Category: English

After four years together, my photographer husband flies to Iceland every February, claiming he has a photography project there. I told him I wanted to see the Northern Lights too, but he always laughed and said it was too cold there, and he needed to focus on work. Until yesterday, when I was organizing his old hard drives for him. An encrypted folder, simply named “February.” When I opened it, I found it was full of the same woman—Ingrid. She stood beneath the aurora, breathtaking and beautiful. But he had never taken a single photo of me. Bitterness filled my heart. Turns out he didn’t just photograph landscapes—he photographed people too. He just didn’t want to photograph me. I looked at the two Iceland tickets I’d managed to snag after so much effort and called the airline: “I need to cancel my tickets!” He called while I was packing, his voice urgent: “Didn’t you say you’ve been wanting to see the Northern Lights forever? Why’d you cancel the tickets?” I hung up directly. Half an hour later, Alexander came home. “Talia, just rebook the tickets. Stop this.” “I’m not rebooking.” I pushed the old hard drive to the edge of the table. “Four Februaries. You took three thousand two hundred photos in Iceland. She changed outfits twenty-four times.” Alexander paused. “Ingrid understands composition. Using her as my model saves the most trouble.” “Saves so much trouble you need to perfect the lighting on every strand of her hair?” “That’s what the work requires.” He took off his coat and walked over to sit on the couch. “Are you really going to make an issue out of work stuff?” I didn’t say anything. I walked to the living room and opened the left drawer. A set of keys with a StaraLily charm lay quietly inside. “Whose keys are these?” Alexander glanced at them. “Ingrid’s. Her fingerprint lock is always dying, so she keeps a spare set here.” “Her fingerprint lock dies, so the spare keys stay at our place?” “It’s just convenient. Don’t overthink it.” Last month, there was a torrential downpour in the middle of the night. I couldn’t get a ride after work and asked him to pick me up. He said, “It’s too late. I have an early shoot tomorrow. Just call yourself a ride.” That night I waited outside the office building for two hours. And Ingrid posted a photo on Twitter. A black umbrella, tilted over her head. Caption: “No matter how hard it rains, I’m never afraid—because my hero always comes to the rescue.” That umbrella was the one Alexander always kept in his car. “I’m not going anymore.” I put my documents back in the drawer. “Iceland is too cold. I really can’t handle it.” Alexander sighed and rubbed his temples. “What’s wrong with you now? I already agreed to make Iceland our honeymoon trip. What more do you want from me?” I looked at him. “You’re taking me this year because she went to Paris for training and isn’t available, right?” Alexander didn’t say anything. Silence was the answer. Because his lens was empty, it was finally my turn. His phone rang. It was his mother. Alexander pressed answer. “Alexander, have you picked out furniture for the wedding apartment yet?” “Not yet. We’ll go look tomorrow.” “Don’t bother. Ingrid picked out the living room sofa and coffee table for you a couple days ago. Italian minimalist style—absolutely gorgeous.” My hand froze mid-air, still holding my cup. “Mrs. George,” I spoke up. “That’s our wedding apartment.” There was a pause on the other end. “Oh, Talia’s there too? Ingrid’s taste really is better than yours. Those fabric pieces you usually buy just aren’t classy enough.” I looked at Alexander. He was looking down at his WhatsApp, with no intention of saying a word on my behalf. I hung up the phone. Alexander frowned. “Did you have to talk to my mother like that?” “Ingrid has good taste. What’s wrong with her helping out?” “Fine. Let her pick.” I turned and went into the bedroom. Alexander followed me in, glancing at my back. “Let’s go pick out wedding rings tomorrow. Set a time.” “I’m not available.” “Talia, that’s enough. Just settle down and get married like a normal person. Why do you have to make everything so difficult?” His phone screen lit up with a WhatsApp message. Ingrid: “It snowed in Paris today. So cold.” Alexander picked up his phone and sent a voice message. “Wear something warm. What about that polar jacket I sent you?” His tone was gentle, tinged with reproach. Last winter, I said I wanted a long down coat. He said, “You take the subway every day. Why would you need something that thick? What you have is fine.” I turned to face him. “Alexander, why exactly do you want to marry me?” He didn’t look up. “You have a stable personality. You’re suitable for marriage.”

The next day, I didn’t go to pick out wedding rings. Alexander’s assistant Lucas sent me a message. “Talia, Alexander went to get the ring. He asked me to postpone the dress fitting to next week.” “He has something going on?” “Yeah, said he needs to pick up a friend from the airport.” Besides Ingrid, he had no friends who required him to personally pick them up. That afternoon, Alexander came home and placed a velvet box on the table. “Got the ring. Try it on and see if it fits.” I opened the box. A plain band, no diamonds, the most basic style. “Which store did you buy this from?” “Online.” He poured himself a glass of water. “Store prices are too inflated. No point getting ripped off. Plus you do housework—wearing a diamond ring wouldn’t be convenient anyway.” I opened another paper bag he’d brought back. Inside was a cashmere scarf from a luxury brand. Deep space gray, incredibly soft to the touch. “Did you buy this online too?” I asked. He walked over, took the scarf from my hands, and stuffed it back in the bag. “That’s for Ingrid. She just got back from Paris where it’s cold. I picked it up at duty-free.” “One scarf. Twenty-three thousand dollars.” I looked at the receipt. Alexander frowned, growing impatient. I said nothing more and put the plain band on my finger. It was too big, hanging loose and awkward on my ring finger. “It’s too big.” He glanced at it. “Bigger is better. When you get pregnant later your fingers will swell—it’ll fit perfectly then. Just make do.” For four years, I’d been making do. That evening, Alexander’s college group chat posted an announcement. “Welcome back party for Ingrid tonight! Same place, everyone come!” Alexander stood in front of the closet picking out a shirt. “Let’s go together tonight. You should meet everyone.” “I’m not going.” “You’re my fiancée. It would look bad if you didn’t come.” I changed clothes and followed him out. At the private room, everyone had already arrived. Ingrid sat next to the head of the table, wearing that twenty-three-thousand-dollar cashmere scarf around her neck. “Alexander, Talia, you’re here!” Ingrid waved with a smile. Alexander naturally walked over and sat beside her. I sat on Alexander’s other side. The server brought over the menu. Alexander took it and ordered directly. “Pan-seared steak, medium-well. Grilled sea bass, no cilantro.” Ingrid rested her chin in her hand, smiling at him. “Alexander, you still remember I don’t eat cilantro.” “We’ve known each other almost ten years. How could I forget?” Someone teased, “Alexander’s memory is entirely devoted to Ingrid.” The server asked, “Would you like any dessert? Our almond pudding is a specialty.” “Add one. Talia likes it.” Alexander closed the menu. I looked at him. “I’m allergic to almonds.” The room fell silent instantly. The smile on Alexander’s face froze. “When did you become allergic?” “Four years ago. I ate it once and broke out in hives all over. You were editing photos at the time and told me to go to the hospital and get medicine myself.” His grip on his glass tightened. “It’s been too long. I forgot.” Ingrid quickly poured a glass of warm water and pushed it toward me. “Talia, don’t be mad at Alexander. His head is full of work—how could he remember these little life details?” “Did he not remember, or did he not care to remember?” Alexander slammed his glass heavily on the table. “Talia, do you have to embarrass me in front of everyone?” He turned to call the server. “Cancel the soup. Get something she can actually have.” Ingrid sighed softly. “Talia, are you still upset about those Iceland photos? You two are about to get married—don’t let me come between you.” Someone nearby couldn’t stand it anymore. “Talia, Alexander was just there for work. You’re being way too controlling.” “Exactly. Marriage is a long road. If you’re going to check up on him and get jealous every day, who could stand that?” Alexander sat there without saying a word. Letting everyone criticize me. He never shielded me from any attacks, because he thought I deserved it. I stood up. “I’m going to the restroom.”

I splashed cold water on my face and walked out of the restroom. At the end of the hallway, Alexander was settling the bill at the front desk. Ingrid stood beside him, reaching naturally into his coat pocket to fish out his car keys. “Alexander, I’ll go start the car and turn on the heat. It’s freezing outside.” “Go ahead. Turn on the passenger seat warmer too.” Alexander didn’t look up, still checking the bill. The ease between them flowed like water over flat ground, without the slightest friction. I walked over just as Alexander finished paying. “Let’s go. Time to head home.” He glanced at me. When we reached the underground parking garage, Ingrid was already sitting in the passenger seat. She’d kicked off her high heels and changed into a pair of fuzzy flats. Seeing me approach, Ingrid smiled somewhat apologetically. “Talia, I have an old ankle injury. I can’t wear heels for too long. The passenger side has more legroom so I can stretch out. You don’t mind me sitting here, right?” Before I could respond, Alexander had already opened the back door. “Talia, you sit in back. Ingrid has a bad back—I specifically adjusted the passenger seat’s lumbar support to match her spine curvature. It’s too much hassle to keep readjusting. It’s only a half-hour drive anyway. Just make do.” I got in the back seat. The car pulled out of the garage. Ingrid’s phone screen lit up. The car’s Bluetooth automatically connected, and soft jazz flowed through the speakers. “Oh,” Ingrid turned to look at Alexander. “Why does your car system still default to connecting to my phone first?” Alexander kept his eyes on the road ahead, his tone casual. “Still from the last time you connected it. I didn’t change it. Your playlist is fine—saves you from always complaining my taste is outdated.” He didn’t disconnect the Bluetooth. He didn’t switch it either. He just let her preferences fill the space between him and me. At a red light, the car stopped. Ingrid opened the center console with practiced ease and pulled out a tube of hand cream. She squeezed some into her palm, rubbed it in, then naturally took hold of Alexander’s right hand resting on the steering wheel and applied some to him too. “The wind’s harsh in winter. Your hands are getting all dry and flaky.” Alexander didn’t pull away, letting her massage the cream into the back of his hand. “I’m about to be a married man. A little rough is fine. Why bother with this sticky stuff?” He complained with his words, but his tone was completely unguarded and relaxed. After finishing with his hands, Ingrid held the hand cream toward the back seat. “Talia, do you want some? This brand is really moisturizing.” I stared at the familiar logo on the tube. Last month when my hands were cracking from the cold, I’d asked Alexander to stop by the counter after work and pick one up for me. He said the counter was too far out of the way and bought me a two-dollar jar of Vaseline from the convenience store downstairs instead. Now, that hand cream he never bought for me sat naturally in Alexander’s car, belonging to Ingrid. “No thanks.” I looked away, turning toward the window. The car stopped in front of Ingrid’s apartment building. “Alexander, I still can’t figure out how to connect that new robot vacuum to Bluetooth. The manual is so complicated. Can you come up and help me set it up?” Ingrid unbuckled her seatbelt. Alexander turned off the engine. He looked back at me. “Wait here for ten minutes. I’ll just help her connect it to the network and come right back down.” As he spoke, he habitually pulled out the car keys. The engine stopped running. The warm air in the car immediately cut off. “Leave the keys.” I looked at him. “I want to run the heat.” Alexander frowned. “It’s just ten minutes. There’s still residual warmth in the car. Why waste gas running the engine when no one’s driving? Since we’re getting married, we need to live frugally. Stop being so high-maintenance.” He lectured me self-righteously about “married life.” Then he closed the car door and walked into the building side by side with Ingrid. I sat in the back seat. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. Half an hour. The residual warmth in the cabin completely dissipated. Cold air seeped through the window cracks like needles. I pushed open the car door, hailed a taxi on the street, and went home. Walking into the bedroom, I pulled out the suitcase from under the bed and opened the closet. I began folding my clothes one by one and placing them in the suitcase. On the bathroom counter, my skincare products occupied only a small corner at the edge. Most of the space was taken up by Alexander’s various colognes and men’s hair products. In the toothbrush holder sat Alexander’s blue electric toothbrush. Next to it was a pink one—left behind by Ingrid when she stayed over once. Alexander wouldn’t let me throw it out, saying she’d need it next time she visited. Half an hour. Two suitcases. They contained my entire four years of youth. At 12:30 AM, Alexander sent me a WhatsApp message. “The robot’s motherboard was broken. I helped her disassemble it to file a warranty claim. You took a taxi home? Why didn’t you tell me? Keep the receipt—I’ll reimburse you. Stop being so wasteful once we’re married.” I opened the screen, replied “OK,” then long-pressed the conversation and clicked delete. The chat history cleared instantly.

Saturday morning, I made congee and fried eggs in the kitchen. Alexander emerged from the bedroom, yawning. “Why are you up so early today?” “Alexander.” I looked at him. “Can you stay home today and spend the day with me?” He pulled out a chair and sat down, taking a sip of congee. “Sure, I don’t have any shoots today anyway. We can stay in and look at wedding venues together.” He took out his phone, ready to search for information. Suddenly the screen lit up—Ingrid’s special ringtone. He answered immediately. “Hello, Ingrid?” Her anxious, tearful voice came through the phone. “Alexander, my cat got out! I think it might have climbed out the window up to the roof. It’s so cold outside—it’ll freeze to death!” Alexander shot to his feet. “Don’t panic. I’ll be right over to help you look!” He headed toward the entryway, grabbing his coat as he went. “Alexander.” I sat at the dining table without turning around. “You promised you wouldn’t go out today.” His steps paused. “Ingrid’s cat has asthma. If we don’t find it, it could die. Finding the cat is urgent—we can look at venues later.” “If you walk out that door today, we won’t need to look at venues anymore.” My voice was soft, completely flat. Alexander turned to look at me, his eyes full of impatience. “Talia, when did you become so cold-blooded? That’s a living creature! Can you stop throwing tantrums at a time like this? That’s enough!” Enough. That phrase again. “Go ahead.” I nodded. He seemed to relax. “I’ll be gone two hours max. I’ll be back for lunch with you.” The door closed. I pulled out those two suitcases from the bedroom. On the coffee table sat a wedding cancellation checklist. That two-thousand-dollar plain band ring lay on top of the papers. I took one last look around this home, feeling not a trace of attachment. I bought a one-way ticket to Hawaii. The moment the plane landed, I turned off airplane mode. My phone screen lit up frantically. Messages from Alexander popped up: “Where are you? Stop this. I’ll buy tickets right now—we’ll go to Iceland, okay?” I stared at those words. All I could see in my mind were those three thousand two hundred photos of aurora that belonged to someone else. My heart felt no ripples whatsoever. My finger simply tapped calmly on the screen. “Too cold. Not going.” I hit send, then blocked him, deleted everything, and powered off completely. Pushing through the airport’s glass doors, warm sea breezes rushed to meet me. I’d finally left that Iceland trip—four years overdue—forever in the frozen snowfields.

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My husband Ethan’s childhood sweetheart, Vanessa, always loved to steal my things. After being reborn, I realized that I’d never be able to compete with her even if I fought until death. So I simply put price tags on all my personal belongings. She used her motion sickness as an excuse to always sit in my husband’s passenger seat. I stuck a payment QR code right on the front passenger seat: One hundred thousand for annual membership, twenty percent off for renewals. She took a liking to my project proposal. The moment my husband Ethan knocked on my office door, I spoke without even looking up: “Five hundred thousand. Transfer it and I’ll change the name to hers immediately.” On our son’s birthday, I pushed aside my work and rushed to the kindergarten to pick him up. But he looked up at the teacher and said, “She’s not my mom. I won’t go with her.” As we stood at an impasse, Vanessa arrived late, holding the gift I’d prepared for my son. My son immediately rushed over and hugged her legs. “Teacher, look carefully. This is my real mom.” My husband was about to explain. I looked at my son expressionlessly and extended my hand. “Five million. I’ll have you adopted to her today.”

Ethan looked at me in disbelief. “Isabelle, are you seriously taking out your anger on our son?” “He’s only four years old! Know when to stop!” A flash of shock crossed my son’s face when he heard my words. Then his little face flushed red, and he hugged Vanessa’s legs even tighter. “Five million then! I don’t want you as my mean mom anyway!” So in his eyes, the me who woke up two hours early every day to prepare nutritious breakfasts for him, who gave up promotion opportunities just to spend more time with him—I was this hateful. Vanessa busied herself playing the good person, trying to smooth things over. “Ryan, I taught you not to be this rude.” My son pouted unhappily. “She’s rude too. The day before yesterday when Dad was with you, she kept calling and bothering Dad!” “Auntie also taught me to fight fire with fire against bad people!” Ethan’s expression suddenly changed. “Isabelle, that day was because Vanessa…” I cut him off with a raised hand. “You spent our wedding anniversary with her. That costs money too.” Ethan froze in place, as if he suddenly didn’t recognize me. After a long moment, he pulled out a card from his wallet and threw it directly on the ground. “Isabelle, even your own son hates you. You really should look for the reason in yourself.” He put his arm around Vanessa and got in the car. The exhaust sprayed all over my head and face. I just silently crouched down and picked up the bank card from the ground. The pain of the card’s corners digging into my palm only strengthened my resolve to do this. After all, in my past life, when Ethan let Vanessa steal my things, I cried and made scenes. Not only did I fail to win his love, but my mother’s burial plot was given away by him to Vanessa—just to bury her pet dog. In a fit of rage, I slapped Vanessa and angrily demanded a divorce from Ethan. I thought this would make him realize his mistake. Who knew that to teach me a lesson, he actually agreed directly. He even hired a top divorce lawyer and exploited loopholes to have me leave with nothing. A few days after the divorce, I had a sudden heart attack. I couldn’t even afford to call an ambulance. I struggled to crawl to the hospital. Facing the astronomical medical bills, I had no pride left. I called Ethan over and over again. Not only did he not answer, he even had Vanessa use his phone to send me voice messages. “Isabelle, you willingly gave me this man. There’s no taking him back.” Desperately waiting for life-saving money, all I got in the end were her photos showing off. In the final moments of my life, I watched helplessly as Vanessa wore my bathrobe, sprayed my favorite perfume, and kissed my husband on the clean silk bedding I had washed. In this new life, without love, at least I could get enough money to save my own life. I just never expected that my son, whom I couldn’t let go of in my past life, would also turn against me for Vanessa. Before I could feel sad, my phone suddenly rang. It was a call from the doctor. “Ms. Sullivan, we’ve successfully matched a heart for you. We can schedule the surgery for next month.” Hearing this good news, my legs went weak and I had to lean against the wall to barely stay standing. In this life, I finally wouldn’t die desperately in a hospital corridor. Just as I hung up, Ethan sent me a message: “My attitude earlier was bad. I promised you before to redo our wedding ceremony. The designer delivered the custom wedding dress to the house. Can you come back and try it on?” I didn’t reply to him, nor did I refuse. Five years ago when I married Ethan, his family had just gone bankrupt and was too poor to even afford a wedding. Back then, I firmly believed he was capable and would make a comeback someday. That he would give me a grand wedding that everyone would envy. Who knew that after he actually became successful, a Vanessa would appear to steal his attention and our son’s affection. I still hadn’t gotten that wedding to this day. When I got home and pushed open the door, I saw Ethan and our son surrounding Vanessa in a wedding dress, praising her endlessly.

