Category: English

My mom, terminal with cancer, sat in a wheelchair with an oxygen tank, having endured a grueling twenty-hour Greyhound bus ride just to be at my wedding to Ethan. But when it was his time to walk down the aisle, I called his name until I was hoarse, but he was nowhere in sight. Turns out, his childhood sweetheart, Sophia, was having a depressive episode, threatening suicide again: “Ethan, I can’t live without you.” My usually stoic fiancé was holding Sophia tightly, desperately begging me to stop the wedding, to let them leave. Relatives and friends tried to stifle their laughter, watching the absolute train wreck unfold. Right at that moment, as she crossed the hotel threshold, my mom took her last breath. My wedding became her funeral. Seeing my mom dead, Ethan’s eyes reddened slightly as he looked at me, a hint of guilt surfacing. “I promise, as soon as I get her checked into the ER, I’ll rush right back to marry you. I promise we’ll fulfill Mom’s last wish.” But he forgot, this was the 96th time he’d hurt me. And I wasn’t going to marry him anymore. Calmly, I texted him, breaking things off. Ethan, however, just brought his childhood sweetheart back to our home. 1. “The groom ran off with another woman, right at the altar! Any normal person would lose it, but she actually let him go?” “Tsk tsk, mother and daughter both have bad luck with men, can’t even hold onto one. So embarrassing!” Below the stage, guests pointed and whispered about me. My mom, overwhelmed by Ethan’s cruelty, collapsed, unconscious. “Mom!” I screamed, catching her, starting chest compressions, trying desperately to perform CPR. Everyone was startled, but no one stepped forward to help. Panicked, I begged Ethan, “Ethan! Please, can we get my mom to the hospital first?” Ethan, still holding Sophia, saw everything. He shot a cold glance at my mom, his voice dripping with impatience. “You say your mom’s dying every other day. How long are you going to keep up this act?” “Sophia’s depression is life-threatening. Having another person in the car could trigger her even more. Are you trying to kill her?” His entire world revolved around Sophia. He didn’t even care that my mom had collapsed. He’d completely forgotten that his entire successful business was built on the life savings my mom scraped together for him to start it. How could someone be so cold-blooded? I kept doing compressions, but Mom didn’t wake up. Seeing this, the crowd finally panicked, chaos erupted, and someone finally called 911. Amidst the commotion, Ethan tried to leave, but Sophia, fidgeting, stopped him. After Ethan coaxed her gently several times, Sophia spoke, her voice sickeningly sweet and manipulative: “Ethan, I feel really awful. Since Auntie isn’t using her wheelchair right now, could I maybe use it?” Instantly, complex gazes fell upon me. And I just stared, hard, at Ethan. The wedding was ruined. My mother and I were already beyond humiliated. Now he wanted to push it even further, take my dying mother’s wheelchair for Sophia? Feeling the woman in his arms tremble, Ethan’s eyes filled with guilt as he looked at me: “Chloe, your mom isn’t using the wheelchair right now anyway. Letting Sophia use it for a bit… you wouldn’t refuse, right?” A bitter taste filled my mouth. I almost forgot. Sophia was his childhood sweetheart. The one who made Ethan ditch my birthdays, ignore me when I was sick, even when my mom was critically ill. The reason he’d sabotaged our wedding eight times before this. How could I possibly win against that? But I didn’t want to agree. Probably sensing my answer, Ethan spoke again after a moment: “Years ago, you promised you’d grant me ninety-nine requests, unconditionally. Let this be one of those requests, okay?” “You still have dozens left, right?” Hearing Ethan say this, my eyes instantly welled up. Back when my mom first got seriously ill, it was Ethan who knelt by her bedside, begging her to let him marry me. He sold everything he owned to scrape together money for her treatment. Mom was deeply grateful and agreed to the marriage. I asked him then how I could ever repay such kindness. He scratched his head, casually saying: “Your mom already agreed to let us get married.” But I insisted: “My mom is my mom. I am me.” Sensing my sincerity, he said: “Then… just unconditionally grant me 99 requests, or let me hurt you 99 times, and we’d call it even.” In the four years after we got engaged, Ethan never made a single request. Until Sophia reappeared a year ago. Since then, he’d used up 96. But this time, he was wrong. First, there weren’t “dozens” left. Second, this involved my mother’s life. I could never agree. What I didn’t expect was that before I could even answer, Ethan grabbed the wheelchair and put Sophia in it. “Remember, you owe me one less now.” Seeing him act like this, and not wanting to waste time arguing, I had no choice but to lift my mother onto my back myself. But as I passed Sophia, I caught a fleeting, malicious smirk on her face. The next second, she stuck her foot out, tripping me. I crashed hard onto the floor, my chin hitting the tile. Pain shot through my entire body. Mom was thrown from my back. Gasps erupted from the crowd. I scrambled to protect my mom. Beside me, Sophia spat out venomously: “Sister, even if you’re trying to fake a fall to get Ethan’s sympathy, you can’t be heartless enough to use your own mom, can you? Auntie’s still just pretending to be unconscious.” Someone in the crowd chimed in: “Ungrateful daughter! Your mom’s collapsed, and you’re still here fighting over a man? Shameless!” Unable to watch my humiliation, Ethan started to reach out to help me, but hearing the accusation, his hand dropped. “Chloe, get your mom up! Haven’t you embarrassed yourself enough?” Sophia tugged at Ethan’s sleeve. “Okay, Ethan, don’t be mad about this little thing. Quick, let’s go to the hospital pharmacy.” Seeing that I didn’t argue, just staggered to my feet and struggled to lift Mom onto my back again, limping. Ethan started pushing the wheelchair, following me, a hint of concern in his voice: “Maybe find someone to help you carry her?” Beside him, Sophia chuckled lightly: “Sister, you’re the woman who can carry a fridge up six flights of stairs. Why suddenly can’t you carry a person today?” “You’re not… deliberately blocking my way, are you?” Hearing this, Ethan instantly distanced himself from me, disgust flashing in his eyes: “Chloe, why have you become so petty? You know Sophia’s having an episode, yet you’re deliberately walking so slow. If you can’t walk, get out of the way! Don’t block the path!” Me, petty? He used to praise me for being understanding, saying he appreciated that I never questioned his need to care for Sophia, and he treated me well because of it. But later, after he ditched me countless times for Sophia, the moment I asked even a mild question, he called me small-minded, accusing me of picking on a sick person. And now, because of Sophia, we had become unrecognizable versions of ourselves. His heart had completely tilted away from me. After a long wait, the ambulance finally arrived. I placed Mom on the stretcher. Just as I was about to get in, Sophia grabbed my arm again: “Sister, I’m a patient too, I need to go to the hospital. Give me your spot.” I clenched my teeth so hard they ground together, looking at Ethan. Ethan looked awkward, and for once, he actually stopped her: “They don’t need to take you. I’ll drive you to the hospital. Be good.” Only then did the ambulance doors close. An hour later, I sat outside the emergency room, tears streaming down my face. Mom didn’t make it. She died in the ER. The doctor said the ambulance arrived too late. If it had been just ten minutes earlier, the outcome might have been different. As I stood numbly outside the ER, Ethan finally showed up. The thought that Mom would still be alive if not for him and Sophia consumed me. Overcome with grief, I wanted to slap him across the face. But unexpectedly, the moment I raised my hand, he caught it excitedly. His face lit up with happiness: “Chloe, thank god you were understanding enough to stop the wedding and let us go! Sophia’s episode was really serious. You were so considerate, you saved her life again.” He glanced at the extinguished light above the ER door and said casually: “Looks like Mom’s okay too. Great. You take care of Mom first, I’ll come visit her when I have time.” “Next time, I promise the wedding will go smoothly. Mom will definitely get to see us get married, my beautiful bride…” He finished speaking and ran off. He had no idea. Once the debt was repaid, I was leaving. And my mom would never see me get married. 2 While I arranged for Mom’s cremation, he was still with Sophia. I brought her ashes home, packed up her belongings. The housekeeper watched my strange behavior, looking confused. Just then, Ethan sent a gift via the bridal shop staff: two more wedding dresses. He specifically included a message: one was an apology for the interrupted wedding, the other compensation for taking Mom’s wheelchair. As the dresses were fully displayed, the young employee gushed, practically seeing pink bubbles around me: “Mrs. Jiang— Oh, I mean, soon-to-be Mrs. Evans— your fiancé bought out our entire new collection for you! You are so lucky.” My face was blank. Inside, I just wanted to break down and sob. They didn’t know. This was just Ethan’s routine compensation after hurting me. My eyes were empty as I watched them hang the dresses on hangers number 96 and 97. An entire room filled with wedding dresses, with only the last two hangers in the corner remaining empty. I looked away. I knew I’d be leaving soon. I placed the urn and Mom’s belongings on the table in the sunroom. I quickly packed a suitcase. Just as I put the suitcase by the wall, Ethan returned with Sophia. He was carrying lots of supplements he’d bought for Mom. He was always so thoughtful, so considerate. For a hazy moment, it almost felt like the man who had coldly watched my mother die wasn’t him at all. But the next second, conflict erupted. Sophia’s sharp eyes spotted the urn. She let out a sudden, piercing scream as if terrified. Her “depressive episode” flared up. She reached out and swatted the urn off the table. The ceramic box shattered, scattering ashes all over the floor. My vision turned red. I lunged forward, shoving Sophia away, screaming uncontrollably: “Get away! Don’t touch my mom!” Sophia shrank back into Ethan’s arms, sobbing. “I’m sorry, sister, my depression acted up again… But do you hate me that much? Did you deliberately buy a fake dead person prop and put it here just to scare me?” Ethan, instantly furious and protective of Sophia, unleashed a torrent of accusations at me: “Chloe, you know Sophia has depression! Did you buy this disgusting prop to scare her to death? You’re truly malicious! Apologize right now!” “If you know what’s good for you, I might still agree to reschedule the wedding. Otherwise, forget about your mom ever seeing you get married!” Scrambling on the floor, trying to gather the ashes back into the broken container, I screamed back at him, my voice raw with anguish: “Ethan, these are my mother’s ashes!” Ethan grew up in a single-parent household; he never had a mother. Ever since we got together, my mom treated him like her own son. He used to help out at her little dumpling stand every day. When she was bedridden for long periods, he patiently cared for her. He treated my mom like his own mother. Hearing this, surely he’d react somehow, right? But after a brief pause, a mocking smile twisted his lips: “Sophia said your mom isn’t dead. What are you pretending for? Besides, she’s your mom, not mine. Even if she did die, what’s it got to do with me?” Sophia suddenly clutched her head and started crying dramatically, her words utterly vile: “Sister, why are you lying to frame me? Auntie just called me last night, calling me a bitch and a whore, telling me to stay away from Ethan.” “It’s true, I’m sick, I’m shameless, I’m pathetic for clinging to Ethan. I should just listen to Auntie and go die…” My mom died two days ago. She was blatantly lying, slandering my dead mother! Yet, Ethan believed this outrageous lie. “You’re lying—” I shot back, but my fury was cut short as Ethan kicked me, sending me sprawling. “Chloe, how can you and your mother be so disgusting? If you don’t apologize to Sophia today, don’t even think about getting up!” My head hit the wall. Blood trickled down. I stared at him, my gaze filled with deathly stillness. Seeing the blood, he faltered for a second, then changed his tone slightly: “Forget it. Look at you, bleeding all over. Don’t be an eyesore here, you’ll just upset Sophia.” Sophia, Sophia, his mind was filled with Sophia. Fine. Let him spend the rest of his life with Sophia! Gritting my teeth, I gathered the broken urn and ashes, went upstairs, and back to my room. Behind me, a soft voice drifted up: “Ethan, will sister be upset now that she’s been exposed?” “She brought it on herself. What right does she have to be upset!” I slammed the door shut, finally blocking out the mockery from outside. My dad died young. Mom raised me alone, working tirelessly at her street stall. And I couldn’t even protect her ashes. They were thrown on the ground by someone else. Maybe this was Mom’s way of telling me from heaven that it was time to let go of all this entanglement, that I couldn’t stay here any longer. After crying silently for a long time, I picked up the calendar from the desk. I circled today’s date and marked it with the number 98. The door opened quietly sometime later. Ethan tiptoed over to my side. Before I could close the calendar, he snatched it away. Ethan frowned, looking at the red circle that had nearly torn through the paper. Annoyance flickered in his eyes. “What’s this circle around 98 supposed to mean?” 3 I quickly grabbed the calendar back and closed it. “Nothing, just spacing out.” He seemed surprised by my calmness, then suddenly remembered something: “You should really try to break that spacing-out habit. Last time, you almost got hit by a car.” He was talking about that time in college. I was agonizing over a clothing design, lost in thought, and wandered off the sidewalk into traffic. In that terrifying moment, he was the one who pulled me back. I treated him to dinner to thank him, and one thing led to another, sparking our relationship. Knowing he’d misinterpreted my current state, I didn’t explain, just gave a noncommittal nod. Lost in the memory of our college romance, a rare smile appeared on Ethan’s usually stern face: “Alright, don’t sulk alone. Come see this, I know you’ll love it.” He led me downstairs and snapped his fingers. Several housekeepers wheeled out an exquisite, luxurious wedding dress. “Chloe, you will be my most beautiful bride.” “About what happened with Sophia earlier… I’m sorry I lost my temper with you. This dress is my apology. I promise I’ll give you the grandest wedding ever.” Ethan declared this publicly, professing his feelings in front of everyone. The housekeepers beside us practically swooned with envy. My expression remained flat. “Put it in the closet.” Seeing my lack of enthusiasm, his face darkened slightly: “You don’t have to keep picking fights with Sophia. You were partly wrong in this too.” “Mom obviously isn’t dead. You lied to us, saying that urn was hers. If Mom heard you, she’d definitely scold you too.” I almost laughed out loud in bitterness. He still didn’t believe my mom was dead? If he had even an ounce of trust in my words, a simple call to the hospital would confirm it. But he treated Sophia’s words like gospel. I was truly talking to a brick wall. I scoffed coldly, “I did nothing wrong.” Ethan’s face contorted, finding me utterly unreasonable: “So you think Sophia and I are deliberately trying to make trouble for you?” “What else?” I replied flatly. “You’re unbelievable!” Ethan slammed the door with a deafening crack and stormed out, furious. I knew where he was going. Back to Sophia. Sure enough, Sophia immediately started bombarding me with photos and videos, flaunting their time together. I simply blocked her number and went to sleep. The next day, having few relatives or friends left, I arranged a simple funeral service for Mom. I notified Ethan, wanting some closure, a final conversation before cutting ties completely. His reply was simple: “Okay.” But the service was almost over, and he never showed up. Instead, Sophia arrived, followed by a group of rough-looking thugs. Sophia saw the surprise in my eyes and smirked. “What, surprised to see me?” Seeing their aggressive stance, I sensed trouble. “Why did you bring these people here?” “To trash the place, of course! Go on, smash it all!” At her command, the thugs stormed into Mom’s memorial setup, smashing everything in sight. Countless flowers were scattered, wreaths trampled, even Mom’s portrait was shattered. Chaos reigned. “Stop! Don’t touch anything! One more move and I’m calling the cops!” I shielded the urn with my body, shoving them away furiously, screaming until my voice was raw. Their fists and makeshift clubs rained down on me. My head bleeding, pain overwhelming me, I collapsed. Sophia grabbed my hair, yanking my head back, forcing me to look at her. “That old bitch mother of yours. If she didn’t die, was she just going to keep leeching off Ethan?” “Ethan says you’re just a boring housewife. He’s tired of you, can’t get rid of you, so I had to help him out.” A housewife? Is that how Ethan described me to her? Before we were engaged, I was a well-known fashion designer. It was only after his business took off that he begged me to quit my demanding job, saying he didn’t want me running back and forth, exhausted, that he would take care of me. But now, my mother and I were just burdens in his eyes. Fine. I really was leaving. But I wasn’t going to let her get away with this. Seeing me dazed, Sophia sneered dismissively, then turned to the thugs: “Throw her in the coffin, nail it shut with her mom—” Before she could finish, I grabbed a sharp piece of broken wood from the floor and stabbed it hard into her shoulder. Then, I lunged, wrapping my hands fiercely around her neck. A desperate counterattack! Sophia let out a bloodcurdling scream, cut short as my grip tightened. The thugs froze, startled, about to move. I snarled viciously, “Get lost! All of you! Or I snap her neck right now, and you won’t get paid a dime!” Sophia shook her head frantically, pleading with them for help, but