Category: English

When I got diagnosed with cancer, my classmates laughed like I was already dead. When I got bit by a zombie, they grabbed makeshift weapons and told me to get lost. When I turned out to be the only person bitten who didn’t turn, suddenly they were all on their knees, begging me— Begging me to save their lives. 01 My name is Sarah. I’m 20. Just your average, unremarkable college sophomore. Except I just found out I have cancer. Stage four. About a month after my diagnosis, the zombie virus hit campus like a bomb. One minute, it was your typical sunny, energetic college green; the next, everyone was scrambling, desperate to escape the walking dead. Me? The sick girl? I basically just gave up, letting the panicked crowd shove me along until I ended up crammed into a storage room. There were already a bunch of people hiding inside. Before I could even get my bearings, someone shrieked: “Sarah! She’s been bitten!” Instantly, every eye in the room locked onto me. I glanced down. Sure enough, a clear bite mark on my wrist. Oh yeah, I remembered now. In the chaos outside, I saw Jessica, a girl from my class, about to get dragged away by a zombie. I yanked her back, out of stupid instinct, and got chomped in the process. And the person screaming about me being bitten? Jessica, of course. “Sarah, you’re bitten. Just get out of here,” Tiffany, the campus queen bee who always hated me for beating her in academics, stepped up, acting like she was in charge of who lived and died. The ridiculous part? No one disagreed. All fifteen or so of them just stared at me, pure terror in their eyes, like I was about to foam at the mouth and take a chunk out of them. Then the fear turned to anger. Jessica piled on, “Sarah, you’ve got cancer anyway, you’re gonna die soon. Don’t drag us down with you.” Tiffany added, her voice dripping venom, “Yeah, just get lost.” Suddenly, the whole storage room was echoing the same sentiment. “Get out!” It felt just like after my diagnosis. Tiffany, still bitter I’d won first place in the talent show she thought was hers, cornered me with her little clique. She’d sneered, “Sarah, what did you do to deserve this? Getting a death sentence so young? Serves you right!” Her followers chorused: “Serves you right!” Then, like now, I felt… nothing. Calm. I grew up an orphan, no parents. Always been quiet, maybe a little aloof. “Offending” the popular girl meant I got shoved around a lot. Facing actual death now, their petty high school drama meant absolutely nothing. I looked one last time at Jessica. My voice was steady. “I got bitten saving you.” Jessica rolled her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean, Sarah? Guilt trip me? I didn’t ask you to save me.” “Fine,” I said. With that, I turned sharply and walked out. As the door slammed behind me, I heard the distinct click of a lock. I let out a small, cold chuckle. “Serves them right.” The next second, Jessica’s bloodcurdling scream ripped through the air, followed by a chorus of horrifying shrieks from inside the storage room. Jessica noticed my bite, sure. But I guess she didn’t notice someone else in that room had been bitten too. 02 The storage room door was rattling like crazy. I just pursed my lips, feeling zero sympathy, and turned down a side path. I made my way to the campus convenience store. Figured I should load up on real food before I turned, instead of craving… well, you know. I grabbed a double chocolate muffin and was about to take a bite when the world spun, and everything went black. When I came to, maybe half an hour had passed. Using a metal shelf as a makeshift mirror, I checked myself out. Didn’t look like I’d turned. Weird. Just then, a zombie, smeared head-to-toe in blood, lurched around the end of the aisle. It spotted me, let out a guttural roar, and charged. Its roar attracted others. Suddenly, the store was filling up. The first one was almost on me. Even though I was dying anyway, I didn’t fancy getting torn apart by zombies. Instinctively, I kicked out. The next thing I knew, the zombie flew backward like a broken kite, crashing into a display rack. More growls behind me. I spun, tried a few more kicks. In seconds, a whole group of them were embedded in the drywall, twitching uselessly. Okay, so maybe I had changed. Where else would I get the power to take down zombies bare-handed like some kind of superhero?! The dead bodies were kind of ruining my appetite, though. I dragged them outside and tossed them near the dumpsters. Just as I was about to head back in for my muffin, I heard a desperate yell for help from down the street. I squinted. A familiar figure sprinted into view. He was wearing track pants, four or five zombies clawing at his back, his incredibly handsome face pale with terror. My brow furrowed hard. Jake? What was he doing here? He was in my classes, but he’d dropped out right after I got my diagnosis. Why was he back on campus? While I was spacing out, he let out a yelp and tripped, face-planting onto the pavement. Jake! That was my crush! I was obsessed with his perfect face. A surge of protective anger shot through me. I moved faster than I ever thought possible, launching myself forward. A flurry of kicks sent the zombies daring to mess with my crush’s face flying. Then, I hauled Jake up and booked it. Yeah, hauled him. Like a sack of potatoes over my shoulder. I don’t know if zombies have a thing for good looks, or maybe they were after Jake’s brain—all the professors raved about how smart he was. More and more zombies were heading our way, drawn to Jake—or maybe me carrying him. I wasn’t worried about getting bitten again, but Jake couldn’t get hurt. Panicked, I somehow managed to sprint all the way back to the convenience store carrying him. I set him down gently. My heart was hammering, totally embarrassed and flustered, but I couldn’t let him see that. Play it cool. I calmly handed him a bottle of water. He seemed shell-shocked, probably hadn’t even registered that I’d just carried him like some kind of cavewoman. He took the water silently, unscrewed the cap, and gulped down half the bottle. Jake was my ultimate crush, the guy I’d been secretly obsessed with forever. People say when you’re dying, you make a bucket list. Mine basically had one item: Spend time with Jake before I die. And here we were. Apocalypse. Convenience store. Me and Jake. Thump-thump-thump— My heart was going crazy. Trying to cover my excitement, I asked, “Jake, didn’t you drop out? What are you doing back here?” He choked on his water, coughed a few times, then explained, “Yeah, I dropped out. Got chased back onto campus by accident.” He looked up, his eyes full of gratitude. “Sarah, thanks for saving me.” He’d been running for a while when I found him. I felt a flicker of worry. “Are you okay? Did they get you? Did you get bitten?” He thought for a second. Just as my anxiety spiked, he said, “No. I’m okay.” I breathed a sigh of relief. I turned to grab him some food from the shelves. He followed right behind me, practically stepping on my heels, like he was terrified I’d abandon him. I stopped in front of a rack of chips. Facing away from him, I said quietly, “Don’t worry. I won’t ditch you.” Couldn’t even if I wanted to, I thought. I’ve been crushing on you since freshman orientation. The words felt like a confession. My face flushed. I thought I heard him murmur behind me, “Good. I owe you one. I’ll pay you back.” 03 The convenience store had a small employee break room in the back. Jake used the sink to wash his face and came out, hair still damp. I turned my head and froze. He was standing in the doorway, shirtless. Perfect V-taper, clearly defined abs, smooth lines… A few drops of water trickled enticingly down his neck, tracing a path over his muscles and disappearing below the waistband of his track pants… My face instantly felt like it was on fire. I whipped my head away. My voice came out huskier than I intended. “Put a shirt on.” I heard a hint of disappointment in Jake’s voice from the doorway. “Aw, and here I thought you might like the view. Did it just for you, you know.” “…” This was how he planned to “pay me back”? Giving me a free show?! Despite myself, my heart hammered, and my cheeks burned. I muttered something about needing to change too and ducked into the break room. Hauling Jake around earlier had made me sweat buckets, and my bite wound seemed to be throbbing more. As I peeled off my shirt, I winced. Pain shot up my arm. I reached for the gauze I’d wrapped around it earlier and accidentally knocked over a glass tumbler. The shattering sound was deafening in the quiet room. Almost instantly, the door flew open. I stared, shocked, at Jake standing there, his face etched with worry. It took me a half-second to remember I was standing there in just my bra. “Get out!” Mortified and furious, I spun around, hugging myself, feeling like a boiled lobster. “Didn’t see anything! Sorry, sorry!” Jake stammered apologies, backing out clumsily and kicking over a mop bucket in the process. The door clicked shut. I glanced back to make sure it was closed before finally letting out a shaky breath. When I finished changing and opened the door, I stopped dead. He was still standing right there. “Why are you still here?” Remembering the shirtless incident, my face started heating up again. Jake looked at me, his expression serious. He reached a hand toward my left arm. I instinctively covered my sleeve, wary. “What are you doing?” “You’re hurt. Let me see.” I tried to pull my arm back, narrowing my eyes. “You just said you didn’t see anything.” Jake’s hand froze for a second, guilt flashing across his face. But even so, he persisted, determined to see my arm. I couldn’t fight him off; he managed to grab my wrist. “Ow!” The struggle jostled my freshly bandaged wound, and I sucked in a sharp breath. Jake’s expression darkened. He shot me a glare, then carefully, gently rolled up my sleeve. “How did this happen? Does it hurt?” His eyes fixed on the messy bandage job, his tone low and serious. His hand held mine firmly; I couldn’t pull away. “Just scratched myself, it’s nothing.” “Nothing? It’s bleeding through the gauze, Sarah! That’s not ‘nothing’!” “Jake! Let go of me! I told you, I’m fine!” He started pulling me back toward the break room. It was ironic. He was the one terrified of zombies, chased across campus. I was the one who could kick them through walls. Yet, he dragged me along, and I couldn’t seem to resist at all. He found a first-aid kit under the sink and, without another word, grabbed scissors to cut off my makeshift bandage. I didn’t want him to see the actual bite mark. I struggled desperately. “Don’t move!” Jake barked, looking up, his deep eyes filled with frustration. The bandage came away, bit by bit. I watched him nervously, my fingers curling slightly. When the wound was fully exposed, his expression changed, just as I’d feared. I pressed my lips together, about to yank my hand back, but instead, he picked up tweezers, dabbed cotton with antiseptic, and started cleaning the wound. His movements were efficient, precise. He even tied the new bandage with a surprisingly cute little bow. Jake stood up, looking down at me intently. “A zombie bite. Why didn’t you tell me?” “It happened a while ago. I’m fine.” My heart was pounding. I was terrified he’d react like the others – yell at me, run away. I started to explain, that I was bitten but didn’t turn, that I somehow got powers instead. But his expression held no fear, no disgust. Just concern. He asked softly, “Does it hurt?” After everything – the near-death, the honesty – The distance between people seemed to shrink. A warmth spread through my chest. “Doesn’t hurt.”

