Category: English

A crisp notification chime echoed from my roommate’s iPad. I instinctively looked up, my eyes landing on the glowing screen. A WhatsApp message bubble popped up, and the name of the group chat was glaringly obvious: “Free ATM Club.” Driven by some inexplicable gut feeling, I reached out and tapped the bubble. The members of the group included Connor, who had just stepped out, our landlord, and my other two roommates. “Celebrating another massive payday this month!” “All thanks to Connor’s quick thinking. Bumping up Oliver’s rent saved us a fortune!” someone texted excitedly. “Exactly! With Oliver acting as our free full-time maid, we’re saving on cleaning fees and takeout too!” another chimed in. The screen was instantly flooded with celebratory memes and laughing emojis. I stood rooted to the spot, my blood running ice cold. Because in this house, I was the only one excluded from that group. I was Oliver, the gullible ATM. 1 My fingers began to tremble uncontrollably. Swiping the screen, I scrolled up through the chat history piece by piece. Group Admin: Connor. Date created: January twelfth of last year. That was the exact day after I got a high-paying offer from a tech company and excitedly bought him drinks to celebrate. He had been plotting this since then. And judging by the tone of the messages, he and our landlord had known each other for a long time. “Gary, I found a fat sheep for us.” “He’s my college roommate. A total nerd who only knows how to work. Dumb but loaded.” Our landlord replied almost instantly. “Beautiful work, Connor. Let’s do it the usual way.” In the first few weeks, there weren’t many messages. Mostly just Gary asking when Connor planned to move in and if he needed any furniture. It wasn’t until late January, after the New Year holidays, that two more people were pulled into the chat. Felix and Dylan. They were buddies of Connor from his hometown. “Welcome to the Free ATM Club, boys.” Connor sent a GIF of confetti falling. “Bro, can we really live here for free?” Felix was clearly curious. “Absolutely! The sucker already paid the deposit.” “Connor, you’re an absolute genius!” “I freaking love this group name.” “Man, we should have met ages ago.” Dylan followed up with a starry-eyed emoji. “We’re one big happy family from now on!” Gary the landlord popped in to add. Staring at those blinding words, my stomach churned, a wave of nausea rising in my throat. I quickly pulled out my own phone, opened the camera, and recorded the entire chat history from top to bottom. When Felix and Dylan first joined, the conversation was somewhat restrained. They mostly discussed how to split the monthly rent and handle the transfers. Connor: “I set this whole thing up, so I’m taking the master bedroom with the en-suite bathroom. No objections, right?” Felix: “Dylan and I can share the big east-facing bedroom.” Dylan: “How are we splitting the money?” Connor sent a long audio message. The transcribed text was crystal clear: “This apartment is in a prime location and comes fully furnished. The market rate is somewhere between three and four thousand bucks.” He paused, then sent another text. “I told Oliver the total rent is sixty-six hundred. So technically, we should all be splitting it evenly at over two grand a head. But I just made him cover twenty-two hundred himself.” “The actual bottom-line price for this place is thirty-six hundred. We just need to split the remaining fourteen hundred.” “Since I brought you guys on board, I’ll pay six hundred. You two split the remaining eight hundred.” “As for utilities, internet, and HOA fees, I’ll Photoshop the bills and inflate the numbers.” “Whatever extra cash we squeeze out of Oliver there, we split forty-forty-twenty.” “The landlord and I take forty percent each, and you two split the remaining twenty.” “How about that? We basically get to live in a luxury apartment for free, and we might even make a profit every month.” Dylan replied instantly. “I’m totally down. What about you, Felix?” Felix sent a thumbs-up. “I’m in. A golden location and a high-end apartment like this? It’s a no-brainer.” The rent they claimed was thirty-six hundred, yet I was paying twenty-two hundred all by myself! And I was sleeping in the smallest, worst-facing bedroom in the entire apartment! What an incredible scheme. Click. The sound of the front door unlocking echoed from the entryway. I instantly shoved my phone into my pocket and exited the WhatsApp interface on his iPad. Connor walked in carrying an Amazon package. He tossed it aside, picked up his tablet, and obliviously resumed playing the trending TV show he had been binge-watching. “Oliver, is dinner ready?” he yelled toward the kitchen. “Almost done.” I turned and walked back into the kitchen, forcefully suppressing the rage boiling in my chest, pretending absolutely nothing was wrong. Just like I had done countless nights before, I pulled the hot food from the oven, set it on the dining table, and called them out to eat. 2 “Wow, the smell of this beef stew is unreal.” Felix took an exaggeratedly deep breath, a look of pure intoxication on his face. “Oliver could open a five-star restaurant with these skills.” Dylan chimed in with his usual flattery. Looking at their sickeningly fake smiles, a chill ran down my spine. “I purposely left out the onions. I know Connor can’t stand the taste.” I kept my voice perfectly flat. “You know me best, man.” Connor smiled radiantly, flashing his white teeth. “Eat up before it gets cold.” I pulled out my chair, sat down, and picked up my fork. “Oh, by the way, Oliver, Gary texted today. He said we need to pay the entire rent for next year upfront by March first.” Connor said casually, stuffing a piece of beef into his mouth. “What? Haven’t we always paid every six months?” I played along, feigning surprise. “Gary says this apartment is right downtown, and people are lining up for it.” “There are a few corporate guys working in the financial district offering more than we pay, and they’re willing to drop a whole year’s cash at once.” “He’s only keeping the price the same as a favor to me.” “But the hard condition is we have to pay all twelve months in one lump sum.” My hand hovered over my plate for a fraction of a second. Images of their dirty deals and money-splitting grins flashed through my mind. I decided to play right into his hands. “I see. I only budgeted for six months, so I’ll probably have to pull some funds from my investment accounts.” I kept my head down, staring intently at the potatoes on my plate. I couldn’t bear to look at his revolting face. “As long as you can pull it together. I was honestly worried you wouldn’t have that kind of cash on hand.” Connor let out a heavy sigh, putting on a mask of deep distress. “You know I live paycheck to paycheck. By the time I pay off my credit cards, I’ve got nothing left.” “Just thinking about a whole year’s rent makes my head spin.” “Yeah, the economy is terrible right now. Making a buck is harder than eating dirt.” Felix echoed the complaints. Listening to them put on this poverty charade, my mind replayed the endless stream of payment screenshots and transfer receipts from their group chat. The hard-earned money I bled for had become their endless bankroll to party in this metropolis. The meal tasted like sawdust. My throat felt like it was coated in sand. Yet they ate with immense pleasure, wiping the very last drop of gravy from the pot with their bread. The moment they finished, Connor collapsed onto the plush living room sofa. “I’m so stuffed. Oliver, I’m leaving the dishes to you, man.” “The season finale of my show is tonight, I gotta catch up.” Felix and Dylan also found quick excuses, slipping away into their rooms. Looking at the messy dining table. I didn’t say a single word. I just silently gathered the greasy plates and silverware. The cold water in the sink stung my knuckles. But it was nowhere near as freezing as the chill in my heart. Hearing the muffled sounds of video games and laughter bleeding through their doors. I dried my hands, walked into my tiny bedroom, and locked the door behind me. Pressing my spine against the cold wood, I let out a long, heavy breath that had been trapped in my chest. I pulled out my phone, put on my noise-canceling headphones. And opened the video I had just recorded. 3 Those chat logs were like rusty knives. Plunging into my flesh, one after another. The timeline in the video went back to the week before Thanksgiving last year. We had agreed to do a deep clean of the apartment over the weekend. But that morning, Connor woke up clutching his stomach, rolling around on the couch in agony. “Oliver, my stomach is cramping so bad. I can’t even stand up.” Seeing him pale and sweating, I actually ran three blocks in the cold to a pharmacy to buy him heavy-duty medication. I even told him to go back to bed and rest. Shortly after, Felix called. He claimed his boyfriend’s car broke down on the highway and he had to go pick him up. Then, Dylan sent a voice note complaining that his company landed a last-minute project and his whole department was forced to work overtime. In that massive apartment, I was the only one left. Thinking the place needed to be spotless for the holidays, I gritted my teeth and did all the scrubbing myself. And what was the reality? In that hidden chat, Connor posted a photo of my back as I knelt on the living room rug, violently scrubbing a stain. “Look at our free housekeeper going to town.” “Haha, he was born to do the grunt work,” Felix replied instantly. “I’m at the designer boutiques downtown right now. How do these limited-edition sneakers look?” Dylan followed up with a mirror selfie. “Sick! Drop a pin, I’m right around the corner. I’ll come meet you,” Felix texted back. “It feels so good having a servant at home.” Connor sent an emoji of a guy smoking a cigar in sunglasses. I stared at my own hunched, exhausted back on the screen. My fingernails dug so deeply into my palms they almost broke the skin. I was so exhausted that day I couldn’t even stand up straight, eating nothing but a slice of cold toast for dinner. Meanwhile, they were spending my money, ruthlessly mocking my stupidity in their little club. I took a deep breath, blinked away the burning in my eyes, and dragged the progress bar further back. A blizzard hit us last December. I caught the flu. My fever spiked to a hundred and three degrees, my bones aching so badly I didn’t have the strength to get out of bed. I texted Connor, begging him to grab some fever reducers from the convenience store downstairs on his way home from work. He refused without hesitation. “Sorry bro, I’m swamped today. I’ll probably be stuck at the office until midnight.” “Maybe you can order something on Uber Eats.” In the end, I had to drag my completely shattered body out into the snowstorm, waiting thirty minutes for a cab to the ER. I sat in a freezing hospital chair hooked up to an IV for four hours. Not a single one of them checked on me. At one o’clock that afternoon. Felix posted a receipt in the chat. It was a lavish seafood feast totaling eight hundred and eighty dollars. “The extra rent and internet money cleared today. Let’s treat ourselves, boys.” While I was delirious with a fever in the hospital, unable to even get a sip of water. They were sitting in an upscale restaurant, using my cash to feast on sweet Alaskan king crab and oysters. I clenched my jaw and kept reading. October eighteenth of last year. My birthday. I took a half-day off work, wanting to cook a huge dinner so we could celebrate together. I happily slaved away in the kitchen for three hours, laid out a massive spread, and sent a picture to our main group chat. A full thirty minutes passed before Connor replied. “Ah man, my bad Oliver. My boss just dumped a massive project on my desk. I’m not gonna make it back tonight.” “Same here, my manager is breathing down my neck.” Felix chimed in. “I’m stuck in the suburbs with a client. I can’t make it back either. Go ahead and eat without us, man. Happy birthday.” Dylan offered his excuse. That night, I sat alone at the long dining table. Listening to the wind howl outside, watching the food slowly turn cold. And where were they? In their secret group chat. Connor posted a selfie from a high-rise steakhouse with panoramic city views. Felix and Dylan were in the background, laughing hysterically and holding up champagne flutes. “Cheers! Celebrating another night of saving on dinner!” Connor captioned the photo. “That idiot is probably still sitting at home waiting for us to cut the cake.” Felix sent a crying-laughing emoji. “The slop he cooks is so bland anyway, I wouldn’t even feed it to a dog.” Dylan added his ruthless remark. Those blinding words. They ignited a raging fire in my chest, burning away every last ounce of goodwill I had left for them. The brotherhood I thought we shared. The mutual support I believed we had in this cold city. It was all one giant, humiliating joke. 4 I closed my eyes, turned off the video, and used every ounce of strength I had to steady my trembling breath. I backed the video up to the cloud, took screenshots of every single conversation, and meticulously analyzed every number mentioned. Hunched over my desk, I compared their logs with my bank statements, line by line. The more I calculated, the colder my blood ran. Without realizing it, I spent nearly a week staying up late every night. I finally matched almost every single chat screenshot to a specific transfer from my bank. I stood up and walked over to the window. Outside was the mesmerizing skyline of the city, millions of bright, warm lights. But this cramped, west-facing bedroom I was in felt as lifeless as a freezer. I would never let them drain another drop of my blood. Not a single drop. My phone screen suddenly lit up on the desk. A text from Connor. “Oliver, you asleep? My stomach is totally empty.” “I’m craving those handmade tacos from the food truck down the street.” He appended a pathetic, begging cat emoji. I stared coldly at the screen, locked my phone, and pretended I never saw it. Ten minutes later, he came over and pounded heavily on my door. I remained frozen in my chair, choosing to be deaf. After a long while, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the apartment. He went downstairs himself. I immediately slipped out of my room and crept into his master suite. I tapped his iPad awake, needing to see what they were plotting now. “Why is that idiot so quiet tonight? I’m starving.” “Probably dead asleep by now.” “Sleeping like a log. I knocked forever and got nothing. Now I have to put on a jacket and freeze my ass off going downstairs.” Connor sent an eye-rolling emoji, then dropped a massive bombshell in the chat. “Next Sunday is the deadline for next year’s rent and HOA fees.” “Once he pays up, I’m going to start some drama and find an excuse to force him out.” “Then I’ll have my brother move in. My brother said he’ll cover the rent going forward.” The chat exploded the second that message went through. Felix spammed three exclamation points. “Bro, that is an absolute kill shot!” Dylan followed up with a barrage of blurry, over-excited reaction images. No wonder they were forcing me to pay a full year upfront. They had dug a massive grave and were just waiting to bury me in it. I quickly screen-recorded the conversation, retreated to my room like a ghost, and continued reconciling the final batch of bills. Want to bleed me dry? Want to kick me to the curb? Keep dreaming. But once I calmed down, thinking about Connor’s reminder for the annual rent and the cut they were taking, something didn’t add up. Based on their percentage split, Gary the landlord was risking a felony by forging leases and faking bills just to make a couple of hundred bucks extra a month. The risk-to-reward ratio made zero sense. That wasn’t Gary’s style. He was a shrewd businessman. I opened up an apartment rental website, typed in our building’s name, and messaged a few brokers about the real market rates for a unit like ours. The broker’s reply hit me like a sledgehammer. “Sir, for a unit with that floor plan in your building, if it’s newly renovated with high-end furniture, the monthly rent is around forty-five hundred.” “If it’s an unfurnished, older unit like you described, it sits at around three thousand dollars.” “And if the interior hasn’t been maintained well, the price is negotiable. You could get it down to twenty-five hundred.” The apartment we were in had outdated fixtures, and the furniture was a mismatched collection of thrift store finds. Some of it was literally picked up off the curb. If they were really making a killing off this place, the true bottom line had to be significantly lower than three thousand. I sat frozen in front of my monitor, my mind racing. If he wasn’t even making a few hundred extra dollars on the spread, why would the landlord risk going to jail to help them fake a lease? Was he getting a much bigger cut somewhere else?

