. Alex made a show of slapping his forehead. “Oh, my god, I’m so sorry! I was up so late last night, and I completely overslept this morning. I forgot to tell her.” He started to get up. “Here, Liam, you can have mine.” “Sit down,” my mother-in-law said, pressing his hand firmly. “You need to eat. You’re too thin as it is,” my father-in-law added, his tone full of concern. I was an invisible man, watching this grotesque play unfold. My hands, hanging at my sides, clenched into tight fists. My father-in-law sighed, instructing the nanny to make another breakfast before turning to me, his hand on my arm. “We’re planning a party to celebrate your recovery,” he said, forcing a cheerful tone. “A proper welcome home. Florence will take you to get a new suit later.” I coolly pulled my hand away and nodded. I stared at his face, at the faces of all of them, and a cold question began to form in my mind. Did I really want to stay here?

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So, picture this: a guy ditches his wife and kid, vanishes for twenty years, and then just shows up on the doorstep expecting a welcome home party. He’s bawling his eyes out, claiming the “other woman” played him for a fool all this time. I had to laugh. Seriously, what’s his angle? That being old, broke, and pathetic is suddenly charming? The woman whose life I stepped into, Sarah, she was too much of a doormat. His whole family walked all over her. But me? I’m here to settle the score. Even if I have to play nice for a while. 1. “Excuse me, ma’am? We’re from ‘Community Concern,’ the local news segment? We got a call from a gentleman, about fifty years old, hoping to reunite with his family. He says you won’t let him in. Could you tell us why you’re shutting him out?” A TV reporter and a cameraman, gear looking like weapons, were camped out on my front lawn. Standing near them, looking pathetic, was my husband of twenty years ago, Jack. Twenty years gone, just like that. His clothes were worn thin, his skin weathered and dark, making him look older than his fifty years. More gray hair than brown on his head. Jack just stood there silently, playing the part of the poor, homeless old man perfectly. The reporter kept pushing, so I finally took the microphone she offered. “He walked out on me and our baby twenty years ago. Now the woman he left me for kicked him to the curb, and suddenly he remembers he has a family? Let me ask you, if it were your husband, would you take him back?” The reporter didn’t miss a beat. “But isn’t that exactly why you should take him in? Because he has nowhere else to go?” Yeah, I wasn’t buying that guilt trip. Suddenly, Jack dropped to his knees right there on the lawn. “It’s all my fault,” he sobbed. “I let that woman fool me for twenty years. But I’ve changed, Sarah, I swear. I just want to come home, be with you, make it up to you.” He put on his best hangdog, guilt-ridden expression. Right on cue, the neighborhood vultures started circling, eager to show off their saintly compassion. Brenda from across the street, fanning herself on her porch swing, chimed in with a sigh, “Oh, honey, he’s been gone twenty years, but he came back. You should really find it in your heart to forgive him.” “Yeah, that’s right,” added Mr. Henderson from downstairs, pausing his sidewalk stroll. He always loved sticking his nose in. “You’re almost fifty yourself. Your man’s back, might as well make the best of it. Besides, you’re on the news now! Don’t want people thinking folks in this neighborhood are heartless, do we?” Brenda nodded vigorously, her fan picking up speed. “Exactly! Being on the news like this… it wouldn’t look good if you turned him away.” See, I’m here on a job. A system task, they call it. I took over the life of Sarah Evans. Forty-nine, no kids anymore. Twenty years back, her husband ran off with his mistress, cleaned out their bank account, and to please the new woman, he… he abandoned their newborn baby by the river. The baby didn’t make it. Sarah’s life has been one long tragedy. A week ago, she became a client for our company’s ‘Revenge Package’ lottery draw. Lucky her. I’m not here to make friends. I shot the busybodies a cold look. “You all talk such a good game. Why don’t you take him in and look after him?” That shut Brenda up quick. She bristled. “What kind of thing is that to say? We’re just trying to help! We worry about you being alone. He’s your husband, it’s your job to care for him.” Mr. Henderson nodded along. “A woman’s supposed to stand by her man, for better or worse. You can’t keep holding onto the past forever.” I ignored them and looked straight at the man kneeling on my lawn. “You really want to come back? You’d die to come back?” This was part of the system contract setup. I just needed his confirmation. “Yes,” Jack choked out. “I’d die to come back.” Keywords acquired: Die to come back. A smirk played on my lips. A red-bordered window popped up in my vision, visible only to me. Inside the box, text glowed: Task Initiation: Send the Scumbag to Hell. 2 The day after I let Jack back into the house, his charming relatives showed up. No sooner had they stepped inside than Jack’s two sisters, Patty and Joan, made themselves comfortable on the living room couch. They fussed over Jack, asking how he’d been all these years, clucking sympathetically about how rough he must have had it. They even joined Jack in cursing out the mistress, calling her trash, heartless. How could she, after Jack gave up everything for her – his wife, his child – turn around and cheat on him? Make him raise some other guy’s kid for twenty years? Serves him right, I thought. Patty, the older sister, noticed I wasn’t joining the pity party. She shot me a frosty look. “Your husband’s been through hell out there, and you can’t even show a little sympathy? The least you could do is say a bad word or two about that homewrecker.” Oh, I had plenty of bad words, alright. But they weren’t for the mistress. They were for the whole damn family, going back generations. Joan, the younger sister, piped up, “Now that my brother’s back, you need to treat him right. Give him the