the thugs scattered and ran. Relief washed over me. I released my grip, shoving Sophia to the ground. Before I could react, a stinging slap landed hard across my face. My head snapped sideways, ears ringing, as I heard Ethan’s furious roar: “Chloe, how dare you provoke Sophia again? Did you think my warnings were just hot air?” My eyes, blazing red, fixed on Ethan. “She was going to bury me alive!” Ethan seemed momentarily flustered by my shout, turning to look at Sophia. Sophia clung to him like a lifeline, sobbing pitifully: “Ethan, I was just joking! But sister took it seriously, she tried to kill me!” He pulled Sophia protectively into his arms, then turned on me, his voice harsh, as if I’d committed some heinous crime. “She’s sick, Chloe! She was just joking with you! How could you take it seriously and attack her?” This same transparent act had played out countless times. And yet, Ethan still blindly believed Sophia every single time. Tired of his lectures, I stated numbly, “Ethan. This is the last time.” Seeing the utter coldness in my expression, Ethan felt a jolt of fear, a sense that he was losing something vital. Noticing the injuries covering my head, he loosened his hold on Sophia. “Forget it. Let me take you to the hospital first.” He reached for me, but Sophia suddenly clutched her back, crying out: “It hurts, it hurts so bad! Ethan, my shoulder! Sister stabbed me right through! I’m going to die from the pain!” Seeing the blood soaking through Sophia’s clothes, Ethan panicked. Any concern for me instantly evaporated. He scooped Sophia up and ran towards the door, tossing back one sentence: “I’m taking her to the hospital first. Call yourself an ambulance. Text me when you get there, I’ll come meet you.” I watched his figure disappear through the main entrance. Then I called 911 myself and was eventually loaded onto the ambulance. Just as the ambulance pulled up to the hospital entrance. My phone buzzed with an anonymous text: “I won’t let him come get you.” Immediately after, Ethan’s call came through: “Sophia’s injury is too serious, she needs someone with her. I can’t pick you up right now. Later, I’ll definitely find time to check on you later, I promise!” I could hear Sophia’s coquettish voice in the background before Ethan abruptly hung up. He never asked about me again. So I was alone. Surgery, paying bills, recovering, staring blankly. During that time, Ethan never visited me once. But I’d occasionally catch glimpses of the two of them, acting lovey-dovey, in various corners of the hospital. What a perfect couple. I contacted a real estate agent and put the house up for sale. This was the house Ethan bought with the first big profit he made after starting his business with Mom’s money. That was when Ethan loved me the most. The deed was solely in my name. I thought we would build a happy home there. I never imagined I’d be the one selling it off in the end. I signed the contracts quickly, finalizing the transfer. The agent assured me they would handle the moving arrangements completely. Only then did I leave. Back home, the housekeeper presented me with the 99th wedding dress Ethan had sent. I hung it on the last empty hanger in the closet. After paying the staff their final wages and letting them go, I circled the date on the calendar, marking the final number: 99. In the blank space on the calendar page, I wrote my farewell letter to Ethan. “Family gone, debt repaid. Ethan, we’re done.” I placed Mom’s death certificate and the calendar page together on the coffee table. Then, I picked up my suitcase, went to the airport, chose a random flight, checked in, and boarded. As the plane soared into the sky, an exhausted Ethan finally returned home. The villa was eerily silent. Confused, he tried calling me. His eyes fell on the note on the coffee table. Just as he reached for it, the cold, robotic voice came through his phone: “Sorry, the number you have dialed is not reachable…” And the next second, he saw my mother’s death certificate. As if realizing something, his hand trembled as he snatched up the calendar page. When he saw the large, stark words written there… Ethan’s pupils constricted instantly.

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The year I turned twenty, Ethan rescued me, helped me escape that nightmare town I called home. To repay him, I spent three years cooking and cleaning for him, never complaining, doing whatever he asked. But I knew, deep down, I had less than a year left. I thought we’d live out my remaining days in quiet, simple happiness. Until one night, he came home drunk from a work thing. I saw the texts from his ‘perfect girl’. “Ethan, you must be wasted, probably made a mess. Why don’t you let me take care of you tonight?” Ethan texted back: “Why would I let you handle that dirty work? I’ll just make the housekeeper at home deal with it.” “Aww, you always know how to take care of me!” Chloe replied, adding a little heart emoji. Reading that, my stomach twisted. So, he loved someone else. All this time, I was just the live-in maid, someone he could summon or dismiss whenever he felt like it. The dream was never mine. It was time to wake up. 1 Ethan was still dead asleep in bed, soft snores escaping his lips. I scrolled through the contacts list until I found the one labeled “Goddess.” Her social media profile painted a picture of a girl living a charmed life. She had the same long, dark, straight hair as me, the same delicate build, skin that looked flawless. But in the pictures with Ethan, her big, doe eyes sparkled with a vulnerability I’d never managed. My own default expression was usually… gloomy. It made me think about all the times Ethan had nudged me about my clothes, my style. Maybe I was just her stand-in all along. I’m a pretty traditional girl, maybe even a little old-fashioned. I never used to wear skirts above the knee. But Ethan had practically begged, giving me those puppy-dog eyes, until I slowly gave in, trying out the black stockings and high heels he liked. Standing in front of the mirror, I took off the lacy nightgown he’d bought me for Valentine’s Day. I put on a plain blue bathrobe instead. I spent the night on the living room sofa, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. The next morning, when Ethan woke up, I was already putting a bowl of freshly made oatmeal on the coffee table. As I set it down, I quickly touched my earlobes with my fingers, red from the heat of the bowl. Ethan wrapped his arms around me from behind. He inhaled the scent of my hair, whispering softly in my ear, his breath warm. “My sweet, thoughtful Maya. You work so hard.” “It’s what I do,” I replied flatly, gently pushing him away as I arranged the spoon. He probably thought I was just being shy. Ethan shrugged. Then his eyes fell on what I was wearing. He frowned. “Why’d you change your pajamas?” I told him the other one was too revealing, I felt a little cold, so I picked something warmer. I expected him to ask if I was okay, maybe show some concern. Instead, a flicker of disappointment crossed his face. He used that coaxing tone he always used. “I still like you better in that sexy little devil outfit. Please, wear it again tonight? For me?” Without waiting for an answer, he went to brush his teeth, put on his suit, ready to leave. “Aren’t you going to eat breakfast?” I asked, watching him polish his dress shoes. Ethan clutched his stomach, shaking his head with a sigh. “Nah, drank too much last night. Stomach’s still messed up. You eat it.” He grabbed his briefcase and walked out the door. The sound of the front door clicking shut echoed in the sudden silence. The oatmeal on the table was still steaming, but my heart felt ice-cold. Because I knew exactly where Ethan was heading. Downstairs, by the entrance to the complex, smiling as Chloe handed him a coffee and a bagel. It didn’t matter if Chloe made it herself or just bought it. If it came from her hands, it was the most delicious thing in the world to him. Looks like another breakfast alone. I sat at the table, mechanically spooning oatmeal into my mouth. It tasted like cardboard. Maybe fate was just trying to get me used to being alone ahead of time. With her appearance, the countdown to leaving Ethan had officially begun. 2 Was I wasting my time, obsessing over every detail of this man’s life? This was our third year together. Twenty-three. For a girl, that’s supposed to be the prime of your life. Most girls my age are either in college, maybe grad school, or starting their careers. Me? I spent my days cleaning the apartment, washing Ethan’s clothes, even his socks. Waiting for him to come home, I’d have a hot meal ready, then change into whatever pajamas he liked best and sit quietly on the bed, waiting. Some might say I was pathetic, lowering myself like that. Not worth it. But I did it because I owed him. A debt of gratitude. Back when I ran away from home, I was lost, wandering aimlessly on a mountain road in the pouring rain. The next thing I knew, I woke up in a strange city, a handsome face looking down at me with concern. “You’ve got a high fever. Just lie still, we’re almost at the hospital.” That was Ethan. He stayed with me at the hospital for two days and nights until I recovered. He never asked why I was out there in a storm, or where I came from. Maybe it didn’t matter to him. To him, I was probably just some poor runaway girl he happened to rescue. But to me, Ethan was the first man who had ever been truly kind to me. So, after that, we just… fell together. Naturally. I gave myself to him willingly, tried everything to make him happy, even accepted his flaws and weird little habits. On his birthday, I wore that maid outfit he’d been hinting about forever and gave him… everything. The most precious thing a girl has. It wasn’t until last night that I realized how incredibly stupid I’d been. Today, I didn’t clean. Instead, I went downtown, just to get some air. Besides grocery shopping and running errands, I hardly ever went out. Sitting on a bench, I scrolled through my phone and, almost without thinking, searched for Ethan’s Instagram. He probably figured I wasn’t savvy enough to check, so he hadn’t blocked me or made it private. Mostly work stuff, nothing too out of the ordinary. But then I noticed one account liked almost every single post. I clicked on it. Of course, it was Chloe. And sprinkled through her feed were pictures of her and Ethan, acting like a couple. In the park, on the subway, at the movies… even at a motel. The one that hit hardest was taken in what looked like a cheap motel room, on one of those heart-shaped beds. Chloe had her head buried in Ethan’s broad shoulder, and he was playing with strands of her hair. The caption read: Ugh, stylist went rogue and chopped off way too much hair today! So annoyed! 🙁 Ethan’s comment below: I like it. When your hair grows long enough to touch your waist, will you marry me? Chloe replied with a blushing emoji. Nausea washed over me. How many times had he done that same thing to my hair, whispering sweet nothings in my ear? “I can’t wait to see you in a white wedding dress, your hair blowing in the wind in our photos.” “Maya, you’re my angel. Just wait a little longer. As soon as I save up enough money, we’ll get married.” I walked into a hair salon. A stylist, Tony, immediately started trying to sell me hair products. “Hey there! Looking for color? Treatment?” I didn’t answer. I just sat in the chair, staring at my own reflection – lost, broken. Then I spoke, my voice cold. “Cut it short.” I knew it now. The woman he pictured in that wedding dress definitely wasn’t me. 3 It was after nine when Ethan finally decided to come home. I didn’t bother asking where he’d been. The answer was always the same: working late or a client dinner. When he saw my hair, barely reaching my chin, he looked surprised. “Whoa, what happened here? My little homemaker decided on a new look?” I ignored him, focusing on hanging the freshly washed clothes on the balcony rack. He probably thought I was busy and didn’t hear him, not noticing the shift in my attitude. He walked over, glanced at the clothes, and said, half-joking, “Seriously? What kind of style is that? So plain.” Then he went into the bedroom. Soon, I heard the tap-tap-tap of his phone keys, punctuated by muffled laughter. I knew it. I couldn’t even spark a flicker of interest in him anymore. It was time to leave. Better to die alone than keep getting hurt like this. I finished hanging the clothes, washed the dishes piled in the sink, and dragged my exhausted body toward the bedroom. As soon as I walked in, Ethan looked up, a sly grin on his face. “Hey, come here. Let’s try this tonight.” He eagerly held up a box. New lingerie, probably from one of those trashy shops. I gave it a cold glance and shook my head. “I’m too tired today. And besides… I don’t really like it.” He’d asked me to wear embarrassing things before. At first, I’d refused. Then he’d throw a tantrum, call me ungrateful. How he’d stayed up for two days taking care of me when I was sick, and now I couldn’t even do this one little thing for him. Then came the silent treatment. Remembering how he’d helped me, I’d always cave first. I’d force myself into those skimpy outfits, trying to please him, satisfy him. They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Back then, Ethan was everything to me. I could overlook his weird kinks. But now that I knew what I really was in his eyes, I wasn’t going to humiliate myself anymore. My refusal this time didn’t deter him. He shoved his phone in my face. It was a private photo of Chloe, wearing sexy lingerie – the exact same style he’d just shown me. A disgusting thought crossed my mind: maybe the one he handed me was hers, already worn. “Look how cool my colleague Chloe is! She wore it, even sent me pics, no big deal. See how open-minded she is?” “You’re my woman! You need to have some awareness!” When I still didn’t respond, just climbed into bed and turned my back, Ethan sighed dramatically. “Ugh, girls from the sticks just don’t get it. No class.” Seeing that pleading and bullying weren’t working this time, Ethan switched tactics. Reverse psychology. He started praising Chloe right in front of me – how amazing she was, how understanding. He was so bold now because he was convinced he had me completely under his thumb. That my old self would never, ever leave him. But even after all his prodding, I didn’t give in. He didn’t seem too angry, just went back to texting Chloe. After a minute, he nudged me with his foot. “Hey, Maya. What’s your hometown like? Scenery-wise?” “Holiday’s coming up. Chloe mentioned wanting to get out of the city, see some mountains and rivers, but doesn’t know where to go.” Hearing the words “hometown” sent a chill down my spine, making the hairs on my arms stand up. It wasn’t because he was so blatantly trying to provoke me. It was the flood of terrifying memories those words unleashed. The villagers’ leering faces. My mother’s wild eyes. A nightmare I could never fully escape. 4 Seeing I still wasn’t talking, Ethan figured I was just sulking again. Based on past experience, he assumed I’d be crying and begging for his forgiveness soon enough. Muttering “What a buzzkill,” he rolled over and went to sleep. The next morning, Ethan left early without even saying goodbye. My heart felt completely frozen. I started packing my things, ready to leave this place, find somewhere no one could ever find me. This time, I was serious. It was really over. I was about to delete our photos from his laptop when I noticed his Discord was still logged in. A group chat named “The Wolf Pack” was flashing insistently. Someone had uploaded a bunch of files. I clicked one at random. It was a video of me, wearing that revealing lingerie, trying to appease Ethan, just like he’d demanded. “Damn, Ethan! Even got innocent little Maya wrapped around your finger.” “Whoa! Didn’t know you had it in you, man. Such a player. How’d you PUA her? Share your secrets!” As the group members started commenting on me, objectifying me, Ethan posted a smug emoji, then typed: “That’s nothing. Maya and I had a good foundation. She was crazy in love with me, would do anything I wanted.” Everyone in the chat was envious. Then someone typed: “Maya’s got the body and face, sure, but still not quite on Chloe’s level.” Others chimed in: “Yeah, Ethan, when are you gonna share some real action with Chloe for the bros?” But when faced with this request about Chloe, Ethan instantly became protective, like a dog guarding its food. “Dream on. Chloe’s my goddess. Her divine beauty isn’t for peasants like you to even gaze upon.” The ‘wolf pack’ responded with eye-roll emojis, calling him selfish. Someone immediately challenged him: “But Maya’s your actual girlfriend, right? How come you can just share her private videos with us?” Ethan replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world: “Maya? Girlfriend? LMAO, she’s just a toy. Don’t compare her to my pure goddess, Chloe.” “To me, she’s just a maid who cleans and cooks during the day, and a doll that moves and makes noise at night.” “If any of you guys are interested, maybe one day I’ll slip her something extra, and then you can… hehehe…” The rest of the chat was too disgusting to read. Ethan clearly reveled in being the center of their sleazy attention. I closed the laptop, my whole body shaking violently. Tears streamed down my face, splashing onto the floor like raindrops. I buried my head between my knees, replaying everything that had happened since Chloe appeared. My initial disappointment and heartache had curdled into pure disgust and fury. So, all my love and devotion had been wasted on a scumbag. My gratitude, my tolerance – he’d twisted them into excuses to trample all over my dignity. In his mind, Chloe was the angel, and I was the witch. Completely incomparable. I might have come from a dark place, but I never wanted to hurt anyone. I was even willing to give up my own life to hold onto that last shred of decency. Thinking this, I finally dialed the number I hadn’t called in years. The call connected. A familiar voice answered. “Yeah? Who is it?” “Mom,” I said, my voice flat, devoid of any emotion. “I’m coming home.” “Hmph. Finally snapped out of it? Or are you just scared now that you know you only have a year left?” “That doesn’t matter,” I cut her off. “This time, I’m bringing a man back with me.” A chilling laugh echoed from the other end of the line. My own eyes turned cold as ice.

