Category: English

1 My boyfriend wanted me to come home with him for the holidays to discuss our wedding plans. Before we left, he dragged me along to buy gifts for his family. As we entered the subway station, his adopted sister, Stella, suddenly pulled him ahead, rushing into the train car. By the time I reacted and tried to catch up, the heavy doors slammed shut, nearly trapping my hand. They exchanged a knowing glance, a shared smirk, as if I were putting on a clown show just for them. The subway began to pick up speed. Just as it was about to disappear from my sight, Stella locked eyes with me, then turned and planted a triumphant, exaggerated kiss on my boyfriend, Eason’s, cheek. Eason didn’t flinch. His arm, almost instinctively, wrapped around her waist. When I finally got home late that night, he offered me a bowl of plain noodles and said, “Stella’s just a kid, you know, playful. Don’t mind her.” I glanced at the bland, oil-free noodles, then quietly arranged to meet a friend for a late-night bite. Only then did I turn to him, calmly, “It’s fine. You two grew up together, it’s normal to be close. It was just a kiss on the cheek, not like… sleeping together. I get it.” Eason, clearly taken aback, seemed to struggle to process my words. I hadn’t flown into a rage, screaming and crying over Stella, as I usually did. He watched as I moved to leave again, blocking my path. “You’re… not upset?” he questioned, a tremor in his voice. I used to lose my composure, weeping and raging over Stella, countless times. Yet, he never once distanced himself from her. If he was never going to change, what was left for me to be upset about? This time, I didn’t want him, either. … I didn’t answer Eason’s question. Instead, I turned and put my jacket back on. He stood there, holding that bowl of plain noodles, his gaze oddly lost. Eason was undeniably handsome, the undisputed campus heartthrob back in college, and his family was well-off. When he pursued me, he spared no effort, lavishing me with attention and grand gestures. My friends all told me I was lucky to have found such a boyfriend. But no one knew that he always had Stella, his “sister,” trailing behind him. Eason set the bowl down and reached for my hand. “Today, at the subway station, Stella was just messing around with me. She’s still young, you know, just likes to play pranks. I’m her brother; I have to look out for her…” I gently pulled my hand away, offering him a faint smile. “I know. I’m not angry.” Eason froze. In the past, every one of Stella’s “pranks” would send me into a fit of hysterical tears. She’d deliberately save suggestive texts on his phone, suddenly whisk him away from our dates with a feigned cough, or linger in his room in her nightgown until late at night. When I finally reached my breaking point and confronted him, Eason would always use that helpless tone: “I found Stella abandoned outside the orphanage. She has no family; she only has me to rely on. You’re going to be my wife; you’re practically her older sister. What’s wrong with being a little understanding?” Each time I conceded, Stella’s provocations grew bolder, more brazen. “I’m going out for a bit. Meeting a friend for late-night food.” I picked up my bag, circumnavigating him towards the door. “Going out this late? I made you noodles, didn’t I?” Eason’s voice held a hint of displeasure. I looked back at him. “My taste buds are a bit more… adventurous. I don’t really care for your noodles.” Eason stiffened. “But you used to say you loved my cooking most?” Yes, when you love someone, even your tastes subtly shift to match theirs. It was a shame my affection was never truly cherished. I pulled open the door and stepped directly into the night. Eason, persistent, called out, “I can make you something else!” “No need.” I closed the door, hearing the distinct clatter of a bowl and chopsticks being set down heavily on the other side. 2 My best friend, Claire, gasped when she saw me. “Oh my God, Violet! What’s wrong? You look awful. Did Eason upset you again?” Sitting in the steamy hotpot restaurant, I calmly recounted the day’s events. Claire was so incensed she nearly flipped the table. “My boyfriend holds my hand when we go out, afraid I’ll get lost or squashed. He even lets me get on first! What the hell was Eason doing, grabbing his ‘sister’ like that? Is he crazy? Is she his sister or his girlfriend?” I dipped a piece of tripe into the broth, speaking slowly and deliberately. “You get used to it.” Claire stared at me for a long moment, then lowered her voice. “You’re different.” My hand, holding the chopsticks, paused. I said nothing. Claire continued, “Normally, you’d be crying your eyes out by now, swollen like walnuts, asking me what to do. Why are you so calm today?” I took a sip of my drink. “I’m tired of crying. The tears have just run out.” The truth was, it wasn’t that I didn’t want to cry; it was that I couldn’t. My well of tears had dried up. Six months ago, on Eason’s birthday, I’d meticulously prepared a candlelit dinner. He’d promised to be home early, but by ten at night, there was still no sign of him. I called, and Stella answered. “Violet, we’re at the hospital. I have a fever, and Eason brought me to get an IV.” In the background, Eason’s gentle voice drifted through the phone: “Stella, put down the phone. Come drink some hot water.” He took the phone, not bothering to explain why he was at the hospital with Stella without telling me. He simply said, “She has a fever of 100 degrees; I can’t leave her alone. You go ahead and eat. Don’t wait for me.” That night, I waited until two in the morning for him to return. Seeing me still in the living room, he frowned. “Why aren’t you asleep?” “Waiting for you.” “I told you not to.” “It’s your birthday today.” Eason paused, his tone softening. “I’m sorry. Stella was sick; I really couldn’t leave.” I said nothing, silently retrieving the cake from the fridge. It had softened a bit, and the candles on the holder were tilted. Eason sat down, took a reluctant bite, then put down his fork. “Actually, Stella and I already had cake at the hospital today.” He pushed the plate away, rubbing his temples tiredly. “You shouldn’t bother with this anymore. It’s a waste if we don’t finish it.” I sat alone in the living room, staring at the melted cake. Suddenly, everything felt utterly pointless. From then on, I stopped arguing with him over Stella. I quietly watched their “sibling affection,” watched him cancel our dates countless times for Stella, watched Stella increasingly assert her claim over him in front of me. And Eason, from his initial explanations, to growing impatience, to now, a sense of entitlement. He thought I’d finally matured. But what he didn’t know was that I’d reconnected with a former professor who had consistently encouraged me to join his research team, and I was beginning to prepare my application materials for graduate school abroad. My undergraduate grades were excellent, and the professor had always pushed me to pursue further studies. At the time, for Eason’s sake, I had given up a scholarship opportunity and chosen to stay in the city for work. Thinking back, I was incredibly foolish. Returning home after our late-night meal, it was already one in the morning. Eason was still awake, sitting on the living room sofa, his face dark. “So, you finally decided to come home?” I changed my shoes without looking at him. “Had a good chat with a friend, stayed out a bit longer.” “Which friend?” “Claire.” “A guy?” I paused, turning to him. “Do you really think so little of me?” Eason’s expression faltered, as if he realized he’d spoken out of turn. But I had already caught a glimpse of his phone screen, displaying a message from Stella. The latest one glaringly read: “Brother, Violet was so mad today and went out so late. Do you think she went to meet some other guy?” I forced a tight smile. She truly missed no opportunity to smear my name. 3 Eason stammered, his voice softening. “I was just worried about you.” “You’d do better to worry about your sister.” I said flatly. “A young woman calling you drunk from a bar in the middle of the night, isn’t that more concerning?” Eason’s face changed. “How did you know?” Last month, Stella had called him at three in the morning, weeping dramatically, saying she was being harassed at a bar. Eason rushed out without a second thought and didn’t return until dawn. He explained that by the time he arrived, Stella was passed out drunk, so he had to get a room for her to rest, and he stayed by her side all night. “Her phone died, so she used the bar’s landline to call me.” Eason had said then, “I couldn’t just leave her, could I?” I hadn’t argued or made a scene, just nodded. “Of course not. She only has you as a brother.” Now, Eason looked at my calm face, a strange unease growing in him. “Violet, Stella and I are really just siblings. She grew up following me around; I only feel familial affection for her.” I smiled. “I know.” These three words had been escaping my lips with increasing frequency lately. Eason became even more anxious. “Then why have you been so cold to me these past few days?” “Have I?” I tilted my head, thinking. “Perhaps because I’m preparing for a business trip.” “Where to?” “Seattle, for a training program.” I lied without batting an eye. In reality, I was going for an online interview with Harvard. My professor had already written a recommendation letter for me; if all went well, I’d receive an acceptance letter in a few months. Eason breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good. I thought…” “You thought what?” I asked. He shook his head, saying nothing. I knew what he was thinking – that I was throwing another tantrum because of Stella. How ridiculous. He knew perfectly well what I was upset about. But in his mind, I was always the unreasonable, petty girlfriend, while Stella was the innocent, vulnerable sister who needed his protection. On the day of my “business trip,” Eason offered to drive me to the airport. I declined. “No need. Your work is more important. I’ll just take a taxi.” “It’s only half a day off. I’ll take you.” In the end, I let him, simply not wanting to become fodder for the neighborhood gossip. We barely spoke on the way. As we neared the airport, Eason suddenly broke the silence. “Violet, when you get back, let’s talk seriously about the wedding. I’ve already discussed it with my parents; the dowry, the house—everything’s fine.” I turned to look out the window. “No rush. Let’s wait a bit longer.” I was actually waiting for my Harvard acceptance letter. Eason’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. He looked at me, his eyes full of surprise. For three years, I had been the one pushing for marriage. Now that he’d finally conceded, I was the one playing it cool. Eason was silent for a while, then said, “Are you still angry with me because of Stella?” He cleared his throat. “I promise I’ll be more careful in the future. But she is my sister, after all; some level of care is unavoidable.” “I understand.” I responded mechanically. At the airport, Eason tried to help me with my luggage, but I evaded him. “This is fine. You should go back to work.” He stood there, watching me walk towards the terminal, then suddenly called out, “Violet!” I turned back. “Come back soon,” he said. I nodded, turning to enter the main hall. During my days in Seattle, I successfully completed the interview. The interviewers were very interested in my research direction and immediately expressed a positive attitude. Back at the hotel, I checked my phone to find a dozen missed calls, all from Eason. And several WeChat messages: “Did you arrive?” “Why aren’t you answering your phone?” “Violet, are you mad at me?” “Stella came to see me today. I told her to be more careful in the future, and she cried for a long time, saying you don’t like her.” I didn’t reply to any of them. A little while later, Eason sent another message: “Violet, you’ve changed.”

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When the housekeeper’s daughter was suddenly attacked by a deranged man waving a machete on the street, my brother rushed forward without a second thought to save her. I, on the other hand, suggested we hide in a safe place and call 911 immediately. The police arrived in time, but the housekeeper’s daughter, Chloe, had her face slashed and ruined, eventually falling into severe depression. Chloe blamed me for her disfigurement and set a fire trying to burn me alive. I discovered it in time and escaped, but Chloe died in the blaze. My parents kicked me out of the house. They looked at me with cold, disgusted eyes: “You selfish sociopath. You should have paid for Chloe’s life with your own.” My brother threw me out onto the street: “You already deserved to die for letting Chloe get disfigured, and now you’ve taken her life. You deserve to rot.” The housekeeper then posted a heavily exaggerated version of events online, and I was cyberbullied to death by the entire internet. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day Chloe was attacked. I sneered and nudged my brother beside me: “Liam, what are you waiting for? Hurry up and save Chloe!” 1. The deranged man swung the massive machete right at my brother. Liam instinctively raised his arms to block it. Then came a bloodcurdling scream. I watched helplessly as my brother’s hands were hacked at, slash after slash, fingers flying into the air. And I just stood on the sidelines, watching it all coldly. I looked completely unbothered, as if that man wasn’t my brother, but someone less than a stranger. No one knew that at this very moment, I truly wished my brother would just be hacked to death by this maniac. It would be a release for me. Unfortunately, his life was cheap, and the Grim Reaper didn’t want to take him that early. When the police finally arrived, Liam only had one breath left. His white button-down shirt was dyed completely crimson. There were also several deep machete gashes on his thighs. I threw myself down next to my brother, my voice trembling. “Liam, you have to hold on! You can’t fall asleep, or what will Mom and Dad do?!” No one knew that I was viciously pinching the open wounds on my brother’s body. When no one was looking, I even rubbed handfuls of dirt deep into his gashes. He was already so weak he couldn’t even tell where the pain was coming from, so naturally, he didn’t notice what I was doing. “Where’s Chloe? Is she okay?” Liam’s voice was barely a whisper. To still be thinking of the housekeeper’s daughter at a time like this… it must be true love. It’s a pity he had no idea that the person he protected with his life had long since bolted. She had run all the way home, not caring whether he lived or died. This was the person he had always loved. Just like my brother—an ungrateful, selfish backstabber! “Don’t worry, she’s perfectly fine. The housekeeper said she’s already safely at home. You don’t need to worry about her.” The moment I finished speaking, my brother let out a sigh of relief and then passed out cold. When Mom and Dad rushed to the hospital, they only saw me sitting outside the operating room. “What exactly happened?! How could something like this happen?!” My parents were panting heavily, their eyes red with tears. I told them the story, adding plenty of fuel to the fire, and heavily exaggerated my own actions. I told them how I tried so hard to hold him back, but just couldn’t stop him. “I thought Chloe would at least yell for help, or at the very least call 911. I never imagined she’d just abandon my brother and run away.” The sound of my sobbing filled the hallway. But it was just sound—there were no tears. Hearing me say this, my parents’ impression of Chloe instantly plummeted. “Where is Chloe now?!” When my mom heard that my brother had thrown himself into danger entirely for Chloe, her tone turned venomous. You have to understand, she usually treated Chloe better than she treated me, her own biological daughter. Now, hearing that Chloe had indirectly caused her son’s severe injuries, where was all that previous affection? I, of course, told the absolute truth. When my mom learned that Chloe had actually just gone home, she was furious beyond words. “What a lack of upbringing! Truly fitting for a housekeeper’s daughter.” “My Liam, if it weren’t for her, wouldn’t be in emergency surgery right now. If anything happens to my son, I will never let her off the hook!” I lowered my eyes and said softly. “Liam is blessed; he will definitely pull through.” “What Chloe did was indeed too much, but if we go confront her now, Liam will definitely blame us when he wakes up.” “For his mental and physical recovery, let’s not bring this up for now.” Only then did my mom notice me. Perhaps because she was too fragile right now, she pulled me into a tight hug and burst into tears. “Emma, thank God I still have you.” “You’re right. Bringing up that little bitch right now won’t do any good. The most important thing is for your brother to wake up soon.” This long-absent maternal love didn’t cause a single ripple in my heart. I could never forget the look of disgust in my parents’ eyes when they looked at me in my past life. I remembered how they personally said they regretted ever giving birth to me. Only then did I learn that I wasn’t even supposed to be born. It was my dad who said they should keep me so they could marry me off for a hefty dowry later. No wonder when I was driven into a corner, my parents didn’t care at all. They even told me to go die, to die far away, so I wouldn’t drag them down. Just then, the operating room doors swung open. The doctor sighed. “The patient sustained multiple deep lacerations. He is currently out of the woods regarding imminent death, but as for the rest… we’ve done everything we could.” Liam was wheeled out. Looking at him wrapped up like a mummy, I found out that his right hand had been amputated. His left hand was still there, but only two fingers remained. He looked absolutely horrifying. Not to mention the machete gashes all over his body. After my dad went to speak with the doctor, I overheard the rest of the grim news. There were several deep cuts near his upper thighs, which had severely impacted his reproductive capabilities. Hearing this, my mom’s world collapsed. Unable to bear the shock, she fainted dead away. 2. A few days passed, and Liam’s condition began to stabilize. He finally woke from his coma. But he found it incredibly difficult to accept his physical mutilation, constantly throwing massive tantrums. “My hand! Where is my hand?! Why didn’t you save my hand?!” “I was just starting my career! How am I supposed to be a dentist without a hand?! How am I supposed to hold the tools?!” “Is my life just ruined?!” In my past life, I had thought about his future, but he hadn’t appreciated it. In this life, his future was crystal clear. He screamed, he roared. The entire hospital room was filled with his impotent rage. My mom was streaming tears, only able to comfort him softly. “There was nothing we could do. The doctor said when you were brought in, everything was hacked to pieces.” “If they didn’t operate immediately, I would have lost you entirely.” “You are my son. I couldn’t accept that.” Hearing this, Liam didn’t calm down at all. “But what about me?! Aren’t I just a cripple now?!” Just then, my dad walked in after paying the hospital bills. Seeing Liam throwing a fit, rage surged to his head, and he slapped Liam across the face. Even though a look of regret flashed across my dad’s face immediately after, his tone remained harsh. “What else could we do?! Didn’t you choose this yourself?!” “You insisted on saving the housekeeper’s daughter! Shouldn’t you have thought clearly if you could bear the consequences?!” “You charged in there acting like a hero. Did you ever think about me and your mother, and this whole family?!” “If you died, did you think your mother could survive it?!” “The damage is already done. Focus on recovering your body first, and don’t worry about anything else.” Perhaps the slap woke him up, or perhaps it was because Dad had spoken, but Liam finally backed down. He was forced to calm himself. But seeing the dark gloom in his eyes, I knew this was far from over. To reinforce my brother’s resentment, I had to guide him. I would purposefully scroll through Instagram when I had nothing else to do, showing Liam every single update regarding Chloe. “Liam, look, Chloe posted again. Her dress is so pretty.” “It looks like she went to Malibu to eat King Crab. I want to eat that too.” “Wow, Chloe’s bag is so sparkly. It must have diamonds encrusted on it, right? I’m so jealous!” Liam’s face grew uglier and uglier. Of course it did. He was severely injured, lying in a hospital bed unable to move. Meanwhile, the woman he saved with his life was out in Malibu eating King Crab and buying new dresses and designer bags. Anyone would have a problem with that. And everything I did was to ensure he had a problem with it, to drive a wedge between him and Chloe. Although time alone would eventually achieve this effect, my adding fuel to the fire would speed up the process significantly. Liam, I’m doing this for your own good. I’m helping you see clearly exactly what kind of trash you sacrificed yourself for. Don’t worry, I’ll collect my consultation fee later. Days passed, and Liam constantly stared at the door of his room. Every time the door opened, his eyes would light up. But when he saw it was just a nurse or our parents, the light would instantly die. I knew exactly who he was waiting for. Even on the days Chloe didn’t actually go out, I would use Photoshop to seamlessly edit photos of her. I made her look like she was happily enjoying beautiful scenery, angering Liam so much his heart rate monitor would start beeping rapidly. After doing this several times, his mood became incredibly volatile. Just then, the person he had been yearning for day and night finally showed up. She was carrying a basket of apples to see him. “Chloe!” Seeing Chloe, Liam showed his first smile in over half a month. “Are you okay? As long as you’re okay, everything is fine.” I was sitting to the side, looking down and peeling an apple. Chloe very naturally tossed her coat right into my lap. It was always like this in the past. If you didn’t know better, you’d think I was the housekeeper’s daughter. She acted exactly like a spoiled heiress. “I’m fine. Oh, Liam, how did you end up like this? Does it hurt a lot?” Chloe timed her expression of heartache perfectly. “Your… your hand…” His hand was like a forbidden zone for my brother right now. It could not be mentioned. Sure enough, I saw Liam’s face instantly darken. But perhaps because the person in front of him was Chloe, he forcefully suppressed his displeasure. “My hand… is going to be like this forever. Chloe, you won’t despise me, right?” Liam stared intently at Chloe, terrified of missing a single micro-expression. “What are you saying, Liam? If it weren’t for you, the person lying in this hospital bed right now would be me.” “How could I ever despise you?” I caught a glimpse of Chloe’s fingernails digging tightly into her palms. It seemed that even though her words sounded nice, her small physical reactions betrayed her true feelings. You can fake it for a moment, but no one can fake it for a lifetime. A person who could turn tail and run straight home, and then wait over half a month before even visiting the hospital… How long could she possibly keep up the act? 3. At that moment, Liam shifted slightly on the bed. I had heard the doctor say patients needed to be turned frequently, otherwise they would develop bedsores over time. But Liam was covered in wounds. Even when Mom and Dad turned him, they would accidentally brush against his injuries, causing him to gasp in agonizing pain. His emotional state was already highly unstable. Especially when facing close family, his words were incredibly harsh and unpleasant. His tone was absolutely awful. Over time, Dad started using “company business” as an excuse to visit less and less. Mom couldn’t take it either, always claiming there were things to do at home and arriving late. Even though I stayed behind to take care of him, I was no longer the punching bag I used to be. Seeing Liam in such discomfort, I proactively and thoughtfully spoke up. “Chloe, Liam needs to be turned over every day, otherwise he might get bedsores.” “Since you and Liam are so close, why don’t you help turn him?” “Liam would definitely be so happy!” I looked at Liam, and he gave me an appreciative glance. Chloe hesitated heavily. You could tell just by looking at her that she was reluctant. But I did it on purpose. The more she didn’t want to, the more she hesitated, the deeper the conflict with Liam would become. “Does Chloe not want to? I guess I’ll have to do it then.” I reached out toward Liam, but he refused me with a dark expression. “What, I saved your life, and you aren’t even willing to help turn me over?” “Does your gratitude for saving your life even exist?” Liam’s voice was devoid of emotion, scaring Chloe so much she shrank back visibly. Reluctantly, she moved to help turn Liam. And I, very “accidentally,” tripped Chloe. Caught off guard, she fell forward, landing her entire body weight directly on top of Liam. The crushing weight made Liam let out a bloodcurdling scream. Fresh blood immediately seeped through his bandages. “You… why did you trip me on purpose?!” Chloe shrieked, pointing the finger directly at me. I put on my most innocent face. “Chloe, what are you talking about? I’ve been standing right here the whole time.” “Is it because you didn’t want to turn Liam, so you did this on purpose so you wouldn’t have to come back anymore?” I fired right back at her. Liam finally caught his breath, his face looking absolutely ghastly. I continued forcing Chloe to do the work. “Look at what you did, look at how badly you crushed Liam!” “Can’t you be a little more gentle? I remember you always being so soft-spoken and gentle!” I watched Chloe take a deep breath before touching my brother again. But she had no control over her strength. Several times she moved him so roughly that Liam sucked in cold air through his teeth. “Can’t you use a lighter touch?! I’m a human being, not a slab of dead meat!” “Can you even do this right?! You’re pressing right on my wound!” After tossing and turning for a while, a specific spot on Liam’s white bandages began seeping fresh blood again. His face turned extremely pale, especially his lips, which lost all their color. But I waited a good while longer. Only when I estimated it was about time for Mom to arrive with food did I scream in panic. “Liam! You’re bleeding! What do we do?!” “Chloe, if you didn’t want to help, you could have just let me do it!” Chloe was terrified. She waved her hands frantically, opening her mouth to argue back. But before she could get a word out, Mom pushed the door open and walked in. Mom’s face was thunderous as she glared viciously at Chloe. “A housekeeper’s daughter who doesn’t even know how to serve people! What are you even good for?!” “My son ended up like this because he saved you, and you can’t even look after him properly?!” “Are you only good for eating?!” Chloe didn’t dare say a word. All she could do was let her tears fall, pat, pat, pat. I quickly started adding fuel to the fire, never missing an opportunity to drive a wedge between Chloe and our family members. “It’s all my fault. I thought since Liam is in this condition, he’d be so happy if Chloe helped him.” “I didn’t expect it to turn out like this.” “If I had known, I would have let Chloe rest and continued serving Liam myself.” My statement seemed to be defending Chloe, but it actually intensified the conflict between her and my mom. Sure enough, my mom’s resentment toward Chloe grew even stronger. “Emma, don’t say that. She’s a housekeeper’s daughter to begin with; she should be doing these things.” “If she can’t even do this right and makes you do it…” “Does this cheap little tramp really think she’s some high-society lady?!” My mom was always cruel when she insulted people. Chloe couldn’t bear to listen to it, just standing to the side crying. The more she cried, the more annoyed my mom became. I knew deeply that I had to take things one step at a time and not push too far. I caught a glimpse of heartache in Liam’s eyes as he looked at Chloe, so I quickly found an excuse to leave the battlefield.

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I had just come off a grueling fourteen-hour night shift when Harrison’s new girl dropped to her knees right in front of my locker, sobbing as if her heart had been ripped out. “Please, Natalie. Please,” she begged, her voice echoing in the sterile hospital corridor. “Let me keep this baby. Harrison says he’ll only listen to you.” She grabbed at the hem of my scrubs. “I’ll be so good, I swear. I won’t ever try to take your place. I’m only nineteen. I’m terrified of getting an abortion. You’re a doctor, you’re supposed to save lives—please, just accept me.” Right as she hit the peak of her hysterical pleading, Harrison rounded the corner. He looked breathless, frantic. He looked at me, his eyes heavy with performative guilt. “Cheating was my mistake. I own that. So whether this baby stays or goes… I’m leaving the decision entirely in your hands.” In my past life, this exact scene had shattered me. I had been too much of an idealist back then, clinging to the naive belief of a soulmate, of one true love. The betrayal of the man I had slept beside and loved fiercely for five years destroyed me. Back then, I chose a clean break. I walked away, refusing to ever see him again. And that decision taught me the brutal, unforgiving nature of reality. She, the mistress, used her child to claw her way up. She lived a life bathed in luxury and unimaginable wealth. Meanwhile, I worked myself to the bone. I practically lived in the operating room, but even after collapsing from sheer exhaustion, I still hadn’t scraped together enough to pay off my mother’s crushing medical debts. It forced me to agree with the cynical old saying: In the end, love is just a losing game. So, in this life, I looked at Harrison and said, “Get rid of the baby. And our wedding will proceed as planned.” …….. 1 I watched the tension physically drain from his shoulders. He exhaled a sharp breath, shocked by my sheer magnanimity, and even more shocked that I still wanted to marry him. “I’m so glad you could see reason,” he murmured. I offered him a faint, practiced smile. It wasn’t that I had seen reason. I had seen the absolute core of how the world worked. You can survive perfectly fine without love. You cannot survive without money. Harrison took a tentative step toward me, testing the waters. His arm slipped naturally around my waist, pulling me gently against his chest. But beneath the warmth in his eyes, there was a calculating scrutiny. “Will you be the one to do her D&C?” he asked softly. “I wouldn’t trust any other doctor with it.” I didn’t hesitate for a fraction of a second. The corners of my mouth tipped upward. “Of course. Leave her to me.” A flicker of genuine surprise crossed his face. For a second, he looked at me like he didn’t know me at all. “She’s young. She’s scared of the pain,” he added. “Be gentle.” I gave him a look designed to reassure. “We use anesthesia. She won’t feel a thing.” Mia panicked. She began to weep with an earth-shattering despair, her fingers digging into the fabric of my pants. “No! Please, I’m begging you! I’m only nineteen, I can’t do this!” “I’ll sign a contract!” she cried out. “I’ll stay in the shadows forever, I swear! Just please, Natalie, this is my first baby. Please give him a chance to live!” I looked down at the girl trembling on the linoleum floor. I had to hand it to her. In my past life, this girl had been infinitely smarter than me. She leveraged her pregnancy, gave birth to a son, and inherited the entire Prescott family empire. She lived out her days glowing in the spotlight. Harrison and I had a child once, too. But because I suffered from a severe emotional purity complex, because the thought of his betrayal made my skin crawl, I marched into a clinic and aborted my baby without looking back. Two different choices. Her child became a billionaire heir. Mine ended up as medical waste. Love really does make a woman stupid. I forced my voice to tremble, looking up at Harrison with wide, victimized eyes. “I’ve compromised so much already, and she’s still pushing me. Is she trying to stress me out so badly that I lose my own baby?” I deliberately placed a protective hand over my perfectly flat stomach. Harrison froze. For a second, his brain short-circuited. Then, pure, unadulterated joy exploded across his face. He grabbed me by the waist and spun me around right there in the hallway. “I’m going to be a dad? I’m going to be a dad!” Since our very first year together, he had talked endlessly about wanting a family with me. In my previous life, fueled by pride and stubbornness, I had kept the pregnancy a secret. I firmly believed that if I cut out the toxic waste from my life, I would carve out a beautiful future for myself. It turned out to be the most fatal miscalculation of my life. 2 I immediately marched back into the clinic and booked Mia for a termination the very next morning. She cried like the world was ending. To keep her from going completely off the rails, Harrison turned to me and murmured, “Be good, okay? Don’t overthink this. I just need to go calm her down.” As he spoke, he reached out and affectionately patted the top of my head. Like one might soothe a golden retriever. My expression remained entirely neutral. I felt nothing. Harrison left that afternoon and didn’t come home all night. The next morning, just as I was putting on my coat for work, Harrison’s mother, Victoria, appeared at my front door with Mia in tow. Mia had her arm looped tightly through Victoria’s. They stood close, leaning into one another, giving off the distinct impression of a mother and daughter—or a deeply bonded mother-in-law and daughter-in-law. Harrison trailed a few steps behind them. The grim set of his jaw gave it all away. I already knew, with absolute certainty, that today’s surgery was off the table. Right on cue, Victoria stepped forward, taking on the imperious tone of the family matriarch. “Natalie, I’m not going to beat around the bush.” She shot a protective look at the girl beside her, silently communicating to Mia that she was her absolute shield. Then she looked back at me. “Mia is three months along. It’s a boy. The eldest grandson of the Prescott family.” “This child is of paramount importance to our legacy.” “Both you and Mia are Harrison’s women now. If she can be gracious enough to make room for you, you should have the decency to show her the same grace.” Victoria paused, letting the silence stretch before delivering her final blow. “As an older woman, let me give you a piece of advice. In a marriage, a smart woman learns to keep one eye shut. Stop being so petty.” Immediately, Mia dropped to her knees in front of me again, tears spilling perfectly down her cheeks. “You’re a healer, Natalie. Please don’t make me kill my baby. I swear, when he’s born, my son can serve yours. We’ll do anything you want.” She wept with absolutely zero dignity, like a Victorian maid begging for scraps. Harrison and Victoria immediately flanked her, hauling her back to her feet. “Mia, do not kneel to her. Don’t you be afraid. I am backing you. She won’t dare lay a finger on you,” Victoria snapped, shooting me a glacial glare. Harrison looked at me, his voice tight. “She’s practically begging you. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” Make it harder for her? I almost laughed out loud. Wasn’t it you, Harrison, who told me the decision was entirely mine? I forced a gentle, glowing smile onto my face and stepped toward Mia. “You poor thing. You must be terrified.” I reached out and warmly enveloped her hands in mine. Mia was so stunned she forgot how to speak. “Harrison left the choice to me,” I lied smoothly. “So I assumed he was the one who didn’t want the baby, and he was just using me to do his dirty work.” “I see now that I was completely mistaken. Bringing a life into this world is a beautiful thing. No one has the right to strip you of your right to be a mother.” Mia stared at me, dumbfounded by my warmth. But Harrison was even more shocked. After his mother and Mia finally left, he lingered behind, staring at me as if I were a puzzle he couldn’t solve. “You’ve changed, Natalie.” “How so?” I asked casually, adjusting my watch. “The old you was territorial. You kept me on such a tight leash. If I even looked at another woman, you’d give me the silent treatment for days.” So he knew. He knew exactly how fiercely I had loved him. He knew my love was so all-consuming it made me jealous and insecure. And yet, knowing all of that, he still got Mia pregnant. And he still brought her straight to my doorstep to break my heart. Reborn into this life, looking at him now, my heart was a flatline. Total, absolute stillness. Because the love was dead, I had infinite emotional bandwidth to be the “bigger person.” I sighed, putting on a face of helpless devotion. “What else am I supposed to do? I love you too much. And now I’m carrying your child, too.” I paused, tilting my head. “If I had thrown a massive tantrum and forced you to cut her off entirely… would you have actually done it?” He didn’t answer the question. Instead, he pulled me into a tight embrace. “You are the most important person in my life. You know that. As for Mia… even if I wanted to cut ties right this second, my mother would never allow it.” “You know how hard it was to get my mom to finally agree to our wedding. Let’s just keep the peace and play along with her for now, okay?” 3 It was an open secret that Victoria Prescott despised me. She had always wanted Harrison to marry the daughter of a prominent CEO from their country club—a girl he’d grown up with. A perfect, blue-blooded match. But five years ago, Victoria suffered an ectopic pregnancy. I was the attending surgeon who saved her life. That was how I met Harrison. It was love at first sight for him, followed by a relentless, sweeping courtship. Because I had literally saved her life, Victoria couldn’t openly forbid the relationship. But she never gave me the time of day, either. Three years ago, when Harrison first proposed to me, she threw a fit and fled to their estate in the south of France for two years just to avoid attending an engagement party. This time, Harrison had drawn a hard line in the sand. He told her that whether she showed up or not, he was putting a ring on my finger. Only then did Victoria finally cave and fly back to the States. “I understand,” I murmured into Harrison’s chest, playing the perfect, accommodating fiancé. “I used to be so narrow-minded. But people grow up, right?” He swallowed every word of my counterfeit devotion. Look at this. This is how men operate. You can pour your raw, bleeding heart out for them and they will throw it away. But play a calculated game, feed their ego, and you’ll hold them in the palm of your hand. Harrison stroked my hair, visibly moved. “I’ll be fair to you, Natalie. I promise, I won’t let you be marginalized.” A cold sneer bubbled up in my throat, but I kept my face utterly serene. Taking advantage of the sentimental mood, I suggested we head to the courthouse and sign the marriage papers legally before the big ceremony. I pitched it as a “peace of mind” thing for me. He agreed without a second thought. But our victory was brief. We signed the papers that morning. By the afternoon, Mia was moving her suitcases into our house. Harrison looked sheepish as he explained. “My mom… she doesn’t feel right having a young, pregnant girl living out on her own, so—” “I completely understand,” I interrupted with a warm smile. He patted my head again, clearly thrilled by my sudden domestic compliance. I took it a step further. I gave Mia the guest bedroom with the best natural light. And then, I gave her Harrison. He spent every single night in her bedroom. He showered her with blatant, unapologetic affection in our shared living space. It didn’t take long for the household staff to read the room. Within days, the maids were treating Mia with far more deference than they treated me. Spoiled by his attention, Mia’s arrogance skyrocketed. One evening, as I walked past her bedroom door, she made sure I was looking before she draped herself over Harrison. “Baby,” she purred, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “You sleep with me every single night. It’s starting to feel a little unfair to Natalie. Don’t you think you should go sleep in her bed for once?” Her tone was seductive, but her eyes, locked onto mine, were viciously triumphant. Harrison, completely strung along by her teasing, flipped her onto her back and pinned her against the mattress. “You little manipulator. You don’t mean a word of that.” “Well,” she teased, trailing a hand down his chest. “Who do you actually prefer sleeping with? Me, or her?” “I think my actions speak for themselves,” he mumbled, already burying his face in her neck. She stared at me over his shoulder, wearing the crown of the victorious conqueror, desperate to see me shatter. But my heart remained a stagnant pool of water. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from my younger brother: Thanks so much, Nat. I start at Prescott Enterprises on Monday. Another buzz. My sister: Got the management position! Thank you for the hookup, you’re a lifesaver. And finally, a text from my mother: Natalie, honey, why on earth did you wire me two million dollars? That’s so much money. I don’t want your money, keep it for your own future. I smiled down at the screen. A piece of paper from the courthouse didn’t just buy me a luxury lifestyle. It became a rising tide that lifted my entire family. And that was worth infinitely more than the fleeting warmth of a cheating man. 4 My total serenity sometimes rubbed Harrison the wrong way. His ego couldn’t handle the lack of friction. He would corner me in the kitchen, staring intently into my eyes. “I haven’t slept in our bed for days, and you haven’t even texted me about it. Are you giving me the silent treatment, or do you actually not care?” I fed him the script with zero emotion. “It’s the pregnancy hormones. I just really crave quiet right now.” “As long as I know you still love me.” He accepted the excuse, pulling me into a hug. “I just needed to hear it. I get paranoid that you’re drifting.” He even had the audacity to joke about our twisted reality. “Honestly, if the three of us can just find a rhythm, it’s better than anything else.” I offered a hollow laugh. Even on the night before our lavish wedding ceremony, he was summoned to Mia’s bedroom. But less than two hours later, sounds of distress echoed down the hallway. Harrison rushed into my room. “Natalie, you’re an OB-GYN. You’re the expert here. Please, come look at Mia. Something’s wrong.” When I walked in, Victoria was already perched on the edge of Mia’s bed, clasping the girl’s hands. “You’re going to be fine, darling. Just breathe.” Seeing me, Mia put on her best wounded fawn act. “Natalie… thank you for coming.” “Don’t thank her, she’s family,” Victoria said briskly. Harrison urged me forward. “Check her. What’s happening?” I walked over, my face an emotionless mask, and placed my hands on Mia’s abdomen. “Describe the pain.” She bit her lip, looking artificially embarrassed. Victoria picked up the cue, giving her a reassuring nod. “Don’t be shy, dear. Tell the doctor.” Mia twisted her fingers into the silk sheets. “Harrison was just… a little too rough. It hurts down there, and my stomach feels tight. I’m so scared for the baby.” Harrison looked stricken. “It’s my fault.” I finished the exam. I found absolutely nothing wrong. “The baby is fine. But I’d strongly advise against intercourse in this condition.” Mia immediately clutched her stomach. “But I really don’t feel well! What if something happens to him in the middle of the night?” She looked up at me through her eyelashes. “Could you… maybe just sit here and keep an eye on me for a little while?” “That’s a good idea,” Victoria chimed in. “Natalie, you sit by the bed. Keep watch until we’re sure the danger has passed.” I glanced at Harrison. He didn’t object. In fact, he looked at me with soft gratitude. “Thank you for doing this.” They had entirely forgotten that I was pregnant, too. “Sure,” I said, my voice utterly flat. In the dead of night, the house went silent. I sat in a stiff chair beside their bed, watching Mia sleep securely in Harrison’s arms. Before she drifted off, she shot me one last smirk—a look of pure, concentrated venom and victory. I just sat there, breathing evenly. Sometime past 3:00 AM, Harrison stirred. He looked over and saw me sitting straight up, my face completely devoid of jealousy, anger, or sorrow. He couldn’t take the silence anymore. He whispered into the dark. “Seeing me sleep with another woman… it really doesn’t bother you at all?” I smiled faintly. “I’m not bothered. Now go back to sleep. You’ll wake Mia.” His face darkened. My lack of jealousy was starting to wound his pride. But he swallowed his words. His eyes communicated loud and clear: I don’t know who you are anymore. I kept my eyes open until dawn, yawning through the exhaustion, my body heavy with fatigue. When the sun finally rose, I dragged myself to the bridal suite to get into my Vera Wang gown. Today was my wedding day. Harrison was glowing. He brushed a thumb over the dark circles under my eyes. “Once the reception is over, I’m going to hold you, and we’re going to sleep for a week.” I gave him a shallow, compliant nod. The venue was spectacular. Hundreds of A-list guests, champagne flowing, the room buzzing with wealth and privilege. But right as the music swelled and I prepared to make my grand entrance to the altar, a vicious, stabbing pain ripped through my abdomen. As a doctor, I knew the physical sensations of my own body better than anyone. I knew exactly what was happening. I was miscarrying. Panic seized Harrison’s face. He rushed forward to catch me. “Don’t panic. I’m taking you to the hospital right now.” But before he could move, Victoria and Mia blocked his path. “The wedding has already started!” Victoria hissed. “You can’t have the bride and groom vanish into thin air!” “Her health is the priority!” Harrison snapped, his brow furrowed. “I will have my driver take her to the ER,” Victoria countered sharply. “We cannot cancel this event. We have investors in that room. Put Mia in a white dress and walk her down the aisle. The Prescott family will not become the laughingstock of the city!” Harrison froze. I watched the gears turning in his head as he weighed his love for me against his family’s PR disaster. Slowly, he motioned for his security detail to carry me out. He leaned down and pressed a hurried kiss to my sweaty forehead. “I’m so sorry, Nat. I’ll make this up to you. I promise.” Mia leaned in close, pretending to check on me. With her face inches from mine, she whispered so only I could hear: “You lose, Natalie. The title of Mrs. Prescott is mine. I will be his only legitimate wife.” Then she straightened up, acting frantic, yelling at the staff to hurry up and get me to the car. She turned and took Harrison’s arm. The fake bride and the real groom. As Harrison walked her toward the grand double doors, preparing to step onto the stage under the blinding lights, I pushed the medics away. Bleeding, my white gown stained with a horrific, blossoming red, I grabbed a microphone from the soundboard. I held my legal marriage certificate high in the air and pushed my voice to the absolute limit. “I apologize to all the guests!” I gasped into the mic, my voice booming through the ballroom. “But my husband and I have to cancel this wedding… because I am currently miscarrying his child!”

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I was scrolling through the monthly procurement approvals when a single line of text made my finger freeze on the mousepad. Premium white shrimp, 5 lbs. Weekly delivery, Fridays. The delivery address wasn’t the corporate office. It wasn’t our house, either. I stared at the unfamiliar street name for ten solid seconds. The Belvedere, Tower 3, Apt 1702. In the margins, the requisition note contained four simple words: CEO’s Private Order. I had been married to Brad Harrison for eight years, and I had never heard of The Belvedere. But I knew exactly who the CEO was. It was my husband. 1. Most people didn’t know that Harrison Seafood was an empire I had built with my own two hands. Eight years ago, I quit my secure job at the marine research institute. I took my life savings of $200,000, combined it with a $300,000 loan from my father, and leased a two-thousand-square-foot cold storage unit on the East End. That was the birth of our wholesale seafood business. Why call it Harrison Seafood? Because Brad told me it was easier to do business under a man’s name. “You’re a woman. If you’re out there running the markets, riding the delivery trucks, negotiating with the dock bosses, they aren’t going to take you seriously.” That was his exact phrasing. At the time, I thought he had a point. The company was registered in his name. Legal representative: Bradley Harrison. He went out and played the role. As the “CEO,” he schmoozed at high-end steakhouses, drank single malt scotch, and handed out thick, embossed business cards. Meanwhile, as the “CEO’s wife,” I was standing on the freezing docks at three in the morning, inspecting the catch. Year one, we pulled in $800,000 in revenue. Year two, $3 million. Year three, we moved into a new processing plant ten times the size of our original unit. Year five, we locked down the largest restaurant chain supply contract in the tri-state area. Year eight, our annual revenue hit $32 million. Every single one of those dollars was negotiated by me, fish by fish, crate by crate. My name was the point of contact on every major vendor contract. I knew the birthdays of every single big-ticket client. The precise temperature of the deep freeze, the sizing metric for the prawns, the logistics routing, the shift schedules of the processing floor—it all lived exclusively in my head. And Brad? He signed the papers. Because he was the legal representative. “Jo, did that afternoon shipment clear?” “It did.” Carol walked into my office, hugging a clipboard to her chest. “The Grand Mariner Hotel is breathing down our necks. They need it for their Friday night banquet.” Carol was a company veteran. She’d been my right hand for six years. She called me Jo. Not Mrs. Harrison. Not the CEO’s wife. In this entire building, only outsiders called Brad “The Boss.” Internally, everyone knew who really kept the lights on. My last name was Mercer, and the staff knew exactly who they answered to. “Alright, I’ll keep an eye on it,” I said. I looked back down at the procurement system on my monitor. And there it was again. Premium white shrimp, 5 lbs. Every Friday. Delivery: The Belvedere, Tower 3, Apt 1702. Note: CEO’s Private Order. I clicked into the archive and pulled up the historical data. Every Friday. For three consecutive years. One hundred and fifty-six weeks. Seven hundred and eighty pounds of shrimp. I read the number twice. “Carol.” “Yeah?” “Do you know where The Belvedere is?” “That new luxury high-rise up on the North Shore? Yeah, it’s gorgeous. Extremely exclusive.” She paused, studying my face. “Why?” “Nothing.” I closed the procurement window and grabbed my car keys off the desk. “Keep an eye on the afternoon logistics for me. I need to step out.” 2. I didn’t drive straight to The Belvedere. First, I walked across the lot to the security room next to the main warehouse. I logged into the server and pulled up the archived photos from the company’s monthly dinners spanning the last three months. Harrison Seafood had a tradition: at the end of every month, the company footed the bill for a massive seafood dinner at one of our partner restaurants. I rarely went. I was always too busy. While they were at a corner table drinking wine, I was usually sitting on a crate outside the deep freeze, eating a stale sandwich. But the HR and Admin teams always took photos and dumped them into the company Slack channel. I never looked at them. Today, I clicked through them. One by one. Photo one. A long banquet table. Two dozen people. Glasses raised. Brad sat at the head of the table. Sitting immediately to his right was a young woman. Long hair, a white dress, a blindingly sweet smile. I knew her. Madison Foster. She had come to the company eight years ago as a college intern. She eventually got hired full-time. Her current title was “Director of Administration.” I clicked next. Photo two. Brad, looking down. In front of him sat a massive plate of prawns. He was peeling them. The shelled shrimp were being placed delicately onto Madison’s plate. Photo three. Madison, tilting her head, smiling softly. She held a piece of shrimp with her chopsticks, her eyes locked on Brad. Brad was smiling back. I kept scrolling backward in time. Last month. The month before that. Three months ago. Six months ago. Every single company dinner. Every single photo. He was peeling shrimp for her. Peeling them, lining them up perfectly, and placing them on her porcelain plate. She would smile. He would smile. I closed the photo viewer. A memory floated to the surface. During our first year of marriage, we went out to dinner, and I asked Brad to help me shell my shrimp. I have a mild contact allergy to the protein in crustacean shells—if my bare hands touch the raw edges, I break out in painful hives. The meat itself is perfectly fine for me to eat, but the shelling process is a nightmare. What had been his reaction? He’d scoffed. “You don’t know how to peel them yourself? Grow up, Jo.” Then he pulled the entire platter to his side of the table and ate them all himself. Since that day, I never asked him to peel a single shrimp for me. Eight years. He hadn’t peeled one for me in eight years. He found it too much of a hassle. But he had peeled them for Madison. For eight years. Every company dinner. Every single piece. Peeled, pristine, and placed on her plate. I stared at the image of him looking down at his hands, shelling the seafood. He looked so meticulous. So unbelievably tender. He had never once looked at me like that. “Carol,” I said into my phone. “I’m here.” “What is Madison’s monthly salary?” “Eighteen thousand,” Carol replied, her voice tinged with a sudden caution. “She’s the Director of Administration, so…” “Director of Administration,” I repeated flatly. “What are her actual office hours?” Silence hung on the line. “Tell me the truth, Carol.” “…She rolls in around ten, leaves by four. Sometimes she doesn’t show up at all.” “Who approves her timesheets?” “Mr. Harrison.” “Okay.” I stood up, my chair scraping loudly against the linoleum. “I have what I need.” 3. I didn’t do anything impulsive. I drove to The Belvedere. To the address that received five pounds of premium white shrimp every Friday. It was one of the most affluent residential complexes on the North Shore. I parked across the street and sat in my car for an hour, the engine purring quietly, the silence pressing against my eardrums. Then, I pulled out my phone and logged into the state’s property tax database. I ran a search on Tower 3, Apt 1702. Nothing came up under his name. So, I opened Brad’s mobile banking app. I was the one who had set his password years ago, and he had never bothered to change it. He was too arrogant to think I’d ever snoop. The transaction history was infinitely long. I scrolled, page by tedious page. On the third page, I found the thread. Mortgage Payment — The Belvedere 3-1702 — $8,600. Eight thousand, six hundred dollars a month. For three years. Thirty-six months. $309,600. I took a slow, deep breath, letting the icy air condition chill my lungs. I kept scrolling. Soon, another hit. North Shore Auto Group — Final Payment — $182,000. Scroll. Cartier — $38,000. Saks Fifth Avenue — $27,500. Zelle Transfer — Madison Foster — $10,000. Zelle Transfer — Madison Foster — $10,000. Zelle Transfer — Madison Foster — $15,000. Every single month. A fixed allowance. I pulled three years’ worth of bank statements. I added the personal transfers, the mortgage, the car, the luxury shopping. I punched each number into my calculator application, one by agonizing one. When the blinking cursor finally settled, it rested on a single figure. $2,310,000. And that was just from his personal checking account. That didn’t include the “CEO’s Private Orders” in the corporate procurement system. That didn’t include whatever he had run through the company’s expense accounts. That night, Brad came home at eleven. He smelled of expensive bourbon. “Had drinks with a client,” he muttered, kicking off his Italian loafers in the foyer. “Mhm.” “Make sure you keep an eye on that shipment tomorrow.” “Mhm.” He went upstairs to shower. I sat on the living room sofa, staring at the empty space he had just occupied. Eight years. I was at the docks at three in the morning. He was buying another woman real estate. I was sleeping on a makeshift desk outside the industrial freezer. He was peeling shrimp for another woman. I worked until I herniated two discs in my lumbar spine. He was coddling another woman so she wouldn’t have to work a full day. I built an entire empire from the ground up. He was carving it into pieces and feeding it to a parasite. I didn’t cry. There was no point. Tears wouldn’t reimburse me. 4. For the next three days, I acted completely normal. During the day, I went to the office, approved the invoices, and monitored the supply lines. At night, I went home and cooked dinner. But in the shadows, I was digging. I used Brad’s credentials to log into the administrative backend of the company’s Slack network. I had super-admin privileges. He didn’t know that. I read his direct messages. Line by line. Scrolling all the way down to the very beginning. Eight years ago. Madison: Hi Mr. Harrison! I’m the new intern, Madison. Looking forward to learning from you! Brad: Welcome to the team. If there’s anything you don’t understand, my door is always open. That was the year Madison was a senior in college. That was the year Brad and I had been married for exactly six months. Six months. I scrolled forward. Her third month as an intern. Brad: Dinner tonight? A new sushi place just opened up near the office. Madison: I’d love to, Boss! But I don’t know how to shell the seafood lol. Brad: I’ll peel them for you. I’ll peel them for you. Five words. He had never once said them to me. I kept scrolling. Month five. Brad: Your internship is up soon. Don’t you want to stay? Madison: I really do! But there’s no headcount for a full-time role. Brad: Let me talk to HR. The very next day, Madison was brought on full-time. I pulled up the old approval logs from that year. I had signed off on her full-time offer. My signature was right there in black and blue. I had even written a note in the margins: Stellar performance during internship. Approved. A dry, hollow laugh clawed its way out of my throat. Eight years ago, I had personally signed the paperwork to hire her. Eight years ago, she was eating sushi with my husband. Six months. Which meant—when I was standing at the altar in my white dress, exchanging vows with Brad, he was already peeling her shrimp. While I was unpacking our wedding gifts, he was taking another woman out for Japanese food. Eight years. This wasn’t a recent mid-life crisis. This wasn’t a “momentary lapse in judgment.” It was from the very beginning. From day one until year eight. Over one thousand, four hundred pieces of shrimp. And I hadn’t tasted a single one. 5. Brad had no idea I had already downloaded his entire banking history. All eight years of it. But the bank statements were only a fraction of the bloodletting. The real hemorrhage was inside the company. I spent an entire week quietly auditing all of Harrison Seafood’s financials. The “CEO’s Private Orders” in the procurement system? It wasn’t just shrimp. Over the course of eight years, it was imported Japanese melons, A5 Wagyu beef, truffles, and cases of Bordeaux. Every single item was expensed through corporate procurement, and every single delivery address was The Belvedere, Tower 3, Apt 1702. Total cost of the private procurement orders over the last three years: $430,000. Then came the expense reports. I had never scrutinized Madison’s corporate card statements before. I did now. Travel and lodging. For a Director of Administration, her travel standards were astronomical: presidential suites at five-star hotels. I cross-referenced every single one of her business trips with Brad’s travel itinerary. A perfect match. Every single time. She went on “business trips,” and he went on “business trips.” She booked the luxury suites, and his company card never showed a hotel charge. Because they were sleeping in the same bed. Travel, flights, per diems, and “entertainment” expenses—over three years, Madison had expensed $860,000 to the company. All of it signed and approved by Brad. His signature was all it took. Because he was the legal representative. But the final discovery was the deepest cut. Equity. I found it buried in the state corporate registry filings. One year ago. Brad had transferred 30% of the company’s shares to Madison Foster. The transfer price? One dollar. One single dollar. Our company was valued at a conservative $20 million. Thirty percent was $6 million. He sold it to her for a dollar. And I never knew. Nobody told me.

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I was annoyed and entirely speechless, so I vengefully wrote him into my diary: “I’m a bad girl. How could I have these kinds of feelings for my own brother?” “They say having a brother complex is a sickness. It’s not right; I shouldn’t be like this.” “But I really can’t control myself…” From that day on, my brother looked at me like he’d seen a ghost every time we crossed paths. I held back my laughter and doubled down on scaring him in the diary entries. I completely failed to notice that his look of avoidance and panic was gradually morphing into painful, desperate suppression. Until a month later. A wealthy couple, the Sterlings, showed up with a DNA test in hand. Without a word, they hugged my brother and tearfully called him their son. Me: ? 1 Since my earliest memories, my brother, Liam Bennett, was always by my side. When I first learned to talk, the first word I said was his name. My dad said I was so fluent it was like I was born knowing how to say it. At my first birthday party, when a crowd of relatives reached out to hold me, I bypassed them all and grabbed his finger in a death grip. And as a brother, Liam never let anyone down. When I was six, I secretly drank orange-scented dish soap and was rushed to the ER. Liam stayed by my hospital bed for two days and nights, refusing to eat or drink, making himself look like a ghost. When I was eight, I tried to give our elderly neighbor a piggyback ride across the street and got chased by my dad with a rolled-up magazine. Liam shielded me like a mother hen, taking the hits and refusing to move an inch. When I was ten, blowing out my birthday candles, I solemnly made a wish: “I want to be with Liam forever.” Liam looked at me and shielded the candle’s glow with his hand. I looked up at him in the dim light, hearing him say, word by word: “Harper, you don’t need to wish for that.” When I was fourteen, Liam watched a TV show where a couple eloped to get a marriage license. He frowned and asked Dad: “Why do they need a license?” Dad laughed and explained: “Because they want to get married. Getting married means they become a legal family.” Liam was almost six feet tall by then. Handsome, broad-shouldered, the guy all the girls at school sneaked peeks at. He listened to Dad’s words and suddenly understood. “I get it now. Then Harper and I should just get married. We’ve been a legal family since we were kids.” Dad almost dropped his coffee mug. He grabbed a broom from the corner and chased after him. Liam dodged, turning back to ask me earnestly: “Harper, don’t you think I’m right?” I didn’t even think about it and nodded. “Of course Liam is right.” Dad froze, then silently traded the broom for a snow shovel, chasing him even harder. 2 In the blink of an eye, Liam and I had been inseparable, relying on each other as siblings for over twenty years. Last weekend, we had a massive blowout because he wouldn’t let me go to a guy friend’s birthday party. He couldn’t win the argument, so in a fit of anger, he actually recited a paragraph from my private diary. That was when I realized he had been secretly reading my journal. I kicked him hard in the shin, turned around, and stormed upstairs. Sure, I sneaked peeks at his journal too, but I never read it out loud to his face! I just kept it a secret and laughed behind his back. Who acts as shameless as him? What an absolute jerk! The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. To get back at Liam, I deliberately went out and bought a diary with a physical lock. After writing mundane daily entries for half a month, I started scribbling furiously: “I’m a bad girl. How could I have these kinds of feelings for my own brother?” “They say having a brother complex is a sickness. It’s not right; I shouldn’t be like this.” “But I really can’t control myself. The internet says our red string of fate is hidden in…” I switched to a red pen and drew a crooked, dramatic heart right over the period. Liam didn’t disappoint me. The next day, when he brought a bowl of fruit into my room, his eyes immediately locked onto the diary I had purposely left open on the desk. Maybe he remembered the kick I gave him a few days ago for snooping. Or maybe his conscience finally kicked in, making him realize a brother shouldn’t invade his sister’s privacy. Either way, he paused for five seconds. But it was only five seconds. His long fingers skillfully flipped open the thin pages. He still had that careless, lazy expression on his face, a hint of a mischievous what’s the harm in one look pulling at the corner of his mouth. But after reading just two lines, the smirk vanished instantly. His fingers gripping the diary began to tremble visibly. The veins at his temples throbbed, and his vision clearly swam. Finally, he stumbled back two steps and collapsed heavily into the desk chair, clearly terrified half to death by what he read. I was hiding by the door, watching him look like the sky had just fallen, covering my mouth and laughing so hard I couldn’t stand straight. Hehe. That’s what you get for reading my diary. Serves you right. 3 Liam practically fled my room. At over six-foot-two, he stumbled out with all limbs flailing, tripping over himself. He didn’t even notice me hiding by the door observing him. He dove straight into the bathroom, turning the sink on full blast and aggressively splashing his face with running cold water. I waited until the sound of the water stopped before walking over to ask: “Liam, what’s wrong?” The noise inside came to a dead halt. After a long moment, his shaky voice finally sounded: “Nothing…” I let out a casual “Oh” and said, “I’ll go back to my room then.” “Wait!” The door was yanked open. Liam stood in the doorway, water dripping from his chin, looking at me with a heavily conflicted expression, hesitating to speak. “Harper, do you… is there someone you like recently?” I purposely frowned in confusion. “No? I’ve been busy applying for internships. I don’t have time to think about dating.” Liam went silent. He studied me with a grave expression, making sure I wasn’t lying, before he breathed a massive sigh of relief and wiped the water from his face. Right. The “brother” in the diary wasn’t necessarily him. It could be some older guy I looked up to at school, or a celebrity crush. It’s fine, it’s fine. The sky hasn’t fallen, the family isn’t ruined, my sister is still my sister. I suppressed a smirk. “If there’s nothing else, I’m going back to my room.” I turned around. I pulled a paperback manga out of my backpack and “accidentally” dropped it on the hardwood floor. It made a loud smack in the empty hallway. Liam instinctively looked toward the sound. On the cover, in bright, bold letters: “From Sister to Wife.” “…” Liam stopped breathing. Then, he shakily pinched the bridge of his own nose to keep from passing out. 4 Before I could react, Liam snatched the manga off the floor. His eyes were wide, and his voice trembled slightly. “Harper Bennett! If you… if you ever buy this kind of trashy book again, I’m telling Mom!” I lowered my head obediently. “Got it, Liam.” He let out an expressionless huff. Then he turned around and practically crawled up the stairs to his room. I watched him leave with a calm facade. Inside, I was screaming with laughter. To confirm I hadn’t seen things wrong, I guessed he would definitely sneak into my room tonight to read the diary again. I pulled out my phone, searched for a bunch of angsty quotes, and copied them in: “The brother who raised me suddenly doesn’t want to talk to me anymore. Is he annoyed by me? Is he trying to leave me?” “What should I do? What method can I use to keep him forever?” “108 plans to trap my brother by my side for the rest of his life…” I closed the diary. Stretched. Went downstairs to heat up some milk. When I came back, I noticed the diary had been slightly shifted, and there was a faint footprint on the edge of my rug. I took a cozy sip of milk and snuggled into my blankets for a good night’s sleep. Half-asleep in the dead of the night, the dead silence next door was shattered by a gut-wrenching wail and something that sounded like a dying donkey. “Dad! Mom! I’m a monster!! Ahhh oooohh…” 5 Early the next morning. I ran into Liam at the top of the stairs. My brain wasn’t fully awake yet. Out of habit, I mumbled: “Morning.” Liam pressed his lips tightly together but didn’t make a sound. He kept a rigid face and sped past me. I froze for a second, then called after his back: “Liam? What’s wrong? Why aren’t you answering me?” “…” Liam finally stopped. But he didn’t turn around. He sounded as cold and distant as an automated customer service line: “Can I help you?” I shivered at his icy tone. Instinctively, I replied: “N-no…” He started walking again, heading downstairs without looking back. Dad was walking out of the kitchen with breakfast, seeing Liam leave me far behind. He laughed: “What’s going on with you two? Having a fight?” Before I could speak, Liam, who had just sat down, stood right back up. His tone was cold and firm: “Dad, for me, a sister is a sister. Stop lumping us together.” Mom paused upon hearing this. “Well, that’s a first. Aren’t you two inseparable?” Liam didn’t answer right away. He thought for a few seconds, then slowly looked up at me: “Mom, Harper and I are grown up now.” “As the saying goes, men and women are different, and we should maintain some boundaries.” “Eventually, Harper will get married, and I’ll find a wife. We’ll be two separate families.” “Harper, don’t you agree? You can’t stick to me forever. I need my own life, and so do you. Do you understand?” I understood perfectly. I just hadn’t expected those two pages of the diary to hit him this hard. The overbearing brother who wanted to control my every move was actually initiating distance. And emphasizing his own life… I was shocked. Liam wiped his mouth. He slowly stood up: “I’m full. You guys eat. I’m heading out.” He paused, looked at me, and said clearly: “Don’t follow me. I’m not taking you anywhere today.” Me: “…” Mom finally noticed something was off. She turned to me. “What’s wrong with your brother?” I rubbed my temples. “Probably going through a late rebellious phase.” Mom’s eyes went wide. “He’s 26! What kind of rebellious phase is that?!” “Uh… some people are just late bloomers.” Mom looked skeptical. “That’s way too late…” 6 Liam kept his word. Over the next few days, he left early and came back late, deliberately avoiding any time we might cross paths. Even if we accidentally bumped into each other at home, he would immediately stand up and brush past me with a blank face. I could count the number of times I saw him on one hand. If it weren’t for the fact that I could still hear him making weird donkey noises in his room in the middle of the night, I would’ve thought he hadn’t come home at all. Calculating the time, I figured it was about time to confess the truth to him. But the crucial evidence—the diary—had mysteriously vanished. I tore my room apart looking for it, sweating bullets. If my parents found those entries, it would be the absolute end of our family peace! Just as I was panting from exhaustion, my best friend Olivia called, inviting me out to a club. I glanced at the time and instinctively wanted to refuse; Liam would never let me out this late. But then I reconsidered. He had been distancing himself because of the diary. Maybe he wouldn’t care anymore… I thought for two seconds, agreed to go, and hurried downstairs to find him. He was sitting on the couch reading a book. The warm yellow lamplight hit the side of his face, his eyelashes casting a small shadow over his eyes. Just sitting there, his mood felt inexplicably gloomy, like a brooding movie star. I stopped walking: “Liam, Olivia invited me to go out for a bit. I probably won’t be back until tomorrow morning…” My voice dropped. His hand paused mid-page turn. I waited for a long time without getting an answer. I asked again softly: “Can I go?” “Why wouldn’t you?” After a long silence, he finally spoke, smiling. He calmly pressed down his slightly trembling fingertips: “Of course you can. We both need our own lives. I won’t control you anymore. Go have fun…” My eyes lit up: “Really? Are you telling the truth?” He kept smiling. His voice was very soft. Almost hollow: “Of course. Didn’t I say it the other day? We both need our own lives. We’re free. You are free, Harper…” I practically skipped upstairs: “Awesome! I’ll get changed and head out! Bye!” Liam slowly dropped his smile. He tossed the book aside. His voice remained gentle: “Okay, bye…” 7 Being heavily managed by Liam for the past few years meant my closet was practically empty of anything suitable for a club. But things were looking up now! He wasn’t hovering over me like a helicopter parent anymore. I even debated whether I should just tell him the truth about the diary right now. Whatever. I’ll think about it later. I pulled every dress out of my closet and tossed them onto the bed. I held them up to the mirror one by one. White dress? Too plain. Black dress? Too boring. This off-the-shoulder one? The neckline was a bit low, and the back was completely open. I held it against myself in the mirror, debating if I should try it on. Suddenly, the back of my neck prickled. A cold draft hit my spine, and a strong sense of unease washed over me. I instinctively looked up at the mirror. In the reflection. Liam was standing quietly in the half-open doorway. I gasped sharply. I didn’t know how long he had been standing there. I didn’t know when he came up. I didn’t know how he managed to walk without making a single sound. He just stood there. Half his body hidden in the hallway’s shadow. The other half illuminated by my room’s light. Revealing a completely expressionless face. He was looking at me. It wasn’t that deliberate, distant gaze from before. It was something heavy, sticky, and hard to read. It pierced through the mirror, landing right on me, and then specifically on the backless dress in my hands. 8 I almost dropped the dress. I turned to look at him: “Liam, what are you doing standing there? You scared me…” It was as if my words yanked him out from some dark depth. He snapped out of it. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second. When he opened them, they were calm again. He leaned against the doorframe. He shrugged helplessly: “Nothing. Just passing by.” “Come on, Harper. Don’t I have to walk past your room to get to mine?” His tone was so relaxed it felt like the terrifying presence I saw in the mirror a second ago was a hallucination. I stared at him for two seconds. Realization dawned: “I get it. You actually don’t want me to go, right?” He paused. Then he curled his lips into a light, effortless smile, mixed with a hint of resigned indulgence. “How could that be? I haven’t changed my mind. Don’t overthink it.” “Harper, I stand by what I said. We’re both free. What kind of brother obsessively monitors his sister?” “It was fine before you turned eighteen, but now? Isn’t it just annoying and redundant? I’m not that bored…” As he spoke, his eyes seemed pulled down against his will. Landing on the dress in my hands again. Just a quick glance. He immediately looked away: “Don’t worry, I won’t control you anymore. You can go out and have fun however you want.” “Alright, pick your outfit. I won’t bother you.” “Oh, right. If you run out of money, just ask me. You can’t go out without money.” 9 His footsteps faded down the hall. But I stood frozen in place for a long time. This was the Nth time today. Liam had mentioned he wouldn’t control me anymore. My slow brain finally picked up on how strange this was. He said it too decisively, too smoothly, like a script he had rehearsed a hundred times in his head. I held my breath. A terrifying thought surfaced in my mind. Did he already want to draw a line between us even before he saw my diary? Was he already sick of me? Did he stop wanting me as a sister? Diary or no diary, was he planning to abandon me anyway? Did my prank diary just give him the perfect excuse?! The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. I hugged my arms tightly, my fingertips touching ice-cold skin. When I was ten, Liam promised me he would stay with me forever. He was only twenty-six now. Had he forgotten everything? Or was I the only one who ever remembered? I gritted my teeth. I raised my hand. And threw the dress hard against the mirror.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392093”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I, a top-tier gold digger, transmigrated into the role of a “green tea” female side character who was cyberbullied to death. A photo of the male lead was hanging on the campus forum. [I heard Harrison Ford finally has someone he likes. Is it going to be her?] [Can’t wait to witness Cinderella marrying into a wealthy family.] The girl leaving comments and stirring up the crowd downstairs was my roommate. She smiled radiantly and said, “You should just go ahead and confess your feelings. He doesn’t have a girlfriend anyway.” Bullet comments drifted past my eyes: [The male lead doesn’t have a girlfriend, but he has a fiancée, wow!] [The female lead is too kind. She saw the side character had a crush on the male lead, so she hid her identity as his fiancée.] [The side character should stop flattering herself. The male lead only likes her roommate.] [As soon as the clownish side character confesses tonight, the male lead will officially announce the female lead.] I curled my lips and posted a faceless selfie on a brand new account. The caption: [My good friend keeps telling me to confess to her childhood sweetheart. What should I do?] 1. Because the selfie page showed an IP address from Capitol University, it was quickly pushed to people within the school. Alumni commented: [Are you interested in her childhood sweetheart?] [The poster’s body is chef’s kiss. Love it. Is your friend trying to keep the good stuff within the family?] [Is her childhood sweetheart handsome?] I replied to them one by one: [I do like him a bit.] [She probably meant well. She’s always trying to set us up, inviting me to all sorts of activities.] [He is very handsome. But our family backgrounds don’t really match.] Soon, the alumni jokingly replied: [You both got into Capitol Uni, what’s there to worry about regarding family background? Unless it’s someone like Harrison Ford, then maybe you’d need to worry a bit.] [What’s there to worry about? Go for it, sis! If you break up, you might even get a ten-million-dollar breakup fee thrown in your face.] I gave each of their comments a like. The bullet comments surged rapidly. [Is the female side character trying to seduce the male lead by showing off her body? Dream on. The male lead only follows Serena Vance.] [This kind of post is so ‘green tea’. Good thing the male lead won’t see it, otherwise he might misunderstand the female lead.] The bullet comments were actually quite useful. If utilized properly, I could gather a lot of information. I curled my lips into a smile. Although I didn’t know the male lead’s account, I knew my roommate Serena Vance’s account. I clicked into her following list. She only followed 36 people in total. [LMAO, is the female side character trying to find the male lead’s account?] [Give up, there’s no way she’ll find it.] I went through them one by one, finally locking onto a user named “momo” with exactly 1 follower. Because this account only followed the female lead, and the IP address was consistently in Capitol City. I hit follow. The bullet comments exploded. [Holy shit! What a scheming bitch!] [How did she find it?] Harrison Ford’s account had always been quiet. Besides a few close friends in his circle, no one knew this “momo” was his account. He looked at the sudden new follower and frowned slightly. Who was “A Cup of Green Tea”? He didn’t care and locked his phone. He figured the fan probably just misclicked. The bullet comments gloated. [The male lead didn’t even click into the female side character’s profile.] [The female side character is such a dead ‘green tea’. Her ID really matches her personality.] [This novel is about childhood sweethearts who marry first and fall in love later. The male lead is very responsible and will only love the female lead after marriage. It doesn’t matter how beautiful the side character is.] [The female lead was always suspicious that he didn’t love her because he was so cold to her. But when she saw him ruthlessly reject the beautiful side character’s confession, she instantly felt relieved.] [The clownish side character is nothing but a touchstone for their love.] I looked at my bank card. Before I transmigrated, Serena Vance had urged me to buy a dress worth $160,000. She said a “battle outfit” was essential for a confession, adding that people in their circle would never wear cheap, few-hundred-dollar knockoffs. Driven by an inferiority complex, the side character gritted her teeth and bought an out-of-season luxury dress that looked tacky on her. Now, my card balance was 0, and I was still in debt on my credit line. I stared coldly at the balance and, without hesitation, listed the dress on a second-hand app. Rule number one of a gold digger: Never spend a single dime for a man. 2. My roommate’s account was also cultivating a “wealthy heiress” persona. On her account, she had a flawless fiancé. Rich and handsome. No matter what she wanted, her fiancé would instantly satisfy her. Because their arranged marriage had only recently been finalized, and wasn’t yet public, she never revealed their identities online. She just frequently did giveaways for her “shippers” in the comments section. The sappy little love stories she wrote easily got tens of thousands of likes each. Actually, she didn’t have that many followers at first. It wasn’t until she posted about the marital home her fiancé gifted her—worth over $500,000 per square meter. The post instantly blew up. I left a comment underneath: [So sweet! Sister, your fiancé treats you so well. I wish I could catch someone like him.] [What type of girls does he like? Wow!] Serena always loved seeing her fans ship them. But when she saw my comment, she frowned. She replied: [His standards are very high. It’s best if you’re talented in various arts and have a high level of education. You have no idea how hard I worked just to get him to notice me.] Then, she liked a comment below hers. [The most important thing is a matching family background.] The comments section was full of crazy shippers. [The heiress gave up studying abroad to get into Capitol Uni just for love.] [Radiant Heiress VS Ice-cold Childhood Sweetheart.] [As long as he turns around, he’ll see the heiress right behind him.] [Patience pays off. After the arranged marriage, the childhood sweetheart’s attitude completely changed. He used to ignore her, but now he brings whatever the heiress wants right to her.] [The heiress and her childhood sweetheart’s families are so rich, yet they still started their own business in college. So ambitious. Not like me, just waiting to die.] As the only person who knew the original plot. I knew their real romance line started after my cannon fodder side character was written off. They were following the “marriage first, love later” trope. Right now, the male lead was only nice to the female lead because of their arranged marriage. Heh. That dog couple was using the original host as a stepping stone. 3. I twitched the corner of my mouth and uploaded a video of myself playing the piano on my profile. An essential quality of a top-tier gold digger: proficiency in various high-society talents. Whether it was piano or equestrianism, I had learned them all. I replied: [I know a lot actually, been working hard on learning lately~ Hope I can catch my crush.] Many people thought my comment had a hint of “green tea” style comparison and clicked into my profile. Subsequently, they teasingly replied: [What a coincidence, the little ‘green tea’ is also a Capitol Uni beauty.] [Probably just faked the IP to Capitol Uni. Let’s see your student ID.] I didn’t bother responding. Because very soon, a Capitol Uni alumnus recognized that the background of my first photo was exactly a university dorm room. My most liked post was the faceless selfie. The caption: [So conflicted, my friend keeps telling me to confess to her childhood sweetheart. What should I do?] Serena would never connect me to her shy, gullible little roommate. Because the original host didn’t know how to do anything. A while ago, she dragged the original host to her birthday party to play the piano, and because she wasn’t proficient, she embarrassed herself. She encouraged the original host to play the piano on stage to attract the male lead’s attention, so the original host went up and played “Happy Birthday.” The female lead’s best friends mocked her terrible playing, and Harrison Ford stepped in to smooth things over. From then on, the original host harbored a secret crush on the male lead. She didn’t know the male lead’s fiancée was Serena herself, and under her instigation, she foolishly went to confess. In the end, Harrison publicly announced his fiancée on the spot. The original host lost all face in front of the entire school. Later, the female lead wrote a “bitter secret crush” story about how she always felt inferior because her roommate was so beautiful. This caused the original host to be seen as a scheming “green tea” by everyone, ultimately leading to her being cyberbullied to death. The bullet comments jumped up: [The side character is so scheming. Is she just trying to get attention?] [It’s fine. Wait until she gets rejected by the male lead tonight; she won’t be able to act up ever again.] Serena wanted to chat with Harrison. But she noticed his follower count had suddenly increased by one. Suppressing her anger, she clicked into my profile. Glancing over it, she saw the photos and a hint of dissatisfaction flashed in her eyes. She kept feeling that the figure looked indescribably familiar. And my process of building the account was almost identical to hers. If it wasn’t posting talents, it was posting about a secret crush. Harrison’s secret account was only known to a few close friends, and she had deliberately shown off by pinning it in their group chat. She guessed it might be some young heiress who had caught wind of it. So, she directly tagged Harrison under my photo: [@HarrisonFord Nice body, do you like it?] Harrison casually lingered on the screen for a second, the photo flashing by. [Boring…] Serena saw the reply and laughed out loud. She then shared this as a joke within her circle. The bullet comments jumped with schadenfreude. [Hahaha, the male lead just said ‘boring’ after seeing the carefully taken photos by the female side character.] [LMAO, all that effort for nothing.] [Just a clownish side character. If it weren’t for her confession, the male lead probably wouldn’t have agreed to make the female lead’s fiancée status public.] [After all, the male lead is currently developing the game “Path to Immortality” behind his family’s back. It’s still in the closed beta phase, and he doesn’t want any extra trouble.] [Love grows after marriage~ The male lead isn’t actually frigid. After marriage, the female lead will be terrified by the kinky stuff that dog male lead comes up with.] [The male lead’s family are all old-fashioned. They oppose him making games. His childhood sweetheart is the only one who truly understands him in the future.] [In the future, the male lead’s game will be a massive hit, becoming a national phenomenon. Even the streamers who broadcasted it early on made tens of millions.] I was extracting information from the bullet comments. A few days ago, I had already applied for the closed beta qualification for “Path to Immortality” on the official website. Serena didn’t know about the game’s existence yet. Using the game to approach Harrison was the perfect entry point. 4. My game ID remained [A Cup of Green Tea]. I curled my lips, switching screens to send messages to Harrison while grinding levels in the game. In the original text, the supporting male character, Carter Hayes, was also grinding mobs here. He was the male lead’s roommate, and they ran in the same circles. Back then, after reading the female lead’s “inferiority complex” story, he mistakenly thought the original host was intentionally trying to be the other woman, and cursed her the harshest online. Stupid, reckless, and self-proclaimed righteous. Perfect to use as a tool. I targeted Carter, teamed up with him, and then stole his mob right at the final hit. I opened my mic and said in a cutesy voice: “Thank you, big brother.” Carter’s hand shook, his victorious smile freezing on his face. Harrison looked at his phone as a message popped up from his good buddy complaining: [Bro, some highly skilled cross-dressing guy stole my mob! I lost my ‘First Kill of the Server’ title!] [I hate this! That person named ‘A Cup of Green Tea’ or whatever is at the top of the leaderboard now! So shameless!] The bullet comments jumped up: [The female side character’s methods are so low! Who steals the last hit like that!] [She just wants to intentionally attract the supporting male character’s attention. Stop dreaming, he only likes innocent, pure girls.] After following Harrison, I only sent him one message: [Thank you for helping me out before, Harrison~ Can I treat you to a meal tonight?] Then, I posted a screen recording of the game with the “Path to Immortality” tag on my new account. [The experience in this game is amazing!] The smooth controls, combined with a hype edit and background music, quickly gained traction. Harrison looked at the familiar ID with a hint of surprise on his face. He clicked on my profile picture. The first thing he clicked on was the game recording I had edited. The thumbnail was the post-match screen of Carter getting his mob stolen. The bullet comments jumped: [LMAO, the male lead is a dead straight guy, only interested in games.] [Suddenly relieved, the male lead definitely won’t pay much attention to the female side character.] [Even if the female side character is good at games, so what?] At the end of the game video. He unexpectedly heard a sticky, seductive: “Thank you, big brother.” The video’s bullet comments also suddenly spiked here. Harrison’s finger paused slightly. Then he dragged the progress bar back a bit. And listened again. In the original text, he was a closet audiophile. He only discovered this trait when he was in bed with the female lead. I intentionally recorded this voice at the end of the video. I bet he would watch it to the end. The bullet comments were all cursing— [What the hell is the female side character being so slutty for!] Harrison restrained himself and only listened once more before exiting the video. On my profile, there was only one full-body photo, and it was from the back. The composition was excellent, the body proportions were perfect, and I hadn’t elongated my legs. Logically, he should have exited the profile. But he took a second look, feeling it looked somewhat familiar. He then clicked into the newly posted video from today. It was a clip of me playing a piano piece, the fluid music pouring out. The caption was: [If my confession fails today, I’ll change my name to ‘Daisy the Scumbag Beater.’] He suddenly guessed who the woman behind the screen was. Because Serena had just sent him a message. [Come back to the dorm tonight. My little roommate has something to tell you.] Harrison: [Daisy again? Didn’t you tell her about our relationship?] Serena replied vaguely: [It’s understandable for a young girl to have a crush. You can just reject her privately when the time comes.] He tried to search his memory for anywhere he might have offended Daisy. The only memory that remained was the awkward “Happy Birthday” song she had played last time. In his perception, apart from her beauty, Daisy didn’t have any memorable traits; she would stutter as soon as she got close to him. Online, however, she was much more proactive. Logically, he shouldn’t have agreed to have a private dinner with me. But he hesitated. He first clicked into the piano video and commented: [Just started learning? You’re progressing very fast.] The bullet comments flew by. [??? Why is the male lead giving the female side character the time of day?] [Pretentious! The female lead has been learning piano since she was a kid. How can the female side character even compare!] I replied with a cute emoji, lying through my teeth: [Yeah, just started learning. Even the teacher praised me for having a talent for it.] [Besides, I learn everything super fast!] Harrison looked at the “scumbag” in the caption, his finger pausing for a moment before he found the chat box and replied to my message. [I’ll pick you up downstairs at 5 PM.] The time Serena had scheduled with him was 8 PM. He thought that rejecting me privately a bit earlier might be more appropriate. He didn’t think the tiny ripple he felt just now would make him betray his fiancée. The male lead in the original text had always been principled, so the female side character’s confession tonight was bound to fail. What I needed to do now was to pull myself from the position of the “other woman” to that of an innocent victim. I curled my lips and replied with a cute emoji: [Okay! (Heart hands)] Then I sent another message. [Could we not order anything too expensive?] [Kitten begging gif.] Harrison looked at the message and raised an eyebrow. I sent a screenshot, acting pitifully. [My roommate said I had to buy a nice dress, and then I ran out of money.] The screenshot was of an overpriced “idiot tax” dress that Serena had highly recommended, along with my payment page showing $160,000. Harrison looked at the bright red dress and remained silent for a moment. Within three seconds. He replied: [Send your card number.] I didn’t play hard to get and quickly sent it over. My bank card received a deposit of $200,000. I curled my lips into a smile. The bullet comments started cursing. [Not only a scheming ‘green tea’, but also a gold digger!] [The fiancée’s mess, the male lead is taking responsibility to clean it up. This makes total sense! It’s definitely not because he’s interested in the female side character!] [Didn’t the female side character sell the dress?! She even lied to the male lead! How cheap!] At this time, Serena was replying to fans’ comments. Fans were very curious about her boyfriend’s true identity. She replied to a shipper in the comments, [He doesn’t like crowds. I’ll see if I can find a childhood photo of us.] Serena’s comment with the photo instantly became the top comment. My comment hung in second place. The bullet comments rejoiced: [Childhood sweethearts are the best!] I scoffed. Knowing each other for ten years, if it was true love, they would have been together long ago. Why would the female lead resort to such methods? Logically, men with partners aren’t within my target range, but if they come looking for trouble, that’s a different story. 5. Today was the first day of the closed beta, so not many people had spent money on microtransactions yet. As soon as Harrison logged into the game, he saw a familiar name suddenly shoot up the “Whale Leaderboard.” The ID [A Cup of Green Tea] was sitting pretty at number two. Number one was Carter. And he had been pushed down to number three. Thinking of how Daisy had just pitifully claimed she had no money, he couldn’t help but twitch his brow. He knew Daisy’s family background; she absolutely couldn’t afford this kind of spending. It was one thing to play the game because she liked him. But watching her be lured by the game into reckless spending was another matter entirely. The bullet comments were all cursing me for being a spendthrift. Meanwhile, Harrison sent me a message. [I’m here.]

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I love money, but I don’t love men who have more money than I do. So, torn between my successful high school sweetheart and a seemingly directionless bad boy with bleached blond hair, I ignored my parents’ objections and married the bad boy. Because he always knew how to make a quick buck, and he always let me take the lion’s share. Three years later, we closed another massive deal. When it was time to split the cash… My bad boy husband, Arthur, asked me: “Do you want the money, or do you want me?” “I want the money.” He didn’t take a single cent from that deal. Instead, he looked at me and said, “Then let’s get a divorce.” 1 I stopped counting the cash and looked at Arthur in surprise. He knew I loved money. In the past, we would always playfully argue over the split, but in the end, he would always let me take more, making sure I was just a little bit richer than him. We never fought. During our entire relationship, he had never even mentioned breaking up, yet today, he was asking for a divorce. I asked blankly, “Why do you want a divorce?” Standing by the door, he stopped in his tracks, wearing his usual playful grin. “You always get the bigger cut. It’s not fair.” His gaze fell on the remaining stack of cash on the table. He raised an eyebrow and said, “It’s all yours. I’m out of here.” My foot twitched toward the door. This wasn’t the first time he’d played a trick like this. He’d throw a little tantrum and then come right back. I looked back at the money on the table and pulled my foot back. Our profession was scouting out old streets and neighborhoods that were likely targets for redevelopment and buying up the properties. Take this latest deal, for example. We calculated that this specific street was primed for demolition, so two years ago, we started buying the old houses door-to-door. We paid above market value back then, but today, the massive redevelopment payout had just hit our accounts. But to my parents, without a physical storefront or a traditional 9-to-5 job, we were just irresponsible slackers. The next evening, in a rare display of domesticity, I cooked dinner and called him. “Stop messing around. I made dinner. Hurry up and come home.” On the other end of the line, he said he wasn’t coming back. I twirled the ends of my hair around my finger and threatened casually, “If you’re not back by midnight, I’m going to get back together with Liam.” With that, I hung up, a confident smile on my face. Arthur, who was usually easygoing, would explode and get insanely jealous the moment he heard my ex’s name. I sat leisurely on the couch, eating fruit and watching the news, while simultaneously researching which street we should buy up next. It wasn’t until the clock hit 11:30 PM that a wave of panic hit me. I had never felt this kind of imbalance before. I gripped my phone tightly, staring at the minutes slowly ticking away on the screen. Finally, at exactly midnight, there was a knock at the door. I practically sprinted to the entryway and pulled it open. “Miss, your courier package. Please sign here.” A courier in a blue uniform stood at the door. I opened the envelope. Inside was a formal divorce agreement. He was serious? The courier glanced at the document in my hands. “Miss, please sign quickly. I still have to return it. Who gets a divorce in the middle of the night anyway?” I felt a sting of humiliation. I grabbed a pen, hastily scribbled my signature, and slammed the door shut. Then, I immediately called Arthur, but he sent me straight to voicemail. I quickly opened our text thread and started typing furiously. [Liam has been visiting my parents a lot since I dumped him. He’s coming over for dinner tomorrow, and I’m going too. Now that we’re divorced, you finally can’t tell me what to do!] After hitting send, I felt like I had won another round. 2 The next day, I bought some gifts and headed to my parents’ house. When they saw it was me, a flash of surprise crossed their eyes, followed quickly by sheer joy. After all, I hadn’t been back since I ran away from home. Sitting on their sofa was Liam, my high school sweetheart. He straightened his clothes and looked at me, a slight blush creeping up his neck. “Chloe, what are you doing here?” I shot him a look. “It’s my own home. Am I not allowed to come back?” He awkwardly scratched his head. During dinner, I kept my eyes on my phone and secretly sent Arthur a second message. [If you don’t reply in ten minutes, I’m marrying Liam.] After dinner, I stood on the balcony, letting the cool breeze hit me. Still no reply from Arthur. Liam walked over, handed me a glass of water, and said, “I’m sorry. I was wrong back then. I’m the reason you turned out like this…” Liam and I dated during our senior year of college. We were at the stage of discussing marriage. The day we broke up was the day that changed my entire life. I had lost a hundred-dollar bill he had given me, and I quietly apologized. But he berated me in front of our entire class, demanding to know what I was actually good for. I was annoyed, so I yelled back, “It’s just a hundred bucks! I’ll pay you back, okay?!” Instead of letting it go, he suddenly stood up from his desk, grabbed me by the throat, and slammed me against the wall. He had already started a small computer repair shop through his own hard work, and he had become incredibly tight-fisted with money. He told me that making money was hard. He said that even as a college senior, I was still mooching off my parents, and asked if I planned to mooch off him for the rest of my life. I didn’t understand why he was acting like that and continued to argue back. That’s when he slapped me right across the face in front of everyone. Arthur, a notorious slacker from the neighboring department, happened to be walking past our classroom. He rushed in, knocked Liam to the ground, grabbed my hand, and dragged me away to the school track. When I called my parents crying to complain, they both sympathized with Liam’s struggles and even told me that he was right. That day, I hugged my knees and cried my eyes out. I finally understood the importance of money. Spending other people’s money meant they could look down on you. So, I decided I wanted to make money. I wanted to be richer than all of them. That way, no matter how I spent my money, no one could point a finger at me. I didn’t go home for the next few days. Arthur booked a hotel room for me, and I stayed there alone. At night, he took me out clubbing, blowing thousands in a single night. During the day, he took me to fancy restaurants, dropping hundreds on a single meal. At the time, I thought, He’s an orphan. How does he have so much sketchy money? I even asked him if he was doing something illegal. He just sneered. “Money is everywhere, you just need the brains to see it.” After that, I started hanging out with him, demanding he show me how to make money. He always gave in to me, always letting me take the bigger cut. 3 My parents watched Liam and me standing on the balcony and tentatively spoke up: “Chloe, it’s been many years. Liam has been waiting for you.” I knew exactly what they were hinting at. “I’m divorced,” I said flatly. Liam immediately asked if I could give him another chance. I pointed to the old street right across from my parents’ house, my eyes gleaming. “Acquire this entire street, and I’ll marry you. All you have to do is negotiate; I’ll provide the capital.” I could see Liam was hesitant. To him, this kind of business was unethical because it involved keeping secrets from the sellers. I grabbed my purse and turned to leave. “If it’s too hard, forget it. You don’t love me as much as Arthur did anyway.” As I pulled the front door open, Liam’s voice rang out behind me: “I can do it!” I let out a soft chuckle and walked out. Any street I set my sights on, Arthur would have undoubtedly noticed before me. So, the news that I would marry Liam if he acquired this street would definitely reach Arthur’s ears. Just as I expected, a year later, right as Liam was about to finalize the deals, someone swooped in and snatched it out from under him. Every single homeowner who had agreed to sell backed out. I was standing at the corner of the street when Arthur, who had vanished for a whole year, suddenly appeared in front of me with his signature slacker swagger. “You want this street too?” I rolled my eyes at him. “Boss Arthur has already taken it down. What are you pretending for?” He put on a look of total bewilderment. “I just heard the news and came to check it out.” I looked at him closely. His formerly bleached blond hair had long been dyed back to black. He didn’t look like he was lying. But in our line of work, lying without batting an eye was the most basic skill. With every sentence we exchanged, I questioned its authenticity. For the next few days, I followed him around everywhere, eating and drinking on his dime. Every day, I would ask him, “Did you really acquire this street? Transfer it to me.” But his lips were sealed tight. He always just flashed that playful grin and gave me ambiguous answers. I didn’t contact him for the following week because I ended up lying in a private hospital bed. Acute kidney failure. When he rushed in, the playful grin was completely gone. He looked at my pale lips and gripped my hand tightly. His expression had never been so serious. “Why so sudden?” I spoke slowly and weakly, “Maybe it’s my own stubbornness. You know my love for money has become a sickness… “Since I’m dying anyway, can you finally tell me if you acquired that street?” He whispered anxiously, “How can you still be thinking about that street at a time like this?” Tears slipped from the corners of my eyes. “Did you acquire it or not?! I’m dying, and you still won’t tell me?!” Arthur stood up abruptly. “I’ll come see you later.” He turned and walked toward the door. Listening to his retreating footsteps, I quickly grabbed a mirror to check my “sick” makeup. Good, it was flawless. For a second, I thought he had caught on. A day passed, and he still hadn’t come back to see me. Bored lying in bed, I started wandering around the private hospital. I noticed a door slightly ajar. The person lying in the hospital bed inside looked exactly like Arthur. I gently pushed the door open and walked in. He lay weakly on the bed, slowly opening his eyes to look at me. “You’re here…” I frowned deeply and sat on the edge of his bed. “What happened to you?” He parted his lips slightly. “I went to the doctor yesterday to see if I could give you one of my kidneys… but the results came back…” I looked at him sternly. “What were the results?” He let out a weak chuckle. “Just like you, I also have acute kidney failure.” 4 I was stunned. Looking at his frail expression, I couldn’t bring myself to say another word. He patted the back of my hand. He said, “I’ll give you three chances. You can ask me three questions. Consider it my final gift to you.” The questions were on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them back. “Just focus on resting for now.” He shook his head. “I’ll be discharged tomorrow anyway. Lying in the hospital won’t do any good. Want to go together?” I nodded. The next day, we both checked out and went back to his place. His condition today genuinely looked like a sick person’s—at least much more convincing than mine. My nose stung with unshed tears. Just like before, he held his laptop, researching which old streets were ripe for acquisition. I sat on the desk, watching him. The first question: “That street, did you acquire it?” He put down the laptop, crossed his arms, and looked at me. “Why do you want to know so badly?” Looking at his haggard face, my eyes welled up with tears. I reached out, hugged him, and started crying. “I don’t know why you wanted to divorce me. If you admit you acquired the street, it proves you still love me.” He reached out, stroked my cheek, and nodded. “I acquired it. When I heard you were going to marry him, my heart broke. I couldn’t stand to see you marry him.” I looked up at him. “Then why did you divorce me?” He gently wiped away my tears and smiled. “Didn’t I tell you? You always took the bigger cut.” I shook my head. “That question doesn’t count. Let me change it. Do you really have acute kidney failure?” He pulled me into his embrace, stroked my hair, and said in a serious, low voice: “You are the woman I love most… I used to wonder if, when we got old, we’d still bicker every day. “When I found out I had this disease, I just wanted to leave the best things I had for you before I go.” He cupped my face, looking at me with deep affection. I froze, nodding slowly as tears welled in my eyes. The next second, he couldn’t hold it in anymore and burst out laughing. The haggard look on his face vanished instantly. 5 I pushed him away angrily. “You lied to me again! I knew it couldn’t be such a coincidence!” He leaned close to my face and whispered, “What about you?” I lifted my chin defiantly. “Of course mine is real! I’m dying and you’re still lying to me!” He shrugged. “Then mine is real too.” I sat on the couch, fuming. “Since neither of us is going to tell the truth, let’s just not talk at all!” He smiled and shook his head. After calming down, I continued, “That last question didn’t count either. I still have two questions left, right?” He nodded. “Whatever you say.” I smiled happily. “Can you give me the contract for that street too?” “Sure.” He took me up to the second-floor bedroom and handed me the contract. I grabbed the contract and happily threw my arms around his neck. He responded enthusiastically. “Now you’re richer than me again.” When we woke up the next morning, I reached for the contract on the nightstand, reading it over and over, a smile playing on my lips. “Time to get up. