Category: English

Rich people have a favorite catchphrase, unspoken but universally understood: Reality is whatever I decide it is. And so, simply because I possessed the exact bone structure and eye color of the Kensington family’s runaway heir, they collectively decided I was their son, Sean. I explained it to them. Over and over again. I told them my name wasn’t Sean Kensington. My name was Cole Bennett. It was printed in black ink on my NDA, right next to my signature. But they would just stare at my face, their expressions dead serious. Since you’re finally home, stop throwing tantrums, they’d say. Using a fake name? Is that really necessary? Do you honestly expect us to cut ties with you? Or is this about Tristan? Will you only be happy if we throw him out? He’s lived in this house for twenty years. Giving him away now would be abandonment. That was how I learned about the twisted ecosystem of the Kensington estate. There were two sons: the biological heir, and the golden replacement. When the real Sean was finally found and brought back to the family, he couldn’t stomach the reality waiting for him. The Kensingtons favored their adopted son, Tristan, in every conceivable way. Even Sean’s own childhood fiancée, a high-society heiress, always took Tristan’s side. Three years ago, after a massive, foundation-shaking argument, Sean walked out of the estate and vanished into thin air. Then, they found me. I looked so terrifyingly much like him that even his fiancée, Betty Montgomery, mistook me for him. She even organized a lavish, highly publicized proposal ceremony to welcome me back into her life. Except, when the day of the proposal arrived, Betty stood under the crystal chandeliers in front of hundreds of elite guests, bypassed me entirely, and dropped to one knee in front of Tristan. Tristan gasped, his hands flying to his mouth in perfectly choreographed shock. “Oh my god… I had no idea she was going to propose to me,” Tristan whispered, looking at me with wide, innocent eyes. “You two have always been so close. I really thought this was for you…” Betty stood up, looking down her nose at me. “Sean, so what if you share their blood?” she said, her voice dripping with icy condescension. “Tristan and I grew up together. I hope today serves as a lesson. Learn your place in this hierarchy, and stop coveting things that will never belong to you.” Beside me, my friend Carter was practically vibrating with rage. “Are you seriously going to take this?” he hissed. “They’re humiliating you!” I let out a slow, quiet breath. Could I take this? Yes. I absolutely could. … When the diamond ring slid onto Tristan’s ring finger, the collective gaze of the ballroom shifted to me. I could feel the weight of their mockery, a hundred pairs of eyes peeling back my dignity. “He really thought it was going to be him. Hilarious.” “If I were him, I’d find a hole to crawl into and die.” “He deserves it. Everyone knows Tristan and Betty are the real power couple. He just uses his biology to try and steal everything Tristan has.” Carter lunged forward, his fists clenched, but I grabbed the back of his jacket, yanking him back. “They’re doing this on purpose, man! How can you just stand there?” Carter demanded, his face flushed. “Why wouldn’t I?” I asked quietly. I looked past the whispering crowd and watched Tristan pull Betty into a tight embrace. Over her shoulder, he caught my eye and let a slow, triumphant smirk curl the edge of his lips. Looking at that smirk, I didn’t feel anger. I felt an overwhelming, intoxicating wave of relief. I finally get to stop acting in this psychotic family’s play. Three years ago, when I first applied for an entry-level corporate job at Kensington Holdings, the CEO—Mr. Kensington himself—had taken one look at me and teared up. “Sean,” he had choked out. “After all this time… you’re finally willing to come back?” You left because of a petty fight with Tristan, and he’s been blaming himself ever since. I had tried to explain. I brought out my ID. I am Cole Bennett. But the delusion of the ultra-rich is a fortress. They refused to hear it. They offered me a choice: I could leave and try to survive in a city they practically owned, or I could stay. Betty herself had cornered me in the lobby that day, shoving a sleek black card into my chest. “Are you trying to drive Tristan into another depression?” she snapped. “Your little disappearing act nearly ruined him. If you stop throwing these tantrums, I’ll honor our engagement. But the prerequisite is that you stop making Tristan’s life miserable. Stay. There’s three hundred thousand dollars on this card. It reloads every month.” Three hundred grand. A month. Who would say no to that? So, I became the ghost of Sean Kensington. I kept my head down. I stayed out of the way. I practically lived as a vampire, sleeping during the day and haunting the estate at night, collecting my paycheck. But Tristan was relentless. He had a pathological need to frame me. He would throw himself down the sweeping mahogany staircases. He would deliberately slip peanut oil—his known allergen—into his own soup and go into anaphylactic shock. There were security cameras. I pointed out the footage time and time again. But nobody in that house ever wanted to look at a screen that proved their golden boy was a sociopath. At three hundred thousand a month, it wasn’t a salary. It was hazard pay for my fading sanity. But tonight, the mask was off. They weren’t even pretending anymore. Which meant I could finally hand in my resignation. Under the blinding glare of the chandeliers, I stepped forward and approached the happy couple. “Congratulations to you both,” I said, my voice steady and clear. “I’m genuinely happy for you. I wish you a lifetime of joy together. And on that note, I’ll be taking my leave.” Tristan froze, his smirk faltering. Betty’s perfectly manicured brows snapped together. “Sean, what kind of act is this?” Instantly, Tristan’s eyes welled with tears. “Don’t be like this. I swear, I had no idea Betty was going to do this. If you’re upset, here—you can have the ring.” “I don’t need it,” I said, taking a step back. “No, I mean it!” Tristan insisted, stepping into my space and grabbing my hand, trying to force the heavy diamond onto my palm. “Take it!” “Seriously, let go—” I pulled my hand back. It was a reflex, a slight push to break his grip. The ring slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the marble floor. Tristan gasped, his eyes instantly brimming with devastated tears. “Do you really hate me that much?” “That is enough!” Betty stepped between us, shoving me backward. She shielded Tristan like he was a fragile piece of glass. “Who the hell do you think you are?” Betty snarled, her voice echoing in the sudden silence of the ballroom. “Yes, you have the Kensington blood. But Tristan and I have known each other for twenty years. If we’re getting down to brass tacks, you are the outsider here!” A fuse blew in my chest. Three years of biting my tongue finally snapped. “You’re right!” I shouted, the sound ringing out over the gasps of the crowd. “I am an outsider! I’m not your missing heir. I am not Sean Kensington! My name is Cole Bennett!” The ballroom plunged into a dead, suffocating silence. I was breathing hard, my chest rising and falling sharply. Tristan covered his mouth, a sob escaping his lips. “How can you say something like that just to throw a tantrum? Do you have any idea how much that hurts me?” I stared at him, my eyes wide. “What?” Did none of them speak English? I pointed a rigid finger at my own face. “Look at me! Look closely! I don’t even look exactly like him. His eyes are slightly wider than mine. His earlobes sit lower. Open your damn eyes!” “Stop it!” Betty shoved me again, harder this time. “I told you, you are never to make things difficult for Tristan again.” Behind her, Tristan buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with manufactured grief. The murmurs in the crowd morphed from shock into disgust. “What is he trying to pull? He’s a carbon copy of Sean.” “Lying through his teeth just to make Tristan look bad. He’s just playing the victim to force Tristan into giving Betty back.” Betty glared at me, her eyes flat and cold. “My patience has limits. If you keep making these unreasonable scenes and attacking Tristan… don’t expect any mercy from me.” …Was there a single sane person in this room? I threw my hands up. “Fine! You don’t believe me? Let’s go get a DNA test. Right now.” Both Betty and Tristan flinched, staring at me in shock. I pointed straight at Tristan. “Let’s go back to the estate. We’ll swab Mr. and Mrs. Kensington. We’ll pay for the rush order. And then you can all see, in black and white, whether or not I belong to this family!” Betty’s frown deepened. A flicker of genuine uncertainty crossed her face. The guests exchanged uneasy glances. “He doesn’t sound like he’s bluffing… is he actually going to do it?” “Wait, could he seriously not be Sean?” “Look at his posture. He’s dead serious.” Betty opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, Tristan let out a loud, agonizing wail. “I know I’m the outsider!” he cried, gripping his chest. “You don’t need to use this to humiliate me! You don’t need to keep reminding me that I don’t share their blood!” With a theatrical sob, he kicked the fallen diamond ring across the floor, covered his face, and sprinted toward the exit. When a waiter tried to gently stop him, Tristan violently shoved the poor guy aside. I stood there, completely stunned. “Wait, I wasn’t talking about—ah!” Two hands hit my chest with the force of a battering ram, sending me stumbling backward. Betty looked at me with a hatred so pure it was almost glowing. “When are you going to stop ruining everything?” she screamed. “Listen to me! I am not Sean!” “Shut up!” She spun around, her heels clicking frantically as she chased after her weeping fiancé. “Tristan! Tristan, wait, where are you going?!” Carter sidled up next to me, watching the chaos unfold. “Is there something literally wrong with the brains of the one percent?” “I’m starting to think it’s a genetic requirement,” I muttered, rubbing my chest. I turned my back on the ballroom and walked out. I had made enough money. Regardless of whether they believed me or not, I was going back to the estate, packing my bags, and getting the hell out of Connecticut. But the moment I pushed open the heavy oak doors of the Kensington mansion, two massive security guards stepped out of the shadows and grabbed me by the arms. “Mr. and Mrs. Kensington heard about the stunt you pulled, making young Master Tristan cry,” one of them rumbled, his grip like a vice. “They left orders. You’re going in the attic to reflect on your behavior for three days.” “What? Wait! I’m not Sean! I’m seriously not! Let me go!” My protests were useless. They dragged me up three flights of stairs, shoved me into the dusty, unfinished attic, and the heavy door slammed shut with a sickening thud. I pounded on the wood until my knuckles bruised, screaming until my throat was raw. Nobody came. Eventually, I slid down the wall and sat on the floorboards in the dark. I stopped fighting. Fine, I thought. Three days. I’ll just leave in three days. But by the second day, a terrifying reality began to set in. They hadn’t sent anyone up with food. By the third day, I didn’t know how many hours had passed. The hunger had hollowed me out, and I didn’t even have the energy to call for help anymore. Three days. Not a single drop of water. I realized, with a quiet, creeping horror, that I might actually die up here. Suddenly, there was a soft rustle. A plastic-wrapped slice of bread slid under the narrow gap beneath the door. I scrambled toward it, my hands shaking so badly I barely managed to rip the plastic open before tearing a piece off with my teeth. “It’s me.” The voice on the other side of the wood made me freeze. “Tristan?” I rasped, my voice barely a croak. “I believe you,” Tristan whispered, his tone hushed and urgent. “I believe you aren’t Sean. I can get you out of here, but you have to promise me something. You can never, ever come back.” It was a deal I would have sold my soul for. “Swear it!” he demanded. “I swear it,” I choked out. “I will never step foot in this house again. I will never look at another Kensington for as long as I live!” “Wait here. I’m going to get the key.” Of all the things I expected, being rescued by Tristan Kensington was at the bottom of the list. He was a manipulative psychopath, but right now, he was opening a door that was saving my life. He snuck me out through the service quarters and drove me to a hotel in the city. He even carried my duffel bag up to the room. But the moment I swiped the keycard and pushed the heavy hotel door open, my stomach dropped. We weren’t alone. Seven or eight massive, heavily tattooed men were standing in the center of the room, their arms crossed, staring at us with predatory eyes. Before I could even process what was happening, Tristan shoved a baseball bat into my hands. In one fluid, violent motion, he grabbed the collar of his own silk shirt and ripped it down the middle, popping the buttons off. Then, he unleashed a blood-curdling scream. “No! Please, Sean, I’m sorry! Don’t let them touch me!” I stood there, paralyzed, the bat heavy in my grip. Three of the men lunged forward, grabbing Tristan and dragging him toward the bed. I hadn’t even found my voice to yell when the sound of frantic, pounding footsteps echoed down the hallway. “Tristan!” “Oh my god, my son!” The hotel door burst wide open. It was Mr. and Mrs. Kensington. And Betty. “Tristan!” Betty shrieked. Her eyes went completely red as she took in the torn shirt, the men, and the baseball bat in my hands. She crossed the room in a blur, shoving me violently against the wall before turning and slapping the largest thug hard across the face. “Do you want to die?!” she screamed at him. Mrs. Kensington dropped to her knees, her hands trembling violently as she took in the angry red marks Tristan had deliberately scratched onto his own neck just seconds prior. Mr. Kensington turned to me, his face purple with rage. “Sean! He is your brother! How could you be this vicious? This evil?!” “I…” I dropped the bat as if it had caught fire. Tristan curled into a pathetic ball, burying his weeping face in Betty’s chest. “It’s okay, you can have her,” Tristan sobbed, his voice trembling with manufactured trauma. “I know you love Betty. I can give her back to you. I know you’re the real son, and everything belongs to you. If you just ask, I won’t say a single word of protest. But why… why did you have to hire these men to ruin my purity? Did you just want Betty to be disgusted by me? Did you want mom and dad to throw me away?” He broke down into hyperventilating sobs. I just stared. …Wow. I genuinely had to hand it to him. I never saw this coming. Mrs. Kensington threw her arms around him, burying her face in his hair as she screamed at me. “How did we give birth to such trash?! To think up something so vile to destroy your own brother! Are you even human?!” “You’re all insane!” I yelled, my exhaustion replaced by pure, blinding adrenaline. “I am not a Kensington! I just happen to share his face! I have absolutely zero interest in Betty! She is a pawn in his game—he set this entire thing up!” Betty let out a sharp, cruel laugh. “Do you really think spewing garbage is going to save you?” she said, her voice dropping into a terrifyingly calm register. “Tristan is my fiancé. No matter what happens to him, he will be my husband. You thought you could use cheap, filthy tactics to ruin him? Fine. I’ll just ruin you first.” She stood up, smoothing her skirt. “Take him to the cold storage.” My blood ran cold. “What?” Her security detail—the men Tristan had supposedly hired to ‘attack’ him—grabbed me by the arms and dragged me out of the room. I fought them like a cornered animal. “I am not Sean! Run a damn DNA test! Let go of me! Let me go!” But money is a louder language than truth. As they shoved me into the back of a black SUV, I realized something profound: the three hundred grand a month was nothing compared to the monsters I was dealing with. The commercial freezer at one of the Montgomery family’s distribution centers was kept at five degrees Fahrenheit. I was wearing a thin t-shirt and jeans. The moment they hurled me onto the frost-covered concrete and slammed the heavy steel door, the cold hit me like a physical blow. I scrambled to my feet, pounding on the metal. “I am not Sean! You have the wrong person!” “Still playing the victim?” Betty’s voice was muffled through the thick insulation. “This door operates on biometric scans. Only Kensington and Montgomery fingerprints can open it. You keep up the act, and you can freeze to death in there.” I heard the sharp click of her heels turning away. Panic flared in my chest. “Betty? Betty! I am not Sean! I’m going to die in here!” But there was no answer. Only the low, mechanical hum of the refrigeration units. I retreated to the corner, curling my body into the tightest ball possible. I blew hot air into my cupped hands, trying to trap the warmth against my face. But it wasn’t enough. The chill seeped through my clothes, into my muscles, and finally settled into my bones. I started to shake uncontrollably. Then, terrifyingly, the shaking stopped. Hypothermia was setting in. My mind began to drift, blurring the edges of my terror into a heavy, seductive sleepiness. Through the fog, I heard a sharp beep. The heavy lock disengaged. The door cracked open, letting in a sliver of warm, dusty warehouse air. I dragged myself across the floor, my limbs feeling like lead. I pushed the door open. There was no one there. The corridor was empty. I don’t know how I made it back to the Kensington estate. Pure, spiteful adrenaline, mostly. When I stumbled into the grand parlor, they were all sitting by the fireplace. Mr. and Mrs. Kensington were fussing over Tristan, while Betty paced the floor, her phone in hand. “Is that bastard still pretending in the freezer?” Betty snapped to someone on the phone. “Drag him out. I want him on his knees apologizing to Tristan.” “You don’t need to drag me,” I croaked. “I’m right here.” She jumped, spinning around. Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second before hardening into a sneer. “Oh, look who it is. I thought you said you weren’t Sean?” she mocked. “How did you get out, then? Did your phantom identity open the door?” I scanned the room. All the key players were right here. Whoever had pressed their finger to that scanner to let me out… it wasn’t one of them. When I didn’t answer, Mr. Kensington slammed his fist on the coffee table. “Tristan doesn’t share our blood!” he roared. “It’s only natural he feels insecure! Giving him preferential treatment is our duty as his parents! You are our biological son—nothing can change that! So why do you insist on competing with him? On hurting him? Are you even a part of this family?” He stood up, pointing a trembling finger at the floor. “Get on your knees and apologize. Or you are no longer a son of mine.” A dark, broken laugh scraped its way out of my throat. “Sure!” I shouted, my voice cracking but loud enough to echo off the vaulted ceilings. “I’ll kneel. I’ll even bow my head to the damn floor! But since you are so adamant that I am your flesh and blood…” I locked eyes with the patriarch. “Where is my dividend?” They all froze. I took a step forward, the residual cold radiating off my skin. “Don’t think I don’t know the financials. Tristan gets an eight-figure payout from the family trust every single year. You claim I’m your son. You claim I belong here. Fine!” I held out an open palm. “I’m not greedy. Five million. Transfer it to my account right now, and I will drop to my knees and apologize to your golden boy.” “You…!” Mr. Kensington choked, his face reddening. “What?” I cut him off, my voice sharp as glass. “You want me to play the dutiful son, but you won’t give me a dime of what’s mine? You funnel the entire family wealth into someone with no blood tie to you, and call it love?” I looked at Mrs. Kensington, who was staring at me in shock. “Is that what family means to you?!” Mr. Kensington opened his mouth, but no words came out. “You talk a big game about me being your child,” I sneered, “but when have your actions ever backed that up? For three years, all you’ve done is demand I step aside, make myself small, and swallow abuse so Tristan can feel better about himself. What have you ever actually given me?” The parents exchanged an uneasy, guilty look. Even Betty looked slightly taken aback by the sheer venom in my voice. “You refuse to give me what is mine, and then you punish me for fighting for scraps!” I yelled. “You want me to be magnanimous? You want me to play nice? Pay me!” The parlor was dead silent. Only the crackle of the fireplace dared to make a sound. “If you won’t pay,” I whispered, dropping my hand. “Then don’t talk to me about apologizing. Don’t talk to me about kneeling. You don’t deserve it.” I turned my back on them and walked toward the grand foyer. “Wait.” Mr. Kensington’s voice stopped me in my tracks. “Five million,” he said, his voice tight with barely suppressed rage. “I’ll wire it. And then you will get on your knees and grovel for Tristan’s forgiveness.” Hah. These pathetic, twisted people. They were willing to pay off their ‘biological son’ with his own birthright, just to buy a moment of satisfaction for the imposter. I slowly turned back around. “Deal,” I said smoothly. I reached into my jacket—thank God I had packed it before the gala—and pulled out a folded legal document. “Oh, and you’ll be signing this.” I tossed it onto the glass coffee table. It was an Irrevocable Deed of Gift. I had my lawyers draw it up weeks ago, just in case I ever found an exit strategy. It explicitly stated that the funds were a voluntary, unconditional gift, immune to any future legal recall or clawback. Mr. Kensington grabbed a pen, scrawled his name across the bottom, and threw the pen at my chest. “Three years out in the wild,” he spat with disgust, “and you’ve turned into nothing but a calculating, greedy street rat.” I didn’t care. I didn’t care about his insults. I didn’t care about his opinion. Because my phone vibrated in my pocket. $5,000,000 USD successfully wired to account ending in 4921. I walked over to where Tristan was sitting, looking at me with wide, nervous eyes. I dropped to my knees. The hardwood floor dug into my joints. I leaned forward. Thud. I hit my forehead against the ground. Thud. Again. Thud. A third time, loud and hollow. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice entirely devoid of emotion. “I was wrong.” I stood up. I didn’t brush off my jeans. I didn’t look at their faces. I turned on my heel and walked out of the Kensington estate for the absolute last time. As I passed Betty, she took a half-step toward me, her mouth opening as if to speak. I didn’t even glance at her. I just kept walking. She left her hand suspended in the empty air. As the massive iron gates of the estate closed behind me, my burner phone buzzed. It was a call from a detective at the NYPD missing persons bureau. “That missing persons report you filed three years ago?” the officer’s rough voice came through the speaker. “The kid named Sean Kensington? We found him.”