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I became a vegetable after a car crash. Except I couldn’t wake up, couldn’t move. Everything else worked fine. Hearing the doctor confirm my vegetative state at the hospital, I fell apart inside. But thankfully, I had a family that loved me very much. They carefully asked the doctor about all the things needed to take care of me. Like turning me every two hours, managing my bodily functions regularly, talking to me a lot. Honestly, I wished they’d just let me go. But I couldn’t bear to leave my family. And my family didn’t give up on me. They brought me home and took meticulous care of me. One day, I drifted out of sleep. From outside the room, I heard my mother-in-law let out a bloodcurdling scream. Then a child’s cry – must have been my daughter. My husband’s voice yelled, “What are you doing?!” But then, silence. All I could hear was the endless, rhythmic sound of chopping. Like a butcher working nonstop. Who was here? What happened to my family? The chopping went on and on. Gradually, a heavy smell of blood filled the air. Mixed with the chopping was a woman’s laughter. The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. Why was she killing my family? Who was she? If I weren’t like this, trapped in my own body. I’d be shaking with rage, bursting out of this room to fight her. But I could only lie here. Helpless. Listening as this person murdered the people I loved most. I don’t know how much time passed before I heard footsteps outside my door. It was her! The killer! She turned the doorknob. My heart leaped into my throat. I forced myself to keep my heartbeat steady. 2. To my surprise, the woman didn’t do anything to me. She seemed exhausted. She lay down beside me on the bed. Soon, I heard the slow, even sound of her breathing as she slept. When she woke up, she didn’t leave. She actually started living in my house. I remained motionless in bed. Every time I remembered the happy times with my family. Hatred surged through me. I hated being useless like this, unable to move. Hated that I couldn’t avenge them myself. Maybe someone up there heard my wish. My fingers started to twitch. Joy sparked in me – a good sign. I prayed I’d wake up soon. I didn’t know why this woman hadn’t killed me. But if I woke up, she wouldn’t get away with this. Ever since she killed my family, the woman stayed in my house. And every day, she slept next to me. After waking up, she’d leave for a long time. When she came back, I’d hear her in the kitchen, cooking. Then, the sound of her watching TV in the living room. Acting like she owned the place. Every night before sleeping, she’d sit in my room and talk. I couldn’t tell if she was talking to me or just herself. What she said was always the same. Cursing my family. She’d use my in-laws’, my husband’s, and my child’s names, then launch into long tirades. She called my father-in-law a hypocrite, dirty, disgusting. Lies! My father-in-law was refined, honorable, always straightforward. She said my mother-in-law was lazy, greedy, sharp-tongued, and cruel. I screamed back in my head – my mother-in-law was gentle, kind, understanding. She said my child was ungrateful, a little viper we’d raised. But my child was sweet and well-behaved. She said my husband was treacherous, a womanizer. My husband was the most honest, reliable man, completely devoted to me. She cursed everyone. Except me. Who was this woman? Why did she have such twisted ideas about my family? 3. I could feel movement returning to my hands and feet. Whenever the woman was out, I secretly tried to move, doing my own physical therapy. I had a feeling I’d wake up soon. Lying there, I planned what I’d do when I woke up. And I survived by reliving precious memories of my family. I grew up an orphan, so I always craved love. I dreamed someone would cherish me completely. Then, just like I wished, he appeared. My future husband, Alex. I met him in college. It was cliché, really. I’d been studying in the library all morning. When I came out, it was pouring rain. And I didn’t have an umbrella. Starving, I just stood by the door, waiting for it to stop. “Hey, need to share my umbrella?” A gentle, magnetic voice spoke. I turned and saw a guy in a white shirt, holding an umbrella, tilting his head as he looked at me. His eyes were dark, clear, and incredibly kind. He rendered me speechless. Suddenly, my stomach betrayed me with a loud growl. As I flushed with embarrassment, the guy beside me chuckled softly. “I’m starving too. Let’s hit the cafeteria together.” From that day on, we slowly became friends, then more than friends. Alex was wonderful to me. He brought me breakfast every morning, surprised me with gifts, took me out, listened to all my worries and trivial complaints, studied with me. He gave me complete security and companionship. When he found out I was an orphan, he took me to meet his family. They liked me immediately. His parents treated me like their own daughter. My father-in-law gave me advice on my studies and career path. My mother-in-law took me shopping for clothes; we could talk about anything. In my junior year, I got pregnant and had to take a year off. I didn’t want to terminate the pregnancy; this baby was a symbol of Alex’s and my love. But taking a year off school was a big deal. My body changed, and being stuck at home all day, I developed prenatal depression. I refused to see anyone, just cried at home constantly. Alex and his family were worried. I moved into their house. My in-laws took such good care of me. Alex’s family lived in the same city as the university. So, he switched to commuting and came home every day to be with me. With their support, I slowly got better. After I gave birth to a daughter, Alex and his family were overjoyed. Once I recovered, Alex formally proposed. Under a sky full of stars, he looked deep into my eyes and promised: “Let me give you a warm home.” I said yes, tears streaming down my face. Offering me a home, to someone who’d never had one, was impossible to refuse. We officially started our life together, a happy family of five. After the baby, everyone supported me going back to finish my degree. My in-laws helped watch the baby. I focused completely on my studies. Finally, I graduated with my diploma and degree. After graduation, I even got a job at a major company. Career, love, and family – I had it all by age 23. After getting married, Alex and I worked during the day, and his parents watched our daughter. In the evenings, Alex and I would take her out. On weekends, Alex and I would have date nights. My daughter was sweet and sensible, the kind of angel baby everyone talks about. She did well in school, never gave us any trouble. My sweet girl would even make me birthday presents. She told me I was the most beautiful mom in the world. But now, all of it was destroyed. Lying in bed, I suddenly felt a tickle on my cheek. Tears were rolling down my face. What did our family ever do to that woman? Why would she be so brutal? 4. After who knows how long, I suddenly felt I could control my body again. My eyes flew open, my heart pounding wildly. Just as joy flooded me – the chance to avenge my family – a voice echoed in my mind: Forget the truth. It sounded like an old man. What truth? I was confused. But I didn’t dwell on it. I needed to get out. The woman had just left; now was the perfect time to escape. I stood up, only to immediately fall. Sharp pain shot through me. My body had been rigid for too long; it wasn’t fully recovered. I sat on the floor for a while, catching my breath. Dragging and crawling, I made my way out of the room. The house looked the same, just as it was before the accident. I scrambled to the TV stand, found the landline, and dialed 911. When the operator answered, I explained the situation. But strangely, they said they couldn’t hear me, told me not to tie up emergency lines. I thought maybe the phone was broken, but I couldn’t find my cell anywhere. I needed to get out, report this at the police station. But the front door was locked. We lived on the eighteenth floor; jumping wasn’t an option. Too much time had passed since I woke up. I was scared the woman would be back soon. Hurriedly, I crawled back to my room and resumed my vegetative act. I decided I couldn’t let her know I was awake. I was afraid she’d kill me, and I’d lose my chance for revenge. Besides, my body wasn’t strong enough yet; I wouldn’t win a fight. Suddenly, I heard the woman returning. I quickly lay back down, mimicking the posture I’d held for so long. The woman went through her usual routine: cooking, watching TV, then coming into my room to talk to herself. But this time was different. As she spoke, she suddenly burst into tears. She sobbed heartbrokenly, murmuring, “My poor daughter… ruined by you people…” Daughter? What did she mean? What happened to this woman’s daughter? Did she kill my family because something happened to her child? Still, I trusted my family. They wouldn’t do anything illegal or immoral. I lay perfectly still, afraid to even breathe too loudly. It was agonizing, trying to keep my breathing slow and rhythmic. Don’t let her notice anything. Luckily, she was too caught up in her grief to pay attention to me. After crying, she got into bed beside me. My palms were sweating, I was so tense. After what felt like an eternity, the woman fell asleep. I slightly turned my head, wanting to open my eyes just a crack to see who this person with the familiar voice was. The moment I saw her face clearly. My blood ran cold. I was looking at a face identical to my own! How could someone look exactly like me? My whole body started trembling uncontrollably. No wonder the voice was familiar – her voice was identical to mine too. Suddenly, the woman shifted in her sleep. I slammed my eyes shut, pretending to be unresponsive. My mind reeled with disbelief. I lay awake all night, considering endless possibilities. Could she be a twin sister I never knew? Being an orphan, I had no way of knowing if I had siblings. But if she were my sister, why wouldn’t she reveal herself? And why murder my family so brutally? I couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe it. Even if she was my sister, I wouldn’t acknowledge her. Not after she killed the people I loved. There was another possibility. She deliberately had plastic surgery to look like me. Then, using my face, she killed my family, moved into my house, and planned to frame me for everything. The second possibility felt more logical, more acceptable. I remembered my mother-in-law kept a spare key in her room. I continued playing the part of a vegetable, planning to grab the key and escape the next day when the woman left. 5. The next day, the woman went out. My body wasn’t as stiff as yesterday, though my steps were still unsteady. I slowly walked to my mother-in-law’s room and found the key in a drawer. For some reason, the room felt… eerie. Suddenly, my hand slipped, and the key clattered to the floor. I bent down to pick it up. And noticed something under the bed. I looked closer, my eyes meeting the wide-open, staring eyes of a corpse beneath the bed. I screamed. But quickly regained composure, tears streaming silently down my face. Under the bed lay the bodies of my father-in-law and mother-in-law. No! Not bodies… pieces. That cruel, vicious woman had dismembered them, stacking the pieces under the bed. Their heads were placed there too. I fought to suppress my sobs. Then, I searched the entire house for my husband and daughter. I finally found my husband’s body in the freezer. But I couldn’t find my daughter. Instead, I found the body of a little boy. The child’s cry I’d heard that first day must have been his. Children’s voices can sound similar; I must have mistaken it. Could my daughter still be alive? A flicker of hope ignited within me. I quickly used the key to unlock the front door and ran downstairs as fast as I could. Running was difficult. I grabbed a passerby, trying to borrow their phone to call the police. But the person ignored me. I tried stopping person after person on the street; they all ignored me. I had no money. All I could do was force my unsteady legs to carry me towards the nearest police station. My bare feet burned against the pavement. When I reached the station, I grabbed an officer, trying to report the crime. But even stranger, no one at the station paid any attention to me. Okay, strangers ignoring me might be plausible. But why were the police ignoring me too? I glanced at a reflective surface nearby and saw… nothing. No reflection. I froze, then looked down and noticed something even weirder. My feet were bare. Logically, they should be scraped and bleeding from running on the pavement. But instead of cuts, I felt a searing, burning pain. Am I a ghost? Can no one see me because I’m already dead? Was I never really a vegetable? Was I dead all along? I collapsed onto the ground, feeling utterly lost. Thinking back, my time as a “vegetable” did feel a lot like being dead. Wait! Then how could that woman touch me? When I was lying in bed, that woman could see me. The first day she came into my room, she touched my hand and face, even tucked me in. At the time, I’d mentally cursed her hypocrisy. 6. I sat on the ground, thinking for a long time. I decided to go back. If no one else could help me, I’d have to get revenge myself. I couldn’t find my daughter, but since her body wasn’t in the house, maybe she was safe for now. I had to kill that woman quickly. She had cursed my child; clearly, she had a vendetta against my whole family. I don’t know why she spared me, but once she’s dead, my daughter will be safe, and my family will be avenged. I went back home, grabbed a kitchen knife from the drawer, and hid it under the covers. Since no one else could see me, I figured I’d just confront her directly. I lay back down on the bed, waiting for the woman to return. Click. She was back. Same routine: cook, watch TV. Then she opened the door to my room. She started her daily cursing ritual. I silently retorted in my head: You murderer, tomorrow you won’t have the chance to curse anyone. Finally, the woman got ready for bed. Hearing her slow, even breathing, I carefully reached under the covers for the knife. Just as I opened my eyes, ready to strike, I saw her lying beside me, eyes wide open, calmly watching me. My heart jumped, but I didn’t hesitate. I swung the knife. She rolled sideways, dodging the blow, then kicked me hard, snatching the knife from my hand. I failed. All that time lying helpless in bed had ruined my reflexes. Defeated, I slumped to the floor, bracing for death. But surprisingly, the woman didn’t kill me. She found a rope and tied me up. I couldn’t break free. I resigned myself to my fate. “Who are you?” I asked her. “I am you. You are me. But… not entirely me.” I didn’t understand. This woman was crazy. “Why did you kill my family?” I demanded. “Because they deserved to die.” Rage choked me, leaving me speechless. The woman fell silent too, just staring blankly in my direction. Being watched by someone who looked exactly like me was deeply unsettling. But I couldn’t help studying her. I noticed that although she looked like me, she seemed older, exhausted. There were fine lines around her eyes, her skin was sallow, and even her hair seemed dull, almost grayish. I could never let myself look like that. Before the accident, I loved skincare and dressing up. When I was out with my daughter, people often thought I was her older sister. How dare this woman say she was me