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The day I got my cancer diagnosis, Ethan Cole secretly emptied my bank account. He took all that money to Maya Vance’s wedding as a gift. I went to the reception hall, desperate to get that money back for my surgery deposit. Maya, tipsy and bold, pointed at me and slurred, “Ava, you look so pale… anyone who didn’t know better would think you were dying!” Laughter erupted around us; they all thought it was just a drunken joke. I lowered my voice, telling her I was dying and needed the gift money back. But Ethan flared up first. “Maya just had a little too much to drink! It’s her big day, why are you making a scene?” He then dragged me out of the reception hall. He even took the last five hundred dollars I had on me. “You crashed Maya’s big day like that, you definitely owe her another gift.” “Look at yourself, Ava. All you do now is stir up drama and act jealous. You don’t even bother to take care of yourself anymore. You look frighteningly pale!” He was so sure I couldn’t live without him. But this time, I saw him clearly. So I turned around, went home, and called a real estate agent. “Ms. Thorne, if you’re not in a rush, we could probably get a better price for this place,” the agent suggested. I shook my head. “I am in a rush. Please find a buyer as soon as possible.” The young agent was diligent, calling several potential buyers right then and there. We scheduled meetings with buyers for the following week. On the way home, maybe I was lost in thought, spacing out. I didn’t notice the yellow light flashing at the crosswalk. A car, rushing God knows where, startled me, and I stumbled, cracking my arm hard on the curb. It was bleeding badly. Thankfully, a passerby called 911 for me. “Ma’am, I need to contact your emergency contact,” the paramedic said. I nodded, pointing to my phone. Ethan was saved in my contacts as “My Love.” Easy enough to find. The nurse kindly put the call on speaker. “Hello, are you Ms. Thorne’s husband? This is County General Hospital. Ms. Thorne was in an accident, we need you to come down as soon as possible.” “An accident? She’s really committed, isn’t she? Now she’s stooping to faking accidents out of jealousy? Fine, just call me when she’s actually dead so I can sign whatever papers!” Then, through the phone, came a sickeningly familiar voice. “Ethan…” The nurse instinctively hung up. But I’d heard it. It was Maya’s voice. 2 Today wasn’t the first time I’d encountered Maya. It just seemed like every time I did, Ethan and I ended up fighting. Like the last time, when Ethan got a call from Maya late at night. Without a second thought, he got dressed and rushed out to find her. “It’s late, she just broke up with her boyfriend, it’s not safe for a girl to be out alone. I’ll just check on her and be right back.” But that day, I waited until the early hours of the next morning, and Ethan never came home. Meanwhile, Maya’s social media feed was filled with pictures of her eating and drinking lavishly. And in one photo, showing someone peeling a crab for her… I recognized Ethan’s hand immediately. Because the wedding ring on that hand was the custom one I had specially made for him. Ethan had once told me that crabs were expensive and a pain to peel, and feeding them to me would be a waste. When he finally came home that day, I showed him the picture. He actually turned it around on me, accusing me of not trusting him. “Ava Thorne, I swear, you have too much time on your hands! All you do is pick fights and act jealous. Don’t you have anything better to do?” But I used to be a key player at a tech company. He was the one who said he couldn’t bear seeing me overworked, practically forcing me to quit my job. “Ms. Thorne?” I snapped back to reality, looked at the nurse, and forced a smile. “Wrong number. That was just an old nickname from a game I forgot to change.” “I… I don’t have a husband. And my family lives out of state. Can I just handle this myself?” That day, thankfully, the kind young nurse stayed with me and helped get my arm treated. But the gash was deep. The doctor warned me not to put too much strain on my arm for a while. After thanking the nurse profusely, I took a cab home. Before I even opened the door, I heard Maya’s voice. “Ethan, do you think maybe it’s my fault? Otherwise… otherwise, why would something like this happen to me? Being left at the altar…” No wonder I hadn’t seen the groom at the wedding hall. Turns out, he’d run off. “How could it be your fault? It’s definitely because Ava showed up today and made such a scene. When she gets back, I’ll make sure she apologizes to you!” Ethan’s words were meant to be comforting. If only I wasn’t the one being blamed. I unlocked the door and walked in, my eyes immediately falling on the two of them snuggled together on the sofa. So that was the proper posture for comforting someone. 3 “You finally decided to come back? Get over here and apologize to Maya. Do you have any idea that because of your stunt today, Maya’s wedding was called off?” “So you have to hold her like that? Is that how you’re apologizing for me?” Ethan looked startled for a second, released Maya, and stood up. “Ava, look, this whole thing is mostly your fault. You should at least apologize to Maya. And if you hadn’t stormed into the wedding demanding money, tonight would have been Maya’s wedding night.” I nodded with a humorless smile. “Since you think it’s my fault, why don’t you help her make up for the lost wedding night? Don’t worry, I won’t disturb you.” No anger, no shouting. I calmly walked into the master bedroom. Surprisingly, Ethan actually followed me this time. Standing in the bathroom, I looked at my bandaged arm, wondering how I’d manage. “Ava, don’t be mad. Maya’s going through a tough time, you know.” Ethan hugged me from behind, his hand brushing against my injured arm. “You… you really got hurt? Just your arm? That nurse was overreacting, saying you were in a car crash!” I didn’t say anything, just pushed him away. But he tightened his grip, pulling me under the showerhead. “Since you’re hurt, let me help you wash your hair. I know how clean you like to be; you probably can’t stand going a night without washing it.” Ethan turned on the shower, full blast, water soaking the bandage on my arm. He didn’t seem to care at all. “Ava, your clothes are soaked too. Might as well just take them off.” He tugged at my shirt without any hesitation. “Ethan, I’m injured.” My voice was flat, devoid of emotion as I refused him. He let go of my shirt. Only to slide his hand onto my waist. I let out a bitter laugh, took his hand, and placed it on my back. Because of the cancer, I hadn’t been able to eat much lately. I hadn’t paid much attention to it at the time. It wasn’t until the diagnosis day that I realized how frighteningly thin I’d become. Ethan’s hand touched my bony back. The next second, he snatched it away. As fast as if he’d touched something monstrous, something that could devour him. “Ava, I…” Just as Ethan started to explain, a crash came from the guest room where Maya was staying. Ethan immediately ran out. But moments later, he stormed back in like a madman, roughly dragging me from the bed to the guest room. On the guest room bed, Maya lay still, as if asleep. Sleeping pills were scattered on the floor. “Ava Thorne, you knew Maya was vulnerable right now, and you still put sleeping pills in the guest room drawer! You did this on purpose, didn’t you!” “Do you realize I could call the cops right now and report you for attempted murder!” I looked at my arm, where his grip had reopened the wound slightly, then at the pills on the floor. They were indeed my sleeping pills. 4 It was just from that period when the constant stomach pain kept me awake all night. Afraid of disturbing Ethan’s sleep, I had moved into the guest room. But the pain still wouldn’t let me sleep, so I bought a bottle of sleeping pills. And now… “Ava Thorne! What time is it to be throwing a tantrum! Hurry up, grab the car keys, and take Maya to the hospital!” I held up my bleeding arm for him to see. He just impatiently swatted it away. “Ava Thorne! This is a person’s life! Don’t you have a conscience?” Ethan roughly shoved me aside. Then he carefully lifted Maya and rushed towards the door. Ethan basically forced me all the way down to the underground parking garage. “Get in! Unlock the car!” He yelled so loud that several neighbors cursed at us. Thinking about selling the house in a few days, I didn’t want things to get too ugly. So I got in the car. The entire ride, Ethan sat in the back, holding Maya. He kept talking about their shared memories, trying to rouse her. And I was just the invisible driver. A free driver, at that! The moment we reached the hospital, Ethan rushed Maya into the emergency room. He didn’t even glance at the bandage on my arm, now soaked bright red with blood. “It’s you again! Your arm…” Thankfully, I ran into that same kind young nurse. “Get off your feet! Didn’t the doctor tell you not to strain that arm?” She asked a hospital valet to park my car and quickly pulled me inside. “Dr. Evans, quick, take a look at her! I think her wound reopened.” She anxiously found a doctor for me. “You need to be careful with this wound! If this keeps up, forget about avoiding a scar, you’ll probably get an infection!” Dr. Evans carefully re-bandaged my arm. “Ava Thorne! What are you doing here!” Ethan barged in, roughly pushing the young nurse aside. “I just heard him call your name, I thought he was your friend…” the nurse explained timidly, afraid she’d caused trouble for me. I shook my head. “Maya is still in the ER getting her stomach pumped, and you’re here fooling around with this guy!” I was truly amazed by Ethan’s audacity. “Thank you. Uh, could I talk to him alone for a minute?” I watched Dr. Evans lead the nurse out, then turned to face Ethan. “Ava Thorne, why did you make them leave? Feeling guilty?” “Let me tell you, I am definitely calling the police! You better go wait outside the ER right now, and when Maya wakes up, you apologize and beg her forgiveness. Otherwise, you really will end up at the police station!” 5 I looked at him, amused, and pointed to the trash can containing my freshly removed bloody bandage. “Ethan! Do you see that? That’s the bandage I just changed.” “If you insist I tried to poison Maya, then call the police! I’ll wait right here!” Ethan froze, about to argue. Just then, a voice came from the direction of the ER. “Maya Vance’s family? Where is Maya Vance’s family?” As usual, Ethan dashed off immediately. But this time, as if afraid I’d run away, he grabbed me and took me with him. He actually remembered to grab my uninjured arm. “You wait here until Maya wakes up. After all, if it weren’t for you, Maya wouldn’t be lying here.” He locked me in the hospital room, forcing me to watch over Maya. Until Maya finally woke up. “Ethan, what are you doing? My… my situation has nothing to do with Ava.” “It’s just my bad luck, being jilted at my own wedding. I couldn’t bear to live anymore, and then I just happened to see those sleeping pills in the nightstand drawer…” “I thought… it must be a sign from heaven… It has nothing to do with Ava, she just happened to leave a bottle of sleeping pills there.” Tears streamed down Maya’s face as she spoke. Those tears were like fuel for Ethan’s anger. He spun around, grabbed my wrist, demanding I apologize to Maya. “Ava Thorne! Did you see that? Maya is lying here in a hospital bed, and she’s still trying to cover for you!” “Ava Thorne, it’s just one apology, is it really that hard for you?” “And even if tonight’s suicide attempt had nothing to do with you, it was still your tantrum at her wedding that caused her groom to leave her! So either way, isn’t it still your fault?” I looked at him, forcing a laugh as my stomach started cramping violently again. “Since she’s awake, can I go now? As for the apology you mentioned, sorry, I did nothing wrong, so I won’t apologize. If you think that’s unfair to her, then call the police and have me arrested.” Clutching my stomach, I quickly walked out of the room. But the pain was too intense. I collapsed just as I reached the corner of the hallway. When I woke up again, I was in a room in the oncology department. “You’re awake?” It was Dr. Evans, the one who had bandaged my arm earlier. The young nurse was behind him. “Ma’am, this is the third time we’ve met, and each time you look so pitiful…” A sharp look from Dr. Evans silenced the nurse. “Thank you, you saved me again.” “It’s okay, ma’am. Oh, here’s your phone.” Dr. Evans repeatedly warned me not to get too emotional. If the cancer cells spread before the surgery, the success rate would drop significantly. I nodded, understanding. Bored, I scrolled through videos on my phone. Suddenly, a recommendation for a local live stream popped up. I tapped on it instinctively. “Thank you all for your concern, babies. I’m okay. I’m feeling much better now. Thankfully, I have him here with me.” It was Maya. And the “him” she was referring to was Ethan. 6 Maya was sitting up in bed, live streaming. Ethan was beside her, handing her water, peeling an apple for her. After a short while, Ethan disappeared from the camera’s view. The comment section flooded with people asking where he went. Maya, while saying they were “just friends,” picked up her phone and got out of bed. The next second, Ethan appeared in the frame. He was crouched over a small basin, washing Maya’s underwear. “Oh! Ethan, I told you I could do this myself!” “The water’s cold here, don’t touch it.” The comment section erupted with blessings and praise. 【OMG, marry a guy like that!】 【Wow, why can’t I ever meet a good man like him!】 I looked at the comments and exited the live stream. Cold water. I’d heard that excuse before. Only the original words were, “This water is so cold, how could I touch it?” Ethan and I dated for three years, married for four. I hadn’t ignored little things like this. It’s just that Ethan always seemed uninterested. I just figured he wasn’t the romantic type. When we were dating, he pursued me. But every time we ate out, I paid the bill. When we traveled and needed a hotel, I paid. Even his daily expenses were often covered by me helping him out occasionally. Because his family was struggling financially, and he had to support his parents. I always thought we would definitely get married, so there was no need to split hairs over money. Even the roses he gave me the day he proposed were ones he’d picked out of a trash can. But I never called him out on it. After we got married, he took my support for granted even more. Never mind simple chores like putting clothes in the washing machine – he found even that too troublesome. Even taking out the trash on his way downstairs to work, something perfectly convenient, he’d say wasn’t his job. So usually, the cooking and cleaning at home fell entirely on me. I laughed bitterly at myself. What a ridiculous fool I used to be. Completely manipulated by a guy who married up. I took a deep breath and decisively blocked Ethan’s contact information. Then I put my phone aside and, for once, slept soundly. 