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I’ve been an OB-GYN for ten years. I’ve delivered thousands of babies, and finally, I was pregnant with my own. On our anniversary, I’d planned to leave the hospital early to celebrate with my husband. But a last-minute emergency surgery landed on my schedule. The patient was young—barely twenty, a college student who’d taken a leave of absence to have this baby. She wasn’t due for another few weeks, but her water had broken prematurely, and the umbilical cord was wrapped around the infant’s neck. We had to go straight to a C-section. “Dr. Brooks, I’m scared,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I had a nightmare last night. I dreamed that after the baby was born, you stuffed her back inside me… that you let her suffocate.” I gave her a small, professional smile to calm her nerves. “I’m not that’s not how this works. Don’t be nervous. I promise I’ll get both you and your baby through this safely.” The delivery went perfectly. It was a girl, with a cry so loud it filled the entire OR. I placed the baby on her chest for skin-to-skin contact. The girl pressed her cheek against the infant’s, her eyes damp as she whispered her thanks to me. The nurses hurried out to give the family the good news, and I stepped aside with the baby for a moment, waiting for the final sutures. The girl suddenly spoke, a weak but provocative smile flitting across her lips. “Ma’am… the baby looks just like Professor Miller, doesn’t she?” … 1 My head spun. The blood in my veins seemed to turn to ice instantly. Then, Christopher Miller walked into the OR, still in his surgical scrubs. The girl immediately began to sob piteously. “Chris… why are you just getting here?” she wailed. “I don’t want anyone else touching me. I was so scared. Dr. Brooks was so mean to me.” Christopher rushed to her side, his voice a low, soothing murmur that felt like a serrated blade to my heart. “It’s okay, honey. Don’t cry. I’m here now. No one is going to hurt you.” Then, he turned a cold, dismissive gaze toward me. “I’ll handle the closing. Take the baby and get out. She’s young; I need to make sure the scarring is minimal.” I don’t know how I made it out of that room. The weight of my colleagues’ shocked, gossiping stares felt like needles in my back. Their whispers were low, but in the sterile silence of the hallway, they hit me with perfect clarity. “What does that mean? Is that girl’s baby Dr. Brooks’ husband’s? Did Natalie know?” “They’ve been together since high school. They’re the ‘it’ couple. There’s no way.” “Please. You never know what goes on behind closed doors. Maybe it’s some twisted arrangement. Maybe she’s in on it.” … I stripped off my scrubs, my skin drenched in a cold, sickly sweat. Sophie, one of my residents, helped me back to the breakroom. “Dr. Brooks…” She started to speak, but she didn’t know what to say. Eventually, she just started crying out of sheer indignation on my behalf. I managed a hollow laugh and told her to go back to work. I needed to be alone. I sat there, my hand trembling as I touched my still-flat stomach. The tears finally broke. Just a week ago, when I saw the positive test, I had wept with joy. I had been waiting for tonight—our anniversary—to give him the surprise. But I was the one who got the surprise first. Months ago, I’d found a scrap of paper in his pocket with a list of names. I had assumed, naturally, that they were for our future child. I’d even teased him about it: “I thought you said we were letting nature take its course? You’re clearly dying to be a dad. I think ‘Everly’ is the prettiest one on the list.” During the surgery, when I heard the girl whisper that name, I had told myself it was just a coincidence. The door pushed open. Christopher walked in, his face shadowed and grim. The silence stretched between us until he finally spoke. “I’m sorry, Natalie. I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want to break your heart.” “Brianna is an orphan,” he continued, his voice devoid of the warmth he’d just shown her. “She was abandoned at birth. She couldn’t bring herself to terminate the pregnancy, and I couldn’t force her to.” “Moving forward, I’ll have to split my time between you and them. But you’re my wife. You’ll always be my priority. That will never change.” I let out a jagged, hysterical laugh. My teeth were chattering. “When… when did it start? Why?” He looked out the window, his tone light, almost nostalgic. “Almost two years ago. Being with her is just… easy. It’s fun. I couldn’t help myself. She made me feel that rush again—the racing heart, the heat in my blood.” “Natalie, we’ve been together for twenty years. That’s a very long time.” He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t have to. Because it had been so long, the fire had gone out. But for me, the time had been even longer than that. 2 When I was in the third grade, my father went back to prison. My mother didn’t say a word; she just packed a bag and left me behind. My only relatives were two aunts who treated me like an unwanted piece of luggage, kicking me back and forth between their houses. I grew up in the shadows of other people’s homes, living in constant fear. When I was ten, my uncle tried to put his hands on me in the middle of the night. I cracked his head open with a heavy lamp. The scandal was massive. My aunts called me a “little slut” and decided to ship me off to foster care. It was Christopher’s mother—who was also my teacher—who took me in. In those early days, I would hide in the laundry room and cry. Christopher would find me and press a piece of chocolate into my hand without a word. At seventeen, I thought he was seeing someone else and spent a week acting out in a jealous fit. He demanded to know what was wrong until I broke down in tears. He looked at me with such helpless devotion and pulled me into his arms. At twenty-seven, we married. At the altar, his hands shook so hard he could barely slide the ring onto my finger. He choked up during his vows. “Natalie, we have so many decades left. I dreamed about us last night—two old people with white hair, walking hand in hand. I think that’s God’s promise to us.” Only one decade had passed. I didn’t have a single gray hair yet. And he had already traded our “forever” for a girl who made his heart race. Christopher’s phone buzzed. He glanced at me, muttered a quick “stop crying,” and walked out. I laughed until I felt sick. A violent wave of nausea hit me, my internal organs twisting in a knot of physical grief. A few minutes later, the door opened again. Christopher pulled me up by my arm. “I need you to go in there and calm her down,” he said. He dragged me toward the maternity ward. I felt every eye in the hospital tracking us. Brianna Scott was pale, looking fragile in her recovery bed. Her face and neck were flushed a deep, blotchy red from crying. She looked utterly pitiable. “Dr. Brooks, I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. “I really didn’t know the extent of your relationship with Professor Miller.” “The baby has nothing to do with him. I’ll raise her myself. I won’t come between you ever again.” “Chris, please apologize to your wife. Beg for her forgiveness.” Christopher wiped her tears with a tenderness that made me want to scream. Then, Brianna did something insane. Ignoring her fresh surgical incision and the IV lines, she scrambled out of bed and dropped to her knees on the cold tile. Her face contorted in genuine pain. “I’m sorry, Natalie! It was me. I seduced him. Blame me, hit me, do whatever you want—just please, don’t hurt my baby. She’s innocent…” Christopher looked like his heart was shattering. He lifted her back into bed and then roared at me, “Natalie, say something! Are you a statue?” I just looked at him and smiled. It was the only thing I had left. He grabbed my wrist, his face a mask of irritation. “Is it that hard to be human? She’s just a girl. she just gave birth. Why do you have to be so cruel?” My phone began to vibrate incessantly. I yanked my arm away from him. It was the Chief of Medicine. He wanted to see me in his office. Immediately. My stomach dropped. I knew this wasn’t good. “Natalie,” the Chief said, sighing heavily as I entered. “A formal complaint reached the Board. They’re accusing you of abuse of power and professional misconduct—specifically, that you used a medical procedure to intimidate a student.” “We’ll investigate, obviously. But the promotion to Associate Chief? That’s off the table for now. You need to take a few weeks of administrative leave. Let the dust settle.” I clenched my fists and walked back to Brianna’s room. “Christopher, is this the plan? You won’t be happy until you’ve destroyed my entire life?” He knitted his brows, his expression cool and detached. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I trembled with a mix of fury and sorrow. “Why here? Why did you bring her to my hospital? Why did you make medeliver her child?” “This hospital has the best OB-GYN department in the city,” he said calmly. “The baby was high-risk. I wasn’t going to gamble with their lives. As for the surgery… that was just luck of the draw.” I nodded, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood. “Fine. But what about you? If this goes public, what happens to your tenure? Her reputation? You’re throwing it all away.” He pushed his glasses up his nose, considering his words. “I turned in my resignation a month ago. A friend of mine, Marcus, asked me to join his private surgical group. He’s giving me equity.” “And Brianna? She’s already transferred to a different university. I’ll continue to mentor her there.” I started to clap. I couldn’t help it. “Bravo. I’m the only one who didn’t get the memo. I’m the only one left standing in the ruins.” Christopher’s face darkened with shame-induced anger. “I should have consulted you. If you can’t handle this, then fine. We get a divorce.” “We don’t have kids. I’ll give you the house and the car. Whatever else you want, just name it.” A sharp, stabbing pain flared in my lower abdomen. I let out a long, cold peal of laughter. “Why would I make this easy for you? You want me to step aside so you can play house? In your dreams.” 3 After we got married, we were both so busy with our residencies that we wanted to enjoy being a couple for a while. We didn’t rush into parenthood. Three years ago, we started trying. We saw every specialist in the city. There was nothing physically wrong with either of us, but I just couldn’t get pregnant. The pressure became an obsession. I tested myself every single morning. Once, I even had a phantom pregnancy—all the symptoms, the morning sickness, the missed period—only to find out it was my mind playing tricks on me. When the blood finally came, I cried for three days. Christopher held me, his own eyes red. “Remember that dream I told you about? The one where we were old? There were no kids in that dream, Natalie. Maybe this is just the way it’s supposed to be. Maybe the universe doesn’t want anyone coming between us.” So, we stopped trying. We let it go. We chose “us.” And now, the baby had finally come, but the “us” was gone. The room began to tilt. I felt lightheaded, my legs turning to water. Christopher reached out to steady me, leaning in close. His voice was a low hiss in my ear. “Let’s just end this quietly, Natalie.” “I got a call from back home yesterday. Your father was paroled. He’s looking for you.” A chill ran down my spine. It wasn’t just the thought of my father finding me—it was the fact that Christopher was the one telling me. When I was in high school and my father got out of prison the first time, he stayed clean for six months before the gambling debts piled up. He tried to “sell” me to a local businessman to clear his tab. Christopher had broken down the door. He’d seen me tied to a chair, and he had gone primal. He’d nearly killed my father with a baseball bat. Now, the person he was protecting had changed. He was using the man who traumatized me as a bargaining chip. My heart finally turned to ash. I hadn’t eaten all day, and the stress was too much. The world went black. “Natalie!” I heard him calling my name. When I woke up, his hand was resting on my forehead. His brow was furrowed with that familiar, worried look. For a split second, I thought this was all just a fever dream. Then, he pulled the divorce papers out of his bag. “Sign them. Brianna won’t stop crying. I need to go be with her. Stress is bad for her recovery.” I took the pen. I read every page. He was giving me seventy percent of our assets. It was more than fair. I was about to sign when he suddenly pressed his hand over mine. Outside, a commotion erupted. The door was kicked open. A gaunt, hollow-eyed man burst in. “Baby girl!” It was my father. He rushed to my side, grabbing my hand with a mock-devotion that made my skin crawl. I looked at Christopher, horrified. He looked away, his expression a guilty knot of conflicting emotions. He reached out to pull my father back. My father dropped to his knees, slapping his own face. “I know I messed up, Natalie. I’m a new man. I’m going to make it up to you.” Then his eyes lit up with a predatory gleam. “Where’s my grandbaby? Let me see the little princess!” He saw the divorce papers on the bed and snatched them up, tearing them to shreds. “So what if your womb is broken? The man had to find a backup. It’s all the same once they’re grown. You’re the wife; you need to show some grace.” I felt like I was going to vomit. “Christopher… is this what you want?” He wouldn’t look at me. “If you could just accept them… it would be for the best.” His face was becoming a blur. I wiped the tears away before they could fall. “I’ll do it. I’ll do it, Dr. Brooks. I’ll give you the baby, as long as you promise to be a good mother to her.” Brianna had appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame for support. Christopher rushed to her side, his voice frantic with concern. “What are you doing out of bed? Do you want your stitches to pop? Think about your health!” A crowd had gathered in the hallway. People were holding up phones, filming the scene. Christopher roared at them to get out. The lenses were inches from my face. My head throbbed. In a moment of pure, reflexive habit, I looked to Christopher for protection. I only saw his back. He was wrapping his jacket around Brianna’s face to shield her from the cameras as he led her away. I looked at the scar on his forearm—the one from the burn. I remembered how he’d come home two years ago, complaining about a “clumsy student” who’d spilled boiling water. “She started crying before I could even say anything,” he’d said. “I ended up having to comfort her.” He’d started keeping a little wooden rabbit charm on his keychain around then. Brianna had a tattoo of rabbit ears in the exact same spot on her arm. I had been so blind. I had trusted him with my life. I leaned over the side of the bed and retched. 4 My father grabbed a camera from a bystander and smashed it on the floor. He picked up a chair, waving it around. “Who wants to mess with my daughter? I just got out of the pen! My daughter and her husband have money—they can have as many babies as they want, however they want! It’s none of your business!” I closed my eyes, wishing the earth would swallow me whole. Security finally arrived and cleared the room. My father turned to me with a greasy smile. “Did I say the wrong thing again, honey?” The story exploded. Before I could even leave the hospital, I was cornered by a mob of reporters. Microphones were shoved into my face. “Dr. Brooks, is it true you’re unable to conceive and hired a student as a surrogate?” “Did your husband fall in love with the surrogate? Do you have any regrets?” “As an OB-GYN, how do you justify the ethical breach of using a student for your own reproductive needs?” … Two hours later, “Renowned OB-GYN’s Illegal Surrogacy Scandal” was trending. The internet was a cesspool of vitriol. The hospital board called me back in. Christopher denied the surrogacy, but his version of the truth was even worse. He claimed our marriage had been over for years, that I had filed for divorce and then refused to sign the final papers out of spite. The hospital issued a formal statement clearing me of medical malpractice, but the public didn’t care. They saw a cover-up. Someone leaked my father’s criminal record, using his “thug” persona as proof of my own “wickedness.” Protestors showed up at the hospital with banners. I was fired that afternoon. My phone number and home address were leaked. Every time I turned on my phone, I was met with death threats. My front door was splashed with red paint; someone left a dead rat on my porch. I tried to post a clarification on social media. It only invited more abuse. I spent the night curled on a hotel bathroom floor, the darkness of my thoughts turning toward a permanent exit. But Christopher found me. He forced me to go back to the small apartment he had rented for Brianna. It was decorated with photos of the two of them. “Stay here for a while. Turn off your phone,” he said, his tone incredibly casual. “In a week or two, they’ll find something else to talk about.” “If you’re embarrassed to go back to the hospital, don’t. Our friend Sarah has been trying to get you to join her private clinic for years.” “You need to keep busy. You can help Brianna with the baby.” Every word was a fresh puncture wound. He talked as if he hadn’t just burned my world to the ground. “I’m not a nanny, Christopher. And I still have my dignity.” I signed the new set of divorce papers and walked out. A month later, Christopher called me to meet at the courthouse to finalize everything. But instead, he directed me to a hotel ballroom. The sign outside read: Everly Miller’s One-Month Celebration. “Let’s just have lunch first,” he said. “We can go to the courthouse afterward.” Brianna was there, radiant in a silk dress. She saw me and walked over, holding the baby. “Natalie, you came! Look, she’s smiling at you. You were the first person she saw in this world. I hope she grows up to be as beautiful as you.” The room went quiet. I could hear the whispers of the guests. “That’s the ex? She’s actually quite striking.” “Doesn’t matter how she looks if she’s barren. No wonder he left.” … Brianna smiled, extending the baby toward me. “Please, Natalie. Hold her. We wouldn’t be here without your… sacrifice.” I stepped back instinctively. She stepped forward, pushing the baby into my space. I kept backing away until I hit the top of the stairs. My heel caught on the carpet. I tumbled. The world blurred into a series of sharp impacts. I landed at the bottom, my hands clutching my abdomen. A hot, wet sensation spread through my clothes. Christopher saw the blood, and his face went white. “Natalie?”