best of everything – food, comfort, whatever he needs. It’s been twenty years without a man in the house. Now you’ve got one again. You should be happy! You haven’t cracked a smile since we walked in.” The system’s memory files filled me in on these two beauties: Back when Sarah and Jack were married, about five years in, she couldn’t conceive a son (a big deal to him, apparently). He started getting abusive – hitting, yelling, constant digs. That’s when the mistress appeared. And guess who introduced them? Patty and Joan. They helped Jack cover up the affair for two whole years, right up until Sarah finally got pregnant. The mistress panicked. She pushed Jack to leave Sarah for good. To make sure he wouldn’t go back, she told him to get rid of the baby. Dump it by the river. And his wonderful sisters? Not only did they not stop him, they were apparently more interested in… well, let’s just say they were disgustingly callous right after Sarah gave birth. Sarah, still recovering, dragged herself out and jumped into the cold river to save her baby. But the baby was premature, and fragile. Without proper care after the ordeal, the poor thing died less than a month later. Sarah was devastated, and the trauma ruined her health. Gossip flew around town. Everyone pitied Sarah. When Patty and Joan heard their own reputations were taking a hit, they marched over to Sarah’s house and started spreading vicious lies. Said Sarah was cheating, that that’s why Jack left. Claimed the baby wasn’t even Jack’s, that it deserved to be drowned. Back then, loudest voice won. People believed them. Sarah, being gentle and broken, just hid in her house, too ashamed to go out. It made my blood boil just reading it. All that pain, and she didn’t know how to fight back. Thank God she had a brother who left her this small two-bedroom house before he passed away. Just then, Jack pulled me down onto the couch next to him. Said it was time for a family meeting. Patty, ever the bossy older sister, started things off. “Now that my brother’s back, this house needs a man in charge again. Tomorrow, you should sign the house over to him. Put the deed in his name.” I stared at the three of them like they’d sprouted extra heads. “The house is mine. My brother left it to me. Why would I sign it over to him?” Joan jumped in eagerly, “If you put the house in his name, it’ll show him you trust him! It’ll keep him tied to you. He’ll definitely treat you right then.” Wow. Just… wow. I must be getting rusty at these revenge gigs if this level of audacity still shocks me. Seeing my hesitation, Jack resorted to his standard move: hitting his knees. “Sarah, trust me. I won’t let you down again. I swear it.” I looked down at him, my voice dangerously soft. “And if you do?” He saw a flicker of hope, poor fool. He held up three fingers. “Then may God strike me dead!” Keywords acquired: Strike me dead. The system’s health bar program officially kicked in. I glanced up, imagining a health bar floating over his head, a chunk of it vanishing. A small, cold smile touched my lips. “You remember that,” I said softly. “You’ll be struck dead.” 3 “Don’t say that! Bad luck!” Patty snapped, waving her hand dismissively. “Since you’re agreeing to sign the house over, we’ll let bygones be bygones.” She sounded so high and mighty. Joan chimed in, looking annoyed. “My brother’s turned over a new leaf. He didn’t come back here to listen to you making morbid threats. Less of that talk in the future.” I just gave them a bland smile. “He’s the one who volunteered to kneel and make the dramatic oaths. Got nothing to do with me.” Jack, hearing I’d “agreed” about the house, was practically buzzing with excitement. He wasn’t about to worry about some empty promise to God. “Okay, Patty, Joan, you two head on home,” he said, eager to get rid of them. “We won’t keep you for dinner.” Mission accomplished, the sisters got up to leave. As they walked out, the three of them exchanged quick glances. The look was clear: Got the house. She’s such an easy mark. As for signing over the house, I stalled. Said I needed to “get the paperwork sorted out,” maybe “check with the lawyer.” Bought myself ten days. Jack seemed completely confident he had Sarah – me – wrapped around his little finger. He didn’t push it. Dealing with scum like him… I really wanted this task over with quickly. His health bar seemed to be dropping too slowly. I needed him to trigger more keywords, run that meter down faster. Jack started gambling again. At first, his luck was weirdly good. He’d stumble home drunk every night, singing loudly in the wee hours, driving the neighbors crazy. The ones suffering the most were, ironically, Brenda across the street and Mr. Henderson downstairs. Jack would weave his way home, humming off-key, and every time he passed Brenda’s porch, he’d drunkenly yank at her flowers or knock over a planter. Just because. Brenda would be out there the next morning, yelling curses at the empty air. After a few days of this, she apparently ran out of steam yelling at nothing. So, she came to me, blaming me for not controlling my husband. “What is wrong with you? Don’t you care that your husband’s drinking like a fish? What if he drops dead drunk in a ditch somewhere? You’ll be a widow!” she lectured. “And he’s ruined all my planters!” I almost laughed. I put on my best sympathetic voice, echoing her tone from the other day. “Well, Brenda, he was gone twenty years. Now that he’s back, I have to forgive him, right? It’s just a little drinking.” The next day, Mr. Henderson showed up at my door, dark circles under his eyes. “Can’t you keep your husband quiet? He comes home singing, kicking things over… I’m right below you, the banging is giving me heart palpitations! You need to make him leave!” I gave him his own words back, sweet as pie. “But Mr. Henderson, my man’s finally back home. Guess we just have to make the best of it. Like you said, it was on the news and everything. If I kicked him out now, people might think folks in this neighborhood are heartless.” Mr. Henderson was speechless. He just muttered something under his breath and shuffled away.