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His first love woke up. Right in the middle of our engagement party. Leaving a hall full of elite guests and me standing there completely humiliated, he sprinted toward the hospital without a single backward glance. He tossed out just one sentence. “Hold the fort.” I held it. I held it so well that exactly one week later, I walked straight into City Hall and married his absolute worst enemy. When he blocked my path at the bottom of the municipal steps, his eyes bloodshot as he demanded to know how I could be so heartless, the man beside me let out a low, dark chuckle. “President Sinclair. You might want to get your facts straight before opening your mouth. I married Linda.” I looped my arm through my new husband’s, smiling like the morning breeze. “Did you honestly think you were the only person in the world waiting for a first love? What a coincidence. The exact day you destroyed our engagement, the man I waited ten years for finally came back to me.” 1 My engagement banquet with Tristan Sinclair was supposed to be the event of the season. Until the woman who had been in a coma for three entire years woke up. “Darling, Lily just woke up. She absolutely cannot be alone right now. I have to go to her immediately.” His knuckles turned white as he gripped his phone. Wild ecstasy flooded his eyes, masking a tiny, insignificant sliver of guilt. “You have always been so understanding. Keep the guests entertained. We will deal with this when I get back.” He did not even wait for my response. Tossing those words like spare change, he shoved through the crowd and sprinted out of the ballroom. He trampled my dignity and the reputations of both our families right into the marble floor. Everyone assumed I would wait for him to return like a pathetic, loyal little dog. A full week later, he finally remembered I existed. But instead of tears, he was greeted by a brand new marriage certificate. Looking at the document in my hand, Tristan completely lost his mind. His custom tailored suit was wrinkled. His hair was an absolute mess, and dark circles bruised the skin under his eyes. He stared at the paper, his gaze burning with enough heat to set it on fire. “Linda! Did you marry my biggest rival just to get back at me?!” The man beside me took a slow, deliberate step forward. His tall, broad frame shielded me completely. His tone dripped with raw mockery. “President Sinclair, get your facts straight before opening your mouth. I married Linda.” I tightened my grip on his arm, meeting Tristan’s furious glare head-on. “Did you honestly think you were the only one desperately waiting for a first love? Too bad. The exact day you blew up our engagement, the man I waited ten years for happened to come back.” People were constantly walking in and out of City Hall. Tristan’s rising voice was drawing a crowd of curious onlookers. “Explain yourself! What do you mean, the man you waited ten years for? What about the five years we spent together!” I was sick to my stomach of being treated like a circus animal on display. Especially since I had just been played for the biggest fool in front of hundreds of socialites a week ago. Before I could even part my lips, Victor Cross blocked their view entirely. He stood half a head taller than Tristan, radiating an icy, suffocating pressure. “This is a private matter between my wife and me. Do not trouble yourself over it.” Victor’s voice was not loud, but every word stabbed into Tristan like an ice pick. “Your wife?” Tristan laughed like he had just heard the most absurd joke on earth. He tried to step around Victor to grab my wrist. “Linda, stop throwing a tantrum and come home with me! I know you are angry. You are mad that I left you at the banquet. I apologize. I will give you whatever compensation you want. Just do not joke around with your entire future!” His fingers never even grazed my skin. Victor snatched his wrist in midair. “Have some respect.” Victor’s voice dropped to a freezing temperature. “Linda is legally my wife. The law protects her now. If you try to touch her again, I do not mind having the police teach you some manners.” Victor’s grip was bone-crushing. Tristan’s face instantly drained of color. “Do not get too arrogant, Victor! You know exactly what kind of dirty tricks you used to trick Linda into this! Do you really think you won?” Tristan struggled, his facial features twisting in blind rage. I peeked out from behind Victor’s broad shoulders, calmly looking at the man I had loved for five years. What did I ever love about him? Was it his money? His handsome face? Or was it the fact that he only ever treated me like a beautiful, low-maintenance decoration? Bile rose in my throat. “No one tricked me. It was entirely my choice.” I looked him dead in the eye. “Five years of feelings were wiped to absolute zero the second you turned your back on me for Lily. I owe you nothing, and you owe me nothing. We are walking separate paths now. Do not ever contact me again.” “Wiped to zero? You say that so easily!” Tristan’s eyes were terrifyingly red. “You cannot do this to me! Lily… she is just my responsibility!” “Responsibility?” A genuine, bitter laugh escaped my lips. It was purely ridiculous. “So your so-called responsibility had to be paid for with our families’ reputations, my personal dignity, and five years of my youth? Stop lying to yourself, Tristan. You love her. From the very beginning, it has always been her.” What was I for the last five years? Just a convenient stand-in for Lily. A perfectly obedient tool to cure his boredom and pacify his elders while his true love was asleep. Now that the real owner of his heart was awake, the understudy was naturally expected to get off the stage. I was too exhausted to even voice those thoughts out loud. There was no point. “Linda…” “Please address me as Mrs. Cross.” I cut him off, clinging tighter to Victor’s arm. “My husband is waiting to take me home. Get out of the way.” Victor naturally wrapped a strong arm around my waist, guiding me toward the black sedan parked by the curb. Tristan stood frozen in place, looking like a statue struck by lightning. I did not look back. Once inside the car, Victor handed me a bottle of warm water. “How are you holding up?” he asked softly. “Never better.” I twisted the cap off, took a sip, and let out a long, heavy exhale. It felt like I was expelling five years of built-up toxicity, along with every ounce of humiliation from that banquet. The car merged smoothly into the traffic. The city streets blurred outside my window, but my mind uncontrollably dragged me back to seven days ago. The union of the Davis and Sinclair families. I was wearing a custom gown flown in from Paris. My arm was hooked through his, and I was soaking in the applause, genuinely believing I was the luckiest woman alive. Then his phone vibrated. I watched the color drain from his face, replaced by shock, then unhinged joy, and finally, a fleeting glance of guilt directed at me. My heart plummeted. He hung up and squeezed my hands, his voice trembling. “Linda, Lily… Lily is awake!” Lily. That name had been a poisoned thorn festering in my heart for five years. His childhood sweetheart. The woman sitting firmly at the apex of his heart. Three years ago, she got into a horrific car accident trying to save him and fell into a vegetative state. Tristan’s world collapsed that day. I was the one who pulled him out of the dark. I foolishly believed time could dilute his pain. I thought my devotion would make him let go of the past. I thought his proposal meant he had finally fallen in love with me. It turned out I was just delusional. “Darling, Lily just woke up. She absolutely cannot be alone right now. I have to go to her immediately.” He looked at me, begging with his eyes. I stared at him, then at the hundreds of guests behind us, then at the bright, expectant smiles on our parents’ faces. My blood ran completely cold. “You have always been so understanding. Keep the guests entertained. We will deal with this when I get back.” He did not even wait for my permission. Tossing my hand aside, he pushed through the sea of people and ran. The massive ballroom fell deathly silent. Hundreds of eyes locked onto me like spotlights. Pity. Sympathy. Malicious glee. I was standing in the center of the most glamorous stage in the world, wearing the most expensive dress, feeling utterly naked and foolish. My parents rushed the stage, their faces livid. Tristan’s parents looked mortified and furious. I barely remember what happened next. I only remember taking off my torturous heels and walking down the stairs barefoot. I did not cry. I did not scream. I walked up to my parents and whispered, “Dad, Mom, let’s go home.” That night, I locked myself in my bedroom. Still no tears. Just a numb, hollow emptiness. My phone screen kept lighting up. Dozens of missed calls from my best friend, Zoe. A flood of text messages. “Linda, are you okay? That absolute trash! I am so furious!” “Babe, please do not do anything stupid. He is not worth it!” I ignored them all. Around midnight, an unknown number called. Acting on pure instinct, I answered. “Is this Linda? It is Victor Cross.” The deep, resonant voice on the other end of the line carried a strange, haunting familiarity. Victor Cross. Tech billionaire. Tristan’s ultimate nemesis in the business world. And my deepest, ten-year-old secret. “What do you want?” My voice was terribly hoarse. “I am back,” he said smoothly. “Tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock at City Hall. Bring your ID. I will be waiting.” I stopped breathing for a second. “What exactly are you saying?” A short pause followed. Then, his voice dropped, laced with a faint, warm amusement. “I am saying that if Tristan Sinclair does not know how to treasure you, I do.” He hung up. I sat in the pitch-black room clutching my phone for a very long time. Eventually, I smiled. The next morning, ignoring my parents’ shocked protests, I grabbed my documents and walked out the door. Which led to the scene on the municipal steps. “What are you thinking about?” Victor’s voice pulled me back to the present. I turned to look at him. He was focused on the road, his jawline sharp and immaculate. “I was just wondering if rushing into a marriage with you was a bit too reckless,” I joked lightly. He shot me a side-glance, the corner of his mouth curving upward. “It is too late to regret it now. Mrs. Cross, once you board my ship, you are never getting off.” The car eventually glided into the underground garage of an ultra-luxury high-rise. I expected a man like Victor to live in a cold, sterile, monochromatic penthouse, much like Tristan’s soulless mansions. But the moment the private elevator doors opened, I froze. There was no gaudy crystal chandelier. Just a soft, warm amber entry light. A pair of comfortable men’s slippers sat neatly on the floor. Right next to them was a brand new pair of plush, pink bunny slippers. Exactly my size. My heart skipped a tiny beat. “Make yourself at home.” Victor shrugged off his suit jacket, hung it up, and bent down to place the bunny slippers right at my feet. “Thank you.” I slid my feet into them. The material was heavenly. I followed him into the living room. The space was enormous, but the interior design was surprisingly inviting. A light gray fabric sofa, warm oak floors, and large floor-to-ceiling windows lined with vibrant, thriving potted plants. The air smelled of sunlight and fresh coffee. It actually felt like a home. “What would you like to drink? Water, juice, or maybe… wine?” He opened the refrigerator and glanced back. “Just water, please.” I sat stiffly on the edge of the sofa. We were legally married, but practically speaking, we were strangers. I knew he was a ruthless tycoon and Tristan’s worst nightmare. Beyond that, nothing. He handed me a glass of warm water and took a seat in the armchair opposite mine. A thick, awkward silence settled over the room. A bride dumped at her engagement party, and a corporate rival swooping in to claim her. No matter how you looked at it, we seemed like a temporary alliance forged out of spite, not newlyweds. “Um…” I cleared my throat, taking the initiative. “Thank you for getting me out of that situation earlier today.” “I was not just getting you out of a situation.” His dark eyes locked onto mine, intense and serious. “I was protecting my wife’s dignity.” My wife. The words rolled off his tongue so naturally, as if he had been calling me that for decades. My cheeks flared with heat. “But we…” “Linda,” he interrupted gently. “Do you think my proposal today was just some sudden whim? Or that I only did it to humiliate Tristan?” I pressed my lips together, essentially agreeing. It sounded exactly like a cheap soap opera plot. Stealing the rival’s humiliated ex-fiancée was the ultimate power move. Suddenly, he smiled. His smile was breathtaking. The usual cold, unapproachable aura melted away like snow under a spring sun. “What if I told you I have been waiting for this exact day for ten years? Would you believe me?” My breath caught in my throat. Ten years? The timeline was too specific. Too impossible. “I do not understand…” My voice was dry. “Ten years ago, in the back alley behind Oakridge High School, there was a girl. To protect the miserable kid who shared her desk from getting mugged, she grabbed a broken brick and scared off three older delinquents like a feral street cat.” He spoke softly, as if narrating a distant fairytale. But an explosion went off inside my brain. The blurry memory instantly snapped into sharp focus. A sweltering summer afternoon. The deafening sound of cicadas. I was taking a shortcut through an alley on my way home from school. I saw the quiet, gloomy transfer student from my class backed into a corner by three vocational school dropouts. Rumor had it he was rich but neglected, making him an easy target. I had no idea where I got the liquid courage. Blood rushing to my head, I scooped up a jagged piece of brick and charged. “What are you doing! I already called the cops! They are five minutes away!” My voice must have been high-pitched and shaking. But the thugs were cowards. Startled by my kamikaze energy, they cursed and ran away. I helped the tall boy up. He kept his head down, his long bangs hiding his eyes. I asked if he was okay. He nodded. I asked his name. He stayed silent. Annoyed by his lack of gratitude, I shoved the heavy brick right into his chest. “Keep this! If anyone tries to bully you again, smash their heads in! Do not be a coward!” Then I marched away like a victorious general. The transfer student vanished from school shortly after, and I eventually forgot the whole ordeal. I looked up, staring in utter disbelief at the man sitting across from me. Mature. Imposing. Powerful. I could not reconcile him with that skinny, silent teenage boy. “You… you are…” “Victor.” His eyes crinkled, looking at me like I hung the moon. “I am that unlucky desk-mate you saved.” My brain short-circuited. No screenwriter would dare write a script this absurd. “How… how did…” I babbled. “My father forced me to transfer out immediately. I never got the chance to say thank you, or even tell you my name,” he explained quietly. “I was sent abroad right after. But I never forgot you.” “You remembered the girl wielding a broken brick like a little gangster?” I blurted out. He laughed again, a rich, chest-deep sound. “Yes. I remembered. You were incredibly cute.” Cute? What part of a screaming girl with a weapon was cute? “So you came back… just to…” “To marry you,” he stated with absolute certainty. “But you do not even know me anymore! It has been a decade! What if I grew up to be a horrible person?” I still felt like I was walking on clouds. “I trust my judgment.” His gaze turned heavy and piercing. “Besides, I have been keeping a very close eye on you. I know your likes and dislikes. I know you were with Tristan for five years, and the idiot never even realized you are deathly allergic to mangoes.” My chest absorbed another heavy blow. Tristan really did not know. On one of our dates, he ordered a mango crepe cake and pushed it toward me. I simply smiled, said I was not craving sweets, and watched him eat the whole thing. I never corrected him because I did not want to be an inconvenience. I always thought loving someone meant being agreeable and accommodating. And yet, this “stranger” sitting in front of me knew. He knew me better than the man I had shared a bed with for five years. Was it ironic, or was it just incredibly lucky? “You investigated me?” I frowned slightly. “Not an investigation,” he admitted freely. “As a business rival, looking into President Sinclair’s personal life is standard procedure. I just accidentally ended up paying way too much attention to you.” He made it sound effortless, but I knew “accidentally” did not cover the sheer amount of resources he must have spent keeping tabs on me from the shadows. “So the night of the banquet, you called me…” “I never intended to rush things like this.” He sighed. “I wanted to court you properly. Formally. But Tristan forced my hand.” His eyes darkened with dangerous intent. “When I saw the news breaking that he abandoned you at your own engagement party, I knew I could not wait another second.” “Linda, I refuse to watch you suffer another grievance. Never again.” Looking into those dark, resolute eyes, I suddenly realized that signing those marriage papers was not an act of impulsive revenge. It was fate. That night, I tossed and turned in the guest bedroom. Victor had insisted on giving me time to adjust, so he took the master suite. We were separated by a single wall. The proximity made my skin tingle. I pulled out my phone and opened Zoe’s chat. Her messages were still sitting there, unread. Taking a deep breath, I typed: “Zoe, I got married.” Less than three seconds later, my phone vibrated violently with her incoming call. “Holy shit! Linda! Are you out of your mind?! With who? Do not tell me it is actually Victor Cross!” I pulled the phone away from my ear. “Yeah. It is him.” “Oh my god! You are insane! Do you even know him? Do you know what kind of ruthless predator he is? He is Tristan’s arch-nemesis! He is definitely using you to humiliate the Sinclair family!” Zoe’s panic was deafening. I understood her reaction. Any normal person would lose their mind hearing their best friend married her toxic ex’s biggest enemy a week after getting dumped. “Zoe, calm down,” I said patiently. “It is not what you think.” I gave her the abridged version of the brick-wielding incident from ten years ago, and how Victor had been watching over me ever since. Dead silence fell over the line. A full minute later, Zoe finally spoke, her voice sounding completely detached from reality. “So… this is not a ‘marrying the enemy for revenge’ trashy drama. This is a ‘ten years of secret pining finally comes true’ epic romance?” “… You could interpret it that way.” “Damn it!” Zoe cursed loudly. “This is better than a movie! So, how is he? Is he treating you right? Is he hot? How is the body?” The conversation was taking a very dangerous turn. “He is great. And he is… extremely handsome.” Victor’s face flashed in my mind, making my pulse race. “As for his body… I have not really looked.” “Idiot! That is the most important part!” Zoe practically screamed. “Hurry up and find an excuse to inspect the goods! If the merchandise is faulty, demand an immediate refund!” My face flushed crimson. “Zoe!” “What are you blushing for? You are legally married!” I quickly hung up and buried my burning face into the pillows. Unfortunately, my traitorous brain instantly began imagining what Victor looked like underneath those tailored suits. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, long legs… Stop it, Linda! Have some shame! Right at that moment, two soft knocks landed on the door. “Linda, are you asleep?” It was Victor. My heart vaulted into my throat. Did he hear me talking to Zoe? Were the walls that thin? “No… not yet.” I scrambled to sit up, smoothing down my silk pajamas and clearing my throat. The door opened a crack, and Victor stepped in. He was out of his suit, dressed in dark gray loungewear. His hair was damp from the shower. The sharp, aggressive edge he carried during the day was gone, replaced by a devastating, domestic warmth. “I saw your light was still on. I figured you might have trouble sleeping in a new bed.” He held a mug of warm milk. “Drink this. It helps.” So that was it. I let out a breath I did not know I was holding, though a weird, tiny part of me felt disappointed. “Thank you.” Our fingers brushed as I took the mug. His skin was incredibly warm. He did not leave immediately. Instead, he leaned against the doorframe, studying me. “What is on your mind?” “Nothing, just… it all feels a bit surreal,” I mumbled, cradling the warm mug. “You will get used to it.” His voice was like velvet. “From now on, this is your home.” My home. Since childhood, my home was the massive Davis estate. Later, I thought my home would be the cold, modern penthouse I was supposed to share with Tristan. Now, this man was telling me that this apartment—a place I had just stepped foot in today—was my true home. My nose stung. “Victor,” I looked up at him. “Do you… do you think I am too easy? We just…” “No.” He cut me off, his gaze burning bright. “Linda, in my eyes, you deserve the absolute best this world has to offer. Tristan being blind is his own tragic loss. Getting to marry you is the greatest privilege of my life.” How could he say things like that with a straight face? My cheeks were definitely hotter than the milk. “It is late. Get some rest.” Noticing my embarrassment, he offered a gentle smile and quietly pulled the door shut behind him. The room returned to silence. I took tiny sips of the sweet milk, feeling a profound warmth spread from my stomach straight to my heart. He definitely did not hear Zoe’s scandalous comments, right? Yeah. Definitely not. The next morning, I woke up to the mouthwatering smell of breakfast. Walking out of the bedroom in a daze, I found Victor in the open kitchen, wearing a… pink apron. He was expertly frying eggs. The morning light spilled through the windows, casting a golden halo around his broad shoulders. Hearing my footsteps, he turned around and gave me a crisp, bright smile. “Good morning, Mrs. Cross. Go wash up. Breakfast is almost ready.” Sitting on the dining table were perfectly cooked sunny-side-up eggs, golden toast, warm milk, and a small bowl of fruit salad. My exact favorite breakfast combination. “How do you know my exact order?” I had to ask. “I told you. I have been paying attention.” He slid a glass of milk toward me, sounding as casual as if he were discussing the weather. I felt a rush of complex emotions. Having a man quietly observe you for years, memorizing even your breakfast preferences—if I hated him, I would be terrified. But because it was Victor… I found it incredibly sweet. After eating, he began getting ready for work. “What are your plans for today?” he asked while tying his shoes. “I…” Reality came crashing down. I had a massive mess to clean up. I needed to face my parents regarding the canceled wedding, and more importantly, drop the bomb that I was already married. Just thinking about my parents’ incoming wrath gave me a headache. “Do you want me to come with you?” He noticed my hesitation. “No, it is fine.” I shook my head. “It is my mess. I need to handle it myself.” I refused to act like a fragile flower that needed to hide behind him at the first sign of trouble. “Alright.” He did not push it. Instead, he pulled out a sleek, obsidian black card and handed it to me. “The pin is your birthday. Buy whatever you want. Do not hold back.” Here we go again with the overbearing billionaire tropes! And yet, my heart was racing. “I… I have my own money,” I whispered, trying to refuse. “This is what a husband is supposed to provide.” He pressed the heavy metal card into my palm, leaving no room for argument. “Be good. Take it.” Before I could process it, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. Then he turned and walked out the door. I stood frozen in the entryway for a solid ten minutes, clutching the card that still carried his body heat, my face burning up. Oh my god! He kissed me! Even if it was just the forehead! I took several deep breaths, forcing my racing heart to calm down. Get it together, Linda! You are a married woman now! It was just a forehead kiss! Mentally preparing myself for battle, I dialed my mother’s number. “Linda! Where are you? Are you okay? You terrified us!” Eleanor’s frantic voice burst through the speaker. After the disaster at the banquet, I had locked myself away and then vanished the next morning. Of course they were terrified. “Mom, I am fine. I am perfectly fine.” I tried to sound as normal as possible. “I am out right now… I have something important to tell you and Dad.” “What is it? Where are you? We will come get you!” “No, it is okay. I will come home this afternoon to talk.” I hung up and looked at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were a little red, but my gaze was remarkably steady. It was time to face the music. That afternoon, I took a cab back to the Davis estate. Walking into the grand living room, I found both my parents sitting on the sofas, their expressions grim. Spread across the coffee table were today’s newspapers. The headlines were universally vicious. Tristan Sinclair Abandons Bride at the Altar for Comatose Ex-Lover! Five-Year Romance Turns to Dust: Linda Davis Humiliated in High Society! “Linda, you are back!” My mother jumped up and rushed over, grabbing my arms to inspect me from head to toe. “Where have you been? You did not answer any calls! We were going out of our minds!” “I am fine, Mom.” I patted her hands reassuringly. My father, Arthur, sat rigidly on the couch, his face dark with fury. I knew he was furious at me for disappearing, but mostly furious at the Sinclair family. “I will make the Sinclairs bleed for this,” my father finally growled, his voice thick with wrath. “Do not worry, Linda. I will not let you suffer this indignity for nothing.” Seeing them so fiercely protective of me warmed my heart and solidified my resolve. I reached into my designer bag, pulled out the crisp marriage certificate, and gently placed it on the coffee table. A suffocating silence descended upon the room. My mother’s eyes widened. She looked at the document, then at me, her lips trembling, unable to form a single word. My father’s face shifted from red to purple, then to a ghastly pale. He picked up the document with shaking hands and flipped it open. When his eyes landed on the name “Victor Cross”, his hand spasmed, dropping the booklet onto the rug. “This is madness!” He slammed his hand against the glass table and shot to his feet, pointing a trembling finger at me. “Linda! What on earth are you doing! Did you use your own marriage as a tool just to spite Tristan? Do you know who Victor Cross is? He is Tristan’s sworn enemy! You marrying him turns the Davis family into a circus act! How are people going to look at you?!” “Dad!” I met his furious gaze without taking a single step back. “I am not doing this out of spite, and this is not a joke. I am entirely sober and I know exactly what I am doing.” “Sober? You call marrying a man you have met barely a handful of times in one week being sober?!” he roared, losing his usual aristocratic composure. “He is not just a man I met a few times.” I took a deep breath and proceeded to lay out the entire truth. I told them about the incident from high school ten years ago, and how he had been waiting in the shadows ever since. I naturally omitted the part where Victor had “investigated” me, framing it instead as him quietly watching over me. When I finished, the living room plunged back into a prolonged silence. My mother’s expression morphed from shock, to disbelief, to a faint glimmer of being deeply moved. My father slowly sank back onto the sofa, massaging his temples, lost in thought. After a very long time, he spoke, his voice laced with exhaustion. “Even so, this is entirely too reckless. Marriage is not a game.” “Dad, I am an adult.” I looked at him with absolute sincerity. “I know what I want. For the past five years with Tristan, I lived like a puppet on a string. I always had to be the bigger person. Always understanding. Always stepping aside. But now, I want to live for myself.” I paused, dropping the final, most crucial weight onto the scale. “Besides… he treats me incredibly well.” My father stared at me for what felt like an eternity. I braced myself for another explosion of anger. Instead, he let out a heavy, defeated sigh.

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The day after I contacted the private investigator, a stack of glossy photographs was waiting on my desk. The face of the young woman in those pictures was one I could never forget. This entire nightmare started with a simple iced caramel macchiato. Felix had handed it to me right after he got home from work. “Your favorite,” he said, his tone as casual as if it were the most natural habit in the world. I didn’t take the cup. A sudden, inexplicable weight dropped in my chest. “I stopped drinking these years ago,” I replied, keeping my voice perfectly level. He didn’t look surprised. “Really? I remember you loving them back in college.” That single sentence confirmed everything. The ‘you’ he was talking about wasn’t me. Because I spent the majority of my college years studying abroad in Europe. But I didn’t scream or throw the coffee in his face. I just forced a faint, hollow smile. “I guess tastes change when we grow up.” 1 Four years ago, during an infrastructure project in a deeply impoverished rural county, I crossed paths with a young girl being dragged away by her parents. They were forcing her into a marriage with an older man to settle family debts. Her name was Tessa. Tessa’s clothes were threadbare, her face smeared with dirt, but her eyes held a terrifyingly fierce light. Back then, I thought that light was pure resilience. Ignoring her parents’ vicious insults, I paid off their debts, rescued her from that suffocating town, and funded her entire college education. My phone buzzed. The private investigator had sent a new message. “Based on my findings, she is staying by Felix’s side to ‘repay’ him for his financial support.” My hand trembled violently around my phone. Repay his support? Let us completely ignore the fact that I was the one who pulled Tessa out of that rural hellhole. Let us talk about Felix. He was a penniless orphan who couldn’t even afford his freshman tuition. Every single step he took to reach his current status as a highly respected CEO was paved by my money and the absolute power of the Davis family. I let out a long, shaky breath, fighting back the tears burning my eyes. My hand instinctively rested over my flat stomach. A suffocating bitterness flooded my heart. A tiny life had once fluttered right there. Two years ago, I discovered I was pregnant. I was ecstatic, meticulously planning the perfect way to surprise Felix. But before I could tell him, I received a frantic call. Tessa’s parents had tracked her down on campus and were trying to kidnap her. I didn’t hesitate for a second. I called the police and rushed to the university with my security team. In my desperate attempt to pull her away from her violent father, a brutal scuffle broke out. I was shoved hard against a concrete step. And just like that, the child I had barely begun to love was gone forever. The doctors told me the physical trauma was severe. My chances of ever conceiving again were practically zero. When Tessa found out, she sobbed hysterically. She fell to her knees, swearing on her life that she would find a way to repay my sacrifice. And her grand repayment was crawling into my husband’s bed and tearing my marriage to shreds. I whipped my car around and drove straight to my parents’ estate. They were surprised to see me walk through the door unannounced. “Did Felix upset you?” my mother asked softly. Looking at the silver streaks in my parents’ hair, I swallowed the ugly truth. “No. He is just swamped with work. The house felt empty, so I wanted to come see you guys.” My father frowned slightly, though his eyes held a glimmer of approval. “He built that company from nothing. It is not an easy feat.” “But no matter how hard he works, he shouldn’t neglect his family.” I didn’t acknowledge my father’s defense of him. Instead, I took a breath and asked the question I came for. “Dad, when you first invested in Felix’s startup, didn’t you draft a contingency agreement?” My father thought for a moment and nodded. “I did. The terms stated that if he ever failed to meet my ethical expectations, his shares would revert completely to me.” “But once he proved himself and the company stabilized, that clause naturally became void,” he added. He paused for a second before continuing. “However, right before your wedding, Felix insisted on transferring half of his total shares to you as a dowry. I thought he had been through enough hardship, so I never actually had you sign the transfer documents.” I fought to keep my face neutral, masking the surge of adrenaline in my veins. “Do you still have those documents?” “Of course. I keep all the files in the study.” He retrieved the thick legal folder from his mahogany bookshelf and handed it to me. I took the contract, quickly scanned the legal jargon, and signed my name on the dotted line without a singular ounce of hesitation. I didn’t need the money. But since Felix had the audacity to betray me, he needed to prepare himself for absolute ruin. 2 The moment I returned to my empty house, I opened my laptop and loaded Felix’s corporate website. A promotional pop-up for his latest media interview immediately filled the screen. It was a ten-minute video. For nine of those minutes, the interviewer showered Felix with sickening praise. They painted him as a visionary, a man of profound integrity and charity. Every flattering adjective in the dictionary was hurled his way. Next week was his highly anticipated product launch. A cold smile tugged at my lips. I scrolled straight down to the investor relations page. As a publicly traded company, any shift in executive power or shareholder equity had to be transparent. It took me zero effort to find his corporate structure. Felix held a fifty-one percent controlling stake. But the moment my pen hit that paper in my father’s study, fifty percent of the company’s total shares transferred directly from his name to mine. I was now the largest shareholder. I only needed one more percent to secure absolute, undeniable control. Acquiring one percent of loose equity was a trivial task. I mentally mapped out a buyout strategy within seconds. Then, I clicked on the executive directory. Sure enough, Tessa’s name was sitting right there. The girl who had once looked me in the eye and swore to dedicate her life to helping others just as I had helped her. She was now my husband’s personal executive assistant. I bit the inside of my cheek, taking several deep breaths to suppress the white-hot fury burning in my chest. Felix didn’t come home until nearly midnight. In the past, I would have bombarded him with questions about why he was working so late. Tonight, I just glanced at him from the couch. “Honey, do you remember Tessa?” Felix froze instantly. He stared at me, completely paralyzed, unable to form a single syllable. I kept my voice light. “After I rescued her, I always worried her parents would drag her back to the mountains. I had no idea she ended up working as your assistant.” A thin layer of cold sweat broke out on his forehead. Every word that left his mouth was a calculated lie. “I had no idea she was the student you sponsored.” I gave him a playful, exasperated look. “What are you so nervous about? I am not upset with you.” “I should actually be thanking you. If you hadn’t taken her under your wing, who knows what kind of predators would have taken advantage of a lonely girl like her.” Felix offered a stiff, awkward laugh. “I just saw that she was struggling. I wanted to help.” He practically sprinted into the bedroom after that. I watched the door click shut. The playful warmth vanished from my face, replaced by pure ice. Struggling? Of course I knew she was struggling. That was why I funded her life. That was why I pulled her out of the dirt. That was why I sacrificed my unborn child to keep her safe. And my reward was not gratitude. It was a vicious snake sinking its fangs into my marriage. If she didn’t know how to be grateful, then she couldn’t blame me for ripping away everything I had ever given her. The next morning, I slept in until eleven. Felix had left for the office hours ago. I ate a slow breakfast, watching the live feed from the private investigator. The moment I saw Tessa slip into Felix’s private office on the screen, I grabbed my keys. Every employee at his headquarters recognized me. Not a single person dared to stop me in the lobby. Because Felix had spent years meticulously crafting the image of a devoted family man, no one in the building suspected his vile affair with Tessa. Consequently, no one thought to warn him that his wife was on the elevator. I didn’t even have to rush. I simply pushed open the heavy oak doors to his private suite. I caught them hopelessly tangled together on the leather sofa, their clothes in disarray. I walked in, sat down on the armchair opposite them, and watched them with a dead expression. “It seems I arrived at a bad time.” The shock finally shattered their paralysis. They scrambled apart, frantically adjusting their clothes. Yet, there was no trace of actual remorse on their faces. Tessa looked at me, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face. “Audrey. It has been a long time.” “It has,” I replied, my voice dangerously calm. “The last time we saw each other was two years ago. Right after I pulled you out of that hellhole.” “What was it you said to me back then? Something about serving me like a loyal dog to repay your debt?” Tessa’s smile dissolved instantly. I flicked my gaze between her and Felix, my tone dripping with absolute disgust. “And this is your grand repayment? Climbing into your savior’s marital bed?” Before Tessa could speak, Felix stepped forward. He softly told Tessa to wait outside. When he turned back to me, the warmth in his eyes was completely gone, replaced by a freezing hostility. “Did you really have to come here and make such an ugly scene, Audrey?” A sharp laugh escaped my throat. “I am making an ugly scene? You have been sleeping with the student I sponsored for years, and you think my presence is the ugly part?” “Audrey, watch your tone!” Felix raised his voice, his ego flaring. “I simply saw a girl who was pitiful, and I gave her an opportunity!” “An opportunity?” I sneered. “Felix, every single opportunity you have ever had in your pathetic life was handed to you by my family.” “If it weren’t for my mother and father, you would still be rotting in the gutters.” “Where exactly do you get the nerve to take the power my family gave you and use it to fund your little mistress?” Felix erupted. “Shut your mouth!” “You know exactly what state your family’s company is in! Everything I have achieved here is built on my own blood and sweat!” “You are the one relying on me now! I am the one propping up your parents’ lifestyle and their failing investments! If you don’t want to see your family go bankrupt and end up on the streets, you will keep your mouth shut and accept Tessa!” Our argument ended in absolute hostility. But my visit was not a failure. Every disgusting word that left his mouth, every vile threat he made, was crystal clear on the recording device hidden in my purse. It was the exact ammunition I needed for the killing strike. 3 I didn’t return to the house I shared with him. I drove straight to a luxury hotel suite I had booked in advance. Noah was already waiting for me in the lobby. He was another student I had sponsored years ago, and the private investigator I had hired to expose Felix. The moment he saw me, he rushed over and handed me a thick leather binder. “Ms. Davis, here is the physical summary. I sent the heavily encrypted, detailed files directly to your private server.” I took the binder with both hands and offered a genuine smile. “Thank you, Noah.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking slightly embarrassed. “You never have to thank me. If you hadn’t stepped in back then, my sister and I wouldn’t have survived the winter.” Once I was safely locked in my suite, I skimmed the physical documents before opening my laptop. The physical file was a broad overview of Felix and Tessa’s romantic timeline. The digital server held the real poison. Every hotel booking, every expensive dinner, every timeline discrepancy was laid out in agonizing detail. But the real treasure was buried in the final folders. It was a comprehensive paper trail of Felix’s desperate, illegal maneuvers to inflate his profit margins over the last few years. Tax evasion, corporate bribery, embezzlement. I memorized every detail, copied the financial evidence onto a secure flash drive, and anonymously mailed it to a rival executive in Felix’s company who had despised him for years. With the traps set, I stayed in the hotel, waiting quietly for the product launch next week. I wanted silence, but Felix refused to grant it. Over the course of seven days, he bombarded my phone with relentless calls and text messages. He cycled between vicious threats about ruining my family and pathetic, manipulative pleas for me to come home. I didn’t block him. I just watched the notifications pile up. On the morning of the launch, I finally sent a single text back. “See you at the venue.” Felix had no idea what that meant. Until he saw me walking down the center aisle of the auditorium. His heart must have stopped. He rushed over, grabbed my elbow, and dragged me into a secluded corner, his teeth gritted. “Audrey. What the hell are you planning?” I batted my eyelashes, looking the picture of innocence. “It is my husband’s biggest product launch. Am I not allowed to support you?” I shifted my gaze to Tessa, who was standing nervously near the backstage curtain. My voice dropped to a lethal whisper. “Or were you planning to let her stand in my place under the spotlight?” Felix, who likely had entertained that exact thought, looked like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. “No,” he muttered through clenched teeth. I beamed at him. Seeing my smile, Felix foolishly assumed I had surrendered to his threats. He let out a long breath of relief, muttered a quiet warning for me to behave, and hurried off to prep the stage. I took my VIP invitation and walked straight to the center seat in the front row, waiting comfortably for the curtain to rise. The auditorium filled. The lights dimmed. Felix stepped into the spotlight. He was practically glowing with arrogance. He delivered a charismatic opening monologue, soaking in the applause, before gesturing to the massive screen behind him for the promotional video. The moment the screen lit up, the entire auditorium inhaled a collective, horrified gasp. The sleek product animation was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a high-definition video of Felix, his face twisted in vicious rage, echoed through the massive speakers. It was the recording of him screaming at me in his office, threatening to bankrupt my family if I didn’t accept his mistress. The blood drained completely from Felix’s face. In those agonizing thirty seconds, his meticulously crafted mask of a philanthropic genius was shattered into a million pieces. A deafening wave of whispers and camera shutters flooded the room. The corporate board members sitting near me looked like they were going to be sick. Timing it perfectly, I stood up and walked onto the stage before the chaos could spiral out of control. I took the microphone. First, I offered a poised, deeply sincere apology to the investors and media present for the disruption. Then, I turned to face the crowd and officially announced the immediate termination of Felix as the Chief Executive Officer. Felix whipped his head toward me, his eyes wild. “Audrey, you have absolutely no authority to do that.” I cut him off without a shred of emotion. I projected the signed transfer documents and my newly acquired equity portfolio onto the screen. “I have every authority.” “I currently hold fifty-one percent of the total voting shares.” “I am the majority shareholder. My word is absolute law.”

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Three years ago, I championed Amelia Thorne’s entry into the company. From intern to HR Director, every promotion she received, I had vouched for her. Now, there were 23 names on the redundancy list. Mine was at the top. She had submitted it. “Helen, I couldn’t help it.” Her eyes red-rimmed, “It was decided by management.” I said nothing. Her phone vibrated. A text message. Top contact, marked with a red heart emoji. The profile picture was a man’s side profile. A dark blue plaid shirt. The same one I had personally ironed for Oliver Goddard last night. Oliver Goddard is my husband. I put the list into my bag and stood up. “Amelia, the shirt the person in your top contact is wearing—” “I ironed it last night.” Her face went white. 1 “Helen! Helen, wait!” Amelia’s voice, tinged with a sob, chased me down the corridor. I didn’t look back. My heels clicked on the tiled floor, a steady rhythm. The elevator doors opened. She caught up to me, grabbing my arm. “You misunderstood, that person isn’t Oliver…” “Dark blue plaid shirt, with a small scorched hole under the left chest pocket.” I looked at her hand. “I accidentally ironed it like that last night.” Her fingers loosened. “Helen…” “Amelia.” I pressed the elevator button. “You’ve been using that trick on me for three years—your left eye reddens first, then your right. It’s not very effective anymore.” The elevator doors closed. I leaned against the elevator wall, watching the numbers drop. Basement one. Parking garage. I got into my car, closed the door. My phone lit up. A message. Amelia sent a voice note; I didn’t open it. Another text came: “Helen, if you don’t believe me, you can ask Oliver directly. He’ll explain.” I stared at the message for ten seconds. I opened Oliver’s social media. Last Wednesday, he posted a picture of coffee with the caption: “Working late, this coffee delivered tastes extra good.” That night he told me he was busy with a project at work; I hadn’t sent him any coffee. The first comment was from Amelia: “You’re working hard [heart emoji].” Oliver replied with a smiling emoji. I scrolled down further. A month ago, during the holiday weekend, he said he was taking clients for golf in the Bahamas. No pictures posted on his feed. But Amelia had posted. A beach, sunset, red bikini, with the caption: “Be good to me, holiday.” In the bottom right corner of the second photo, a man’s hand, wearing a very familiar wedding band on the ring finger. The scratch was on the left side—Oliver always rested his left hand on the steering wheel when driving, wearing it down. I exited the app, started the car. I arrived home at 7:30. Oliver poked his head out of the kitchen, smiling. “You’re back? Why so early today?” “Nothing much, so I came home.” “Wash up, dinner’s ready. The ribs just came out of the oven.” At the dining table, he served me food, recounting his day at the office. “You remember Mark from finance? Today he added an extra zero to a report, and the boss thought our department’s revenue had increased tenfold. He was happy for a whole hour…” He smiled very naturally. I smiled too. “Oh, right,” he said, “you ironed my blue plaid shirt, didn’t you? I have an important meeting tomorrow.” “It’s hanging in the third compartment of the closet.” “Thanks, wife.” He reached over and squeezed my fingers. His fingertips were warm. After dinner, he went to wash the dishes. I went into the bedroom and opened the closet. The blue plaid shirt was hanging there. I picked it up and sniffed it closely. Beneath the scent of laundry detergent, there was a faint fragrance. Bleu de Chanel. I had given it to Amelia for her birthday three years ago. “I love it so much!” she had hugged me then, saying, “Helen, you’re truly the best person in the world to me.” I hung the shirt back up. In the pocket, I felt a crumpled receipt. Two cups of coffee from a local cafe. One Americano, one low-sugar latte. I drink Americano. Oliver also drinks Americano. Whose was the low-sugar latte? The sound of water stopped in the bathroom. He walked out, wrapped in a towel. “Wife, I might be home late tomorrow; a project needs finishing.” “Okay.” “Don’t stay up too late.” He kissed my forehead. “Oliver.” “Hm?” “How long has it been since you celebrated our wedding anniversary with me?” His movement paused. “Last month wasn’t…” “Last month you said you had an unexpected business trip to the Caribbean.” “Right, that client couldn’t be put off…” “Did that client wear a red bikini?” His expression flickered, then returned to normal. “What are you talking about? The client is a bald man in his fifties.” “Oh.” “Why are you suddenly thinking about this?” “Nothing. There’s a small hole under the pocket of your shirt. I accidentally did it while ironing; I hope you don’t mind.” “Not at all.” He smiled. “You ironed it for me; even the hole looks good.” I turned off the light. In the darkness, his breathing gradually became even. My eyes remained open. At 2 AM, his phone lit up. A message popped up, labeled “Project Team – Kevin”: “Hubby, I’ve handled the last issue. She won’t have a chance to turn things around. Don’t worry.” Followed by a kissing emoji. Hubby. She. Turn things around. The screen darkened. Oliver turned over, his arm resting on my waist. “Mmm… wife…” he mumbled indistinctly. I didn’t move. “Goodnight,” I said. No one replied. 2 “Here, I bought you coffee, a sugar-free Americano.” Amelia stood at my cubicle, smiling gently, holding a Starbucks cup. Her other hand briefly rested on my shoulder. “I thought about yesterday all night; it truly was management’s decision. I tried to advocate for you.” I took the coffee. “Thank you.” “What you said yesterday… about the shirt,” she leaned in, lowering her voice, “my boyfriend happens to have an identical one. It’s just a coincidence, don’t overthink it.” “Your boyfriend?” “Mm, we’ve only been dating for two months, haven’t gone public yet.” She winked. “I’ll introduce you sometime.” “Okay.” She smiled and walked away. I took a sip of coffee. Americano, but with sugar. I never take sugar in my Americano. She remembered Oliver’s low-sugar latte, but couldn’t recall my preference. At 10 AM, my colleague Alex passed my cubicle, dropping a stack of documents, and whispered, “Helen, there’s something I’m not sure if I should tell you.” “Tell me.” She looked around, then pulled me into the breakroom. “The redundancy list… I saw three versions on the printer.” “Three versions?” “The first version had 15 people, and you weren’t on it. The second had 20, and you were number eight. The third is this current one, 23 people, and you’re number one.” “Who changed it?” “Amelia. All three revision records are under her account. Each time someone was added—” Alex bit her lip, “—it was always someone you mentored.” I said nothing. “And one more thing.” Alex lowered her voice. “Did you see last week’s department annual performance review?” “I submitted it.” “Not your version.” She pulled out her phone and showed me a screenshot. On the screen, under the department review section: “Helen Fraser: Average organizational skills, aggressive management style, poor team cohesion. Recommended for salary reduction, role reassignment, or optimization.” A red cross was next to my name. “Below that was a section for role recommendations.” Alex scrolled to the next page. “Amelia wrote it, recommending her assistant, Beth, to replace you. Someone who’s been with the company for less than six months.” “When was this report submitted?” “Two weeks ago. Three days before the redundancy list.” “Is the original report still in the system?” “Yes. But the permissions were changed; only Amelia and the administrator can see it. I saw it last week during system maintenance when IT recovered a batch of files.” Alex looked at me. “Helen, she did it on purpose.” I knew. At noon, Amelia came to find me again, sitting opposite me and placing a chicken wing in my bowl. “Helen, eat more, you’ve lost weight recently.” “Mm.” “Dinner tonight? Let’s get a barbecue. It’s been a while.” “He’s working late tonight.” “Then just the two of us.” She took my hand and held it. “Helen, no matter what happens, you’re my best friend.” Her palm was warm. The same temperature as when Oliver squeezed my fingers last night. “Amelia.” “Hm?” “What does your new boyfriend do?” Her eyes flickered. “Finance.” “Which company?” “A small company you wouldn’t know.” “What’s his name?” “Helen, why are you so interested in my boyfriend?” She smiled. “Are you jealous?” “Just asking.” In the afternoon, I went to HR’s shared folder. I didn’t have administrator privileges, but the old system’s backend entry was still open. Three minutes later, I found all the documents Amelia had submitted. Besides the tampered performance review, there was something else. Title: “Core Employee Seating Adjustment Plan.” The content was simple: Move Helen Fraser’s workstation from the eighth-floor department area to the third-floor administrative area. Reason: “Optimize office space.” The third-floor administrative area. Next to the restroom drainage pipe, no windows. She had even planned where I would sit. At the bottom of the document was a footnote. Not Amelia’s handwriting. “Confirmed with HR, to be executed next Monday. —Oliver Goddard.” Oliver. My husband’s name, appearing on a document that moved me next to the restroom. I opened the company directory and searched for “Oliver Goddard.” One result. Finance Department. Senior Finance Manager. Start date—two years ago. Two years ago, he told me he had switched to an investment company. “It’s a small company; you wouldn’t know it even if I told you.” Exactly what Amelia had said earlier. He had been working at my company for two years. In the same building. I was on the eighth floor, he was on the tenth. Separated by the ninth floor—the HR department, Amelia’s floor. My phone rang. Oliver. “Wife, what do you want for dinner tonight?” “…Anything.” “What’s wrong with your voice?” “A bit tired.” “Then leave work early. I’ll wait for you at home.” I hung up. I found the screenshot of that message from earlier that morning. “Project Team – Kevin.” Hubby. She won’t have a chance to turn things around. Kevin. “Amelia, you are truly something else.” 3 “Ms. Fraser, please attend the management meeting this afternoon.” My assistant, Emily, brought in documents, her expression subtle. “What’s the agenda?” “It’s being led by Director Thorne. Department budget reviews and personnel optimization plans.” At 2 PM, over a dozen people sat in the conference room. Amelia stood before the projector, dressed in a white turtleneck, looking intellectual and gentle. “Everyone, the company is facing some pressure this year, and we need to optimize our human efficiency.” She flipped to the next slide. “First, a report on each department’s semi-annual performance.” A table appeared on the screen. Marketing Department, 120% completion. Tech Department, 115%. Sales Department, 98%. Operations Department—my department—47%. 