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Carter and I were getting married, and he insisted that his ex-wife be our maid of honor. This was our seventeenth attempt at a wedding. And for the seventeenth time, Becca fainted in Carter’s arms right as we were about to exchange vows. The ceremony ground to a jarring halt. Carter scooped her up with a practiced, rhythmic ease, his face a mask of grim determination as he announced the wedding was off. Again. I didn’t break down this time. I didn’t scream or beg. I just stood there in my Vera Wang, watching the man I loved prepare to carry another woman out of our life together. “Carter,” I said, my voice cutting through the murmurs of the confused guests. “If you walk out that door today, we’re done. There is no tomorrow for us.” He paused, looking back with a flicker of annoyance, as if I were the one being unreasonable. “June, you know she’s carrying my child. She’s my responsibility. I can’t just leave her.” He adjusted his grip on her. “You wouldn’t want to marry a man who abandons his duties, would you? Be a good girl. I’ll take Becca back to our place so she can rest in the master suite. Stay here, apologize to the guests, and when you’re done, come home and make us some dinner. We’ll talk then.” As the heavy oak doors clicked shut behind him, I reached up and ripped the cathedral-length veil from my hair, taking a few strands of scalp with it. I stared at the ceiling, blinking hard to force the stinging tears back into my skull. My phone vibrated in my lace clutch. An old, familiar number. “Left at the altar again?” the voice teased, sharp and brimming with a dark kind of amusement. “You really should have just married me, June.” I took a shaky breath, my resolve hardening into something cold and crystalline. “If you’re still asking, the answer is yes.” 1 There was a stunned silence on the other end. Then, his tone shifted, the playfulness replaced by a low, gravelly seriousness. “Are you for real? Because if you are, I’m getting on a plane.” Before I could breathe a word, he added, “June, I’m heading to the airport now. If I come back for you this time, I’m never letting you go. No regrets.” He hung up. I drove back to the penthouse we shared, but when I tried the keypad, the red light flashed. The code had been changed. My stomach dropped. All my things were in there—including the hand-stitched silk duvet my mother had finished on her deathbed, her final gift for my wedding night. I called Carter. He declined. I called again. Voicemail. Ten minutes later, the door finally groaned open. Carter stood there in his undershirt, looking disheveled. “Sorry,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow. “I was helping Becca clean up. She’s so far along she can’t reach her own back… I couldn’t get to the phone.” He saw my expression—or lack of one—and forced a small, condescending smile. He reached out to pull me into his side. “Are you actually jealous?” he chuckled, as if I were a child pouting over a lost toy. “She’s my ex-wife, June. There’s nothing I haven’t seen. We aren’t together anymore, but she’s family. It was just a sponge bath. Don’t be so small-minded.” “Okay,” I said quietly. In the past, I would have burned the house down. I would have screamed until my throat bled. But now? I just wanted my mother’s quilt. My lack of a reaction seemed to unnerve him. He cleared his throat. “By the way, I changed the door code to Becca’s birthday. She’s got pregnancy brain—kept forgetting the old one.” He watched me closely, waiting for the explosion. “Fine,” I replied. He hesitated, his hand reaching for mine, but a sharp “Oh!” drifted from upstairs. Carter didn’t even look at me; he practically shoved me aside to bolt up the stairs. I lost my balance, my heel catching on the rug. I hit the floor hard, a sickening pop echoing from my ankle. Pain flared, white and blinding. By the time I managed to crawl to the hallway and grab the first-aid kit, Carter was coming back down. He snatched the kit out of my hands without a word and turned to head back up. “Carter,” I hissed through gritted teeth. He stopped, his back to me. “I’m hurt, too.” When he turned around, his eyes weren’t filled with concern. They were filled with a scorching, weary disgust. “Do you have to turn everything into a competition?” he snapped. “Can’t you just give it a rest for one night?” He disappeared back into the master bedroom. It took me a long time to stand up. Every step toward the stairs was a jagged bolt of agony. When I finally reached the landing, I saw my life piled in the hallway. My clothes, my shoes, my books—all tossed out like trash. And there was the quilt. It was crumpled in the corner, covered in the sour, yellow reek of vomit. Carter stepped out of the bedroom, holding the empty kit. He looked at the mess, then at me, and spoke with the casual tone of a man ordering a coffee. “Good timing. Becca got sick. Go wash the linens, would you?” My fingers trembled as I picked up the silk quilt. The delicate, intricate embroidery my mother had spent months on was matted with filth. “Hand wash only,” Carter added, leaning against the doorframe. “Don’t use the machine. Becca’s a light sleeper and she needs the rest. Her ankle is swollen, so she’s taking the master bed tonight.” I stood up, my vision blurring with a sudden, violent red. “She’s your ex-wife, Carter. You don’t think it’s a little twisted for her to sleep in our marriage bed?” Becca appeared in the doorway then, looking pale and fragile in a silk nightie that looked suspiciously like one of mine. “Carter… maybe I should just go,” she whimpered, her voice cracking. Carter was at her side in an instant. “You’re hurt! Where are you going to go?” “Just let me leave,” she sobbed, leaning into him. “Tonight was supposed to be your wedding night. I shouldn’t be here.” Carter gripped her wrists, his voice dropping to a low growl. “The wedding didn’t happen, Becca. There is no wedding night.” He looked at her with an intensity that made my skin crawl. “You’re the one who said if we ever split, we’d always be there for each other’s big moments. You’re staying.” He swept her up into his arms. As she “struggled” half-heartedly, the strap of her nightgown slipped, exposing her shoulder, her skin glowing in the hallway light. Carter didn’t even look away. I didn’t stay to watch the rest of the soap opera. I gathered the ruined quilt and retreated to the guest room. Surprisingly, I didn’t cry. I didn’t lie awake wondering what I’d done wrong. I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. But in the gray hours of the morning, I felt a hand sliding under the covers. I bolted upright, adrenaline spiking, and shoved the person away. It was Carter, his shirt unbuttoned, his eyes dark and heavy. “Don’t touch me,” I spat. His face contorted into a mask of cold fury. “June, I know you’re upset about yesterday, but I’ve been working my ass off all day and I came in here to make it up to you. Don’t push your luck.” I stared at him, feeling a profound sense of revulsion. “I don’t want it. Go back upstairs to Becca.” He sighed, his voice softening into that manipulative, ‘reasonable’ tone he used whenever he wanted something. “How long are you going to keep this up? I’ve told you a thousand times: Becca is my past. You are my future. I’m only looking after her out of duty. Why can’t you just understand that?” I let out a harsh, jagged laugh. “I let her ruin seventeen weddings, Carter. I think I’ve been plenty understanding.” He flinched, his ego bruised. “You’re being impossible!” He slammed the door so hard the pictures on the wall rattled. Years ago, I would have chased him. I would have apologized for my “tone” and begged for a scrap of his affection. But lying there in the dark, I just felt hollow. My eighteen-year-old self wouldn’t have believed it—that a decade of obsessive, bone-deep love could end with such a pathetic whimper. I remembered the day it started. I was eighteen, climbing over the school fence to cut class, and I fell. Carter caught me. One look into those dark eyes and I was gone. I spent years molding myself into what I thought he wanted. I went abroad for school because his family suggested it. When I came back and found out he’d married someone else, I stayed in a hotel room and cried for a month. When he got divorced and ended up in a body cast after a car wreck, I begged my father to let me use our family’s influence to help him. I spent six months in a hospital room, cleaning him, feeding him, pulling him out of the darkness. When he finally proposed, I thought I’d won. I didn’t find out until later that Becca had announced her new boyfriend the very same day. I wasn’t his choice. I was his consolation prize. I finally drifted off, and when I woke, a knock at the door startled me. “Get up,” Carter’s voice came through the wood. “Breakfast is ready.” I blinked. He had never made me breakfast. My stomach grumbled—I hadn’t eaten since the rehearsal dinner. When I walked into the dining room, the table was covered. Crepes, eggs benedict, fresh fruit, artisanal pastries. It was a feast. I reached for a plate, but Carter’s hand shot out, blocking me. “Wait your turn,” he snapped, his brow furrowed. “We’re waiting for everyone.” He caught himself, his expression shifting to something more neutral. “Becca’s cravings are all over the place. Let her pick what she wants first.” I didn’t say anything. I turned around, went to the pantry, and grabbed a slice of dry toast. Carter followed me into the kitchen. “Listen, when Becca and I were married, we never had a real wedding. I want to give her that. A ‘do-over’ ceremony.” I froze, the toast like ash in my mouth. I almost had to laugh. Of course. The breakfast wasn’t a gift; it was a bribe. “And?” I asked, turning to face him. “She’s too tired to plan anything. I want you to handle the details. You’ve got plenty of experience with weddings, and you know what I like. Becca will send you her Pinterest board later.” I stared at him, wondering if he was actually insane. “Carter, you’re asking your fiancée to plan a wedding for you and your ex-wife?” “Do you have any idea how much of a laughingstock I am because of those seventeen failed ceremonies?” My voice rose, the dam finally breaking. The first wedding, I was so happy. I thought I was finally marrying the love of my life. Becca was the maid of honor, and I was naive enough to think it was a sign of maturity. Then she threw up on my dress in front of the altar. Carter carried her away and left me standing there. He spent the next twenty-four hours on his knees, begging for my forgiveness. The second time, she showed up in a white gown identical to mine. He walked her down the aisle by mistake. The third time, she slit her wrists in the bathroom. He broke the door down and forgot I existed. Every time he left, he came back with a ring, a car, a promise. By the seventeenth time, he didn’t even bother to lie. He just knew I wouldn’t leave. But he forgot one thing. Beyond the “love,” our relationship was a contract between two powerful families. And that contract had an expiration date. The project our families were collaborating on was over. And so was my love for him. Seeing the tears in my eyes, Carter looked momentarily flustered. “Look, if it’s too much…” He stopped as Becca entered the room, dragging a suitcase. She looked like a martyr. “Carter, I was just joking! I can’t believe you actually asked June to plan our wedding,” she said, her eyes downcast. “I shouldn’t have come back. I’ll just leave and raise the baby on my own. I won’t make things difficult for June.” She let a single, perfect tear fall and bowed to me. “June, the baby… it was an accident. I was drugged at a party, and Carter was just trying to save me…” Seeing her “trauma” resurface, Carter turned on me with a snarl. “June, for God’s sake! She’s pregnant. As a woman, have you no empathy?” He swept her into his arms again. “Come on. I’m taking you to try on dresses.” As he passed me, he leaned in, his voice a cold whisper. “The planning details will be in your inbox by five. Don’t be a brat. This is part of your job.” I stood in the silent kitchen for a long time. Then, my phone chimed. “June, what kind of wedding do you want?” It was Brooks. “The flight was delayed. I’m sitting at the gate, thinking we should settle the details now. What do you think?” I laughed until I cried. My “fiancé” was forcing me to plan his wedding to his ex, while the man I’d called my rival for years was asking what I wanted. I replied to Brooks. Then, I opened Instagram. Becca had already posted a carousel of photos. Her in a lace gown, Carter holding her waist. The caption: The Final Chapter. The comments were a cesspool of “I knew they’d find their way back” and heart emojis. And there was a comment from Carter’s official account: Don’t be silly. You’ll always be the mother of my child. The ring on her finger in the photo was the one Carter had never managed to put on mine during our seventeen ceremonies. It felt like a physical weight was being lifted off my chest. I liked the post, closed the app, and sent my resignation to HR. The HR director called me within minutes. “June? Does Carter know about this?” “Did you see Becca’s post?” I asked, my voice calm. “It’s his wish. Just process it and send me the confirmation.” Ten minutes later, the signed exit papers were in my inbox. Then, Carter called. His voice was sharp, commanding. “Get to the Sapphire Club. Now.” I was about to hang up when he added, “Our friends are all here. They’re waiting for you.” I hesitated. I didn’t want to make a scene in front of our social circle. I figured I’d go, say my goodbyes, and leave for good. But when I walked into the private lounge, Becca was sitting in the center of the room, daintily wiping a smudge of food from Carter’s lip. She stopped when she saw me, flashing a shy, guilty smile. “Oh, sorry, June. Old habits die hard. Come, sit here.” She made a move to stand up, but Carter pressed a hand on her shoulder, keeping her down. “It’s fine,” I said, taking a seat by the door. Carter’s eyes narrowed. He gripped his scotch glass a little tighter. Throughout the dinner, he kept glancing at me, trying to gauge my reaction. He even peeled a plate of shrimp and pushed it toward me. I looked at the plate, then at him. “I’m allergic to shellfish, Carter.” He blinked, a flicker of genuine confusion—and maybe shame—crossing his face. Becca seized the moment. “Oh, June, don’t be mad. Carter probably just remembered that I love shrimp. He’s so forgetful lately.” She was trying to bait me. Usually, I would have snapped. I would have made a scene and looked like the “crazy” one. Instead, I just pushed the plate toward her. “Then you should have them.” Carter stared at me, his gaze heavy and unreadable. Becca tried to get his attention, but he was locked onto me. “June,” Becca said, standing up with a glass of champagne. “I feel terrible about everything. Let me make a toast to you.” She walked over to me, her pregnant belly leading the way. Before anyone could react, she drained half the glass, leaned in, and dumped the rest over my head. The cold liquid drenched my hair and soaked into my blouse. “The baby wasn’t an accident,” she whispered into my ear, her voice a venomous hiss. “I told him I wanted one, and he gave it to me. Oh, and remember the day your mother died? We did it three times right behind the funeral parlor while you were giving the eulogy.” Suddenly, she threw herself backward. “Ah! My baby! The baby!” “Becca!” Carter screamed. SLAP. The world spun. My cheek exploded in a searing, throbbing heat. It took me a second to realize Carter had hit me. I sat on the floor, the champagne dripping from my chin, as the tears finally fell. Carter scooped Becca up. When he looked at me, his eyes were bloodshot, filled with a primal, terrifying hatred. “She organized this whole night just to apologize to you,” he roared. “And you push her? How can you be so goddamn evil, June?” I stayed on the floor, Becca’s words echoing in my head like a death knell. While I was saying goodbye to the woman who gave me life, the man I loved was rutting against his ex in the shadows of the cemetery. I looked at Carter’s retreating back. “I will never forgive you for this,” I whispered. “Not in this life or the next.” He stiffened for a fraction of a second, but he didn’t look back. I stumbled home, dragged my suitcase out of the closet, and walked out. But as I reached the driveway, Carter’s car swerved in, nearly hitting me. He jumped out, his face pale, his voice shaking with rage. “Why did you do it? Why did you kill my child?” I gripped the handle of my suitcase. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Don’t lie to me!” he screamed. “That hospital is owned by your family! You told them to kill Becca’s baby during the exam!” My brain went numb. “I didn’t do anything.” His phone rang. It was his assistant, his voice frantic even through the speaker. “Sir, it’s Becca. She’s on the roof of the clinic… she’s going to jump.” The phone hit the pavement with a crack. Carter grabbed me by the arm, shoved me into the passenger seat, and drove like a maniac, blowing through every red light. When we reached the hospital roof, the wind was whipping. Becca was standing on the ledge, looking like a broken bird. Carter’s breath hitched. He looked like a man watching his entire world dissolve. “Becca, please,” he choked out. “Don’t do this.” Becca saw me and her hysteria reached a fever pitch. “It was her! She killed my baby!” She was sobbing, clutching a blood-stained bundle to her chest. “You hate me! You can hit me, you can call me names, but why my baby?” I looked at the bundle and felt a wave of nausea. “Sweetheart, don’t be scared,” Becca cooed to the bundle. “Mommy’s coming to be with you.” “No!” Carter screamed. He suddenly kicked me behind the knees, forcing me to the concrete. “Becca, look! I brought her here to pay for what she did. You can do whatever you want to her. Just come down!” I stared at him, horrified. “Carter, I didn’t do it!” But he wasn’t listening. He was crying now. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have divorced you. I didn’t protect you.” He looked at me with cold, dead eyes. “June, tell her you’ll do whatever she wants.” Becca’s eyes glinted with a momentary triumph. “I want her to crawl. I want her to beg my baby for forgiveness. A hundred times.” “Fine,” Carter said without hesitation. “I want her to kneel at the hospital entrance and let every passerby slap her until her face bleeds.” “Fine.” “And I want her… I want her to never be able to be a mother. Ever.” “Fine!” Carter yelled. The bodyguards grabbed me before I could even scream. “Don’t you touch me!” I shrieked. But Carter’s voice came from above me, cold as a winter grave. “Do what she says. Call the surgeon. Perform the hysterectomy.” Thump. Thump. Thump. My head was forced against the concrete again and again until the world turned red. The slaps came in a rhythmic blur, my cheeks swelling until I couldn’t see. I finally broke. “Carter, please… I’m losing consciousness. I can’t breathe.” He didn’t even look at me. “Take her to the OR. No anesthesia. I want her to remember this lesson.” In the operating room, I felt the cold bite of the scalpel. I felt the invasion of the metal. Every cut was a scream that died in my throat until the room faded into blackness. Just as I was slipping away, the doors to the OR were kicked open. The surgeon, trembling, held up a tray with a tiny, bloody mass. He ran out to the hallway where Carter was waiting. “Mr. Jared… we didn’t know… she was pregnant too…” At that moment, Carter’s phone rang. It was his grandfather. “You idiot! What have you done to June?”