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On the night of our fourth wedding anniversary, Chloe broadcast a declaration of love for her high school sweetheart on the giant screens in Times Square. A full four-minute video, a montage of every photo they’d taken together from high school through college. All set to his favorite song lyric: “I said I want us to be together.” I texted her, “Wishing you two lovebirds all the best.” She graciously replied. “Don’t make a scene. He’s just having a bad day, and I only want to cheer him up.” I held up my phone, recorded every second of their saccharine memories, and blasted it to our mutual friends’ group chat. My caption: “Here’s to my wife and her old flame finally getting their happy ending.” It quickly blew up. Chloe, furious, logged into my account and deleted the post. Then she called, screaming, “Mark, are you even a man? I’m just looking after a sick friend, you know that! Did you have to drag this out for the whole world to see?” After she hung up on me, her precious Leo sent me a picture of them, a sweet, passionate kiss. The woman I’d sworn to love forever, betraying me so openly. This time, I wouldn’t get angry. I wouldn’t rush to confront her. I just wanted to get away from both of them, to find some peace for myself. Without a moment’s hesitation, I canceled the hotel room I’d booked for our anniversary that night and flew back home. The first thing I did after landing was call a divorce lawyer to draft the papers. Back at our house, I went straight to the wine cabinet, staring at the red wine we’d bottled ourselves when we got married. All that newlywed sweetness, apparently worth less to her than Leo, her first love, saying, “I’m having a bad day.” I popped the cork and chugged the wine straight from the bottle. It was sour, bitter. Awful. I poured the rest down the drain. It wasn’t like we’d ever be using it to celebrate an anniversary again. Everything in this house was tied to memories of me and Chloe. The wool rug in the living room was her favorite; we used to sit on it, side-by-side, watching movies. The lamp over the dining table was her pick too; she said it made food look more appetizing. Now, all these things just sat here, mocking my powerlessness against a cheating wife. I took them all down, piling them haphazardly in the hallway by the living room entrance. Only after doing all that did I finally go to the bedroom. Fifteen hours on a plane had exhausted me. I collapsed onto the bed and fell into a deep sleep. I didn’t wake up until the next afternoon, startled by the loud slam of Chloe opening the front door. “Mark, are you trying to tear our house apart?” I walked out of the bedroom, glanced at the mess on the floor without a word, and headed to the bathroom to freshen up. I thought witnessing her betrayal firsthand would shatter me. But last night, after Leo sent that picture of their kiss, something in me just… let go. I’d had some wine, slept soundly, and for the first time in ages, I hadn’t waited up for Chloe on the sofa. The feeling was surprisingly liberating. “I’m talking to you, didn’t you hear me?” I spat out a mouthful of toothpaste, mumbling, “You don’t even bother coming home anymore. Do you really care if I wreck the place?” Chloe’s face turned ugly. Unexpectedly, she rolled up her sleeves and actually started cleaning up the mess I’d made. When she found the ten empty wine bottles, her brow furrowed. “You drank all of this by yourself?” I didn’t feel like explaining, just nodded noncommittally. She was speechless with surprise, then a look of understanding, or misunderstanding, crossed her face. She thought I was drowning my sorrows. “You shouldn’t have just run off back home without a word. You didn’t even get your anniversary present.” She pulled a small, elegant black box from her purse and handed it to me. I opened it. Inside, a green and gold designer watch lay nestled on velvet. “You said you liked this brand, right? I brought it back specially from New York for you.” The old carrot-and-stick routine. This was Chloe’s classic move to appease me. I didn’t call her out on it. Just ten minutes ago, Leo had posted on social media. In the photo, Chloe, who knew nothing about men’s watches, was standing at a luxury counter, patiently picking out a gift. The next photo showed Leo’s wrist, sporting a similar watch from a different collection by the same brand. I knew. This watch of mine was probably his reject. While Chloe was busy with the pile of junk, I closed the gift box and casually tossed it, watch and all, into the trash can. Chloe turned around just in time to see me do it. “Mark! I picked that out especially for you! How could you!” She really thought a little lie would make me forgive everything. I told her, my face blank, “I’m not into that brand anymore.” “You… Fine. I’m tired, I don’t want to clean anymore. I’m going to bed. Get the housekeeper to deal with it.” I knew she’d wanted to say something much harsher. As she headed to the bedroom, her phone buzzed with a notification. She reflexively gestured for me to bring it to her. I glanced at the screen. It was from Leo. I read it out loud, “Chloe, I feel like the luckiest man in the world.” Chloe hadn’t expected me to mimic Leo’s deliberately saccharine tone, my voice low and syrupy. She exploded. She grabbed a glass wine bottle from the dining table and smashed it on the floor. “Mark, when are you going to stop? Are you some kind of masochist?” Shards of glass sliced across the top of my foot. A sharp sting. I stared at the blood welling up, taunting, “Isn’t that how Leo talks to you?” Chloe was squeamish about blood. She immediately grabbed the dining table for support, flustered, yelling at me, “Are you stupid? Didn’t you know to move? Don’t think this will make me feel sorry for you!” I ignored her and went to find the first-aid kit to bandage my foot. When I realized the bleeding wasn’t stopping, I wrapped it up quickly and prepared to go to the hospital. Seeing my injury was somewhat serious, Chloe said guiltily, “Let me take you to the hospital.” “No need,” I said coldly. After a few back-and-forths, she still followed me into the elevator going down. In the underground parking garage, Chloe offered to drive. Given my injured foot, I didn’t refuse. The moment I sat in the back seat, she questioned me with her usual displeasure, “Now what’s wrong with you? Why aren’t you sitting in the passenger seat?” I rolled down the window for some air. The truth was, the car reeked of Leo’s pine-scented cologne. Under Chloe’s dark gaze, I made up an excuse, “You’re squeamish about blood. I was worried you’d be uncomfortable driving.” This explanation seemed to calm her down a bit. “Oh, I accidentally spilled some perfume yesterday. The smell might be a little strong.” With that, she pulled a half-empty bottle of cologne from her bag and offered it to me. “I blended this myself. Since you didn’t like the other gift, take this. It’s a shame half of it spilled. If you don’t mind, please accept it.” More of Leo’s stuff. Did Chloe see me as some kind of beggar, always picking up Leo’s cast-offs? I didn’t want anything