7 “Honey, sweetie, your phone’s ringing.” The older lady in the next bed woke me up. Seeing an unknown number on my phone, I answered. “Ahem… It’s Ethan.” “Where have you been the past few days? Why haven’t you even come home?” “We’re out of cooking oil at home. How are we supposed to cook if you’re not back?” “Uh… I was just going out to buy oil anyway. Where are you? I can swing by and pick you up.” I listened to Ethan’s self-absorbed rambling and ridiculous excuse, shaking my head. But remembering I had the meeting with the buyer in a couple of days, and I needed him to move out before that… I agreed anyway. “I’ll send you my location in a bit.” After hanging up, I sent him the hospital’s location. He arrived shortly after. But his first words were: “I know you’re angry, Ava, but you don’t need to waste hospital resources just to make me worry!” Lying in the hospital bed, I looked at him, amused. He knew nothing. His first reaction was to assume I was just throwing a tantrum. “Alright, get up, get dressed, and go handle the discharge paperwork. I’ll come pick you up later.” Ethan turned and walked out. When I finished the discharge process, I ran into Ethan. He was holding a bouquet of red roses. “Turns out Maya is being discharged today too. She doesn’t have anywhere to stay right now, so she’s coming back with us to stay for a little while longer.” I nodded. This time was about laying everything bare anyway. Whatever happened after wouldn’t concern me. Back home, he kept harping on about my hospital stay. “Ava, stop throwing these tantrums. Maya was really sick when she was hospitalized, you saw it that day. There’s nothing wrong with you, staying in the hospital not only wastes medical resources, but it’s also kind of morbid, don’t you think?” I constantly reminded myself of the doctor’s warning: don’t get too emotional. But Ethan was just too disgusting. I threw the diagnostic report right at him. “I am sick! Read it carefully!” Ethan stared blankly at the report in his hands. After seeing the diagnosis, Ethan quieted down considerably for a few days. Maya, however, found out I was sick. She actually started cooking soup. “Ava, this is beef soup I simmered for hours. Try some.” I looked at her, amused. “You should save this soup to suck up to Ethan.” “Ava, you… you still mind me living here, don’t you? I can leave. But I really made this soup for you with good intentions.” Ethan heard the commotion and rushed out. “Ava, Maya is just trying to be nice, what’s wrong with you?” “I saw the soup too. Maya got up early this morning to make it, spent hours on it. You… you can’t keep being so prejudiced against Maya!” I took the bowl of soup and poured it directly into the kitchen sink right in front of them. “Ava…” “Ava Thorne! What is wrong with you!” “Stomach cancer patients can’t eat tough, greasy things like beef! Things like this only irritate the stomach and offer no benefits to someone with stomach cancer!” I retorted sharply, intending to turn and go back to my room. “Forget it, Maya. Don’t stoop to her level. She’s just being difficult because she’s sick.” “If she doesn’t want to drink it, fine. I’ll drink the soup.” Ethan’s voice wasn’t loud, but I heard him clearly. Back in my room, I confirmed the meeting with the realtor and a buyer for two days later. Then, just as I was about to message Ethan to schedule a time to talk… A message from Ethan popped up first. 【Let’s talk tomorrow night after I get off work.】 【Okay.】 Looking at the divorce papers I had already printed out, I felt a rare sense of relief. 8 The next day, Ethan left for work early. Only Maya and I remained at home. Maya, still smarting from yesterday’s rejection, was stubbornly making soup again. This time it was lamb soup. Gamey and pungent. Just the smell made my stomach churn. “Oh, Ava, you’re up?” “I told you yesterday, I can’t drink this kind of soup.” “I never said I made this soup for you. But if you want some, I don’t mind sharing a bowl. After all, more than anyone, I hope you kick the bucket soon.” Maya suddenly dropped the pretense, no more fake sweetness or manipulative words. It actually surprised me. “What? Done with the act?” “Acting? Of course, I have to act! But you only perform for people who matter. Someone like you, who won’t live long anyway, isn’t worth my time.” I didn’t want to get tangled up with her any further and turned to go back to my room. “What’s wrong, Ava Thorne? Does it sting realizing the man you defied everyone to marry isn’t all that great?” “Suddenly wish you’d listened to your parents back then, so you wouldn’t have ended up like this?” “Too bad, your parents are six feet under now. They can’t hear your regrets.” “But hey, you could beg me. Maybe after you die, I’ll do you a favor and put your ashes next to theirs.” It was true I had fought with my family about marrying Ethan back then. But besides Ethan, hardly anyone knew about it. Rage surged through me. I spun around and slapped Maya across the face. “Don’t you dare talk about my parents!” Maya crumpled to the floor, deliberately pulling the bowl of soup off the table as she fell. The hot soup splashed onto the floor, splattering upwards. Maya’s wrist got scalded slightly. But most of the soup splashed onto my leg. “Maya!” Ethan was back. Ethan rushed over and scooped Maya up. He carried her to the kitchen sink, running cold water over her scalded wrist. “Ethan, it’s not Ava’s fault! It was my fault, I said the wrong thing. That’s why Ava accidentally hit me.” Ethan shot me a look filled with blame. “Ava Thorne, when are you going to stop this drama! You’re constantly overthinking things and making trouble, no wonder you got sick!” My emotions were haywire. My stomach cramped fiercely. The burn on my leg started to throb with pain. “Ava Thorne, you better pray Maya doesn’t get a scar here, or you deserve to die! Maya’s a streamer, a scar like that is for life!” Ethan said, about to take Maya to the hospital. I curled up on the floor, clutching my stomach in agony, my voice trembling. “Ethan, call… call 911 for me…” Ethan saw me, his steps faltering for a moment. But Maya just whimpered “it hurts” in his arms, and he continued towards the door. “Ava Thorne! Stop acting! Your condition has been stable lately, you just need to wait for the surgery!” “And seriously, Ava, your acting is terrible! Stop it! I’m taking Maya to the hospital first.” Without a shred of hesitation, Ethan turned and carried Maya out the door. He was in such a hurry he didn’t even close the door behind him. Clutching my violently aching stomach, tears dried on my cheeks. “Help… someone… help me…”

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My bakery had just opened, and my biological parents showed up at the door. The girl I was switched with at birth, now a renowned violinist, refused to acknowledge her birth mother. Fine by me. I didn’t want to go back to my biological parents either. 01 My bakery, “Annie’s Oven,” was finally opening, and I’d managed to get A-list celebrity Ethan Cole for the ribbon-cutting. A superstar appearance plus grand opening specials – those two things were enough to draw a massive crowd of customers and reporters, packing the street outside. Suddenly, a shriek pierced through the noise: “Annie! Mom and Dad are here for you!” A well-dressed woman, tears streaming down her face, pushed her way through the crowd. Her eyes scanned my face for maybe two seconds before she latched onto my employee, Ashley, and started sobbing uncontrollably. Everyone was stunned by the sudden interruption. The photographers didn’t know where to point their cameras. The woman wailed as if no one else was there, “Honey, Mom looked for you for so long, I finally found you!” Ashley looked completely bewildered. She was fresh out of high school, hadn’t put much thought into her appearance, and looked pretty plain next to this woman. The woman’s grip seemed incredibly strong. Ashley kept yelling, “I’m not her!” but couldn’t break free. I sighed and stepped forward to help pull the woman off her. “Ma’am, maybe there’s some misunderstanding?” This was my grand opening day, and I absolutely couldn’t let anyone cause trouble. But with so many people watching, I tried my best to keep my voice gentle, even though inside I was already furious. The woman shot me a quick glance, annoyed. “Don’t you interfere with our mother-daughter reunion…” “No, no, Ma’am, you’ve got the wrong person.” Two men pushed through the crowd, one tall and thin, the other short and stout. It was the shorter man who spoke. He was panting, pointing right at me. “This is your daughter, the one who was taken from you years ago.” Me: “…” The woman’s expression twisted from shock into something truly distorted. Kidnapped, reunited, A-list celebrity… Those words together were pure dynamite for news headlines. The reporters went even wilder than before. Ethan quickly stepped in front of me, shielding me from the surging crowd. He firmly shut down the reporters: “Today’s event is over. We’ll release an official statement regarding everything that happened here later.” With that, he guided me back inside the bakery. Behind us, the relentless reporters kept shouting questions. 02 After finally getting rid of the reporters and gawkers, my biological parents, the Davises, and I could finally sit down and talk. I called my adoptive mother, Martha, out from the back kitchen. Being a woman from a small town, she felt awkward and maybe a little guilty about the whole situation, and it took some coaxing to get her to come out. The tall, thin man and the woman were my biological parents. The short, stout man was Mr. Henderson, the coordinator from the family reunion website. Mrs. Davis looked incredibly embarrassed. Before I even walked into the room, she kept asking Mr. Henderson to double-check. “Mr. Henderson, are you absolutely sure you didn’t make a mistake? Didn’t you say my daughter was taken to some poor, backwoods place? How could she possibly own a business like this?” The coordinator assured her, “You can rest easy. Annie Davis has been registered on the reunion site for years. We’ve verified all the information. There’s no mistake.” Mrs. Davis still seemed unconvinced. How could the daughter she imagined living in poverty suddenly turn out to be the owner of a trendy bakery? Ethan Cole, Martha, and I sat together. Mrs. Davis started in with a sarcastic tone, “Well, isn’t this interesting. A big movie star getting involved in messy family drama, just like regular folks. How rare.” Ethan wasn’t known for his patience, and without reporters around, he didn’t hold back. “Ma’am, you were just hugging the wrong girl a few minutes ago. That’s what’s rare.” Mrs. Davis looked ready to explode, but Mr. Davis stopped her. “Honey, let’s not forget why we’re here. We came to find our daughter, not to start fights.” Mrs. Davis visibly reined in her temper, gave Ethan a scrutinizing look, and then turned her gaze to me with a new, calculating glint in her eyes. I had a pretty good idea what she was thinking – that I was probably Ethan’s secret girlfriend, the sugar baby he’d set up in a fancy bakery in a prime location. My adoptive mom, Martha, huddled in a corner of the sofa, staying quiet, but her eyes kept darting towards a girl standing silently near the wall. Following her gaze, I realized there was someone else in the room. The girl was dressed all in black – black pants, black shirt. A baseball cap was pulled down low, and she wore a mask, making it impossible to see her face clearly. Mrs. Davis suddenly snapped at her, “Shouldn’t you be home practicing your violin? What are you doing sneaking over here?” The girl hesitantly took off her hat and mask, revealing a delicate, timid face. She bore a slight resemblance to Martha. Her voice was soft. “I’m sorry, Mom. I was just… passing by.” 03 Mrs. Davis was aggressive and condescending, demanding I move back home with them in three days. My response was firm. “That’s impossible.” She seemed genuinely surprised that I’d push back. She paused for a second, then her eyebrows shot up, and her tone became sharp and insistent. I shot up from my seat, suddenly past caring about appearances. “You didn’t give a damn about me for over twenty years, and now you just show up, acting all high and mighty, expecting me to call you Mom?” “Mr. Henderson just said my information has been on that reunion website for years. I’ve lived in this city for years. If you really cared about finding me, we would have found each other long before today! Why now?” “Today is my bakery’s grand opening! Have you asked even one single question about it? About how I got here? How I learned to bake, what struggles I faced? Did you care about any of that?” “You did nothing! You just crashed my opening day, ruined my business, all to satisfy your own self-important need to feel like a mother finding her long-lost daughter!” “How is what you did any different from that mob outside just looking for a spectacle?” All the reporters’ questions today were about Ethan. Nobody cared about my bakery. The occasional question about me was just probing my relationship with him. I couldn’t really blame them. Even my own biological mother seemed more interested in that. I felt my eyes start to burn, like something was about to spill over. Ethan gently squeezed my hand from behind me. Mrs. Davis clenched her fists, her lips pressed tight. Her throat moved, like she wanted to say something. Mr. Davis stepped in to smooth things over. “Annie’s obviously got a lot on her plate, running a business, especially on opening day. It must be hectic. We should head home for now. We can come back another day when Annie has more time.” Mr. Davis guided Mrs. Davis towards the door, the girl following closely behind them. Martha suddenly darted forward, grabbing the girl’s hand, her voice trembling noticeably. “You’re May, aren’t you? You’re May!” The girl looked startled. Mrs. Davis slapped Martha’s hand away sharply. “Get away from her, you hick! I worked hard to raise my daughter into a renowned violinist. I won’t have you showing up now to reap the benefits.” Martha flinched back, silent. I stepped between them, retorting, “Well, isn’t that a shame? This renowned violinist still came from my mom’s womb.” Mrs. Davis looked like she could spit fire. She threw one last cutting remark over her shoulder as she left. “You could have been a wealthy young lady, and instead, you choose to call some woman from the sticks ‘Mom’!” Later that evening, back at my apartment, Ethan was still there. He leaned in conspiratorially, watching my face, then hesitantly told me about the girl. Apparently, after the Davises left, she had circled back alone, found Ethan, claimed she was a huge fan, and gave him her business card. I knew exactly what was going on. I playfully lifted the edge of Ethan’s shirt, revealing a glimpse of his well-defined abs. “Well, well, look at my big celebrity friend. So popular now, even famous violinists are your fans.” He’d improved. Usually, he’d blush up to his hairline, but now it was just the tips of his ears turning red. His hands hung obediently at his sides; he didn’t stop me. I stopped teasing him and took the card. The name on it was Melanie Davis. Ethan said, almost pleadingly, “I’ll throw it away right now.” I glanced towards the kitchen where Martha was busy. “No need,” I smiled. “Call her. Ask her out to dinner.” Just as I said it, Ethan’s phone rang. It was his agent. The second he answered, a loud yell came through the phone: “Were you seeing that small-town girl again?!” Ethan flushed, looking embarrassed, and quickly moved to another room to take the call. 04 Initially, the four of us started dinner together: me, Ethan, Martha, and Melanie. Melanie seemed to have snuck out without her parents knowing and looked a bit uncomfortable. When the moment felt right, I grabbed Ethan and pulled him out of the private dining room. As soon as we were outside, Ethan asked excitedly, “Okay, where are we going for dinner?” I pointed to the room right next door. “Not so fast. We’re just next door for now.” I pressed my ear against the wall, trying to listen in. Ethan looked a little grumpy about being sidelined. I mumbled a few reassuring words to him, then went back to eavesdropping. Ethan looked like he was about to lose his temper, but the argument in the next room erupted before he could. I burst through our door just in time to see Melanie pulling her hand away from Martha’s grasp. “I’m sorry,” Melanie said firmly. “I have my own life now. We don’t have any connection anymore.” Martha stood frozen. I rushed out after Melanie. Meanwhile, someone had recognized Ethan, and he was instantly surrounded, stuck in place. “Melanie Davis, stop right there!” I finally caught up to her and called out. “Is there something you need?” Melanie turned slowly, composed and calm, a stark contrast to the timid girl I’d seen before. I stepped closer. “Having a new life is your business, but Martha is your biological mother. Don’t you care about her feelings at all?” “Oh?” She tilted her head, a slight smile playing on her lips. “And have you considered your biological mother’s feelings?” I was momentarily speechless, stammering that the situations were different. Melanie tilted her head, thinking. After a long pause, she said, “Hmm, you’re right. They are different.” I didn’t want to argue with her. I reminded her that the anniversary of her biological father’s passing was in a week. As his daughter, she really should go home and be with Martha on that day. She didn’t agree directly. Instead, she smiled faintly. “My parents’ wedding anniversary is in three days. You should come for dinner too.” Again, I was speechless. I knew she was using Martha to pressure me. A girl raised in a wealthy family clearly knew how to play games. Pathetically, I felt I had no choice but to agree. As I was leaving, I noticed a huge poster of Melanie advertising her concert tour hanging in the plaza. Right next to it was an ad featuring Ethan. Seeing their posters side-by-side like that… it looked pretty good. Suddenly, something sharp pricked at my heart. 