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My twin sister, an influencer desperate for a comeback, abused me in my hospital bed and filmed it all. She pretended the footage was of her to milk sympathy from her followers. She ended up making bank, but wouldn’t spend a dime on my treatment. Then, afraid I’d expose her, she smothered me with a pillow. Next thing I know, I wake up. Back on the day her video went viral. This time, I’ll make sure she’s ruined, disgraced, and doesn’t scam a single cent. 1 Overnight, the video of me lying helpless in a hospital bed blew up. Mom stared at the like count, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “Get more footage, film more! This could go huge!” Then, feigning concern, “Hmm, maybe it’s not tragic enough. Needs more punch to really go viral.” She shook her head sadly, then looked straight at me, her eyes practically glowing. “Jessica, honey, you need to tough it out for your sister’s career. Remember how you hogged all the nutrients in the womb? Payback time.” Mom ripped at my hospital gown, pinching my skin hard. My body was already a canvas of black and blue marks. Her nails dug into my flesh, twisting and pressing brutally. The higher the likes climbed, the harder she hurt me. To craft an even more ‘authentic’ image, Ashley even used a lit cigarette to burn the skin around my IV sites. My hands clenched in pain, my whole body started shaking. Ashley couldn’t stand any resistance. Her slaps rained down on me. Harder each time. “You owe me this, Jessica.” My frail, sick body couldn’t take it. Blood started trickling from the corner of my mouth. They filmed me like this, then carefully arranged the blankets to hide the worst of the bruises before posting. Sure enough, a few hours later, it exploded. Top trending topic. People online rushed to donate money for ‘my’ medical bills. Ashley, rolling in the dough, panicked that I’d spill the beans. She pressed a pillow over my face, her hands clamping tight around my neck. She suffocated me. Just like that. Before I blacked out, I saw Mom patting Ashley’s shoulder. “It’s okay, honey, it’s okay. She was just paying you back, like she should.” Mom’s words were like daggers, slicing me up piece by piece. My body died. But my heart? That died the day I realized Mom would always choose Ashley. 2 When I opened my eyes again, I was back. The day the video went viral. This time, I didn’t fight back against their abuse. I even ‘helpfully’ suggested they buy some engagement, boost the post to hit the trending topics. “I’m gonna be famous! I’m gonna be famous! Hahahaha!” Ashley danced around the hospital room like a lunatic. I watched her pathetic little jig, my face cold. The higher you climb, the harder you fall. This time, she’d shatter. Fueled by Ashley and Mom’s promotion, the video shot to number one on the trending list. Then came the shriek that filled the room. “How?! How could they know? How did they find out the truth?!” Ashley’s face twisted into an ugly mask. She crouched down, clawing at her hair. Mom just collapsed onto a chair, eyes vacant, looking like she’d aged ten years in an instant. A small smile played on my lips. I picked up my phone and scrolled through the storm of online hate directed at them. “God, she’s so ugly and shameless. People will do anything for money.” “Ugh, using her sick sister to scam people? She deserves the worst.” “So disgusting. I actually felt sorry for her and donated quite a bit. What a lowlife bitch.” … The online sentiment flipped overnight. Sympathy turned to venom. The virtual spit almost drowned Ashley. She had no choice but to delete all her accounts. Hiding behind her screen like the coward she was. Suddenly, Ashley glared at me, pure malice in her eyes. She lunged. “It was you, wasn’t it?! You ruined me! Jessica, I’m gonna kill you!” Before her fist could land, a doctor rushed in and escorted her out. Seeing Ashley losing her mind, pacing frantically, felt unbelievably satisfying. Sweet, sweet justice. 3 The night the video first exploded, I begged every doctor and nurse I could find. Tears streaming, I described the hell I was living through. How my mother and sister were using my illness to scam people online. The medical staff listened, horrified and heartbroken. They all stepped up, offering to testify for me. And thanks to Ashley spending money to boost the post? There was no way she could spin this now. The truth was out there, amplified. My medical bills got covered by genuine donations from strangers who heard the real story. After I recovered, I found a decent job. It wasn’t long before Mom showed up, demanding money. Apparently, Ashley had gotten pregnant by some guy who’d recently struck it rich. His family demanded a $100,000 ‘dowry’ from them before they’d let Ashley marry him. “Your sister’s about to marry into wealth! As her sister, you should contribute.” Mom grabbed at my clothes, her hand reaching for my pocket. Her entitlement was almost comical. “Anyone with eyes can see that family’s just trying to scam you. Only idiots like you would actually fall for it and offer to pay them.” Mom raised her hand to slap me. “It’s a test! They’re testing our sincerity! Once she’s married, she’ll be living in luxury!” I shook my head, catching her wrist and shoving her hand away forcefully. “I’m not giving you a single penny. If she wants to marry him that badly, take out a loan.” Mom pointed a shaking finger at me, unleashing a torrent of abuse. “You ungrateful brat! You worthless snake! I regret the day you were born!” She started throwing a full-blown tantrum right there on the street, wailing and rolling around. Passersby started gathering, whispering among themselves. “Wow, that daughter’s heartless. Look how desperate her poor mother is.” Seeing she had an audience, Mom doubled down. She grabbed my legs and actually knelt, begging. I didn’t get angry. I laughed. Then I pulled out my phone and played the video clip of the doctor testifying about the abuse. The crowd, always eager for drama, immediately turned on Mom. “That old woman has no shame! I’ve seen it all today.” Someone actually spat near her, another threw some wilted vegetable scraps they were carrying. Realizing her act was busted, Mom scrambled up, brushing off the garbage. She started yelling obscenities at the onlookers. I couldn’t stand watching her shrewish display. “Stop embarrassing yourself. I’m out of here.” I walked away, leaving her shrieking curses behind me. All I wanted now was to make them pay for everything they’d done. 4 To marry the rich guy, Ashley actually mortgaged the house. Of course, Kevin’s family looked down on Mom and refused to let her move in with them anyway. So Mom ended up renting a cheap, run-down apartment. She really went all-in, hoping for that big payoff. Betting the farm to catch the golden goose. Heh. Her calculations were useless, though. Nobody seemed to realize that Kevin, Ashley’s fiancé, was a violent abuser, and his mother was obsessed with having grandsons. I’d found all this out as soon as Mom came asking for money. But warn Ashley? Hell no. I was perfectly happy to watch from the sidelines. Seeing them tear each other apart like rabid dogs was exactly what I wanted. In fact, Mom mortgaging the house? I might have subtly… nudged things along. Ashley’s pregnancy progressed. But Kevin’s family wouldn’t let her move in until they saw the cash. Mom liquidated every asset she could find. Still couldn’t scrape together the full amount. We were never well-off, and Mom clung to every penny. The house originally belonged to Dad. Mom fought for it and got it in the divorce. My few memories of Dad were of a kind man. He couldn’t stand Mom’s constant nitpicking and greed, so he left. He died in a car accident not long after. Mom was desperate for the money, afraid the growing baby bump would start gossip. Seeing her so frantic, I decided to ‘help’ her out. I happened to have a friend in real estate. With a little maneuvering, we arranged for the house title to be transferred… to me. Mom wouldn’t have any assets left to leverage in the future. And it wasn’t like Kevin’s family were decent people who’d ever give her money back. Looking at the deed in my hand. I could only imagine the fireworks when Ashley and Mom found out. 5 The day Mom moved into the cheap rental. The neighbors were already calling her and Ashley crazy. Mom screamed right back at them. “You’re just jealous! When Ashley marries him, I’ll be rolling in cash!” She had such a twisted way of thinking. Selling her daughter, practically, but framing it like some brilliant investment. Watching her puffed-up arrogance. I smirked. She had no idea the house was already mine. After the wedding, Ashley flooded her social media with posts. Showing off her ‘perfect’ life. March 15th Hubby bought me roses today! Loving him more every day <3 March 16th Baby kicked today! Hubby got me my favorite dessert! #blessed March 17th Mother-in-law made me delicious porridge this morning! ... Post after post designed to make everyone envious. The comment section was full of praise. I just scrolled past, smiling faintly. I focused on my job, worked hard, and eventually got a promotion and a raise. When Ashley showed up, heavily pregnant, to gloat, I found it genuinely funny. "Jessica, you'll never be on my level. I'm a rich man's wife now, and you're just a pathetic wage slave." Mom chimed in, putting on airs. "Jessica, learn from your sister! Find a rich man to take care of me, so I don't have to worry about supporting you later." Watching them perform their little duet. Like gorillas in a zoo exhibit. Hilarious. "Yeah, I guess I'm just not cut out for relying on a man. I can support myself just fine." I raised an eyebrow. My words hit Ashley like a slap. She'd dropped out of school years ago, obsessed with becoming an influencer. Not only did her 'career' fizzle out fast, but she lived off Mom's meager savings. Men weren't reliable. Abusive men definitely weren't reliable. All the manufactured happiness shattered after Ashley gave birth… to a daughter. The social media updates stopped abruptly. Clear proof that Ashley's life was anything but rosy. And that was exactly the outcome I'd been waiting for. 6 On Ashley's daughter Tiffany's birthday. Mom insisted I come over for dinner. I went, purely for the entertainment value. Mom was slaving away in the kitchen. Ashley was trying to soothe a wailing Tiffany. Kevin, meanwhile, sat on the couch, scrolling through his phone, looking thoroughly annoyed. "Can you shut that kid up? God, the crying is driving me crazy." Kevin snapped, his temper clearly short. The couple started arguing. "Why don't you try comforting her for once? Always glued to your phone. Probably texting other women behind my back." Maybe she hit a nerve, or maybe he just hated being contradicted. Kevin backhanded Ashley across the face. Hard. His mother, Ashley's mother-in-law, chimed in from the sidelines, dripping condescension. "Ashley, know your place. You married into our family, you need to learn some damn manners." I watched the whole disgusting scene unfold, detached. It confirmed everything: Kevin was abusive, his mom only cared about grandsons. I slipped into the kitchen, pretending to help Mom, just to get away from the 'main event'. "Mom," I whispered conspiratorially, "Looks like Kevin and Ashley are fighting out there. I think Ashley actually slapped Kevin." Mom heard her precious 'golden goose' might have been slapped? She lost it instantly. She slammed down her spatula and stormed out, grabbing Ashley.

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After I got pregnant, I made up an excuse to break up with Ethan, successfully pulling off my “keep the baby, ditch the dad” plan. Two years later, pushing my kid out for some sun, I bumped into Ethan right at the entrance of my complex. We stared at each other, horrified, and blurted out at the same time: “You already had a kid with someone else?!” “Are you here to take my baby?!” 1 “Ava, honey, remember to take little Leo out for some sunshine every day. Don’t just stay cooped up inside, okay?” “Got it, Mom. We’ll head out in a bit.” Hanging up, I looked at the little guy who had just made a huge mess on the bed and was now giggling at me. I was torn between exasperation and adoration. Even though he’s my own flesh and blood, it doesn’t stop me from being grossed out by his… output. Mask on, I struggled to clean up the disaster zone. It took two exhausting hours. Usually, my mom and the nanny handle most of his care. But the nanny’s off for a few days, and Mom went on a trip with her friends, leaving me solely responsible for the little rascal. It’s genuinely exhausting and soul-crushing. If he wasn’t so darn cute, I’d seriously consider stuffing him back where he came from. Just before sunset, I pushed Leo in his stroller, planning a walk in the nearby park, but I spotted a familiar figure at the complex gate. His profile… looked an awful lot like Leo’s biological father… As if sensing my gaze, the man turned. Our eyes met, and simultaneous panic flashed across both our faces. We spoke at the exact same moment— “You already had a kid with someone else?!” “Are you here to take my baby?!” After the outburst, we both stood there, momentarily bewildered. Ethan tilted his head, confused. “Take… the baby?” Okay, looks like he still doesn’t know Leo is his. My mind raced. Playing it cool, I said, “Sorry, I guess motherhood’s made me a bit paranoid. Uh, fancy seeing you here. What brings you around?” Disappointment washed over Ethan’s face, but he quickly schooled his features. “It’s not fancy,” he said gravely. “I came looking for you specifically.” “Looking for me? What’s up?” Ethan’s gaze dropped to Leo in the stroller. He stared for a long moment before speaking, his voice tinged with resentment, “Ava, this kid… looks like he’s about a year old, lengthwise.” …Who judges age by length?! I thought he was starting to suspect the truth. My heart hammered again. I gave a vague answer, “Uh, yeah, around that.” Ethan looked even more hurt, clenching his fists, his eyes filled with accusation and sadness. “So, you mean right after we broke up, you immediately turned around, married someone else, and had a baby?!” Whew, scared me to death. He hadn’t figured it out. Good thing Leo takes after me more. I had no idea why Ethan suddenly showed up. I figured after two years, he would have moved on. But judging by his reaction, maybe not… In this situation, I should probably be ruthless to cut ties cleanly. But remembering I technically “stole” his genetic material made me feel a pang of guilt. I couldn’t bring myself to twist the knife further. I assumed his pain and anger stemmed from me moving on so quickly. So, I offered a white lie, “Well, not exactly… it was a little while after we split.” Ethan’s eyes reddened. He shook his head in disappointment, murmuring as if to himself, “I thought… I thought you wouldn’t get married easily. Turns out, you just didn’t want to marry me.” No, I genuinely don’t plan on marrying anyone, I answered silently in my head. Ethan looked at me, wanting to say more, his eyes swirling with unspoken emotions. Two years apart had matured the shy, boyish college kid considerably. His thoughts were no longer so easy to read. My pulse quickened under his silent scrutiny. But in the end, he said nothing, just turned and walked away, looking utterly dejected. 2 I watched his retreating back with mixed feelings. Just then, Leo started crying, almost as if sensing his biological dad leaving. I quickly knelt to soothe him. At the same time, my work phone rang. An emergency at the office required me back immediately. Patiently, I explained to my employee that I couldn’t just leave, that I needed at least a day or half a day to arrange childcare for Leo. But they kept urging me frantically, acting like the sky would fall if I didn’t rush back that second. Coupled with Leo’s wailing, my temper flared. “Doesn’t the company have anyone else who can handle an emergency?! Is the whole place going to collapse if I don’t show up today?!” My outburst silenced the employee. Leo, however, cried even harder. Taking a deep breath, I softened my tone. “Give me some time to sort out childcare. I’ll get there as soon as I can.” While comforting Leo, I started calling friends, trying to find someone trustworthy to watch him for a bit. But it seemed like bad luck was following me today. Everyone I trusted was either out of town or had important commitments. My anxiety spiked. “Where’s your husband?” A voice suddenly spoke from behind me, making me jump. Turning around, I saw Ethan. He’d somehow reappeared. “Still need something?” I countered, avoiding his question. Ethan glanced at Leo, frowning. “Why are you dealing with this alone? Why isn’t his dad helping?” I shot him a silent look, speechless. Ethan, bless his high-quality genes, was incredibly decent. Even after being hurt by me, the “heartless woman,” he couldn’t stand seeing me struggle. Assuming my non-existent husband was slacking off, he reached for my phone, intending to call him. Panic seized me. I quickly clamped down on his hand, blurting out a lie, “My husband’s on a business trip overseas. He can’t help right now.” Ethan eyed me skeptically. “So what are you going to do? Don’t you have to get to the office?” It was definitely tricky, but… Suddenly, I realized Leo had stopped crying. I looked down. The little guy was sucking his thumb, eyes wide and round, staring intently at Ethan. My gaze flickered between the two of them. Then, swallowing my pride, I asked Ethan, “Hey, um, if you’re not busy, could you maybe watch him for me? Just for half a day? I’ll be back tonight!” Ethan looked genuinely stunned by my audacity. “You want me to watch your kid with another man?! Ava, how could you humiliate me like this?!” “Fine, if you don’t want to—” Ethan suddenly held out his hand. I tilted my head, confused. “What?” “Your keys. You expect me to watch him on the street? Or take him back to my place?” Ethan scoffed. “I’m not letting you and some other guy’s kid into my apartment.” 3 “Building 9, Unit 2806. Door code is 0927.” I gave him the info without hesitation, pushing the stroller towards him. “Formula and bottles are on the dining table, use warm water. Diapers are in the living room cabinet. If you don’t know something, ask me or Google it. Also, if you don’t mind, maybe push him around the complex for a bit longer, get some more sun.” Ethan: … With Leo sorted, I frantically prepared to drive to the office. After a few steps, I turned back, uncertain. “You’ll take good care of him, right?” Ethan let out a cold, angry laugh. “No,” he said icily. “I’m going to torture this kid you had with someone else.” Despite his words, I felt strangely reassured. When I first got together with Ethan, he was still in college. My company needed part-time male models, and Ethan had tagged along with a friend to the audition. I don’t remember his friend’s face, but Ethan, waiting by the door, caught my eye immediately. The boy was stunningly handsome; even I, generally uninterested in men, felt a flicker of attraction. Initially, I just wanted to recruit him as a model. Later, lust took over, and he became my younger boyfriend. Getting to know him better revealed that Ethan wasn’t just gorgeous; he was smart, kind-hearted, and possessed excellent qualities all around. Unfortunately, the age gap was significant, and I’m fundamentally not the marrying type. We were doomed from the start, destined only for a fleeting affair. But his arrival did accelerate another plan I had. I’d spent years focused on my career, planning to achieve financial independence by 35 and then have a child to raise alone. When I met Ethan, I was already financially independent, but at 29, I wasn’t quite ready for motherhood. Besides, acquiring high-quality sperm wasn’t exactly easy. After dating Ethan for a year, he was facing choices about studying abroad or starting work. Logically, he should have pursued further education to enhance his prospects. But the silly boy, desperate not to do long-distance and eager to be on my level quickly, was actually considering giving up studying abroad. He seriously shared his future plans with me, every step revolving around me. His earnestness changed the dynamic of our relationship. I couldn’t handle the intensity of his affection, couldn’t take responsibility for it. Though reluctant, I knew I had to break up with him. But before ending things, I made one last use of his high-quality genetic material. After successfully conceiving, I first persuaded him to go study abroad – I couldn’t bear to let his promising future be ruined by a temporary lapse in judgment fueled by romance. Once he left, I used that as the excuse to break up, employing every soft and hard tactic imaginable. All in all, it wasn’t an amicable split. Mainly because Ethan was far more invested emotionally than I was. I definitely caused him some pain. Normally, I wouldn’t feel bad about a breakup – it’s a normal part of life, better to be amicable and move on, right? But… I had used his contribution without permission… That first instant seeing Ethan today, my heart leaped into my throat. I thought he was here to settle scores, to fight me for the child. Thank god he wasn’t— Wait. He hasn’t figured out Leo is his yet. But if they spend more time together, what if he does realize?! I’d only thought of him as trustworthy in the moment, completely forgetting that crucial detail! Regret washed over me for my impulsive decision. But I was already stuck at the office, unable to leave. All I could do was pray that when I got back, Leo would still be solely my child… 4 At eleven PM, after finishing up overtime, I rushed home, not even bothering to change my shoes, heading straight into the apartment to find Leo. Leo was sleeping soundly in his crib. Ethan was sitting on the floor, head resting on the crib railing, apparently asleep too. The scene looked surprisingly peaceful. Relief washed over me. I tiptoed out to change my shoes and pour myself a glass of water. I debated whether to wake Ethan and send him home. “You’re back?” His low, slightly raspy voice startled me from behind. “Did I wake you?” Ethan shook his head, sitting down across from me, casually picking up my water glass and taking a sip. “Didn’t fall asleep, just dozed off.” He looked up, his gaze slightly mocking. “Seeing you rush in like that, were you afraid I’d done something to him?” My eyes darted away. I didn’t answer. I had been a little worried. Ethan chuckled coldly. “If you were so scared, why leave him with me? Ava, you’re not usually this reckless.” He was right. I’m generally rational and cautious. Today’s decision was indeed impulsive. Maybe subconsciously, knowing he was Leo’s biological father automatically added a layer of safety filter. “Anyway, thank you for today. He’s usually quite a handful, did he give you a hard time?” I asked. “He was fine. Pretty well-behaved.” Ethan said this as if implying: I hate to admit it, but your kid with another guy is actually quite good. I found that surprising. These past few days, the little guy had worn me out completely. Except when asleep, “well-behaved” wasn’t a word I’d associate with him. And his sleep schedule was maddening – you could never predict when he’d get tired, and he’d always wake up crying after short naps. But then Ethan added, “He’s just a bit ugly. His father must not be good-looking.” I glanced at Ethan’s own practically flawless face and smiled. You said it. Ethan tapped his finger on the rim of the glass, studying me intently. Suddenly, he said, “There’s not a trace of a man living here, Ava. Are you—” My heart leaped again. Had he figured it out?! “—separated from your husband?” I discreetly wiped a bead of sweat from my forehead and forced a smile. “Ah, he’s abroad long-term, so yeah, not much of his stuff is here.” “Really? Perhaps… you’re actually divorced?” “Of course not,” I denied quickly. Ethan’s expression fell, clearly disappointed. I genuinely couldn’t understand what he was thinking. It’s the 21st century; shouldn’t two years be enough time to get over a relationship? Besides, I was now a supposedly married woman with a child. Could he possibly still have feelings for me? It seemed highly unlikely. So maybe… he was still resentful about me “dumping” him? Considering this, I tried reasoning with him gently, “Ethan, I know you’re probably upset about the breakup, but you must have known we were unlikely to work out long-term. Ending it sooner was better for you. Look at you, you’re such a great catch, came back from studying abroad still young, bright future ahead, plenty of wonderful girls would love to be with you.” “I’m not upset with you.” I paused. “What?” Ethan’s fingers tightened on the glass. He looked down. “I know I was young in your eyes, immature, couldn’t give you the security and sense of belonging you needed. It’s normal that you gave up on me.” “So after the breakup, even though I missed you terribly, I forced myself to hold back. I thought I needed to grow up fast, that maybe if you saw how I’d changed, you might give me another chance.” “I finished my studies early, threw myself into work, desperately tried to achieve something. I think I’m finally on a path where we could be equals, but… it’s still too late.” I’ve always been pessimistic about romantic relationships. To me, love is just a hormonal drive for physical intimacy. Once that state fades, so does the so-called love. Two years apart, whatever love existed between us should have vanished. So, I couldn’t empathize with Ethan’s current emotions. After a moment of silence, I tried again, “It’s getting really late. Maybe… you should head home and rest?”

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My husband had a stroke while cheating on me with his little tramp. When they brought him to the hospital, I immediately refused treatment. Not this time. I wasn’t going to be that stupid again. 1. “Lily, honey, I’ve got drinks with Mr. Sterling tonight. Might be back late, don’t wait up for me.” “Lily? Lily?” The face in front of me slowly came into focus, solidifying into the man I once loved more than anything. Kevin. My first instinct was to lunge at him, to strangle the life out of the man who ruined my life, who destroyed everything. But then, something felt wrong. The huge wedding photo on the wall, the bright sunflowers on the counter, the beanbag chair I picked out in the corner, the breakfast I’d just made sitting on the table. This was my house! I was back! I’d been reborn! “What’s today’s date?” I managed, my voice raspy. “Lily, what’s wrong?” His hand touched my forehead, cool and gentle. He muttered, “You don’t have a fever.” “What day is it?” “Okay, okay, it’s February 14th, Valentine’s Day. I know I should be spending it with you, but Mr. Sterling wants to talk about this new project. I really can’t get out of it. Please understand?” “Once the commission from this project comes through, we can finally buy that new house. I’m doing this for us, you know!” Kevin blinked, his eyes full of tenderness. He leaned in and kissed my forehead. If I hadn’t lived through this once already, I might have actually believed his bullshit. He wasn’t going to see Mr. Sterling. He was going to spend Valentine’s Day with his mistress! And while they were rolling around in bed, the extreme excitement would cause a massive stroke. The mistress would panic, dump him at the hospital, and run. And clueless me? I’d be on my knees, begging the doctors to save him, borrowing from loan sharks to cover the bills. A path that ultimately led me to jump off a building. “Which Mr. Sterling are you meeting tonight?” “It’s… hey, Lily, you don’t suspect me, do you?” A small smile played at the corner of his eye as he teased me. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and forced out a “No.” Kevin beamed. “Don’t worry, you’re the only one for me. Babe, I gotta go, gonna be late for work.” He gave me a tight hug. The clean scent of laundry detergent on him was a jarring reminder. I need revenge! I need revenge!! I need to take back everything that’s mine! 2 It’s 8:00 AM now. At 11:00 PM tonight, I’ll get the call from the ER. That leaves 15 hours until his stroke. I need to get back all the assets he secretly transferred, and fast. Kevin is a Vice President at his company, Apex Corp, making $200,000 a year. He always managed his own salary account, claiming he was saving up $450,000 for us to buy a bigger house. Six months ago, he said he was almost there, even showed me the balance: $410,000. I remember in my past life, the hospital bills piled up like falling leaves. After draining my own accounts, I tried to use Kevin’s salary card. The system flashed: INSUFFICIENT FUNDS! I just assumed I’d grabbed the wrong card. It never occurred to me that he’d already moved all the money. On one side, the nurses were hounding me for payment; on the other, a $30,000 shortfall. In desperation, I turned to high-interest online loans, thinking, once he wakes up, we can easily pay back $30k. Kevin woke up a week later. When he found out I’d taken out predatory loans to save him, his face instantly darkened. When I asked for his salary card, he hemmed and hawed, saying he’d invested the money and lost it all. Back then, I actually believed his investment story. Worried that getting upset might trigger another stroke, I even comforted him, saying it was okay, I’d figure out the money situation. But the interest compounded. And compounded. Soon after he was admitted, the $30,000 ballooned to $75,000. I had to ask him for help. Maybe get an advance on his salary from work, or borrow from friends. He exploded, yelling that I borrowed the money, it had nothing to do with him, and I had to pay it back myself. I was stunned. He sounded nothing like the gentle, considerate Kevin I knew. He was like a selfish stranger. The doctor told me many stroke patients experience personality changes, and it could be hard for families to adjust. I believed it. Thinking he was fragile after his recovery, I tried to handle the debt myself. But I’d moved across the country to marry Kevin right after college, cutting ties with my family in the process. Asking them for help was impossible. As a stay-at-home wife, I had no recent work experience. Countless interviews ended in rejection. My only option was to borrow more, escalating from bad online loans to even shadier lenders. Eventually, I caught the eye of the loan shark’s boss, who demanded I become his mistress. That’s when I started putting the pieces together. He and that secretary who brought him to the hospital, Chloe, seemed to have been involved for a while. 3 Last time, when I rushed to the hospital, I found a valet ticket stub while signing papers. It listed the location he was picked up from. Something like… The Grand Royale Hotel, room 303! Yes! The Grand Royale Hotel, room 303! My eyes narrowed. A plan started forming. I bought a pinhole camera, then checked into The Grand Royale Hotel, taking room 305 – right across the hall from 303. Noon is peak checkout time. After lunch, the cleaning staff would start their rounds. I watched the peephole like a hawk. Soon, a housekeeper started cleaning 303. As she was finishing up, I opened my door, asked her if she could please clean my room first. Then, while her back was turned, I slipped into 303. Stepping inside, I gasped. Red mood lighting, a heart-shaped waterbed, a jacuzzi tub, a sofa shaped like red lips. This was clearly a fantasy suite. Standing on a stool, I quickly hid the pinhole camera behind one of the spotlights. Then I calmly walked back to 305 just as the housekeeper finished cleaning my room. 9:00 PM. I heard familiar voices outside the door. “I love you, baby.” It was Kevin! “Mmm… you’re eager. Careful, the baby!” “It’s past the first trimester, right? I’ve been holding back for so long…” “Seriously though, when are you going to divorce her?” “There’s a project bonus coming next month, about $25k. Let me transfer that out too, then I’ll bring up the divorce.” “Mmm, okay… mmm.” The door slammed shut. Yes, Chloe was already pregnant at this point. In my past life, when I found out, I flew at Kevin, hitting him. He called me a crazy bitch and said since I already knew, he might as well tell me everything. “Chloe and I have been together for a while. She’s carrying my child. We got a paternity test done. It’s a boy.” “The Chen family finally has an heir!” (He never Americanized his family name pride). “We’ve been married three years and you haven’t gotten pregnant. You’re just a barren hen!” “You want the $450,000 from my account? I moved it to an offshore account long ago. You’ll never find it!” Sobbing uncontrollably, gasping for air, I asked him why. Why, when I was desperately trying to save him at the hospital, taking on so much debt for him, would he do this to me? He laughed, a cruel, cutting sound, and said something I’ll never forget. “It was Chloe who brought me to the hospital. It was the doctors who saved me. I was destined to live. What does it have to do with you? I’d be perfectly fine without you.” 4 Swallowing my disgust, I opened the live feed from the camera. Watching them cling to each other. Suddenly, Chloe got an idea. She wanted to play something… stimulating. Kevin’s eyes lit up. He immediately turned and bent over. Chloe picked up a small whip, like a matador facing an overly excited bull. Crack. Crack. Each strike was met with gasps and moans of pleasure. He was loving it. Apparently, that wasn’t enough. She put on high heels and stepped onto Kevin’s back, right onto his buttocks. That move made Kevin’s eyes roll back in ecstasy. Wait. His eyes rolled back! Chloe stepped down a few more times, but Kevin didn’t react. That’s when she realized something was wrong. She rushed over, shaking him, then screamed and scrambled back. She fumbled for her phone, probably calling 911. In the few minutes before the paramedics arrived, she frantically got dressed. Then she tried to dress Kevin. He’d already had a stroke; moving him was the worst thing to do, but she was forcing his limp body into clothes. Last time, the doctor said it was rare for someone so young to have such a severe stroke. Now I knew why. It wasn’t just the stroke from the BDSM; it was being manhandled afterward. No wonder it was so bad! Soon, I heard hurried footsteps and the rumble of a gurney in the hallway. After a flurry of activity, they wheeled him away. I opened my door. Other guests peeked out of their rooms, making snide remarks. “Whoa, did someone just kick the bucket in there?” “People are wild these days! I heard it clear as day, the guy was yelling ‘Your Majesty, spare me!’” “Hehe. Honey, I wanna try that.” “Oh, spare me. I don’t have a death wish.” While everyone was distracted, I slipped back into 303 and retrieved the camera. Step one, complete. The real show was about to begin.