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Twenty-three years. That was the lifespan of my marriage to Robert. Together, we’d built a home, a reputation, and raised a son we thought was the best of us. After our son started college, he began bringing a girl home. I was thrilled. I genuinely liked her. I thought I was witnessing the start of my son’s first real love story, imagining a future daughter-in-law. That illusion shattered the moment I saw Robert’s phone. There, tucked behind the digital folders of family vacations and graduation photos, was a shot that didn’t belong. It wasn’t a family portrait. It was a nude. In that heartbeat, the world tilted. The girl wasn’t our son’s girlfriend. She was Robert’s mistress. Our son wasn’t a young man in love; he was the lookout. He was the smoke and mirrors for his father’s mid-life filth. “She’s barely older than your own son,” I screamed, my voice cracking, the hysteria clawing at my throat. “Do you have even a shred of dignity left?” Robert didn’t flinch. He didn’t even look guilty. He just sat there with the terrifying composure of a man who believed he was owed the world. “Joanna, look at us. Twenty years of history. No one can touch what we have,” he said, his voice smooth, academic. “Piper… she’s just a distraction. A detour.” He paused, then looked me straight in the eye with a cold, clinical honesty. “When I married you, you’d already given yourself to someone else. For twenty-three years, that’s been a thorn in my side. I just wanted to know what it felt like…” He hesitated, tasting the words. “I wanted to know what it felt like to be a girl’s first.” 1 Today was the third time Piper had been to the house. She was wearing a white pleated sundress, her long hair loose and effortless. She was barely wearing any makeup, the kind of natural beauty that only comes with youth. The second she walked in, she chirped a sweet “Hi, Professor!” to Robert. She didn’t even look at me. It had been like this every time. She ignored me as if I were part of the furniture. No “Mrs. Bennett,” no “Ma’am,” not even a polite nod. It was raining outside, a sudden summer downpour that had soaked her through. Robert, a man who usually guarded his personal space like a fortress, immediately grabbed a plush towel. He began to dry her hair himself, his movements rhythmic, intimate. “You’re drenched,” he murmured. “Next time it rains, call me. I’ll come down to the parking lot with an umbrella.” “I will. Thanks, Professor,” she sang back. “What are you hungry for? I’ll have her fix us something.” Piper pouted her lips, rattling off a list of complicated, high-maintenance dishes. Then, all three of them—Robert, Piper, and my son, Tyler—turned to look at me. “Go on, Joanna,” Robert said. “And remember, she can’t do spicy. Make sure there’s no heat in anything.” Piper offered a hollow, performative smile. “Do you want me to help in the kitchen, Mrs. Bennett?” “No,” Robert snapped before I could answer. “You just got your nails done. Don’t ruin them. Joanna’s hands are… well, she’s used to the work. It’s fine.” “Okay! I’ll just wait for the feast then!” A knot of unease tightened in my chest, but I forced it down. You’re being paranoid, I told myself. She’s Tyler’s girlfriend. Robert is just being a mentor. I spent the next two hours sweating over a stove while laughter drifted in from the living room. They were playing chess. Piper lost two games and, in a fit of “adorable” rebellion, used a felt-tip marker to draw whiskers on Robert’s face as a penalty. Robert, a man with a notorious obsession with hygiene, just threw his head back and laughed, letting her mark his skin. I remembered a time, years ago, when I’d tried to touch his face before washing my hands. He’d recoiled as if I were covered in acid. The knot in my chest turned into a cold weight. I scolded myself for being jealous of a girl. She was my son’s partner, after all. That evening, after Piper left, I remembered she’d taken some photos of the three of us earlier. I asked Robert to air-drop them to me. “Sure,” he said. He sent over a dozen shots, but then, his face went pale. He frantically tapped his screen, unsending a photo. “Slip of the thumb,” he muttered, his voice thick with fake casualness. “Sent a random screenshot by mistake. You didn’t see it, right?” I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I was paralyzed. In the five seconds before he’d deleted it, I’d seen it. It wasn’t a screenshot. It was Piper. Posing. Exposed. 2 In the photo, she was provocative, her tongue out, her legs parted in a way that was undeniably an invitation. There was no mistake. None. Why was that on my husband’s phone? The realization hit me like a physical blow. All the “small things”—the lingering glances, the hair-drying, the whiskers—they weren’t my imagination. They were the truth. My brain was a chaotic roar of static. She was Tyler’s age. Robert could have been her father. It was grotesque. And Tyler… did he know? The questions were exploding in my head like shrapnel. I needed the truth. I needed to see it all. I waited. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, until 1:00 AM, listening to the steady, rhythmic snoring beside me. Once I was sure Robert was dead to the world, I reached under his pillow. My fingers were trembling as I pulled out his phone. I entered our anniversary—the code he’d never bothered to change—and the screen glowed to life. I searched his messages. My breath hitched. Hidden in his archived chats was a group thread. Three people: Robert, Tyler, and Piper. Robert had sent the last message: [Piper, are you back at the dorm?] Piper’s response was a voice note. I pressed the phone to my ear. Her voice was a sugary purr: “I’m back, Professor. Did the Wife suspect anything today?” Robert had typed back: [No. She spends her whole life in the kitchen. Her brain has turned to mush. She won’t figure it out.] Then, Tyler’s text popped up below it: [Exactly. Mom is clueless. Besides, I’ve got you guys covered. Don’t worry about it.] The betrayal was total. My husband. My son. They had invited this girl into my home, sat at my table, and treated me like a court jester in my own life. I scrolled up, my chest tight, my ribs feeling like they were about to crack under the pressure. They had started six months ago. Tyler had introduced them. Piper was a “fan”—a literature student who had idolized Robert’s published novels since high school. When she found out Tyler was the son of the great Robert Bennett, she begged for an introduction. Admiration had turned into an affair within weeks. In six months, they had met at hotels thirty-one times. Once a week, like clockwork. I found digital receipts for thousands of dollars. Lingerie. Jewelry. And prescriptions for Viagra. Robert and I hadn’t touched each other in two years. He’d told me it was “low testosterone,” a natural part of aging. It was a lie. He just wasn’t interested in me. The room blurred as tears finally came—hot, silent, and bitter. I turned to look at the man sleeping beside me in the dark. For a long time, I just watched him breathe. Then, I reached over and flipped on the bedside lamp. I shook him hard. 3 “What… what is it? It’s the middle of the night,” he groaned, squinting against the light. Then he saw my face. “Joanna? What’s wrong?” “I know,” I whispered, my voice a jagged edge of rage. “I know everything.” I shoved the phone into his chest. “You’re sleeping with a girl who could be your daughter. Have you no shame, Robert? Do you have even a pulse of human decency?” Robert sat up. He didn’t look scared. He didn’t look panicked. He just sighed, reached for a tissue on the nightstand, and offered it to me. “Joanna, let’s be adults. Twenty-three years. That’s a foundation no one can shake. Piper… she’s just a lapse in judgment. A mid-life glitch.” His tone was insufferably condescending, like he was explaining a difficult text to a freshman. “Look,” he said, leaning in. “When we got married, you weren’t ‘new.’ You’d been with that guy before me. For twenty-three years, I’ve had to live with that. I’ve had to carry the weight of being the second man.” He paused, a flicker of something dark crossing his face. “I just wanted to experience what it was like to have someone who was only mine. To taste… purity.” I couldn’t hear him anymore. My ears started ringing, a high-pitched drone that drowned out his voice. I could see his lips moving, but the words were just static. Twenty-three years. He’d been nursing a grudge for twenty-three years over something that wasn’t even my fault. Before him, I’d dated a man who turned out to be a predator. He’d drugged me. I’d woken up in a nightmare. When I tried to go to the police, he’d threatened me, told me he’d tell everyone I was “used goods.” I went to the police anyway. It was a scandal. My classmates whispered behind my back. Robert was the only one who stood by me. He told me he loved me, that my past didn’t matter, that he wanted to protect me. I had spent two decades being grateful to him. I thought he was my savior. I didn’t realize he was just a bookkeeper, tallying up a debt I could never pay. “Joanna, do you know what it does to a man’s ego? Knowing his wife was handled by someone else first?” he continued. “I don’t blame you, but I needed balance. I found Piper. I promise you, it was a one-time thing. It’s over.” My stomach lurched. I scrambled out of bed, ran to the bathroom, and doubled over. I retched until my throat burned. Robert followed me, standing in the doorway, looking mildly inconvenienced. “Joanna…” “I had no idea you were this broken inside,” I gasped, wiping my mouth. “If you’ve been in this much pain for twenty years, then we’re done. I want a divorce.” Robert’s face hardened. “No. Absolutely not. We’re an institution, Joanna. We’ve come too far.” He stepped forward and tried to put a hand on my shoulder. I flinched away. “We’re almost fifty,” he said, his voice softening into a manipulative purr. “In a few years, Tyler will get married. We’ll have grandkids. We’ll retire, travel the world. It’s going to be beautiful. Don’t throw all that away over a tantrum.” A tantrum? I felt a wave of vertigo. For a split second, I actually hesitated. The “sunk cost” of my life felt like a physical weight. Our lives were like two vines that had grown so tightly together you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. To pull apart would mean tearing skin, breaking bone. Could I actually survive the surgery? 4 Robert helped me back to bed. He stroked my hair with a chilling tenderness. “Just sleep. When you wake up, this will all feel like a bad dream.” The next morning, he was the picture-perfect husband. He made breakfast—avocado toast and poached eggs, just the way I liked. He even went out to the local bakery for the sourdough I loved. He was “better” than he’d been in years. Remorse, or the fear of losing his lifestyle, had made him attentive. Throughout the day, he sent me texts from his office. Thinking of you. What do you want for dinner? I’ll pick it up on the way home. He ended the texts with a little winking bunny emoji. I’d seen that emoji in Piper’s texts. The nausea returned, violent and absolute. I realized then that I couldn’t lie to myself. Betrayal isn’t a smudge you can wipe off; it’s a crack in the foundation. I called Tyler. “Hey, Mom. What’s up?” His voice was casual, flippant. “I know about your father. And Piper.” There was a long silence on the other end. “I’m not calling to argue,” I said. “I’m calling to tell you that I’m divorcing him.” Tyler actually laughed. “Mom, are you serious? You’re going to blow up our whole family over this? At your age?” “Tyler—” “Dad treats you like a queen. So he had a little fun on the side. Big deal. Every guy does it. Just close your eyes and let it pass. You’re halfway to the grave, don’t you think a divorce is a bit embarrassing?” He sighed, his voice dripping with disdain. “And honestly, Mom? You’ve been a housewife for twenty years. How are you going to survive? You want to be a beggar? Get over yourself.” He hung up. The silence of the dial tone was the coldest thing I’d ever felt. My son was gone. My husband was a stranger. That night, Robert and Tyler walked through the door together. Tyler had obviously tipped him off. Robert was in full “damage control” mode. He even went into the kitchen to help me prep vegetables—something he hadn’t done since the Clinton administration. “Look, Mom,” Tyler said, leaning against the counter. “Dad is trying. He’s tired from work, and he’s still helping you. He’s a good guy.” I let out a sharp, dry laugh. “Oh, and I’m not tired? Keeping this house running for twenty years isn’t work?” The two of them exchanged a look. The “crazy woman” look. “Joanna, honey,” Robert said with a forced smile. “Stop being angry. If you don’t want to cook, let’s go out. That French bistro you like? The one with the long waitlist? I’ll get us a table.” I’d been asking him to take me there for six months. He always said he was too busy with his research. It wasn’t that he didn’t have time. It was that his time belonged to her. I shoved his hand off my arm. “Don’t touch me. I’m not going anywhere with you.” “Joanna… for God’s sake! I’m giving you an out here! How much more do I have to grovel?” Robert’s patience finally snapped, his true face peeking through. “If you keep pushing this, it won’t end well for you.” I opened my mouth to scream at him, but the doorbell rang. It was Piper.

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On the night my husband Simons went on a business trip, he sent me a million-dollar transfer. He told me the truth about his years of infidelity. [This million dollars is my compensation to you.] [I’m going abroad to live with her. From now on, we’ll go our separate ways and wish each other well.] My heart filled with doubt and confusion. Simons had always been sincere and honest. If he fell in love with someone else, he would definitely ask me for a divorce first. How could he possibly have an affair behind my back? But immediately after, I received an anonymous package. When I opened it, photos scattered all over the floor. They were all intimate photos from various angles of a woman named Yael with Simons. The background of the last photo was on an airplane. The moment I saw the photos, my heart filled with terror, and I immediately called the police. “I want to report a body hidden on Flight CZ3218!” The police immediately asked who the deceased was. I choked up for a moment, “It’s my husband, Simons.”

Simons and I had been married for ten years, the model couple in our friends’ eyes. He once shared his vision of our future with me—if we remained childless our whole lives, we’d move into a nursing home in our old age and grow old together. But tonight’s events completely shattered my dream of spending a lifetime with my beloved. Simons left on a last-minute business trip. After boarding the plane, he sent me a million-dollar transfer and a farewell message. He confessed his seven-year betrayal and expressed his determination. [Seven years ago, I fell in love with a woman. At that moment, I decided to spend my life with her.] [Igor, I’m sorry. But I cannot go against my heart’s decision.] He gave me the million dollars he’d earned these past years as compensation, while also showing his resolve. After leaving the country, he would register his marriage with his lover abroad. He left me not a single shred of hope to keep him. Ten years of companionship—seven of them apparently mixed with deception. I sat quietly in the cold, silent living room, my heart pounding like a drum, yet unable to shed a single tear. He had chosen his timing well. The plane was taking off right now. With this departure, he left me full of resentment. With anger building in my chest, I simply got up and rushed into the bedroom, taking down the huge wedding photo from above the bed. It crashed to the ground! I decisively pressed the lighter. Just as the flame was about to lick the photograph, urgent knocking came from the door. The visitor was in such a hurry they didn’t even leave a word. When I opened the door, an anonymous package lay quietly on the ground. Last year, Simons had used the same trick. When I opened the package, he jumped out from the shadows holding a bouquet of flowers and embraced me. “Igor, happy ninth anniversary!” Seeing the package, my heart filled with a bit of hope. Could Simons have calculated that today was our tenth anniversary and deliberately prepared a surprise for me?! Suppressing my excited heart, I opened the package, but what scattered out was evidence of crime covering the floor. A young woman with a charming face, leaning against Simons in different poses. The two shopping at the mall, going to candlelit dinners together, even intimately entwined in our shared car… The photos fell one by one, revealing a picture of the two embracing in an airplane cabin, forming a heart shape. Words were attached: [Simons & Yael Forever in Love] The woman’s gaze deliberately turned toward me, revealing a victorious smile. Though it was clearly an extremely provocative act, my heart transformed from anger to fear. Suppressing my terror, I took a deep breath and dialed the emergency number. “I want to report a body hidden on Flight CZ3218!” “And the deceased is my husband Simons…”

The police asked for details, which I answered one by one. But when they asked for evidence, I fell silent for a moment. Time passed second by second, and the plane continued approaching the national border. The police informed me again that stopping an international flight without cause would result in serious criminal liability. The compensation alone would reach millions, and in severe cases, I could face imprisonment for maliciously affecting others and causing negative impact. I pressed my hand against my pounding chest, hesitating for a moment. If this was only my speculation, I would bear enormous debt and even face imprisonment. But when my gaze shifted back to the photos, that momentary doubt vanished instantly. My voice trembled but carried determination, “I’m willing to bear all consequences, I only ask for the truth in return!” As the police mobilized, I also brought Simons’s work materials to the airport. Time was pressing. I flipped through the materials in the car. Instinct told me his business trip must be related to a major case he’d been investigating. Simons was the editor-in-chief of TRUE newspaper. He’d recently been investigating a serial murder case from ten years ago. This business trip was also to meet the only witness from back then, to do an updated report. Everything seemed completely normal. I quickly flipped through the materials but found no problems at all. And his rigidly scheduled timetable also corresponded perfectly with his work hours. How could such a meticulous person have time for a seven-year affair? Though I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, it would be a lie to say I wasn’t hurt. I placed the materials beside me, closed my eyes to rest, and let out a long sigh. But the next moment, the driver slammed on the brakes. Caught off guard, I crashed into the back of the seat, and the materials scattered on the floor. I hurriedly bent down to pick them up, but in a hidden layer, I saw a sentence written in Simons’s own handwriting. [The ticket must be changed to one day later. He must be on the plane!] The moment I saw the note, every hair on my body stood on end! Even the driver’s repeated apologies seemed distant to me. Traffic was backed up at the airport entrance. I immediately opened the door, got out, and sprinted toward the arrival exit. The police notified the airport’s air traffic control, ordering Flight CZ3218 to return for inspection. I sat in the waiting area clutching the materials, on edge every second. My eyes locked onto the arrival exit as I wiped the cold sweat from my palms again and again. Finally, before sunset, I heard the flight announcement. “CZ3218 has returned!” I immediately stood up, leaning against the edge of the arrival exit to watch. The police led the passengers out. I hurriedly begged Captain Eric. “Eric, please be sure to investigate the cause of Simons’s death!” I presented the materials with both hands, “These are the major cases Simons was investigating. His death may very well be related to this!” But Eric raised his hand to brush aside the materials I handed over, then turned to point toward the end of the line. “Ms. Igor, your husband is at the end of the line.” “As for your false police report affecting the travel of 113 passengers, do you have any defense?” I turned my head and met the gaze of the man in a trench coat walking at the very end of the crowd. He wore the same smoke-gray trench coat Simons had chosen before leaving, his hand interlocked with that charming woman’s fingers. I heard my voice, light as snow. “Impossible, he’s not Simons…” Clearly, the number of passengers on this flight was supposed to be 114!

Where did the missing person go? This thought swirled in my mind, gradually transforming into a fear as dark as an abyss. Seeing Eric about to leave, I frantically grabbed his sleeve, begging repeatedly. “Please verify the exact number of passengers on the flight again! There’s one passenger missing!” But Eric had already lost his patience and directly pushed my hand away. His eyes held disappointment and disgust. “Ms. Igor, we’ve already verified. One passenger canceled their ticket at the last minute. The actual number of passengers is 113!” “I have no authority to interfere with your private life, but please don’t make false police reports and disrupt social order!” “For your claim of a body on the plane and your stopping of the flight, please compensate for the damages according to law!” Eric’s words were like a bucket of cold water dumped over my head. Now I was caught in a difficult position. If I couldn’t find evidence that this man wasn’t Simons, I would probably face millions in compensation and imprisonment. I quickly calmed down and looked up at the man at the end of the line. He wore gold-rimmed glasses and had a refined, honest demeanor. Even his unconscious habit of pushing up his glasses when questioned by police was identical to the Simons I knew. The only difference was that he had been tightly holding the woman beside him. I stepped forward, staring intently at Simons, trying to find any flaw. But immediately, my view was blocked by a woman. She smiled with ill intent, “Miss, you should be begging the police for leniency right now, not standing here staring at my fiancé!” She crossed her arms, full of arrogance. And the man behind her, with eyes as gentle as Simons’s, looked at me with bone-deep coldness. I was slow to react before shifting my gaze to her. With the same arrogance as in the photos, she must be Yael, Simons’s mistress, and the one who sent the photos. I looked her over and suddenly smiled. “You can’t possibly be Yael.” “And the person behind you isn’t Simons either.” My words seemed to infuriate Yael. She unconsciously stepped forward and raised her hand. I didn’t dodge or avoid, glancing at the police nearby. She uncertainly lowered her hand, instead pointing at my nose. “Igor, right? You just keep talking tough, but when you see the million-dollar compensation bill, I hope you can still be this confident!” I clenched my fists, my nails digging deep into my palms. Just then, the flight crew descended the gangway one after another, reporting to Eric. Four people in succession, along with a search dog. All declared there were no abnormalities in the cabin. The so-called body on the plane was just my gimmick to force the plane to return so I could catch Simons in adultery! Eric discussed while glancing at me. Vague stares came from all around, making me uncomfortable. The passengers, having heard the truth about the return, all began to complain quietly. “It’s all because this person went crazy. Why drag us into catching a mistress!” “I’m going abroad for business. Who’s going to compensate me for my thirty-million-dollar deal!” Invisible pressure weighed on me like a mountain, making it hard to breathe. Suddenly, inspiration flashed in my mind! This fake Simons hadn’t spoken a single word until now! If I could get him to speak, I’d definitely be able to see through his true identity! Pressing my pounding heart, I quickly stepped forward. Standing before Simons, the thousand words in my heart turned into a choke. “Simon…” He directly interrupted me, using an arrogant tone I’d never heard before, directly condemning our relationship. “Igor, all these years I never wanted children with you because Yael and I already have a son. He’s six years old this year.” “Now you have the answer for why I chose to leave. Are you satisfied?” The belated truth exploded like thunder in my ears. I laughed foolishly. I raised my hand to touch my face, only to realize two lines of tears were already streaming down. “So the million dollars you transferred to me is divorce settlement?” I thought the man before me would remain arrogant. But his brow furrowed imperceptibly. “Yes.” In that moment, my mood suddenly relaxed. Tears hung on my face, but I wasn’t disappointed. He had personally transferred the money to me, yet belatedly hesitated. So my Simons was still on the plane!