05 Thanks to Ethan, a lot of fans and influencers started hanging around my bakery, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. I didn’t mind. Money is money, right? Taking it from fans isn’t shameful. One day, an influencer filming a video suddenly shrieked at the top of his lungs, “Oh my god! There’s a cockroach in this bun! Gross!” “Eww!” Customers immediately crowded around. I had to push my way through from the outside just to see what was happening. By the time I saw the actual cockroach, the influencer had already finished showing it off to his camera. He held up his “trophy” triumphantly, smirking at me. The other customers started freaking out, yelling and complaining. Some even looked like they wanted to trash the place. It was chaos. I grabbed a glass jar from the counter and smashed it on the floor. “Everybody quiet down!” I yelled. People finally stopped shouting. I climbed onto a table, looking down at everyone. “As the owner, I promise I will get to the bottom of this. Today, all the buns are on the house!” “And,” I turned to the few fans still recording with their phones, “This bakery means everything to us. Please don’t spread rumors before we know the facts.” Seeing me address them, the fans quietly put their phones away. Hearing about free food, the other customers started calming down, trying to smooth things over. The influencer wasn’t happy. He pointed at me, shouting, “She’s just trying to shut this down! Don’t listen to her! Keep making noise!” “Who wants to make noise?” A strong, authoritative voice came from the doorway. The police had arrived. I’d told Ashley to call them as soon as the influencer started his act. Thankfully, they got here quickly. Faced with the police, the influencer lost his bravado and meekly went aside to give his statement. That evening, I got a call from an unknown number. “Hello?” “Hello, is this Annie? It’s Mom.” A strange chill ran down my spine. “What is it?” “I heard… something happened at your shop. Do you need Mom to help you out?” “Help me?” “Yes, Mom knows a lot of people in the media. I can make sure they don’t report this incident. It won’t affect you at all.” “You can really help me?” I asked, skeptical. “Of course! And that influencer today, he’s just trash. Did he try to blackmail you? Don’t worry, Mom can handle everything.” I let out a dry laugh. “How did you know he tried to blackmail me? Is he a friend of yours?” After the police left, the influencer had tried to demand hush money from me, but he did it when no one else was around. I hadn’t told a soul. “Ah… um…” Mrs. Davis stammered on the other end, unable to form a coherent sentence. I scoffed, calling her bluff directly. “Let me guess. You hired that influencer today, didn’t you? Arranged for him to cause trouble, so you could swoop in and ‘fix’ it, making me feel like I owe you?” Mrs. Davis’s voice became urgent. “Annie, Mom really just wants to make things right with you. I also looked into your relationship with Ethan Cole. I know you’re just childhood friends from the same town, nothing more.” My voice turned cold. “If you claim to be my mother, why didn’t you just ask me? Why did you have someone investigate me? What if I was Ethan’s sugar baby? Would you have decided not to acknowledge me then?” Mrs. Davis sounded frantic now, with a faint, almost undetectable sob in her voice. “I’m just a normal person! I just want my daughter back! What’s wrong with that?” “Right, nothing’s wrong with that. But you always try to do it by making me bow down first, making me compromise. Why can’t you just respect me?” “I’m a normal person too! I have dignity! This bakery is something I built with my own blood, sweat, and tears! Did your investigation tell you that?” Silence on the other end. I laughed bitterly. “Apparently not. Mrs. Davis only cares about my connection to a superstar, not about me!” “You went through all this trouble, staged this whole drama, just so you could play the savior and have me grovel at your feet for mercy, is that it?” “Well, I’m sorry, Mrs. Davis, but I’m afraid that’s not going to happen. I got where I am today by myself, not by relying on some man. I don’t need your help. I can handle this on my own.” I hung up the phone, cutting off a faint, half-formed “I’m sorry” that I couldn’t quite make out. Raising a hand to my face, I was startled to find tears streaming down my cheeks. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow move in the corner of the room. “Come on out,” I said wearily. “You’ve heard enough.” Ethan emerged, looking sheepish. He started to speak, but was interrupted by his phone ringing sharply. “Hey, man, yeah, I know,” Ethan said into the phone, his voice suddenly deferential. “Tomorrow’s press conference, I’ll nail it! Don’t worry, I’ve memorized all the answers to those questions. It’s all good.” Ethan was practically bowing to the phone, but the person on the other end didn’t seem ready to let him off the hook. “And you know how to handle questions about that girl, right?” The voice from the phone was loud, filling the small apartment. Ethan’s face stiffened. He answered quietly, “Yeah.” A long silence followed. Ethan opened his mouth to say something to me, but I cut him off. “It’s late. Don’t you have that press conference tomorrow? You should go.” Without another word, I pushed him out the door. He kept knocking, wanting me to let him back in, but I wouldn’t.

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My best friend and her precious boyfriend had a fight, and she bolted over to my place in the middle of the night. My instant reaction was to push her right back to him: “He’s such a great guy, really. He’d rather punch a wall than lay a hand on you. That shows restraint, you know? Reliable.” After all, in my past life, her precious boyfriend hacked me to death, and she turned around and begged my parents to forgive the murderer. They’re such a perfect match. How could they possibly break up? 1. “But… but he smashed the computer and the TV! I just bought them!” Chloe’s eyes were swollen like peaches from crying, endlessly complaining about her boyfriend, Kevin. I glanced at the clock on the wall. Yep, 3:30 AM. Fighting off sleep, I patiently tried to counsel her: “See? That just proves he’s not materialistic. He doesn’t care about possessions. Solid guy, totally reliable.” Chloe’s eyes widened. She stared at me, utterly bewildered, clearly shocked that I was suddenly defending Kevin. “…Didn’t you used to hate him? Every time we fought, you got angrier than I did.” I gently patted my bestie’s head. “I’ve thought it through. Whatever makes you happy is what’s best. You should go home now. Look how much he loves you—your phone’s been blowing up nonstop since you got here.” Of course, I wasn’t going to get angry for her anymore. After all, last time, when they were splitting up, I took Chloe on a trip to clear her head. Kevin, in a rage, tracked us down from miles away. The guy screamed that I was the one poisoning their relationship and then stabbed me repeatedly right there on the street until I was dead. And what did Chloe do? She went to my parents, crying, talking about the bond they shared as husband and wife, offering to be their daughter from now on, if only they would forgive the man who killed me and spare him the death penalty. Seriously? Who could stomach that? It took days after I was reborn for the sheer rage to subside. I was so stressed out I broke out in these huge, painful zits all over my face from the constant anger simmering inside me. This time around, they weren’t even married yet. I wasn’t about to make the same mistake, getting all worked up and calling him scum every time they argued. Because the moment they made up, Chloe would repeat every single word I said right back to her precious Kevin. Do. Not. Get. Involved. In. Other. People’s. Karma. I had to repeat that to myself thirty times before bed every night. 2. The 99+ missed calls from Kevin? In Chloe’s eyes, that was just proof of his love. After my pep talk, her tears turned into a smile, and she practically skipped back home. On this exact day in my past life, Chloe had done the same thing—banging on my door around 2 AM, nearly giving me a heart attack. She’d wanted Kevin to go walk the dog with her, but he was deep into his nightly gaming session right after dinner and refused. Chloe complained a bit too much, and the guy slammed his keyboard down, smashed the monitor, found a nice, clean patch of drywall, and started banging his head against it. Hard. It scared Chloe, and frankly, it scared me too. Someone that emotionally unstable? If they got married, who knew what else he was capable of? But that conversation, where I tried to talk sense into her, was what made Kevin start hating me. The next day, they were lovey-dovey again, and I dragged myself to work with dark circles under my eyes. Then, I got the threatening text from Kevin: “You bitch, if I hear you’re trying to break Chloe and me up again, you’ll regret it.” This time, however, while I still went to work exhausted with dark circles, I received a different kind of message from him: “I feel better knowing Chloe has a friend like you looking out for her. Next time she throws a tantrum and runs to you, just let me know right away, okay?” I glanced at it and deleted the message. My career was really taking off right now. If I landed this project successfully, I’d get transferred to the company headquarters. I didn’t have time for this toxic couple’s drama. HQ was in my hometown. After remembering how I was brutally murdered by that psycho, leaving my parents devastated and crying constantly, I had decided. I was moving back home to be with them, to really be there for them. 3. The next six months passed relatively smoothly, without any major disasters. During this time, Chloe still called me sporadically, at all hours, always to vent. The topic was inevitably her boyfriend, his family, or some random acquaintance of theirs. Unlike before, I no longer dropped everything to listen to her relationship woes. I’d offer a few vague platitudes, claim I was busy, and hang up. My project at work wrapped up successfully. But the night of the celebration dinner with my colleagues, I got home to find a woman holding two cats waiting for me at my door. She was sitting on the steps, surrounded by bags. I frowned slightly. “Mrs. Davis? What are you doing here?” This was Susan Davis, Chloe’s mother. Chloe and I had known each other since middle school, and our families were acquainted back then, so I knew her parents. Her mom was known for being loud, eccentric, and difficult to deal with. I remembered back in high school, Chloe secretly went on a date with some guy from outside our school. Her mom grabbed me and demanded I take her to all the places Chloe might hang out to find her. Back then, I was such a pushover. Worried about Chloe but too intimidated to refuse her aggressive mother, I trudged around with her for half the night in the freezing cold – it must have been below twenty degrees Fahrenheit. I ended up sick with a fever for days and almost missed my final exams. As soon as Susan saw me, her face lit up. She slapped the dust off her pants and stood up. “Sarah, honey! You’re finally home! I came to talk to you about something important.” What was this about? This hadn’t happened before. I kept my frown subtle and nodded politely. “What is it?” She didn’t answer directly, just looked at me, then glanced at my apartment door. “It’s getting chilly out here in the hallway tonight. Can we talk inside?” I looked at the two cats cradled in her arms. I knew her family always liked pets, but I honestly didn’t expect her to travel all this way from out of town with two cats in tow. The cats stared at me with wide, round eyes. They were cute cats, but unfortunately, I have allergies. Bad ones. Cat fur sets off my allergic rhinitis like crazy. Still, it was cold out, and I couldn’t bear leaving the cats in the hallway. After a moment of internal debate, mostly for the cats’ sake, I nodded and unlocked my door. 4. Susan plopped herself right onto my sofa and immediately started complaining, her face etched with worry. “Sarah, dear, I came here hoping you could help me talk some sense into Chloe. Convince her not to marry Kevin.” Hearing the name of that monster, the one who still gave me cold sweats, made my expression instantly harden. The agony of being stabbed to death on the street in my past life seemed to crawl back up my nerves. Was it my imagination, or did my muscles actually start to twitch and ache? I poured Susan a glass of water. “But from Chloe’s social media, it looks like they’re already setting a date. They seem really happy together. Maybe we shouldn’t interfere?” Susan immediately got agitated. Her eyes flew wide open, and her voice shot up several decibels. “How can you say that? That boy’s family has no money! His parents don’t even have retirement savings, and he’s got a deadbeat brother! What kind of life is Chloe going to have with him?” She had a point. Chloe’s family had never really approved of Kevin. It seemed my encouragement had finally pushed Chloe to decide on marriage. I tried again, calmly. “Chloe says Kevin treats her really well. She’s an adult now, and this is her choice. I don’t think it’s my place to interfere in her life.” That did it. Susan shot up from the sofa, pointing a finger right at me. “Aren’t you supposed to be her best friend? You’re just going to stand by and watch her walk into a disaster? Sarah, how could you become so selfish? If Chloe ends up miserable in this marriage, won’t you feel guilty?” She grew more agitated as she spoke, seemingly picturing her daughter’s ruined life, all supposedly my fault. “If her marriage fails later, if she gets divorced, it’ll be your responsibility, you know that! I was wondering why she was suddenly so determined to marry him! Was it you egging her on?” Guilty? My responsibility? Was this another attempt at emotional blackmail? I almost wanted to applaud her audacity. It was just like that time in high school, dragging me along to find Chloe while muttering that if we didn’t find her, I, as her best friend, would regret it for the rest of my life. I stood up just as abruptly, looking down at her coldly. She was much shorter than me, and her aggressive posture seemed to deflate slightly under my gaze. I let out a cold laugh, staring directly into her eyes. “Mrs. Davis, I’m Chloe’s friend, not her mother. Now, if she wanted to get on her knees, call me Mom, and ask for my parental advice, then sure, I’d jump right in and try to talk her out of it. But otherwise…” “You—You disrespectful little brat!” The old woman seemed genuinely furious now. She raised her hand and swung, slapping me hard across the face. My ear rang, and I instinctively cupped my stinging cheek. Damn. She hit hard. Growing up, my own parents had never laid a hand on me, let alone slapped me. Who the hell did she think she was? 5. I picked up the mug of still-warm tea from the table, lifted it high in front of Susan, and then, as she watched, I splashed the entire contents onto her face. The temperature wasn’t hot enough to burn her, but it was definitely enough to be unpleasant. Her makeup instantly streaked. Black mascara ran down her cheeks in watery lines, and her foundation became a patchy mess of dark and light splotches. I couldn’t help but let out a snicker. “Aaaah!” Susan shrieked dramatically, like a pig being slaughtered. “I’m calling the police! This is assault!” Her tightly permed short hair now looked like a soggy bird’s nest, and even her down jacket was soaked. Without a word, I opened the door and pushed her out. “Go ahead. Call them. Let’s see which is worse: you slapping me, or me splashing you with some lukewarm tea.” It was already midnight. Most of the neighbors were asleep, and I really didn’t want to argue with her anymore. But Susan struggled fiercely. Seeing she couldn’t overpower me, she grabbed one of the cats beside her and threw it directly at me. Startled and caught off guard, the cat instinctively lashed out, sinking its claws deep into my arm twice. Along with the sound of fabric tearing, blood started to drip from the wounds. “…I didn’t do that! The cat did it! It wasn’t my fault; you must have provoked the kitty yourself.” Susan didn’t seem flustered at all. She picked up the cat, acting completely uninvolved. I looked at my torn sleeve, then at the bleeding scratches. I calmly closed my apartment’s security door, pulled out my phone, and dialed 