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In my past life, my sister Sophia was adopted by a wealthy couple, while I was taken in by a scrap metal dealer. Ten years later, she was cast out by her rich family, while my adoptive father and I had built Ashton City’s number one steel company. Reborn into this life, Sophia wanted to walk my path, begging the scrap metal guy to take her instead. But she didn’t know that without me, there would be no Johnson Steel, the company that would become famous throughout Ashton City. 1 I was representing Johnson Steel, one of Ashton City’s top ten businesses, making a donation to the group home where I used to live. As the donor, I was invited to attend the ceremony. At the charity gala that evening, I stepped out of a Maserati, dressed stylishly, drawing everyone’s attention. Old friends from the group home rushed to greet me, and Ms. Evans, the director, stood nearby, praising my success. The stark contrast between me now and my sister Sophia, who was currently working as a cleaner at the home, inevitably led to hushed whispers. “Sophia was so clever back then, getting herself adopted by Mr. Miller and leaving her own sister to go home with some junk dealer. Look at her now.” “Who would’ve thought Mr. Miller’s biological daughter would show up? They don’t want Sophia anymore.” “Chloe really hit the jackpot. The junk dealer’s kid is now the steel heiress. Sophia must be sick with regret.” Eyes darted towards Sophia, who was sweeping the floor nearby. She was looking at me too, her eyes bloodshot, gripping the broom handle so tightly her knuckles were white, the wood creaking. After the gala ended, Sophia found me and asked if I could get her a job at the steel plant. She seemed humbled, her small, thin frame shivering in the wind. My heart softened, and I agreed. But then Sophia grabbed my arm, pulling me towards the staff housing area. “I knew you still cared about me, sis. Come help me pack my stuff. I can’t stand another second in this place.” But once I stepped inside her small room, Sophia’s expression changed. She shoved me hard into the room, locked the door from the inside, and tossed a lit match into a wooden cabinet. Flames spread rapidly. Thick smoke choked me, making it impossible to scream. Sophia frantically pinned down my hand as I tried to open the window. “Chloe Johnson! You became the steel heiress thanks to me, so what gives you the right to pity me now?” “If my life sucks, you don’t get to live either!” “Since you’re my dear sister, let’s just burn to ashes together! Hahahaha…” But she had no idea how many life-and-death situations I had survived to get where I was. Sophia’s figure blurred in the flames. Darkness overwhelmed me, and I collapsed. 2 When I opened my eyes again, I was lying on my cot in the group home, waking from an afternoon nap. Ms. Evans burst into the room, excitement in her voice as she woke us all up. “Quick, tidy yourselves up! Two families are here looking to adopt!” All the kids in the room jumped up, getting dressed neatly, combing hair, washing faces. It was a habit we’d developed over the years; fall behind, and you get left out. An older kid who’d scouted outside came back, buzzing with news. “One family looks really fancy, loaded with money! But they probably won’t want someone my age.” “What about the other one?” “Uh, the other one’s just a guy. Looks kinda like a junk dealer.” These kids had already learned to size people up, kissing up to the rich and looking down on the poor. They started mocking the idea of a scrap metal guy adopting anyone. Sophia scoffed, shaking her head with a look of pity, as if disappointed in their short-sightedness. She came over, took my hand sweetly, “Chloe, let’s go check them out too.” She radiated a calculating maturity far beyond her years. In that moment, I understood. She had been reborn too. If I was right, her target this time was the man the others were sneering at – Carl Johnson, the scrap metal guy standing not far off. Sophia had always been charming, knowing exactly how to win over adults. As soon as Ms. Evans saw Sophia approach, she beamed and introduced her to the wealthy couple, the Millers. “Sophia here is sharp and well-behaved, always so polite. She’s a good kid.” The Millers listened to Ms. Evans, looked at Sophia’s delicate features, and nodded in satisfaction. But the supposedly polite Sophia reacted with horror, yanking her hand away as Mrs. Miller reached out to touch her. “Don’t touch me! I don’t want to go with you!” Sophia ran over to Carl Johnson, the man the other kids scorned, and threw her arms around his legs. She burst into tears, snot mixing with teardrops, acting as if she’d found a long-lost relative. “Mister, I just feel a connection with you! Please, take me with you!” Carl Johnson froze for a second, then his face lit up with joy. It was the first time anyone had ever chosen him so decisively. Mrs. Miller, clearly unprepared for such a scene, stood with her hand awkwardly suspended in mid-air, staring helplessly. Mr. Miller turned angrily to Ms. Evans, demanding an explanation. Ms. Evans grabbed Sophia, who was sobbing dramatically on the floor. “Are you crazy? What are you doing?” Sophia struggled, shouting, “Leave me alone! I want to go with this man!” She pushed Ms. Evans away and clung to Carl Johnson’s leg again, muttering under her breath, “Nobody’s stealing my fortune this time.” Ms. Evans threw up her hands in exasperation, utterly disappointed, and decided to let her be. Having gotten her way, Sophia ran back to the Millers, suddenly reverting to her sweet, well-behaved persona. She pulled me forward, introducing me with a sugary smile, “Mr. and Mrs. Miller, I’m sorry. I just felt a special bond with that gentleman, that’s why I couldn’t go with you.” “This is my sister, Chloe. She’s smart and well-behaved, just like me. Taking her would be just as good.” Sophia wanted me to walk her path from the previous life – enjoy a brief period of wealth and luxury before being thrown out and ridiculed. Ms. Evans noticed me then and chimed in, “Chloe is just a bit quiet, but she’s a very good girl.” After the shock Sophia had just given them, the Millers decided they preferred a quiet, obedient child. And just like that, they took the silent me home with them. 3 That very day, Mrs. Miller took me shopping and bought me lots of new clothes. At the mall, near the dumpsters by the service entrance, I saw Sophia helping Carl Johnson collect trash. Carl pointed towards the stockroom door, instructing her, “When the guy comes out, go ask him nicely if we can have the trash.” “Heh heh, this is all high-grade cardboard. It’ll sell for good money.” Sophia stared intently at the stockroom door, poised for action. Just then, her eyes met mine as I stepped out of a dressing room. Caught looking so grubby, Sophia flushed with embarrassment and charged at me furiously. “Chloe Miller! Are you laughing at me?!” She raised her hand to hit me. A sales clerk quickly stepped in, pushing Sophia aside. “Where did this little beggar come from?” Sophia gritted her teeth, about to lunge again, but Carl Johnson hurried over and pulled her away. He dragged the struggling Sophia with one hand while apologizing profusely to the clerk with the other. Getting banned from the mall would mean losing a significant source of income for him. The next day, Mrs. Miller dressed me up like a little princess and sent me to school. Sophia showed up still wearing the same dirty clothes from yesterday, looking completely disheveled. Several classmates were also from the group home, and they had already spread the story of what happened yesterday. Sophia used to be the teacher’s pet because of her sweet talk, strutting around school like she owned the place. Many kids already disliked her. Megan was the first to strike. Pretending to walk by, she “accidentally” knocked over Sophia’s desk, sending books scattering everywhere. Sophia gasped, pointing at Megan, about to yell, “Are you crazy?!” Megan pinched her nose, looking at the pile of books on the floor. “Why does it smell like garbage?” The whole class erupted in laughter. Instead of getting angry, Sophia called them all idiots. “You don’t know anything! I’m going to be a steel heiress someday! Don’t underestimate me just because I’m down on my luck now! When I make it big, you’ll all be begging me for favors!” The laughter stopped, then burst out even louder. “Has she lost her mind?” “I thought she was crazy yesterday when she ignored the rich couple and begged that scrap guy to adopt her.” “Steel heiress? Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England.” Sophia stood amidst the scattered books, looking down on her laughing classmates with pity in her eyes. She casually ordered me, standing nearby, “Chloe, pick up these books for me.” I didn’t move. Sophia got furious and grabbed my arm. “Have you no conscience? Look at yourself, all dressed up! It’s because I gave you my precious opportunity!” I frowned. “Gave? Or wasn’t satisfied with just stealing? You’re just hoping I’ll repeat your last life, aren’t you?” Sophia froze for a moment, muttering, “You’re reborn too?” “Well, then.” She pulled me close, whispering mockingly in my ear, “They might not know, but you do, don’t you? Chloe Miller, just wait. This time, I’ll be the one grinding you under my heel.” I pulled my arm away, correcting her, “We’ll see about that. And by the way, it’s Chloe Miller now.” From observing them these past couple of days, I realized the Millers were genuinely kind people. Sophia being kicked out of their house in the past life must have had other reasons. She was just too impulsive, always judging things by appearances, never reflecting on her own role in how things turned out. 4 Sophia followed my old path, helping Carl Johnson collect scrap after school every day. Because her dramatic display at the group home had genuinely touched Carl, she had it easier than I did initially. She mostly avoided the dirty, heavy work. Her skin got a bit darker, but she didn’t have the cuts and scratches I accumulated. But Sophia couldn’t even stand this small amount of hardship. She cornered me in the girls’ bathroom, shaking me and screaming hysterically. “When will this miserable life end?! When did you guys start the steel plant? Tell me, damn it!” Her time collecting scrap had clearly made her stronger; her grip on my shoulders actually hurt. Megan came out of a stall, saw what was happening, and quickly kicked Sophia away. “She’s a total psycho.” Sophia really did seem crazy. One moment she was furious, the next she was giggling eerily. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t tell me. The suffering I’m going through now is only temporary.” “But you, Chloe Miller,” she sneered. “Enjoy your fancy life while it lasts. Soon enough, you’ll be homeless again.” Yeah, right. This time, I was definitely going to cherish the opportunity. In my past life, I hadn’t even finished school before Carl forced me to drop out and collect scrap with him full-time. Even later, after we started the company and hired many highly educated professionals, I always regretted my unfinished education. It wasn’t that I was unwilling to tell Sophia when the steel plant started. The truth was, given the current situation, I couldn’t guarantee there would even be a Johnson Steel. Back then, shortly after Carl had forced me to quit school, there was a huge construction project starting on the south side of Ashton City. Carl took me there to collect scrap. I quickly noticed a lot of discarded steel among the debris. I found the foreman and asked him to sell the scrap steel to us cheap. The stuff was useless to them anyway, so the foreman was happy to get paid for it. But Carl thought I was wasting money. I had to use my own pocket money, saved from my time at the group home, to buy a small amount of scrap steel and beg him to haul it home. Later, after spending a lot of time researching, I contacted a steel mill in a nearby city up north and managed to resell the scrap. Even though we didn’t have much that first time, Carl made a significant profit. From then on, he started trusting my judgment. He went back to the foreman and bought a huge load of scrap steel to flip. We used the profits from flipping scrap as our initial capital. We traveled all over, hustling and taking risks, and that’s how Johnson Steel eventually came to be. Carl had no business sense himself. Collecting the steel, buying it, finding warehouses, building the plant, sourcing equipment – I handled everything. We attracted a lot of jealousy and faced retaliation many times. There were near-death experiences. Only someone who lived through it could understand how incredibly difficult that period was. Now, Sophia was just sitting around, waiting for Carl to magically conjure up a steel empire for her. She was basically daydreaming.