Seeing the plane about to head to the cleaning area, I immediately stepped forward, begging Eric to conduct another investigation. He frowned tightly and said sternly: “Ms. Igor, the police prioritize case work, we’re not your personal security!” Seeing me, people around shook their heads and whispered about me. “Her husband is right in front of her, and she refuses to believe it! If I had a crazy woman like this, I’d want a divorce too!” “Is this person ever going to stop? She’s disrupting public order—I’m going to report her to the police too!” In desperation, I suddenly thought of the key point. “Eric! I request you weigh the plane!” This method was something Simons had mentioned when explaining similar body-hiding cases to me. As soon as I said this, Eric looked at me with surprise and scrutiny. He whispered a few words to the forensic expert beside him, who immediately looked at me with surprise. “I didn’t expect you to think of this method. It’s worth a try.” With his approval, the plane was sent to the maintenance area to be weighed. The fabric on my back dried and dampened again, and my accelerated heart rate made my fingers tremble. Finally, news came from the maintenance area. “The entire plane weighs exactly 145 pounds more than before takeoff!” In other words, inside this seemingly normal plane, an adult was hidden! This answer greatly surprised the police! Eric’s previously impatient frown deepened, but for the first time, he took my words seriously. Leading the police dog, he personally led people to search the plane again. The forensic expert came with me to fake Simons. He politely introduced himself, then began examining the man. The police brought equipment, from facial recognition to fingerprints. But nothing showed abnormalities—all green lights. My originally tense heart suddenly sank to the bottom. Seeing this result, the originally excited crowd also became disappointed. “I thought what this woman said was true, but now it seems it’s all fake!” “He just doesn’t want to be with her anymore. Maybe this whole airplane body thing is her death threat to her husband!” Once this conspiracy theory emerged, everyone’s eyes changed when they looked at me. They all stepped back, looking at me with wariness and apprehension. I had no time to explain and followed the forensic expert to the final procedure—the lie detector. The man put on the detection equipment and answered every question from the expert. From his name to his business assignment, he answered everything seamlessly. The lie detector kept showing green lights. When the expert asked why he transferred a million dollars to me, I saw him hesitate for a moment. “This is something I voluntarily gave her as my responsibility as a husband.” I stared intently at the lie detector light. After the system identified it… It still lit up with a faint green light! At that moment, the mocking gazes of the crowd felt tangible, like rolling black clouds sweeping over me! Fake Simons patted his sleeves and stood up gracefully. Yael took his arm and looked at me mockingly. “I think the person who should be using the lie detector is you. If it weren’t for your lies, Simons and I would have already landed in the Maldives!” Her words triggered all the passengers’ complaints. They began pressuring the airport and police with complaints. I gritted my teeth and steeled my heart. I simply put on the lie detector device! Facing everyone’s eyes watching the spectacle, I calmed my heart and responded to the expert’s questions one by one. As I answered, green lights began to appear. And the forensic expert’s attitude became increasingly serious. Since neither fake Simons nor I had lied, what could the truth be? He pulled out the couple’s photo taken in the cabin and asked word by word: “Ms. Igor, why did you conclude, after seeing this photo, that your husband was killed and became the body on the plane?” I closed my eyes and opened an old notebook from seven years ago. At the same time, I said something quietly to the forensic expert. The moment the lie detector showed a green light, the forensic expert raised his hand and pointed to the two people not far away with interlocked fingers. “Arrest them immediately! They’re suspected of involvement in an airplane body-hiding case!”

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My mother had severe OCD about cleanliness. To prevent urine from splashing on the toilet seat. As a boy, I was forced from a young age to sit down when using the bathroom. Until that day in the school restroom, when I stood in front of the urinal with my face flushed red, I discovered that suddenly I couldn’t pee standing up anymore. I trembled all over in panic, and in the end, I couldn’t release a single drop. It all ended up in my pants instead. I sobbed in shame. When my mother arrived with a cold expression on her face, she let out a sigh. “Ernest, you’ve disappointed me so much.” “You made such a mess of yourself just going to the bathroom. You’re no longer a clean child.” Seeing the disgust in my mother’s eyes, I felt like I was suffocating from grief. My mother had said that she would only love clean children. I thought, if I just wash myself clean, she won’t hate me anymore, right? I looked at that expression of revulsion in my mother’s eyes, my heart aching. I knew she was disgusted by me. That was the same look she had whenever she saw something dirty—brows furrowed, corners of her mouth turned down. But Mom, I’m not a dirty thing, I’m your son! Panicking, I reached out my hand, trying to grab hers. I wanted to tell her I’d wash myself clean right away, that I wouldn’t stay dirty. “Mom.” My fingers had just touched her sleeve. My mother jerked back as if she’d been electrocuted, yanking her arm away forcefully. I staggered back two steps, my back hitting the hallway wall, the back of my head bumping against it. The pain made my eyes sting. But I didn’t cry, because I saw my mother lower her head, staring at the spot on her sleeve that I had touched. She pulled a wet wipe from her bag and started cleaning it. She wiped it four times before folding the wipe neatly and throwing it in the nearby trash can. I looked down at my own fingers. They were wet, carrying the smell of urine. I slowly curled my fingers inward, clenching them into a small fist and stuffing it into my pocket. I wouldn’t reach out anymore. There was no one who wanted to hold my hand anyway. Ms. Levitt had been standing to the side watching. Now she crouched down, took off her jacket, and wrapped it around my wet pants. She put her arm around my shoulders, saying softly. “It’s okay, Ernest. I wet my pants when I was little too. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” But when my mother saw Ms. Levitt hugging me, she immediately walked over. She smiled, bent down, and used two fingers to pinch a corner of Ms. Levitt’s jacket, removing it from my body. “Ms. Levitt, he’s dirty. Don’t let him soil your clothes.” She said it with a smile, her tone incredibly gentle. Ms. Levitt stood up, her expression darkening. She looked at my mother, then at me. “He’s only six years old. Wetting his pants is normal.” “What he needs right now is comfort, not disgust.” I thought my mother would get angry. But she spoke calmly and deliberately. “Ms. Levitt, I understand your feelings. But as an educator, you should be aware that the formation of behavioral habits before age six is a critical period.” “Unconditionally accepting children at this stage is equivalent to indulgence. Children without rules will only have worse boundaries as they grow up.” “This is basic educational knowledge.” Ms. Levitt opened her mouth but couldn’t find the words to respond. Several parents who had come to pick up their children nearby stopped and began whispering. “What this mom is saying does make sense.” “Yeah, you really can’t spoil kids too much these days.” “She’s doing it for the child’s own good.” I stood in the corner, listening to these words, feeling like the whole world was telling me: Mom is right, being dirty is bad. I lowered my head and sniffed myself. It smelled terrible. I said quietly. “I’ll go wash myself clean, then Mom won’t be angry.” No one heard me. Behind me, my mother was still discussing educational philosophies with Ms. Levitt. I turned and walked along the wall of the hallway, step by step toward the stairwell. My pants were wet, and as I walked, the fabric stuck to my legs, cold and clammy. When I turned at the stairwell, I looked back. My mother wasn’t looking at me. It didn’t matter. Once I washed myself clean, she would look at me.

Behind the school was a small path. At the end of the path was a flower bed and a water basin. The basin was used by the school for watering plants. It wasn’t large. But on this winter day, the wind was so cold it made me shiver. I walked to the edge of the basin and saw a thin layer of ice forming on the surface. I crouched down, rolled up my sleeves, cupped water in my hands, and splashed it on my pants. The icy water made me gasp. But I didn’t stop. I kept cupping water and splashing it on my pant legs, scrubbing as I muttered to myself. “Once I’m clean, Mom won’t be disgusted by me.” “Once I’m clean, Mom will hold my hand again.” I remembered the rules at home. Before using the toilet, I had to lay three layers of toilet paper on the seat, not more, not less. After urinating, I had to spray the toilet seat twice with disinfectant spray, from left to right, never in reverse. When washing my hands, I had to lather with soap and scrub for the time it took to sing the birthday song twice to be truly clean. Once I was in a hurry and sat down before laying the toilet paper. When my mother found out, she dragged me to the bathroom and scrubbed the inside of my thighs with a brush. She scrubbed until my skin turned red and burned with pain. As she scrubbed, she said, “So dirty, so dirty.” “How can you be so dirty? How can I ever get you clean?” After that, I never forgot to lay the paper again. I thought, Mom doesn’t not love me, she just loves the clean version of me. So as long as I stayed clean, she would always love me. After scrubbing for a while, I realized that just washing my pants wasn’t enough. My mother had said that anywhere touched by dirty things had to be cleaned, or the bacteria would spread. The urine had run down my pants onto my legs, so my legs were dirty too. I took off my shoes and stepped barefoot into the shallow water at the edge of the basin. The water covered my ankles, so cold that the muscles in my calves cramped. Gritting my teeth, I bent down to scrub my legs. I didn’t notice the slippery moss on the bottom of the basin. My foot suddenly slipped forward, and I lost my balance. Instinctively, I reached for the edge of the basin, but my fingers only grabbed a handful of slimy moss. My whole body pitched forward into the middle of the basin. My forehead struck the edge of the basin wall. There was a dull thud, and then I fell into the water. Water rushed into my nose. I tried to move, but my head was buzzing and my arms and legs suddenly felt very heavy. The light before my eyes gradually dimmed. I remembered what my mother used to say. “Ernest, I only love babies who are clean and spotless.” Mom, I’m washing myself. I’m making myself clean. Please wait for me. Once I’m done washing, you’ll hold my hand again, right? Ripples spread across the water’s surface in widening circles before fading away. A few dead leaves drifted down from the trees, landing on the water’s surface, sticking to my back.

In the hallway, my mother was still talking. “Ms. Levitt, it’s not that I don’t care about him. Quite the opposite—I want what’s best for him more than anyone.” “But that’s how education works. If I’m soft on him now, he’ll suffer greatly in society later.” Ms. Levitt stood across from her, lips pressed tightly together, wanting to speak but continually being cut off. Suddenly, she glanced down both sides of the hallway, her expression changing. “Where’s the child?” She turned around and looked. “Where’s Ernest? Where is Ernest?” My mother lifted her chin slightly, unworried. “He must have gone to the bathroom. He knows the rules—if he makes a mess, he has to clean himself up.” “I didn’t see him go to the bathroom.” Ms. Levitt was already running toward the classroom. He wasn’t in the classroom. He wasn’t in the boys’ bathroom either. She ran back, anxiously stopping a passing security guard. “John, did you see a little boy? About six years old, with wet pants?” The guard thought for a moment. “I think I saw a kid heading toward the flower beds out back.” Ms. Levitt’s heart sank. She knew what was behind the flower beds. She grabbed my mother and ran toward the back door, shouting as she ran. “Ernest! Ernest!” My mother was being pulled along, but she still maintained her unhurried demeanor. “Ms. Levitt, don’t panic. He won’t go far. The child is very timid.” The two of them went around the flower bed and onto the small path leading to the water basin. In the distance, they saw a small figure by the basin. Ms. Levitt squinted to look, breathed a long sigh of relief, but then immediately tensed up again. “He’s by the water? It’s so cold out, is he washing himself with cold water?” She quickened her pace. “No, no, in this freezing weather he’ll catch a cold. We need to pull him away right now.” My mother grabbed Ms. Levitt’s arm. “Ms. Levitt, don’t go over there. Let him wash himself.” Ms. Levitt froze. “He finally knows to clean himself up.” My mother looked at the small figure by the water basin in the distance, her eyes actually glimmering with tenderness. “See, I told you. Once the rules are established, children know what to do on their own.” The corners of her mouth curved upward slightly. “He’s learning to be Mommy’s favorite clean baby.” Ms. Levitt was being held by the arm, her foot suspended in mid-air before she drew it back. “But… in the middle of winter, using cold water… what if he catches a cold?” My mother waved her hand dismissively. “Children aren’t that fragile. Once he’s done washing, I’ll take him home to change clothes.” Ms. Levitt bit her lip and ultimately didn’t move forward. She stood in place, watching from afar that small figure hunched over by the water basin. She felt something was wrong, but couldn’t put her finger on it.

My mother released Ms. Levitt’s arm and slowly walked toward the water basin. As she walked, she said. “Once he’s done washing, I need to make sure he dries his hands thoroughly. Who knows how many bacteria are in that basin water.” “When we get home, I’ll have to wash him again with hot water and soak him in disinfectant for ten minutes.” My mother walked to about three meters from the basin and stopped. She saw that the water seemed a bit murky and was tinged with a faint reddish color. My mother frowned. “This water is so dirty, it smells like rust. When we get home I’ll definitely have to scrub him twice with body wash.” My mother shook her head in disgust and continued walking forward. Finally, she could see clearly what was in the basin. I wasn’t crouching by the edge—I was face down, lying in the water. My small arms hung on either side of my body, rising and falling gently with the ripples on the water’s surface. My mother’s footsteps paused. “Ernest? What are you doing?” “Lift your head up. The water is dirty, don’t lie in it.” Her tone was impatient. I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. “Ernest.” She bent down and grabbed my collar, pulling upward. Still muttering. “Get up, get up, your clothes are all wet, now I’ll have to wash them again!” “Do you have any idea how hard clothes are to wash!” My face emerged from the water. My mother’s hand froze. The face was a bluish-purple color. There was a gash on my forehead that had turned pale from being soaked in water. My mother’s hand gripping my collar started trembling. Her throat felt blocked, unable to make a sound. Behind her came Ms. Levitt’s urgent footsteps. She saw me in my mother’s hands, saw that bluish-purple little face, and screamed. Her knees went weak and she collapsed by the edge of the basin. With trembling hands, she took me from my mother, laid me on the ground, turned my head to the side, and pried open my mouth to let the water flow out. Then she interlaced her fingers and pressed them on my chest, pushing down rhythmically. Crying as she pressed. “Ernest, spit it out! Spit it out!” One. Two. Three. My head lolled limply with each compression. My mother knelt by the basin’s edge, her entire body frozen, not moving at all. Behind her, Ms. Levitt compressed for a full two minutes until her arms gave out, finally stopping. She collapsed on the ground, her voice full of despair. “Call 911… quickly call 911!” “Ernest isn’t breathing…”

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Your wife is sleeping in my bed right now! In the photo, Chloe was sleeping with her eyes closed. Her exposed skin was covered with marks left after lovemaking. I received this provocative text and photo while I was in the kitchen making soup for Chloe. Today was the fifth anniversary of my marriage to Chloe. But close to the end of her workday, Chloe apologetically told me that something urgent came up at the company and she needed to work overtime. Turns out she was “working overtime” in bed with her non-blood-related brother, Adrian. How ridiculous that I was worried she’d been working too hard lately and wanted to cook her a nice meal. The angle of that photo was clever, perfectly capturing the hotel’s logo and room key card. It seemed the person who sent me the photo very much wanted me to show up in person. With a calm expression, I poured all the soup from the pot down the drain. Grabbing my car keys, I drove straight to Seattle’s most luxurious hotel. The drive was smooth, and I arrived at the hotel. I took the elevator directly to Room 1806, a couples’ suite. The door was slightly ajar. The room was filled with roses, champagne, and cake—romance permeated every corner. “Splash…” The sound of water came from the bathroom direction. Then a woman’s flirtatious voice rang out: “You’re so bad, you splashed water all over my face…” My hand tightened on the doorknob. That voice… I’d listened to it for five whole years. It was my wife, Chloe. “Bad boys are what women love, aren’t they? You love how bad I am, don’t you?” The man laughed wickedly, his voice rising at the end. I wasn’t unfamiliar with that voice either. It was Chloe’s non-blood-related brother, the free-spirited artist Adrian. In the round bathtub scattered with rose petals, water splashed everywhere. Chloe wore only a revealing black lingerie set, her hands resting on Adrian’s shoulders. Adrian was shirtless, one arm wrapped around Chloe’s waist. The two laughed and played without restraint. Adrian sucked hard on Chloe’s neck, leaving a bright red hickey. “Not there, if he sees it he’ll get suspicious.” Chloe hit Adrian’s chest in mock displeasure. Adrian only laughed carelessly: “What’s there to be afraid of? Henry’s just an idiot.” “He’s been raising my son for five years and he’s still so proud of himself.” As Adrian spoke, his eyes were full of smug satisfaction. “Come on, I can’t wait any longer.” With that, Adrian pressed Chloe beneath him… I gripped the doorknob tightly, maintaining my position without moving. Adrian’s phrase “raising my son for five years” replayed in my mind over and over. Those words pierced my heart like a barbed knife. The people inside were too caught up in their passion to notice me standing at the door. Until a “crack” sound—I broke the doorknob clean off. Chloe and Adrian froze mid-action and turned their heads toward the door in unison. When they saw me standing at the doorway, Chloe’s pupils constricted sharply. “Henry?” The flush hadn’t yet faded from Chloe’s face, and her eyes held a trace of panic at being caught in the act. The lewd smile on Adrian’s face instantly froze. The next second, he lowered his head submissively as he usually did when facing me, as if he were terrified of me. After a brief moment of panic, Chloe quickly regained her composure. She leaned forward, shielding the trembling Adrian behind her. “Henry, what’s with that look? Look what you’ve done to Adrian!” I never expected that Chloe, caught red-handed in adultery, wouldn’t explain or show guilt, but would brazenly protect her lover. Adrian, protected behind Chloe, slowly lifted his head. The fear on his face had vanished, replaced by a provocative smile directed at me. But when Chloe looked at him, Adrian immediately put on a look of panic and anxiety again. Looking at Chloe protecting Adrian like a mother hen shielding her chick, my heart went completely cold. “What’s wrong with my look?” “And don’t you think you owe me a reasonable explanation?” “Why did you tell me you were working overtime, but ended up in Adrian’s bed instead?”