911. I looked back at her through the peephole, a small smile playing on my lips. “Well, isn’t this great? You got your wish. Even if you wanted to leave now, you can’t.” 6. I had a security camera installed in my entryway. Everything that just happened was clearly recorded. After filing the police report and getting a medical assessment for my injuries, Susan was required to compensate me for all damages and medical expenses. I presented her with the bills for the rabies shots, the emergency room visit to treat the wounds, and the receipt for the ruined clothing. “The total comes to eighteen hundred dollars. You can transfer it to me.” She looked at me in disbelief, snatched the receipts, her eyes wide. “Are you dreaming? What kind of crappy clothes cost eighteen hundred dollars? You’re just trying to shake me down!” I scoffed. “My purchase records and receipts are all perfectly clear. We just left the police station not too long ago. Want to go back? Or perhaps, I could just ask your daughter for the money?” She ground her teeth, her face pale with fury. “Hah, you’ve got nerve. Just you wait. I’m going to tell Chloe your true colors, let her see what kind of little monster her so-called best friend really is!” I smiled sweetly. “Tsk, Mrs. Davis, isn’t it true that you wouldn’t be here, bags and all, if she hadn’t blocked you? I’m just a supportive friend who believes in her freedom to choose her own partner. What did I do wrong? It was her mother who lost her temper and attacked me, remember?” I knew Chloe and her mom’s relationship was a ticking time bomb; they blocked each other every other week. Usually, when that happened, one would ask me to relay messages to the other. It drove me nuts. Sure enough, hitting that sore spot made Susan flush with anger. She raised her hand again as if to strike me. “You—!” I quickly stepped back, pointedly holding up my phone displaying my Venmo QR code. “Scan this. Unless you want to risk having a heart attack from all this stress. That would end up costing you a lot more.” 7. Susan might have been loud and aggressive, but she wasn’t completely reckless when it came to the law. She was afraid I’d actually drag her back to the police station. Although she was furious, she transferred the money. My transfer orders hadn’t come through yet, so I just took a week off work. Back home, having been awake for nearly twenty-four hours straight, I collapsed onto my bed and fell into a deep sleep. In my dream, I was like a floating camera, watching myself being chased by Kevin wielding a knife. Chloe stood behind him, crying, yet clapping her hands. “Yes! Yes! He still loves me! Even if he hurts other people, he wouldn’t hurt me.” The bone-deep pain and terror from that memory seemed to seep out of the dream and into my body. I jolted awake instantly. I gasped for air, trying to steady my racing heart, when I suddenly heard a noise coming from the living room. Every hair on my body stood on end. Adrenaline surged through me. Thinking quickly, I slid silently out of bed, grabbed the tennis racket hanging on the wall, and crept nervously towards the door, listening intently. Knock, knock-knock. My bedroom door was tapped gently. Then, a familiar voice called out. “Hey, cuz, you still sleeping? I brought breakfast. Get up and eat something?” I let out the breath I’d been holding tightly and opened the door. “Megan? What are you doing here? You didn’t even call! You scared me; I thought someone broke in.” Standing before me was my cousin, Megan, almost half a head taller than me, who was attending college in the city. She gave me a weary smile. “You’ve been asleep for almost twenty hours! Your neighbor messaged Aunt Carol yesterday, said the police came to your place late last night. Aunt Carol and Uncle Joe freaked out. They tried calling you, but you didn’t answer, so they asked me to come check on you.” I looked at my phone. It was dead. I must have been so exhausted I just crashed without even plugging it in, causing my parents to worry. 8. I scratched my head sheepishly. “You probably still have classes, right? Sorry to make you come all this way and worry everyone.” “No big deal, I’m a senior, barely any classes left. Mostly focusing on finding an internship now.” She smiled, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me towards the dining table. My eyes welled up looking at the steaming bagels and hot coffee. My stomach growled instantly. I sat down and started eating like I was starving. My cousin popped a piece of bagel into her mouth, then suddenly remembered something and swallowed quickly. “Oh yeah, that friend you used to hang out with, Chloe? Did you guys have a fight? Aunt Carol called her first, thinking maybe you two went out together. But Chloe was apparently super rude and snapped at her.” I couldn’t help but frown. I hadn’t told my parents about all this drama because I didn’t want them to worry and it was complicated to explain. Looks like I needed to fill them in, before they got dragged into this mess somehow. After all, Chloe and her mom both had my parents’ contact info and knew where they lived. Just as I was about to explain things to Megan, someone started pounding heavily on my front door. “Sarah Miller! Open this door!” Well, speak of the devil. “Cuz, who is that?” Megan looked tense. I shook my head and got up to open the door. Whatever needed dealing with, it was better to get it over with sooner rather than later.

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The day before the wedding, I received a video of Greg Peterson, my fiancé, screwing his old flame. In the video, my fiancé said, “You’re the one I’ve always loved, definitely not Ava Johnson.” “Being with her is just fulfilling a family obligation. Marrying her is just bringing home a housekeeper.” Without hesitation, I ditched my childhood sweetheart fiancé and turned around to marry his sworn enemy. … “Ms. Johnson, are you satisfied with this video?” Watching the two pale bodies tangled together in the video, my stomach churned with nausea. Greg Peterson, who always looked so polite and refined in public, was secretly a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Cheating on me the day before our wedding. “If Ms. Johnson isn’t satisfied, as long as the price is right, I can get you any kind of content you want.” I gagged slightly but didn’t say anything, just quickly transferred the money. Soon after, I received numerous videos of Greg Peterson and Jessica Ryan hooking up. After saving the videos, I went home. As soon as I pushed the door open. A cake rigged above the doorway fell directly onto my head. Followed by a blast of party poppers and confetti right in my face. Shocked by the sudden turn of events, I stood frozen on the spot. The group in front of me burst into laughter. They were all Greg Peterson’s worthless buddies; they always loved playing tricks on me, watching me make a fool of myself. “This is hilarious, she actually fell for it.” “Look at her, she looks like a total clown.” My face was covered in colorful streamers and frosting. The hairstyle I’d carefully prepared for tomorrow’s wedding was ruined, and my clothes were a mess. Greg Peterson had his arm around Jessica Ryan, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. “My baby is so smart, coming up with such a fun game. Feeling better now?” Jessica Ryan giggled loudly. She was even holding a water gun, spraying water onto my face. The frosting dripped down my body with the water. Soaked to the bone, I shivered in the cold draft blowing through the hall. Seeing that I hadn’t spoken for a while, Greg nonchalantly wiped some frosting off my face with a tissue. “What, you’re angry already? Can’t take a little joke? Still think you’re some high-society princess? Did you forget the Johnson family is washed up now?” “We’re getting married tomorrow! This is the last bachelor party bash, everyone’s just having fun. Don’t be such a buzzkill. There’ll be plenty more of this in the future, Ava, you need to learn to get used to it!” Greg and I grew up together, childhood sweethearts, you could say. Over the years, maybe I wasn’t head-over-heels in love, but there were deep feelings, at least. Growing up, Greg was like a big brother, always protecting me. He carried my backpack to and from school, always shared his snacks with me. So when our families proposed the marriage alliance with the Petersons, I wasn’t strongly opposed. I knew being born into a family like mine meant I came with a certain business value. Since I had to marry someone eventually, why not someone familiar, someone I had feelings for? But I never expected Greg Peterson’s true colors to be this disgusting. I wiped the frosting off my face, gathered a handful, and without hesitation, slapped it right onto Greg’s face. The frosting smeared all over his face too. Greg froze for a second. His buddies laughed even louder. “Damn, Greg, your future wife’s got spunk! Quite the temper. You’re gonna have your hands full once you actually marry her.” “Hey, it was just a game, but Greg, you look pretty ridiculous like that. Let me get a picture.” Greg hurriedly wiped the frosting off his face, pointing at me angrily. “Ava Johnson, do you know what you’re doing? How dare you throw frosting at me!” 2 I didn’t say anything. I just calmly wiped my frosting-covered hand clean on his clothes. “You said it yourself. It’s just a game, a joke. Don’t be such a buzzkill.” My words made Greg look like he’d swallowed a fly. “So, only you get to joke around, and nobody else can joke back at you?” Greg’s face turned red with anger, his eyes bulging. Finally, trying to save face, he said after a moment. “Ava Johnson, don’t try any funny business with me!” “Let me tell you, if you really want to save Johnson Industries, you better start sucking up to me and do what I say. Otherwise, even if we get married, I won’t let Peterson Corp invest a single dime in your family’s company!” He quickly put on his arrogant airs again. “If it weren’t for the fact that we grew up together, childhood sweethearts and all, do you think this position as Mrs. Peterson would ever go to you? Plenty of women want to marry me, Greg Peterson!” Greg pulled Jessica Ryan over, wrapping his arm around her right in front of me. Jessica looked at me blankly, said a couple of things, and then started sobbing. “Ava, you’re so lucky, getting to marry the Peterson heir, and saving your family’s failing company. You should be grateful to Greg.” “Unlike me, I’ll never get to marry Greg in this lifetime…” Greg immediately felt heartbroken, comforting Jessica before turning to scold me. “Ava Johnson, did you hear that? After we’re married, you have to do the laundry, cook, clean the house every day to repay my kindness. Stop walking around with that long face, it’s annoying.” “Also, I have business dinners and socializing, I’ll inevitably meet all sorts of people. Don’t act like a crazy jealous bitch all the time.” “Letting you be Mrs. Peterson is already doing you a huge favor. If I find out you’ve been bullying Jessica, don’t blame me for being ruthless!” He went on and on. I just listened quietly. So, what he said in the video about marrying me to be a housekeeper was true. Maybe my unusual silence made him soften a bit, because he reluctantly added. “Of course, as long as you do all this, your Johnson family will get its benefits.” But this sentence quickly made Jessica uncomfortable. She leaned against Greg, sobbing continuously. “Greg, after you get married, are you going to abandon me?” “Did your promise to be with me forever mean nothing?” “Maybe I should just leave tomorrow. Spare myself the pain of watching your wedding with Ava, and spare Ava the displeasure of seeing me.” Greg immediately picked Jessica up and started comforting her, completely disregarding my presence. I couldn’t hold back anymore, my face grim, I stepped in front of Greg and questioned him. “You’re holding another woman right in front of me like this, Greg Peterson! Do you even see me as the woman you’re about to marry?!” He pushed me away impatiently. I stumbled, lost my balance, and fell onto the leftover cake on the floor, looking even more pathetic. “Look at the state of you! You think you can compete with Jessica?” “Go clean yourself up first. Agreeing to this marriage alliance with your family was already a huge gift to you. Don’t be ungrateful.” The next second, he carried Jessica back into the bedroom. The others realized the drama had gone too far and quickly made excuses to leave. Finally, I slowly got up. The embarrassment and anger were gone from my face. I smiled faintly, brushing the dirt off my hands. You’re acting so high and mighty now, Greg Peterson. Let’s see if you’ll be laughing in the end. Without the Johnson family’s assets, let’s see if you, Greg Peterson, can keep your position as the Peterson heir. 3 I went into the guest bathroom, showered off all the frosting, changed my clothes, and came out. Jessica and Greg were already making out on the sofa. The floor was a mess, and no one had cleaned it up. The fire inside me finally erupted. “Could you both please get out of my house!” Hearing my voice, Greg and Jessica finally separated. I could vaguely see Greg pulling his hand out from under Jessica’s skirt. He cleared his throat twice, clearly not having heard what I just said. “Ava, you’re out. Good, just clean up all this trash in the room and throw it out. This is supposed to be our marital home tomorrow, we can’t have it looking like this.” Jessica chimed in beside him. “Yeah, and get us something to eat. We haven’t eaten all night, I’m getting hungry.” I looked at him with a half-smile. He really was treating me like a maid. Living in my house like he owned the place, ordering me around. Up until now, I’d put up with it because of the planned marriage alliance. But since we were going to burn bridges tomorrow anyway, there wasn’t much left to hold back for. Since he wanted the trash cleaned up, I grabbed a broom and started sweeping at Greg. His freshly changed pajamas immediately got covered in frosting. Jessica just stood there screaming. Her screaming annoyed me, so I grabbed another handful of cake from the floor and threw it at both of them. “My hair’s full of frosting again! It’s ruined!” “Ava Johnson, what are you doing?! Do you even know how to sweep?!” My expression didn’t change, a hint of mockery in my voice. “I am sweeping the trash. Sweeping the trash out of my house. Can’t you see these two huge pieces of trash right here, Greg?” Greg wasn’t stupid; he understood exactly what I meant. His face darkened immediately. “What do you mean? You’re calling me trash?” “Ava Johnson, I think you don’t want Johnson Industries to survive! Without Peterson Corp’s funding, your family’s company won’t make it through the winter.” He saw me pause my actions and immediately regained his confidence. He still thought, like before, that I was just jealous and throwing a tantrum because of his relationship with Jessica. He just figured things had gone a bit too far today. Greg spoke slowly. “Alright, alright, I know some things went too far today. Don’t throw a fit. Fine, I’ll inject some extra capital into Johnson Industries later.” “You know I hate it when you act like this. If you still want to marry me tomorrow, then behave…” Before he could finish his sentence. I threw his suitcase out the door. Along with all of Greg and Jessica’s scattered belongings, everything was tossed out. While he stared in disbelief, I deleted his fingerprint and changed the code on the electronic door lock right in front of him. “This is my house, not a garbage dump. Trash belongs in the trash can. See yourselves out.” As I was about to close the door, Greg grabbed my wrist, his face shocked. “You changed the code? You’re kicking me out?” “We’re not even married yet, and you’re already pulling this princess act? Your Johnson family is practically bankrupt, do you still think you’re part of the almighty Johnson Group of the past?” The more Greg spoke, the more confident he became, his face darkening as he waited for me to beg. “If you beg me right now, I can overlook this. Otherwise, don’t blame me for embarrassing the Johnson family at the wedding tomorrow.” I let out a cold laugh, yanked my hand free without a word, and slammed the door shut. I could hear him and Jessica talking outside. “Greg, Ava’s just getting back at me. She’s jealous of me. It’s all my fault.” “Ava Johnson, I didn’t realize you were so petty and small-minded, picking on a young woman. You’re nothing but a shrew!” “You just wait! I’ll make you pay tomorrow!”