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I’m what’s known as a Tasker, someone assigned roles by a System. The identity arranged for me this time was the true daughter of the wealthy Ashworth family. When they found me and brought me back, the family already had an adopted daughter they showered with affection. She was portrayed as pure and innocent, a delicate flower untouched by the world. Meanwhile, every effort I made to fit in was twisted into manipulative scheming. It wasn’t until I was diagnosed with end-stage renal disease – kidney failure – and knelt on the floor begging Mr. Ashworth to use his connections to find me a donor, that things hit rock bottom. The Ashworths just watched me coldly, assuming it was just another ploy for attention. “Stop with the pathetic act. If you really have kidney failure, then you might as well just die.” But when I genuinely lost the will to live, the Ashworths suddenly went frantic, begging me to stay. By then, though, I was long tired of trying to be family with them. 1 “We can’t delay this any longer. You need surgery as soon as possible.” In the hospital room, I listened numbly to the doctor’s advice. “No point. I don’t have the money. I don’t want the treatment.” With that, I ripped the IV needle from my hand, slipped on my shoes, and bolted out the door. “Hey!” The doctor, clearly caught off guard, hurried after me. “What are you running for inside a hospital? Emily Ashworth, are you getting completely out of control?” As I sprinted towards the hospital entrance, I bumped into someone. After a mumbled “sorry,” I tried to leave, but a hand grabbed my arm. Seeing the doctor closing in, I impatiently tried to shake the hand off, but the grip on my wrist tightened. “You…” I snapped my head up and saw Michael Ashworth’s annoyed face. Seeing me talking to Michael, the pursuing doctor’s eyes lit up with a hopeful smile. “Dr. Ashworth, you know her? Please, try to talk some sense into her. She has kidney failure but refuses treatment. If she doesn’t get a transplant soon, it might be too late. The hospital has programs, policies…” Before the doctor could finish, Michael cut him off. “Emily, seriously, enough is enough. Do you really have to go to such lengths? How did I end up with such a vicious sister? If only you were half as sensible as Jessica.” His disgusted gaze shifted to the other doctor. “How much did she pay you to stage this little drama? Are you throwing away your medical ethics for money? Don’t bother coming into work tomorrow.” Without waiting for a reply, Michael turned and walked away. I looked at the stunned doctor, swallowing the bitter lump in my throat. “I’m sorry… you got dragged into this.” There wasn’t much more I could say. Even though I was technically an Ashworth, they despised me. I had no power to help this poor doctor. “What kind of person is that? And I used to look up to him. Unbelievable.” The doctor muttered, disgusted. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just a job, not like I desperately needed it. But your condition really can’t wait.” Hearing him still fussing over me, a strange warmth flickered inside me. Michael was dead wrong; this young doctor had integrity, worrying about a patient even after being fired. “I know.” I nodded, just to appease him. He seemed satisfied with my response, gave me his phone number, and then hurried off, presumably to look for his next job. 2 After leaving the hospital, I didn’t head home. I didn’t have a home in this world. With nowhere else to go, I wandered aimlessly down the street. Suddenly, a strong force yanked me sideways. “Are you blind? Watch where you’re going, idiot! What rotten luck.” The words floated back to me as the car sped off, disappearing before I could fully register what happened. “What were you thinking? You weren’t even paying attention crossing the street. You almost died.” The person who pulled me back was Dr. David Evans, my attending physician. When I spoke, I couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “So what if I died? I’m not going to live much longer anyway.” “What are you saying? If you get treatment, you still have a lot of time left.” Dr. Evans started talking non-stop, urging me to accept treatment. He was like a little sunbeam, which inexplicably reminded me of Jessica. “Enough!” I didn’t want to hear it. I yelled with almost all the strength I had left. “I told you I don’t want treatment! I don’t want to live! Why are you telling me all this? My parents and brother don’t care about me, so why should you? They all wish I was dead!” The outburst left me breathless. My emotions surged, and I could barely breathe. I hugged myself, crouching by the roadside as tears streamed down my face, splashing onto the pavement. “I’m sick of this life. I just want to die sooner. Maybe in the next life, I’ll find a family that actually loves me.” Sniffling, I stood up. The sudden movement made me stumble. I saw Dr. Evans reach out to steady me, hesitate, and then pull his hand back. I was satisfied with that outcome. Let Dr. Evans hate me too, just like my so-called family. With that thought, I walked away without a word of apology, never looking back. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dr. Evans standing there, looking dejected. A flicker of sympathy sparked in me. But it vanished as quickly as it came. What right did a worthless reject like me, living in darkness, have to feel sorry for anyone else? 3 Back at the house, I had barely opened the front door and hadn’t even taken off my shoes when a glass shattered at my feet. Shards flew up, cutting my cheek. Blood instantly welled up. “I feed you, clothe you, send you to school, and this is how you turn out?” Mr. Ashworth roared. “I warned you when you tried to use kidney failure to threaten me last time! Now you’ve dragged this nonsense to your brother’s hospital? How did I end up with such a liar for a daughter? Get down on your knees!” His voice was so loud that he broke into a violent coughing fit afterward. “Dad, don’t be so angry. Emily just really wants your attention,” Jessica chimed in sweetly. That only enraged Mr. Ashworth further. “What more attention does she need?” “Have we ever denied her anything? If she were half as sensible as you, wouldn’t we pay attention to her?” “Oh dear, why are you two arguing?” Mrs. Ashworth finally stopped pretending not to notice as things escalated. “Emily, dear, we’re all family. Don’t make these kinds of jokes. Your father is just worried about you. Apologize to him, and we can put this behind us.” I glanced at the elegantly dressed woman speaking, then turned and walked away without a word. “You wretched girl! How dare you be so disrespectful…” Slam. I slammed my bedroom door shut, blocking out their voices. A bunch of hypocrites. Listening to even one more word from them made me sick. Outside the door, Mrs. Ashworth was clearly stunned. In her memory, I had always been obedient. This was the first time since returning home that I had defied them. The stark contrast brought tears to her eyes. “Mommy, don’t cry. Maybe Emily’s just having a bad day,” Jessica comforted her. Jessica’s words only intensified Mrs. Ashworth’s resentment towards me. “I don’t know why that little brat even came back. If only you were my real daughter. She’s just here to cause trouble.” She shot a resentful look at my closed door. I locked myself in my room and didn’t come out, even when it was time for dinner. Jessica knocked anxiously at my door. “Emily, come out and eat! Skipping dinner isn’t good for you.” “Why bother with her? She’s probably just pulling another stunt to make us feel sorry for her,” Michael scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. “Emily’s not like that, she… Ah!” The moment Jessica pushed open my door, she let out a sharp gasp. “Emily Ashworth, do you have any conscience at all? Jessica kindly calls you for dinner, and you pull this ki—” Hearing Jessica scream, Michael’s first instinct was to blame me. But his angry words died in his throat as he stared, wide-eyed, at me lying in a pool of blood. Mr. and Mrs. Ashworth sensed something was wrong and followed him to my doorway. With the whole family crowded there, my small, servant-like room felt even more cramped. “What… How did this happen?” Mrs. Ashworth covered her mouth, tears streaming down her face. Mr. Ashworth was the quickest to react, dialing 911. 4 When I woke up again, I was in a hospital bed. Unsurprisingly, there was no one around. My wrist was wrapped in layers of bandages, making my left hand difficult to move. “You’re awake.” A nurse came in just then to change my dressing. Seeing me awake, she started chattering. “You’re so young, why would you try to kill yourself? Whatever it is, you can get through it.” “And your family… honestly. They brought you here and left not long after. How could they be so irresponsible?” “They’re not my family.” Maybe my expression was too annoyed, because the nurse stopped talking, quietly finished changing the dressing, and left. I opened my phone. Two messages sat quietly in my inbox. Michael: “Is there any point to these repeated suicide attempts? If you really wanted to die, why time it perfectly for dinner? If you’re serious about dying, do it somewhere far away. Stop bringing us bad luck.” Jessica: “Mommy and Daddy said I was traumatized and insisted on taking me out to relax. Sorry, Emily! You’ll have to take care of yourself!” Even through the screen, I could picture Jessica’s smug expression. “Where are you going?” I turned off my phone, yanked out the IV needle again, and prepared to leave the hospital. Unexpectedly, I ran into Michael, who was doing his rounds. I raised an eyebrow. Perfect timing. Not. But just because he called out didn’t mean I had to stop. Ignoring him, I darted into an elevator and pressed the button for the top floor. Michael told me to die far away, so I would. But not quite the way they intended. This was the Ashworth family hospital, and it was the place I’d chosen to jump from. I don’t know what got into Michael. Usually, he couldn’t care less about me, but this time he actually chased after me. He must have taken the stairs; tiny beads of sweat dotted his forehead, and his usually immaculate hair was messy. “What are you doing up here?” Michael looked at me warily, a bad feeling creeping into his mind. My recent behavior had been too erratic. Even if he didn’t fully believe I wanted to die, seeing me on the rooftop put him on edge. “Michael, I’m tired of facing you all every day. I tried my best to please you, painstakingly learned your preferences, only to be called manipulative.” “You never wanted me in this family from the start anyway.” “So now, as you wished.” As I spoke, I walked towards the edge of the roof. “I hope in my next life, I don’t encounter family like you.” With those final words, I leaned backward. A powerful wave of dizziness washed over me. But the anticipated sensation of falling never came. Confused, I looked up slightly. Dr. Evans, appearing seemingly out of nowhere, had grabbed one of my ankles. I could clearly see the veins bulging on his arm; holding onto me was taking immense effort. How could he be so coincidentally here again? He had already pulled me back from the brink twice. “Let me go. You saw yourself, I’m not happy alive.” “What are you standing there for? Help me! Are you really just going to watch her die?!” Dr. Evans didn’t answer me, instead yelling through gritted teeth at the frozen Michael. My jump had clearly terrified Michael. It was only then that he realized all my previous actions weren’t jokes. Thank God, thank God Dr. Evans showed up in time. Following Dr. Evans’s direction, Michael grabbed my hand. Finally, that head-down suffocating feeling was gone. Even though I wanted to die, suffocating was a truly awful way to go. Just then, Mr. and Mrs. Ashworth arrived at the hospital entrance below. “Mommy, look! I think someone’s going to jump!” Jessica pointed up at the roof, clinging to her mother’s arm with a look of shock. “I don’t know why anyone would be so desperate…” Mrs. Ashworth started to say. “EMILY!”

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My scumbag husband was cheating on me behind my back. After I got cancer, he spent every day wishing I’d die sooner. Once I bonded with the System, I made him and his precious mistress tear each other apart like dogs. 1. I found out my husband, Kevin, was cheating while I was alone at the hospital, undergoing surgery. Just as they pushed me onto the operating table, I overheard the nurses whispering. “Why is she here alone for this kind of surgery?” “Yeah, doesn’t she have any family? Or a husband?” They probably didn’t mean anything by it, but every word stabbed me in the heart. Truth is, I didn’t have any family left. As for my husband… Ever since we got married, he’d been avoiding me like the plague. Even when I told him I had cancer, all he said, cool as anything, was, “Oh. Okay.” As my thoughts drifted, the huge surgical lamp above me flickered on. The blinding white light was suffocating. Dizzy and disoriented, I heard a soft chime in my ear. Host, System activated. Accept the implantation of an anti-social personality into your brain. As a reward, your body will be fully restored to health! Hearing my body could recover, I agreed almost without thinking. You only truly understand when you’re knocking on death’s door that just being alive is more important than anything else in the world! Besides, I had to make that serial-cheating bastard pay! 2 When the System projected the compromising photos of Kevin and his lovers into my mind, I was utterly stunned. He wasn’t just cheating with one woman. It ranged from older women, past their prime, down to girls barely out of their teens. Amidst the shock, a very familiar figure caught my eye. Her name was Tiffany, an online influencer and streamer. I remembered Kevin had just done a joint stream with her not long ago. Even back then, I thought the way they flirted through the screen looked suspicious. But I was too weak back then, completely under Kevin’s thumb, both online and off. He always told me, “Guys like me doing livestream selling, it’s normal to have a few rumored girlfriends.” “It’s all just an act online, you know?” But who knew the act would end up extending all the way to a hotel room? Once the steamy slideshow finished, I expected to be burning with rage. But I wasn’t. I felt surprisingly calm inside. Deep down, there was even a faint thrill, like finally cornering prey! I couldn’t help but wonder, was this because of the anti-social personality the System implanted in me? 3 My surgery finished around noon. The System wasn’t kidding. Just two hours post-op, I could move around freely. The room full of doctors and nurses stared at me like they’d seen a ghost. The hospital director even came by personally, begging me to do some promotional work for them. I curled my lip at him. “Don’t have time!” “Now that I’ve finally got a new lease on life, I have a lot of things to take care of!” I mulled it over in my head. Should I take out Kevin first? Or Tiffany? After hesitating for a while, I finally chose Tiffany. After all, if Kevin died first, the game wouldn’t be much fun! Having made up my mind, I immediately had someone contact Tiffany’s agency. So, the next day, I showed up at Tiffany’s office, introducing myself as a producer. I had to admit, Tiffany’s face was undeniably striking. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been hyped up by all the major streaming platforms. She didn’t know who I was. When I invited her to audition for a movie, she grabbed my hand, asking excitedly, “Is this for real?” For the next half hour or so, Tiffany was like a peacock desperately showing off its feathers, doing everything she could to flaunt her figure, the one she was so proud of. I sat in the chair, watching her without a word. But in my mind, I was thinking, Such a slender body… Where exactly should I make the first cut to make her death as painful as possible? Seeing me watching her with interest, Tiffany shamelessly assumed I was impressed. She practically skipped over to me and said, “Ms. Vance, how about I treat you to dinner after this?” Hearing that, my heart leaped with joy. How did she know I was planning to poison her?