connected to Leo. I didn’t take it, refusing directly, “The blood’s about to get on the car seats. Can we please hurry to the hospital?” She’d been snubbed and fell silent. On the way, she kept glancing at me in the rearview mirror, looking like she wanted to say something but couldn’t, as if she had some difficult secret. I closed my eyes, pretending to rest. She finally couldn’t hold it in anymore, “My mom wants us to go over to her place for dinner tonight. Can you…” She was obviously worried I’d spill the beans about Leo being back in town. Since I’d already decided on a divorce, I didn’t want to complicate things further, especially not make it harder for my mother-in-law to deal with the truth. I nodded. Chloe visibly relaxed. The rest of the drive was unusually quiet. But this time, the silence didn’t feel awkward; it was almost comfortable. At the hospital, she hurriedly dropped me off at the emergency room and then practically fled. “I’ll go grab a bite to eat and be right back to keep you company!” “Once you’re done, we’ll go home together to see Mom.” There was a car accident victim in the ER, covered in blood. Chloe, with her aversion to it, couldn’t even get close. More than an hour passed after the doctor treated my wound, but Chloe still hadn’t returned. Just then, my phone buzzed. Leo had updated his social media, saying he had a stomachache from eating too much seafood, and “someone” was incredibly worried about him. The accompanying picture showed he was at this very hospital. Clearly, Chloe wouldn’t be accompanying me to her mom’s tonight. I didn’t want to face my mother-in-law’s pressure about having kids alone anyway, so I made an excuse and canceled the dinner. Leaving the hospital, having slept for a day straight without eating, a sharp pain twisted in my gut. My stomach churned. I leaned against a wall, dry heaving, cold sweat beading on my forehead. A doctor saw me and hurried over to ask if I was okay. I waved him off, thanking him, and forced myself to follow the signs towards the restroom. Just as I turned a corner, I heard Leo’s familiar voice, “Leo, you’re still the same, always making people worry. You overate and got indigestion, didn’t you!” “Chloe, I haven’t been back in the country for so long, and the seafood chowder you made was so delicious, I wanted to eat the whole bowl.” So, she’d been busy all afternoon making him chowder before coming home. Seeing them so intimate, I felt even more nauseous. Chloe was smiling radiantly, a tenderness she’d never shown me. “You still can’t eat like that. If you want it, I can make it for you anytime. Just don’t do this again, okay?” Leo saw me, then deliberately cupped Chloe’s face and kissed her hard. “Got it!” Those hands, which I had once cherished, had never cooked for me. Now, they were readily available for Leo at any time. The power of a first love, truly something to both adore and despise. The pain in my abdomen intensified, sweat trickling down my face. I knew I looked a mess, but compared to the scene in front of me, I’d rather escape. Just as I turned to leave, Leo called out, “Mark? What are you doing here?” Leo noticed me standing by the dermatology clinic door. His eyes lit up, and he walked straight towards me. As they got closer, Leo’s eyes filled with disdain. “What are you hiding for? Looking so rough, afraid we’ll find out you’ve got some shameful disease?” The smile that had been on Chloe’s face vanished the moment she saw me. “Didn’t I tell you I’d come find you? Is it fun stalking us every day? Your foot’s injured, and you still can’t stay put, insisting on coming here to make trouble for yourself?” I looked up at Chloe. She seemed to be expecting me to be grateful for her “trust.” Grateful that she believed I didn’t have “that kind of disease.” Grateful that she was saving face for me in front of Leo. But there was no hint of panic or embarrassment on her face at her lies being exposed, only blame and coldness towards me. The sweat pouring down my face right now seemed to mean nothing to her. I tried to walk around them, heading for the restroom further down. But Leo suddenly reached out to block me. I instinctively tried to avoid his touch. With a slight shrug, I somehow sent Leo sprawling to the ground. Chloe reacted instantly, helping Leo up and, in the same motion, shoving me to the floor. “Mark!” “Haven’t you had enough!” She hadn’t used her full strength, but the stitches in my foot, the anesthetic long worn off, throbbed with unbearable pain. I couldn’t withstand even that gentle push. The fall made me dizzy. The pain in my abdomen and foot quickly spread to my stomach, sending waves of cramps through me. My temples throbbed. I just wanted to get up quickly and get to the restroom to relieve myself. I finally struggled to my feet, but Chloe gripped my wrist tightly, not letting me go. “Apologize to Leo!” In her cold eyes, she completely missed the fact that the gauze on my foot was now soaked red with blood. My whole body was screaming in pain. I used all my strength to stand steady, fighting back my anger, demanding she let go. She squeezed my wrist so hard her nails almost dug into my flesh, leaving red marks. But I wouldn’t give in. “You didn’t leash your dog. What’s that got to do with me?” “If you don’t let go, I’ll tell your family about your little affair!” Chloe finally released her grip, her eyes red. She slapped me across the face. “Mark! You dare!” She looked like she wanted to yell more, but the next second, the intense abdominal pain made me suddenly vomit. It was a purely physical reaction, not intentional. I threw up acidic bile all over Chloe. Compared to my wretched state, the stains on her dress were more conspicuous. This sudden turn of events, strangely, made me feel a little better. Seeing my pale face and the pain in my eyes, Chloe, surprisingly, didn’t fly into a rage about being soiled. She forgot Leo was even there and instinctively moved to pat my back. “You drank so much last night, you must have gastritis! Why are you always so much trouble!” Her scent made me wrinkle my nose. I pinched my nostrils and dodged her touch. Chloe’s hand froze in mid-air, the concern on her face vanishing quickly. “Mark! Aren’t you going too far!” I ignored her accusation and limped towards the restroom to clean myself up. Only then did Chloe remember my injured foot. A flicker of guilt crossed her face. She followed me to the restroom door, trying to soothe me, “Okay, I shouldn’t have hit you. But you stalking us, that’s not exactly honorable, is it? I’ll take you to see a doctor. Stop making a scene, okay?” This was the first time she’d spoken to me so gently since Leo came back, as if coaxing a child. But it only made me feel sicker. I couldn’t help but dry heave again. Chloe panicked. Ignoring that it was the men’s room, she rushed in to help me. “Get away! Don’t touch me!” I slapped her hand away without mercy. She froze, her eyes wide with disbelief, then her face flushed with anger. “Don’t you have any dignity as a man?” “I gave you the Evans family name, you should have some responsibility! Since you’re so ungrateful, let’s just get a divorce!”