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My husband died in the bushes along the park strip. The police’s initial assessment was that he froze to death while drunk. They asked me to identify the body. I recognized his face instantly. I turned and shook the officer’s hand. “Sorry to trouble you all!” The officer said they needed to confirm the exact cause of death further. I assured them I would cooperate fully. Leaving the police station, I felt a sense of relief wash over me. I tightened the scarf around my neck and gave a silent nod toward the frozen corpse inside the station. “Rick Hanson… Rick Hanson, you finally did something good!” 1 Middle-aged, a well-behaved daughter, financially independent, and now, the eyesore of a husband finally gone. A happy life was beckoning. Feeling cheerful, I quickly called my brother-in-law to let them know. No more excuses to keep my in-laws living with me. In a few days, I’d send them packing over to his place. Armed with Rick’s ID, I went to the bank and checked all the accounts solely in his name. Just as I expected: wiped clean. Practically penniless, from my perspective. Looking at the bank statements, seeing the regular transfers to that one specific account, I managed a small smile. He always claimed he and his mistress were soulmates. I suppose I agreed. Why else would he constantly try to drain me dry to support her? Gathering all the paperwork, I hummed a tune on my way home. Just as I reached my front door, I saw Rick’s precious little darling, Monica Vance. Even in the dead of winter, she was rocking a tight dress and thigh-high boots. Honestly, Monica was quite attractive; if I were a man, I’d probably fall for her too. Such a waste for her to be the other woman, though. Monica saw me, her face a mask of disdain. “Hey, where’s Rick?” “What do you want him for?” She probably thought I was still the same jealous, easily angered Sarah Miller. Smugly, she announced, “Rick promised me ten thousand dollars to open my shop. I’m here to collect!” I almost couldn’t contain my smile. Clearing my throat, I said, “Well, sorry, but I’m afraid you won’t be getting that money.” “You think he listens to you? Don’t overestimate yourself!” Monica retorted, still full of arrogance. “Oh, he certainly doesn’t listen to me anymore. But he won’t be hearing you either.” “Because Rick… he’s dead.” “I just got back from identifying his body at the police station.” 2 Monica barely reacted to the news of Rick’s death. I thought she’d at least put on a show, maybe squeeze out a tear or two. Instead, after a brief moment of surprise, she snapped, “I don’t care if he’s dead or not! He promised me ten grand, and he even wrote me an IOU. I want the money!” I inwardly scoffed at Rick. This was the woman you called your true love? She doesn’t even care that you’re dead; she just wants your cash. She thrust the IOU in my face. I took it, examined it carefully, then casually handed it back. “This thing barely says anything specific. You expect this to hold up? Isn’t this just some lovey-dovey ‘promise’ you coaxed out of him when things were hot and heavy?” I couldn’t be bothered with her. Monica got desperate. “I’ve already talked to the landlord for the shop space, even paid the deposit! Now that he’s dead, I’m going to lose a ton of money! You have to give me this money, or I’ll call the cops!” I laughed out loud. Talk about Rick dying at the perfect time! “Go ahead, call the cops. But let me remind you: as far as I know, you don’t have a job, so there’s no way you had money to lend Rick in the first place. This IOU is basically fake. You think the police will take you seriously?” “Besides,” I continued, “I have records of all the money he transferred to you over the past few years, photos of you two checking into hotels, receipts for things he bought you… it’s all right here. Every cent he spent on you was clearly marital property, and I have the right to demand it back!” I slapped a stack of papers and photos onto the table, looking at her like she was an idiot. Her expression shifted several times – anger, resentment – before she finally stomped her foot and stormed out. She didn’t even close the door behind her. So rude. I disinfected the spot where she’d stood, mopping it twice. Monica wasn’t Rick’s only affair. Just thinking about it made me feel dirty. Just as I was about to close the door, a large man squeezed his way in, a fake smile plastered on his face. “Hey, Sarah. Heard Rick ain’t around anymore?” 3 I recognized him immediately: “Fat Tony” Morelli, the owner of the bar where Rick ran up his gambling debts. No doubt about it, he was here to collect. Look at his professional dedication – always keeping tabs on his debtors. I’d barely finished identifying the body, and he’d already gotten the news and shown up at my door. I silently applauded his business acumen. I didn’t even bother pretending to be grieving. “Yeah, he’s gone. What can I do for you?” “Heh heh, well, Rick owed me a little something. Thought maybe you’d wanna settle up, you know? Save me the trouble of comin’ around too often.” That forced smile was sickening. And he was threatening me. “Tony, when Rick was alive, his debts were between you and him. Now that he’s dead, they still have nothing to do with me. I told you this before.” About a month ago, after paying off Rick’s gambling debts for the last time, I went to Fat Tony’s place and told him point-blank: any money Rick borrowed from then on was his problem. If they lent him more money to gamble, I wouldn’t be responsible for paying it back. At the time, they – including Rick – all thought I was just blowing hot air. Nobody paid any attention. Now he’s dead, and they expect me to pay? Not a chance. “You two were married! He dies, you pay his debts! Can’t afford it? Sell the house! Otherwise, I’ll have guys over here makin’ noise every single day!” The moment I refused, Fat Tony’s face hardened, his expression turning menacing. “The money he owed was for gambling. I didn’t know about it, it wasn’t spent on our family, and it doesn’t qualify as marital debt. I’m not paying it. As for the house, it’s in my name, bought before the marriage. If you try to force me to sell it, I’ll call the police.” With that, I pushed him towards the door. All these years, Rick took money to gamble, lost it, and then forced me to pay it back. Fat Tony and his cronies took my hard-earned money, yet they looked down on me for being a pushover. Fat Tony wouldn’t give up, bracing himself against the doorframe, cursing loudly in the hallway. “What’s going on here?” Two police officers appeared outside the door. Running an illegal gambling operation is, well, illegal. Under the officers’ stern gaze, Fat Tony mumbled something unintelligible and quickly scurried away. I invited the officers in, but one said, “No need for formalities, Ma’am. We need you to come back to the station with us.” “Rick Hanson’s parents have filed a report, accusing you of murdering him.”

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My husband had zero sex drive. Married five years, and I could count the times we’d done it on two hands. Maybe. Then my best friend hooked me up with a personal trainer. Clutching the “performance enhancers” I’d bought for my husband, I walked into the VIP locker room. Just as I was regretting this whole messed-up situation… The trainer’s smooth voice purred in my ear: “Don’t worry, everything here is strictly confidential.” 01. So, picture this: I was out shopping with my best friend, Sarah, and we walked past this sketchy-looking health supplement store. The ad on the glass door was blunt. You knew exactly what they were selling – stuff for guys who can’t get it up. While Sarah was trying on clothes in the boutique next door, I made a mad dash into the supplement shop. “That ad on the door, the stuff it mentions – give me two boxes!” I mumbled it, staring at my shoes, totally embarrassed, afraid to see the knowing look in the clerk’s eyes. As soon as I got the boxes, I practically sprinted back to the boutique. Sarah saw me clutching my chest, gasping for air. She put down the dress she was holding and came over. “Where’d you go? You look like you just ran a marathon.” I waved her off, lying through my teeth, “Just hit the restroom. Didn’t want you to worry if you couldn’t find me, so I kinda jogged back.” Sarah bought it. She stepped back, showing off the dress. “What do you think?” “Gorgeous. Total knockout,” I nodded, trying to sound convincing. “Good. I’m wearing this tonight to seduce my husband. Get ready for round three!” Sarah hugged herself, beaming. God, I was so jealous. Forget round three; I’d settle for once a month with my husband, Mark. I’d met Sarah’s husband before. Kinda plain-looking, but seemed like a decent, solid guy. Sarah mentioned he was a personal trainer. No wonder he was built like that – pecs, abs, the whole package. Imagine being pinned down by a guy like that… Nope, nope, nope. I shook my head hard, trying to squash that thought. After saying goodbye to Sarah, I felt the two boxes in my purse and practically flew home. Before Mark got back, I read the instructions inside and out, like three times, making sure there were no crazy side effects. He already had low libido; the last thing I needed was to make things worse. That would totally backfire. I dug out a sheer babydoll nightie I hadn’t worn in ages from the back of the closet. The hem barely covered my butt. Then I found a pair of black stockings, still in the package. Finally, I grabbed an unopened box from the nightstand drawer – probably bought it during some Black Friday sale last year. Everything was ready. All I needed was him. I glanced at the clock on the wall. Why wasn’t he home yet? “Hey, Mark, where are you? You’re late,” I called him. “Hey honey, got tied up with work stuff tonight. Go ahead and sleep, don’t wait up for me!” Are you kidding me… I hung up and threw my phone onto the bed in frustration. What a waste. All that effort for nothing. I looked at the pills on the nightstand. Didn’t want anyone finding them, so I emptied them into an old Tylenol bottle. Just then, Sarah called. She wanted me to come hang out at her husband’s gym. “Plus, tons of hotties,” she added. “Six-packs, built like refrigerators, you name it.” Okay… who could resist that? “Wait for me, I’m on my way.” 2: Two I changed quickly, put on some light makeup – enough to look presentable but still classy. As I was leaving, I grabbed the pill bottle. Not because I planned on using them, but I was worried Mark might find it and move it, and then I’d never find it again. I took a cab to the gym. It was brightly lit, buzzing with young professionals starting their evening routines. Definitely not my scene. I’m more of a ‘kick back and do nothing’ kind of person. If it weren’t for Sarah, I wouldn’t be caught dead here. But she was right. Wall-to-wall beefcakes. Everywhere I looked: bulging muscles, broad shoulders, thick arms. Oh my god. I was seriously losing it. The testosterone levels in here were off the charts. All I could think about was… well, never mind. Right then, my only thought was: “Okay, I might be getting older, but I’m still curious. Doesn’t mean I’m actually gonna do anything stupid!” Sarah introduced me to a personal trainer named Leo. Then she totally put me on the spot, telling him, “My friend here is loaded. If she doesn’t sign up for a membership today, don’t let her leave.” Whatever anyone else thought, I kinda liked hearing that. I was basically that rich housewife with nothing better to spend money on. Or, more accurately, my husband was loaded. He couldn’t satisfy me in the bedroom, but hey, at least he provided a very comfortable lifestyle. “Honey, I’ve got plenty of money, just spend whatever you want!” That’s what Mark always said. So, to prove his point, I slapped down my card and bought a $10,000 membership on the spot. The second the transaction went through, my phone rang. It was Mark. “Honey, what did you just buy? That’s a lot of money.” He sounded a little drunk. I pouted, annoyed. “What’s the big deal? You never asked when I spent ten times this much before. Now you’re worried about a measly ten grand?” Mark was quiet for a second. “Honey, it’s not about the money. I just mean, even if we have it, we shouldn’t waste it. Gotta spend wisely, you know?” Leo was standing right there, flexing, clearly getting impatient with Mark’s call. “Yeah, yeah, I got it. The day you go broke, I’ll learn how to spend wisely. Anything else? ‘Cause I gotta go.” Before he could say anything else, I hung up, ready to turn my attention back to Leo. 3: Three After a bunch of “hands-on” training demonstrations, I shook out my sore arms, feeling kind of… bored. It was a shame, all those muscles, and just getting little accidental touches through clothes. It was just enough to be a major tease. Leo must have read my mind. He gave me a knowing smile and nodded towards the locker room behind him. The VIP locker room. Separate access, only for members who spent $5,000 or more. Hey, that was me! The $10,000 sucker! I followed Leo into the VIP room. The first thing I saw was a display of all sorts of… toys. Whoa! Things could get really interesting in here! Suddenly, I remembered the way Sarah hesitated when she left, that little smirk she had. It clicked. This gym offered… other services. It was practically tailor-made for someone like me, wasn’t it? Hold on. A little voice in my head started arguing with my less noble thoughts. “Ashley, how could you even think about this! Mark loves you, he takes care of you! So what if he’s… not great in bed? Is that really an excuse to cheat?” Then another little voice piped up. “Isn’t that the biggest problem? I’m still young, only 29! Why should I have to pay the price because he can’t perform?” The two voices were giving me a headache. I stood frozen in the doorway, frowning, hesitant to go any further. Leo saw me hesitating and came back, gently pulling me inside. Well, you can’t blame me now, right? I was practically dragged in! Inside the locker room, there was another, smaller room with just a comfy-looking loveseat. Leo walked in and immediately pulled off his shirt, revealing impressive pecs. He even flexed them at me. Too much. Way too much! I swallowed hard, trying to be subtle about it, my hands nervously smoothing the seams of my pants. “Ashley,” he said, using my first name now, “Sarah mentioned you know the deal. Pick whatever you like. I’ll make sure you have a good time tonight.” The deal? Sarah hadn’t mentioned any specific deal. But I got the picture. After a fierce internal battle, I made a promise to myself: “Just this once. Never again!” “You guys… you keep client information confidential, right?” I asked, needing reassurance. Leo nodded easily. “Absolutely, Ashley. Rule number one in this business is discretion. Lips are sealed.” Okay, that made me feel a bit better. Just as he started walking towards me, shirtless, I held up a hand to stop him. Then, I pulled the Tylenol bottle out of my purse. “I don’t have a cold,” Leo said, looking confused. I shook my head. “A little something extra… to make sure you perform well tonight.” He knew exactly what I meant…