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I’m the valedictorian my mother raised with a thin cane. When I was five, if I got a problem wrong, Mom would whip me with it. Even when my little brother died accidentally, she was yelling at me: “What are you crying for? Get back to your work!” After getting my SAT scores, a perfect score that got me into Harvard, news outlets swarmed to interview me. I took the microphone, and under my mother’s expectant gaze, I gave a cold smile: “My mother destroyed my life, and now I’m going to destroy hers.” 1 My mother is a well-respected university professor. From the time I was tiny, she was incredibly strict with me. In kindergarten, I’d already learned everything through elementary school. Mom taped a grueling schedule to my desk, like something out of boot camp: 5:30 AM wake-up, study straight through until midnight. School during the day meant pulling all-nighters to finish the assignments Mom gave me on top of that. My pillow was a stack of thick textbooks and workbooks. Mom said, “This way, you can start studying the second you open your eyes.” In kindergarten, while my brother and the other kids played, I sat quietly at my desk, working on practice tests. When my teacher saw my perfect score on a sixth-grade level test, her eyes lit up. She told my mother with admiration, “Your daughter is a genius. She’s brilliant, just like you.” Then her tone shifted as she looked towards my brother, who was causing trouble nearby. “But, her little brother needs to work hard to catch up to his sister.” Mom shot my brother a disgusted look. She pressed her hand heavily on my shoulder, leaned down, and stared at me: “Sarah, you must get into Harvard. Otherwise, you’ll be letting down all my hard work.” To make sure I succeeded, Mom moved us closer to the school. Right after we moved into the new apartment, the kid upstairs cried constantly, making a racket. Hearing the crying, my pace on my practice problems immediately slowed down. Mom, standing over me, supervising, frowned and stormed upstairs. “He’s just a toddler crying, what can I do?” The neighbor defended herself. “Besides, maybe your daughter just can’t focus? Otherwise, how could it bother her?” Ten minutes later, Mom came back downstairs, her face dark. The next day, the kid from upstairs was playing in the courtyard outside. Mom took my hand and walked towards him, her voice suddenly sweet. “Honey, Auntie Linda wants to buy you a Coke.” The little boy happily took it, chugged it down, and threw the can in the trash. That night, bloodcurdling screams echoed from the apartment upstairs. The kid’s voice was completely raw, almost gone. Mom didn’t seem to care. She picked up her cane. “Alright, no more distractions now. If you’re slow with your work again, Mommy will have to punish you.” I looked at the red welts crisscrossing the palm of my hand and shivered. When I studied, Mom was always right there, watching me. Getting an answer wrong meant getting hit. Being too slow meant getting hit. Sometimes a slap, sometimes the cane. After hitting me, she’d say gravely, “Mommy is doing this for your own good. This is how I was raised, too. I owe my success today to your grandma.” “You’ll thank me for this someday.” 2 My brother Kevin was a year younger than me. His grades were terrible, he hated studying, and all he wanted to do was play. Mom was deeply disappointed in him, seeing him as a lost cause. She’d whisper in my ear, “Your brother is a bad influence. Stay away from him.” But I didn’t think Kevin was bad. He was just a little mischievous, but he had a good heart. Sometimes, when Mom wasn’t looking, Kevin would sneak into my room and beg me to play with him. But Mom found out. Her face turned stony. She grabbed Kevin’s ear, yanked him up, and threw him hard onto the floor. His head hit with a loud thud. “Kevin Miller! If you won’t try harder yourself, don’t you dare drag your sister down with you!” I was terrified. I grabbed Mom’s hand, crying, pleading, “Mom, Kevin wasn’t bothering me…” Mom shoved my hand away. “Didn’t I tell you to stay away from him?” she snapped. “What are you standing there gawking for? Get back to your room and study!” Kevin picked himself up off the floor, glared angrily at Mom, and ran off. After that day, he never came to my room again. Once we started elementary school, Kevin’s grades got even worse. Mom pointed at a video playing on her phone, interrogating Kevin furiously, “Kevin Miller, are you trying to get yourself killed? Sneaking onto the computer again!” Kevin’s eyes went wide, his face drained of color. I looked at the video, and a chill ran down my spine. I felt cold from head to toe. A wave of immense fear washed over me. Mom had installed hidden cameras in our rooms. Mom completely gave up on Kevin then. Later, I got another perfect score on a test. Mom looked through my paper, nodding with satisfaction. Just then, Kevin cautiously handed Mom his test paper, saying with a bit of pride, “Mom, I improved a lot this time. My teacher even praised me.” I looked at Kevin and smiled, feeling happy for him. Mom took the paper, Kevin watching her with hopeful eyes. The next second, her face blank, she ripped it to shreds. “You barely got a C-minus, and you expect me to praise you?” “You useless child!” Mom grabbed my hand and pulled me into my room to study. I glanced back. Kevin was still standing there, head hanging low in disappointment. “Sarah, your brother is a failure,” Mom said flatly. “You have to make me proud.” 3 When I was eight, I won first place in the National Math Olympiad. I was the youngest winner ever. The news shocked our small city. Reporters and media outlets flocked to our house for interviews. “Mrs. Miller, is it because you’re a teacher yourself that your daughter is so exceptional?” “Could you tell us how you usually educate your children?” Mom beamed at the microphone, glowing with pride, eagerly sharing her parenting tips: “Parents must be deeply involved in their child’s studies. Children naturally lack self-control, so you have to manage every aspect of their lives constantly, eliminate all distractions. That’s the only way they can focus entirely on learning.” “My daughter is going to be a top scorer, get into Harvard, so I have to be extremely strict with her from a young age.” “I keep a thin cane in the house. If she gets one problem wrong, I give her ten taps on the palm. Another wrong answer, twenty taps. That way, she’s afraid to make mistakes, and the next time she sees that type of problem, she’ll remember it.” “Discipline is essential in raising children. When they feel the pain, they learn their lesson. Talking to them nicely hundreds of times isn’t as effective as one good spanking.” The next day, Mom’s interview spread like wildfire online. Headlines screamed— “Mother Uses Cane to Mold Future Harvard Student.” Suddenly, the cane became the must-have parenting tool, selling like crazy online. Parents everywhere started imitating Mom’s methods. Seeing my achievements, most netizens agreed with her, though a few dissenting voices popped up. “Isn’t that child abuse? You don’t need to treat kids like that, do you?” But they were quickly shouted down by other parents: “What do you know? Her mother is an outstanding teacher.” “That’s why your kid is a loser who can’t get into a good school.” “I started disciplining my kid, and he actually sits down and does his homework now.” 4 After winning the award, I was hailed as a prodigy. In contrast, Mom despised Kevin even more. Things came to a head when a parent showed up at our door with their son, who was bruised and swollen. “Look what your son did to my boy!” Kevin’s classmate’s face was puffed up like a balloon, and he was crying uncontrollably. His father pointed a finger at my mother, yelling furiously on our doorstep: “Your son is nothing but a thug, a little punk! His grades stink, and he’s always causing trouble at school!” Mom looked mortified, bowing slightly and apologizing over and over. Neighbors heard the commotion and gathered around, whispering and pointing at Mom. Kevin froze, trying desperately to explain: “H-he hit me first.” Nobody listened. Everyone looked at him with disgust. I tried to defend him: “Kevin’s grades aren’t great, but he would never bully anyone, he…” Before I could finish, Mom shot me a look that silenced me instantly. I shrank back, terrified, the old welts on my palms seeming to throb again. “And you call yourself the mother of a genius, a respected teacher? Your own son acts like this.” “Guess your parenting skills aren’t so great after all.” “Talking a big game about your methods, boasting about how your kid will be a top scorer.” The other parent sneered relentlessly. Mom clenched her fists, her face growing darker and darker. In the end, Mom paid the other family a large sum for medical expenses to make it go away. Kevin was terrified Mom would beat him, his legs shaking uncontrollably. But Mom just said one thing before going to her room. Her face was eerily calm, frighteningly so. “Kevin Miller, you are such an embarrassment to me!” 5 That weekend, Mom did something unusual: she took Kevin and me to the beach. Kevin was happily playing with a toy car. Curious, I asked him, “Who gave you that?” He grinned. “Mommy got it for me!” I smiled. Maybe Mom didn’t hate Kevin so much anymore. On the sand, Kevin was busy building a sandcastle. I pointed to an ice cream cart nearby and said to Mom, who seemed distracted, “Mom, I want some ice cream from over there.” Mom managed a small smile and took my hand. “Okay, let’s go get some.” Then she looked at Kevin, her voice gentle. “Kevin, Mommy’s taking Sarah to get ice cream. Don’t wander off, okay?” Kevin was looking down, searching for something. “Mom, my toy car is gone.” I was eager for ice cream. “Kevin, I’ll help you look after we get back.” I picked out a chocolate ice cream for Kevin too. Mom didn’t look pleased about that. Suddenly, someone on the beach started yelling frantically, “Help! A kid fell into the water!” I froze. The ice cream slipped from my hand and fell onto the sand. When they pulled Kevin out of the water, he wasn’t breathing. At the police station, Mom covered her face, sobbing heartbrokenly. “I’m so sorry. It seems your son drowned trying to retrieve this toy car.” “He was clutching it tightly in his hand when we found him.” A police officer, looking apologetic, handed the toy car to Mom. I stopped crying, my head snapping towards Mom. Her face was etched with grief, but was that… a tiny smirk playing on her lips? Suddenly, I remembered seeing Mom throw something towards the ocean earlier. It was the toy car. 6 Back home, Mom’s sorrow vanished, replaced by a blank expression. I tearfully grabbed her hand. “Mom, it’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have asked for ice cream.” Mom slapped me hard across the face. “Do you realize how much time you’ve wasted today?” she said coldly. “You still have time to cry? Get back to your room and study!” “You can’t waste your energy on meaningless things like this. Focus!” To Mom, Kevin’s death… Was meaningless? My chest tightened. I felt suffocated, like I couldn’t breathe. I stumbled back to my room, the pen trembling in my hand. My mind felt blocked; I couldn’t solve a single problem. From outside my door came the sound of a furious argument. My dad, Frank, who hadn’t been home in ages, was back. Dad was a struggling painter, a gentle soul who spent most of his time hidden away in his studio. Mom scoffed, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Well, look who decided to come home. Tired of hiding in your studio with your pathetic paintings?” Dad frowned, demanding, “Linda! Where’s Kevin?” He had heard the news and rushed home. “Dead.” “How could you let this happen?! How weren’t you watching him?!” Mom’s voice rose, sharp and accusatory. “Frank Miller, you have the nerve to say that? I gave up my PhD for you! You promised you’d make something of yourself, and look at you now!” “You don’t work a real job, just chasing your ridiculous dream! I’m the one supporting this family, and now you blame me for not watching the kids properly?” “Your son was just like you – a useless failure!” I buried my face in my arms on the desk, sobbing uncontrollably. In the end, Dad just… fled. He left again. 7 After Kevin died, Mom pushed me even harder. My wake-up time shifted to 5 AM, and bedtime was pushed back an hour. She struck my palm fiercely with the cane. “You’re my only child now, Sarah. You absolutely cannot disappoint me!” I was always first in my grade, perfect scores in every subject. And so, I started middle school. Nobody wanted to be near me; nobody wanted to be my friend. All I knew was studying. I couldn’t relate to their conversations. I didn’t talk much, always kept to myself – eating alone, walking to school alone, never having a partner for group projects… Kevin was gone, Dad rarely came home, I had no friends. It was just Mom and me in the house. I felt incredibly lonely. I mustered the courage to talk to Mom about it. She just scoffed, her expression dismissive. “They’ll only hold you back, distract you from your studies. Don’t waste your time and energy on them.” “If you have time for pointless thoughts like that, you’d be better off doing a few more practice sets.” “Have you mastered all the high school material yet?” One day after school, it started pouring rain. I didn’t have an umbrella and didn’t want Mom to pick me up. I walked slowly along the side of the road, head down. I wanted to delay going home. Delay returning to that suffocating house. Suddenly, a large umbrella appeared over my head, shielding me from the drizzle. A girl with a neat, short haircut, her school uniform skirt hemmed a bit shorter than regulation, had a lollipop sticking out of her mouth. She looked a bit rebellious. She held the umbrella over both of us, grinned widely, showing a row of white teeth, and said cheerfully, “Hey, why are you walking alone in the rain?” Seeing my blank stare, she pretended to be hurt. “No way, you don’t recognize me? I’m Chloe Evans! I sit behind you.” Chloe wasn’t a great student, but she was outgoing and had lots of friends. She casually slung an arm around my shoulders. I flinched back instinctively, not used to it. No one had ever been that close to me before. Chloe saw my shyness and burst out laughing. “Hahaha, you’re actually really cute! I thought you were super cold.” “I always see you alone, not talking to anyone. You seem lonely.” “I’ve wanted to be friends with you for a while.” I paused, a small smile touching my lips. It felt like ripples spreading across calm water inside me. She pulled another lollipop from her pocket, unwrapped it, and popped it into my mouth. “Have some candy.” The lollipop was sweet, just like the feeling blossoming inside me. Mom never let me eat much sugar; she thought junk food like that would lower my IQ. That day, I got home ten minutes later than usual. Mom hit my palm twenty times with the cane. But despite the punishment, my mood was still exceptionally bright. 8 After that day, Chloe and I became friends. She’d eat lunch with me, walk home with me, partner with me for group assignments… In art class, the assignment was to draw “Your Most Unforgettable Moment.” “Wow, Sarah, is that the time we snuck out and picked apples from the tree behind the school?” Chloe leaned close, pointing at my drawing board. “This looks amazing! Sarah, you’re going to be an artist someday!” I froze, then gave a self-deprecating smile. Absolutely not. Mom hated painters. When I was four, Dad used to hold me in the yard and teach me how to draw. His eyes would sparkle. “Painting is wonderful, Sarah. It can capture all the beautiful, romantic things around us.” Dad said I had a real talent for it. Because of him, my secret dream had always been to paint. Later, Mom found out Dad was secretly teaching me. She built a fire and burned all of Dad’s cherished paintings. Every single one. Dad was devastated. That incident was why he preferred hiding in his studio to coming home. To punish me, Mom hit my palm over a hundred times with the cane. Her face was dark with fury as she struck me, ranting, “Your goal is to be the top scorer, get into Harvard, then get your PhD, and end up like me, a university professor!” “Do you want to end up like your father? Worthless, weak, a pathetic ‘artist’ with nothing to his name?” “I’m warning you, if you ever touch a paintbrush again, you might as well just die!” She gripped my hand, hitting it again and again. My hand was raw, bleeding, flesh torn. I sobbed uncontrollably, crying out, “Mom, I’m sorry, I won’t ever paint again…” Just then, Chloe’s envious voice pulled me back to the present. “I’m so jealous of you. Your mom’s a professor, your dad’s an artist, you guys are rich… not like my family…” She lowered her head, looking dejected.