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On the eve of our wedding, Daniel Harrison finally posted something on his social media at my insistence. The caption read: “If it’s her, I’d go through hell and back.” Everyone’s stares at me grew stranger and stranger until I overheard conversations in the company break room. “Did you see Daniel Harrison’s post? Oh my god, I can’t believe Chloe Jensen is like that.” “I saw it, I saw it! Chloe Jensen must be desperate, picking up men of any age. I heard that old man was practically ancient, right?” “The slideshow was dozens of pages long; you couldn’t even count how many people there were. But Daniel Harrison clearly knows Chloe Jensen isn’t exactly a saint and still marries her? That’s true love, I guess?” My blood ran cold. I snatched their phone and opened the post. Only to find that the slideshow Daniel Harrison had posted showed that the so-called old men supporting me were my dad and my grandpa, and a “client” was my brother… The air was thick with awkward silence as the women quickly grabbed their phone and scurried away. I stood there stunned, unable to shake off the images I’d seen on the screen. The slideshow was stark and simple, filled with text and timelines, painting a picture of me as someone who loved to party, obsessed with money, devoid of morals, and willing to do anything for enough cash. The only person he’d blocked from seeing that post was me. I had been slandered, and by my boyfriend of six years, who I was about to marry. Before I could even text Daniel Harrison to confront him, his message popped up. “I’m taking Holly for a trip these two days. We can talk about the wedding later.” Holly Davies was a student he’d sponsored for four years. She’d just graduated college this year, and Daniel Harrison said he wanted to treat her to some experiences, which was why he hadn’t been home much lately. It wasn’t that I hadn’t argued. Holly was the reason we’d fought countless times. In the end, it always came down to a few standard lines: “Chloe, what do you want? Why do you have to see everyone in such a dark light? Holly’s a girl I sponsored; I just see her as a little sister.” “Can you stop being so jealous? I don’t know what’s wrong with you. She’s just a young girl, fresh out of college, frail and vulnerable, with no one to rely on. What’s wrong with me helping her out?” “Look at you, always moping around like a perpetual grump, no energy at all. I’m embarrassed to be seen with you. Why can’t you be more like Holly?” A pang of melancholy hit me. I couldn’t understand why someone I’d loved for six years had changed so drastically. I opened his social media profile. The slideshow wasn’t there. The top post was from three days ago, captioned “If it’s her, I’d go through hell and back,” with a picture of me, drunk, asleep on the couch from behind. Other than that, there was nothing else related to me. These past few days, I’d been swamped with wedding planning, barely breathing, with no time to check my phone, so I naturally hadn’t seen that post. Scrolling down, I saw only pictures of Holly. “Took her snowboarding. So clumsy, she kept holding onto me and couldn’t learn.” “Originally wanted to take her to Japan to see cherry blossoms, but the visa didn’t come through. Had to settle for a trip to [substitute for Wuhan, e.g., a lesser-known city known for something specific, or just a generic city] for now.” “Woke me up wanting lobster at midnight. My hands are still sore from peeling them for her, but at least she blew on them for me. Little rascal.” I felt a mix of absurdity and bitter amusement. Six years of a relationship, and I’d never appeared on his feed. The only post about me was one I had begged for, and even that was a disgusting caption. Turns out, Daniel Harrison wasn’t bad at posting. He was just bad at posting me. My phone screen went black automatically. I took a deep breath, pushing down my emotions, and prepared to go home and cancel the wedding. Pushing open the apartment door, the air was cold and empty. I looked around, hoping to see my familiar cat, but Muffin was nowhere in sight. Strange, why wasn’t Muffin here to greet me today? Feeling puzzled, I put down my bag, when suddenly, I heard movement from the bathroom. “Daniel, I got soaked! This cat is so annoying!” My heart tightened. I rushed over. Holly stood by the bathtub, looking delicately at Daniel Harrison, who was carefully drying her with a towel. They both looked up at me when they heard the commotion. “Oh, Chloe’s back.” Holly seemed to flinch, a hint of guilt on her face as she hid behind Daniel Harrison. I looked at the messy puddles on the floor, the cat hair clinging to the edge of the bathtub, and a terrible answer I didn’t want to believe formed in my mind. My hands trembled uncontrollably as I rushed forward and pushed them apart. In the bathtub, a small ginger cat floated motionlessly. It was my Muffin. Daniel Harrison steadied Holly, then turned to yell at me. “Are you crazy, pushing people around like that?! Are you blind? What if she got hurt?!” My eyes welled up. Looking at the man in front of me, he felt like a terrifying stranger. People really do change. “Daniel Harrison! Are you kidding me? That was our cat, the one we adopted together!” Holly’s eyes brimmed with tears. She bit her lip and tugged on Daniel Harrison’s arm. “Don’t yell at Chloe. It’s my fault for wanting to play with the cat, but I got scratched by accident. Daniel was just trying to get back at it for me… I’m so sorry, Chloe.” Daniel Harrison patted her head, seemingly to soothe her. “It’s not your fault. It’s just an animal. Don’t blame yourself.” They walked out of the bathroom hand in hand, leaving me standing there numbly. So, because Muffin accidentally scratched Holly, they drowned him. Six years of my life meant less than a girl he sponsored? Tears streamed down my face, and I collapsed onto the floor in agony. After tending to Muffin, I went back to my room, unable to accept what I had witnessed today. Opening the door, I found my nightstand drawers pulled open, things scattered everywhere. I didn’t even have to guess who had done it. I felt physically and emotionally drained, pushing myself to tidy up, when I noticed something familiar discarded in a corner. My mom passed away three years ago, and many of her things were gone, but that white T-shirt, a prize from my high school writing competition, she had kept. It was too big for me, so I’d left it for her to wear. She always wore that shirt, bragging to everyone that I was her amazing daughter. But now, the shirt was stained with blood, dirty patches making my eyes sting, and a massive anger flared inside me. Daniel Harrison walked in, frowned when he saw me standing still. “Didn’t you see the mess? Why aren’t you cleaning it up?” “Daniel Harrison, what happened to this shirt?” “Oh, Holly suddenly got her period and messed up the floor. I couldn’t find any tissues, so I just grabbed something to wipe it up quickly…” I slapped him across the face, my hand stinging from the immense pain. “Are you out of your mind?!” Daniel Harrison’s eyes widened, glaring at me furiously. “Yes, I am out of my mind! Daniel Harrison, how could you? That’s my mom’s last memento!” He seemed stunned, clutching his face, then he bit his lip and glanced at me. “I didn’t know… I’m sure it’ll wash out. Just wash it.” Wash it? Aside from whether it would wash out, this was my mother’s relic, something I had carefully preserved, and he used it to clean up period blood. I had told Daniel Harrison. Three years ago, after my mom passed, I carefully carried that shirt into the apartment, telling him it was my mom’s last keepsake, and I wanted to treasure it. So, had he forgotten? Or did he never remember? I knelt on the floor, carefully picking up the shirt and holding it close. A bitter ache rose in my nose, and tears dripped onto it. My voice trembled as I spoke. “Daniel Harrison, we’re over.” The air was silent for two seconds, then I heard his sneer. “Chloe Jensen, enough already. It’s just a shirt. You can buy another one. You were the one who chased me, and now that we’re finally getting married, you’re going to give up?” “Stop throwing a tantrum. Muffin really did scratch Holly today. Go get another cat, I’ll buy it for you.” I seemed to see the young man from years ago. We were sitting by the roadside, and a little ginger cat suddenly jumped into my arms. I sat frozen, and he laughed, calling me a robot, then he teased the kitten. That day passed slowly. I watched him smile brightly, the cat purring in my arms, the sunset painting the sky red, even his face flushed pink. “Chloe, let’s keep this little cat. It’s pretty cute. It’ll meow at the door when we get home from work.” Their figures blurred, but I couldn’t clearly see the person in front of me anymore. Daniel Harrison’s phone vibrated. He glanced down, then turned to leave. As he closed the door, his voice reached my ears. “Holly needs a rabies shot. She’s a bit scared, so I’m going to stay with her.” 3. I packed my bags and moved out of the apartment. Before closing the door, I took one last look at the entire room, only to realize how few traces of myself were left. At some point, the place had filled with Holly’s things instead. I guess I wasn’t that important. I moved back into the small house my mom left me, cleaned it, and fell into a deep sleep. When I woke up, I found my phone flooded with messages. A junior colleague I’d mentored had called me many times, and my chat box was lit up with 30+ new messages. “Chloe, Daniel posted something in the company chat, tell him to take it down!” “Chloe, I believe you, that can’t be true. I told them not to take it seriously, we’re all sending messages to push it up.” “Are you okay, Chloe??” The company’s general messaging group, which I had on do not disturb, also showed a gray icon with 99+ notifications. I gritted my teeth and clicked it open, scrolling all the way to the top, where I saw the video. In the video, I was shown embracing and holding hands with different men, getting into their cars. The accompanying text was sharp and malicious, claiming I had no self-respect. Although many people had kindly sent memes and messages to push the video out of view, there was still a lot of venom in between. “Daniel posted this video, right? What does this mean? Did he catch Chloe red-handed and cancel the wedding?” “Haha, Chloe acts so serious at work, but secretly she’s…?” “Wonder if she has anything, Daniel should be careful.” A wave of terror washed over me. I recognized the men in the video as my brother, my dad, and my grandpa. The video had been doctored to obscure the men’s faces, but my own face was perfectly clear. From yesterday’s slideshow to this video, the targeting of me was blatant. A new message popped up in the group chat. I steadied myself and saw it was from Daniel Harrison. “Chloe Jensen, I need you to give me an explanation. Otherwise, the wedding is off, and I’ll go to the media to expose you.” I clicked on his profile picture and saw that yesterday’s slideshow post was gone. Was it because fewer people saw it on his social media feed compared to the company chat, so he moved it? I burst into laughter, tears streaming down my face, feeling the world was absurd. Daniel Harrison had, of course, met my family members before. But he hadn’t recognized them in the video, simply believed someone else’s malicious words, and trusted them. Six years of a relationship, undone by a single whisper. Who could possibly hold such immense malice towards me? Anyone could guess it was Holly. The girl was young, but cunning. Every time she sent me a message to boast or insult me, she’d immediately deactivate her number and get a new one next time. I had told Daniel Harrison about it, but every time I called the number, it was disconnected. “Chloe Jensen, aren’t you disgusted with yourself? Now you’re slinging mud too. Not everyone is as calculating as you.” Holly’s gaze at me held defiance and the scorn of a victor. I blocked Daniel Harrison, tapped a quick message, and sent it to the group chat. “Of course the wedding is off, Daniel Harrison. We’re breaking up.” “The burden of proof is on you. If you genuinely have evidence that I’m involved with the people in that video, I don’t mind apologizing to you publicly. But I’ll warn you, the people in that video are my dad, my grandpa, and my brother.” “If you don’t have evidence to prove those claims, then I’ll see you in court. Both you and Holly will face the consequences.” After sending it, I left the group. Taking a deep breath, I opened my pinned chat, hesitated for a long time, then sent a message. “Liam, I want to come home.” “Also, pull your investment from Daniel Harrison’s company.”

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“No… stop… not there…” Inside the jam-packed commuter bus, I squeezed my thighs together, desperately resisting the man behind me whose hand was brazenly exploring beneath my skirt. My name is Alice, a newly married woman. I was accompanying my husband, Mark, back to his hometown for his younger brother’s wedding. After getting off the train, we rushed to the bus station and somehow managed to cram ourselves onto a bus packed like a can of sardines, only to be separated by the surging crowd. “Just hold on for a bit,” Mark gestured from half a bus length away. I felt uneasy in such a physically close space but had no choice. I pushed and shoved my way to a corner by the back door, trying to minimize contact with others. But before I could even get my balance, a large hand appeared from nowhere, pressing firmly against my backside. “Creep!” I froze instantly, my mind blank, rooted to the spot, afraid to move. It wasn’t my first encounter with a pervert, but never before had a stranger been so bold, so direct. Especially as the crowd continued to press in, the man behind me brazenly moved closer, gluing himself to my back and hips. Always confident in my figure, I usually favored thongs, believing they best showcased my curves. Today, I realized that was a mistake. As the bus swayed, my rounded hips, encased in a tight skirt, inevitably rubbed against the man’s body. I could distinctly feel a strange object slowly pushing between my full buttocks. He feels even stronger than Mark! The sudden thought shocked me. How could I possibly be thinking such a thing while being violated by a stranger? Embarrassed and anxious, I instinctively twisted my waist and hips, trying to escape, but no matter how I moved, the man’s pelvis stuck to me rhythmically, pushing and thrusting. What made my heart pound even more was the sudden appearance of hands around my waist, trying to lift my shirt and slide down into my skirt. Enough, please… stop. My body was rigid, my legs clamped together, as I tried to push him away by arching my hips back. But just then, the bus hit a deep pothole, bouncing violently. My legs were forced to part slightly, and the man’s finger hooked. “Mmmph…” A sensation I’d never experienced before, both sharp and oddly pleasurable, overwhelmed me, making it impossible to suppress a gasp. I nearly collapsed, my only clear sensation a violent trembling in my thighs that wouldn’t stop. And as if working against me, the bus began to sway and bump even more wildly. With every jolt, my body involuntarily tilted forward, pushing my butt out, and the man pressed into me from behind. The pose was almost as if I were actively inviting him. My rationality screamed at me to escape quickly, but my body was completely out of control, even seeming to enjoy it, not wanting him to stop. Is this… cheating? Feeling the man’s agile fingers, I bit my lower lip, my face flushed, and stared out at the passing scenery, afraid to confront the question. I don’t know how much time passed, but by the time the bus finally reached its destination, dusk had already begun to fall. I practically leaped off the bus, but hadn’t walked more than a few steps before my legs turned to jelly, and I nearly tripped. Luckily, Mark, who had caught up, steadied me. “Mark!” Just then, the roar of a motorcycle grew louder, pulling up beside us. The tall man riding it had dark skin and powerful, muscular arms. He flashed a perfect white-toothed grin at me. “Mark, this must be your wife?” Mark happily clapped him on the shoulder. “Duke! What are you doing here?” “The road ahead got washed out by the flood, still not repaired. Cars can’t get through, so Auntie sent me to pick you up.” Mark hadn’t ridden a motorcycle much since moving to the city. He circled Duke’s bike, touching it here and there. “New Yamaha? Cool!” Somehow, they decided that Mark would drive, I’d sit in the middle, and Duke would sit behind me. The handlebars were low, and the rear seat was quite high, so when I straddled the bike, clutching my skirt, my hips were inevitably tilted upwards. My skirt naturally rode up, exposing my entire pale, long legs, and even my thong was faintly visible. The skirt offered almost no coverage. “Hold on tight!” Once Duke was settled behind me, steadying me by my shoulders, Mark revved the engine. The motorcycle roared to life and shot forward like an arrow from a bow. Caught off guard, my entire body lurched backward, and my perky, rounded backside sank directly between Duke’s legs. The thin fabric was instantly pierced by the heat. I quickly hugged Mark, but from behind me, I heard Duke let out a suppressed grunt right by my ear. Mark continued to accelerate. Duke’s grip on my slender waist tightened, pressing harder and harder against my backside through the thin fabric. The wild ride finally slowed to a normal speed when we reached the main road. “Fun, huh?” Mark called out. “So fun!” Feeling the strong body pressing against my rear, I slid my hand inside Mark’s shirt, exploring up and down, and called back loudly. People are so strange. If this had been before, I never would have done something like this in front of another person. But after the incident on the bus, an indescribable thrill welled up inside me. I secretly arched my butt back a little more. And so, sandwiched between two men, I rode until the motorcycle stopped in front of the old family house. “Boom! Boom! Boom!” The sound of drums echoed through the village, each beat heavier than the last, igniting the whole village into a frenzy. In the distant town square, tables were already set for a feast. Alex, Mark’s younger brother, was leading his new bride, Sarah, around, distributing cigarettes and pouring drinks for guests. The atmosphere at the banquet grew livelier and livelier. Mark was quickly pulled away by childhood friends. When the village men saw me alone, they circled me, grinning, insistently offering me drinks. I couldn’t refuse. I drank more and more, my whole body warm and light, my waist as soft as noodles. I vaguely heard them complimenting my pale skin and large hips, saying how every man would want me. Finally, I couldn’t take their crude and direct jokes any longer. Ignoring their attempts to stop me, I slipped out from under one man’s arm, my chest heaving, and fled. Even when someone groped my butt in the chaos, I didn’t dare look back. Back at the old house, I immediately took off my skirt. Sure enough, I needed to change my underwear again. I closed the door, turned off the lights in both the main room and the back room, fetched a basin of water, and squatted to wash myself. “Creak…” Just then, I heard the sound of the outer door opening. Someone was here! I frantically pulled up my underwear, not daring to make a sound. If anyone saw me secretly washing myself, I’d die of embarrassment! “Huh?” It was Alex’s new wife, Sarah. She seemed surprised that the back room door was open. She peeked in, didn’t see me crouched in the corner, and then lowered her voice. “Nobody here. Come in.” The man outside grunted in response. I held my breath, vaguely guessing what was happening but still disbelieving, and cautiously peered out from the doorway of the back room. I saw Sarah slowly backing up, and the man followed, grabbing her by the waist. Sarah’s full body arched backward from the waist, her head tilted high, a slender, drawn-out moan escaping her lips. In the darkness, it sounded like a combination of something wanton and the thrilling secrecy of a forbidden tryst. She hooked her legs around the man’s waist, holding his head, giggling like a harlot. “You heartless animal! Getting the groom drunk on purpose just to steal his wife…” The man chuckled. “Wild thing! Your big butt shaking like that, didn’t you want me to take you?” I froze instantly, my heart pounding. The man was Duke. He was having an affair with the new bride?! Sarah panted, “Get lost, are you the only man in this whole village? What if I want to seduce someone else?” “Can anyone else satisfy you?” Duke shoved Sarah onto the bed in the main room, tearing at her clothes. Blurry dark and light figures rolled together, the rustle of fabric, the sound of ragged breaths, and the surreptitious atmosphere of their affair stretched the air in the room to a breaking point. “You animal, you’re like a beast…” My face was crimson with embarrassment. How could Sarah say such scandalous things? Unconsciously, I craned my neck to get a better look, but accidentally knocked against a bamboo drying rack with dried vegetables on it. CLANG! The noise startled the two lovers. “Who’s there?” Duke, without even pulling up his pants, burst into the back room and stood before me, his erection terrifyingly large. “You?” His eyes gleamed with a strange light. He turned to Sarah and ordered, “Go guard the door outside. I need to talk to Alice!” Sarah, completely at a loss, stumbled to pull on her clothes and obey. My hair was disheveled, my face burning with shame. I dared not look at Duke’s naked body. I tried to squeeze past him, but he wrapped his arms around my waist, holding me tightly. My heart hung in mid-air. I struggled in his embrace, my face flushed, gasping, “Let me go… I… I won’t say anything… just…” CRASH! The door was shut from the outside by Sarah. Duke spread his arms, effortlessly lifted me, and threw me onto the bed, pinning me down. “Ah!” Feeling Duke’s powerful muscles, I let out a small shriek. My head spun, and I struggled to breathe. “The only way I’ll believe you won’t tell is if everyone’s involved in this mess.” Duke grabbed my waist, lifted me easily, and flipped me over, trying to pull my skirt off. “No… stop…” He was hurting me slightly, making it hard to speak. I could only writhe my body, mouth agape, gasping for air. Just then, Duke’s hand slid under my skirt. Oh god! Oh god! I quickly grabbed his hand, squeezing my legs together. “Don’t… don’t touch me… let go!” “You’re acting all innocent now, but you’re just as eager.” Duke tore my skirt open, then used one arm to pin my hands behind my back, trapping me like a prisoner. “On the motorcycle today, your butt was practically begging for it, wasn’t it?” My secret desire exposed, my face burned so hot it felt like blood would burst through my skin. My hips thrashed in a frantic struggle, completely lost. Until he ripped my underwear off completely, leaving it tangled around my ankles… In that instant, countless possibilities flashed through my mind. If I fought back, would Duke kill me to keep me silent? The thought sent a jolt of panic through me, and I struggled frantically. But Duke’s nearly 200 pounds of weight on top of me made it impossible to run, even to breathe. “Help… me! Is anyone… here…” Duke realized that even with his hand over my mouth, I could still make noise. He changed his grip, clamping his thumb and forefinger around my mouth, the other fingers pinching my chin, preventing me from making any sound. “Mmph… mmph…” Duke’s grip was so tight that the sounds I made were completely unintelligible. But his position also gave me an opportunity to bite him. I bit down with all my strength. Blood seeped from the web between Duke’s thumb and forefinger. The metallic taste filled my mouth. Seizing the moment when Duke recoiled in pain, I kicked his knee and broke free from his grip. I lunged for the door. Sarah’s eyes widened. She stood in front of me, arms spread wide like a hen protecting her chicks. “Can you… not say anything?” I swallowed hard. “Outside, your wedding party is still in full swing. And you, the bride, are in here with another man. Are you not ashamed, Sarah?” Sarah bit her lower lip, not responding, only staring intently at me. “Just mind your own business. Pretend you didn’t see anything. Nothing happened.” “What if I decide to tell everyone?” I challenged. “Then you’ll stay here too,” Sarah replied. Stay here? What does that mean? I heard a sound behind me. Without daring to look back, I bolted towards the door. “If you dare to speak, I’ll take you right now!” Duke grabbed me from behind, tearing my outer shirt in a few swift motions. “You ruined my plans, and now you want to run? I’ll have you tonight, and then let’s see what you dare to say!” I knew that if I continued to struggle like this, I was doomed. I tried to fish my phone out of my pocket to call 911, but as soon as I pulled it out, it was knocked from my hand. In desperation, I screamed, “If you come any closer, I’ll kill myself right now!”

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