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I suspected my father killed my mother. I took him to court. Sure enough, Dad confessed. But when they simulated the crime scene, the way he said he killed her… it was all wrong. 01 My name is Ava Johnson. I was the valedictorian for my state. I should have been heading off to an Ivy League school on a full scholarship. But now, my life has taken a completely different turn. Outside the courthouse, I tried to shield my eyes from the blinding sun, lifting a hand, but it was useless. I couldn’t help but sigh, shaking my head with a bitter taste in my mouth… I remember it like it was yesterday, a year ago, driving up to my dad’s big house in the suburbs. He was eating dinner at the time. When he saw me, he looked genuinely surprised. It had been a long time since I’d seen him. I hadn’t even called him once lately. Quickly, though, he recovered, his face lighting up. “Ava, why didn’t you tell me you were coming? Haven’t eaten yet, right? Perfect timing, come eat with Dad.” There was a pleading tone in his voice. I didn’t budge. He looked at me, confused. “Ava?” Back then, my body couldn’t stop trembling slightly. I slowly held out my blood-stained hands towards him. I remember it vividly. The moment Dad saw my hands, he panicked. “Ava, what happened? What’s wrong?” He rushed over, grabbing my hands tightly in his. By then, I was already sobbing uncontrollably. “My… my mom’s dead…” “Ava, what… what… what did you say?” “Mom was murdered. She… she was lying in a pool of blood. She… I… I saw it with my own eyes…” Clearly, I was starting to ramble, not making much sense. “Ava, don’t be scared. Dad’s here. Dad’s right here…” “Dad? Don’t be scared?” I glared at him, and with strength I didn’t know I had, I shoved him hard. He stumbled and fell to the ground. “Michael Johnson, tell me, was it you? Did you kill my mother?” “Ava, what are you talking about! How could I possibly kill your mom?” I pointed at him, shouting, “Not you? How could it not be you? You just left Mom’s place, and then she died! Are you telling me you didn’t do it?” Dad stared at me, completely bewildered. “When was I at your mom’s? Ava, tell me, are you feeling okay? Please don’t scare me like this!” He got up and started walking towards me. I shook my head, backing away. “Michael! Do you think nobody knows what you did? I’m telling you, someone saw you leaving Mom’s house! What excuse do you have now?” “Ava Johnson, what nonsense are you spouting!” Dad looked utterly shocked, disbelief written all over his face. He took a deep breath, shook his head sadly, and said, “Ava, yes, it’s true, your mother and I were going to get divorced. But I had no reason to kill her!” “No reason? Or are you just afraid to say it!” I stared him straight in the eye. “Mom fell for some other guy. She was going to take back all her shares in the company. Isn’t that a reason?” “Get out! Just get the hell out! I don’t have an ungrateful daughter like you!” “Hit a nerve, didn’t I, Michael? Now you’re angry!” Dad looked at me with deep disappointment. He pointed towards the door and yelled, “Ava Johnson, get out right now! I never want to see you again!” “Michael! Don’t think just because you killed Mom, you’ll get everything. No way. Absolutely not. I’m going to call the police right now. Right this second!” “Ava Johnson, you stop right there!” I ignored him and walked straight out the door. Impulse had clouded my judgment. I stepped outside the house, ready to dial 911. I fumbled in my pockets for a while before realizing I’d forgotten my phone. It took me over half an hour to get back to my uncle’s place, where I finally called the police. 2: Dad’s Missing? An hour later, I led the responding officers to the scene. After the Medical Examiner’s on-site assessment, it was confirmed: my mother’s death was not from natural causes. That same night, the police took me in to give a statement. I remember the officer who took my statement was a middle-aged detective named Miller. That day, I sat in the interrogation room. He kindly placed a cup of water in front of me. “Ava, I’m very sorry for your loss. Right now, I need you to try and remember everything you can about your mother. It will greatly help our investigation, understand?” I nodded, took a small sip of water, and said, “Okay, Detective. Ask whatever you need. I’ll do my best to remember.” He didn’t say anything immediately, just opened his laptop and typed for a moment before asking, “When was the last time you saw your mother?” Without hesitation, I replied, “Tonight.” “You weren’t living with your mother, correct?” “That’s right. Because I was preparing for my SATs and applying to college, I’d been staying at my uncle’s house so he could help me study.” “So, what was the reason you suddenly went home last night?” I lowered my head, thought for a moment, then said, “I ran out of spending money. I was planning to ask Mom for some cash.” Detective Miller nodded, then shuffled through some papers beside him. “We checked your mother’s bank accounts. There were no transactions involving anyone tonight.” “My mom didn’t give me any money.” “Why not?” “I don’t know.” He gave me a long look but didn’t press further. He continued, “How was your mother’s relationship with your father?” “They were planning to get divorced, but it kept getting postponed because of my college applications.” “Did you know your mother was pregnant?” I looked at him, completely stunned. “My mother was pregnant?” “Yes. According to the ME’s report, your mother was three months pregnant.” At that moment, my mind was reeling. Mom was pregnant? But wasn’t she divorcing Dad? Could it have been… that other guy’s child? Thinking this, I looked at Detective Miller and quickly asked, “Does my father know?” He shook his head. “We haven’t located your father yet.” Dad was missing? Wasn’t he just at his house earlier? He must have fled because he was guilty! Before I could process this, Detective Miller suddenly asked, “Do you know if your mother had conflicts with anyone recently? Any major arguments?” I thought for a moment. “I don’t really know much about Mom’s private affairs, but in my memory, the only person she ever had a huge fight with was my father.” Detective Miller then looked pointedly at me, his gaze shifting to my hands. “Ava, what about the bloodstains on your hands?” “I went to see Mom today, but I never expected… to find her lying in a pool of blood. I went over to try and help her up, but… but I realized she was already…” My voice choked up, and I couldn’t continue. Detective Miller handed me a pack of tissues. He waited quietly for me to compose myself. “Ava, do you need to take a break?” I shook my head. “No, it’s okay. I just want to catch the person who killed my mom as soon as possible.” Detective Miller resumed his questions. “Can you tell me a bit about your parents’ story?” 3: Dad Gets Caught I took a moment to gather my thoughts and then told him everything I knew. “My mom’s family was wealthy, business owners. Dad came from a poor background; he basically married into money. Their relationship had been falling apart for years. I did hear Mom say she’d fallen for another man…” It took about an hour for me to lay out the whole messy history between my parents – their relationship, the conflicts, the arguments. It felt like recounting some dramatic soap opera. Throughout my explanation, Detective Miller’s fingers never stopped tapping on the keyboard. I knew he was meticulously recording my statement. After I finished, he typed a bit more and then said, “Okay, Ava, that should be all for now. I’ll arrange for someone to take you home. For the time being, please don’t leave the city. We’ll notify you immediately if we have any news, okay?” I nodded. “Okay, thank you, Detective Miller. Actually, my uncle is waiting outside for me. Can I go back with him?” Detective Miller thought for a second and agreed. He walked me out of the station. From a distance, I saw my Uncle David pacing nervously beside his car. When we reached him, he clearly startled seeing the detective with me. “Ava, who’s this?” I quickly explained, “Uncle David, this is Detective Miller. He’s in charge of Mom’s case.” Uncle David immediately grabbed Detective Miller’s hand firmly. “Detective, you have to find the killer. Please, please don’t let the perpetrator get away with this!” Detective Miller nodded seriously. “Rest assured, sir. We won’t let any guilty party go free, nor will we wrongly accuse an innocent person.” Hearing this, Uncle David let out a long sigh. “Well, we’re counting on you then.” “It’s our job,” Miller replied. Later that night, Uncle David drove me back to his place. Neither of us spoke during the ride; the atmosphere was incredibly tense. It wasn’t until we arrived at his house that Uncle David asked, “Ava, do the police have any suspects?” I glanced at my uncle and shook my head. “I don’t know.” He just looked at me briefly and didn’t say anything more. Just as I was getting out of the car, I suddenly added, “They said my dad seems to be missing.” Uncle David looked at me with a complicated expression. “Ava, you…” I forced a weak, strained smile. “I’m okay.” For the next few days, I stayed at Uncle David’s house. During that time, I constantly checked for news about Michael Johnson’s whereabouts. In my heart, I had already decided: Michael killed my mother. It sounds crazy, doesn’t it? Suspecting my own father of brutally murdering my mom. But the facts seemed undeniable. If it wasn’t him, why would he run? If not him, then who else could it be? Every time I thought about it, my head felt like it was going to split open. Uncle David was always there for me during this period, taking meticulous care of me. Now, he was my only remaining family. The only person I felt I could trust. As we waited anxiously, news finally came from the police department. The news was, frankly, what I had expected. Their investigation had yielded results. Under my mother’s fingernails, they found a piece of skin tissue that wasn’t hers. DNA testing confirmed it belonged to my father. Furthermore, not far from the crime scene, officers found a knife. A knife stained with my mother’s blood. Forensic analysis revealed my father’s fingerprints were also on the handle. Consequently, the police focused their investigation squarely on my father. Just as I thought. Michael Johnson! He was now the prime suspect. And currently, the only suspect. But during this time, it was like he had vanished into thin air. No matter how hard the police searched, there was no trace of him. Until the department issued an APB, a wanted notice. Through the combined efforts of the public and the police, Michael Johnson was finally caught.

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It was just another Tuesday when a consult request popped up from a new client. A guy this time. “Hi there, how can I help you?” I typed back. “Hey. Got a problem. I don’t think my girlfriend loves me at all.” So, a little about me: I’m a relationship counselor, got a bit of a reputation around town, especially with women. My inbox is constantly flooded with emails and messages, mostly from young women tangled up in relationship drama. I started this gig thinking I could be this rational, objective voice, helping people sort through the messiness of love and marriage, maybe even patching things up. But honestly? Nowadays, my main job feels like pulling girls back from the brink of being completely lovesick and losing themselves. Thanks to this job, I have zero illusions about romance. Zilch. All I feel is this bone-deep frustration for all the smart women who get stuck in crappy relationships and just refuse to wake up. It’s been ages since I had a male client. Not sure if my rep is just bigger in female circles or if guys these days genuinely don’t sweat this stuff. Anyway, I was planning on clocking out early today. The team and I had plans for dinner – K-BBQ night. I was just about to shut down my laptop when the notification pinged. New client. Male. Okay, that piqued my interest a little. I fired off a quick reply. “Hi there, how can I help you?” “Hey. Got a problem. I don’t think my girlfriend loves me at all.” A small smile played on my lips. You don’t hear guys say that too often. Based on experience, these types usually fall into two camps: either they’re not exactly God’s gift to women, maybe the persistent ‘nice guy’ who finally wore her down, and now she’s just keeping him around as a placeholder until someone better comes along. Or, they’re just testing the waters, and they’ll bail the second they see my rates. “Can you tell me more about the situation?” I asked. Just then, my assistant, bless her heart, poked her head in. “Annie? You ready? We got the reservation at the K-BBQ place.” “Coming!” I called back, shutting down the computer, grabbing my jacket, and heading out with the crew. Once I hopped in the car, I logged into my work account on my phone. The new guy had sent a wall of text. “She never texts or calls me first. When I reach out, she’s totally hot and cold.” “Her job seems super demanding, but even when she’s free, she’s always grabbing dinner with colleagues or her girlfriends. Hardly ever with me.” “We’ve been together six months, and she hasn’t made us official – like, nothing on social media, hasn’t introduced me to her friends or family. I try to bring her around my friends, but she always says it’s too much hassle and bails. Meeting my family? Forget about it.” “We only see each other maybe four or five times a month. And if it’s her time of the month, she won’t see me then either. I’m starting to suspect… she’s just using me for sex…” 2 Reading that last part, I had to stifle a laugh. Hearing that come out of a guy’s mouth was definitely… interesting. He’d sent all that and then gone quiet, probably because I hadn’t responded yet. “Sorry,” I typed quickly, “Just got stuck in the elevator for a sec. Please, continue.” He replied instantly: “Why were you in an elevator? Are you off work?” Not exactly a typical client question, but maybe he’d just been staring at his screen waiting, and it slipped out. I was in a pretty good mood, and honestly, kind of curious about this rare male client. “Yeah, clocked out. Guess I’m working overtime taking your consult now.” “Are you going to dinner?” “Yep.” “With colleagues?” “Yep.” “What are you eating?” “K-BBQ.” Okay, hold up. This conversation was getting way too casual. Super unprofessional of me to just chat like this. I sat up a little straighter in the car seat. Even off the clock, gotta stay professional. “Sir, perhaps we can get back to the main issue?” “Right. Basically, I just feel really insecure in this relationship.” Everything he was describing – these were usually the complaints I heard from women. Classic case of one person being way more into it than the other, maybe even emotional neglect, but nobody wants to pull the plug, so the relationship just hangs there in limbo. If there wasn’t any major abuse or crazy drama involved, I usually classified these as lower-tier emotional issues. The simplest solution? Tell them to break up. And don’t think that’s easy. Convincing some lovesick girl to ditch a relationship she’s poured her heart into? Seriously tough. Guys, though? They tend to be more pragmatic. Which is why, honestly, they’re not the most lucrative clients in the relationship counseling biz. 3 Just then, my phone pinged again. A notification showing a hefty payment. This guy had just signed up for my premium annual package. Wow. Okay, maybe he wasn’t just kicking tires. “We’re here,” my colleague driving announced. “Okay, you go eat first. We can talk after you’re done,” Liam typed. Huh. Pretty considerate. I’d been bracing myself to juggle work messages throughout dinner. My initial assessment started to shift. This Liam guy didn’t seem like some clueless dude-bro with zero emotional intelligence. And dropping that kind of cash suggested he wasn’t broke either. So, what was the issue? Was he… really unattractive? Too bad I couldn’t just ask for a picture unless the client offered. Professional boundaries and all that. Still, I really wanted to know what this guy looked like. It was weird. I’d become so numb to this job, running on autopilot most days. It had been a long time since a client actually made me genuinely curious. During dinner, I shared the news about the big client win with my team. As we raised our glasses to celebrate, my phone buzzed. I glanced down. It was Liam again. “Don’t drink too much.” My eyebrows furrowed slightly. Okay, that felt… a little over the line. Maybe it was the occupational hazard kicking in, but my immediate thought was that a guy with a girlfriend showing that kind of concern for another woman felt like a red flag. Kind of player-ish. If a female client told me her boyfriend did that? My advice would be: Dump him. Mr. Friendly, maybe? Was his girlfriend maybe turned off because he was too nice to everyone? And maybe he hadn’t realized that was the problem, just assuming she wasn’t into him? I picked at my food, my mind racing, trying to piece together Liam and his girlfriend’s story. God, I’m too dedicated to this job, I thought. After dinner, a colleague dropped me home. On the way, I opened my work chat again, clicking on the conversation with my newly minted, very important VIP annual client. “Liam, I’m done with dinner. Shall we continue?” He replied instantly: “Okay.” “I was thinking about it earlier,” I typed, deciding to test my theory. “Liam, would you say you sometimes lack clear boundaries with other women? I mean, while having a girlfriend, do you still show maybe a bit too much concern or friendliness to other females?” “Absolutely not! Besides my girlfriend, I don’t exchange unnecessary words with any woman. I’d steer clear of a female mosquito!”

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