Chloe’s eyes flickered rapidly twice, but the anger of being questioned quickly replaced her guilty conscience. She suddenly raised her head, bristling like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, her voice sharp and piercing: “Henry! What are you talking about?!” “Stalking me is one thing, but now you’re slandering me?” “Don’t we have even the most basic trust after five years together?” I was almost amused by Chloe’s self-righteousness. She didn’t mention her own deception at all. Instead, she turned the tables, pushing all the blame onto me. As if the one at fault wasn’t her, the cheating wife, but me, the husband who discovered the truth! Trust? I repeated those words, feeling like I’d heard the funniest joke of the century. “Weren’t you the one who lied to me first? And now you’re talking to me about trust?” Chloe choked, then continued to argue stubbornly: “So what if I lied to you?” “Do you know how much pressure I’m under every day? And what have you done for me besides cooking and cleaning?” “Adrian and I grew up together. To me, he’s like family! He IS my brother!” “He felt bad for me and wanted to help me relax with a professional spa massage!” “Why does it become something dirty in your eyes?” Chloe spoke with such conviction. If I hadn’t seen the intimate marks all over her body, I might have almost believed her. “Henry, you’ve really misunderstood! I… I just thought Chloe had been working so hard lately, I wanted to help her relax…” Adrian timidly poked half his head out from behind Chloe. “There’s nothing between Chloe and me. I absolutely have no improper thoughts about her.” As Adrian spoke, he looked at me cautiously, as if I were some man-eating demon. I couldn’t help but laugh coldly. “A misunderstanding? No improper thoughts?” “Do you even believe what you’re saying?” I looked at Adrian mockingly. Would someone with no improper thoughts send me photos of them in bed to provoke me? “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s all my fault, it’s all my fault, Henry, please don’t fight with Chloe because of me.” Adrian’s eyes reddened slightly, like a wronged puppy. As he spoke, Adrian made as if to stand up, but his peripheral vision secretly glanced at Chloe. Sure enough, Chloe didn’t disappoint him. Adrian’s appearance of accepting all the blame made Chloe’s heart ache, and it aroused her protective instinct even more. Chloe grabbed him, looking at me angrily. “Henry, are you done yet? Apologize!” “Henry, I want you to apologize to Adrian, right now!” When Chloe looked at me, the disgust in her eyes was undisguised, while Adrian’s face was full of smug satisfaction. Looking at the two of them before me, I suddenly laughed. “Apologize… okay…” I nodded. The next second, under Chloe’s disbelieving gaze, I picked up the wine bottle on the table and smashed it hard against Adrian’s head.

“Bang!” The bottle shattered on impact, bright red blood mixing with wine and flowing down. “Ahh!” Adrian clutched his head, letting out a pig-like shriek of pain. “Henry, you’re insane!” Chloe was furious. She quickly pressed a towel to Adrian’s wound and held him in her arms protectively. “Adrian, don’t be afraid, I’m here.” Adrian looked at her with reddened eyes, his voice choked with grievance: “Chloe, this is all my fault. I made Henry unhappy. Please don’t blame him.” Even now, Adrian was still trying to win Chloe’s favor. Chloe held him tightly, then turned to scream at me: “Henry, you’re a complete lunatic.” “I want a divorce.” “Fine, I agree.” My voice was calm without a ripple. Chloe froze, not expecting me to agree so easily. Under Chloe’s disbelieving gaze, I turned and walked out of the room. On the way home, I contacted a private investigator. My requirements were clear: “Check all of Chloe’s movements over the past five years. Call records, purchase records, everything you can find. The more detailed, the better.” Opening the door, my five-year-old son Ryan was playing with toys in the living room. “Dad, what’s wrong?” Seeing my serious expression, Ryan asked with concern. I smiled and ruffled his hair. Looking closely, Ryan didn’t really look like me—he resembled his mother Chloe more. But over the past five years, out of complete trust in Chloe, I’d never questioned Ryan’s parentage. But now, having heard that conversation with my own ears, I found it somewhat difficult to look directly at this child I’d raised with my own hands. Pretending there was something in his hair, I took the opportunity to pull out two of Ryan’s hairs. Calling a courier, I sent the hair samples to two different paternity testing centers. I paid for rush processing on both. The wait was both long and agonizing. The moment the results came out, my nerves instantly tensed and my heart pounded irregularly. I opened the electronic report, skipped the beginning, and went straight to the last page. Based on DNA analysis, the possibility that Henry is the biological father of the tested sample (Ryan) is excluded at 99.99%. Two reports, identical results. I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly at myself. Five years. A full 1,825 days. I had devoted myself completely to Chloe, to Ryan, to our family, pouring in all my effort and heart. In the end, I was just a complete fool who had raised someone else’s son for five years. Adrian was right—I was a fucking idiot. Raising someone else’s son and feeling so proud of myself. I didn’t think there could be a bigger fool in the world than me. I wondered how Chloe and Adrian laughed at me in private. Rage, humiliation, and resentment all gathered in my heart. I clenched my fists hard. I used almost all my strength to barely suppress the destructive impulse in my heart. I took out my phone and made a call: “Santos, prepare a divorce agreement for me.” Ignoring the shock on the other end, I calmly told him to hurry.

Chloe didn’t come home that night. Early the next morning, I was woken by my phone ringing. Looking at the caller ID, I curled my lips coldly. “Henry, I’m giving you 10 minutes. Get your ass to the hospital right now!” The moment the call connected, I heard Chloe’s mother Bella’s shrill, piercing voice. Her tone was commanding as always, high and mighty. Before I could react, Bella hung up. I smiled coldly. It seemed they were planning a public trial of me. After a quick wash, I drove to the hospital. In the hospital room, Adrian lay in bed with his forehead bandaged, looking weak. Chloe sat by his bedside, her eyes red and swollen like two walnuts. When he saw me, Chloe’s father Mitchell kept a stern face and said nothing. Bella snorted heavily with a look of disdain. Adrian’s body flinched, and he leaned fearfully toward Chloe. Chloe patted his back soothingly. “You wanted to see me?” I looked at Bella expressionlessly. “You still have the nerve to ask?” Bella’s voice suddenly rose, and she grabbed the cup beside her and hurled it at me. “Henry, look what you’ve done! Look what you’ve done to Adrian!” “Chloe must have been blind to marry a violent man like you.” “Do you know that Chloe cried all night last night because of the shock?” Bella was emotional, hurling accusations at me. Chloe sobbed on cue, as if she’d suffered the greatest injustice. “Henry, you went too far last night. Adrian is someone we watched grow up, so naturally he and Chloe are close. You were wrong to hit him without asking questions first.” Looking at Mitchell speaking so righteously, I laughed coldly: “And then?” “And then?” Bella bristled like a cat whose tail had been stepped on: “Of course you apologize.” “You can only get up after Adrian and Chloe forgive you.” Bella’s tone was matter-of-fact. In the past, Chloe’s family had often used my love for Chloe to manipulate me. And over the past five years, I had indeed chosen to swallow my pride again and again for the sake of family harmony. Bella was certain that this time I would lower my head and admit my mistake as I always had, but this time they would be disappointed. “Are you finished?” “If you’re finished, it’s my turn.” “Chloe, let’s get a divorce!” With that, I slapped the divorce agreement the lawyer had prepared overnight in front of Chloe. Chloe froze, her sobbing stopped. Mitchell and Bella were also stunned, not expecting the word “divorce” to come from my mouth. Everyone stared at me in disbelief. Only Adrian, after a brief moment of shock, couldn’t hide the wild joy in his eyes. “Henry, don’t be ungrateful.” “You only get one chance.” Mitchell’s face grew darker, his voice heavy with warning. “Henry, I already told you last night was a misunderstanding. Why won’t you listen?” Chloe looked at me tearfully, tears falling like broken pearls, looking pitiful and wronged. Adrian grabbed my hand, his voice choked: “Henry, it’s all my fault, everything is my fault.” “I don’t need your apology. Just don’t fight with Chloe anymore. If you can’t stand me, I’ll leave tomorrow, disappear from your sight immediately, and never come back!” “Chloe really loves you. Don’t divorce her. I’m begging you, okay?” Looking at Adrian, I felt a wave of disgust in my heart. “Get lost!” I shook Adrian off forcefully and took two steps back. “Ah!” Adrian fell to the ground, crying out in exaggerated pain. “Henry! Have you lost your mind!” Chloe helped Adrian up with distress. Seeing Adrian’s reddened elbow, she screamed at me furiously. “You want a divorce, right? Fine, I’ll divorce you!” “It’s not like I can’t live without you.” With that, she picked up the divorce agreement to sign it. “Wait.” Bella stopped her. “Henry, we can divorce, but you have to leave with nothing. And you have to publicly claim that you had an affair during marriage, which led to the breakdown of the relationship.”

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The day before I was to exchange engagement rings with Ethan Gould, Vice President of Gould Corporation, Isabella Carter, heiress of Carter Group, suddenly showed up at my door claiming to be family. She said she was the real daughter of Prosecutor Thomas Bennett. The moment I heard her speak, I knew—she had been reborn too. After both families did DNA tests, they each took back their biological daughters. I transformed from Thomas Bennett’s unloved daughter into the sole heir of the Smith Corporation. And my late birth mother, Mary, was the twin sister of Elizabeth Norton, wife of the current richest man. Everyone said I could walk sideways through this city now, but I couldn’t. Because this month, Elizabeth would be cast out, and next month, Smith Corporation would be seized and go bankrupt. After that, my fiancé would become the new business leader, taking over the Smith family’s commercial empire. In my previous life, he even earned me the honorary title of “Philanthropist’s Wife,” while Isabella ended up in the gutter, tortured to death. So she came back to swap our lives. But how could I let her have her way…

I had just returned to the Smith residence with an excited Michael Smith when Elizabeth sent someone to bring me to her. After whispering with the messenger assistant, Michael earned the opportunity to drive me to the club entrance. He stood at the door, shouting at me: “Grace! Dad will be waiting here to take you home!” I really liked this feeling. I made up my mind—I won’t run anymore. I’ll save him. When I entered the private club, the assistant who came to get me was very excited. It wasn’t until I saw Elizabeth for the first time that I realized— I really did look like my birth mother, which meant I also resembled Elizabeth when she was young. In my previous life, when I attended banquets with my honorary title, the head seat was already occupied by Mrs. Lewis, wife of the new chairman Damian Lewis, so this was my first time seeing Elizabeth. Elizabeth tenderly held my hand, looking me up and down, saying how wonderful this was, how good. She even asked my name. I thought for a moment and told her my name was Grace Smith. Elizabeth got even more excited and pulled out a blank check on the spot, offering me a hundred million dollars. I was stunned. So the sisterly bond between them really was as legendary as rumored. Even blank checks could be casually given to a sister’s daughter. Then why did she suddenly go bankrupt? Carrying this question, I clutched the check and was escorted out by a crowd of people. Michael looked satisfied at the long line of people following me and the gift boxes in their hands, then waved his hand grandly. “Let’s go home. Dad will add a bit more to your personal fund.” Our procession was quite the spectacle. On the way back, we passed by the Prosecutor’s house and even disturbed Isabella. I heard she secretly fumed for quite a while. Oh right, Isabella had already changed her name to Isabella Carter. The moment I got that hundred million, her “socialite” title was stripped from her social circle. Knowing her as I did, she definitely couldn’t eat for three days. But I was different. Top-tier Japanese cuisine, French food, and private kitchen dishes were all brought to the table. Time to dig in. Michael kept chattering beside me, serving me fish with his chopsticks, worried I wouldn’t have enough. While eating, I chatted with him, casually probing to see if I could find any trace of the bankruptcy and seizure. After half a day together, calling him “Dad” came very smoothly. “Dad, all these years, you really haven’t had any other women?” Michael got anxious and quickly raised his hand to swear. “My devotion to Mary is witnessed by heaven and earth. Ask anyone at the company—don’t I light incense for her morning and evening?” “I believe you, I believe you. Just curious.” He huffed, and before I could even coax him, he’d already soothed himself, even saying he’d make me supervise him thinking of Mary a hundred times a day. “Dad, I heard you and Mr. Lewis recently had some disagreements?” “Nonsense! It’s not disagreements, just different viewpoints.” “Dad, I heard Gould Corporation wants to acquire shares from you?” “Ridiculous! My businesses are all in manufacturing. I’d never leave them in capital markets for speculation.” “Dad, I heard that you…” Michael suddenly slapped the table. “Grace, stop with all this ‘I heard’ business. If you want to know something, just ask me directly. I’m definitely more reliable than those financial bloggers out there.” Too direct! I suddenly didn’t know what to say! Could I really just ask outright whether he’d committed tax evasion or bribery? For such a large corporation to be seized, I could only think of these two major crimes. In my previous life, Smith Corporation was dealt with secretly. The circle didn’t allow discussion of it, and even my nouveau riche fiancé kept his mouth shut. In the end, the Smith family was left with just Isabella, who went to work as a… Right, Isabella—she was reborn too. I needed to find an opportunity to meet with her.

Elizabeth would be cast out in ten days. Time waited for no one, so I decided to take the initiative. But before I could find Isabella, she came looking for me. She brought along the woman I’d called mother for over a decade, who berated me for seducing someone else’s fiancé. What “someone else’s fiancé”? I looked at the mother-daughter pair in confusion. Mrs. Bennett said coldly, her face harsh, accusing me of shamelessness: “The Gould family’s son was promised to my Bennett family’s daughter. You’re a Smith now, so this marriage alliance belongs to my daughter Isabella. You’re not to see Ethan Gould again.” Oh, so the “someone else’s fiancé” referred to Ethan Gould! In our previous life, if not deeply in love, we at least treated each other with respect. After my rebirth, I genuinely wanted to marry him again. After all, he didn’t talk much and was generous with money. I’d even felt a twinge of regret when we acknowledged our true families. Hadn’t Ethan said he’d only marry the Bennett family’s daughter? Didn’t that make this marriage Isabella’s now? Why were this mother and daughter acting crazy now? Besides, I hadn’t even seen him since my rebirth. Seeing my silence, Isabella’s mouth turned down, about to play the victim, while Mrs. Bennett prepared to bombard me again. It seemed Isabella really wanted to marry Ethan Gould. Seeing I still wouldn’t speak, Isabella lost her patience. “Grace, you’re the Smith Corporation heiress now. Even heirs of top-tier wealthy families are yours to choose from. The Gould family must be beneath you now.” “Besides, you haven’t exchanged rings yet. This engagement doesn’t count.” “Just write a message breaking off this engagement.” I looked at her in confusion and asked: “If this engagement doesn’t count, why do I need to personally write a message?” Isabella blurted out: “Isn’t it because the Gould family sent word that…” “Isabella!” Unfortunately, her words were cut off by Mrs. Bennett before she could finish. I guessed that the Gould family had valued my business acumen before. Now that they were getting the circle’s famously spoiled socialite instead, how could they willingly take that loss? They must want to make the Bennett family suffer. When she was my mother, why didn’t she think wholeheartedly of me? Could it be she already knew I wasn’t her biological daughter? Before I could verify this suspicion, something major happened. Ethan Gould was promoted early from Vice President to President. Financial bloggers were waxing poetic about how Ethan saved the day at the annual meeting and heroically controlled an emergency situation. I couldn’t help but spit out my coffee and whisper to my assistant. “Sophie, do people nowadays tell stories without even a draft? Subduing criminals barehanded—does he think he’s a superhero?” “Why couldn’t he subdue them barehanded? And who’s a superhero?” This voice sounded so familiar. Wait, how could he eavesdrop on my private conversation? I turned, ready to scold, only to see Ethan Gould in a custom-tailored suit, carrying what looked like a cage covered with cloth in one hand. How was he here? And dressed so formally—he’d scared poor Sophie so much she didn’t dare raise her head. Also, since when did he like keeping birds? Ethan looked down at his outfit and unconsciously moved his car keys to the front. Then he stared at me, making me feel inexplicably awkward. I admit you look good dressed like that, but I’m sick of seeing it! In my previous life, if not for needing you to go out and handle business deals, I wouldn’t have said I loved seeing you dressed this way. It hurt my eyes. “Hmm?” He looked at me questioningly. I then remembered what I’d just said.

I quickly said: “You misunderstood. I wasn’t saying you couldn’t subdue criminals barehanded.” “Grace.” He suddenly called my name, extending the cage toward me. “This is for you.” Oh, it’s a white rabbit. Why was he keeping it like a bird? Though I loved white rabbits, I didn’t take it. After all, I wasn’t a Bennett anymore. He looked at me questioningly. Based on my understanding of him, he must have found out from somewhere that I liked rabbits. He was probably thinking: Didn’t she say she liked white rabbits? Why won’t she take it? Women are so troublesome! I felt it necessary to remind him. “Mr…. ahem, Mr. Gould, your fiancée is the Bennett family’s daughter. My surname is Smith now.” Ethan said without changing expression: “But my engagement ring has always been engraved with your birthday.” This? What could I say? Maybe you could change it? I’m sure Mrs. Bennett would be very cooperative. The white rabbit was just held between us. Before we could speak, Isabella appeared at the door, her eyes lighting up at the sight of Ethan. “Ethan! I finally get to see you. I heard that you…” But before she could finish, Ethan put down the rabbit and nodded. “Miss Smith, I’ll take my leave now.” With that, he decisively turned and left, not even glancing at Isabella. I could see Isabella was furious. She glared at me through gritted teeth, saying viciously: “Don’t forget your position. Ethan Gould is the Bennett family’s son-in-law.” I smiled, picking up the rabbit to play with it. “You reminded me. Speaking of position, I’m the Smith family’s daughter now, Miss Carter.” Isabella clearly remembered the many times she’d used status to pressure me before, and her expression became rather colorful. Before I could add fuel to the fire— Isabella blurted out: “Fine, Miss Smith. Don’t get too smug. You might be in prison tomorrow.” There it was—this person’s mouth was really loose. I pressed her while the iron was hot: “My aunt is the richest man’s wife. What prison would I go to?” “Elizabeth colluded with foreign capital. She’ll be cast out soon. Once Elizabeth falls, your Smith family will be finished too.” “You all deserve to die!” She was initially triumphant, but as soon as the words left her mouth, she realized something was wrong and quickly covered her mouth. Anyway, I’d heard clearly—foreign capital, was it? Isabella knew she’d spoken out of turn. She shut her mouth and said no more, just staring deadly at my precious rabbit. “You speak recklessly, slandering Elizabeth. Can Thomas Bennett cover for you?” She smiled bitterly without thinking. Yes, my former father was the most timid, risk-averse, and profit-seeking. Now that her marriage to the Gould family wasn’t settled, he definitely wouldn’t do anything for this daughter. Having learned a key piece of information, I handed the rabbit to Sophie and prepared to leave. But before leaving, I kindly reminded her. “I heard Mr. Lewis’s son has returned. Take care of yourself.” She probably remembered being tortured by the Lewis family’s young master, Nathan Lewis, in her previous life. Her face went deathly pale as she ran off. She must be going to ask her mother how to marry into the Gould family as soon as possible. That wasn’t important. What mattered now was the foreign capital. As far as I knew, Elizabeth had lived in this city since childhood. How did she get involved with foreign capital? To quickly figure this out, I realized I could only ask Michael about it. When Michael heard about this, his expression turned strange. But he still told me that after defeating foreign rivals in a business war years ago, the other side proactively sent investment proposals. As he spoke, he went off-topic. Dad! Who has time to hear about your heroic business war exploits right now? We need to save Elizabeth first! I could only interrupt him to continue asking: “Dad, does Elizabeth have any connection to foreign capital?” Michael’s expression grew worse as he said: “Why are you asking about this?”