Catching sight of me at the door, Ethan’s smile froze on his face. He quickly walked up to me and reached out to embrace me. “Isabelle, here’s the thing…” “Vanessa’s mother doesn’t have much time left. Her biggest wish before passing is to see Vanessa get married.” “Vanessa still doesn’t have a boyfriend. I plan to first pretend to hold a wedding with her. Your wedding will have to be postponed…” I stared at Vanessa. The wedding dress that had been custom-made to my measurements fit Vanessa, who was a head shorter than me, perfectly. Vanessa pretended to speak weakly: “Ethan, maybe we should just forget it. After all, Isabelle has been waiting for five years. I feel bad about this.” She made a show of trying to take off the dress but was stopped by my son. He crashed into me like a cannonball. “Bad woman! You must be jealous that Auntie looks like a fairy in the wedding dress! Your stomach looks like old tree bark—nothing looks good on you!” I was knocked hard to the ground, too pained to recover for a long time. Seeing my pained expression, my son felt a bit guilty. But he still stood there with his neck stiff. Ethan rushed over to pull me up. “Ryan! Why did you push Mommy?” His gaze fell on my abdomen, his expression somewhat reluctant. “Isabelle, if you really mind, I’ll have someone else pretend with Vanessa…” I shook off his hand and stood up by myself. “I don’t mind.” I opened my phone calculator. “Besides the wedding and the dress, I need to add the money for your wedding night with her…” Before I could finish calculating, Ethan slapped my phone out of my hand. “Isabelle, are you sick? Ryan is right here!” “Vanessa and I are completely innocent. I really don’t understand how you became like this!” I looked up at him. “She wants to steal everything I have. I can’t compete with her, so asking for some monetary compensation is wrong too?” Ethan was speechless. His chest heaved violently, as if he was extremely angry with me. “I can’t be bothered to argue with you.” He pulled out his phone and jabbed at the screen as if venting. The next second, a deposit notification popped up on my phone. “I must have been blind back then!” Ethan pulled the two of them out and slammed the door so hard it shook. I looked at the string of zeros on the screen, desperately holding back my spinning tears. When I first got together with Ethan, he had nothing. I shared a discounted hamburger with him and lived in a dark, damp basement. Back then, he often felt indebted to me. After work, he’d deliver food just to earn extra money to buy me cakes that other girls loved. When I casually mentioned that clothes were hard to dry, he spent half a month’s salary to buy me a small dryer. When I caught him drinking cold water in the middle of the night to fill his stomach, I cried out of heartache. But he just held me tighter and choked up, saying I had suffered with him, vowing to compensate me well once he had money. But after he turned his life around, every single thing he tried to compensate me with was stolen by Vanessa. Now I was just fighting for some financial compensation for myself, and in return I got “I must have been blind.” I tried to take deep breaths and scrolled through my phone to distract myself. But my social media feed was full of posts from Vanessa. Ethan had taken her to discuss wedding plans. The venue renderings she posted were the exact version I had carefully refined bit by bit according to my own preferences. I never imagined that the wedding I’d looked forward to for so long would end up benefiting my own husband and another woman. I gripped my phone tightly and was about to block her. But my eyes inadvertently caught sight of her wrist. When I saw clearly what she was wearing, I couldn’t hold back anymore. I rushed straight to her location!

“Give me back my bracelet!” I lunged at Vanessa, trying to snatch back the bracelet. This was the only keepsake my mother left me. I’d carefully preserved it all these years. I couldn’t even bear to touch it more than necessary. I never thought Vanessa would steal this too! Before I could get close, my son suddenly pushed me down. He spread his arms wide, firmly blocking Vanessa. “I gave it to Auntie!” “Name your price. I’ll transfer the money now!” My son raised his phone watch, making a show of scanning my QR code to pay. I was so shocked I couldn’t even feel the pain. Looking at my son, I felt my hands and feet go numb. “Ryan, what did you just say?” My son impatiently repeated: “I asked you how much. Isn’t everything for sale if the price is right?” “Just name your price already.” I felt like someone had suddenly squeezed my heart tight. I couldn’t even breathe. When my son was still at the age where he could barely speak clearly, I had shown him this bracelet. I told him that this bracelet was a symbol of his grandmother. That my mother was gone forever, and I could only think of her through this object. Back then, his small body had buried itself in my arms as he consoled me in his baby voice: “Mommy still has Ryan.” And now, wearing the phone watch I bought him, he wanted to buy my most treasured possession to give away. Vanessa pretended to take it off. “I’m sorry, Isabelle. Ryan said you never wore it, so I thought you didn’t want it anymore.” Ethan, who had been negotiating with the wedding staff, heard the commotion and hurried over. Seeing Vanessa’s motion to remove the bracelet, he immediately looked at me with displeasure. “Isabelle, what are you making a fuss about now?” “It’s just a bracelet. Your hands are too thick to wear it anyway. It would just sit there unused. What’s wrong with letting Vanessa wear it?” I finally couldn’t hold back and shouted, “That’s my mother’s keepsake!” “Vanessa, you even want to steal this? Aren’t you afraid my mother will come find you at night?” Hearing my words, Ethan’s face showed some embarrassment. “It’s fine, Vanessa. Give it back to her. I’ll buy you a new one.” “Wearing a dead person’s things is unlucky.” My son immediately chimed in, “Right! Let Dad buy you a bigger, prettier one!” With that, he took the bracelet Vanessa had removed and threw it directly at me. “Don’t throw it!” I reached out in shock to catch it, but could only watch helplessly as the bracelet fell heavily to the ground. Shattered into pieces. In that instant, I felt like a part of me shattered with it. I knelt on the ground, desperately picking up the fragments, tears falling heavily on the floor. “Stop picking them up.” Catching sight of the bloody cuts on my hand, Ethan frowned and reached out to pull me up. “It’s just an object. Is it really worth it?” I swatted away his hand, my eyes bloodshot. I slapped the divorce agreement I’d prepared long ago onto his face. “No need, Ethan. Let’s get div—” Ethan misunderstood, thinking the divorce agreement was a stock transfer agreement. He gripped the document, his face cold. “Isabelle, asking for money isn’t enough for you now? You’re even setting your sights on the company?” “I bet you deliberately let our son take the bracelet, using my guilt to get company shares, right?” He sneered and signed his name without even looking. “What great scheming. I won’t hold it against you this time.” “But I won’t tolerate you using the same tricks a second time!” He flung the documents at me and walked away without looking back. I sat on the ground, watching the papers scatter everywhere, and laughed bitterly. He didn’t know there wouldn’t be a next time. I didn’t want him or our son anymore. In the following days, I spent every day at the hospital. The money Ethan compensated me with was not only enough for my surgery but also covered all the subsequent follow-up examinations and care. After successfully getting the heart transplant, I could completely rewrite the tragedy of my past life and begin anew. Finally, on the day of surgery, as I waited for anesthesia, the doctor suddenly took off his gloves. “I’m sorry, Ms. Sullivan. Your surgery can’t be performed today…”

My heart tightened. “What do you mean? Why can’t it be done?” Although I’d used the best medicine for myself, myocardial disease had always been dangerous. Just during the waiting period for surgery, I’d had no fewer than three episodes. The most serious time, I nearly died. I was pushed into the emergency room for a full twelve hours. Only through an intense will to survive did I pull through. My body had no time left to wait. The doctor looked troubled. “The heart you were matched with was just reassigned.” I clutched my chest desperately. “Reassigned? By whom?” “Did they pay you more money? Whatever they’re paying, I’ll double it!” The doctor didn’t dare respond at all. He put on his mask and tried to escape. I rolled off the operating table and followed closely behind him, nearly breaking down. “You know my condition. I can’t wait any longer. How can you just reassign it like that?” “This is no different from murder!” My screaming soon attracted many people. I roared, “Who exactly stole my heart? Can rich people control other people’s lives?” The onlookers were indignant and soon found the instigator. I rushed over recklessly, but the moment I saw clearly, all the blood in my body froze. It was Ethan. He was blocking the operating room entrance, not letting anyone break in. Vanessa, crying at his side, saw me and immediately grabbed my arm. “Isabelle? Are you saying my mom stole your heart?” She fell to her knees directly in front of me. “I was wrong before for always taking your things. I’m sorry. I apologize to you.” “Take out any grievances you have on me, but please spare my mother, okay?” Ethan’s expression immediately changed. “Isabelle, just because you don’t have a mother, you want to make Vanessa lose hers too?” “How can you be so vicious?!” My nails dug deeply into my palms, my teeth nearly drawing blood. “Ethan, her mother has cancer. A heart transplant won’t cure it at all. Vanessa is deliberately—” Before I could finish, Vanessa suddenly started kowtowing to me. “Isabelle, I’ll return everything to you. I’ll never bother Ethan and Ryan again.” “I’m really begging you. How much money do you want? I’ll give you money, okay?” My whole body went cold. I was so angry I could barely speak clearly: “Who wants your money! I want the heart! Give me back the heart!” “Enough!” Ethan flew into a rage and grabbed me. “To harm Vanessa’s mother, you even faked an illness and used people’s sympathy to cause trouble. Isabelle, this time you’ve really gone too far!” He called security and had me dragged out directly. I struggled desperately but couldn’t break free no matter what. My heart also beat more and more violently, my chest hurting so much it felt like it would explode. When I was thrown to the hospital entrance, a suffocating sense of near-death swallowed me whole. I painfully reached out my hand to call for help, but the onlookers spat at me. “Bah! We almost let you trick us into harming someone. Still acting even now!” My hand fell powerlessly. In my last moment of consciousness, I only hoped that in my next life, I would never, ever see Ethan again. On the other side, after completing the surgery for Vanessa’s mother, Ethan rushed to hold a wedding with Vanessa without stopping. But when exchanging rings, his mind was full of images of Isabelle. That day at the hospital, she had looked very haggard. He was still somewhat worried. “Sorry, Vanessa. Let’s end the ceremony here for now.” “Auntie is already confused. She probably won’t suspect anything.” With that, he pulled off his boutonniere and called his assistant: “Check Isabelle’s medical records.” Ten minutes later, the assistant called back, his voice somewhat apprehensive: “Mr. Harrison, the records show that Mrs. Harrison has acute myocardial disease. The heart transplant surgery was scheduled for a week ago…”

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My cousin Tyler loves gaming, but he’s terrible at it. Every time he plays, his teammates absolutely roast him. After seven straight days of intense voice-chat arguments, his skills hadn’t improved, but his vocal cords went on strike. I got nervous and accidentally called the guy “hubby” instead of “buddy.” The toxic gamer on the other end fell silent. Suddenly, his voice turned incredibly smooth and teasing: “There’s no romance in esports. Being trash at the game is the original sin. Don’t try this on me.” “Marriage requires careful consideration. I’m not that easy.” “But… seeing how insistent you are, I guess it’s not impossible…” “Wifey, do we have time to go house-hunting for our starter home this afternoon?” I was speechless and immediately quit the game. Shortly after, at my lab’s welcome dinner, everyone was gossiping about our aloof, genius senior PhD student buying a house for his future bride. 01 After another incredibly stupid play where Tyler fed the enemy team a free kill, his teammate turned his mic on: [Bro, do you work for DoorDash? Because you’re feeding them non-stop.] [Are you playing with your monitor turned off?] [I’ve seen smooth brains, but yours must be polished.] [Minecraft couldn’t dig up a blockhead as dense as you.] Tyler was furious. He used every ounce of strength his throat had left to let out a hoarse “Croak!” which caught my attention. I held back a laugh. “Do you need water?” Tyler shook his head and typed furiously on his phone: “Sis, this guy is flaming me. Trash-talk him for me.” I refused. “You know I’m an angry crier. I can’t argue with people.” Tyler started thrashing around, making weird noises. Sometimes it was a “Croak!”, sometimes a “Quack!”. The nurses peeked into his hospital room several times. Embarrassed, I pinched his mouth shut. Tyler held up his phone, blinking pitifully: “Sis, this is about my honor as a man. If you help me, I’ll give you my entire allowance for a month.” I capitalized on the moment and held up two fingers. Tyler nodded mournfully and typed through gritted teeth: “Fine. Two months.” I put on the headset. The toxic rager on the other end was still going off. A few seconds later, I realized I had overestimated my mental fortitude and underestimated his aggressiveness. Even though I knew he wasn’t yelling at me, I couldn’t control my physiological reaction. My nose started to sting. As expected, things went completely off the rails. I steeled myself and opened my mouth, intending to say “Listen here, buddy!” But my voice trembled, and I accidentally said “Listen here, hubby!” Because I was trying so hard to hold back tears, my tone sounded incredibly aggrieved, like a girlfriend whining for attention. The atmosphere, which had been hostile and explosive just a second ago, instantly turned weirdly intimate. Tyler, me, and the toxic rager all fell into a bizarre silence. After a long time, the guy finally turned his mic back on, his voice suddenly dripping with playful teasing: [Oh, it’s a girl.] [There’s no romance in esports. Being trash at the game is the original sin. Don’t try this on me.] [Marriage requires careful consideration. I’m not that easy.] I opened my mouth to explain, but he immediately added: [But… if you’re really going to be this insistent, I guess it’s not impossible…] [Honestly, the fact that you can tell your teammates from your enemies is already amazing. Even though you just stood there taking damage and missed all your ultimate moves, taking a step back, aren’t the people attacking you the ones really at fault here?] [I’m 23 this year. The perfect age to settle down.] [Wifey, do we have time to go house-hunting for our starter home this afternoon?] I was stun-locked for a solid thirty seconds by this rapid-fire monologue. I couldn’t tell if he was genuinely messing with me or just being extremely sarcastic. But either way, from the moment that slip of the tongue happened, I had already lost the high ground. Tyler and I exchanged a look, and I awkwardly quit the game. Looking at my shattered cousin, I carefully tried to smooth things over: “Um, hey, how about you just give me half a month’s allowance? I’d feel bad taking two months’ worth for that.” Tyler buried his face in his pillow and spitefully Venmo’d me fifty bucks. 02 Because I had more important things to do today, I didn’t dwell on the little gaming incident. After leaving Tyler’s hospital room, I hurried to catch an Uber to Harvard for my graduate program orientation. After getting accepted into the Master’s program, I had asked around about my specific lab. Our advising professor was extremely busy, so the person assigned to guide me was a PhD student known as the “Boy Genius,” Asher Davies. Rumor had it that at 23, he had already achieved things most people couldn’t reach by 53. I had looked up his profile, originally intending to worship the academic titan’s research papers, but I ended up staring at his ID photo the entire time. Unlike the stereotypical image of a plain, rigid engineering PhD student, Asher had a face that was almost dangerously attractive, with surprisingly thick hair. From certain angles, he looked like a young Timothée Chalamet… Motivated by the prospect of working with a gorgeous guy, my chronic laziness vanished, and I actually chose to check in early. The lab door was wide open. The second I stepped inside, I pinpointed Asher in the crowd. He looked to be over 6’1″, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. His hair was dyed a smoky blue, matching the stud in his ear, which made his skin look even paler and cooler. He had deep-set eyes and a small mole on the bridge of his straight nose, adding an inexplicable touch of sex appeal to his aloof aura. Seeing him in person was ten times more impactful than the photo. Even though I had mentally prepared myself the whole ride there, my heart still raced, and I couldn’t look away. “I heard you like watching Bridgerton in the lab. Since you love drama so much, let’s call this paper the Duke of Disappointment.” A low, cold voice drifted clearly into my ears, instantly snapping me out of my trance. Oh no. The genius PhD senior was a beautiful, venomous-tongued tyrant! The senior girl who was being criticized scurried back to her desk, giving me a quick nod as she passed. I quickly waved back. Asher finally noticed me and lazily lifted his eyes. His tone was noticeably softer than a moment ago, but still cold and distant: “Hello, you’re Sophie, right? I’m Asher Davies. I wasn’t at your interview, but I reviewed your resume later. You ranked first in your undergrad class. Not bad.” I smiled politely. “Thank you, Senior…” “But your extracurricular research experience is severely lacking, and you have zero published papers. I’m very curious what you do in your free time.” My smile froze. I dropped my head and muttered, “I play video games, hang out at the mall…” I secretly rejoiced that Asher hadn’t been at my interview. Otherwise, I might not have even made it into the program. Asher gave me a brief tour of the lab, handed me some introductory reading materials, and went back to his desk. As I quietly unpacked my things at my new desk, I sneaked glances at him. Asher seemed to be waiting for a message. He checked his phone every five seconds. Was he waiting for his girlfriend to text him? Someone that handsome and brilliant definitely had a girlfriend. While I was wondering, Tyler sent me a bunch of screenshots. It was DMs from that teammate: [Wifey, why won’t you add me on Snapchat?] [I picked out three floor plans for the house. Take a look and see which one you like best.] [Wifey, why are you ignoring me? Do you not like the in-game skins I bought you, or are you just upset because we lost the last match?] [Get online. I wasn’t playing seriously last time, but I promise we’ll win this one. If anyone dares to trash-talk you, I’ll flame them to death.] Tyler complained: [Sis, I think this bro is actually serious.] [Getting called ‘Wifey’ by a dude non-stop is making me sick.] [I don’t even dare to log in anymore. You know what, Sis? I’m just going to block him.] Not long after Tyler sent those texts. Asher suddenly stood up from his desk. His eyes looked slightly red, and he hurried out the door. Did he just get into a fight with his girlfriend? I guessed silently. 03 A little while later, Tyler texted again: [This guy has too much money to burn. Does he think he’s in a romance novel? He actually put a server-wide bounty out looking for me.] [My crush saw the wanted poster and asked me if I bat for the other team.] [Sis, if this keeps up, my reputation is ruined. You started this romantic debt, you have to take responsibility.] I sighed: […How am I supposed to do that?] [Sis, let’s trade game accounts. You deal with this guy.] Looking at my stressed-out cousin. I felt bad and agreed to his proposal. I unblocked the guy, furiously typed out a massive paragraph of explanation, but before I could hit send… He excitedly messaged me: [Wifey! I knew you just accidentally hit the settings menu and misclicked the block button hidden in the corner! You definitely weren’t avoiding me on purpose like they said.] I muttered in my head: Actually, what they said was 100% accurate… [I just asked my mom. She said girls hate men who are all talk and no action.] [So I paid cash and bought the house outright. We live in the same city anyway, so you can come over anytime to see if you like it.] Reading that, I nearly choked on my water. I comforted myself, thinking he was definitely lying. Please. What 23-year-old could pay cash for a house? I’d be impressed if he could pay cash for a Starbucks coffee. But immediately after, he sent detailed interior photos and a street address. Downtown. Luxury penthouse. Floor-to-ceiling windows. It didn’t look photoshopped at all… My brain practically short-circuited as I stared blankly at the screen. He was still typing out long paragraphs about our future together. I suddenly remembered a news article Tyler had shown me. A couple met online and promised to get married. The guy spent all his money on his “girlfriend,” and when she backed out at the last minute, he jumped into a river. Thinking about that, a wave of unspeakable guilt washed over me. I’m so sorry, Toxic Bro. I really didn’t mean to. If I had known you were this pure-hearted and intense, I would have cleared up the misunderstanding the second I misspoke. But now he bought a house. He spent the money. Apologizing on my knees wouldn’t fix this. Terrified of triggering him, I deleted the massive explanation I had typed out and delicately replied: [Don’t you think we’re moving a bit too fast?] [You’re right, the courthouse is probably closed by now. Let’s meet in front of City Hall at 8 AM tomorrow. I’ll come pick you up.] Me: [No, no, no, what I mean is, can we go back to the very beginning and just start as normal online friends?] This time, his reply was slow. He was clearly going through a massive internal struggle: [Wifey, but… when you called me hubby earlier, that’s not what you said…] I frantically shut it down: [Maybe the slang is different where you’re from! Where I live, we don’t call normal online friends ‘hubby’.] I glanced at his username: [Ash]. A spark of inspiration hit me: [How about this? I’ll call you Ash, and you can call me Soph.] Soph was my family nickname. He struggled to reply: [Okay.] I was satisfied. Even though this guy was a bizarre romantic, at least he listened. Since I couldn’t reject him harshly, the only option was to slowly ice him out until he gave up on his own. It was a bit toxic of me, but at least it wouldn’t end in a tragedy. 04 Over the next month, Ash continued to message me non-stop every single day. He was desperate to learn more about me. This included, but was not limited to, asking for my real name, what school I went to, and my home address. I blocked all of it using my ultimate catchphrase: “We’re just online friends right now. You’re crossing a boundary,” delivered half-jokingly, half-seriously. Even through the screen, I could feel the suffocating frustration of a man who had a heart full of love and nowhere to put it. Especially when I subtly suggested he return the house or try paying attention to other girls around him. Under my relentless icing-out strategy, my interactions with Ash gradually dwindled to just gaming. I had no choice; he was just too good at the game. Plus, ever since our first misunderstanding, he seemed to realize I didn’t like a hostile environment. So he rarely used his mic to flame people anymore. A perfect gaming buddy like him was incredibly hard to find. Today was like any other day. While the lab was empty, I opened the game on my phone and waited for Ash to invite me. Suddenly, a deep, pleasant voice sounded right behind me: “Sophie.” Terrified, I immediately slammed my phone face down on the desk. I turned around—sure enough, it was Asher. I had no idea when he came in through the back door. Ever since I carefully pried it out of my senior lab mate, Chloe, that Asher had actually never been in a relationship before… I stayed up all night drafting a master plan to win him over. I was full of confidence that I would make him mine. But a month passed. Even the janitor who delivered our water jugs could tell I had a crush on Asher. Yet no matter how many pretty dresses I wore to catch his eye, or how many times I bought him breakfast and tried to impress him… Asher remained completely blind to it. I figured maybe geniuses were naturally attracted to intelligence. So, I decided to switch gears, work incredibly hard, and use my brilliant academic performance to catch his attention. I didn’t expect that less than a day into this new phase of the plan, I would die on the battlefield. “S-Senior,” I stammered guiltily, hiding my phone behind my back. Asher’s perfectly shaped eyebrows raised slightly. His voice was cool and a bit sharp: “Read the sign posted on the wall.” Maybe his tone was too fierce. My chronic angry-crying flared up again. My nose started to sting, and my voice trembled. Just like the day I accidentally said “hubby,” it sounded exactly like I was whining: “No… no food deliveries, and no gaming or anything unrelated to academics allowed in the lab.” “Soph…” Asher’s pupils contracted imperceptibly, and he muttered something almost too quietly to hear. I froze for a second, trying hard to control my emotions and returning to my normal tone: “Senior, what did you say? I didn’t catch that.” “Nothing,” Asher lowered his eyes slightly. “What game were you just playing?” Hehe. It seemed my reflexes were fast enough. Asher hadn’t actually seen my screen. Thinking about the massive server-wide gossip surrounding me and Ash, I purposely named a completely different, unrelated game. Asher gave a low hum of acknowledgment. A flash of disappointment seemed to pass through his eyes. “Write an apology essay. Give it to me later. Don’t let it happen again.” Taking advantage of the moment, I pulled out the simulation report I had poured my blood, sweat, and tears into recently, offering it to him like a treasure. His long, slender fingers flipped through the pages methodically, his knuckles tinted a faint pink. The breeze stirred the hair on his forehead, and the soft scratching sound of his pen circling things on the paper filled the air. It made my heart melt. Honestly, Asher just looked unapproachable on the outside. Deep down, he was probably very gentle. “I looked at the draft. The logic is a mess. Where’s the main text?” Okay, I take back what I just said. “Senior, that is the main text.” I stared blankly at his opening and closing pale pink lips, swallowing hard. “Sophie, am I good-looking?” “Ah.” My heart dropped. I suddenly felt the intense embarrassment of having my secret crush exposed. My cheeks burned, but I nodded honestly: “Yes… your lips look soft…” I just don’t know what it would feel like to kiss them… I didn’t dare say the second half out loud. Asher’s usually lazy, cold voice grew a bit stricter: “You have good talent. Spend your time reading more literature, and stop wasting your energy on things that are destined to have no result. Understand?” I assumed he was still talking about me sneaking around playing video games. With red eyes, I nodded, looking like an obedient child admitting a mistake. Seeing my pitiful expression, Asher didn’t press the issue. He pulled out his phone and hurriedly replied to a message. No matter what Asher did, he prioritized efficiency. He was a typical overachiever who equally looked down on anyone who was bad at what they did. I wondered who was honored enough to warrant this much patience from him. It made me a little jealous… After Asher walked away, I unlocked my phone. I had dozens of new DMs. [I’m so sorry, Soph. I got delayed by something. Don’t worry, I promise I’ll carry you today and we’ll destroy them.] Even though I had been icing him out for a month, Ash’s words still showed he wasn’t satisfied with just being friends. Dragging this out any longer was just wasting both of our time. Getting caught playing games today was probably a sign. I hardened my heart and replied: [I’m sorry. My real-life crush doesn’t like me playing games. I probably won’t be logging on anymore. Goodbye.] 05 Over the next few days, Asher’s mood visibly plummeted. He often just stared blankly at his phone. One day, I ran the wrong experimental data, completely wasting an entire afternoon. Chloe patted my shoulder. “An hour. Minimum.” “What?” Chloe sighed. “Last time I made the exact same mistake, Senior Asher yelled at me for half an hour. He’s in a terrible mood right now, so I’m guessing an hour, minimum.” Hearing that, I was terrified and trembling all afternoon. But Asher didn’t say a single word. He just silently adjusted the parameters back to normal for me. His usually arrogant, cool face looked utterly deflated. He had less energy than the white mice in the lab next door. This continued until Professor Miller returned from a business trip and treated the entire lab to dinner. While we waited for the food, everyone was chatting. Except Asher, who kept his head down staring at his phone, radiating a terrifyingly dark aura. Mason, who was sitting closest to him, teased: “Asher, bro, online dating is a scam to begin with. You should’ve been more careful. Otherwise, you end up like this—house is bought, but the bride ran away.” I sharply caught the keyword, my smile freezing on my face. “What bride?” Chloe had clearly told me that Asher’s focus was rock solid, he didn’t care about women, and had never dated anyone. I turned around. Chloe looked just as confused as I did. Mason observed Asher’s expression and sighed: “It’s nothing. Simply put, our boy Asher finally fell for someone, and before they even went on a single date, he got played by a toxic e-girl.” “Really? That’s way too far!” I felt a genuine surge of anger. How could someone as proud as Asher, someone who never bowed his head to anyone, get his feelings played with? If that girl didn’t know how to appreciate him, she should step aside and let me handle it. Mason was indignant. He nudged Asher: “See? Even the freshman can’t stand it. Asher, bro, loyalty is a good thing, but being this obsessed is just delusional.” The other seniors at the table who were enjoying the gossip all wore matching expressions of shock. They muttered among themselves: “That’s crazy. Usually, Asher is the one rejecting people. I can’t believe there’s a woman out there who rejected him.” “No way, Asher, really? If even you can’t find a wife these days, how are the rest of us background NPCs supposed to survive…” “Asher, with your face, your achievements, and your earning potential, you’re one in a million. That girl doesn’t know how lucky she is.” Asher frowned impatiently and shot Mason a death glare: “Don’t talk about her like that.” 06 Chloe’s eyes darted around, and she shot me a look: “Asher, you know what they say. The best way to get over a breakup is to start a new romance.” “Since online dating is a scam, why don’t you look at the single girls right in front of you?” Chloe’s gaze pretended to casually land on me: “Like Sophie! She’s pretty, she has a sweet voice, she’s ambitious and humble…” Chloe’s hand poked my ribs under the table. I was ticklish and accidentally snorted a laugh. To ease the awkwardness, I nervously tried to keep the conversation going: “Um, yeah, what she said. I’m pretty great.” Chloe gave me a look of pure exasperation: “…” The other seniors around the table covered their mouths and snickered. Seeing what was going on but not calling it out, they all started hyping me up: “Honestly, I’ve been wanting to say this. Senior Asher definitely plays favorites with Sophie. No matter what reading material it is, he goes through it first, highlights all the key points, and then gives it to her. We definitely didn’t get that treatment when we joined.” Asher’s eyes naturally curved upward, and the way the light caught his gaze made him look incredibly captivating. “You guys are smarter. I was worried she wouldn’t understand it.” “…” The smile that had just bloomed on my face vanished. Professor Miller joined in the fun: “You guys aren’t wrong. Asher, I’ve noticed you truly never speak harshly to Sophie. You aren’t even that gentle when you’re grading papers for my classes.” Everyone laughed together. I also let the corners of my mouth curl up, staring at Asher with bright, hopeful eyes, looking deeply affectionate and shy. Looking at it this way, I really was somewhat special in Asher’s heart, wasn’t I? His dark eyelashes fluttered slightly. The blue stud in his ear reflected the light, making his aristocratic vibe feel a bit unapproachable. “Sophie, what was your SAT Reading score?” I froze, not understanding why he was asking that. “780. Why, Senior?” Asher frowned slightly. “With a score like that, logically, you should be able to understand what I mean.” I blinked in confusion. Asher leaned back in his chair, casually scanned the crowd, and unlocked his phone. I was usually slow to catch on, but this time I was very sharp. I picked up my phone too. Sure enough, my pinned contact sent me a message: [Do I really have to spell it out so bluntly?] [I already have someone I like. I’m going to keep pursuing her, even if she rejects me.] [I will have a girlfriend, but it will never be you.] My mood plummeted from the clouds straight into the abyss. My eyes widened, but I didn’t dare look up and meet Asher’s gaze. So, when he told me not to waste energy on things destined to have no result… he meant this. Asher had rejected me a long time ago. And I was still charging forward like an idiot, thinking he was enjoying the flirtatious atmosphere just now. Not rejecting me publicly in front of everyone was the last shred of dignity Asher was leaving me. I fought back the sour feeling in my throat and forced a casual tone as I typed: [Senior, you misunderstood. I actually don’t like you like that.] Asher: [That’s for the best.] I silently picked up my drink and downed it in one gulp.

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Manhattan’s most elusive billionaire heir unexpectedly broke the internet by posting a suggestive thirst trap of his rock-hard abs on Instagram. The caption read: “Waiting for you in bed.” A rising Hollywood starlet immediately replied: “I’ll be home early tonight.” Overnight, the internet went into a shipping frenzy: “Oh my god, it’s so sweet. This is them going Instagram official!” But… if she is his official girlfriend, then who the hell am I? 01 I am the most notoriously hated, controversial actress in the entertainment industry. Lately, my luck had been absolute trash. Several high-profile projects I starred in had been permanently canceled because my co-stars got caught up in massive legal scandals. My reputation was in the gutter, and I had zero interest in acting. To keep me relevant, my manager used her connections to book me a spot on a live-streamed reality show. The primary guest star on the show, unfortunately, was the rising Hollywood starlet Serena Croft. She was the rumored new girlfriend of Christian Vance—the billionaire heir to the Vance corporate empire—and she also happened to be my absolute arch-nemesis. The second the cameras started rolling, the host, Brooke Harrison, asked us to introduce ourselves to the live audience. Serena smoothed her baby-blue designer sundress, pitching her voice to sound sweet and sugary. “Hi everyone! It’s your favorite girl, Serena, here!” Brooke gave a sly, knowing smirk to the camera. “And if the rumors are true, maybe very soon we’ll be calling you Mrs. Vance.” Amidst the forced cheers of the studio crew, Serena lowered her head, flashing a practiced, blushing smile. “Oh, it’s still way too early for that.” I couldn’t help but furrow my brow. But out of basic professional courtesy, I didn’t interrupt her little performance. The live chat on the screen was already losing its collective mind: [Oh my god! Serena is basically confirming her relationship with Christian! A psychic on TikTok literally just said she has the face of a billionaire’s wife. I can’t believe she’s actually going to become Manhattan’s ultimate trophy wife.] [Serena is so precious. No wonder the notoriously cold, untouchable billionaire heir finally fell for someone. Imagine their sex life… I’m blushing just thinking about it.] [Did you guys see the thirst trap Christian posted last night? Holy shit, his abs are literal steel. My face is burning. Serena is eating so good.] Then, someone noticed me sitting quietly in the corner of the frame. [Wait, look at Kendall’s face. Why is that toxic clout-chaser scowling? Is she seriously jealous that Serena bagged a billionaire? Gross.] [Our Serena is infinitely more popular, more successful, and more loved. Her boyfriend is a lieral crown prince, and Kendall’s career is literally tanking. She must be suffocating with jealousy right now. Heh.] Staring at the wave of hate comments, I blinked. I wasn’t jealous of Serena at all. I was just profoundly, utterly confused. Exactly three days ago, because that stubborn, straight-laced prick Christian Vance refused to try a new position in bed, we got into a massive screaming match and entered a brutal cold war. In a fit of rage, I blocked his number and every single one of his social media accounts. I never expected that the dominant, corporate tyrant, unable to reach me, would actually log onto his ancient, untouched Instagram account to post a public message. In the photo, the man had clearly just stepped out of the shower, lying flat on his back in bed. Crisp, glistening water droplets were perfectly traced across the razor-sharp ridges of his abs. His long, elegant fingers were tangled in the dark silk sheets. It was an unbridled, devastatingly seductive thirst trap. The caption read: “Waiting for you in bed.” It pushed the suggestive, intimate atmosphere to an absolute extreme. A few minutes later, Serena had intercepted the narrative, reposting his photo with a coy, blushing comment: “I’ll be home early tonight.” By midnight, the shipping hashtag for Serena and Christian had hijacked the number one trending spot nationwide. The narrative was concrete, full of fake authority. The top comment from a fan read: “They are lieral soulmates. This is them going Instagram official!” Staring at the screen, my head was full of question marks. If Serena is Christian’s official girlfriend, then who the hell am I? Did that man genuinely find a replacement after only three days of a cold war? Wow. Unbelievable. When he was with me, he acted so pristine and conservative, his heart hammering and his face flushing hot if I just tried to hold his hand in public. I spent an entire year painstakingly breaking down his walls and teaching him how to be a lover, only for him to parade his affection to my arch-nemesis on social media?! 02 After the introductory segment concluded, the host moved us along to the first icebreaker game. A cliché game of Truth or Dare. During the very first round, Serena lost. Brooke looked ecstatic, turning the camera toward her. “Well, Serena! Are you going to choose Truth or Dare?” Serena thought for a moment, smiling sweetly. “Truth.” Sensing a massive opportunity to farm drama, Brooke’s voice pitched up in excitement. “Oh! Any question at all?” Serena covered her face cutely, looking shy. “Just don’t make it too wild, please. He prefers to keep a very low profile.” The live chat went into another shipping frenzy: [HAHAHA, Christian is like: ‘Stop calling me he, just read out my social security number already.’] [Who knew that after going Instagram official, this couple would be so unbothered about hiding it? The sweetness is suffocating.] [Look at Kendall’s face. She looks green with envy. She’s been fighting Serena for roles and sponsorships for years, and now that Serena has an entire corporate empire backing her, Kendall looks completely paralyzed.] Are you kidding me? I was literally just adjusting my colored contacts. How the hell did that translate into me rolling my eyes in envy? After securing Serena’s permission, Brooke gave a fawning, gossipy grin. “Alright! Our question is: can you describe the exact moment you and Christian met?” Serena pressed her lips together, her eyes distant as she pretended to recall a beautiful memory. “Last winter, I was shooting a commercial as the brand ambassador for Vance Enterprises. After we wrapped, Christian personally bought me a hot cocoa, and we spent hours walking through the private corporate gardens together…” The more Serena spoke, the redder her cheeks became, until she shyly lowered her head. “Oh wow~ That is so romantic,” Brooke and the other guests gushed, acting completely captivated by the story. Sitting in the corner as a glorified background prop, I listened to her story, and something felt deeply, profoundly wrong. I set down my half-eaten orange and couldn’t help but interrupt: “Are you absolutely sure Christian Vance personally bought you that hot cocoa?” Serena froze for a fraction of a second. She quickly recovered her signature smile, though her voice sounded slightly victimized. “Yes, I am. Why? Are you implying I’m a liar, Kendall?” I offered a highly diplomatic warning: “I think you should try real hard to remember that day correctly…” Because I remembered that day perfectly. I remembered it because due to a certain shameful test of physical endurance in bed, Christian hadn’t even stepped foot inside his corporate office that day. He and I had been completely tangled up in my bedroom from the mattress to the floor-to-ceiling windows to the vanity for an entire afternoon. His bespoke designer leather belt had literally snapped when he went to put his clothes back on that night. The hot cocoa she was talking about was a generic winter perk provided by the HR department to every single employee on the corporate lot that day. Even the cleaning staff got a cup. And as for that romantic walk through the private gardens? It was literally hailing golf-ball-sized chunks of ice that day! Serena clearly didn’t expect anyone to call her out. Her sweet smile completely hardened on her face, and her voice carried a sharp, barely hidden hostility. “Kendall, you’re questioning my relationship so aggressively… do you know Christian well?” Given my career, the last thing I wanted was to expose my relationship with Christian Vance. Plus, we were still in a cold war, so I gave a vague, detached answer: “We’re alright.” We just had a negative-distance physical alignment four or five times a week. Serena put on a mask of pure innocence. “Oh, really? That’s nice. But… Kendall, it’s so weird. I’ve never heard Christian mention your name once…” The live chat exploded: [LMAOOOOO! The reality check hit her like a hurricane! I am dying laughing at Kendall’s desperate attempt to clout-chase. She actually had the audacity to question Serena’s relationship when she’s probably never even breathed the same air as Christian.] [Hold on, am I the only one who thinks Kendall’s guilty, shifty expression looks like she actually has a history with him? What if Serena is the one lying…?] [Commenter above, what kind of psychotic delusion are you living in? What history could a controversial, hated actress have with a billionaire heir? She’s been trying to steal Serena’s roles for years, and now she’s trying to steal her man. Her skin is thicker than a vault door.] 03 After the Truth or Dare game concluded, it was almost noon. The reality show had an ironclad tradition for its lunchtime segment. Every guest star had to pull out their phone, go into their contact list, and invite one friend to come to the studio set in person to draw a lottery card. The card would dictate whether the guest star got to eat a gourmet, Michelin-star feast for lunch, or a plate of toxic, inedible sludge. It was a highly calculated, transactional strategy designed by the producers. They only had to pay the appearance fees for two stars, but got to farm the viral engagement of four celebrities. The production assistant returned our phones, which had been confiscated at the start of filming. Brooke gave a mysterious, excited grin. “Today’s invitation segment is going to be a little different from our previous episodes. We are going to mirror your phone screens directly onto the massive studio monitors, and let the fans choose who you text!” Serena smoothly agreed, opening her messages app. Her phone screen instantly mirrored onto the giant monitors behind us. Her pinned conversation at the top of her contact list bore the name: “My Sweet Christian.” The concurrent viewership on the livestream instantly doubled. The chat was completely flooded with Christian Vance’s name, the metrics skyrocketing. Brooke looked ecstatic as she looked at Serena. “Wow! The fans and I are absolutely dying to see the future Mr. and Mrs. Vance reunite on screen!” Amidst the cheers of the crew, Serena slowly typed out a message in the chat box: “Christian, are you free to drop by the studio for lunch?” The live chat went wild: [Oooooh! See? Falling in love really turns even the coldest billionaires into soft little boys. Pinned contact and a cute nickname? I am choking on this romance. I can’t wait for them to stand in the same frame so Kendall can finally see reality.] [I heard the Vance family has extremely strict, old-money traditions. They’re incredibly private and forbid their heirs from ever participating in non-corporate entertainment media. Is Christian seriously going to break a generational rule just for Serena? Wow, this is a literal wattpad book.] Time ticked away, minute by minute, but the conversation with “My Sweet Christian” remained completely dead. No reply. Serena had no choice but to disconnect her screen mirroring. A few seconds later, her eyes suddenly widened in feigned, ecstatic surprise, and she spoke in a sweet, performative pout: “Christian just texted me privately! He said he was stuck in an emergency board meeting and his schedule is completely packed today, so he can’t make it out for lunch.” “But he said he’s going to buy me a few designer bags to make it up to me. Hmph, a few bags isn’t going to cut it. I’m going to demand he buy me a hundred. I’ll keep one, and distribute the rest to Brooke and my beautiful fans.” Hearing that Christian wasn’t coming, the fans in the chat were initially disappointed, but within seconds, they recovered and started shipping them again. [Wow, Christian spoils Serena so much. A hundred designer bags like it’s nothing? The absolute wealth is terrifying. I wish I could body-swap with Serena for just two days.] [We really have to thank Serena for giving us such incredible perks. I can’t even imagine how expensive a bag bought by a billionaire heir is going to be.] [Is this what it looks like to have an infinite bank account? No wonder Kendall looks like she’s dying of jealousy right now. She’s probably burning alive inside.] Brooke’s eyes were literally shining with greed, her voice dripping with sycophantic praise. “Oh my god, thank you so much, Serena! I guess I’m finally getting a taste of what it’s like to be a billionaire’s wife!” In the middle of the celebratory atmosphere, I lierally burst out laughing. Because Serena had disconnected her screen mirroring, the audience couldn’t see her actual text thread. But I knew with absolute certainty that it was mathematically impossible for Christian Vance to have sent that text message. Predictably, my laughter triggered another nuclear explosion in the live chat, with everyone accusing me of being a bitter hater who couldn’t stand seeing someone else win. Only a few rational viewers raised a suspicion: [Isn’t it a little too convenient? The exact second she disconnects her screen mirroring, Christian text her privately? Are we sure she didn’t just make that up?] But their comments were instantly obliterated by the aggressive mob of fans: [You must be Kendall’s burner account. Just like your idol, you’re like a rat hiding in a sewer, completely miserable because you can’t handle someone else’s happiness.] […] Hearing my laughter, Brooke finally directed her attention to me, her tone dismissive and dry. “Kendall, are you ready to mirror your screen?” I was about to nod when a sudden realization hit me. I instinctively tightened my grip on my phone. “Can you give me a second?” Brooke was visibly irritated, wanting to keep the momentum going. “Is Kendall feeling a little overwhelmed by the game? It’s fine, let me help you with that.” Without warning, Brooke reached over and forcefully snatched the phone out of my hands. Before I could lock it, my screen mirrored directly onto the massive studio monitors. The image that exploded onto the screen showed the sharp, dangerous silhouette of a man. His pale, perfect lips were pressed into a hard line. The man was kneeling flat on a polished hardwood floor, his face tilted up slightly. His tailored suit fabric stretched tightly over his powerful frame, and his corporate tie was being lazily, effortlessly wrapped around a woman’s hand, her fingers painted with dark crimson polish, pulling him forward. It was cold, dominant, and packed with an absolute, suffocating sexual tension. Even though the photo only captured the lower half of his face, a viewer in the chat recognized him instantly: [Wait… THAT’S CHRISTIAN VANCE! Why the hell is he kneeling like a submissive dog?!] [Holy shit, this photo isn’t available anywhere on the internet! Why does Kendall have this?! I am losing my mind, is there actually something going on between them…?] [Are you blind? This is an obvious deepfake photoshop. Kendall is a pathetic, obsessive stalker who edited her own hand into a fake picture. I can’t wait to watch the billionaire’s lawyers destroy her career for this.] [LMAO, the commenter above is right. Let’s make Kendall invite Christian right now! Serena is too sweet to defend herself, let’s let Christian Vance personally show up and nuke this clout-chaser’s existence into the ground.] The comments demanding “FORCE KENDALL TO INVITE CHRISTIAN VANCE” began aggressively spamming the screen. 04 Brooke and the other guests leaned back, looking like they were settling in to watch an execution. Only Serena proactively approached my chair. Having just failed to bring her own “boyfriend” to the set, she was desperate to use me to regain her dominance. “Kendall, the audience has already made their choice. Why haven’t you sent Christian a message yet?” A few seconds later, she put on a mask of pure, mock-sympathy, lowering her voice. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Kendall. You claimed earlier that you and Christian were ‘alright,’ so I assumed you actually had his number. I didn’t realize… you don’t even have his contact info…” The live chat poured out absolute, unbridled mockery: [HAHAHA, she talked a massive game, and now she can’t even back it up. If I were Kendall, I would pack my bags and run out the back door right now to save myself from the absolute embarrassment.] [Wait, am I the only one who thinks Serena is acting a bit toxic? She knows Christian is busy, yet she’s forcing Kendall to text him just to humiliate her.] [Toxic? Are you crazy? Serena is the legitimate girlfriend. Watching some cheap slut try to clout-chase using her man, she’s being incredibly polite by not screaming in her face.] Seeing my lack of movement, Brooke took up the mantle of justice for Serena. “Kendall, Serena is speaking to you. Out of basic human politeness, don’t you think you should reply?” I looked at Serena, my tone deadpan and flat. “With acting skills like that, you should really focus on booking a movie role instead of doing reality TV.” Brooke’s mouth popped open in fury, but Serena stopped her from screaming, looking like a fragile, weeping angel. “Kendall, I understand that you’re in a bad place with your career right now.” “How about this? I’ll give you Christian’s number myself. But whether he actually blocks you or ignores you, I can’t guarantee…” I casually cut her off. “No need. I already have his number. I just blocked him.” The live chat erupted with laughter: [Everyone else is dying to get a billionaire’s number, and she claims she blocked him? Who is she trying to fool?] [God, I despise people who flex things they don’t have. Especially when the lie is this transparent. Serena has offered her a way out multiple times, even offering to give her the number, and she acts like a smug, arrogant bitch.] [Filming a show with a toxic parasite like her must be exhausting for Serena.] Brooke wore a look of pure, euphoric malice. “Kendall, since you swear you have his number, send him the invitation right now.” The entire cast turned their heads, waiting to watch the train wreck. Under the collective gaze of the room, I slowly went into my block list, unblocked the contact labeled “My Little Puppy,” and typed out a single line: “I’m giving you exactly one chance. Get your ass over here and make me lunch.” He replied instantly. [BABY! You finally unblocked me!] [Let’s make lunch together! Can we try that new position you picked out last time? I swear I’ve been practicing it every single day in my head.] [Baby, please don’t ignore me. I promise I will never say no to any of your demands in bed ever again…] I used the absolute maximum speed of my fingers to disconnect the screen mirroring, but it was too late. The 18+ explicit text messages had already been hard-witnessed by the entire internet. A suffocating, dead silence paralyzed the entire studio for fifteen seconds. 05 Brooke stood frozen, her jaw practically on the floor. “Kendall… who exactly were you texting just now?” I was internally cursing that idiot for typing out our bedroom secrets on a public frequency, but I kept my face deadpan as I locked my phone. “Christian Vance.” “The billionaire heir Christian Vance?!” I gave a cold laugh. “Is there another Christian Vance?” I had been targeted, blackmailed, and deliberately defamed by Brooke and Serena the entire morning. They wanted to use me as a villainous prop to elevate Serena’s image and farm viral metrics for their show. Well, congratulations. The live chat flipped completely: [HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! The narrative just executed a nuclear inversion! Kendall lieral had the billionaire heir blocked! And he’s a submissive little puppy for her?! Is this real life?!] [LMAO, I am living for this. The host is an absolute corporate hack who always kisses up to rich guests and tramples on lower-tier actors. Kendall just completely destroyed her on live TV. Savage.] [I can’t breathe. I am lieral staring at the screen with my jaw open.] […] Brooke’s face went completely blank, her mind short-circuiting as she looked at Serena for help. Serena rushed over to my desk, her eyes rimmed with tears. “Kendall, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing. But faking a corporate billionaire’s identity online is a federal crime. You are actively destroying his corporate reputation. This is going too far.” She was desperately trying to convince herself it was a fake account or a hired model. Brooke quickly caught onto her lifeline. “Exactly! The profile picture on Kendall’s phone doesn’t even match Serena’s contact picture! You hired a fake model to pretend to be him, didn’t you?!” The live chat spam continued: [Wait, the commenter has a point. Billionaire romance leads don’t text like desperate, horny puppies. And ‘My Little Puppy’?! Does Kendall really have the balls to call Christian Vance a dog? No way.] [I bet she just hired a high-end male model from an agency to change his name on WhatsApp. Kendall’s reputation is trash anyway, she’s probably desperate enough to commit fraud for clout.] [I feel so bad for Serena. This crazy bitch is literally unhinged. I hope Christian’s legal team sues her into bankruptcy.] I looked at the host, my expression perfectly calm. “That’s his private account. Only his immediate family and I have access to it.” Before the host could reply, my phone started vibrating relentlessly. He was spamming me. [I’m so sorry, baby. I was busy reviewing that position this morning, so I didn’t see your text or the notifications. It’s my fault.] [I didn’t mean to expose our relationship to the media. I promised you I would never interfere with your career or forcefully claim a public title.] [But since I’m coming to the studio right now, you have to give me a title. Boyfriend? Husband? Or… your loyal dog is fine too.] I didn’t even bother trying to hide the screen anymore. Brooke turned to Serena, her voice trembling. “Serena… did Christian mention what time he was arriving?” Serena’s face was completely devoid of color. She stammered, her voice shaking violently. “Christian is extremely busy today… he’s in a board meeting… he’s not coming…” I locked my phone and announced flatly: “Christian Vance will be here at 12:30 PM.”

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I am the innocent Cinderella in a high school romance novel. I was admitted to an elite private prep school on a full merit scholarship. Cinderellas usually possess stubbornness, aloofness, integrity, and other qualities that set them apart from the rich kids. I have absolutely none of those. I’m just broke. 01 Ever since I was born, I knew very clearly that I was poor. An orphan, never enough to eat or wear, going to school with a mountain of debt. Nobody knew how I even managed to stay in school. Of course, this indirectly proved that I was an academic god. Things soon took a turn when I caught the eye of an elite prep school. Full ride for three years, plus generous scholarships. I held the acceptance letter, looking at it from every angle, absolutely thrilled. Damn, thank God I’m so good at studying. 02 The city’s top public high school had approached me before. They earnestly told me that if I enrolled there, I wouldn’t have to worry about tuition for three years, and more importantly, I’d have a healthy environment to study in. The principal sighed, “You’re a great seed, you can’t be buried.” He was hinting at something. I knew that elite prep school was notorious. Every year they took in scholarship students, and without exception, they all ended up fading into the background, chewed up by the social hierarchy. If I went there, the same fate might await me. I patted my chest. “Don’t worry, sir. I’m not like the others.” I was heading straight for their high-dollar scholarships and the school’s recycling bins. I was purely in it for the cash. 03 “An innocent little wallflower can’t survive here. I advise you to watch your back.” The redhead sitting in front of me turned around, glaring at me coldly. I poked my index fingers together shyly. “Are you gonna finish that?” The redhead: “?” She followed my gaze to the empty soda bottle in her hand. The world kisses me with pain, and I stick out my tongue. I harvested another plastic bottle. Patting my bulging, heavy-duty trash bag, I happily slung it over my shoulder and walked out. “What is that new scholarship student doing?” “A hoarder? I’ve seen her collecting everyone’s empty bottles.” “Oh my god, what a freak!” I swaggered away. These rich kids who have never experienced a day of hardship in their lives—do they know what’s in this bag? It’s eight dollars and eighty-eight cents! A whole eight dollars and eighty-eight cents! 04 Most of the time, I’d wander around the school’s dumpsters. There was a lot of good stuff there. The dumpsters at an elite prep school gave off the illusion of being a luxury recycling center. I was digging and digging when I looked up and made eye contact with a lean, pale, clean-cut guy. He wore neat, simple clothes. Seeing me, he frowned slightly. I felt like my trash bag had been exposed. I was very uneasy. Even such a niche market had competition. I guarded my bag warily. “Don’t just dig through my turf.” The guy said nonchalantly, “Does it have your name on it?” Guess not. Writing your name on a dumpster isn’t very dignified, and after brushing myself off, I’m still a dignified person. I decided to ignore him, grabbed my loot, and left. The guy followed me, carrying his own bags. Eventually, we both ended up at the exact same local recycling center. The owner greeted us with a smile; we were clearly both regulars. I later found out his name was Liam, and like me, he was a scholarship student. Liam’s eyes were a bit complex. I understood his complexity. After all, we were fierce competitors just a moment ago, and now we were kindred spirits in poverty. His gaze fell on the patches on my clothes. Liam: “You…” Me: “What? You need patches? I bought ten online, I can sell you some. Two bucks each.” Liam: “…” “Sorry, I didn’t know your situation was this tough.” I sniffled and said deeply: “It’s okay.” Liam was silent for a moment, then voluntarily handed his bag of cans to me. “Put it on her tab.” I was deeply moved. “You’re so nice.” 05 I was poor, but I was genuinely a god at studying. Taking tests was a breeze. In the statewide exams, I ranked first every time. Looking at the top of the leaderboard, Liam was also in the top ten. The name of our prep school next to our names was particularly glaring. It gave off a very smug, looking-down-on-the-world vibe. The principal was thrilled and called Liam and me to his office specifically to praise us. His old face was glowing. When he went to district meetings, he walked with his chest puffed out. Liam and I were each handed a fat bonus envelope. Principal: “Chloe, keep up the good work!” I was moved: “With money on the line, it’s a piece of cake!” Somehow, the phrase “piece of cake” spread around. There was a private forum at the school, and someone mocked me: [A broke student claiming things are a piece of cake? Is your whole life a piece of cake?] I was triggered. My life was a complete disaster. I chose to snitch. The principal was busy comforting me, while Liam, who had just walked in to drop off some papers, looked like he couldn’t bear to watch. Our principal was a man of great pride and power. He was a big shot in his youth, and in his old age, he suddenly got the urge to build a real academic legacy at this school. He immediately dragged out the guy who led the mockery, chewed him out, and demanded he apologize to me. The guy apologized reluctantly. Of course, I knew he was pissed. After leaving the principal’s office, the guy turned around, ready to mock me for being a snitch, but saw my mysterious smile. “You’re at the very bottom of the class, aren’t you?” His face instantly turned the color of a bruised plum. “How did you know… Wait! None of your business!” I put on a profound look. “Do you want to…” He was wary. “Want to what? Let me warn you, don’t think you’re a big deal just because you have good grades and the principal likes you. My family owns the Vanguard Group! My pinky is thicker than your waist!” Hearing him name-drop his billionaire family, I silently wept tears of envy in my heart. It’s so good to be rich. I hate it. I adjusted my urge to strangle him and whispered like a demon, “Do you want to secretly work hard, and then make a stunning comeback to shock everyone?” The guy froze. I pressed on: “Do you want to see your name on the honor roll?” “Do you want to hear the teachers gasp in amazement, get praised by the principal, and see your parents weep tears of joy?” His footsteps faltered. I delivered the fatal blow. “Do you want to stand at the top of your social circle and look down on everyone else?” These rich kids were still in high school, but there was always unspoken rivalry in their circles. Although grades weren’t crucial for their futures, if someone was perpetually dead last, they were definitely the prime target for being roasted. The guy gritted his teeth. “What exactly are you trying to say?” I could tell his resolve was crumbling. I was very satisfied and slapped him on the shoulder. “Miss Chloe’s tutoring classes are now open! Not $998, not $888, but for just $98, you can experience a comprehensive tutoring session from the number one student in the state!” The guy was stunned. 06 Carter never thought he’d spend his life sneaking around in an empty lounge with a scholarship student. He gritted his teeth, lowering his voice. “Chloe, I’m telling you, don’t try any tricks. I’ve got money and muscle.” With that, he pulled out a crisp hundred-dollar bill. I snatched it with lightning speed, looking left and right warily. “Let’s begin.” Carter was suspicious. “Is this really necessary? You’re acting like we’re doing a drug deal.” … Carter’s academic foundation was shockingly terrible. To sum it up, in all my life, I had never seen a talent level this abstractly bad. Fortunately, he listened and was willing to use his brain. There was hope. After one session, Carter looked as if his soul had been purified. He stared blankly at the math problems he had understood and solved perfectly, gripping his pen tightly. This… he actually solved this! He looked at me as if I was glowing—emitting the light of knowledge. Now he understood the value of this session. Carter took a deep breath. To be honest, his family had hired top-tier private tutors for him, but for some reason, he just couldn’t absorb anything, no matter how they guided him. I sincerely explained that the reason was simple: Carter’s brain and theirs were not on the same wavelength. Carter: “?” Those highly-paid tutors had grown up around people of their own caliber. They had never seen an abstract anomaly like Carter. But I was different. For the right price, I could adjust my thinking down to his exact level. Hehe. 07 We agreed to weekly tutoring. Carter generously offered to pay double the market rate per hour. I agreed and symbolically signed a one-month contract with him. Carter was displeased. “Why only three times a week? I can hire you every day. As long as the results are good, raising your salary isn’t an issue.” Nope. Three times a week was it. I wasn’t someone who put all her eggs in one basket. Turning around, I added Carter’s mortal enemy, the second-to-last student in the grade, Mason. “Tutoring services available. DM for info.” Mason: “?” I earnestly described his current situation and informed him that if he didn’t make some changes, he would soon replace Carter as dead last. Mason scoffed. “Joke. Carter could have all the tutors in the world and he’d still be dead last.” That sentence came to an abrupt halt when I sent him a photo of Carter’s latest passing quiz score. Me: “Oops, wrong chat.” The person on the screen went silent. He was struggling. A long while later, he sent a message. “Um, let’s meet and talk.” 08 Soon, Mason’s schedule was locked in too. Monday, Wednesday, Friday for Carter. Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday for Mason. The great tutoring enterprise was booming. Two individuals were quietly rising in the elite prep school. In Carter’s words, he never wanted to be the butt of the joke again. In Mason’s words, he absolutely could not accept Carter surpassing him. Earning two incomes wasn’t easy. I would frequently and casually leak a bit of Carter’s progress to Mason, or “accidentally” leave behind one of Carter’s passing quizzes. I’d cover my mouth in surprise. “Oh, where did this come from?” Mason’s pupils would earthquake as he stared intently at the paper. “Can we add an extra hour today? I’ll pay triple.” Me: “Deal.” And I’d casually praise his strong drive to succeed. Mason ate it up and studied even harder. With Carter, it was even easier to trigger his competitive spirit. After all, he had nowhere to retreat to. The dead last couldn’t exactly drop to negative first, could he? 09 As time went on, I was exhausted every day. I take back what I said about money being easy to make. The money was hard to earn, and the struggle was real. Tutoring wasn’t hard; it depended on who I was facing. Sometimes I broke down: “Is what’s between your ears actually a brain?” I understood the pain of being a corporate wage slave now. I felt like I should be charging them for emotional distress. One day, rubbing the dark circles under my eyes, I walked out of the lounge, half-asleep. Suddenly, someone stood in front of me. Liam was wearing a student council prefect armband, holding a blue folder in one hand and a black pen in the other. His gaze was faintly probing. “Chloe.” I instantly snapped to attention. I was quite wary of Liam. This guy always had a faint, lingering presence. When we showed up at the same recycling center, we were destined not to get along—this was a unilateral declaration on my part. Just as I thought he’d say something like, “This is my dumpster, please don’t touch it, or I’ll deduct all your points,” Liam looked down and scribbled furiously with his pen. “No school blazer. Minus two points.” Me: “…” Bro, seriously? 10 Liam stared at my dark circles, stayed silent for a moment, and carefully chose his words. “Watch your reputation.” I answered honestly, “Yes, I know, not wearing the blazer is my fault, but is it possible I don’t even own this school’s uniform?” I heard it was custom-made by some high-end luxury brand. Other students: “This brand isn’t exclusive enough.” “Horrible, I have to wear this?” “Is the school this broke? I’ll ask my dad to fund another building!” Just saying things that made me want to jump off a cliff. Here, Liam paused for a moment and suddenly asked, “You don’t know?” I was confused. What was I supposed to know? Liam thought for a second, then suddenly handed me his phone. He pointed at the screen. I looked and immediately saw a massive headline. [Innocent Cinderella Not as She Seems! Daily Secret Rendezvous! M-W-F With Him, T-Th-S With…] I scratched my head. Sounded like a trashy clickbait title from some tabloid. What kind of drama was happening now? But scrolling down, the first photo was a massive close-up of my drooping face with giant dark circles. Me: “?” Innocent high school girl instantly transforms into the ghost from The Ring. I was furious: “Who took such an ugly picture!”

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My boyfriend suffered from severe clinical depression. Between his weekly psychiatric therapy sessions and his prescription medications, his treatment cost over $3,000 a month. To keep him afloat, I worked myself into the ground, taking on endless freelance graphic design commissions while grinding 12-hour shifts for DoorDash. My friends constantly warned me I was going to literally work myself to death. Until one day, I snagged an incredibly high-paying delivery order going to an ultra-exclusive, gated billionaire community. I carefully carried the $2,500 premium Omakase sushi order to the front door, offering it respectfully to the customer. But when I looked up… I saw my supposedly depressed, struggling boyfriend, who was supposed to be at his therapy session, standing in the doorway. He looked at me in absolute, horrified shock. 01 “Aren’t you supposed to be at the clinic, Liam?” I stared at the breathtakingly luxurious, custom-built mansion behind him. My left hand gripped the handles of the takeout bag so tightly my knuckles turned white, aching from the pressure. Even though it was nearly 100 degrees outside, my entire body was violently shivering, as if I had been plunged into an ice bath. A place like this… I had only ever seen mansions like this in Hollywood movies. “Chloe, please, I’m so sorry. Let me explain. Dr. Miller had a sudden emergency this afternoon…” “I’m just visiting a friend’s house. I swear.” Caught completely off guard, Liam lost his composure and frantically grabbed my uniform sleeve. It was his signature move whenever he needed to apologize. It worked flawlessly every single time. But today, it meant absolutely nothing. I coldly slapped his hand away. The custom-tailored, designer linen shirt he was wearing had no visible logo, but the cruel irony was that it fit him perfectly—far better than the cheap, thrift-store clothes he usually wore. It exuded the effortless, old-money aura of a trust-fund kid. I lowered my eyes, pulling out my phone to open the Mount Sinai Hospital appointment app. I saw that Dr. Miller, his psychiatrist, had completely open availability for the entire afternoon. I didn’t even have the energy to call out his lie. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I forced my mind to clear. Maintaining a deadpan expression, I kept my voice terrifyingly calm: “Is this fun for you, Liam?” “Pretending to be a broke, depressed, struggling kid while you’re with me. Acting like you couldn’t even afford a $5 Starbucks coffee… when in reality, you’re a billionaire heir who drops $2,500 on a single lunch order!” My lips trembled. I glared at the man standing in front of me with pure, unadulterated resentment, completely unaware of when the tears had started pouring down my face. “You really… you played me for an absolute idiot.” “Two thousand five hundred dollars! I would have to run hundreds of deliveries… I’d have to work for months just to earn that…” The most agonizing, hilarious irony of it all? The only app running in the background of my phone… Was the text message I had sent Liam half an hour ago. I told him I was going to treat us tonight and make his favorite homemade chicken noodle soup. Because the customer in this ultra-rich neighborhood had been incredibly generous and tipped me $100 on the app. I just never, in my wildest nightmares, imagined that the $100 tip was given to me by Liam himself. 02 Liam used to hold me in the dead of night, whispering that the only thing in the universe he would never doubt was my love for him. He said even his own parents’ love wasn’t as pure and unconditional as mine. Those intimate whispers used to fill me with joy. I thought I was the luckiest girl in the world to find genuine, unfiltered devotion in a society where true love felt nonexistent. But looking back at it now… No one in their right mind could possibly be as stupid as me. Risking heatstroke riding a bike in 100-degree weather just to earn a $5 delivery bonus, desperately trying to scrape together enough cash to cover his medical bills for the month. “I haven’t slept more than five hours a night in months. I literally dream about the day you finally recover.” “And you knew exactly what I was doing for you. Didn’t you?” My voice cracked, choked by rising sobs. The facade of calm on Liam’s face finally shattered. His eyes reddened, and he gave a slow, agonizing nod. In our cramped, claustrophobic, 300-square-foot studio apartment, where we had to walk thirty minutes just to reach the nearest subway station… He watched me exhaust myself to the bone. He watched me break pennies in half trying to budget our meals. He watched me live in absolute squalor while desperately paying to support his twisted, fake “poverty simulation.” All to cure a clinical depression that he completely made up for his little roleplay. He watched the entire thing unfold from above, completely detached, like a god observing a pathetic ant. “I’ll wire a massive sum of money to your bank account. Consider it compensation.” “I’m so sorry, Chloe. I really messed up.” Liam hung his head, his eyes filled with guilt and profound panic. Realizing there was absolutely no lie he could invent to dig his way out of this, he simply gave up. My fingers stiffened as I reached into my pocket and pulled out the crumpled, half-meter-long receipt for the sushi order. It listed the most elite, imported cuts of Wagyu and Toro available. I crushed it into a tight ball and hurled it as hard as I could directly at his face. Liam didn’t dodge. His expression was a horrific mix of grief and devastating regret. The central air conditioning blowing from the open mansion door sent a chilling breeze over my sweat-soaked skin. Amidst the buzzing of the summer cicadas, I heard the sharp, rhythmic clicking of heels approaching from inside the house. Followed instantly by a whiny, flirtatious female voice: “Liam, babe? Is the food not here yet? I’m literally starving to death!” 03 Liam and I both froze. His expression violently twisted in panic. We both turned our heads to see a young woman wearing a sheer, silk lace slip dress walking toward the door. Liam frantically stepped forward to block her. “Why did you come out? I’ll be right inside, baby, just go back in.” But the girl seemed determined to see what was going on. She stepped around Liam, flashing a brilliant, saccharine smile at me. Her large, doe-like eyes held a glimmer of recognition, quickly followed by absolute, undisguised contempt. “Who is this…?” Nobody answered. Seeing our dead silence, the corners of her lips curled into a smirk. She casually, possessively linked her arm through Liam’s, subtly tugging the strap of her blush-pink, translucent slip dress down her shoulder. The dark, bruised hickeys on her neck, and the curves visible beneath the silk… were impossible to ignore. She leaned her entire body weight against Liam, looking completely boneless and incredibly intimate. The man’s panicked, terrified gaze darted back to me. I turned my head away in absolute despair, squeezing my eyes shut. My hair, soaked in sweat, stuck uncomfortably to my cheeks. My temples throbbed with a sharp, spiking agony. Even if I was legally brain-dead, I would know exactly what had been happening inside that house. I originally thought I was just the unlucky idiot caught in a billionaire’s poverty roleplay. But looking at them now, I realized I was also the pathetic side-character in a rich kid’s twisted romance drama. It was absolutely, profoundly sickening. I didn’t want to stay there a second longer. I turned around, packed up my insulated delivery bag, and prepared to leave. But the girl suddenly called out to me: “Wait a second. Are you the pathetic little ‘slum-girl’ Liam was playing around with off-campus?” “I didn’t recognize you in that disgusting delivery uniform, but… you’re Chloe Vance from the Liberal Arts department, aren’t you?” 04 I stopped moving and turned back to stare at her. After thirty seconds, I finally placed her face. She was a senior, one year ahead of me. The gorgeous, ultra-wealthy, universally worshipped “It Girl” of our university: Stella Dupont. But we had bad blood. Because she used her family’s massive corporate donations to pull strings behind the scenes and successfully stole the low-income, merit-based university grant that was supposed to go to me. Because of that, I never sucked up to Stella like the rest of the student body did. Seeing the dark, hostile look in my eyes, Stella’s grip on Liam’s arm tightened even more. She put on an exaggerated, delighted expression, her voice dripping with venomous sweetness: “I can’t believe it, Liam! Remember last year when I casually complained to you about how annoying and stuck-up that fake-smart junior was?” “You asked me a few questions about her, and then you actually went and ruined Chloe Vance’s life for me! I have to say, your methods are absolutely brilliant. Truly incredible…” Stella tilted her chin up, glaring at me like I was an insect, and continued: “So brilliant that you managed to play Chloe Vance—the untouchable academic prodigy of the Liberal Arts department—like an absolute, pathetic dog.” My hands, hanging limply by my sides, slowly curled into fists. The freezing air conditioning from the mansion hit my skin, but it didn’t cool the volcanic rage erupting in my chest. To these people, the futures, emotions, money, and blood, sweat, and tears of ordinary people were just annoying weeds growing by the side of the road. They didn’t just ignore us—they actively went out of their way to crush us under their designer shoes and spit on us for fun. Stella leaned up and kissed Liam’s cheek—a reward for his successful, years-long psychological torture of me. She shot me a deeply provocative, mocking look. Then, as if suddenly remembering a hilarious inside joke, her expression turned bizarrely manic as she asked: “Oh, Chloe. Did Liam tell you he suffered from severe clinical depression?” I furrowed my brow, not denying it. Seeing my reaction, the woman practically doubled over in hysterical laughter. The words that spilled from her mouth sent a wave of absolute, freezing horror straight into my bones. “That’s because I told him… that you had a younger brother who committed suicide because of severe clinical depression.” “I told him that as long as he claimed to have depression, you would be stupid enough to fall for it instantly.” “And look at that. I was right.” 05 The second the words left her mouth, the air in the entryway went completely dead. The only sound left was the buzzing of the cicadas. My brain literally exploded. Every last shred of rational thought I possessed evaporated. I bit down on my lower lip so hard I tasted blood, ripped my delivery helmet off my head, gripped it by the strap, and viciously hurled it directly at Liam’s face. If I swallowed this kind of humiliation and just walked away, I might as well just lay down and die. My chest heaving violently, I screamed at the top of my lungs: “Depression, huh?! Pretending to be broke, huh?! You love targeting people’s deepest trauma, don’t you?!” “You absolutely deserved it when your parents ignored you! You deserved to watch your father beat your mother half to death right in front of you! Why the fuck didn’t he just beat you to death while he was at it?!” “I’M GOING TO BEAT YOU TO DEATH FOR HIM RIGHT NOW!” During the year Liam and I lived together—whether it was all an act on his end or not—we did share our deepest vulnerabilities with each other. So I knew perfectly well that his ultimate, unforgivable trauma was the profound neglect and abuse he suffered from his parents, and the fact that he grew up utterly devoid of familial love. And right now, that trauma became my ultimate weapon. I weaponized his deepest pain and used it to butcher him. Before either of them could react, I threw myself forward, raining a barrage of savage, brutal punches directly onto Liam’s face. Fueled by blinding, explosive rage, I was gasping for air. The chronic sleep deprivation and physical exhaustion from working three jobs caught up to me, and my vision started swimming. The exact second Stella brought up my little brother, Noah… the fragile dam holding back my sanity completely shattered. He was my reverse scale. The one thing in this universe absolutely no one was allowed to touch. Until Stella forcefully dragged me away from him, Liam didn’t raise a single finger to defend himself. He covered his mouth. His hands were covered in blood. “Liam! Are you okay?! I’m calling the cops right now!” “This crazy bitch has lost her mind! How dare she hit you?! I’m going to call my dad and have her…” Stella’s furious, panicked voice broke into a sob. But Liam grabbed her wrist, shaking his head slowly. “Don’t. Stop.” “This is all… my fault. I owe her this.” He brushed his messy, blood-stained hair out of his eyes, stood up straight, and walked over to me. He pulled a heavy, solid-metal Amex Black Card from his pocket and handed it to me. “The PIN is your birthday. I know the damage I’ve done is permanent, and I can never fix it, but… just take it. I am so sorry.” I let out a harsh, freezing laugh. The look I gave him was filled with absolutely nothing but pure, unadulterated hatred and ice. “Go to hell.” I violently snatched the Black Card from his fingers, dropped those three words, turned around, and walked away. 06 The card had $110,000 on it. After demanding my final paycheck from the delivery app’s contractor company, I officially quit my job. My 250-square-foot studio apartment. You could see the entire place in a single glance. Back then, the reason Liam and I moved out of the university dorms and rented this place was because he claimed his depressive, psychosomatic symptoms were getting worse, and he desperately needed me by his side every day. Honestly, I wasn’t completely defenseless when Liam forcefully, aggressively barged into my life. But when I saw that he suffered from the exact same agonizing illness as my little brother… my heart softened. My judgment blurred. Looking back, it was impossible to tell if my feelings for him were actually love, or just a desperate, manic attempt to compensate for the infinite, crushing guilt I felt over my brother’s death. I was obsessed. I was violently, obsessively determined to cure Liam’s depression. It felt like if I could just save him… the suffocating nightmare of my past would finally let me breathe. I suppose, over the course of a year, we accumulated quite a few things. But looking at all the matching couples’ items, the coffee mugs, the watches, the little anniversary souvenirs… they felt like acid burning my eyes. So I threw every single one of them into the trash. Listening to the rattling hum of the ancient, window-unit AC, I stared at the ceiling. Finally freed from the grueling, endless exhaustion of working myself to death, I fell into a deep, heavy sleep. In my dreams, I couldn’t even count how many times I saw Noah lying in that bathtub. He lay there, completely drained of color, submerged in deep crimson water. His skin was as pale as porcelain. He had no warmth. He had no pulse. The empty pill bottle had tumbled from his limp fingertips. His long, delicate eyelashes were resting softly against his cheeks—looking exactly the way he did when he waited up for me while I studied, dozing off on the couch. Only this time, he would never open his eyes again. He would never rub his sleepy eyes and ask me when I was coming to bed. On his phone, he had deleted every single chat history with every person he knew. The only thing left was a final message sent to me: “I’m so sorry, Chloe.” Along with a Venmo transfer for $512.43. It was every single penny he had to his name. That year, the spring flowers were blooming brighter than ever. Noah, who was brilliant, kind, and possessed all the potential in the world, chose the most beautiful season to leave it. And I… I was permanently trapped in that spring forever. 07 The rustling of plastic bags near the front door jolted me awake. A man wearing a black dress shirt was crouching next to the trash can, suspiciously digging through the garbage. “Who’s there?” The man froze, then slowly turned around. It was Liam. He was wearing a surgical mask, and there were several white bandages on his face from where I had beaten him. I rubbed my pounding temples, completely forgetting that he still had a key to the apartment. The matching rings, the coffee mugs, the watches, and the souvenirs I had thrown away that afternoon had all been meticulously dug out of the trash and lined up perfectly on the floor. “Why the hell are you digging through my garbage?” Hearing my voice, Liam lowered his eyes, his expression unreadable. “I just came to pack a few last things before I leave.” “These are all cheap, worthless garbage. A billionaire heir actually wants them?” I sat up on the bed, casually glancing around the room to see if there was anything else important I needed to pack. Now that it was over, I planned to just move back into my university dorm. I was going to terminate the lease on this place tomorrow. Liam held the cheap, $50 silver couple’s ring in his hand, gently rubbing his thumb over the metal. His voice was low and devastatingly lonely: “Chloe, I know you don’t believe me, but I really, genuinely loved you. I really only trusted you…” “No one in my entire life has ever loved me with that kind of pure, raw honesty. I didn’t want to lose you.” I waved my hand dismissively, letting out a dark scoff. The memory of what happened this afternoon flashed through my mind like a cruel joke. “Pure honesty? What, because you loved me so much, you purposely manipulated me into delivering the food for your post-sex meal with your mistress? Am I supposed to get on my knees and thank you?” “I can explain what happened with Stella! We never slept together! Me dating her in the first place was just a casual agreement from way back then!” “And I’ve wanted to break up with her for months! I realized that the person I truly, actually love is…” “There is absolutely no need to discuss this anymore.” I cut him off, my voice freezing cold, my eyes completely dead. The leaky faucet in the bathroom dripped rhythmically into a plastic bucket. The plumbing had been broken for years. To save a few dollars on the water bill, I always kept a bucket under it to catch the drips. The money I saved was literal pennies. When a fake, manufactured love is finally exposed, the words they use to justify it just sound pathetic and hilarious. The moment his sick, twisted psychological trap was exposed, regardless of whether his feelings were genuine or not, an uncrossable, infinite abyss had permanently opened between us. “Honestly, Liam. When you used the exact method my little brother used to kill himself as a prop to manipulate me into loving you… did you ever stop to think that the karma would eventually boomerang right back and hit you in the head?” “What do you mean?” I didn’t answer. I just furrowed my brow, opened the front door, and gestured for him to get out. Seeing my utterly resolute, emotionless expression, a flash of deep, agonizing hurt crossed his eyes. He hastily shoved all the items from the floor into his designer backpack and stood up. “Stop pretending to have clinical depression.” “Because for every single sociopath like you who fakes it for attention, the stigma against depression gets exponentially worse. And people who actually, desperately need help… get completely ignored.” People like Noah. After a long, suffocating silence, the man standing in front of me slowly nodded his head. Then, Liam reached behind the door and pulled out a grocery bag filled with fresh pork ribs and lotus root. He had seen the text I sent him earlier about making his favorite soup. “Could you… make me lotus root soup one last time?” “No. I’m sure your family’s private Michelin-star chef makes it infinitely better.” “I only like the way you make it.” “Chloe… why can’t you just trust me one more time? Why won’t you give me one last chance?” His voice cracked, choked with tears. I never imagined that Liam, having reclaimed his status as an untouchable, ultra-wealthy billionaire heir, would ever wear an expression of absolute, desperate begging on his face. Right now, in this exact moment, his behavior completely contradicted the rules of his twisted little “poverty simulation” game. Regardless of whether his tears were real or fake, I remained completely, utterly unmoved. I stared at him in dead silence. He knew I was rejecting him. He reached his hand out, desperately wanting to grab my arm, but eventually let it drop to his side. Before he walked out the door, Liam’s eyes were bloodshot. He turned back and looked at me one last time. “Do you still love me?” “No.” “Could you ever… love me again?” “Never.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “443851”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

He couldn’t wait to pursue his heartbroken “first love.” And I started dating my former high school desk mate who just returned from abroad. I thought we both had bright futures ahead of us. Until the day I sincerely wished him luck in finding his true love. He lost his mind and interrogated me: “Who gave you permission to actually forget about me?!” I don’t understand. Was his amnesia fake this whole time? 01 I broke up with Wes. It happened on our two-year anniversary. We got into a car accident and both woke up with amnesia. Our close friends came to the hospital and told us we were a couple. Wes took a long, hard look at me, raised an eyebrow, and made a swift decision: “Since neither of us remembers, let’s just say we aren’t together anymore.” I understood what he meant, but I was still hesitant: “But we’ll probably get our memories back someday. What if we regret it when we do? Besides, everyone knows we’re dating.” He chuckled softly, sounding completely certain: “If you truly like someone, even if you forget the memories, you wouldn’t forget the feeling of liking them. Plus, who’s to say if we’ll ever get our memories back anyway?” He had a point. Even the doctors couldn’t guarantee when, or if, our memories would return. They only suggested we interact with people and things from our past, hoping it might trigger something. The doctors explained that there are many types of amnesia. Ours likely fell under selective amnesia—we only forgot specific people or events. For instance, Wes and I forgot that we were dating, and we forgot each other. But we remembered everything and everyone else perfectly fine. They said this condition was likely a defense mechanism triggered by extreme physical or psychological trauma. The brain chose to seal away bad memories. Unless the patient subconsciously wanted to unlock those memories, external intervention wouldn’t do much good. When our friends came to visit and heard the explanation, they came to a sudden realization and summarized: “Ah, so basically, you can never wake a person who’s pretending to be asleep.” I lowered my head and breathed softly. I turned to look at Wes, who was pressing his lips together in silence. He turned his face away and scoffed: “If we’re both willing to forget, it means it wasn’t important.” True. One person forgetting might be a coincidence. Both people forgetting means it definitely wasn’t important. Originally, when I woke up in the hospital, saw him, and was told he was my boyfriend—yet I had completely forgotten him—I felt nervous and insecure. I met his scrutinizing gaze and apologized guiltily: “I’m sorry, I don’t remember you.” I hadn’t expected him to smile as if a massive weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “It’s okay. I forgot you too.” And so, our two-year relationship was officially null and void in that exact moment. Wes couldn’t even wait. He immediately posted a story on Instagram: [The End.] Announcing to everyone that we had broken up. The first person to comment was Chloe. She teased: “Wes, why are you always copying me? ~” Copying what? When she started dating someone, he started dating someone. When she broke up, he broke up. Chloe and Wes went to high school together. When we got to college, she became my roommate. She was the one who originally introduced Wes to me. She said: “Keep the good stuff in the family, right? First come, first served. What do you think? Is my high school friend handsome or what?” He was indeed very handsome. Tall, long legs, sharp features. Especially when he smiled, there was a cool but boyish charm about him that was incredibly attractive. So attractive that the first time I saw him, I wanted to be with him. Because of Chloe, we gradually got to know each other. On the exact night Chloe announced her relationship online, Wes confessed his feelings to me. And now, coincidentally, we were all single again. 02 Everything reset to zero. But Wes still showed up outside our dorm building every single day. He was there to see Chloe. Unlike Wes and me, whose relationship ended because of amnesia, she still remembered her past relationship and was inevitably struggling to move on. Wes tried every way possible to cheer her up. When I was walking back to the dorm from the library, I saw them outside the building. Wes placed a bag of roasted chestnuts and a box of begonia pastries—which apparently required a three-hour wait in line—into Chloe’s hands. He comforted her gently: “Don’t be sad. Tomorrow I’ll take you to the arcade.” “I’ll win you as many of those Cinnamoroll plushies as you want.” The next second, he looked up and saw me walking toward them. The lobby lights were too bright, so I couldn’t clearly see his backlit expression, but I distinctly felt him stiffen. Probably because we had just broken up. Even if we were now strangers who were worse off than friends. Chloe, on the other hand, walked over to me with red eyes as soon as she saw me. She had clearly been crying, but she still smiled bravely and said: “Olivia, don’t misunderstand. There’s nothing going on between Wes and me. Once he gets his memory back, everything will be fine. Right now, he’s just helping me distract myself from my breakup.” This wasn’t the first time she had said this to me, even though every time I would calmly tell her: “It’s fine. I don’t remember anyway, and we’ve already broken up.” The next time we met, she would say it again, as if she were absolutely certain we would regain our memories and get back together. She would even sigh enviously: “I wish I had amnesia like you guys. Then I wouldn’t have to be this heartbroken.” She was indeed very heartbroken. So heartbroken that right after her breakup, she would often go out to get drunk. Once, she ran into her ex at a bar celebrating a friend’s birthday and mistakenly thought he was with a new girl. She ran over and started a massive scene. When the guy yelled at her to stop, Wes rushed over and started a fistfight with them. Bottles and cake shattered all over the floor, ruining the birthday party. During the chaos, someone slashed Wes’s face with a broken bottle, leaving a bloody gash. Looking at the wound on his face, I had panicked, losing control of my emotions and blurting out: “Wes, can you please not be so impulsive next time?!” He casually wiped the blood off his wound. “If I’m not impulsive, do I just wait for them to bully Chloe? Didn’t that piece of trash deserve to be hit? Chloe is in so much pain, what right does he have to happily celebrate someone else’s birthday?” I thought he was being completely unreasonable, but I still softened my voice and pleaded: “Then at least be careful next time and don’t get your face hurt, okay?” I only knew about these past events because I read them in my diary. I had always kept a diary. It also recorded that shortly after we started dating, we walked past a row of claw machines after watching a movie. I excitedly wanted to try to win a little yellow butter-dog plushie. But Wes just shoved his hands in his pockets and said dismissively: “That’s too childish. Claw machines are for little kids.” But now, he was telling Chloe he was going to take her to the arcade and win her as many Cinnamoroll plushies as she wanted. I figured it was probably the amnesia that caused his change in perspective. Just like my diary mentioned he once said that waiting in line for three hours just for some overly sweet begonia pastries was a massive waste of time. I never won the yellow butter-dog plushie, and I never got to eat the begonia pastries. And I don’t know if he meant the pastries were a waste of time. Or if I was. 03 Wes really didn’t like the conversations Chloe and I had. She would say there was nothing going on between them. I would say we had already broken up. Every time he heard this, Wes would always interject in annoyance: “If a feeling can be forgotten, how strong could it have been anyway? Even if she remembers, we’re not getting back together.” Yeah, forgotten is forgotten. It means it wasn’t love enough. The past was like smoke; one breath and it scattered. There was nothing worth holding onto. I had zero interest in how their relationship developed, but somehow I kept running into them almost every single day. Junior year coursework was heavy. Wes wasn’t even in the same college as us, yet he would skip his own classes every day just to accompany Chloe to hers. I guess Wes had never done that for me, because it wasn’t long before a girl asked Chloe: “Wow, is this your boyfriend? He’s so handsome~” Chloe immediately smiled and waved her hands, explaining as the light in Wes’s eyes noticeably dimmed: “No, no, we’re just friends.” The girl gave a knowing “Oh~,” her gaze darting between the two of them before she said: “Friends, huh…” She didn’t say the rest, leaving it entirely to the imagination. She was probably wondering what kind of “friend” would accompany her to class every day, buy her favorite boba tea every time he came, take her out to eat right after class, and purposely sit between her and any other guys. Or what kind of “friend” would, on a rainy day, shield her so completely from the rain that half his own body got soaked. Which directly resulted in him catching a bad fever. So much so that when he accompanied Chloe to class the next day, he was so sick he spent the entire time slumped on the desk, half-asleep. During the break between lectures, he suddenly spoke in a hoarse voice: “Olivia, I feel so sick…” His voice wasn’t particularly loud, but it was incredibly abrupt. People around us turned to look at me sitting a few rows back. Even Chloe asked him nervously: “Wes, did… did you remember?” My pen paused. I looked up, then quickly looked back down at my notebook. After a long silence, I heard him say very quietly: “I’m dizzy. My head is cloudy.” Maybe he really was delirious. Because at noon, when I went to the campus clinic to buy some Vitamin C and coincidentally ran into him getting an IV drip, he looked at me through his exhaustion and the very first thing he said was: “Is it shrimp and vegetable porridge again this time?” The moment the words left his mouth, we both froze. Of course I knew why he said that. My diary recorded that in the past, every time he got sick, I would bring him shrimp and vegetable porridge and eat it with him. He used to frown and say helplessly: “Let’s get a different flavor next time.” I would smile sweetly and agree, but the next time, I would still buy the shrimp and vegetable. Over time, he just got used to it. But now, he blurted it out while he supposedly had amnesia. In the silent standoff, his gaze dropped to my empty hands. Only then did he seem to snap back to reality. Meeting my slightly stunned eyes, he said stiffly: “Don’t misunderstand. I didn’t get my memory back. I just… it was just a muscle memory response. Yeah, it probably happened in the past.” I didn’t care about his stumbling explanation. I just gave him an indifferent smile, said “No misunderstanding,” and left the clinic with my Vitamin C. I could feel his gaze lingering on my back for a long time. I didn’t turn around. The phone in my pocket vibrated. It was the alarm for my part-time job—tutoring a high school student in math, physics, and chemistry. I grabbed my prepared lesson plans and hurried over. The moment I walked through the door, my student ran out of the study excitedly and called out: “Miss Olivia!” The next second, another figure walked out of the study. He had a clean, striking, and sharply handsome presence. Holding a test paper between his fingers, his gaze landed directly and unapologetically on my face. As our eyes met, my smile froze. My student excitedly told me: “Miss Olivia, this is the older cousin I told you about before—the one whose grades were just as trash as mine! Chase Vance. He just got back to the States today.” Then she turned to him proudly and said: “This is the Miss Olivia I was talking about. she’s amazing. She goes to Columbia University, my dream school.” Chase stood casually by the door, one hand in his pocket. Hearing her introduction, he looked at me with a half-smile and said: “Miss Olivia…” “Long time no see.” 04 It had been a long time since we parted ways right before high school graduation. So long that I thought I would never see him again in this lifetime. My high school desk mate—Chase Vance. The impression he left on me was way too deep. After all, back then, his absolutely garbage grades made him look incredibly out of place in our elite AP classes. His personality was cold, ruthless, and total delinquent energy. For a very long time, I genuinely believed he had absolutely nothing going for him except his face. Until one day after P.E. class, I accidentally got locked in the equipment room. It was a Friday evening, and the school was emptying out fast. I tried over and over to climb up to the high window, but I kept failing. Just as I was hopelessly curled up in the darkening corner, the equipment room door was violently kicked open. Light poured in. Slowly revealing Chase’s silhouette. I have to admit, in that situation, backlit by the fading sun, he really did look like a god descending from the heavens. I stood up and earnestly thanked him. He stepped closer, lowered his eyes, and smiled: “Verbal thanks isn’t enough, Olivia. I plan on cashing in this favor.” It wasn’t exactly an unacceptable form of repayment. He just wanted me to tutor him. When we first started high school, I had seen him looking frustrated at his tests that scored in the teens, and out of the kindness of my heart, I had tried to explain the problems to him. Back then, he just glared at me coldly and said acting tough: “Mind your own business. Who wants to listen to you lecture!” But the next time he encountered the same type of question, he remembered the method I had shown him and actually wrote it down. It’s just that his vibe was too aggressive. No matter how kind and enthusiastic I tried to be, I eventually backed off. I never expected him to actually ask for help himself. I guess he did have some ambition after all. Later, we grew much closer through the tutoring sessions. During those years of youth where all I knew was burying my head in books and studying, it felt like my entire life consisted of nothing but schoolwork and Chase. Once, I got sick and had to take time off to stay in the hospital. My parents were too busy with work to visit, but the person who showed up in my hospital room was Chase. I lay in the hospital bed, looking at him with his backpack slung over one shoulder, completely shocked: “You skipped class?” He raised an eyebrow and looked at me: “Is that really so surprising?” True. When we first started high school, him skipping class was a daily occurrence. But ever since we started tutoring, he hadn’t skipped once, so I had slowly forgotten about it. Seeing I didn’t say anything else, he swung his backpack off and said calmly: “I came to listen to you lecture, Miss Olivia.” I was appalled and accused him: “Chase, are you some kind of evil capitalist? I’m sick and you’re still making me work through an injury! This is exploitation!” He let out a light chuckle and pulled a takeout container out of his backpack. Suddenly, his demeanor grew serious, and even his voice softened as he said: “Yeah. Compensation for exploiting you.” It was shrimp and vegetable porridge. The hospital room was quiet, the faint glow of the sunset seeping through the window. He slowly and patiently sat with me while I ate my porridge. I held my spoon, tilted my head, and smiled at him: “Thank you, Chase.” He was the only person who came to the hospital to see me. The comfort of peaceful days always makes people assume there’s plenty of time ahead. Little did I know that tragedy always strikes when you least expect it. Right before graduation, a criminal my father—a police officer—had arrested was released from prison. Seeking revenge, the man intentionally tried to run me over with his car. At the critical moment, Chase pushed me out of the way. Amidst the chaos, I threw myself in front of him. He was covered in blood. I didn’t even dare to touch him. All I remember is that through my blurred vision, he seemed to use the last ounce of his strength to pull the corners of his mouth into a weak smile: “Stop crying. Wait for me to wake up so I can cash in my favor.” I didn’t get to wait. Because he completely vanished from my life. The medical staff told me his family had taken him away. Honestly, I already knew. The way a kid with dead-last grades got into the AP classes, the way the homeroom teacher treated him with absolute reverence… the gap between our worlds was so massive that it was practically impossible for me to ever find him. It didn’t really matter. I knew he would get the best medical care possible. I just felt a deep sense of regret. I never got the chance to properly say thank you. He saved my life. How exactly did he want me to repay him?

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On the seventh year of my body being stolen, I finally took it back. “She” had already used my body to get married and become pregnant. I immediately filed for divorce and terminated the pregnancy. The news of the marriage collapsing dominated the trending charts, but I couldn’t care less. All I wanted was to find my true love, the man she had left completely broken and covered in scars. 01 “Evie, time to wake up.” A man looked at me with eyes full of tenderness. He reached out, trying to brush a stray strand of hair from my forehead. I turned my face away, dodging his touch. Looking at this man—whom I had been forced to watch for seven years—I spoke with a voice as cold as ice: “Let’s get a divorce.” He seemed to freeze, the expression on his face going completely blank. I didn’t care. I stood up, walked over to the window, and reached out my hand to feel the long-lost warmth of the sunlight. For seven years, ever since my car crash, I had watched that woman invade my body. She squeezed my soul into a dark corner and banished me from my own life. Wearing my flesh, she disguised herself as me, basking in the love and pampering of my wealthy family. And worse—she used my actual true love as a stepping stone, a disposable pawn. She ruthlessly exploited him, greedily draining every drop of blood from his body, before laughing in his face and telling him she didn’t love him anymore. Her love for him had simply “vanished.” I watched, paralyzed and helpless, as my true love spiraled into madness, self-doubt, severe depression, and eventually, attempted to end his own life. When he was lying in the ICU, murmuring my name through bruised lips, his parents begged her to just come see him once. But she said: “I have a new boyfriend now. I can’t keep stringing my ex along. My new boyfriend is very sensitive; he’d get jealous.” From that moment on, our two families severed all ties. Decades of deep friendship burned to ashes. Faced with my parents’ confusion and suspicion, she deliberately poured gasoline on the fire, actively trying to alienate everyone who truly knew me. That way, she wouldn’t have to keep up the exhausting act of pretending to be me. She could recklessly be herself. She could recklessly use my face, my reputation, and even my creative work to chase after her celebrity crush. I looked down, surveying my body inch by inch. The calluses on my fingers from years of playing the piano had faded significantly. Instead, there were flashy, neon-colored acrylic nails covered in rhinestones. My pin-straight black hair had been dyed and curled into waves. These were all the parasitic marks she had left on me. Until my eyes dropped to my slightly swollen lower abdomen. A violent wave of nausea washed over me. “She” was pregnant. The initial euphoria of reclaiming my body instantly mutated into absolute disgust. It felt like a bucket of freezing water had been dumped over my head. A thief and a total stranger had used my body to do the most intimate things two people can do, and then planted the vile result of it inside me. I picked up the phone from the nightstand, preparing to leave this house immediately. If I stayed in this room for one more second, I was going to burn the whole place down. Besides, I had something much more important to do. My true love. The boy I grew up with, Noah Brooks. The man who was so broken I didn’t even know if he was dead or alive right now. I had to find him. I had to tell him that I loved him. And that the monster who shattered his heart wasn’t me. 02 “Evie, you’re just joking, right?” Liam Sterling grabbed my arm, forcing a strained smile. I physically peeled his hand off my arm. I looked him dead in the eye and enunciated every single word: “Look closely. I am Chloe Vance.” “I am not your ‘Evie.’ Chloe Vance has never gone by a second name, and she certainly would never let anyone call her Evie.” Watching my demeanor, a flash of genuine panic crossed his face. “Evie, my recent schedule was planned exactly the way you wanted. I turned down that movie role so I could stay home and keep you company for the next two months. “And the kissing scene in the last movie was just camera angles! I didn’t actually kiss her. “Please stop scaring me. We aren’t getting a divorce.” Seeing him panic, I tried my best to suppress the raging fury in my chest. I had to remind myself that he was just another victim of her lies. “Liam Sterling. I am Chloe Vance, and the man I love is Noah Brooks. “Not your ‘Evie.’ The ‘Evie’ you’re talking about is a thief who stole my body while I was in a coma from a car crash seven years ago. Her real name is Evelyn Harper. “Now, I’ve taken my body back. Your Evie is gone.” He lunged forward, trying to pull me into a hug. I shoved him hard, knocking him back. “Is… is this schizophrenia? It’s okay, Evie. We can go to a hospital. I will stay by your side through the whole treatment.” I shook my head. Clearly, logic wasn’t going to work here. “My lawyers will contact you regarding the divorce proceedings.” With that, I turned and walked briskly out the door. “Evie!” I unlocked the phone and quickly scrolled through the contacts. There was absolutely no trace of my actual family or friends. The contact list was entirely made up of people “Evelyn” had met over the past seven years. My fingers trembled as I manually typed in the phone number that was permanently burned into my memory. Listening to the dial tone ring over the speaker, my heart pounded violently against my ribs. Please. Please answer. “We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is out of service…” I called it over and over again. It was disconnected. So, I dialed my older brother’s number instead. “Hello.” “It’s me, Connor.” Hearing Connor Vance’s voice, my entire body shuddered. After being trapped inside my own head for seven years, I finally had a real, tangible connection with my family again. “Oh, if it isn’t the great Princess Vance. Why are you calling me? Just checking to see if I’ve died of a heart attack yet so you can inherit the estate? “Or did you catch your A-list movie star husband cheating, and he kicked you out? “If that’s the case, let me know. I need to go buy some fireworks to celebrate.” Hearing his biting sarcasm actually made me smile. He sounded energetic and loud, which meant he was doing well. “Connor, it’s me. It’s Chloe. “It’s too complicated to explain over the phone. I’m coming to your office right now.” “Don’t bother. Even if you show up, I’m not seeing you—” Before he could finish his sentence, I hung up. It was just going to be more cynical trash talk anyway. I hailed a cab and headed straight for the corporate district. Looking out the window at the towering skyscrapers and the manicured green spaces lining the avenues… Compared to seven years ago, the city had developed at a terrifying speed. The wheels of time had ruthlessly rolled forward. Leaving me alone to face this entirely unrecognizable, completely upended world. 03 “Ms. Vance, Mr. Vance is currently in a meeting with a client. It’s really not a good time for him to see you.” Ms. Hayes, his secretary, looked at me with profound discomfort, desperately trying to get me to leave. I had been sitting in the waiting area for half an hour. My patience was completely gone. When I stood up, a flicker of relief crossed Ms. Hayes’s face, but it quickly morphed into frantic pleading as I walked past her. “Ms. Vance, please! He really is with a client! Please don’t make this difficult for me!” I kept walking straight toward Connor’s office doors, patting her on the shoulder to comfort her. “Don’t worry. It’s fine. If he gets mad, I’ll take full responsibility. I really do have an absolute emergency.” “If he fires you over this, come find me. I’ll pay you double your salary and employ you for the rest of your life.” Ms. Hayes didn’t believe a single word I said. She looked at me like I was handing her Monopoly money. “Connor.” I shoved the heavy oak doors open. There was no client. The massive office was entirely empty except for him. Unless he was having a business meeting with a ghost. I gently pushed Ms. Hayes back out into the hallway and shut the doors. It was just me and him. I hadn’t seen him in so long. That thief hadn’t visited my childhood home or seen my family in three or four years. The brother sitting in front of me had clearly lost the reckless, youthful energy of his twenties. He looked mature, seasoned, and commanding. Especially his hairline—it was noticeably receding. I suppose that was the standard price of being a highly successful CEO. “What, you learned a new trick? “Spit it out. How are you planning to manipulate me this time?” Connor looked me up and down, a sneer of pure contempt curling the corner of his mouth. “How is Noah? Where is he? I need to see him.” “You actually have the nerve to ask to see him? Haven’t you destroyed him enough?! I swear to God, I have no idea how the Vance family produced a sociopath like you.” Connor’s emotions instantly flared, the veins on his neck pulsing with rage. “Connor, I have something incredibly important to tell you. You might think I’m clinically insane, but every word I say is the truth. “Seven years ago, when I got into that car crash, my body was stolen by a girl named Evelyn Harper. She wore my face and did all those horrific things. “From the second I woke up from that coma, that person was not me. Every word she spoke, every action she took—none of it was me.” Connor’s furious expression cracked slightly. He walked over to me and pressed the back of his hand against my forehead. “You don’t have a fever. Why are you spewing this psychotic sci-fi garbage?” “You don’t have to believe me right now, but every single word is true. Just watch me. Watch the way I speak and act from today onward, and compare it to the girl from the past seven years. Tell me we aren’t two completely different people.” I knew this was an impossibly hard truth to swallow. But it was reality. The only way I could prove it was through my actions. Seeing my desperate, deeply sincere expression, Connor hesitated. After all, we had lived together for 23 years. He knew exactly what his real little sister was like better than anyone on earth. When “I” woke up and acted like a different person, they probably assumed the traumatic brain injury had drastically altered my personality. No one in their right mind would ever assume a literal body-snatching had occurred. That was exactly why, even after “Evelyn” went nuclear and cut ties with the family, my parents and brother still secretly protected her from the shadows. Because I was their blood. I was the daughter they had cherished for 23 years, the little sister Connor had spoiled his entire life. The most hilarious part? Evelyn genuinely believed that all her success was due to her own “hard work” and “magnetic personality.” And Liam Sterling, the A-list actor she chased down and married, was just her ultimate trophy. “So what? What did you actually come here for today?” His eyes were still suspicious. He probably still thought this was just another one of my pathological lies. I was a bit disappointed, but I told myself to be patient. It would take time. “I want to see Noah. I can’t reach him. “I need your help.” Hearing that, Connor’s expression turned to ice. “You’re pregnant with another man’s baby, and you want to go see your first love?” His gaze dropped to my stomach. I grabbed Connor’s wrist and started dragging him toward the door. “What the hell are you doing?! Let go of me!” I looked at him, my voice completely unwavering. “I’m getting an abortion.” With another man’s child in my womb, I had absolutely no right to go see Noah. “Are you joking?” Connor tried to wrench his arm away, entirely refusing to believe I would actually do it. That girl, Evelyn, was a rabid, borderline-psychotic superfan of Liam Sterling. Her entire brain revolved around him. Based on the unhinged things she had done in the past, no one would ever believe she would willingly abort Liam’s child. But I wasn’t her. And this child was not something I ever wanted. This pregnancy was the biological proof of my violation. From the exact second I reclaimed my body, I knew this child was not going to survive. “You’ve completely lost your mind,” Connor said, looking at me in absolute, horrified shock. “I am not crazy. I am perfectly lucid.” I stood in the doorway, gripping Connor’s arm like a vice. “Connor. If something goes wrong during the surgery, please tell Mom, Dad, and Noah exactly what I just told you. “Tell them I love them.” Without another word, I pulled the heavy glass doors open and walked resolutely out of the office. I was going to surgically excise every single brand that parasite had left on me, and I was going to rebuild myself from the ground up. 04 Even as we sat on the cold benches in the hospital waiting room, Connor still couldn’t process it. “Chloe, are you seriously going through with this? “This is your own flesh and blood. “Did you cheat on him? Is that why you’re doing this? To destroy the evidence? “Tell me the truth.” Connor had just listened to the doctor explain the surgical procedure and the post-op care, and his brain was basically short-circuiting. I looked up at my older brother, who was currently pacing around like an ant on a hot skillet, and couldn’t help but try to comfort him. “This is Evelyn Harper and Liam Sterling’s child. It is not Chloe Vance’s child. “Once I recover from the surgery, I am going to see Noah. “Connor, please… can you just tell me how Noah is doing?” Just saying his name felt like thousands of needles stabbing directly into my heart. I had to watch him shatter into a million pieces. I had to watch the gentle, radiant smile on his face rot into a bone-deep, agonizing despair. We were supposed to be engaged. We had promised each other we were going to get married the following spring. And then the car crash happened, and everything was brutally, violently severed. Two childhood sweethearts. One trapped in the dark while her body was hijacked; the other slowly withering away into nothingness. Connor sat down next to me and let out a heavy, tragic sigh. My heart leaped into my throat, suspended over a terrifying abyss. “He’s not doing well. A few months ago, he… sigh. If they hadn’t found him in time, he’d be dead. “You know his psychological state was already incredibly fragile from the kidnapping when he was a kid. What happened between you two recently just completely pushed him over the edge.” Noah was terrified of pain. He hated it. If he actually tried to end his life, the emotional agony he was suffering must have been absolutely unbearable. When we were kids, he was kidnapped and went missing for weeks. I kept asking the adults, Where is Noah? Where did he go? No one answered me. They just looked down and sighed. Until the day he finally came back. He looked like a hollow, empty wooden puppet. His eyes were entirely dead. His leg was in a thick cast, his arms were wrapped in heavy gauze, and he was wearing a rigid neck brace. I stood next to his bed, too terrified to even touch him. Mrs. Brooks picked me up, fighting back tears. “Noah, look. Chloe is here. Your best friend came to see you.” Noah didn’t react at all. During his captivity, he had endured unimaginable trauma. He had been brutally beaten and locked in a pitch-black room for days on end. Psychiatrists cycled through the Brooks’ house like a revolving door. I practically moved into the Brooks’ mansion. I slept in his room. As a little girl, I didn’t understand why Noah wouldn’t say a single word, or why he refused to eat. I didn’t understand why he was absolutely terrified of the dark, refusing to sleep unless all the lights were on, or why he was paralyzed with fear whenever he saw a stranger. But I knew I had to protect him. He was my best friend. As the seasons changed, the physical wounds on his body slowly healed. But his psychological dependency on me grew exponentially. He would only play with me. He would only speak to me. No one thought it was weird. To everyone else, as long as he was eating and sleeping normally, that was a miracle in itself. We were always going to be together anyway, so it didn’t matter. Mrs. Brooks even joked with me once: “Chloe, when you grow up, do you want to take Noah as your husband?” I hugged the little boy sitting next to me and grinned brightly. “Yes! Thank you, Mrs. Brooks!” A faint, shy blush actually spread across Noah’s pale cheeks. He fundamentally believed that I was his lifelong anchor. But ironically… it was that exact, all-consuming devotion that ultimately destroyed him and shoved him into an even more terrifying abyss. Tears streamed relentlessly down my face. Connor patted me gently on the back. “If you’re actually serious about turning your life around this time, you better treat him right. “My biggest fear is that you’ll just get bored again and vanish. If you do that… Noah genuinely won’t survive it this time. “Over the past few years, Mr. Brooks has practically cried himself blind. The entire Brooks family is only holding together because Oliver is running the company.” I choked on a sob. “I won’t. I swear to God, even if I die, I will die by Noah’s side.” “Chloe Vance.” A nurse called my name from the doorway. “Connor, if anything goes wrong in there, you have to tell Mom, Dad, and Noah.” I gripped his hand tightly. I was terrified. I knew this surgery was routine, but I was terrified of a freak accident where I died, and no one would ever know the monster wasn’t actually me. The real Chloe Vance loved them. She loved them so incredibly much. “I’ll be right out here waiting for you. You’ll be fine. Nothing is going to go wrong.” The harsh surgical lights blinded me as I was put under. The vile, parasitic brand left on my body was finally being surgically excised. When I woke up, the sharp, sterile scent of bleach filled my nose. “My baby is awake.” “Oh, look! Our little Chloe is awake!” It was Mom. My Mom’s beautiful, familiar voice. “Does anything hurt? Are you uncomfortable anywhere?” My mom hovered over my bed, terrified I was in pain. “Waaaaah!” I threw my arms around my mom’s neck and burst into ugly, torrential sobs. “Mom, it hurt so much. I felt so awful. “I was locked in this pitch-black box for years. I was so terrified I was never going to see you again.” The second I saw my mother, the agonizing, suffocating injustice I had bottled up for seven years broke through the dam. For thousands of days and nights, I sat in the dark and cried for my dad, my mom, and Noah. And for Connor, too. My mom watched that thief brutally cut ties with our family, crying until she collapsed into my dad’s arms. Meanwhile, Evelyn Harper secretly laughed at them, calling them idiots for not realizing she wasn’t their real daughter. But she was also terrified of being exposed. So she threw away the homemade meals my mom brought, criticized the jewelry and clothes my mom bought her, and picked fights over every single expression of my mother’s love. In the end, she drained a massive chunk of our family’s assets, packed up the luxury jewelry my mom bought me, and ran off straight into Liam Sterling’s arms. She hit my family like a Category 5 hurricane, leaving us completely shattered. To her, my family was just “toxic baggage” she needed to dump. “Shh, don’t cry. It’s over now. “Mom’s here. Mom’s here. Mom knows my baby went through so much pain. Mom knows my real daughter would never, ever do those things. “But you can’t cry right now. Your body is still incredibly weak. “You just got out of surgery. You need to rest and heal.” My mom gently stroked my hair while my dad carefully wiped my tears away with a tissue. Connor, who had stepped out to take a phone call, walked back into the room holding a container of hot soup. “Eat up. The doctor said you need a liquid diet full of nutrients right now. “Everything you told me, I already told Mom and Dad. “Mom said you’re telling the truth, so I’m going to believe you for now.” He still looked a little awkward and hesitant, clearly still struggling to wrap his head around the sci-fi reality of the situation. It didn’t matter. I was Chloe Vance. My mom, my dad, and Connor would all realize it soon enough, and they would love me exactly like they used to.

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The summer I turned ten, my younger sister vanished. She disappeared on her way to drop off lunch for our parents. There were no security cameras, and no one saw her. Because I was the one who was supposed to deliver that food, my mother never spoke another word to me. Fifteen years later, I became a police officer, retracing the exact route my sister took that day over and over again. The past slowly resurfaced in my mind, piece by piece. Gradually putting together a truly heartbreaking truth. 01 August 10, 2009. The day my sister went missing. Back then, we lived in a run-down trailer park on the industrial outskirts of town. My father, Robert, worked as a laborer at the nearby chemical plant. My mother, Susan, ran a busy roadside convenience store. During the summer, lots of people stopped by the store to buy ice cream and cold drinks around noon, so my dad would go help out after his morning shift. They were always so busy they rarely had time to stop and eat. Because of that, almost the entire summer, I was the one making lunch for the whole family. I was ten years old. The kitchen had no air conditioning, only a single, beat-up box fan. Once the water on the stove boiled, the steam filled the room, and the fan only blew hot air around. Whenever I cooked, I was drenched in sweat. The day it happened, it was exceptionally hot. After I finished making the food, I felt like I was getting heatstroke. There was no one else home. My grandmother, Mary, lived in the house right next door to our lot, but she was a harsh, bitter woman. Not only would she refuse to help, but she’d also hurl insults at me, so I never dared to bother her. I splashed cold water on my face, pushed through the nausea, and served my sister, Lily, a bowl of cold pasta salad so she could eat first. Then I packed my parents’ portions into Tupperware and loaded them into a tote bag. Lily took a few bites of her pasta and looked up at me. “Chloe, you lie down in front of the fan. I’ll take the food to them today. I know the way. I’ll finish the rest of my lunch when I get back.” It was a ten-minute walk from our house to the store. There was only one dirt road, and it wasn’t completely isolated. I had walked it with her more times than I could count. Still, I was uneasy. “Are you sure you can carry it?” I asked, half-lying on the couch with a wet rag pressed to my forehead. “I’m fine! Don’t worry, Chloe. It’s a short walk. I’ll be right back.” Without giving me a chance to argue, she grabbed the bag and headed for the door. Because she was chronically ill, Lily was incredibly frail. When she gripped the bag, the bones in her shoulders jutted out. Her tiny silhouette looked so fragile from behind. Right before she stepped out, she turned and waved. “I’ll be right back! You better not steal my pasta while I’m gone!” “Don’t worry, I won’t eat it!” I waved her off impatiently, urging her to go. But she never came back. 02 “Do you think… if I had told her I was going to steal her food, she would have hurried back?” On January 9, 2024, I officially joined the city police department as a rookie officer. Eight months later, I found myself talking to my mentor, Detective Miller, about the cold case that had tortured me for fifteen years. “When did you realize she was gone?” Detective Miller asked. I rubbed my tired eyes. “Around 2:00 PM. After she left, I forced down a bite of food and fell into a deep sleep. I woke up to my dad slapping me across the face.” Even though it had been years, I remembered it vividly. The moment I opened my eyes, I was met with my father’s violently angry face. “Why the hell didn’t you bring us our food?! Are you trying to starve us?!” I burst into tears. “Lily went to deliver it ages ago!” It was only after I said it that I noticed her half-eaten bowl of pasta still sitting on the table. It suddenly hit me that Lily hadn’t returned. A freezing chill crawled up my spine, and the sheer terror sucked the tears right out of my eyes. 03 We searched everywhere. Back then, the security camera grid hadn’t expanded to the back roads; only the main highway had surveillance. Our family ran around like headless flies, searching frantically. The police dragged the nearby pond three times. Nothing. They hired people to lower cameras into the drainage pipes and local wells. Nothing. After we officially filed a report, the police checked the highway footage and found no suspicious persons. They canvassed the neighbors and residents from the adjacent neighborhoods. Not a single person had seen her. Lily had simply vanished. My mother beat her fists against my chest, collapsing onto the dirt, sobbing hysterically. “Why are you so lazy?! If you had just taken the food yourself, she wouldn’t have gone!” My grandmother, a strict religious fundamentalist, declared that the Lord would never forgive a selfish, lazy child who lost her own sister. In a fit of rage, my father kicked me five or six times, sending me sprawling to the ground. The neighbors didn’t know the full story, so no one stepped in to stop him. They just pointed their fingers at me, whispering. Like a wooden puppet, devoid of a single tear, I walked to the dirt road where Lily disappeared. I stood there stubbornly for three days, refusing to blink, staring at the intersection, desperately hoping her tiny figure would appear. But no miracle came. After that incident, my family barely spoke to me. My mother, in particular, never said another word to me for the next fifteen years. By middle school, I moved into the dorms. I’d come home on weekends, grab my allowance and clean clothes, and leave immediately. I didn’t dare stay a minute longer than necessary. Over the years, I walked the route she took to deliver that food countless times. I stared at every blade of grass, every single tree, hoping to find a clue, imagining a million different scenarios. It was absolute torture. 04 “How long did your afternoon naps usually last?” Miller asked, flipping through the old case file I had dug up. Back then, it was classified as a standard missing persons case, left to gather dust for over a decade. “It varied. Sometimes long, sometimes short. But that day, I felt abnormally exhausted. I slept for over two hours, right up until my dad hit me.” “You said you had heatstroke. Do you remember what it actually felt like?” I tried hard to recall the physical sensations of that noon. “Lethargy. Extreme drowsiness. Dizziness. My head felt incredibly heavy…” Miller listened, then fell silent for a moment. “Has it ever occurred to you that you might not have had heatstroke at all?” My scalp prickled. I stared at him, my eyes wide. “The symptoms of heatstroke are dizziness, headaches, muscle weakness, nausea, vomiting, and cold sweats,” Miller explained. “Your symptoms don’t sound like heatstroke. They sound like you ingested…” My heart dropped. Before he could even finish, I blurted out, “Ingested what?” “Sleeping pills. Or some kind of strong sedative,” Miller said, giving me a meaningful look. Why hadn’t I thought of that? The symptoms of sedative ingestion and heatstroke do overlap in some ways. But heatstroke has two very distinct trademarks: nausea/vomiting and cold sweats. I remembered that day perfectly—I didn’t have either! The hairs on my arms stood straight up. 05 Back then, the adults—including the police—just assumed I was a lazy kid making excuses to avoid walking in the heat. Everything I said was dismissed as a child trying to dodge responsibility. They focused all their energy on searching for a missing person. And because of that, they missed a massive, glaring clue. “Boss, what made you realize it wasn’t heatstroke?” The case finally had a breakthrough. I was trembling with adrenaline. “It’s simple. From the way you talk about her, it’s obvious you and your sister had a deeply bonded relationship. She was little, walking alone, and you were incredibly worried about her. Under normal circumstances, you would have fought to stay awake until she got back safely. But instead, you passed out hard. You slept for over two hours, and if your dad hadn’t hit you, you probably would have slept longer. Obviously, that wasn’t natural.” My eyes burned. I nodded. In all these years, Miller was the very first person to notice that the bond between me and my sister was extraordinary. When Lily went missing, my dad pointed his finger in my face and screamed: “What kind of older sister are you?! She goes missing and you just sleep through it?! Why didn’t you just die in your sleep?!” Back then, I couldn’t understand why I had fallen asleep so heavily. I hated myself just as much as they hated me. No one knew how much I loved her. No one knew that our bond went far beyond normal siblings. It wasn’t just because we spent 24 hours a day together before I started grade school. It was because, through freezing winters and scorching summers, we only had each other to rely on. Because my parents were always working at the store, they left us at home to be watched by our grandmother. But Grandma was a religious fanatic, constantly running off to church gatherings and prayer circles, leaving us alone in the house all day, completely neglected. Because of that, I learned to cook on the stove when I was six. If I burned the rice, we ate burnt rice together. If I cooked it perfectly, we shared the perfect meal. When other kids cried, they called for their mothers. But when Lily cried, she called for me. 06 “You were sweating heavily that day, which means you probably drank a lot of water. The problem was most likely in your cup,” Miller said, pointing at the mug on my desk. “But who would drug a ten-year-old? And why?” I couldn’t help but ask. As I said it, two horrifying possibilities flashed through my mind, each more despairing than the last. “Did your family have any enemies?” I shook my head. “My parents were all about keeping the peace for their business. The only person who had a grudge against us was the local town creep, but the police confirmed he had a solid alibi that day.” Just then, a commotion erupted in the precinct lobby. A couple had come in to report their child missing. “Officer, please! Our daughter is eight. She’s severely autistic. My husband was taking her to her therapy session, and she wandered off on the way! You have to help us!” The woman was frantic, practically dropping to her knees. The husband looked despondent, loudly blaming himself, but there was an unmistakable look of relief hiding in his eyes. Seeing this, I knew exactly what was going on. I hadn’t even been on the force for a year, but I had already seen cases like this several times. Usually, it involved a special-needs child. The parents couldn’t afford the medical bills, or they simply couldn’t handle the lifelong emotional and physical toll. Seeing no hope, they intentionally abandoned the child. But to avoid being judged or investigated, they’d come to the police station to put on a theatrical performance. Despite knowing this, I dutifully took down the husband’s statement. “We were walking past the boardwalk at the beach. She saw people feeding the seagulls and got hyper-fixated. I couldn’t pull her away. So I turned around to buy a bag of birdseed from a kiosk, and in that split second, she vanished.” The child allegedly went missing around 5:00 PM, which perfectly coincided with high tide at the beach. They claimed they searched everywhere before coming to the police, meaning it had already been over two hours since she “vanished.” If she fell into the ocean, it only took minutes to drown. If she was taken by a trafficker, two hours was more than enough time to reach the interstate or a train station. It was too late. Even so, the police department couldn’t just ignore it. Miller ordered me to issue an immediate Amber Alert, blasting it across social media using the beach as the radius epicenter. He dispatched a squad to all major transit hubs and contacted two professional search-and-rescue teams to scour the coastline through the night. We did everything humanly possible. The rest was up to fate. 07 After the couple thanked us profusely and left, Miller looked out at the pitch-black night sky. “The odds of that kid being alive are slim to none. It’s only a matter of time before a body washes up.” He turned to me. “Your sister had severe asthma, right? Is it possible that…” I shook my head frantically, denying it. “No! My family never saw her as a burden. After Lily went missing, I became the ultimate sinner of the house. My mom hasn’t spoken to me in fifteen years.” He studied me, tapping his pen against the case file. “What about your grandmother? How did she treat you two?” I flinched. “You suspect my grandma?” It was true—if it wasn’t an enemy, the only people who had access to my water cup to slip in a sedative were my parents or my grandmother. “Not entirely. I’m just considering all possibilities and analyzing the case,” Miller replied. “Honestly, she treated us terribly. But that day, she had an airtight alibi. People testified she was at a neighbor’s house for a prayer circle.” Miller fell silent for a moment, then asked, “Are you absolutely sure no one saw your sister on that road?” “That dirt road was mostly abandoned, especially at noon in the dead of summer. There were only three shacks along the path. Two were dive bars that didn’t open until nightfall. The third was a boiled peanut stand run by a blind man. He lived in the shack, but he never opened for business at noon. So, no. No one saw her.” Miller shook his head repeatedly. “That is bizarre. This case really defies logic.” If even Miller was stumped, the hope that had just ignited inside me was extinguished. I stared at the photo of the missing autistic girl on my computer screen. She was the same age my sister was. She had the same big, dark eyes. My heart felt like lead. Seeing my despair, Miller encouraged me: “Chloe, don’t give up. As long as a body hasn’t been found, there’s hope she’s alive. Try to remember the details. In police work, we rely on intuition and meticulousness. If someone did something, they left a trace. Go back to your old neighborhood when you have time. See if it jogs your memory.” I nodded.

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After I suddenly collapsed and died in my dorm room, the university, desperate to avoid a scandal, offered my mom a job in the cafeteria to keep her quiet. Then, one by one, my roommates started dying. When the police reopened the investigation into my death, my mom just smiled calmly. “My daughter died of a sudden, natural cardiac event. Why would you be looking for a murderer?” 01 Rumors were spreading around campus that Dorm Room 332 was cursed. In just one month, three girls from that room had died. Bed 1: Me, Chloe Miller. Dead from sudden cardiac arrest. Bed 2: Ashley Parker. Strangled to death in the woods behind the library. Bed 3: Madison Reed. Brutally dismembered, her limbs missing. The only one left alive was Bed 4: Emily Carter. She dragged Ashley and Madison’s parents into the university cafeteria, pointing a shaking finger directly at the busiest food counter. “It’s her! That lunch lady! She’s Chloe Miller’s mother! She’s the murderer!” Then, she screamed at the top of her lungs hysterically: “Stop eating! You’re eating human flesh!” Amidst the screams and the sound of students gagging, my mom didn’t even look up. She scooped up a ladle of braised pork, casually shook half of it back into the tray, and slammed the rest onto a student’s plate. Only then did she drop the heavy metal ladle, wipe her calloused hands on her apron, and point right back at Emily. “If you have proof, go call the cops! If you don’t, shut your damn mouth before I break your legs!” Ashley and Madison’s parents lunged forward, trying to drag my mom out from behind the counter. My mom casually picked up a massive meat cleaver, instantly freezing them in their tracks. “Cowards,” my mom muttered. She turned to the terrified students in the cafeteria and yelled: “Sit back down! Nobody leaves until they finish their food! You’re college students, act like it! Don’t waste food!” 02 The police arrived at the cafeteria shortly after. During a search of the staff locker room, they found evidence. A thick rope tied into a hangman’s knot, and a bloodstained butcher knife. The detectives placed the evidence on the table in front of my mom. She scoffed and defended herself: “That rope is what I use to do pull-ups in the morning. I didn’t strangle Ashley. “And that knife is what I use to chop pork ribs. What does that have to do with Madison? “I’m not a murderer. I’m a good person.” Nobody believed her ridiculous explanation. The murder weapons from the recent killings had never been found. Now, they were sitting in my mom’s locker. The police identified her as the prime suspect and took her away in handcuffs. But what absolutely no one expected was that the DNA on the rope belonged exclusively to my mom. Just her skin cells. And the blood on the knife? Laboratory tests confirmed it was 100% pig blood. The evidence didn’t match the crimes at all. The next day, my mom was back behind the cafeteria counter. She scowled at the students whispering and pointing at her. “Why is everyone hiding from me?! Come get your food! I told you I’m a good person, why won’t anyone believe me?” 03 My name is Chloe Miller. I lived in Bed 1 of Dorm 332. A month ago, I died silently in my dorm room. By the time my roommates found me, rigor mortis had already set in. Everyone believed I had died from a sudden cardiac event. Even I—who was now floating around as a ghost—believed that was what killed me. All I remembered was waking up that morning feeling dizzy and violently nauseous, before completely blacking out. When I woke up again, I was a ghost floating in the night sky, watching my mom scream at the university administration. “My daughter died at your university! You are going to pay me a million dollars in compensation!” My mom was throwing an absolute tantrum on the lawn outside my dorm building. Dozens of students gathered around, whispering: “Who is that crazy lady?” “That’s Chloe Miller’s mom. The girl who died this morning.” “Chloe Miller? Why does that name sound so familiar?” “Oh, remember the leaked photos on the campus forum? That was her.” “Ohhhh, the girl who was exposed by her roommate for being a sugar baby? No wonder her mom is acting like trash. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” 04 When the gossip reached my mom’s ears, she threw an even bigger fit. Finally, the Dean of Students, Richard Stone, arrived on the scene. Looking absolutely furious, Dean Stone pulled my mom aside to negotiate. He offered her a one-time settlement of $250,000, plus a permanent, union-protected job in the university cafeteria with full benefits and a pension. The conditions: My mom had to stop causing a scene, she could not file a police report, she could not request an autopsy, and she had to sign a non-disclosure agreement to help the university sweep my death under the rug. My mom agreed immediately. She signed the paperwork with a massive grin, practically drooling as she counted the zeros on the bank transfer. After that, she went up to my dorm room. Humming a cheerful tune, she started packing up my belongings. Students from the neighboring rooms crowded the hallway, watching in disgust. My mom completely ignored them. She greedily peeled the decorative wallpaper off my walls, stuffing it into a trash bag, muttering to herself about how much she could sell the scrap paper for at the recycling center. A girl from the room next door whispered loudly: “Her daughter’s body isn’t even cold yet, and all she cares about is how much money she can make selling her dead kid’s stuff? What kind of mother is that?!” Another girl gossiped: “I heard Chloe had to take out massive student loans and work three off-campus jobs just to afford tuition. Is that true?” A senior who knew me nodded: “It’s true! Her mom didn’t give her a single dime. In fact, her mom constantly harassed her and demanded Chloe send her money!” Even the dorm RA couldn’t watch anymore. She yelled: “If Chloe could see this, it would break her heart!” 05 After my mom left campus, things went quiet. Until the day of my funeral. A few of my close friends from high school traveled to my hometown to say their final goodbyes. My cheap casket lay on the ground, surrounded by white paper flowers. The quiet, muffled sounds of my friends crying drifted through the cemetery. The only thing ruining the somber atmosphere was my mom screaming curses at me. She rested one foot on my casket, spat on the ground in disgust, and yelled loudly enough for the whole town and all my friends to hear: “Spit! Useless burden when she was born, and a short-lived disappointment when she died! “She died before she even made enough money to take care of me in my old age! What an ungrateful bitch!” Under the horrified stares of everyone present, my mom kicked my casket hard. She yelled at the gravediggers holding their shovels: “Hurry up and bury this bad luck! Whoever digs the fastest gets an extra fifty bucks!” After we got home, my mom acted like nothing had happened. She went to the local market to buy groceries. Some neighbors recognized her and tried to offer their condolences. But my mom just smiled smugly: “She was just a girl, who cares if she died? If she lived and got married, I’d probably only get a few thousand bucks for the dowry. She died and the school gave me a quarter of a million dollars AND a union job with a pension! That’s a massive profit! “Hey, is this beef fresh? I don’t want it if it isn’t! I have money now, I’m buying the good stuff to celebrate!” Whether it was the neighbors or my friends, everyone cursed my mom behind her back for being a heartless monster. But I was the only one who knew… the only thing they saw was exactly what my mom wanted them to see. Seven days after I was buried, Ashley Parker died. She was strangled to death, her body dumped in the woods behind the library. The students who found her body said Ashley’s mouth was open in a silent scream… but her tongue had been completely severed and removed. 06 Photos of the crime scene and wild rumors exploded across the campus. The university couldn’t suppress a murder this brutal, and the police were called immediately. Security cameras showed Ashley taking a phone call, then walking alone toward the woods. Unfortunately, there were no cameras inside the woods, and the cameras didn’t capture anyone suspicious following her. The person she was on the phone with was her boyfriend, Kevin Stone. But Kevin vehemently denied making the call. He claimed he had lost his phone earlier that day and hadn’t received his replacement SIM card yet. Kevin’s roommate, David, backed up his alibi, testifying that they were playing video games in their dorm the entire time. The police interviewed dozens of students, and no one believed Kevin would murder Ashley. They were the campus “It Couple.” They were deeply in love, and Kevin was genuinely devastated by her death. I knew Kevin. He was a wealthy, arrogant trust-fund kid, but Ashley had him wrapped completely around her finger. To put it nicely, he was incredibly devoted. To put it bluntly, he was a brainless puppet who did whatever she wanted. 07 After Ashley’s death, Kevin locked himself in his dorm, getting blackout drunk every single night. His roommate, David—his closest friend—stayed by his side, patiently comforting him. One night, I saw Kevin sitting on the floor of his dorm balcony, surrounded by empty liquor bottles. David was consoling him: “Bro, I know it hurts. Losing someone like that… anyone would lose their mind. “Cry it out. But once you’re done crying, you have to let it go. If Ashley is watching you from heaven right now, seeing you destroy yourself like this would break her heart.” Kevin grabbed a bottle, chugged a massive gulp of whiskey, and burped, the smell of alcohol heavy in the air. “Dave… didn’t you used to have a massive crush on Chloe? “When you tried to ask her out, Ashley totally blocked you and refused to let you near her. You two got into a huge screaming match over it, right? “Now Chloe is dead, and you’re acting like nothing happened.” David let out a cold, disgusted laugh. “Chloe told me she didn’t want to date in college. “I thought she was this pure, innocent girl focused on her studies. But the truth? She was whoring herself out as a sugar baby to some rich old creep! “Even if she was standing butt-naked in front of me right now, I wouldn’t look twice at a cheap slut like her!” The night wind carried their nauseating conversation directly to me. Ghosts don’t have physical ears. I couldn’t cover them to block out the sound. If I could, I would have turned into a vengeful demon and ripped the people spreading these lies into shreds. But I still didn’t know who originally started the rumors that destroyed my reputation. A few days later, the police released an update. The cybercrime unit had recovered the data from Ashley’s hard drive. They found a critical, undeniable piece of evidence: The anonymous user who posted the fabricated “sugar baby” rumors and deepfakes of me on the campus forum… was the victim, Ashley Parker. 08 A few months ago, deepfake photos of my face edited onto explicit images were posted anonymously on the university forum. The post claimed I was a gold-digging sugar baby sleeping with married men, and even attached a picture of my student ID card. I went to the police, but they couldn’t do anything. They told me cyber-defamation was a civil matter. I would have to sue the forum platform to get the IP address of the poster, and then file a private civil lawsuit against the individual. Or, I could just ignore it and pretend it never happened. Filing a lawsuit and hiring a lawyer required money. And I had absolutely no money. The post was eventually deleted by moderators, but the harassment, the insults, and the slut-shaming lasted for months. Even after I died, people were still passing around the fake photos. And the source files for those fake photos were sitting right on Ashley’s laptop. After Ashley died, the police questioned my mom, asking if she knew about the cyberbullying I endured. My mom didn’t even look up from snapping green beans. She spat angrily: “Of course I knew! That ungrateful little bitch! I starved myself to pay her tuition, and she goes off and becomes a whore for some rich old man?! “Officers, you tell me! She was living the high life, sleeping on piles of cash, and she never sent a single dime back to her own mother!” The two female detectives were visibly stunned. As they left the cafeteria, I heard them whispering to each other: “That poor girl. How did she end up with a monster like that for a mother?” But I didn’t feel sorry for myself at all. Because absolutely no one knew what happened on the night Ashley Parker died. My mom snuck past all the campus security guards, hiked out to the town cemetery in the dead of night, and placed a small glass jar on my grave. “Chloe, watch closely. Every single person who hurt you is going to pay with their blood!” Inside the wide-mouthed glass jar, floating in preservative fluid… was a freshly severed human tongue. 09 The police couldn’t find a single shred of physical evidence linking anyone to the crime. It was as if an invisible hand had meticulously wiped away every clue. With Ashley dead, Dorm 332 only had two girls left: Madison and Emily. Emily was completely paranoid, constantly terrified someone was coming to murder her, jumping at her own shadow. Madison, on the other hand, was entirely unbothered. She strutted in and out of the cafeteria every day, completely ignoring the campus rumors that the “Cafeteria Lady” murdered Ashley. In fact, every time she got food, she specifically went to my mom’s counter. She would look my mom dead in the eye and say loudly enough for everyone to hear: “Hey, lady. My name is Madison Reed. I was Chloe’s roommate. “I don’t care if you murdered Ashley or not. Just know this: I never bullied Chloe. If you’re looking for revenge, look elsewhere. Don’t come looking for me.” My mom rolled her eyes aggressively and snapped back: “What the hell are you talking about, you crazy brat?! I don’t have a slut for a daughter!” The students waiting in line were amazed by Madison’s sheer audacity. Madison walked away with her food tray, scoffing dismissively. “If you didn’t do anything wrong, you don’t have to be afraid of ghosts. Move, I’m eating.” But did Madison really not do anything wrong? A few nights ago, I watched my mom sneak out of the staff dorms, perfectly avoiding the blind spots of the campus security cameras, and break into the administrative building. I have no idea how my mom bypassed the electronic security doors. All I know is she picked the lock to my academic advisor’s office, rummaged through the filing cabinets, and pulled out two manila folders. They were the applications for the Federal Pell Grant and the university’s Needs-Based Scholarship. One folder had my name written on it. Wearing rubber gloves, my mom gently, tenderly traced her finger over the letters of my name on the folder. But when she opened the folder and pulled the documents out, she completely froze. The folder was empty. It contained nothing but blank, white printer paper. 10 I remember exactly what happened two months ago. My academic advisor posted an announcement in the class group chat: The university had just received funding for an emergency Needs-Based Financial Aid Grant. Any student who met the low-income requirements needed to submit their application packets immediately. I spent hours writing my personal essay and gathering my financial documents. I handed the packet directly to my advisor. But a few days later, my application was officially rejected. “You already received the Academic Merit Scholarship. You cannot double-dip and receive the Needs-Based Grant as well. It’s university policy,” my advisor told me flatly. But I had read the university handbook cover to cover. The Academic Merit Scholarship and the Needs-Based Grant were from entirely different funding pools. There was absolutely no rule preventing a student from receiving both. But my advisor refused to listen and firmly rejected my application. Left with no choice, I had to give up. Because the grant was highly competitive, each academic major was only allotted two spots. According to university rules, to finalize the selection process, the applicants had to give a short speech in front of a panel of professors and student representatives. The speeches were recorded and submitted to the Financial Aid Board for review. The fifth student to walk up to the podium… was Madison Reed. She shoved her brand-new iPhone 15 Pro into the pocket of her designer jacket, pinched her printed speech, and stood at the podium, impatiently tapping her expensive acrylic nails against the wood. “Hello professors, hello students. My name is Madison Reed. “I come from an incredibly impoverished family. When I was very young, my father passed away, leaving my mother to raise me entirely on her own. “When I was little, to take care of me, my mother couldn’t hold down a full-time job. We survived barely scraping by on the money she made working grueling odd jobs. “When I finally grew up, I worked part-time jobs after school to help pay the bills. “However… tragedy struck again. My mother was diagnosed with a severe, terminal illness. To pay for her medical treatments, we not only drained our meager savings, but went into massive, crippling debt…” The students in the audience immediately started whispering. The advisor demanded silence multiple times, but the quiet, confused chatter continued. “Wait, Madison’s dad is dead? I literally saw him drop her off in a Mercedes last month.” “She gets an allowance of like $2,000 a month. Since when does she work part-time?!” “I literally saw her post an Instagram story last week complaining that her mom went on vacation to Hawaii without her! When did her mom get terminal cancer?!” I was the only person in that room who knew the truth. Madison was reading my essay. Word for word. That wasn’t just my pain. That was my life. 11 The whispers in the classroom grew louder and louder until it was a deafening roar in my ears. I grabbed my head, covering my ears, curling into a tight ball in my seat, desperately trying to block out the psychological torture of hearing someone steal my trauma for profit. Madison gave a half-hearted, dismissive bow, walked off the podium, and shot me a mocking, condescending glare as she sat back down. The moment the panel concluded, I walked straight out of the classroom and called the State Department of Education’s anonymous whistleblower hotline. The very next day, the Vice Dean called me into his office. “Chloe, the university is fully aware of what happened. “We have decided to officially revoke Madison’s eligibility for the grant, and a formal disciplinary warning will be placed on her academic record. As for your academic advisor, the university is issuing an official reprimand, revoking his annual performance bonus, and placing him on strict probation. If this happens again, he will be terminated immediately. “If you are satisfied with this outcome, we kindly request that you withdraw your formal complaint with the State. “You are a sophomore. You still have two more years before you graduate. Escalating this further will only make things difficult for everyone involved. Don’t you agree? “I personally guarantee that next year’s Needs-Based Grant will have your name on it!” The carrot and the stick. It’s the oldest, most effective management tactic in the book. I could afford to offend a classmate. I could afford to offend an advisor. But if I wanted to graduate with my degree, I could absolutely not afford to offend the university administration. I thought the incident was over. I had no idea that Madison would harbor a venomous, psychotic grudge against me for it.

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