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I was barely on the Hollywood radar, what you might call a Z-list actress. Just trying to make ends meet. Then one night, everything went sideways. Someone drugged me, forced me into… well, let’s just call it a highly compromising situation that was filmed. A nightmare performance I never agreed to. At first, I figured it was some sleazy industry bottom-feeder, maybe someone from a casting couch scenario gone horribly wrong. I never, ever suspected the person responsible was sleeping right next to me. 1. These last few days have been a blur. A thick fog of shame and fear. I can’t bring myself to turn on the TV, terrified of what I might see. My phone? It stays off. Buried in a drawer. Because I’m being absolutely dragged online. Torn apart. Why? That video. The one from that night. Someone leaked it, and now it’s everywhere. The comments… God, the comments are brutal. Non-stop hate. “Look at her, practically naked. Zero self-respect.” “Bet she’s even dirtier behind closed doors.” “Someone this shameless should just disappear.” … Reading that stuff makes my head spin. It’s like a swarm of angry bees in my skull. Truth is, I was nobody famous. No real credits, no following. Just another struggling actress in LA. Honestly? I was already thinking about quitting the whole damn scene. Throwing in the towel. But who prepares for something like this? Getting drugged, violated… That night, I had a networking thing for work. An industry mixer. Got home late. The second I opened my apartment door, I felt someone behind me. Before I could even turn, a thick arm clamped around my neck. Then a cloth over my mouth and nose – smelled chemical, sharp. Darkness. When I came to, I was… somewhere else. On some kind of stage, bright lights blinding me. I tried to move, but my body felt like lead. Stiff, unresponsive. Next thing I know, some strange guy walks up. Doesn’t say a word. Just rips my clothes off. Shoves me into this incredibly revealing outfit. Trashy, humiliating. My mouth opened, I tried to scream, to fight back, anything. But nothing came out. Not a whisper. My limbs wouldn’t obey. I had zero strength. All I could do was lie there while he… adjusted me. Posed me. Like a doll. Panic and shame washed over me in waves. My stomach churned. A high-pitched ringing started in my ears, getting louder and louder. Then I heard clapping, cheering… like an audience. The sound was deafening, a tidal wave of noise. And then, mercifully, I passed out again. 2 The sick irony? I was completely out of it for the entire “performance.” No awareness, no control. Just a puppet. When I finally regained some semblance of consciousness, I found myself wrapped in the arms of my husband, Ryan. My clothes were disheveled, torn. From where I lay, I could see the veins pulsing in his temple. His lips were pale, trembling. He looked down at me, eyes bloodshot, his voice hoarse. “Chloe? Oh my god, Chloe, are you okay? What happened? I’m so sorry… I should have been there. I should have protected you.” At that moment, his words barely registered. My mind was a blank slate of shock and trauma. All I could do was grip his arm, tight. Like a lifeline. Over and over, I just kept repeating, “Home. Take me home. Now.” The second we got back to our apartment, I made him drive me straight to the ER. For the next week, I was practically living at clinics. Got every test imaginable. Again and again. Like a crazy person. Blood work, scans, exams… everything. Finally, the doctor gave me the all-clear. Physically, aside from the drugs in my system initially, I was okay. No lasting injuries. A tiny sliver of relief cut through the fog. But just as I started to breathe again, thinking maybe, just maybe, I could put this behind me… it happened. Someone uploaded the video. Splashed it all over social media. TikTok, Instagram, gossip sites… everywhere. The internet exploded. “SHOCK VIDEO: Missing Actress Chloe Surfaces in Explicit Underground Performance!” “OMG GUYS, Hollywood Actress Caught in Scandalous Vid!” “Disgusting. Cancel her. She should be ashamed.” Suddenly, I was trending. Hashtags with my name, endless commentary videos, think pieces. It was a digital firestorm. People were even doing livestreams demanding investigations, calling me a “disgrace,” telling me to get out of the industry. Looking at the flood of hate, the judgment… it felt so damn unfair. I’d spent years trying to build a career, carefully, ethically. Playing by the rules. And overnight, I went from being invisible to being infamous. A pariah. My reputation, shredded. 3 At first, when the comments got really vicious, I tried to fight back. Tried to explain. I wanted to scream, “I WAS DRUGGED! IT WASN’T MY CHOICE!” But I quickly realized it was useless. Arguing with online trolls, with people just jumping on the hate train for clicks? Pointless. Like shouting into a hurricane. The only way to shut them up, to clear my name, was to find the person who drugged me. The real culprit. If I could expose them, prove what happened, maybe the online mob would back off. It sounded like a solid plan. Reality? Not so much. Ryan spent a whole week supposedly “investigating.” Checking security footage, talking to people… Or so he said. Then he came back with nothing. Zero leads. Said the attacker vanished without a trace. Like a ghost. Meanwhile, the online abuse just got worse. Louder. More intense. In just one week, my name hit the trending topics list over twenty times across different platforms. Things started to feel genuinely unsafe. One time, a particularly nasty troll actually followed me home. Found my apartment building. After that? I was terrified to even go out for groceries alone. Another week of living like that – scared, paranoid, barely sleeping – and I felt like I was losing my mind. My mental state was fraying. I couldn’t just sit around anymore. I told Ryan, “I have to do something myself. I need to find who did this to me. Make them pay.” But Ryan… he just tried to calm me down. In a way that felt… off. “Chloe, maybe just… lay low for a bit longer? It’s not safe for you out there right now. And finding this person… it takes time. It’s not gonna happen overnight.” His words hit me like a slap in the face. “Lay low? Just – endure it? Easy for you to say, you’re not the one getting death threats every five minutes! Are you even trying to find them? Or do you just… not want to?” He stammered, caught off guard. Took him a second to respond. “Of course, I want to find them! Don’t be ridiculous. Just… trust me. Leave it to me, okay? I’ll handle it.” I mumbled a “yeah, okay,” trying to keep my face neutral. But inside? Alarm bells were ringing. Loudly. His reaction… it didn’t feel like someone genuinely trying to help. It felt like deflection. I was suddenly sure. He was hiding something. 4 Once that seed of doubt was planted, it grew fast. I started watching Ryan. Closely. Acting like everything was normal on the surface, but secretly observing his every move. It took about four days, but then I started noticing things. Real things. First, he was coming home later and later. Every night, he’d stumble in looking utterly exhausted. Wouldn’t even shower – just collapse onto the bed, fully clothed, and pass out. This was weird. Ryan always showered before bed, no matter how tired he was. It was practically a ritual. I tried asking him, casually, “Hey, what have you been up to? You seem wiped out.” He just gave me this annoyed look. “You keep pushing me to find this guy, right? Well, tracking leads takes time. It’s exhausting work.” Then he grabbed a towel and headed for the bathroom, leaving me standing there feeling… wrong-footed. Find the attacker? Right. If this were a week ago, maybe I’d believe him. But after his weirdness? His story felt paper-thin. The second anomaly: his phone. He was glued to it whenever he was home. Just staring at the screen, fingers flying across the keyboard. And sometimes… sometimes I’d catch this little smirk playing on his lips. A strange, almost smug look. Once, I pretended to need something near him and casually glanced towards his screen. He flinched like he’d been shocked, snapping the phone shut instantly. I kept my voice light. “Whatcha lookin’ at?” He turned, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, uh, nothing. Just got a message from that informant I told you about. Says he might have a lead on the guy. We’re meeting up tomorrow.” I nodded, playing along, even managing a supportive tone. “Wow, that’s great news! Thanks for working so hard on this, honey. You’re the best.” He gave another awkward laugh. “Hey, anything for you, right? That’s what marriage is about.” After that? My suspicion shifted into high gear. It felt less like suspicion, more like dread. Then came the clincher. One morning, as he rushed out the door, he left something on the dining table. A beautifully wrapped, small, square box. At first, I was just curious. Maybe a late birthday gift from a friend? Or maybe… maybe he actually was planning an early anniversary surprise? Carefully, I unwrapped it. Inside was a Rolex. A brand new, blindingly expensive Rolex watch. My jaw dropped. I just stared at it, a loud buzzing filling my ears. 5 Look, Ryan and I weren’t broke, but we were definitely not “casually drop thousands on a Rolex” wealthy. We had decent savings, mid-level income, but nothing extravagant. And I knew Ryan. We’d been married for years. The man was… frugal. Okay, he was cheap. Borderline pathologically cheap. When we got engaged, he’d hemmed and hawed over a modest diamond ring, finally saying, “Chloe, honey, maybe this style isn’t us. It’s just a ring, right? Let’s get something simple for now, and I promise, when we have more money, I’ll upgrade you.” My family and friends teased me about that “starter ring” for months. After we got married? He tightened the purse strings even more. Designer clothes? Forget it. Fancy watches? Never. He even convinced me to stop going out for birthday and anniversary dinners, insisting home-cooked meals were “more meaningful” (and cheaper). Plus, my acting work had dried up significantly over the last couple of years. Our household income had basically been cut in half. So, where the hell did he get the money for a Rolex? And why would he, of all people, suddenly splurge like this? Unless… the money wasn’t exactly his to begin with. I fought the urge to call him right then and there. Demanding answers. Instead, I waited. All day. Until he came home that evening. I slipped the Rolex onto my own wrist. It felt heavy, alien. During dinner, when I got up to ladle soup into his bowl, I “accidentally” let my sleeve ride up, making sure the watch was clearly visible. Glinting under the dining room light. I watched his face. His eyes flickered down to my wrist. He froze for a split second. I saw a tiny muscle twitch near his mouth. I placed the bowl of soup in front of him, then deliberately held up my wrist, admiring the watch. I looked at him, my expression radiating mock adoration. “Ryan, thank you so much! This is… wow. It’s beautiful. So expensive! You know,” I added, my voice dripping with false sweetness, “I think this is the nicest gift you’ve ever bought me in all our years together.” He seemed to miss the sarcasm. Or pretended to. He forced a laugh, playing along. “Well, you know… our anniversary is coming up soon! Just wanted to get you something special. Glad you like it!” My insides curdled. Anniversary? Our anniversary was still over two months away! He really thought I was that stupid? That oblivious? But I just smiled. Watched him squirm internally. Without solid proof, calling him out directly felt pointless. His lies were just… pathetic. Later that night, after dinner, I was lying in bed, scrolling through my phone. It was late, almost midnight. Suddenly, a sharp, agonizing pain shot through my stomach. It doubled me over. I instinctively called out his name, “Ryan!” Then I remembered. He wasn’t home. Like most nights recently, he was “out following leads.” I glanced in the mirror on the closet door. My face was pale, lips white with pain. A wave of loneliness and despair washed over me, sharp and bitter. But the physical pain quickly drowned it out. Shaking, I fumbled in the nightstand drawer for some painkillers. Dragged myself to the kitchen, poured a glass of water, and choked them down. But instead of helping, the pills seemed to make it worse. The pain intensified, twisting my insides. My whole body started trembling uncontrollably. My vision blurred, darkened at the edges. Then, everything went black.

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