47%. I had led my team to achieve $18 million in revenue in the first half of the year, targeting $20 million. That’s a 90% completion rate. Not 47%. “The Operations Department’s performance is indeed less than ideal.” Amelia’s tone was regretful, glancing at me. “Ms. Fraser has worked hard, but the data doesn’t lie.” “How was this data calculated?” I asked. “Finance calculated it. Do you have any objections?” “The data I submitted was $18 million, a 90% completion rate.” “Finance performed a recalculation, and the revenue attribution for several projects was adjusted.” “What was the basis for the adjustment?” “That’s a professional judgment from Finance; I’m not entirely clear.” She shuffled the documents in her hand. “If you have questions, you can check with Finance after the meeting.” “Furthermore,” she continued, “after a comprehensive evaluation, the Operations Department’s human efficiency ranks last among all departments. Therefore, our optimization list has a higher proportion from Operations.” Out of 23 people, my department accounted for 14. More than half were to be laid off. “Helen,” she used my nickname in front of everyone, “don’t feel pressured. It’s not your personal problem; it’s the general economic climate.” Gentle, thoughtful. As if she was concerned for me. In reality, she had just used fake data to sentence my department to death. After the meeting, I went straight to the tenth-floor finance department. I found the finance manager, Mr. Davies. “Mr. Davies, on what basis was the Operations Department’s revenue recalculated?” Mr. Davies adjusted his glasses. “Last month, Director Thorne submitted an adjustment request, stating that the revenue attribution for three projects needed to be reclassified, moving them from Operations to Marketing.” “Who signed off on it?” “The process requires sign-off from the department liaison.” Mr. Davies handed over the document. On the signature line was a very familiar handwriting. Oliver Goddard. “This Oliver Goddard,” I pointed at the signature, “which department is he from?” “Finance Department. He’s responsible for liaising on all departmental financial matters,” Mr. Davies looked at me. “Doesn’t Ms. Fraser know him? He’s been here for two years.” “I know him.” I walked out of the tenth floor. The window at the end of the corridor was open. The November wind blew in, bitingly cold. Oliver had been working at the company for two years. He helped Amelia adjust my department’s data. Signed off on it. Then he went home, cooked me barbecue ribs, kissed my forehead, and said, “Wife, you’ve worked hard.” I took the elevator down to basement one and found Oliver’s car—the one I brought as part of my dowry. The car was unlocked. A beige silk scarf was draped over the passenger seat. Hermes. The one Amelia always wore. I opened the glove compartment, and inside was a crumpled hotel receipt. The Grand Hotel, Presidential Suite, costing $8,600. Date: October 15th. That day was our third wedding anniversary. Oliver said he was on a business trip to the Caribbean. He even sent a picture of a beautiful island. I replied then, “The island is beautiful, take me next time.” He said, “Definitely.” Hanging on the rearview mirror was a pair of keychains. Two small bears, one red and one blue, with the letters “W” and “H” engraved on the base. Wei and Heng. Not Tang and Heng. I photographed the receipt and put the keychains in my pocket. Back at my desk. Alex came over again. “Helen, Amelia was just in the breakroom telling some department heads—” She hesitated. “Word for word.” “She said, ‘Helen has been very emotional since she found out about the redundancies, and yesterday she said some rather incoherent things in my office. Please be understanding with her; she’s very pitiful.’” Unstable. Incoherent. Pitiful. Three labels affixed. From now on, no matter what I say, it will be dismissed as the rambling of someone having an emotional breakdown. My phone rang. Amelia. “Helen, are we still on for barbecue tonight?” “You decide.” “A steakhouse? You said last time you wanted a good steak.” “Amelia.” “Hm?” “Where were you on October 15th?” There was three seconds of silence on the other end. “Helen, why are you suddenly asking that?” “That was my wedding anniversary. Oliver was away on business, and I ate instant noodles alone at home. I just wanted to know if everyone else had a better day than me.” Another three seconds of silence. “…I worked late that day. Alone at the office until very late.” “Oh, that’s tough too.” “It is. So, barbecue at seven?” “Okay.” I hung up. The Grand Hotel receipt, check-in time 3 PM. “Worked late.” “Amelia, your ‘overtime’ location is quite luxurious.” 4 “Helen, what are you doing here?” Amelia looked up, in the process of changing the water for a bouquet of white roses. The flowers on her desk, at least thirty, were tied with a satin ribbon. “Who sent them?” I walked in and closed the door. “My boyfriend,” she smiled, moving the flowers aside. “Sit, can I get you something to drink?” “No need.” I sat across from her. I took three items from my bag, placing them one by one on her desk. A beige Hermes silk scarf. A Grand Hotel receipt. A pair of bear keychains, W & H. Amelia’s smile slowly faded. “The scarf was found in Oliver’s car, in the passenger seat. Yours, right?” She didn’t speak. “The Grand Hotel, October 15th. My wedding anniversary. Oliver told me he was in the Caribbean.” Her fingers subtly tightened. “The keychains are engraved with two letters. W for Wei, H for Heng.” She closed her eyes for a moment. Then she looked up at me, her eyes red again. “Helen… I know you’re hurting…” “I’m not hurting. I’m confirming facts with you.” “The fact is—” her voice trembled slightly, “—Oliver and I do know each other.” “Know each other.” “But it’s not what you think.” “Then what is it?” “He pursued me first,” she bit her lip. “Last year, at the annual gala, you left early. He had too much to drink and added me on social media.” “And then?” “I rejected him! Helen, you’re my best friend, how could I possibly—” “Best friend.” “Yes! So I kept avoiding him, but he kept seeking me out, sending messages, gifts…” “And you couldn’t avoid him, so you stayed in the Grand Hotel’s Presidential Suite?” She froze. “Couldn’t avoid him, so you flew to the Bahamas together?” “The Bahamas wasn’t what you think—” “You posted pictures. A red bikini. His hand is in the bottom right corner of the photo, a wedding ring on his ring finger, with scratches on the left side.” Amelia’s tears finally fell. “I didn’t mean to hurt you…” “Then what about the redundancy list?” My voice was calm. “You revised it three times. Each time, you added people from my team. My name wasn’t on the first version; you added it.” She wiped away her tears. “You also changed the performance review. My performance was $18 million, and you wrote it as less than $8 million. The difference was entirely reallocated to the Marketing Department.” “That was a Finance Department decision—” “The person who signed it was Oliver Goddard.” She fell silent. “You also wrote my seating adjustment plan. Moving me from the eighth floor to next to the restroom on the third floor. And Oliver’s handwriting was in the annotation column.” “Helen…” “You two work very well together.” “It’s not what you think!” she suddenly stood up, her voice changed—no longer a soft sob, but sharp, urgent. “Oliver promised me, he said he would handle—” She stopped mid-sentence. Realizing she had let something slip. “Promised you what?” I looked at her. She covered her mouth. “Handle me?” “No… I didn’t mean that…” “Amelia. Three years ago, when you came for your interview, that internship experience on your resume was fake. I helped you cover it up.” Her breathing hitched. “Your first probation review didn’t pass; I found three reviewers to speak up for you. When you were promoted to manager, your competitor was stronger, and I fought for you in the meeting.” “I know…” “From intern to HR Director, three years, I pushed you every step of the way.” “Helen, I’m grateful to you…” “Your way of showing gratitude is to sleep with my husband, falsify my data, and put my name first on the redundancy list.” She opened her mouth, wanting to explain something. The office door was pushed open. Oliver stood at the doorway. A cup of coffee in his left hand, another in his right. “Amelia, I—” He looked up. He saw me. His smile froze on his face. Both coffee cups tilted simultaneously, brown liquid spilling onto his leather shoes. He didn’t move. Amelia didn’t move. I didn’t move either. Three people, two seconds of silence. Quiet enough to hear the coffee dripping onto the tiled floor.

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On our seventh anniversary, police called. A couple claimed my company’s product poisoned their child. At the station, I saw Tristan—her ex—filing the report, with Vivienne, my wife, beside him as his “wife.” She looked at me coldly, stating, “We have a three-year-old. That’s how it is.” We’d reconciled four years ago. I pulled out the divorce papers I tore up back then, now reprinted, and said, “Let her be with him openly.” I thought back four years, after three years of marriage. To protect Tristan, she falsely reported me ten times. Each release led to fights that put me in the hospital—eleven times total. Then, on a Middle East trip, our hotel was hit. She shielded me from debris; I shielded her from bullets. In hospital beds, holding hands, she tearfully promised to send him away for good. I tore up the divorce papers, saying we’d try one last time. She erased him completely, even tattooed my name over her heart, vowing I’d never regret it. Now, it all felt like a sick joke. 1 Tristan eventually left the precinct with red eyes, holding his son tightly in his arms. He left because I had verbally backed him into a corner. Faced with my absolute command of corporate law and product liability, he was trembling with rage, entirely unable to utter a single word in his defense. When we got home, I strode through the front door. Vivienne followed closely behind, her brows furrowed in annoyance. “Could you not have a better attitude? What kind of man bullies a father and his sick child?” Bullying? I spun around abruptly. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with my company’s food products. It is glaringly obvious that he fed his kid something he shouldn’t have and is trying to pin it on me to extort a settlement! Are you completely blind to that? Who is bullying who here?!” Vivienne frowned, clearly displeased with my tone. I took a step closer, my voice dropping. “You know exactly how pristine my manufacturing formulas are. Yet you still stood by his side and helped him call the cops on me.” A cold, mocking laugh escaped my lips. “You really are exactly the same as you used to be.” She let out a heavy sigh. “You really lack empathy sometimes, Victor.” I froze. “The child is only three years old. He is a first-time father. Seeing his kid poisoned like that, it is natural for him to panic and make a mess of things. If you cannot be understanding, fine. But there was no need to back a single father into a corner over a small mistake and beat him down like that.” She paused, looking me up and down. A cruel, mocking smile suddenly tugged at the corner of her lips. “Oh, right. You are someone who can never be a father. No wonder you cannot possibly understand what someone with a child feels.” I stared at her in sheer disbelief. The next second, a sharp slap echoed through the room, landing hard across her cheek. “Vivienne! Who is the reason I can never be a father?! Have you conveniently forgotten?!” The memory seemed to finally crash into her. She lowered her eyes, dodging my furious gaze. But I refused to let her hide. “Back in college, you got drunk and picked a fight with a group of guys. They came at you with a broken beer bottle. I took that hit for you! That jagged glass shredded my abdomen, and that is why my fertility is practically gone!” A flicker of guilt finally crossed Vivienne’s face. I offered a bitter, hollow smile. “If I had known you were fighting those guys that night defending Tristan, I would have let them kill you.” Her lips parted, trembling slightly. “I… I am sorry. I misspoke.” “You have misspoken a lot over the past seven years.” I stared at her, my voice turning eerily calm. “To put it plainly, you never cared about me. You never cared about this marriage. If you did, those words would never have left your mouth so easily. Have you ever misspoken in front of Tristan?” She remained silent. I answered for her. “Never, right?” “I…” “Vivienne.” I cut her off. “Save the excuses. You don’t care, and that is the truth. Just like I told you before, that was your absolute last chance.” I looked at the spot on her chest where my name was inked. And I sneered. “You only talk a big game about cherishing our final chance.” “I already moved him underground! What more do you want from me?” I looked at her, entirely stunned by her twisted logic. She ran a hand through her hair, looking incredibly frustrated. “In the past four years, have you ever seen a trace of him or his son in my life? No, right?” I could barely breathe. “Vivienne…” “Enough, Victor.” She frowned deeply. “If you hadn’t been so petty and unreasonable today, you wouldn’t have even found out. You wouldn’t have ruined the peace between us. We could have lived a perfectly good life together.” When a person is pushed to the absolute limit of their anger, they actually start laughing. My company receiving a legal complaint was normally a matter for my corporate legal department. I never needed to show my face. But I had recognized the phone number on the complaint. It was Tristan’s. I investigated it personally and uncovered the sickening truth of her ongoing affair. Vivienne sighed softly. “Just pretend this never happened. Victor, please don’t destroy the relationship we worked so hard to repair.” I laughed. I slammed the freshly printed divorce agreement onto the coffee table. “If you truly cherished this relationship, you would have never kept in touch with him!” “What are you doing?” Seeing the words ‘Divorce Agreement’ printed in bold at the top of the page, Vivienne’s breathing hitched visibly. “Take this back!” She reached out to tear the papers, but I pinned them down with a heavy hand. “Vivienne, I meant what I said. Four years ago was our final chance.” “Victor…” “Three days.” I stared straight into her eyes. “Give me an answer in three days.” “Victor! Victor!!” I turned and walked out the door without looking back. She didn’t chase me. She just stood there alone, staring at the legal document, her fingers trembling slightly. I waited for two days. Vivienne gave me no answer. She completely ignored the messages I sent. I decided to head back to the house to force the issue. But the moment I stepped onto the front porch, I heard the clinking of wine glasses and laughter coming from inside. “Vivienne, it is the last day for that divorce agreement. Are you really not going to make a plan?” “A plan?” Vivienne laughed coldly. “He is the one crossing the line! He is the one who owes me a plan!” What? My hand froze on the doorknob. “We have been married for seven years. I can forgive the past, but bringing Tristan back here was a bit much, so I understand why he brought out the papers. But we have loved each other more fiercely than any normal couple for the last four years. Even when we fought, he never actually used a divorce to threaten me.” I could hear the rustle of paper as Vivienne waved the agreement around. “Has he ever considered how much damage throwing a tantrum like this does to our relationship?” I gritted my teeth. One of her friends glanced toward the hallway and suddenly stopped breathing. They saw my shadow under the door but chose not to alert her. Instead, they asked another question. “But Vivienne, what if Victor is actually serious this time?” “Serious?” Vivienne laughed, a light, dismissive sound. “We have literally bled and almost died for each other. We are not going to fall apart that easily.” “Then why did you have a kid with Tristan? I really thought you had turned over a new leaf for Victor.” I heard the sound of Vivienne clinking her glass against theirs. “When you have a life-and-death kind of love, you don’t need to be as cautious and serious as you were in the beginning. We saved each other’s lives. He and I are bound for life. He could never truly leave me.” I sucked in a sharp breath. My heart hammered against my ribs, fueled by pure, unadulterated fury. I quietly let go of the doorknob and walked away. It seemed it was time to bypass the negotiations and go straight to litigation. While I was having my executive assistant, Carter, prepare the lawsuit materials, Vivienne finally sent me a message on the third day. [Instead of wasting time throwing a tantrum, you should expedite the compensation for Tristan’s losses.] Immediately after, a digital copy of a court summons was forwarded to my phone. It was a lawsuit filed by Tristan. He was officially suing my company for severe food safety violations, claiming our product directly caused his child’s life-threatening poisoning. I hadn’t expected him to keep pushing after I had humiliated him at the precinct. But a persistence like that meant someone powerful was backing him. I called Vivienne immediately. “Did you file this for him?” Vivienne let out a soft chuckle. She didn’t answer. The silence was an admission. “And if I refuse to pay his extortion fee?” “Husband, you need to think this through. The legal team representing him in court will be my corporate litigators.” My breath caught in my throat. “Why be so stubborn about this? Just admit fault and pay the man.” I gripped my phone tightly. “This company is a legacy brand founded by my grandfather. We have built a pristine reputation over decades. You want me to admit fault to a fabricated claim and destroy the Valiant Group’s entire brand image?!” Vivienne sighed. “Do you really have to make things so difficult for a father and his son?” “You are the ones making things difficult for me!” I ground my teeth together. “Tristan fed his own kid garbage, and you know it!” Vivienne went completely silent. When she finally spoke again, her voice had turned ice-cold. “Then you are on your own. Good luck.” The dial tone echoed in my ear. I stood in my office, gripping the phone so hard my knuckles turned white. Carter, my head of legal and operations, looked at me with deep concern. “Mr. Victor, Vivienne’s corporation has already sent us the formal notice. Her legal team is entirely undefeated in both domestic and international courts. We…” I clenched my fists. “We fight. I will personally lead the defense with you.” Carter’s eyes lit up with sudden hope. On the day of the trial, when I walked into the courtroom as both the defendant and the lead defense attorney, Vivienne was visibly stunned. She never knew that I possessed a fully certified, top-tier legal degree. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a message from her. I ignored it entirely. I faced her elite legal team head-on. Throughout the entire proceeding, Vivienne’s expression grew darker and darker. She quickly realized that her million-dollar lawyers were not omnipotent gods. And she realized that I had been hiding my true capabilities from her for years. When the judge entirely dismissed Tristan’s frivolous lawsuit for lack of credible evidence, Tristan threw a massive, screaming tantrum right in the middle of the courtroom. I shot Vivienne a cold, mocking smirk. Her face was an unreadable mask. But as we were exiting the courthouse, she intercepted me by the heavy oak doors. She smiled, a deeply calculating look in her eyes. “You are vastly more capable than I ever imagined, Victor.” “What is the matter? Is the CEO planning to file an appeal for her little kept man?” “No.” She smiled softly. “Since my husband is so brilliant, why would I ever want to make an enemy out of you?” I frowned, completely unable to read her angle. She turned on her heel to leave. “I wish you and your business continued prosperity, Mr. Victor.” “What exactly is she plotting?” I muttered to myself. That night, I stayed at the corporate headquarters. I personally audited the warehouse inventory and conducted a rigorous check of all our security and fire suppression systems. Only when I was certain there were no vulnerabilities did I finally relax. Carter walked with me as we left the building late that night. “Thank god you were there, Mr. Victor! Otherwise, those corporate vultures would have swindled our entire quarterly profit! Vivienne is so ruthless, actually ordering her team to bleed us dry just to line Tristan’s pockets. It was so obvious Tristan screwed up his kid’s diet! Her bias is sickening!” “Exactly! Who is she even married to?!” Carter quickly clamped a hand over his subordinate’s mouth, nervously checking my expression. I just stiffened for a fraction of a second before offering a tired smile. “It’s fine. Let’s go home.” Carter smiled in relief. “Yes, sir!” We had barely driven out of the industrial park when a deafening explosion shattered the night sky behind us. Carter violently pulled me down as the shockwave rattled the car windows. A blistering wave of heat washed over us. I whipped my head around. Above the manufacturing plant, a towering inferno of orange and black tore into the sky. “Mom! Dad!” I threw the car door open and sprinted back toward the flames like a madman. Carter and the security team tackled me to the asphalt. “Mr. Victor! It’s too dangerous! You can’t go in there!” “My parents’ belongings are in there!” I screamed, struggling against their grip. “Sir, stop!” They held me down with everything they had. Fire engines and police cruisers flooded the scene, sirens wailing. Yellow caution tape was rapidly strung up. Every single first responder blocked my path. My breathing was ragged, my lungs burning. “Their things are in the main office! Everything they left behind! Let me go!” “Even if they are, they are gone now, son!” a soot-covered firefighter yelled over the roar of the flames, his voice full of pity. I stared at his blackened face. Every ounce of strength evaporated from my body. I slowly turned my head. Parked in the shadows just beyond the police line was a familiar black Rolls-Royce. Behind the tinted glass, a face was illuminated by the dashboard lights. Vivienne was sitting in the back seat. She was casually watching the destruction. When she noticed me looking, she raised an eyebrow and offered a slow, deliberate smile. In the passenger seat, Tristan was holding his son, a sickeningly triumphant grin plastered across his face. Vivienne stepped out of the luxury car, her heels clicking against the pavement. “You humiliated Tristan completely in front of a judge today. You owed him a little compensation.” I could not form a single word. My vocal cords were paralyzed. “Don’t worry, the inventory is gone, but I will personally wire you the funds to cover the damages. Don’t blame him. This was entirely my idea.” My throat constricted so violently I tasted blood. Everything inside that building was a piece of the legacy my parents and grandfather had built. When I was five years old, my mother used to carry me through those very halls, showing me the machinery, telling me the story of how our family built the brand from nothing. They would stroke my hair and say, “This will all be yours one day. You have to protect it.” “Mom, Dad… I am so sorry.” The world went pitch black. The burning sky spun violently before my eyes, and gravity vanished. Vivienne’s smug, composed expression instantly shattered into sheer panic. “Victor!”

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Three years into this “transmigration,” I discovered a helicopter in the mansion courtyard. My husband, Mr. Arthur Stone, looking at my crippled leg, finally dropped the act: “Three years ago, you couldn’t accept me marrying Annabelle; you became my mistress.” “So we tricked you into ‘transmigrating,’ keeping you confined here. After three years as a servant and a concubine, you’ve finally learned your lesson.” I was incredulous. Beside me, the butler peeled off his prosthetic face, revealing my own brother, Timmy. “Sis, now that Annabelle has safely given birth, you can go back.” “Julian, your plan was flawless!” I slowly turned my head. The manor’s physician looked at me, smiling. “You weren’t mistaken. I am indeed Julian Evans, your childhood sweetheart.” “We set up this whole charade, fearing you’d bully Annabelle.” Forced “transmigration” for three years. Beatings, being sold, abused by countless strangers, then bought by Arthur Stone as a slave and concubine. I was crippled in both legs, blind in one eye. From crying day and night, desperate to go home, to living a numb and subservient existence. It turned out I had never transmigrated at all. I completely broke down. The moment before I attempted suicide, a bizarre line of text suddenly appeared before my eyes: “Congratulations to the AI ‘Abuse Romance’ heroine on awakening. Countdown to human reincarnation: Two days.” “48:00:00” “47:59:59” 1 I remained silent on the helicopter ride back. According to the strange text’s instructions, I had to continue living numbly and obediently for two more days, then die. It said it would grant me a second life. This wasn’t difficult at all. All I had endured until now was merely a difference of two days before my death. The moment I stepped off the helicopter, a slender figure blocked the cabin door. Annabelle Bright, the impostor, scrutinized me from head to toe. “You’re back?” “Let me tell you, Arthur and the others only agreed to take you back because you’ve been so docile these past three years. If you dare to bully me again like you did three years ago, I’ll have them gouge out your other eye too!” Honestly, I couldn’t recall ever bullying Annabelle. But it didn’t matter anymore. For three years, if I dared to talk back, the next moment, it might be a maid’s slap or a whip lashing my body. I had long learned my lesson. Seeing my prolonged silence, Arthur Stone, who was pushing my wheelchair, tapped it lightly, a threatening gesture. “Willow, Annabelle is talking to you.” “You’re already disobedient the moment you’re back. Do you want us to send you back to ‘transmigration’ to learn your manners again?” I flinched, a shiver running through me, and quickly bowed my head, replying, “Yes, I will serve you and the Young Master well.” Annabelle snorted, seemingly satisfied with my answer. “At least you’re sensible.” “Let’s eat; I’ve had the servants prepare everything.” Arthur smiled contentedly, reaching out to stroke my head. I instinctively closed my eyes, cowering, as if fearing a blow. Seeing how afraid I was of him, Arthur’s gaze darkened. He deliberately softened his tone: “Don’t be afraid. I won’t punish you anymore.” “I love you. I would never hurt you. Willow, from now on, you’ll be my Mrs. Stone again, just like before.” I quickly shook my head, forcing a placating smile. “I wouldn’t dare. I’m just a concubine.” “I’ll be very well-behaved.” Arthur’s smile froze at the corners of his mouth, speechless for a moment. He looked at me with a complex and conflicted expression. “Willow, you don’t have to be afraid of me.” “Never mind… no rush, we have plenty of time.” At the dining table, the clinking of cutlery was sharp. Julian, across from me, noticed I hadn’t touched my food and proactively offered me the steak he had cut. “Why aren’t you eating? Did you forget how to use a knife and fork?” “Have mine; I’ve cut it for you.” I still dared not move. I just buried my head even lower and replied, “The maids taught me that my status is lowly; I don’t deserve proper meals.” “You all eat first; I’ll have the leftovers.” Julian froze. He exchanged a glance with Arthur. Arthur, in turn, gently reassured me. “Willow, listen. You’re back now, so those old rules don’t apply. As long as you’re well-behaved, we’ll treat you well, just like before.” “Eat.” I quickly lifted my head, then lowered it again. Still, I dared not. It was my brother, Timmy, who looked thoughtful, and cautiously said, “Sis, Arthur wants you to eat. That’s the rule now.” Only then did I raise my head again, trembling as I brought food to my mouth. I ate very slowly, and very little. The arm holding the fork swayed emptily within my sleeve. These past few months, I had indeed become excessively thin. The atmosphere at the dining table suddenly grew heavy. Only Annabelle was still enthusiastically chatting about her son, Leo. Arthur and the others listened quietly, clearly distracted. After only two bites, I stopped. Suppressing the rising nausea in my throat, I looked at Arthur: “I… I think I’m pregnant.” The news was met with silence, the three present not yet having time to express surprise. I continued, numbly: “Could you please… grant me a bowl of abortion medicine?” “Or take me for an abortion.” 2 Arthur’s face completely froze, staring at me in disbelief. I didn’t understand his reaction. I could only turn to Julian across from me. He used to be the manor’s physician; he could decide such matters. “I’m very well-behaved. I just ate the steak you cut for me.” “This time, I’d like some… pain medication, if that’s possible?” Julian’s face was as white as paper, but he still didn’t respond to me. Only my brother, Timmy, forced himself to remain calm and asked, “Sis, what are you saying?” “Having a child is a good thing. Just give birth and raise it; it’s not like…” I shook my head, my tone firm. “You’re mistaken.” “If there’s a child, it must be terminated. That’s the rule.” “This would be the fourth one.” Arthur’s expression turned completely grim. He threw down his cutlery, grabbed Julian by the collar, and dragged him away. “Come with me.” He slammed the study door shut, Julian following him inside. The soundproofing in the mansion was excellent; only some muffled voices faintly drifted out, sounding like an argument. I felt very uneasy. I could only look blankly at my brother, pursing my lips, and continued, “I think I did something wrong.” “Will the maid come and beat me?” My brother’s hand, holding the fork, trembled. He felt as if his chest was stuffed with damp cotton. Seeing my current cautious demeanor, he found it hard to breathe. He stood up, pushing my wheelchair, and comforted me, “Sis, no one will ever hit you again.” “You’ve been very good. I still prefer you as you were before. Smiling, getting angry, calling me Timmy by my full name, even pulling my ears. Don’t be like this… please?” But I merely lowered my head again, my voice weak. “That’s presumption. I’ll get beaten.” “It’s my fault. I won’t ask for pain medication anymore.” My brother frowned, saying nothing further. He simply pushed my wheelchair away. Only Annabelle was left at the dining table. After three years apart, she had intended to torture me again. She hadn’t expected me to become like this. Everyone seemed so heartbroken for me. She angrily threw down her cutlery and instructed the maid behind her, “Go fetch the young master immediately.” “If that little wretch’s child is actually born, that would be disastrous!” My brother pushed me to the guest bedroom on the first floor. The room was so large, I felt a little uncomfortable; it was overly luxurious. I touched the soft duvet, then looked up at my brother. “Is the storage room occupied? I can move there.” “This place is too nice; it’s not suitable for me. And there’s no clock here; I need to wake up early to pay my respects and prepare breakfast.” I didn’t know which words I had spoken incorrectly this time. My brother’s eyes suddenly reddened. He crouched before me, speaking softly, “Sis, don’t say anything more. Please don’t say anything…” “You won’t stay in the storage room anymore. We’re family. I’ll treat you well from now on.” I didn’t believe him. During those three years, my brother, then the butler, had said similar things once, but that very night, a maid had burst into my bedroom and whipped me half to death. But I dared not directly contradict him now, so I only nodded blankly. Seeing my acceptance, he finally managed a smile. He left me with two maids to assist with my washing and rest. Fortunately, even without a clock, that eerie string of numbers helped me roughly gauge the time: “35:48:21” “35:48:20” The seconds ticked by, so slowly. I wanted to die quickly. At three in the morning, the study door finally opened slowly. Arthur and Julian both had injuries on their faces, clearly having fought. Arthur glanced sideways at Julian. “I trust you wouldn’t be so cruel.” “To let Willow suffer three miscarriages in a row.” “I’ll investigate the staff in the manor. You investigate how those medications were swapped for abortion pills.” Julian nodded at this. As he passed the kitchen, Arthur noticed the light was on, casting a blurred figure. From a distance, it looked like me. I stood there, eyes calm, raising a knife and stabbing myself. Arthur’s hair instantly stood on end. He shouted, “No!” and rushed towards me, grabbing the hand holding the knife. Julian, not far away, heard the commotion and also hurried over, disarming me. Arthur stared at me, asking in horror, “Willow, are you insane?” “Why are you trying to kill yourself?” 3 I blinked twice, my gaze shifting to the pumpkin smashed on the floor. I smiled ingratiatingly at Arthur. “You misunderstood.” “It’s time. I was just making your breakfast porridge.” “Don’t worry, a knife to the abdomen like this won’t kill me.” Arthur was horrified by my words. Just as he was about to ask something else, he heard Julian call him: “Arthur…” Arthur turned his head to look. When Julian disarmed me, he brushed against my sleeve. My bare inner arm was covered in various hideous scars, one after another. Some even showed signs of being cut deeply with great force. All were self-inflicted wounds. Facing their panicked stares, I apologized with a smile: “Did I disturb you?” “I’m sorry, I’ll be quieter.” Arthur and Julian exchanged a look but didn’t respond. They simply instructed a maid to escort me back to my room and ensure I rested properly. The next morning, Arthur woke me up. He seemed to have been awake all night, with heavy dark circles under his eyes and an unusually somber expression: “Willow, I’m taking you to the private hospital on the fifth floor of the manor.” “Julian has brought a professional team; we’re going to give you a full check-up.” I was obedient, following Julian. I underwent examination after examination. Blood tests, ultrasounds, CT scans. The doctors meticulously examined and photographed the shocking scars on my body. A gentle-faced female doctor sat opposite me, asking me questions in an extremely soft voice about my sleep, appetite, emotions, and those scars. I was very compliant. I answered when I could and apologized when I couldn’t. The maids always said that kneeling to apologize showed more sincerity. It was just a pity my legs were crippled, so I couldn’t kneel. After the examination, the three of them sat around, looking at my reports. I didn’t know what was written inside, only that their faces grew increasingly grim. Until the number before me reached “25:18:03”. Arthur finally put down the report and walked towards me. His voice was very soft, as if afraid of startling me: “Willow, the doctor says you’re very weak and need to recuperate.” “Those wounds… the doctors have seen them too. They’re severe and will require time and patient treatment. Don’t be afraid. Here, no one will ever hurt you again.” “I’ll bring in the best doctors and use the best medicine to help you recover and heal all of this.” I pointed at him. Instinctively, I wanted to say, “Here, you will hurt me.” But Arthur clearly misunderstood my meaning. He took my fingertips and gathered them into his embrace. “Don’t be afraid.” “Willow, we won’t hurt you.” Listening to him, I found it absurd and strange. All those three years, those days and nights worse than death. Weren’t you all hurting me together? When we returned to the living room, Annabelle had, at some point, brought Leo back. She had evidently heard something about me. She embraced Leo and placed him in my arms, reassuring me, “Willow, you seem to be feeling down lately.” “Here, let Leo cheer you up. Children are the most spirited; looking at them always lifts your mood. You’re pregnant now; you’ll have your own child soon.” I looked at Annabelle’s smiling face, a stark contrast to the arrogant woman who had blocked the cabin door earlier. Had she also transmigrated? Quickly, I dismissed the idea. Arthur and the others wouldn’t let that happen. And, Leo was pinching me. Children don’t know their own strength; he probably got the idea from Annabelle. He sweetly called out, “Auntie, hug!” while fiercely pinching me with his hand. His fingernails had been deliberately trimmed, sharp and quick. With even slight pressure, it felt no different than a small knife slicing flesh. Blow after blow, the sharp pain was more than my body could bear. I could feel the wounds already starting to bleed. I could only try to return the child to Annabelle. “I’m not well; I’m afraid I might drop him.” “You should hold him.” Annabelle nodded, her tone still soft. “Right, you’re still weak; you should rest more.” “Come, Mommy will hold you.” Just as she was about to take him, her hand slipped, and Leo fell straight to the ground. Before I could react, the child’s ear-splitting cries erupted. Slap! Annabelle slapped me across the face, screaming, “Willow, why did you drop my child!” 4 I was thrown from my wheelchair onto the floor. I lay there, helplessly watching Annabelle scream at me: “I know you hate me, despise me, for taking your childhood sweetheart, your brother, and even your lover.” “But the child is innocent!” “How old is he? Can he withstand a fall like that? How could you be so cruel, how could you lay a hand on him?!” At that moment, Arthur, Julian, and Timmy, hearing the commotion, rushed in from different directions. Arthur’s face was ashen. He lunged forward, first crouching to quickly check on Leo, then suddenly looked up, his hateful eyes fixed on me. He roared at me, “Willow Hayes, what have you done!” “You just got back and you’re already causing trouble. Do you want me to send you back?” My brother also rushed over, looking at his nephew crying heartbreakingly on the floor and Annabelle’s relentless accusations against me. Then he looked at me, his eyes also filled with anger: “Sis, how could you lay a hand on such a small child!” Julian handed Leo to the medical staff behind him. He said nothing, just kept glaring at me with a fierce, cold gaze. I felt like… I had been wronged again. It felt no different from the countless times I had been wronged over the past three years. The maid accused me of stealing; I denied it, only to receive a harsher lashing. The servant girl framed me for seducing the stable boy; I argued, and the result was being stripped and publicly humiliated. Arthur believed slander that I wanted to escape; what awaited me was being locked in a water dungeon. I wanted to explain. I wanted to say it wasn’t true, I wanted to say I didn’t do it, I wanted to say so many things. But I remained silent because no one would believe me. Like countless times before, defending myself would only invite more viciousness and punishment. I could only huddle on the floor, helplessly apologizing, “I’m sorry…” Annabelle charged forward. “Sorry? Just ‘sorry’ and it’s over?” “I’ll beat you to death, you slut!” Then, she began to punch and kick me repeatedly. The three men watched silently. Someone said, “Don’t touch her stomach; there’s a child there.” And then there was no more sound. No one stopped her; they just stood by, as before. Fists and feet rained down on my body and face, blow after blow. It hurt terribly. A pain so intense my entire body felt like it was exploding. In a daze, I saw the numbers before me plummeting drastically: “24:27:43” “20:13:05” “15:39:17” … Until someone eventually pulled Annabelle away, and she stopped. The time halted at “4:01:25”. Arthur slowly walked up to me, looking down. “Do you understand your mistake?” “Why do you always refuse to learn?” I choked on the blood in my throat, coughing twice. I didn’t answer. I just clutched Arthur’s pant leg, asking him one last question: “Didn’t you say… here, no one would ever hurt me again?” Arthur fell silent. He coldly moved his leg, pulling his pant leg from my grasp, and said, “But you made a mistake, and mistakes deserve punishment. That’s the rule.” “Lock her in the storage room.” “When Leo is checked and confirmed to be fine, I’ll let you out.” But I didn’t want to be locked up again. I had been confined for three years; I didn’t want the last four hours of my life to be spent caged like an animal. I wanted to beg further, but Arthur had already turned his back. I could only look at my brother, Timmy, who averted his gaze, quietly comforting the agitated Annabelle. Julian had already hurried away to check on Leo. As expected, no one was willing to save me. I no longer struggled. I allowed the maids to drag me away, roughly throwing me onto the floor of the storage room. Counting heartbeats, watching the time tick away. I didn’t know what would happen when everything reset to zero. But for me now, the worst thing was death. That would be a release. “00:00:00” The numbers zeroed out. I closed my eyes, my heartbeat gone. A large, dark red stain of blood quietly spread beneath me. The maid came in to deliver food half an hour later. A moment later, a terrified scream echoed throughout the entire manor. The maid practically stumbled and crawled to Arthur, shrieking: “Ah—” “Someone’s dead!” “Miss Willow is dead; there’s blood everywhere!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “404823”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Eight-year-old Finn stood silently with his head bowed between Derek and me. We were sitting in the sterile, aggressively air-conditioned conference room of a divorce mediator. My soon-to-be ex-husband, Derek, let out a cold sneer and slid the final settlement agreement across the polished mahogany table. He laid down a brutally simple ultimatum. I could either walk away with absolutely nothing and take our son, or I could take the ten million dollars in our joint accounts and never see my boy again. My heart twisted in my chest. My lips parted, ready to surrender everything just to keep Finn safe. But right at that second, a string of glowing, semi-transparent text floated across my vision. It told me that if I chose the boy now, we would starve, but if I chose the money, my son would eventually grow up to be a world-class tech genius earning tens of millions a year. Clarity hit me like a splash of ice water. I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and looked him dead in the eye. “I’ll take the money.” The words tasted foreign on my tongue. Derek froze. For a second, his arrogant mask slipped, replaced by genuine shock. Then he erupted into a harsh, mocking laugh, declaring that I was exactly the gold-digger he always knew I was, valuing cash over my own flesh and blood. My face remained a mask of stone. I picked up the heavy silver pen, signed my name on the dotted line, and legally claimed every single cent of the fortune that rightfully belonged to me. 1 The gray marble steps outside the mediator’s office felt like ice beneath my heels. Derek had shoved the signed paperwork into his briefcase, a triumphant, cruel smirk playing on his lips. “Think about this clearly, Nora. You want Finn? You walk away with empty pockets. You want this ten million and the house? You are dead to him.” His mother, Martha, stood beside him with her arms crossed over her designer coat. Her eyes dripped with venom. “I told you she was nothing but a greedy tramp. My poor Derek was blind to marry you.” I did not look at her. My gaze was anchored to my son. Finn was only eight. His small body was shrunk into the oversized leather lobby chair, his little knuckles turning white as he gripped the hem of his shirt. He refused to look at me. I knew exactly what Martha had been whispering in his ear for the past week. She had been poisoning him against me. An invisible hand crushed my lungs. The pain was so sharp I could barely draw a breath. And then, it happened again. A line of glowing, golden text hovered in the air, directly over Derek’s head. [Take the money! Finn is a prodigy. With the right resources, he will become a world-renowned cybersecurity expert earning eight figures a year!] My pupils dilated. What was this? A hallucination brought on by stress? I squeezed my eyes shut, counted to three, and opened them. The text was still there, glowing like a neon sign from the future. A cybersecurity expert. Millions a year. I sucked in a lungful of cold air, forcing the raging storm inside my chest to settle. I looked at Derek. He looked so incredibly smug. He was utterly convinced I would crumble. He believed that my entire existence revolved around him and the boy, and that without him, I would simply cease to exist. For ten years, I had lived as a glorified maid in his shadow. No dignity. No identity. He took my sacrifices for granted while he spent his nights warming the beds of other women. Now, he wanted to use my love for my son to bleed me dry. To leave me destitute out on the streets. I lifted my chin and met his mocking gaze. “I choose the money.” I didn’t shout. But the words dropped like anvils into the quiet lobby. The air grew thick. Derek’s smirk froze. Martha’s sneer melted into slack-jawed disbelief. “What did you just say?” Derek asked, his voice tight. “I said, I am taking the ten million dollars.” I repeated it, my tone as flat and unyielding as concrete. He stared at me, searching my face for the punchline of a sick joke. He found none. I unzipped my purse, took out my copy of the settlement, and folded it neatly. Nora. Four letters, signed with absolute finality. It took Derek a full ten seconds to process it. When he did, he threw his head back and laughed. “Good! Perfect!” He was laughing so hard his face turned red. He pointed a finger at me and looked at his mother. “Do you see this, Mom? This is a mother’s love! She sold her own kid for a paycheck! What kind of monster does that?” Martha snapped out of her daze and eagerly joined the execution. “I always knew she had a rotten core! Do you see this, Finn? Your mother doesn’t want you! She wants the cash!” Finn flinched. His chin dropped until it rested on his chest. I could see the faint trembling of his small shoulders. My heart bled. It felt as if someone was dragging a serrated blade across my ribs. But I could not break. “I expect the funds to clear into my account by the end of business today. I will send a representative to handle the property transfer tomorrow.” I stood up. “Finn, you…” Martha started. Derek cut her off, his face twisting with vindictive pleasure. “Let her go! From this second on, she is nothing to this family. She is nothing to Finn. Let’s see how long a miserable, lonely woman can stay happy with a pile of cash.” I did not give them a second glance. I turned on my heel and walked out the glass doors. The afternoon sun was blinding. I kept my spine completely straight. Every step I took away from them was heavy, deliberate, and final. The tears burned behind my eyes, fighting to fall, but I refused to let them spill. I am so sorry, my sweet boy. It is not that Mom doesn’t want you. Mom just refuses to let you grow up watching a penniless, broken woman begging for scraps. How can a mother who cannot even protect herself ever hope to protect her son? Derek. Martha. Just you wait. Everything that belongs to my son, I will take back with my own two hands. And everything you owe us, I will make you pay back in blood. I reached the curb and hailed a passing cab. The moment I slid into the backseat and the door slammed shut, the dam broke. I covered my mouth with both hands, trapping the sobs in my throat as hot tears flooded my face. My phone buzzed. A banking alert. Ten million dollars. The exact amount. Derek moved fast. He was desperate to sever all ties. Good. I wiped my cheeks roughly. When I looked up, the reflection in the window showed a woman with eyes made of ice. The golden text flickered to life once more. [Head to the Oakwood Heights sales office in the West End. Buy Penthouse 1801. Next month, the city will announce a new tech hub and a premier school zoning for that district. The property value will double overnight.] 2 Oakwood Heights. I had never heard of it. It had to be a new development. The cab driver frowned when I gave him the address. “Lady, that area is practically a ghost town. It’s just dirt and construction. What do you need to go out there for?” “To buy a house.” He caught my eye in the rearview mirror, looking at me like I had lost my mind. “Good luck with that. Rumor has it the developers are going bankrupt. Place might turn into a concrete graveyard.” I tuned him out. The text hovering in my mind was too vivid to be a hallucination. Real or not, I had to gamble. Right now, I had ten million dollars and absolutely nothing else. And money, unless weaponized, was just a string of digital zeros. The sales center was dead quiet. A single, bored-looking agent was scrolling on her phone behind the marble reception desk. She forced a plastic smile when I walked in. “Welcome. Are you looking to tour a model unit today?” “Building A. Penthouse 1801. Is it available?” I asked, cutting right to the chase. Her eyes widened, suddenly sparkling with desperate hope. “Yes! Yes, it is! It’s our crown jewel. Unobstructed city views, floor-to-ceiling windows…” “How much for an all-cash offer today?” I interrupted. She choked on her pitch, her jaw practically hitting the floor. “The list price is four million, but… if you can wire the funds entirely today, I can authorize a five percent discount. Three point eight million.” “Print the contracts.” Thirty minutes later, the wire transfer was complete, and the paperwork was signed. The agent looked at me as if I were a deity who had just descended from the heavens to save her career. Stepping out of the sales office, I clutched the heavy folder of documents against my chest. For the first time in years, I felt grounded. This was my home. This was the fortress where Finn and I would build our future. I would never let him suffocate in the toxic wasteland of Derek’s family again. I was barely settled into my cab back to the city center when my phone rang. It was an unknown number. “Hello?” “Nora? It’s Stella.” The sharp, nasal voice of my ex-sister-in-law assaulted my ear. “What do you want?” “Moved out already? Didn’t waste any time, did you?” she sneered. “Get to the point.” I had zero patience for her games. “Derek told me to call you. Finn’s private piano lessons are due. It’s ten grand for the semester. Pay it.” I let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Stella, are you suffering from memory loss? Derek and I are divorced. He demanded full custody. He didn’t give me a dime in child support. Why on earth would I pay for his expenses?” “Excuse me? Who do you think you are talking to?” Stella’s voice hit a shrill octave. “You walked away with ten million dollars! Ten million! You can’t drop ten grand on your own kid? Are you even a mother?” “My fitness as a mother is none of your concern. The money is mine. I will spend it however I damn well please. Do not call me for this garbage again.” I ended the call and blocked the number. They weren’t getting another cent from me. I checked into a five-star hotel downtown. The suite was immaculate. I took a scalding shower, scrubbed the smell of the mediator’s office off my skin, and changed into fresh clothes. Looking at the pale, exhausted woman in the bathroom mirror, I saw something new in her eyes. Steel. When a mother is pushed to the edge, she becomes a weapon. My phone screen lit up on the vanity. The golden text materialized against the glass. [Derek is actively hiding marital assets. He has a secret account holding three million dollars from the sale of the downtown condo. He plans to transfer it into an offshore trust for his mother.] My hands gripped the edge of the marble sink. That bastard. That downtown condo was the only inheritance my late parents had left me. When we got married, I was young and stupid enough to put his name on the deed. He swore he would protect me forever. Instead, he liquidated my parents’ legacy behind my back and planned to pocket the cash. If it weren’t for this strange golden guide, I would have been completely blind. I grabbed my phone and scrolled to a specific contact. Rachel. My college roommate, now one of the most ruthless divorce attorneys in the city. She picked up on the second ring. I gave her the rundown. Rachel was swearing loud enough to rattle the speaker. “Nora, you are too damn nice! Ten years with that parasite! Do you have hard proof of the hidden assets?” I hesitated. I couldn’t exactly tell her a magical floating text gave me the tip. “I think I saw a digital copy of a real estate transfer on his home office computer a few weeks ago,” I lied smoothly. “Okay. That’s a thread we can pull. Let me handle this. I will track down the wire transfers and drag him back to court. We’ll leave him in ruins.” I hung up, feeling a dangerous smile form on my lips. Now, I just had to wait for the right moment. Before I could set the phone down, another golden prompt flared into existence. [Tomorrow morning at 10:00 AM, Martha will go to Finn’s elementary school. She will corner his counselor, claim you abandoned your son for a payout, and attempt to permanently destroy your reputation with the school administration.] 3 At exactly nine-thirty the next morning, I stepped out of a black town car in front of Finn’s private elementary school. I wore a sharply tailored charcoal blazer, my hair sleekly pulled back. A touch of crimson lipstick completed the look. The reflection in the school’s glass doors showed a corporate warrior, lightyears away from the hollow housewife who had signed away her life yesterday. The security guard at the front desk stopped me. “Ma’am, classes are in session. We don’t allow unannounced visitors.” “I’m here to see Ms. Davis, the third-grade counselor. I am Finn’s mother,” I said, offering a warm, professional smile. He verified my ID, made a quick call, and buzzed me through. I didn’t go straight to the administrative office. Instead, I waited near the trophy cases in the main hallway. Right on schedule, at five minutes to ten, Martha marched through the double doors. She was dragging Finn by the wrist. Trailing behind them was Brenda, Derek’s dramatic cousin who loved nothing more than a soap opera. They bypassed reception and headed straight for the counselor’s office. I slipped my phone out, hit the voice memo record button, and followed silently. I stood just outside the slightly ajar door. The voices inside were crystal clear. “Ms. Davis, I am just sick over this. I had to come speak with you.” Martha’s voice was laced with a nauseatingly fake tremor. “Finn’s mother… she took a massive payout and abandoned her own flesh and blood. They finalized the divorce yesterday, and she just vanished! Left with millions! My poor sweet Finn, growing up without a mother…” Brenda chimed right in, playing her part to perfection. “It’s a tragedy, Ms. Davis! We begged her. We told her a child needs his mother more than anything in the world. But she has ice in her veins. She said the cash was better than the kid! Who does that? We just ask that the school keep an extra eye on Finn. He’s been through so much trauma because of that woman.” It was a perfectly choreographed character assassination. I could hear the uncomfortable rustle of papers inside. Ms. Davis clearly didn’t know how to handle this ambush. I pictured Finn sitting there, small and terrified, listening to his grandmother tear me to shreds. I took a deep breath, placed my hand on the doorknob, and pushed it open. “Martha, does it ever get exhausting spreading poison behind my back?” The room went dead silent. Martha and Brenda spun around, looking like they had just seen a ghost. “Wh… what are you doing here?” Martha stammered, her face losing its color. I ignored her completely. I walked past them, stopping in front of the counselor’s desk, and offered my hand. “Ms. Davis. I am Nora, Finn’s mother. I apologize for the disruption.” Ms. Davis, a kind-eyed woman in her late thirties, pushed her glasses up her nose and shook my hand awkwardly. “Please, have a seat, Nora.” I pulled a chair right next to Finn and gently wrapped my hand over his icy little fingers. “Don’t be scared, baby. Mom is right here.” Finn stiffened for a second, then slowly, his small hand curled around my fingers, holding on tight. Martha finally recovered her nerve. She slapped her hand against her thigh and raised her voice. “You have some nerve showing your face here! You took the money! What are you doing at his school? Haven’t you humiliated our family enough?” “I came to ensure Ms. Davis has the facts,” I said smoothly, keeping my eyes on the counselor. “It is true that Derek and I divorced, and I received my half of our marital assets. But I did not abandon my son. My ex-husband offered me an ultimatum. I could either walk away with my child and face total bankruptcy, or take the financial settlement and temporarily surrender physical custody.” I paused, letting the weight of the words settle. “Ms. Davis, as an educator, I’m sure you understand. If I had walked away with nothing, how could I feed my son? How could I afford his tuition here? How could I give him the life he deserves?” The discomfort in Ms. Davis’s eyes shifted into dawning comprehension and deep sympathy. “I took the assets because I know that without financial ammunition, I cannot protect him. The money ensures that in the near future, I can rescue my son from an absentee father and a grandmother who clearly enjoys manipulating the truth.” My voice was steady and absolute. Martha’s face flushed a deep, ugly purple. “Lies! Derek is a wonderful father! You are slandering us!” “Am I?” I offered a razor-thin smile and held up my phone. “I recorded everything you both just said. The lies, the character defamation. I imagine the school board, or perhaps the other parents in the PTA, would find this recording fascinating.” All the blood drained from Martha’s face. Brenda looked like she wanted to sink into the floorboards. “You… you wouldn’t dare,” Martha hissed. “Test me.” My eyes were dead. The heavy silence was broken by Ms. Davis standing up. She had heard enough. “I think we are done here, Martha. This is a private family matter. The school is not the place for this, and we will not allow it to affect Finn.” Her tone was frosty and dismissive toward the older woman. She turned to me, her voice softening. “Nora, I completely understand your position. Please rest assured, Finn is a brilliant boy and he is perfectly safe here.” “Thank you, Ms. Davis.” Knowing she had been completely outplayed, Martha shot me a venomous glare, grabbed Brenda by the arm, and stormed out of the office. Once the door clicked shut, I crouched down to meet Finn’s eyes. “Finn, listen to me. Mom has some battles to fight right now, so I can’t be at the house. But you have to know I love you more than anything. Once I have everything set up, I am coming back for you. Do you understand?” He looked at me. For the first time in weeks, the fear in his big brown eyes was gone. He nodded firmly. “I believe you, Mom.” A lump rose in my throat. When I walked out of the school building, the sun felt warmer. The future wasn’t just a distant hope anymore. It was a target. My phone vibrated in my pocket. [Stella just maxed out her credit cards to cover a twenty-thousand-dollar gambling debt. Derek bailed her out for half, but she needs the other ten grand. She’s going to come begging to you.]

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1 At ten, my mother was murdered by my father. I fled as he buried her. Dying, she told me to find my uncle in Portwick—a CEO who’d feed me, for family. But when I found him, holding my little cousin, he glared down. “Why isn’t trash like you dead?” I looked at him, and the last hope in my heart died. Mr. Green sneered. “Want money? Tell your wretched mother to come herself!” He took my cousin into a jewelry store. Pressed to the window, I watched him choose a gold bracelet for her. I’d never seen anything so beautiful—gleaming, carved with clouds, dazzling on her wrist. “What are you staring at? You deserve to look? I’ll gouge your eyes out!” He came out, glared, then drove off with her in a sleek car, leaving me in exhaust. I stood, watching the car vanish. Only when my stomach growled did I remember. Mom was wrong. My uncle wouldn’t feed me. He could buy a sparkling bracelet without a thought, drive away in a car whose name I didn’t know. Yet when I begged for a coin for bread, he told me to find my mother. But she was dead—chopped up and buried. Portwick’s streets buzzed with people. The sky gradually darkened, and a fine drizzle began to fall. I huddled under the eaves of an alleyway, rolling up my sleeves. My pale, gaunt arms were covered in hideous scars. Some had scabbed over, others still seeped blood and pus. Whenever Father got angry, he would take a small knife and carve into my skin. He savored the process, always cutting very lightly, very slowly, sometimes even licking the blood from my arm with a look of perverse ecstasy. It felt like a cold, slimy snake slithering on my arm. Disgusting and terrifying. Recalling my cousin’s gold bracelet, I raised my hand and looked at my own bruised wrist. “Such a beautiful bracelet would only get dirty on my hand.” But if only I had a gold bracelet! I could trade it for so much rice, and cook it into sweet, fragrant white rice. My mom always said white rice was delicious. I licked my chapped lips, swaying as I stood up. I hadn’t eaten in two days. If I didn’t get something soon, I would starve to death. I walked to the door of a bakery, wondering if I could offer to help in exchange for food. The moment I stepped inside, the owner waved me out. “Where did this beggar come from? Go, go! Don’t ruin my business.” I trudged through the rain, numbly walking down the street, past fast-food restaurants, clothing stores… I asked one place after another. Even offering to work without pay, just for food, no one would take me. Until a woman calling herself Ms. Ruby stopped me. She pinched my chin, scrutinizing me, then let out a laugh. “Well, well, darling, you’ve got good features. You look haggard now, but with some care, you might turn into a real beauty.” 2 The damp, musty smell of the alley mixed with cheap perfume hit me. She leaned against the mottled brick wall, the tip of her cigarette glowing with her words. “Sweetheart, Auntie can help you make quick money.” She stubbed out her cigarette, motioning for me to follow. She thought I was young and easy to trick, but I knew what she was planning. My mother not only taught me to read but also to read people. She clearly intended to lead me into illegal activities. Yet, at that moment, what choice did I have but to follow her? Seeing my silence, the woman pulled a piece of candy from her pocket and held it to my mouth. “Come with me, and you’ll get candy. And later, there will be many things even tastier than candy.” I instinctively licked the sugary residue from the corner of my mouth. So sweet. I had never tasted anything so sweet. I stared at the candy she took back, swallowed, and prepared to walk into the alley. Just then, a large hand suddenly grabbed my collar. It was my uncle! He gripped my hand, his eyes scanning me with unconcealed disgust. “You’re as despicable as Evelyn Chase, even your manipulative tricks are identical. It’s truly repulsive!” “How could our Green family have descendants like you? So young, yet utterly shameless, even more depraved than your mother!” “Come, take me to your mother…” He tugged my collar, dragging me toward the roadside. I swayed, my vision blurring. My stomach ached from emptiness, and my consciousness was already fading. I knew clearly that if I didn’t eat soon, I would starve to death. In the instant my last shred of rationality shattered, I bit down hard on his arm. I tasted blood, tearing off a small piece of flesh and swallowing it with the blood. With a furious roar, he kicked me hard in the chest. As my back slammed against the cold concrete, I completely blacked out. Well, at least I’d tasted meat in this lifetime. But it was truly disgusting… I was woken by cold water. When I opened my eyes, I found myself in a luxurious villa with crystal chandeliers. Before I could make sense of anything, my nape was roughly grabbed. A fierce-looking housekeeper pinched my nose, forcing a bowl of cold, sour porridge down my throat. Afterward, I was led to my uncle’s study. In the study, my uncle stood with his back to the door, discussing me with the family doctor. “So, she bit me like a mad dog just because she was too hungry?” The family doctor nodded, looking at me with sympathy. “Yes, a little longer without food, and she would have starved to death.” My uncle waved his hand, and the doctor left. I was dragged by two servants and thrown before my uncle. I stumbled a few steps, falling to the floor. My uncle looked down at me, his face grim, his gaze like he was looking at a repulsive, ugly cockroach. His eyes moved upward, to where I had bitten him, which had been disinfected and bandaged with white gauze. “About to starve to death and you couldn’t speak? Or were you deliberately trying to get back at me?” I looked at him quietly, my voice as light as a feather floating in the wind. “Sir, the first thing I said when I saw you was that I was hungry and asked if you could spare a coin for a bun.” He paused, clearly remembering. But soon, he frowned again with displeasure. “Why aren’t you calling me ‘Uncle’ anymore?” I lowered my face in silence. When I first saw him, I had indeed happily called him “Uncle.” But now, I didn’t want to. 3 He prodded my chin with the tip of his shoe. “Tongue-tied?” Then, he forced a chilling smile, his eyes cutting like knives. “If you want more food, take me to your mother. I want to see what’s so great out there that she hasn’t set foot home in ten years. Now that she’s down on her luck, she sends you back to beg for food.” I nodded. “Give me food, and I’ll take you to her. Oh, and the food needs to be freshly steamed and hot. Not like just now, giving me cold, sour porridge; it’ll make my stomach upset.” The housekeeper standing by the door immediately bent over. “Mr. Green, I clearly gave the young lady warm seafood porridge just now. She’s lying.” My uncle frowned in displeasure, his gaze at me growing even more disgusted. “Just like your mother, a habitual liar, despicable to the core!” I glanced at the housekeeper, then abruptly bent over, thrusting my fingers deep into my throat. I brought up the sour porridge I had just been forced to swallow. My uncle recoiled several steps, startled by my action. I looked at him calmly, and said, “See? This porridge was only in my stomach for a moment, yet it’s still cold.” The vomit on the floor emitted a strong, sour odor. My uncle covered his nose, his brows deeply furrowed. How could something just eaten give off a sour smell? He glanced at the housekeeper, who was bent over, trembling slightly, not daring to lift her head. What more was there to understand? My uncle snorted coldly, “Who gave you the audacity to feed sour porridge to a Green lady!” The housekeeper’s lips trembled, about to speak. From outside the study, a soft female voice floated in. “I told her to give it to her. Evelyn Chase’s daughter, a bowl of sour porridge is too good for her.” I looked up towards the study door. A elegantly dressed woman, her makeup flawless, slowly walked into the room on slender high heels. Seeing her face, I paused for a moment, almost calling out “Mom.” But I knew she wasn’t. While my mother resembled her greatly, she had a softer gentleness, and her appearance was more aged and haggard. After all, after my mother was sold to my father, she hadn’t known a single good day. She couldn’t compare to my aunt, who had never done a day’s work. My Aunt Charlotte, her face cold, walked up to me. Seeing the vomit on the floor, she covered her nose in disgust with her exquisitely manicured hand. A hint of pleasure flickered in her eyes, as beautiful as my mother’s. “You look so much like that hussy Evelyn Chase, both of you like vixen-demons!” “Speak! Where is that wretch who even seduced her own brother-in-law now?” I lowered my eyes, softly saying, “Give me food, and I’ll take you to her.” My aunt looked at me disdainfully, scoffing. “What are you, to dare bargain with me here?” My uncle, however, frowned and instructed a servant to bring some food. “Eat! Don’t starve to death in my house, it’s bad luck!” My aunt glared at him in displeasure. “Brother, you’re not going soft on this bastard, are you?” My uncle shook his head and said nothing, but his gaze at me was as dark as ink. I was starving, so I picked up the bowl and began to eat. It was sweet and savory; my mother hadn’t lied to me. White rice was so delicious, much better than coarse grain. I took two bites and then stopped, putting the rest of the food into a bag. My uncle looked at me, his frown deepening. “Didn’t your mother feed you?” I gently shook my head. “My mother saved all the good things for me to eat.” 4 My uncle suddenly scoffed, his face filled with disgust. “You’re too engrossed in your act. Do you think I’ll believe you?” I didn’t answer him, just calmly stated, “Let’s go. I’ll take you to Mom.” My aunt Charlotte sneered, telling the chauffeur to get the car, but pointed at my nose and said, “You’re not getting in the car. You’re too disgusting; just looking at you makes me sick!” I gripped my sleeve, watching my little cousin, dressed like a doll, being carried into the sedan. My heart was filled with envy. My mom rarely held me. Most of the time, she wanted to strangle me. Because she said my birth was a mistake. But when she was locked alone in the cellar, I was the only one by her side. My mom had a soft heart… When she was in a good mood, she would teach me to write and draw. She told me many stories about the Green family, and she also taught me to dance. But I was too clumsy and never learned well. My mom said she was once named the youngest dancer, winning countless gold trophies and medals, and was honored as an outstanding young artist. Back then, her future was bright, like the proudest white swan in the middle of Swan Lake. If she hadn’t been framed and had her Achilles tendons severed, she wouldn’t have fallen to this state. Many times she wanted to kill herself, but the hatred burning in her eyes compelled her to live. My uncle stood by the car, seeing me rooted to the spot. He asked suspiciously, “Can’t you open a car door?” I shook my head. “You can’t even do that? Are you useless?” “Yes! I’m useless!” I hung my head, remembering how my mother was chopped into pieces by that scum of a father, and he even wanted me to help him. And I, this useless person, could only watch everything happen, unable to save her. “You…” My uncle laughed in exasperation. “How could our Green family have such an idiotic and pathetic descendant? Don’t you dare tell anyone you’re my niece from now on.” I nodded. “Okay!” My uncle looked at me speechlessly, a helpless expression on his face. Finally, he opened the car door for me, and I got into the chauffeur’s car alone. The chauffeur put on a face mask, to avoid being overwhelmed by my stench. Even with the window open, the chauffeur still couldn’t help but throw up halfway through the journey. My uncle’s face was grim; he furrowed his brow and said, “How can a girl smell so awful?” His face was as dark as thunder. He navigated to the nearest hotel and ordered the maid, Mrs. Reed, who had followed along, to give me a bath. In the bathroom, when Mrs. Reed removed my ragged outer clothes, she cried out in alarm. My uncle, waiting at the door, thought something had happened to me again and rushed in immediately. “Mrs. Reed, what’s wrong with her?” Mrs. Reed covered her mouth, looking at me with a pained expression, her voice trembling slightly. “Sir, please have some pity on the young lady…” “What young lady? She doesn’t deserve it…” He had barely finished speaking when his gaze fell upon my back, and he froze. My small, emaciated back was covered in dense, horrifying knife wounds. The newest one was from my father branding me with a burning poker. That poker, fresh from the stove, glowed red. The moment it touched my back, I immediately smelled burning flesh and an absurd scent of roasted meat. These scars must be so ugly! Mrs. Reed seemed kind. Her warm hand gently touched the wounds on my back, and tears immediately welled in her eyes, marked by wrinkles. “She smells because she’s rotting! And her body is very hot; she seems to have a fever…” 5 My uncle stared, momentarily lost, before realizing I was a girl. He quickly turned his back, took a deep breath, and then, controlling his emotions with great effort, slowly said, “Just give her a quick wash for now. We’ll go to the hospital later; take her to see a doctor.” Mrs. Reed agreed. But I shook my head, refusing. “It’s nothing serious. I’ll just put some mud on it, like before. It always healed that way. I haven’t been able to find mud since I came to the city, that’s why…” Mrs. Reed’s eyes widened in shock. “If you’re hurt, you should go to the hospital. How can you put mud on it?” Even though I said not to bother, Mrs. Reed followed my uncle’s instructions. She gave me a quick wash and then took me to the hospital. The doctor disinfected and dressed my wounds. Because it took some time, my aunt Charlotte’s face was so dark it looked like it could drip water. “Why are we wasting money and time on her? That little bastard, she’s just like her mother, always pretending to be pitiful.” Hearing her words, my uncle’s hand, reaching for my cousin, paused, then withdrew. My cousin pouted, crying in a baby voice, wanting him to hold her. She was only three, a child my aunt Charlotte had painstakingly carried for ten months, sustained by nutrient injections. Seeing her upset, my aunt immediately became displeased. “What’s wrong with you? Can’t you see Daisy wants a hug?” My uncle sighed tiredly. “I’m exhausted.” Then he walked up to me, squatting down for the first time to meet my gaze. “Did your mother often abuse you?” I shook my head, seriously. “My mother was very good to me. Her injuries were even worse than mine.” My uncle froze, a genuine flicker of panic crossing his face. “How could that be? She clearly…” Then, his face became calm again, though he frowned slightly. “Are you lying again? Did your mother teach you to say that to make me pity her?” I stared at him, remembering my mother lying in the dark, damp cellar, her face numb and desolate. Even so, whenever she mentioned my uncle, her eyes would brighten a little more than usual. My mother said her brother always excelled in school, and as an adult, he successfully started his own company, the smartest child in the family. But my mom was wrong again! Her brother might as well have had “fool” written all over his face! Did he think I would endure beatings and injuries, leaving so many scars, just to deceive him from childhood? Perhaps my idiot-like gaze annoyed him, for my uncle snorted coldly. He always liked to snort, as if he were terribly important. “Get in the car! I want to see what tricks she’s trying to pull!” This time, he got into the same car as me. When my uncle’s iron-like hand gripped my wrist and dragged me into the car, the unhealed scars on my back tore open, making me wince in pain. Only then did he remember the wounds on my back and release his grip. “Are you missing a screw or something? You’re in pain and you don’t even say anything?” I bit my lip hard, too much in pain to speak. The car drove swiftly. The journey that would have taken me half a month to walk, crossing mountains and valleys, was completed in a few days. When we reached the small village nestled in the valley, I finally saw a glimpse of home. After stopping the car, I immediately ran to the backyard. Inside the house, my father, seeing a group of people following me to the backyard, panicked completely. He lunged forward and slapped me across the face! “You little brat! Stop it right now!” Another slap was about to land, but my uncle, his face grim, blocked him. I ignored them all, relentlessly digging at the soil in the yard. Blood beads seeped from my torn fingernails, mixing with the dirt. Before long, a putrid, horrifying, foul-smelling corpse gradually revealed itself!

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A torrential rain poured on a bleak morning when the doorbell suddenly rang. It was my ex-husband, whom I’d divorced ten years ago. Last night, I’d called him all night. He’d picked up, but said nothing. Today, he had come only to tell me to stop bothering him. I would never trouble him again. I had been diagnosed with cancer. Late stage. 1 The doorbell rang with increasing urgency. I scrambled to my feet, knocking my medication bottle to the floor. The delivery guy, clutching a package, his face a mask of impatience, froze and started to stammer: “H-hello… your p-package…” He set it down, then turned and ran. I looked at the empty hallway and let out a self-deprecating laugh. On a typhoon day like this, who else would come to see me besides delivery people? I picked up the package, and suddenly heard the sound of dripping water. Drip. Drip. I slowly turned around. John Miller, completely drenched, stood at the end of the hallway. Outside, the wind howled and the rain lashed down. I suddenly remembered a saying: The person who loves you will cross a storm to see you, even on a typhoon day. And he had come. Did that mean he still loved me? But a single sentence shattered all my illusions. He said: “Mia, we’ve been divorced for ten years. I hope you’ll stop bothering me.” Ten years without seeing him, and just one sentence made me lose all reason. I rushed forward, wanting to grab his soaking wet sleeve and demand answers. Why could he just divorce me? Just leave? Disappear for ten years without a word? But before I could speak, tears sprang to my eyes. In the end, I could only repeatedly sob: “How could you do this…” His face showed no emotion: “Mia, calm down.” A digital beep came from the door across the hall. “Incorrect password, please try again.” My neighbor glanced over, startled, I wondered how much she had overheard. 2 I wiped my tears, forced a professional smile, and apologized: “I’m so sorry, we disturbed you…” Hearing me, her face turned even paler. Trembling, she finally entered the correct password and slammed the door shut with a bang. The hallway instantly fell silent. I turned back to John. He slowly walked closer, the hallway so quiet that only his footsteps could be heard. He let out a weary sigh: “Let’s go inside.” Before I could react, he squeezed past me through the door, bringing with him a damp chill. The apartment was a two-bedroom we’d bought together. The decor was exactly as we’d liked it back then. Ten years had passed, and I hadn’t changed a thing. Now, it was all outdated. John stood in the entryway, unmoving. The living room was a mess, exuding an air of neglect, just like me. His brows were tightly furrowed. I thought he might show a hint of pity. But when he spoke, his words were as distant as ever. “Mia, stop harassing me. We’re adults. Can’t we be civil? End things gracefully?” No. I looked up, staring at him, and said with a touch of malice in my smile: “I’m about to die. What do I need civility for?” 3 At first, it was just a faint sting in my stomach. I ignored it, thinking it would pass. Slowly, I grew accustomed to the pain, just as I had grown accustomed to the years without him. Until that afternoon, I collapsed at my desk. When I woke up again, I smelled disinfectant. My colleague took me to the hospital and then went back to work. After that, I was alone, going through various tests. When my turn came, the doctor was already about to leave. The doctor, who had been frowning and speaking in an irritated tone, suddenly became exceptionally kind. Seeing that I was parched, he even had someone get me a glass of warm water. The consultation room suddenly became very quiet, with only the honking of cars outside the window. Judging by their expressions, I probably guessed it. Cancer. Strangely enough, when I heard those words, I actually… felt relieved. A sense of unburdening, of release. I obediently began the admission process. I informed my family, starting a video call in the family group chat. I tried to tell them, in a light tone, that I had cancer. But not to worry, I was already hospitalized, and I urged them all to get check-ups as soon as possible. That night, I only remembered my parents’ weeping, my sister’s choked sobs, and my brother’s prolonged silence. After that came active cooperation with treatment: endless injections, medication, chemotherapy. Accompanied by vomiting, hair loss, incontinence. My face in the mirror became more sunken with each passing day. Initially, many people came to visit me, and the hospital room’s fruit baskets were replaced again and again. Slowly, fewer people came, the fruit rotted, but the doctors’ voices grew gentler. He said: “Mia, is there anything special you still want to do?” As soon as he said that, I was surrounded by pitying glances. I looked down at my emaciated hands. Thinking, how could a person lose so much weight so quickly? Something I wanted to do? Besides wanting to be free, there was only one thing left. I wanted to see John Miller. Just one more time. Just once. 4 My stomach suddenly cramped, and cold sweat immediately covered my body. I clung to the wall, in too much pain to take painkillers. I could only press my abdomen tightly, waiting for the contractions to pass. John, however, simply watched me with skepticism. My body trembled violently: “You don’t believe me? You think I’m using death to trick you?” I almost lunged to the coffee table, pulling open the drawer. I emptied its contents onto the table for him to see: the diagnosis, stacks of payment receipts, medical reports, even my health insurance records. “Look, open your eyes and see if I’m lying to you!” I laughed through my tears: “See clearly, I’m dying, I’m really dying.” He lowered his head, looking at the reports. I stared fixedly at him, trying to discern something from his face. Would he be sad? Would he be heartbroken? But he lowered his head, hiding his expression from me: “What exactly do you want?” My voice dropped, laced with a desperation I despised: “Stay with me for three days.” My throat tightened: “Just three days… after three days, I’ll never bother you again…” We stood there, facing each other, until he finally gave in. He let out a sigh: “Does it start today?” Just then, the typhoon stopped, and a ray of sunlight shone in. The sky cleared. It was as if even the heavens pitied me. 5 I splashed water on my face, looking in the mirror. My eyes were deeply sunken, my skin sallow. The figure behind me, however, was still young and handsome; time seemed to have only withered me. How unfair. The heartless always seemed to fare better. I put on a wig, applied some haphazard makeup, and we left. The mall’s glass storefronts reflected our figures, one following the other. He walked ahead of me, his face cold. Unwilling to come close, reluctant to touch. I looked at our shadows on the ground, reached out, and touched the shadow of his hand. At least a shadow wouldn’t pull away. We went to see a movie. The moment I sat down, memories flooded back. Our first movie date, it was at this very cinema. Back then, as the lights dimmed, his warm hand cautiously reached out. Once he held mine, he never let go. I didn’t need to look; I knew his face was bright red. Now, I quietly reached out, wanting to touch his hand resting on the armrest. But he abruptly pulled it back, stuffing it into his pocket. Leaving my hand suspended in mid-air. Tears fell in large drops. I couldn’t control them. The male and female leads on the screen were kissing; I was crying, he was silent. 6 After the movie, we went for dinner. We arrived at an old restaurant, a place we used to frequent ten years ago. I had reserved our usual table in advance. I ordered his favorite steamed pork ribs and spicy blood curd. I washed the utensils, handed them to John, and then asked for another set of cutlery for myself. He quietly stared out the window, unwilling to engage with me. I didn’t mind, chattering away, saying the place wasn’t as nice after the renovation, that the owner had changed, that the food here was getting more expensive… He didn’t reply to any of it. But I kept talking; it had been too long since I’d spoken to him. Even if he ignored me, I wanted to keep telling him about my last ten years. The dishes arrived, steaming hot. I placed the ribs in front of him: “Eat.” He didn’t even lift an eyelid: “I don’t like these anymore.” My heart felt a sharp prick, like a needle. I picked up a rib and put it in my mouth. Chewed. No taste. Absolutely no taste. When I swallowed, my throat felt like I was swallowing knives. He didn’t like it; I did. He didn’t remember the taste; I did. But now, I couldn’t taste anything. I picked up the beef again, stuffing large mouthfuls into my mouth. One bite after another. Food mixed with tears went down, and my stomach churned violently. I clamped my hand over my mouth and rushed to the trash can in the corner. “Ugh——” Everything I had just eaten, mixed with stomach acid and tears, came pouring out. The waitress rushed over, handing me water and tissues: “Miss, are you okay? Should we call an ambulance?” I was trembling from vomiting, shaking my head frantically, speaking in gasps: “I… I’m fine… So… so sorry… so sorry… made a mess…” The waitress was very gentle: “It’s okay, it’s okay, we’ll clean it up. Please don’t worry, let me help you up…” When I finally recovered, I realized John had retreated outside. His figure was blurred through the glass. 7 I quickly got up to pay, afraid he would just leave. “John Miller!” He looked up at me, keeping his distance. He asked, “Where to next?” My mouth opened, my throat still burning: “To the riverside… I guess.” We arrived at the Central River Bridge. Not many people were on the bridge itself; most had gone to the newly built influencer bridge nearby. “Do you still remember this place?” I gazed at the boats slowly moving on the river. “It’s where you proposed to me.” He frowned: “That’s all in the past. Don’t bring it up again.” He told me not to bring it up, so I deliberately did: “Our first date, we first watched a movie, in that same cinema today. Afterward, we had a big dinner, also at that same restaurant today. You saved up for a long time just to order their signature dish…” I paused, then asked him: “Was it good? Did it… taste the same as before?” He said: “I don’t know, I didn’t eat it.” “…Oh.” I softly acknowledged, “I see…” There would be no more chances to eat it. A boat slowly passed under the bridge, reminding me of the day John proposed. He held me, not wanting to go back, saying we’d leave after the boat passed the bridge. We watched one boat after another until night fell. A gust of wind blew, making me shiver with cold. Was the wind that night also this cold? I pointed to the boat: “Let’s go back when that boat passes under the bridge.” The boat slowly sailed past, brightly lit, with people laughing and cheering on board. So happy, so envious. That night, I woke from a dream, and immediately rushed out of the bedroom. Only when I saw a blurry figure on the sofa in the darkness did I feel at ease. His breathing was so light, making me want to get closer to him. I wanted to reach out and touch him, but just as my fingertips were about to make contact, I was afraid of waking him, so I pulled back. Suddenly, a violent cramp seized my lower abdomen again. The pain made me curl into a ball, but I bit down hard on my lower lip, daring not to make a sound. Cold sweat mixed with tears smeared my face. My vision began to blur. John, I’m in so much pain. Why aren’t you here to hold me? 8 When I opened my eyes again, it was already noon the next day. The sunlight was blinding, and John sat on the sofa, silently watching me. I struggled to get up, quickly washed up, and then rushed him to a bridal shop. I carefully chose a wedding dress. We were poor back then; John and I registered our marriage with nothing. We finally made it, bought a house, bought a car, but then divorced just as we were planning a proper wedding ceremony. I picked up a strapless mermaid gown and asked him: “Does this one look good?” He leaned against the doorframe, giving an unenthusiastic “Hmm.” I then picked up a French V-neck gown: “How about this one?” He said: “Whatever, anything is fine.” I lowered my head, no longer asking him, and chose a simple satin dress, then also picked out a suit. I bought them both. After buying the wedding dress, I went to a highly-rated private studio. I asked John to try on the suit, but he refused: “I agreed to spend three days with you, but I didn’t say I’d take photos.” I asked him: “You’re not going to take pictures?” He looked at the suit in my hand and said: “No.” I took back the clothes. Fine, if he didn’t want to. I no longer had the energy to argue with him. The makeup artist was incredible, truly a miracle worker, making me look a bit healthier. But as she was styling my hair, she accidentally pulled off my wig, tearing out the few remaining strands of my real hair. She was so scared she stammered incoherently: “I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to… I didn’t pull hard… I…” I quickly comforted her: “It’s okay, my hair falls out easily, it’s not your fault. Just carry on.” After that, she was exceptionally careful. At the photo studio, the photographer only looked at me and asked: “Where’s the groom?” 9 I looked at John, who stood behind the photographer, seemingly waiting for me to make a fool of myself. I forced a smile. “He… he doesn’t want to be in the photos. I’ll take them myself.” The photographer’s expression instantly changed. My voice was light. “It’s fine. The post-production team can just photoshop the groom in later. I have photos of the groom with me, and I can pay extra.” I only took one photo, but I booked the photography team for the entire day. The remaining time was mainly for them to do the post-production for me. I sent John’s photos and the suit sample images to the post-production assistant. “Please photoshop him in. Thank you.” The assistant glanced at the photos, then at me. “Alright.” I stood behind him, pointing at the screen, trying hard to reconstruct John from my memories. “The height is wrong, he’s six feet tall.” “His shoulders are too narrow; they should be wider.” “His skin needs to be a bit paler.” “His face should be thinner than in the photo…” The assistant’s mouse clicked faster and faster, his brows furrowing tighter and tighter, until he finally couldn’t take it anymore and slammed the mouse down. “Ma’am! Don’t always rely on post-production! Why didn’t you just bring him here to shoot! Post-production is really hard!” His tone was sharp. I glanced at John, who was watching the scene unfold from the side, and my voice dropped. “He didn’t want to.” The air was silent for a second. The manager rushed over and gave the assistant a hard slap on the back of his head. “You punk, fix your attitude!” Then the manager smiled apologetically. “Ms. Evans, I’m so sorry, our team member Leo is being insensitive. Please don’t be angry. Just tell him what to change, and he’ll revise it until you’re satisfied.” The assistant pursed his lips, under pressure from the manager. “Ugh! Fine, I’ll change it!” I smiled and said it was fine, then remembered something and told the manager: “Can you also make me another photo, 12 inches, a black and white solo picture?” The assistant’s mouse paused, the manager’s smile froze on his face, and he asked me: “…black and white?” 10 I nodded: “Yes, and a black frame for it. Also… please make me look good in it. I suppose… it will be for the memorial service.” I pulled out a photo from ten years ago. In it, a vibrant young woman leaned against John, his face full of loving indulgence. “I… I didn’t look like this back then.” I sent the photo over. The assistant froze, and the manager slapped him again. “I told you about your temper! You’ll wake up in the middle of the night and slap yourself twice!” When the assistant spoke again, he was overflowing with guilt. He pointed at the screen: “Ma’am, tell me where you want changes, and I’ll do it right away! Make the face thinner, right? And your complexion… should I add some color?” On the screen, I was wearing a white wedding dress, my eyes bright, and next to me was John, also meticulously photoshopped in. He wore a sharp suit, his eyes full of love, just like us ten years ago. I softly said: “It’s perfect, just like I used to be. Thank you.” The assistant and manager said they would make it even better for me and mail it directly tomorrow. The kindness of strangers is always so sincere. Ever since I got cancer, the world has embraced me, all except him. I looked up at John; he was sitting alone in the corner. Just then, my phone rang. It was Mom: “Mia…” Her voice was cautious, “The hospital said you’ve been discharged?” I mumbled yes. “Then why don’t you come home? Your sister and brother are both back.” I agreed, then added: “Mom, I’m bringing John with me. Make some of his favorite dishes.” The other end of the phone was silent for a long time, then she stammered, “Oh… okay… okay, Mom knows. You… be careful on the road…” 11 Hanging up the phone, I told John: “We’re going to my family’s place for dinner tonight.” He leaned against the wall, half his face shrouded in shadow: “I go to your house? In what capacity? As your ex-husband? Mia, we’re divorced, we’ve been divorced for ten years. It’s not appropriate.” I remembered back then, my parents weren’t actually happy with John. When they found out his family was from a rural area and he had three siblings, they immediately arranged blind dates for me. Mom advised me: “Mia, your mother’s been through it. I don’t want you to suffer like I did when I was young.” I angrily slammed the door and had a big fight with Mom. When John found out, he wasn’t angry; instead, he comforted me: “Actually, your mother-in-law isn’t wrong. If I had a daughter, I’d also want her to live a good life, not suffer with a poor boy.” He ruffled my hair, persuading me: “Don’t be angry with your parents. It’s my fault for not being good enough and making them worry about you. But thank you for trusting me, little Mia. I’ll work hard. I’ll definitely give you a good life.” Later, he truly did. He worked tirelessly, unconditionally, responding 24/7, and in five years, he rose to the position of technical director. His monthly salary reached fifty thousand, and he bought a house and a car, both in my name, achieving worldly success. My parents never had any objections after that. He treated my parents very well, more thoughtfully than even I, their own daughter. He often reminded me to call home more often. I asked him: “Mom just had her sixty-first birthday. Are you really not going? You always said I didn’t care enough about Mom and Dad, and you also said…” He abruptly cut me off: “Enough! Don’t say another word! Don’t you just want me to go?” He gave a short laugh: “Fine, I’ll go. Don’t regret it.” We could finally go home together. How could I regret it? Pushing open the front door, I called out: “Mom and Dad, we’re home!”

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1 My husband, Dr. Arthur Rosslyn, a celebrated heart surgeon, had saved countless lives. But when our twins needed surgery, his hands failed. I held their ashes as he packed, claiming an emergency surgery called him away. “Their hearts were fatally flawed, Eleanor. Not even a miracle could have saved them.” That night, his anesthesiology intern, Amy, posted online: a photo of her hand clasped with a man’s at Disneyland, captioned, “My knight saved me after I botched the anesthesia.” Another showed her kissing the man’s jaw. “Ten likes and I’ll confess!” The scar on that jaw matched Arthur’s. My shattered heart froze. I commented: “No need for ten. The knight’s wife approves.” Arthur called instantly, angry. “It was a stupid dare. Delete that comment or we’re divorcing.” I hung up. On the hospital’s transfer list to our African branch, I added his name and Amy’s. Reason: Gross Medical Negligence. If you’re so desperate to protect her, suffer together. How dare you be happy after killing my children? Ten seconds later, Arthur sent a question mark. When I didn’t reply, he followed up. “I’ll have the divorce papers sent over right now. If you insist on making a scene, then we’re through.” I finally responded with a simple: “Fine.” The “typing…” notification appeared and disappeared several times, but he never sent anything else. I screenshotted Amy’s Disneyland carousel and the medical incident, then sent them to him. “Arthur, our children were killed because of her, weren’t they?” All I received was a red exclamation mark. He had blocked me. I went back to social media. Amy’s posts were gone, replaced by a solitary apology. “A grateful patient, whose child we saved, treated us to dinner. We played a game after a few drinks, and I lost a dare. The patient’s family member asked me to post a picture with a male colleague. Dr. Rosslyn only cooperated to spare me embarrassment. I apologize for any negative impact.” The accompanying image was a crying, bowing kitten. Arthur commented below: “Don’t worry, Amy. I’ve got your back. Some people just want to bully you.” Beneath that, a string of replies: “We all knew it was a joke! It was an awful dare from the patient’s family; we couldn’t say no.” “Some people? Is he talking about Dr. Rosslyn’s wife? Poor Dr. Rosslyn, stuck with a crazy wife. Her children’s death was just bad luck, but she keeps making a scene at the hospital, insisting Dr. Rosslyn and Amy killed them.” “Dr. Rosslyn is so impressive, protecting his own.” I smirked, noting every name, adding them all to the transfer list. I founded this private hospital to help Arthur become a top cardiac surgeon. I invested heavily in funding and publicity. Now, he was indeed our chief surgeon, lauded by everyone, and his favored chief intern, Amy, basked in his reflected glory. And I, the hospital’s largest shareholder, was being trampled underfoot. They likely assumed I was madly in love with Arthur, that my hospital’s success was thanks to him. They thought I wouldn’t dare upset him, that both I and the hospital feared losing him. They forgot. My hospital made him. Without him, I could cultivate many more chief specialists. Amy responded to each comment with a smiling cat emoji, and to Arthur, a kissing emoji. The doorbell chimed. It was the courier. Besides the signed divorce papers, he handed me a bag. I asked what it was. He stammered, “A lady asked me to give this to you. She said you’re almost going through menopause, a bad-tempered old woman, and she wouldn’t stoop to your level.” “Inside is some menopause supplement.” “But you look about thirty.” I calmly told him to discard Amy’s attempt to provoke me, then closed the door. I took out the divorce papers and meticulously signed my name. My phone vibrated a few times. It was a message from the hospital’s HR director. “Ms. Hayes, please reconsider? Others are one thing, but how could you send Dr. Rosslyn and Amy to Africa?” “I know you’re grieving and angry with Dr. Rosslyn. But please separate personal and professional matters. Don’t resort to such dirty tactics. You’re not just harming two talented individuals; you’re depriving countless patients of their chance to live.” I calmly replied: “You make a good point. I forgot to deal with you. You’re fired. I’ll have a third party take over your duties.” Immediately, I called the third-party management group, instructing them to fully manage the hospital’s HR and logistics. “Anyone who pleads for Dr. Rosslyn or Amy is to be sent to Africa. Those who refuse must pay back their training costs.” I gently stroked the twins’ urns, speaking each word distinctly. The doctors who supported Amy in the comments were all impoverished students I had funded with my own money. I gave them opportunities, sent them abroad to study. In the end, they only knew how to curry favor with Arthur. They completely forgot who nurtured them into excellent doctors. They truly embodied ingratitude, all following Arthur’s lead like blind sheep. Ungrateful people don’t make good doctors. They needed to experience hardship to understand true compassion. After hanging up, I noticed Arthur had called me over a dozen times. Finally, likely infuriated, he even sent a new friend request with the message: “Answer the phone.” Just then, a new call came in. I answered. The moment I picked up, his furious shouts assaulted me. “Are you insane?! I’m about to get my promotion, Amy’s about to be confirmed for her residency, and you’ve listed us for the African branch!” “Eleanor Hayes, the children are gone, I know you’re upset, but that was fate!” “Our children were born sick; not even a god could save them. It was their destiny to not live long, not me or Amy trying to harm them!” “I’ve told you countless times, yet you keep making things difficult for Amy. I didn’t want you to check the surveillance to stop you from spiraling! I never imagined you’d start spreading such vicious rumors about Amy, let alone abuse your power to send her to Africa!” His usually composed voice was now ragged with fury, his breath coming in ragged gasps. I simply asked: “Were you truly rushing off for a surgical consultation? Was Amy’s social media post really due to a drunken family member forcing you to play a game?” “Or were you rushing off to spend a day at Disneyland with your young apprentice?” On the other end, his ragged breathing suddenly stopped. Two seconds of silence. “What nonsense are you spouting? That’s not true… You’re truly… suffering from delusions…” Then, Amy’s voice. “Dr. Rosslyn, the fireworks are about to start. You rarely get a chance to relax; I don’t want my issues to spoil your mood. When we get back, I’ll apologize to Eleanor myself, even if I have to kneel.” The call was immediately cut off. Presumably, he didn’t want to miss the beautiful fireworks. Clutching my children’s urns, tears streamed down my face. “Mommy will never let them get away with this.” I don’t remember when I fell asleep, only that I cried until I couldn’t breathe. I woke up the next day, eyes swollen shut. I put on sunglasses and headed downstairs, where I saw a busy figure. Arthur emerged with a bowl of porridge, paused at the sight of me, then quickly smiled as if nothing was amiss. “You’re up? I made you breakfast. Have some.” “I know yesterday’s events must have worried you. I couldn’t rest; I flew back all night.” I opened my mouth to say it wasn’t necessary, but then a light-footed figure, wearing my pajamas, rushed out of the bathroom. She threw herself into Arthur’s arms, playfully cooing. “Dr. Rosslyn, you have such strong husband energy! I love men with husband energy.” Arthur quickly pulled her off him, his voice flustered. “You’re a grown woman; stop acting like a child.” He turned to explain. “It was raining when we landed, and we got soaked. I told Amy to go home and change, but she insisted on coming with me to apologize to you. That’s why I gave her your clothes.” Amy stuck out her tongue and said to me, “Eleanor, I’ve come to apologize! Yesterday was just a joke! If you’re still worried, I’ll go on a blind date this weekend and get married quickly. I promise not to interfere with your relationship.” “Amy! Don’t be ridiculous!” Arthur exclaimed. He noticed my sarcastic smile and quickly added, “I mean, Eleanor is always gentle and kind. She’s surely forgiven you; there’s no need for you to rush into things with random men.” “Right, Eleanor? Let’s put yesterday behind us and move on, okay?” My children’s bodies were barely cold, yet he was under the fireworks, flirting with his new favorite. Now he wanted me to let it go? Of course. I offered a mocking smile: “It’s fine. I don’t care.” Anyway, you’ll both be in Africa soon. What your relationship is, where you went last night, what you did—none of it matters to me. Seeing my response, Arthur seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses. “It’s good that you’re being reasonable. I’ve rescheduled all my surgeries to be with you for a while. Once you’re feeling better and the children’s seventh day rites are over, I’ll go back to work.” I calmly agreed. He was their father; he should have been by their urns, observing their seventh day. A flicker of displeasure crossed Amy’s eyes. Her gaze darted, and she suddenly took the soup bowl from Arthur, walking towards me. “Eleanor, you must try Dr. Rosslyn’s seafood porridge. I had it once when Dr. Rosslyn and I went to the beach, and I said it was delicious, so Dr. Rosslyn said he’d learn to make it. I just tasted it, and it’s exactly the same.” Arthur looked at me, a hint of panic in his eyes. He always claimed his hands were for saving lives, not for cooking or chores. But last month, he started going into the kitchen after work, making a huge mess. At the time, with our children gravely ill, I was emotionally and physically exhausted. I thought he was trying to ease my burden. While cleaning up his messes, I had a bitter-sweet hope that he might cook for me and the children again. It turns out it was just to recreate Amy’s seafood porridge. The moment I smelled that fishy odor, which I utterly detested, red welts instantly appeared on my skin. I covered my mouth, recoiled a few steps, and coldly said, “I’m allergic to seafood. Take it away.” Amy suddenly fumbled, and the scalding porridge spilled onto her chest. She shrieked, tumbling down the stairs. “I’m so sorry, Eleanor, I didn’t know… W-w-w… Dr. Rosslyn, it hurts so much…” “Eleanor Hayes! Are you out of your mind?!” Arthur roared. “Amy didn’t know you were allergic. Did you really have to push her down like that?!” “I didn’t!” I retorted, suppressing aretch. “You still won’t admit it?! Could Amy have just spilled the porridge herself?” His gaze was filled with disgust. “You look like a madwoman now.” He swept Amy into his arms and headed out. “I’m warning you, remove my and Amy’s names from that list immediately! Otherwise, you’ll regret it!” I naturally ignored his threats. The third-party management company called, informing me they had taken full control. All personnel matters were handled, and the transfer list for the African branch was finalized. I was pleased with their efficiency, only instructing them to investigate the operating room surveillance footage from the day of the children’s surgery. I couldn’t access it before because Arthur blocked me. His loyal HR team all made excuses when I tried. Now, no one could stop me. The management staff checked the surveillance, then called back a few minutes later, their tone apologetic. “The surveillance video from that day has been deleted.” My hand gripping the phone went white. Who deleted it was obvious. To protect his precious intern, he would do anything. “But don’t worry, our technicians can try to recover it.” I breathed a sigh of relief, immediately promising double bonuses to everyone if they succeeded. The moment the list was announced, my phone exploded. The doctors who once called me “Ms. Hayes, thank you for helping me become a doctor” now sent messages filled with curses. “Eleanor Hayes, you can’t catch your lover’s mistress, so you’re taking it out on us. Don’t think you can make me a scapegoat. I’ll expose your actions to the media. I will not pay you any money, and I will not go to Africa.” “Ms. Hayes, please have mercy on me. I’m getting married soon and have a mortgage. Don’t drag us into your issues with Dr. Rosslyn.” “Old hag, just you wait. When Dr. Rosslyn divorces you and my best friend takes your place, we’ll see how you throw your weight around then.” I looked up each of their profiles and sent them to the management company. “Calculate how much I spent on training each person. If they don’t want to go to Africa, then according to the contract, they owe three times the compensation.” I was being merciful. Training a doctor isn’t easy, and it’s not easy for them to become good doctors. I didn’t want to ruin them; I just wanted what I was owed. Seeing the list was genuinely finalized, and his and Amy’s names were still on it, Arthur finally couldn’t sit still. When I answered the phone, his voice was barely suppressing his rage. “How long are you going to keep this up? Do you have to cause so much resentment that the hospital grinds to a halt before you’re satisfied? Do you know how many surgeries are scheduled today? How do you expect these doctors on the list to work calmly?” “This is a hospital, a place of healing, not where you throw tantrums. Take down the announcement immediately, and come to the hospital to apologize to everyone! And pay each person a year’s performance bonus as compensation!” I calmly replied, “They signed funding contracts, agreeing to obey any hospital transfer orders. If they can’t work normally after a transfer order, it means they are unfit to be doctors.” On the other end, he started to pant, muttering a few curses. “You’re crazy! Fine, since you won’t listen to reason, don’t blame me for getting serious.” “Eleanor Hayes, remember, you started this.” He hung up, but I felt no satisfaction, only bitterness and sorrow. I had tried so hard to convince myself that he wasn’t unloving towards me or the children, but merely cold by nature. But now, I saw his anger, his loss of control. It turns out he truly never loved us. I wasted ten years, alongside a man who didn’t love me, watching him cause the deaths of my two children. … I ignored all the insults. Arthur, as if to provoke me, began his public retaliation. He openly brought Amy to various academic conferences and galas. They wore matching outfits, holding hands while giving interviews. At the launch event for a project I had funded and successfully developed, he even declared: “Amy made significant contributions to this project; without her, its success would have been impossible.” They exchanged a knowing smile, captured by the media. The photos were published with the headline: “Cardiac Specialist Dr. Arthur Rosslyn and Wife Appear at Research Launch Event.” “Exceptional Love, Creating a Legacy.” He retweeted the news, simply stating, “New drug launch, very happy.” But he said nothing about the reporter mistakenly identifying Amy as his wife. The comments section was filled with praise for them as a couple, or congratulations. Some questioned: “Dr. Rosslyn, isn’t this inappropriate?” But a second later, the comment was deleted. I calmly finished reading, took a screenshot, and sent it to my lawyer. Perhaps my lack of reaction made them feel it was pointless. Someone sent me a leaked video. In the changing room, Amy’s scalded chest was exposed, and Arthur was applying medication with a cotton swab. Amy whimpered, “Dr. Rosslyn, it hurts so much. Why don’t you just use your fingers to apply the medicine?” Arthur’s Adam’s apple bobbed; he dropped the swab. The video ended there. The sender then sent a laughing emoji. “Eleanor, don’t misunderstand, it’s just a dressing change.” I calmly replied, “I won’t.” Anyway, they’re both going to Africa; I don’t care what they do. On the seventh day after the children’s passing, I specifically decorated our home with an Ultraman theme. Their greatest wish had been to have an Ultraman-themed birthday party. They had waited so long, but every year Arthur would reject it: “Why bother with decorations, just making the house a mess. A cake is enough.” But even for their birthdays, he rarely stayed to eat cake with them. He always said he was busy, no time for the children. Yet he had time to spend a whole day with Amy at Disneyland. My children, who struggled so hard to come into this world, deserved at least one birthday celebration they loved. With tear-filled eyes, I sang “Happy Birthday” over and over again in front of their urns. My phone rang. It was someone from the management company, their voice urgent: “Something’s happened. Please check online. Dr. Rosslyn, along with other hospital doctors, is planning a public strike against you.” I opened my phone to a video posted on Arthur’s private account. He was in a suit, Amy by his side, his face stern as he spoke: “Although Eleanor Hayes is my wife, I cannot stand by and watch her continue this madness.” “Ever since our children’s surgery failed, she has been wildly accusing me of killing my own children, even dragging in my student, anesthesiologist Amy Davies, who assisted in the surgery, slandering her with vile rumors. When hospital doctors spoke up to defend us, she retaliated by forcing them to transfer to Africa, demanding exorbitant severance fees from those who refused.” “Because this matter affects the future of us doctors, I am, along with the doctors persecuted in this incident, announcing a strike. All surgeries will be halted! Until Eleanor Hayes comes forward to apologize to us and compensate everyone for their emotional distress during this time. Especially my student Amy Davies; she must personally kneel and apologize to her!” Amy, her eyes red, choked out: “Eleanor, please stop slandering me. Don’t send me to Africa; I’m my parents’ only daughter.” The comments section was filled with cries from patients’ families, begging me to apologize. “My father’s surgery really can’t be delayed any longer; he’ll die if it is.” “Please, Ms. Hayes, just apologize. I’ll kneel for you. My daughter’s condition can only be saved by Dr. Rosslyn.” I clenched my phone tightly, my calm heart finally tearing apart. Arthur’s call came in, laced with threat: “Eleanor, you don’t want to ruin your reputation and destroy the hospital, do you?” I screamed, heartbroken, “You bastard! Arthur Rosslyn, you damn bastard!” “Didn’t I give them a choice?! The contract states either three years of support at the branch hospital or pay the penalty! They agreed to this voluntarily! How dare they strike with you just because they refuse to honor their contracts! Haven’t you killed enough of my children? Are you going to kill more people?! How dare you call yourself a doctor, how dare you call yourself a human being!” It was the first time I had ever cursed him like that, and Arthur was stunned for a few seconds. But then he impatiently said, “You’re truly insane! I told you, the children died because they had bad luck! No one harmed them! You’re just delusional!” “If you don’t want to see those patients die, then kneel and apologize and compensate! As long as you say you were delusional, that you misunderstood me and Amy, that everything about me and Amy was a rumor you spread, and you withdraw the transfer list for Africa, we will start the surgeries.” “And you have to say you’re seriously ill and need to go to a mental institution for treatment, and change the hospital’s responsible person to me…” I snarled, “Dream on! Arthur Rosslyn! Go to hell and have your beautiful dreams there!” “Everything I’ve done is compliant. Why should I apologize? Did I force you and Amy to go to Disneyland? Did I hold you down to make you kiss her, touch her chest?!” “She used the wrong anesthesia dosage, killing my son, and you protected her, deleted the surgical monitoring records! You two despicable lovers, go to hell and atone for my children’s deaths!” Arthur gasped, “You’re truly insane… I can’t talk sense into you.” “Go to hell!” I viciously threw my phone to the ground, stomping on it several times. Outside the door, a series of frantic knocks. The next second, a group of people burst in. “Damn it, it’s this bitch who’s messing with the doctors, dragging so many patients down! Bitch, go to hell!” They tore at my clothes, slapped my face, and kicked my stomach. I clutched the urns in my arms tightly. But someone snatched them away. “No!!” I shrieked, rushing to get them back. But I could only watch helplessly as the urns were smashed to the ground, my children’s ashes scattering instantly. “You bitch! You care so much about your two unlucky kids, I’ll scatter their ashes to make you suffer, to show you what pain is!” I rushed forward, my eyes bloodshot, but they dragged me back. Arthur and Amy walked in. Seeing the chaotic scene, his first reaction was to protect Amy. He looked at me, covered in blood, his expression complex, his voice a little anxious. “Eleanor, stop being so stubborn! Just apologize, and everything will be fine! They are all doctors and patients’ families. If you just do as I say, everything can be settled!” My mouth full of blood, I shrieked, “Dream on! I won’t let you two get away with this! I’ll make you regret it!” Suddenly, police sirens wailed, and a group of officers stormed into the house. “Trespassing, assault, everyone back to the station!” The group of people cried for help: “Dr. Rosslyn, save us!” Arthur immediately stepped forward: “Misunderstanding, misunderstanding, I’m the owner, she’s my wife… This is just a domestic dispute.” I leaned against the wall, stood up, and shrieked to correct him: “He is not my husband! We are already divorced!” “I am formally pressing charges against him! For maliciously instructing others to break into my home and commit violent assault!” “I will make every single one of them pay!”

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