I said seriously: “This question is very important. I need to know clearly right now. If you don’t tell me, I’ll have to investigate myself. If I find out wrong information, it’ll cause big trouble.” Michael was startled by my gaze. Since returning home, this was probably the first time he’d seen his carefree little cotton-padded jacket speak to him so seriously. He first pondered for a moment. “To be precise, the one connected to foreign capital is Mary.” “Ah, what does this have to do with Mom?” Michael looked at me meaningfully. “I even suspect that the one Mr. Lewis originally fancied was Mary.” Ah, this was getting more complicated. I couldn’t help but press on: “Then how did Elizabeth end up marrying Mr. Lewis? Does she know the foreign capital people too?” Actually, at this point, I’d already guessed some things. Nothing more than he admired her, she fancied him, and he couldn’t let her go. Michael told me many things. I blamed myself for only managing the household, balancing books, and looking after my husband in my previous life, never taking time to listen to circle gossip. It turned out Mary and Elizabeth came from a wealthy family and, as rare twin sisters, were often brought to social occasions by family elders from a young age. Over time, they became familiar with Damian Lewis and coincidentally met Victor Monroe, who’d grown up domestically. Because Old Mr. Lewis, Robert Lewis, had joked about choosing one of them as a daughter-in-law, Damian took it to heart. The older sister was lively and spirited, the younger sister steady and mature. The elders all thought Damian fancied the younger sister, so Robert arranged the engagement. Who knew that upon hearing this, Damian said it was wrong and was about to ask Robert to cancel the arrangement. But just then, he saw Mary and me walking in hand-in-hand, asking to be engaged. Hearing them say they were in love, and thinking he’d already arranged Elizabeth for Damian, Robert figured Mary marrying into the Smith family would also help Damian in the future. He waved his hand and agreed directly, even having the sisters get engaged on the same day. I could imagine how devastated Damian must have been returning to his room. Then all four married on the same day. After marriage, both couples were loving and harmonious, becoming a celebrated story. Especially Damian’s devotion to Elizabeth—they were truly inseparable. A year after marriage, they had their eldest son. By contrast, Michael and Mom still bickered occasionally. Michael said Mom liked to throw little tantrums and often ran back to her parents’ home. They only had me three years after marriage. Since things went so smoothly, how did foreign capital get involved? I pressed Michael for a long time, but he also didn’t know about the foreign capital connection. When I pushed too hard, he simply threw up his hands and told me to ask Elizabeth myself. Hearing that, I lifted my skirt and headed to the club. Seeing me arrive, Elizabeth was delighted, constantly urging me to eat and drink, then giving me clothes and jewelry. Feeling emotional, I blurted out: “If my mom were here, she’d be as gentle and attentive as you.” Hearing this, Elizabeth paused, then stroked my head. “I’m Mary’s sister, which makes me your mother too.” I nodded vigorously, unsure how to broach the subject. It didn’t seem right to barge in and directly ask an elder about their youthful romance. Elizabeth was indeed clever. Seeing my hesitation, she told me to say whatever I wanted and forget it once I left this room. In that case, I directly asked about Victor Monroe. Elizabeth hadn’t expected me to ask about him and knocked over her teacup. The assistant was about to smooth things over, but she signaled it wasn’t necessary and had everyone else leave. Now I really didn’t know how to save Elizabeth. Since I’d lived again, I had to make something of it.

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Ever since I gained weight during puberty, my childhood friend Chase stopped talking to me on his own initiative. But on the day of the NYU guaranteed admission interview, he handed me a glass of milk. I was so touched that I drank it all. When I woke up, I found my long hair scattered all over the floor. The head cheerleader, Vivian White, was holding scissors and smiling sweetly: “Chase, this sleeping pill of yours works really well. I’ve almost shaved this pig bald.” Meeting my disbelieving eyes, Chase only said indifferently: “Vivian lost at Truth or Dare. If she didn’t cut your hair, she’d have to add random guys on SnapChat on the street.” “You’re fat anyway. You don’t look good with or without hair.” The person who once said he’d marry me when my hair reached my waist had changed. That day I dried my tears. And quietly changed my guaranteed admission choice to Oxford University, thousands of miles away. The head in the mirror looked like it had been gnawed by a dog. My carefully maintained long hair now stuck up in tufts here, bald patches there. Ugly and ridiculous. My hand holding the comb was shaking badly. With just a light brush, broken strands kept falling. Mixed with my unstoppable tears, they fell into the sink. It felt like my heart was being torn open. I really wanted to rush out and demand answers from Chase. Why exactly did he use my hair to pay for Vivian’s game? But the interview was about to start. I bit my lip hard. I couldn’t go out like this. My trembling hands tried to press down the standing hairs, tried to pull the remaining long hair from the back forward to cover it. But it was all futile. The person in the mirror looked wretched and laughable. Like a complete clown. “Hey, did you hear? Vivian actually cut that fat pig Evelyn’s hair!” Suddenly the sound of several girls laughing came from outside the stall. My whole body stiffened, and I shrank miserably into the innermost stall. “Really?” “Of course it’s real! To make sure Vivian got the guaranteed admission, Chase even went to buy sleeping pills to put in the milk. Otherwise, how could Evelyn have slept so deeply?” “Oh my god, Evelyn is pretty pathetic though.” “Pathetic? She’s a fat pig who doesn’t know her place, insisting on liking Chase and blocking Vivian’s path to guaranteed admission. She deserves it!” “Exactly. How dare a pig like the baseball team captain? Everyone knows Chase and Vivian have been a couple for ages. He only humors that fat pig because of their families’ relationship.” “It’s hilarious just thinking about it. She actually thought Chase could be interested in her? She should take a good look at herself in the mirror.” Those undisguised taunts pierced into my ears like needles. Puncturing my last bit of self-deceiving fantasy. Separated by only a thin door panel, I slowly slid down to sit on the floor. I even forgot to cry. I just felt like my bones had frozen, shivering from the cold. So that’s how it was. What adolescent sensitivity and caring about appearances. What maintaining distance in front of classmates. All lies. He simply thought I was embarrassing. Not worthy of him. So he could easily use my hair to please Vivian. Could permit or even assist her in destroying the interview I’d carefully prepared for years. Just to clear obstacles on her path to guaranteed admission. Countless details from these years floated before my eyes. When I fell while running, he frowned and said “how can you be so careless,” then quickly walked away, leaving others snickering around me. The breakfast I brought him, he passed to someone else. When I gathered courage to try walking alongside him after school, he quickened his pace, leaving me far behind. Every time, I made excuses for myself. He’s under study pressure, he’s in a bad mood, boys are all like this… I was so stupid. Stupid enough to think that as long as I starved myself to lose weight and got top grades, I could get close to him. That I could make that gentle childhood promise have even a slight possibility of coming true. But it turned out. During every day and night I struggled in pain to be worthy of him. In his eyes, I was just a pestering fat pig. He and someone else had been a default couple all along. My heart felt like it was being violently squeezed by a large hand. It hurt so much I couldn’t breathe, yet was so numb not a single tear would flow. I curled up on the cold, dirty bathroom floor. The girls outside had long since left. The world was terrifyingly quiet. My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a message from Mom: “Evelyn, how was the interview? Don’t be nervous, Mom believes in you.” I looked at those words, my vision blurring then clearing again. Then, I typed out a reply word by word. “Mom, go to Chase’s house and cancel the engagement.” “But don’t let him know yet.”

After leaving the bathroom, I didn’t go to the NYU interview location. Instead, I turned and walked toward Oxford University’s classroom. When I entered with that ridiculous head, the examiners were clearly taken aback. I took a deep breath and focused on answering questions. Perhaps it was my composure, or perhaps the answers themselves. The examiners’ gazes moved away from my hair and turned into approving nods. “Evelyn, we look forward to seeing you on campus in September.” Walking out of the classroom, my palms were sweaty and my heart raced. Chase and I had agreed to go to New York together for a long time. This tacit agreement had once been my motivation to study hard. But just now, after sending that text to Mom in the bathroom. I had already decided that my future life plans would no longer include him. That evening, both families had dinner together. Mom and Aunt Riley spoke in low voices, then left for the bedroom. Chase sat across from me, distracted. Finally, he couldn’t resist asking: “How did the interview go?” I kept my head down. “Pretty good. The professor looks forward to seeing me on campus.” His expression changed. He put down his chopsticks: “With your grades, getting into NYU is no problem. Why did you have to compete for this guaranteed admission spot? That’s too selfish.” Selfish? I looked at his handsome face and only felt it was absurd. I pulled my lips into a smile. “My hair was cut like this, and you’re still worried my score is higher than hers?” The boy recoiled as if burned, hastily retorting: “What do these two things have to do with each other? I was just afraid something would happen to Vivian during their prank.” “She’s different from you. She’s so pretty—what if she met bad people on the street?” She’s different from you. Six simple words, yet they made my heart ache so much. I numbly nodded. Just then Mom and Aunt Riley came back, eyes a bit red. So I got up to go home with her. Chase’s mind grew more chaotic. He grabbed my wrist and asked: “What were they just talking about?” It had been a long time since he’d had physical contact with me. Probably found it disgusting. I paused, then pulled my hand back. “Nothing much.” I looked at his uneasy eyes. “Probably just worried about our future.” Chase. We have no future anymore. The next day at school, when I walked into the classroom, everyone looked at my ridiculous hair. “Pfft—the pig changed her hairstyle!” “The fatty’s pretty trendy. Got herself a perm hahaha.” Laughter burst from the group of boys. Chase was among them, pulling his lips into a smile. When our eyes met, the curve of the boy’s mouth froze just like that. My heart felt like it had been stung by a bee. I looked away and ignored all the voices. Walked to my seat and took out my textbook. The bell rang. The homeroom teacher announced one final rotation of class officers. I walked up to the podium with my ridiculous head. Throughout, the boys’ snickering and mockery below never stopped. My hands were shaking, but I still firmly delivered my speech from memory without notes. As I bowed, the homeroom teacher was the first to applaud, and the girls gradually followed. Just when I was breathing a sigh of relief, Vivian suddenly stood up and walked onto the podium. She wore a short skirt, her long hair flowing. A stark contrast to my disheveled state. Vivian held a piece of scrap paper and casually said a few words about wanting to serve everyone. She even stumbled in the middle. The girl blushed and stuck out her tongue while the boys below laughed indulgently. I couldn’t laugh. Voting, vote counting. Vivian and I had the same number of votes. The teacher looked at Chase: “Where’s your vote? You can’t abstain. Cast one more.” The whole class’s attention focused on that corner. Chase pressed his lips together and stood up. He was tall, his school uniform casually unbuttoned, walking step by step toward the podium. Sunlight outlined his lean silhouette. I stared at him, my eyes burning and stinging. Though I no longer held any hope for him. A small voice in my heart still whispered. What if? What if he remembered elementary school, when he was the one who pushed the crying me onto the podium, when he bought candy and gave it to classmates to vote for me, when he smiled even brighter than me after I was elected, saying “our Evelyn is number one.” What if he still remembered that I once said being class president made me feel not so useless. The boy walked to the podium and handed the folded note to the teacher. The teacher unfolded it, glanced at it, and announced: “Vivian 25 votes, Evelyn 24 votes.” “The new class president is Vivian. Evelyn, do the handover after class.” I sat on the stool for a long time, motionless. The surrounding sounds faded away, leaving only the dull ache in my heart. Chase had returned to his seat. He didn’t look at me. His profile showed no clear expression. I lowered my head. Tears fell in large drops onto my textbook. The girl sitting next to me panicked and kept patting my back to comfort me. Ten years. I’d been class president for almost ten years, from needing him to bribe classmates for me to get elected, to later winning recognition through my own ability. He knew better than anyone what this position meant to me, a fat girl living under strange looks. It was the little bit of pitiful self-confidence I had carefully constructed. But he didn’t hesitate to pull even that away. For Vivian. I was so sad I couldn’t even say “I’m fine.” The little boy who bought me candy to win votes had already died in my memories. The Chase of now was the baseball team captain, a top student, the cheerleading captain’s romantic interest. Just not my Chase anymore.

After school, I went to find Vivian for the handover. She sat in her seat, undisguised triumph on her face. “Actually, there’s nothing much to hand over.” She leisurely looked in a mirror, not even glancing at me. “Chase said I’d definitely be fine, told me to boldly run for it.” “I think so too. If even you could be a good class president, then it must be the simplest thing ever.” I picked up my things and turned to leave. “Evelyn!” Chase caught up and blocked my way by the wall. The sunset stretched his shadow very long. “Just now.” He paused, as if explaining to me was something very difficult to say. “I didn’t deliberately not choose you. It’s just that Vivian has never been a class officer. It’s almost graduation—letting her experience it is like having no regrets in youth.” “Don’t overthink it.” I said nothing. The boy reached out to pull me, but I dodged sideways. My gaze inadvertently swept past the fitness band on his wrist. He’d worn it until the edges were frayed. I remembered it. Vivian’s birthday gift to him last year, a few dollars from the convenience store. She’d put it on his wrist herself. And those signature edition sneakers I’d saved several years of New Year’s money to buy. He’d never worn them once. At this moment, this several-dollar plastic band was firmly circled on his wrist bone. Glaring as if mocking how all my heartfelt gestures were worthless. I said nothing and ran home. After that, Chase seemed to sense something. When boys pointed at my hair and laughed strangely during breaks, he would actually frown and scold: “What’s so funny? If you’re bored, go do practice problems.” When I couldn’t find my exam papers, he’d pass his own from behind. After school he’d also dawdle instead of leaving, as if wanting to wait for me. Late rain fell on an already cracked heart. It had no moisturizing effect. It just felt noisy. For the last school festival before graduation, each class had to put on a performance. At Vivian’s suggestion, our class would perform a short play with a script she carefully wrote. When the script was being passed around, I was doing practice problems. Bursts of laughter came from the class. I seemed to realize something. When it finally reached my hands. I understood what they were laughing at. The protagonist was an obese, shameless, witless high school girl. Her daily routine was doing all kinds of absurd things to seduce the male lead. Secretly hiding the male lead’s sneakers, deliberately falling when the male lead passed by, imitating the female lead’s dress and becoming a laughingstock. Every line was incredibly ridiculous and despicable. My whole body trembled. After class, the boys had no more reservations and laughed loudly. “Art comes from life.” “Vivian observed so carefully!” Chase was chosen to play the male lead. After he got the script, his brows furrowed deeply. He glanced in my direction. Unable to read anymore, I went to knock on the homeroom teacher’s door with red eyes. She sighed and said the program had already been submitted. Not knowing what to do, my whole body went cold. I sat at my desk with tears flowing wildly. That night, I stayed up late writing Chase a long letter. Using every humble word I could think of, begging him not to perform. Begging him to leave us with just a bit of dignity at the end. The next day during rehearsal, I saw him arguing with Vivian in a corner of the hallway. The boy was frowning. Vivian pulled on his arm, eyes slightly red, saying something quietly. A thread of hope ignited in my heart. Maybe there was still a chance. On the day of the school festival performance, I sat in the least noticeable corner below the stage, so nervous I wanted to vomit. Just as I was silently praying, That ugly character based on me, wearing a messy wig and exaggerated ugly makeup. Appeared with affected mannerisms. “Honey, don’t get so close to those bad women. My little heart can’t take it!” The audience below laughed like crazy. People kept looking at me. Some raised their eyebrows and pointed me out to others. “Look, that’s the fatty.” In my most painful moment, Chase and Vivian made their entrance. A handsome man and beautiful woman, triggering waves of heckling. “Kiss!” “Get together!”

People acted on stage. The audience below was noisy. But my world was silent. He still performed. My face was bloodless as I watched that boy who’d grown up with me, who had once been my whole world, on stage. My heart felt so empty. Wind passed through it, leaving only coldness. The performance was very successful. Vivian beamed on stage. Chase was distracted, his gaze urgently searching for something in the crowd. But I had long since left the school. “Evelyn, where are you?” “It’s just a performance, everyone’s going crazy before graduation, don’t be so sensitive.” “Answer the phone. Let’s talk.” “Evelyn, answer the phone!” All calls went unanswered. Chase panicked. He ran to the office to ask about interview results. The answer he got was that Evelyn’s guaranteed admission was almost certain. The boy relaxed again. After the college entrance exam, he performed well. His messages to me became: “When school starts, we’ll go to NYU together and everything will be fine.” “I made a NYU freshman guide. I’ll take you to the most famous food street—they have the Thai crepes you like.” “Evelyn, let’s date.” But all messages sank like stones in the sea. Chase felt uneasy, but he still believed that when September came and school started, everything would get back on track. He still had four years to coax an angry girl. Finally, September 1st arrived. NYU started school. New students were chattering everywhere. After Chase finished organizing his dorm, he rushed to the girls’ dormitory and waited downstairs. His face was full of anticipation, with a trace of barely noticeable nervousness. The phone rang a few times. It connected. “Hello? Evelyn, where are you? Come downstairs. Let’s go to the food street.” Chase tried to relax his tone, acting familiar and natural. “We haven’t seen each other in so long and you didn’t look for me.” “But I’m magnanimous. I forgive you.” The other end was very quiet. After a while, my voice came through, very soft. But also very clear. “I didn’t apply to NYU.” The boy froze. “…What?” “I’m at Oxford University.” The sun was high. Chase suddenly felt the whole world spinning.

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In my previous life, when the lab caught fire, I was pinned under a bookshelf, unable to move. But Veronica grabbed her beloved Ethan’s hand and fled with the data drive, never looking back. After my rebirth, I quit the research group and cut all ties with her. Seven years later at a university alumni gathering, she clung to Ethan’s arm and mocked me for being a washed-up book restoration worker. When their academic fraud was exposed on the spot, the Quinn family pulled their funding and loan sharks came knocking. They turned on each other in the mud. I stood on the awards podium while Sabrina held our son’s hand and applauded warmly. Veronica clutched an old magazine on the street corner, murmuring, “Adrian…” And I leaned down to kiss Sabrina’s lips, whispering softly, “Darling, let’s go home.” Adrian’s POV In my previous life, when the fire broke out, my wife’s first instinct was to grab her true love Ethan and run out of the lab. She completely ignored me, trapped under a fallen bookshelf and unable to move. After my rebirth, rescued just in time, I pulled out my IV and walked out the door. From that moment on, we went our separate ways. Seven years later, I encountered my ex-wife at a top-tier academic conference. She and Ethan mistook me for a maintenance worker and tried to throw me out. Little did they know, the conference they’d worked so hard to sneak into was only held to please me. I never expected to see Veronica again in this lifetime. At the university’s alumni reunion, Veronica stood arm-in-arm with Ethan in the center of the crowd, no longer showing the exhaustion from staying up late revising papers years ago. People around her constantly praised and flattered her. “Professor Reed is exceptional in academia, and Professor Hayes has an overseas background. You two are truly our university’s dream couple.” Brilliant lights shone on stage, with a banner reading “Annual Alumni Reunion.” Ethan stood in his tailored suit, confidently gripping the microphone. “Our joint key laboratory will officially open at the end of this year. We welcome all colleagues in the field to visit and exchange ideas.” Veronica took the microphone, her voice carrying through the speakers across the venue. “Research requires patience. We want to deliver the most rigorous results to the academic community.” She looked at Ethan, her eyes full of admiration. The audience erupted in applause. As the two returned to the lounge, people began whispering. “They’ve been working together for seven years, and they’ve been researching that project for seven years too. How come they only just became professors?” “I heard there used to be a really talented data analyst. After they left, progress slowed down considerably.” I stood in the shadows watching this scene unfold. Without my core algorithms, it took them a full seven years to barely scrape together enough achievements to qualify for professorships. If my son hadn’t snuck out while I was working, I would never have set foot in this place again in this lifetime. I moved through the crowd, trying to find that familiar small figure. The venue was carpeted in red, with champagne displayed on the refreshment tables. Everyone around wore elegant attire. My outfit looked completely out of place. A university administrator holding a wine glass frowned and avoided me, brushing off his sleeve in disgust. I ignored him, scanning the area beneath the refreshment tables. Suddenly, commotion erupted ahead. The figure I was looking for flashed past and darted into the main exhibition hall. I instinctively quickened my pace and accidentally bumped into a volunteer distributing brochures. “Crash!” Glossy brochures scattered across the floor. The volunteer spun around, saw my appearance, and immediately raised their voice. “Which maintenance department are you from? Can’t you see guests without credentials aren’t allowed in the core area?!” The previously noisy conversations instantly quieted, and countless eyes turned toward me. I bent down to pick up a brochure and brushed off the dust. “Sorry, I’m looking for someone.” “Looking for someone? There are only experts and professors here. Who are you looking for? The cleaning supervisor?”

Adrian’s POV The lounge door opened a crack. Ethan walked out while adjusting his tie. His voice wasn’t loud, but in this quiet corner, I could hear him clearly. “Sabrina is coming today, Veronica. You must find a chance to connect with her. If the Quinn family is willing to attach their name to our lab, our funding will be secure.” Veronica was touching up her lipstick with a compact mirror, her expression showing barely concealed anxiety. “I know, but I’ve heard Sabrina has extremely high standards. My new paper’s data isn’t ready yet. If she asks…” “The data is the students’ job.” Ethan interrupted impatiently. “You just need to look good on stage.” Veronica looked at herself in the mirror, pressed her freshly colored lips together, and nodded vigorously. “Right. As long as the persona holds, the resources will come.” The two confidently turned the corner and happened upon the commotion on my end. Brochures were scattered across the floor. Ethan frowned and looked over with disgust, as if my shabby appearance ruined the venue’s sophisticated atmosphere. Veronica stopped in her tracks. “Adrian? How did you sneak in here?” I bent down to pick up the last brochure and brushed dust off the cover. “Delivering materials.” A nearby guest holding champagne asked curiously. “Professor Reed, who is this?” Veronica’s eyes flickered, her voice cold. “Um, a former… lab technician I supervised.” The guest nodded in understanding. Ethan casually added. “Couldn’t get into the doctoral program, right? Some people really aren’t cut out for research. Switching to support staff early is also a way forward.” Veronica didn’t contradict him. She didn’t even glance at me again, turning instead to the aggressive volunteer. “Forget it, don’t make a fuss. Let him go.” Lab technician. I looked at her averted profile. In my previous life, during countless late nights, she’d lean on my shoulder and say, “Adrian, you’re the most important person in our group. I couldn’t graduate without you.” Now, under the spotlight, that most important person had become a shameful support staff member. When faced with self-interest, memories can be rewritten. I smiled. The last ripple of emotion toward an old acquaintance completely settled in my heart. The surrounding crowd began whispering. “That guy’s pretty good-looking, but unfortunately he’s just manual labor. Professor Reed actually supervised someone like that?” “Birds of a feather flock together. Look at Professor Hayes. This guy clearly just coasted along. No wonder he doesn’t belong.” Ethan listened to the recognition of his elite status from those around him and raised his chin even higher. The volunteer remained relentless, pointing at the ink stains and paper scraps on my clothes. “You need to leave now. You’re filthy. Don’t dirty the carpet.” Veronica sighed and stopped the volunteer. “Forget it. Do me a favor.” Ethan stood on the steps, looking down at me from above, and laughed. “Adrian, you at least have an undergraduate degree. How have you fallen to this state?” Veronica pulled a credential with a gray lanyard from her bag and held it out to me like charity. “Why force your way in? Even if you listen to these high-level lectures, they won’t help you. You wouldn’t understand them anyway.” She pushed the credential forward. “Take it. I worked hard to get this guest pass. Go sit in the back.” I looked down at the credential. It read “Temporary Visitor.” Meanwhile, Veronica and Ethan wore bright red VIP guest badges around their necks. One credential divided two worlds. She could never imagine that I personally approved the distribution list for these red VIP badges the day before yesterday.

Adrian’s POV Veronica pulled out her phone and opened her QR code business card. “Scan my card. I’ll send you the digital conference handbook.” Her finger swiped across the screen twice before freezing. “You deleted me?” I didn’t understand why she was surprised. “Back in the ambulance, you said we shouldn’t contact each other anymore to avoid affecting Ethan’s future.” I put away my phone, my tone flat. “I don’t need the guest pass either.” Veronica put her phone away and laughed dryly. “Deleting me is probably for the best. Saves you from seeing our achievements on Ins and feeling bitter.” Ethan put his arm around her shoulder. “Exactly. The circle we’re in now discusses cutting-edge research. A manual laborer like him wouldn’t understand even if he followed us. He’d just feel awkward.” I glanced at them. “True. My circle is quieter. No room for things that are too noisy.” Veronica’s expression changed. She understood my meaning. She slammed the gray guest pass on the table. “Adrian, if it weren’t for the fact that you used to run data for me, you’d never get into a national-level conference like this in your lifetime. Don’t be ungrateful.” Ethan patted her back and pointed at me. “Don’t bother with people like him. He’ll be a temp worker with no official status his whole life. His worldview is as narrow as the bottom of a well.” Temp worker. Those words made me stop. I thought back to my previous life. Ethan was a typical academic tailor. He rose through the ranks by stitching together concepts and networking, completely clueless about data analysis. During graduate school, Veronica asked me to help build a model so Ethan could pass his evaluation. I pulled three all-nighters in the lab, using my core algorithms to complete the project for her. On the final publication, Ethan was first author, Veronica was second author. My name wasn’t on the list. Veronica told me we were a team. Ethan was good at securing projects, I was good at technical work. With resources secured, I wouldn’t be shortchanged. This “collaboration” lasted seven years. I remained a shadow behind the scenes. Veronica used the excuse of limited official positions to never formalize my status. Until the lab caught fire. At the only escape route, Veronica pushed past me, pinned under the bookshelf. She pulled up Ethan, who’d merely scraped his skin, while clutching the data drive containing my latest calculations in her other hand. The glass door locked from the outside. I watched her protect Ethan as they left. She never looked back once. The smell of burning plastic seemed to fill my nostrils again. I instinctively touched the wedding ring on my ring finger. The cool metal brought me back. That suffocating feeling disappeared. In this life, I owed no one. The first thing I did after rebirth was apply to leave the research group. Watching them panic over missing data, I switched careers to a rare book restoration center and cut all contact. I turned to leave, but Ethan blocked my path. “Don’t rush off. Without the university platform, you can only do manual labor.” He pulled out a business card from his jacket and stuffed it into my shirt pocket. “My new lab happens to need people. Washing beakers and test tubes. It’s contract work, but at least you’d be working at a university.” The people around laughed. Someone chimed in, telling me to hurry up and thank the kindhearted Professor Hayes. I pulled out the business card and tossed it into a nearby trash bin. “Thanks, but I already have a job. Restoration specialist.” Ethan burst into exaggerated laughter. “Restoration specialist? You mean book repair, right? Ha ha ha ha! Who still does that these days? You mean taping things together at a street stall?” His laughter drew more attention. Veronica looked at me, her eyes complex. “Do you work at a print shop binding photocopies for people? What future is there in that kind of mechanical labor?” She sighed, as if feeling sorry for me. “For old times’ sake, I can put in a word at the library to get you a librarian position. The salary isn’t high, but it’s stable.” I shook my head. “My skills are enough to support my family. Thanks for the concern.” Veronica’s expression turned cold. “Adrian, you’re willfully degrading yourself. You can’t teach mud to climb a wall. Don’t expect me to bail you out in the future.” She turned around, linking arms with Ethan, and stopped looking at me. I couldn’t be bothered explaining to them. I’m currently the chief restoration specialist at the National Museum. I handle antique rare books. Even Veronica’s university president needs to make an appointment to see me. If I told them this, they’d only think I was lying.

Adrian’s POV Having escaped the peripheral entanglement, I quickly walked toward the core exhibition area. The security level here was noticeably higher. Red barrier tape stretched tight, and inside were displayed several centerpiece treasures for this conference. I avoided a university administrator holding champagne, my gaze moving past the sea of heads. At the edge of the barrier, a small figure flashed past. My heart tightened. I bent down, preparing to duck under the barrier. “Stop!” A hand pressed heavily on my shoulder. The security manager Jeff blocked my path, looking me up and down. “Which construction crew are you from? Your clothes are so dirty and you dare barge into the core area? Can you afford to pay if you damage the exhibits?” “I’m looking for my child. I’ll leave as soon as I find him.” Ethan and Veronica followed over as well. Ethan put his hands in his pockets and sauntered over to Jeff. “I know this guy. He used to be someone who couldn’t even get official status. Now I think he repairs junk. You’d better watch him closely. Don’t let him steal anything.” Jeff’s back immediately straightened. He put on an ingratiating smile for Ethan, then turned to me with his features scrunched together. “You hear that? Professor Hayes has spoken! This is a high-class venue, not a place for poor people like you to cause trouble! Get out!” I brushed off the hand on my shoulder and emphasized again. “I told you, I’m just a father looking for his child. And my clothes are protective wear. They’re not dirty, are they?” Ethan scoffed and exaggeratedly waved his hand in front of his nose. “Protective wear? More like reeking of poverty. Who would run around in shabby work clothes like that in an academic sanctuary like this?” Veronica stood to the side, frowning. “Adrian, are you really resorting to making scenes just to get in? I kindly offered you a pass, but you refused, just to protect your pathetic pride?” I ignored her words and looked directly into Jeff’s eyes. “I’m just here to find my child. You don’t need to keep harassing me.” Jeff was momentarily intimidated by my tone and hesitated. But he glanced at the special guest badge on Ethan’s chest, then at my old toolbox. “Stop talking nonsense. Get lost!” I didn’t want to waste more words. Taking advantage of the security’s hesitation, I sidestepped his obstruction and rushed toward the interior of the exhibition area. “Stop him!” Ethan’s furious shout came from behind. Veronica pulled out her phone, her fingers rapidly tapping the screen, her eyes cold. Since I didn’t know what was good for me, she’d have security throw me out to avoid embarrassment when Professor Quinn arrived.

Adrian’s POV The crowd suddenly stirred with discussion coming from all directions. “Is Professor Quinn here?” Ethan adjusted his tie, raising his voice several notches. “Professor Quinn is known as a genius. She came specially to support our conference.” Veronica’s face immediately showed anticipation. She quickly adjusted her expression and looked toward the entrance. People around were discussing Sabrina’s distinguished background and academic standing. “If we could get Professor Quinn’s support in medical funding, our project would be set.” “I heard Professor Quinn’s child is here too. Apparently the kid’s a prodigy.” Just then, the conference center’s director Mr. Cooper came running over, drenched in sweat, shouting at Jeff. “What’s going on? What a mess! Professor Quinn is almost here!” Jeff pointed in my direction, quickly deflecting responsibility. “Some lunatic brought a kid and broke in. We’re trying to catch them!” Mr. Cooper’s face went pale. He wiped his sweat while issuing orders. “Handle it quickly! Don’t let Professor Quinn see this unseemly mess! Also, has anyone seen Professor Quinn’s child?” Hearing that the Quinn family’s child was missing, everyone enthusiastically looked around, hoping to curry favor. Veronica and Ethan also joined the search, temporarily too busy to deal with me. I ignored the chaos behind me and walked straight to the core exhibition area. In front of an antique painting display in the corner, I spotted my son. He held a small portable magnifying glass, standing on tiptoes, reaching out to touch the painting hanging on the wall. That was the antique Ethan had been bragging about all evening. “Pull your hand back.” I quickly stepped forward and grabbed my son’s wrist. My son pouted and put the magnifying glass back in his pocket. “Dad, it’s just a piece of junk paper. What’s so special about it?” I followed his gaze and glanced at the painting. One look and I frowned. The paper was too white, the heat treatment incomplete, with obvious machine-made grid patterns on the edges. The seal’s ink color sat on the paper’s surface, clearly a product of computer scanning, inkjet printing, and artificial aging. This was the so-called national-level conference’s centerpiece treasure. Absurd. “Stop!” A sharp rebuke interrupted my thoughts. Ethan strode over, blocking the exhibit, righteously pointing at me. “Your lack of manners is one thing, but bringing a child to destroy cultural relics? This is an antique! You couldn’t afford to replace it in several lifetimes!” Veronica followed behind him, looking at me with furrowed brows, her eyes full of disappointment. “Adrian, to get my attention, you’d actually have a child vandalize such a valuable exhibit?” Jeff led several guards over, seeking credit with the arriving Mr. Cooper. “Sir, this is the one! Trespassed into the core area and attempted to destroy cultural relics!” Mr. Cooper didn’t even see my face clearly. He only heard “destroy cultural relics,” and being in a rush to welcome Sabrina, simply waved his hand. “Restrain him first! Get the child away from the danger zone!” With Mr. Cooper’s order, Ethan became even more unbridled. He bent down, putting on a kind face for my son, trying to pull the child over. “Stay away from this rude man. I’ll take you to find your parents. Don’t let him be a bad influence.” My son stepped back in disgust, avoiding Ethan’s outstretched hand. He turned and hugged my leg, and under everyone’s gaze, spoke crisply. “Dad, this painting is fake.” The scene fell into deathly silence. Ethan’s smile froze on his face. Veronica looked at the child in disbelief, seeming to think he’d gone crazy like me, willing to say anything for attention. My son pointed at the painting and delivered another blow. “The paper’s too new. The seal is inkjet.” Ethan snapped back to his senses and shouted furiously. “Nonsense! This child has clearly been corrupted by you, spouting lies!” He turned to Mr. Cooper and security, his voice shrill. “What are you all standing around for? Arrest this father and son with no manners! Call the police! This is slander, it’s causing trouble!” To calm the situation, Mr. Cooper gave the security a knowing look.

Adrian’s POV Mr. Cooper gave a firm order. Four security guards gripping rubber batons surrounded us in a fan formation. Ethan stood on the outer circle, pointing at me and shouting. “Don’t let him hurt the child! This man’s mentally unstable. Grab the kid!” I ignored him, shielding my son with one arm and turning to face the approaching human wall. “I’d like to see who dares.” My hand, steady from years of holding carving knives, didn’t waver. My voice wasn’t loud, but those security guards instinctively stopped. My son looked up at me from within my arms, not particularly scared-if anything, a bit excited. I brushed the dust off his clothes. “Still going to run off?” Seeing the guards weren’t moving, Ethan flew into a rage and tried to charge over. “You-” My gaze swept over him. “I’m his father. When is it your turn to teach me how to raise my child?” Ethan’s accusation caught in his throat halfway through. His gaze darted between my blue work clothes stained with paper scraps and my son’s logo-free athletic wear. My son’s clothes were bought by Sabrina, custom made without tags. But to Ethan’s eyes, they looked like street market goods. He gave a cold laugh, seemingly finding a new point of attack. “Father? No wonder he has no manners. The kid just said the painting was fake. You taught him that, didn’t you? Making up lies to avoid compensation.” My son bristled and tugged at my sleeve. “Dad, it really is fake. Mom’s upstairs preparing to speak. I got bored and came down. And the paper used for this painting is obviously new.” He pouted, complaining quietly. “You’re usually stricter about those old books than you are about me. How would I dare touch something real?” I sighed and picked him up. Seeing me ignore him, Ethan was completely enraged. He pulled out his phone and waved it at Jeff. “If you won’t act, then I’m calling the police. Destroying a national treasure is enough to get you seven or eight years.” Veronica walked over at this point. She grabbed Ethan’s arm and looked at me with an expression of disappointed frustration. “Adrian, at a time like this you’re still being stubborn? Just have the child apologize and pay some compensation. If this really gets to the police station and you get a criminal record, your life is ruined.” I looked at these two people and found it somewhat amusing. “Call the police? Fine.” I pointed at the painting. “Perfect timing for the police to come see what brand of printer was used to make your so-called antique.” Ethan’s expression changed, his voice jumping several octaves. “I see you won’t shed tears until you see your coffin!” Just then, Mr. Cooper came rushing over. He had no interest in listening to our argument. While wiping sweat, he pointed at me. “I don’t care who he is. Throw him out! Don’t block the entrance! Professor Quinn is about to come in! If she sees this scene, none of you will have jobs!” With the leader’s directive, the security guards no longer hesitated. A baton whistled through the air, aimed straight at my shoulder. I didn’t retreat. I advanced. My left hand protected my child’s head while my right hand rose, precisely blocking the descending baton the instant it fell. Clean and efficient. The guard stumbled back a step, losing his balance. Gasps rose from the surrounding crowd. My son suddenly shouted toward the back of the crowd. “Mom!” Mr. Cooper was about to lose his temper when he heard this shout. He instinctively followed the child’s line of sight, and his entire body froze. A few meters away, Sabrina was striding over with a group of university leaders following behind. Her face was frighteningly cold. Mr. Cooper looked back at me, then at my son’s face that bore some resemblance to Sabrina’s. Cold sweat immediately broke out. His legs buckled. He bent nearly double, his voice shaking. “You… you’re Professor Quinn’s husband?” I lowered my blocking hand and straightened my son’s collar. “Yes. Here to pick up my child.” Mr. Cooper’s jowls twitched twice as he forced on a smile more painful-looking than crying. “Oh my, what a misunderstanding! Mr. Parker, you’re our special consultant. Please, come this way to be seated.”

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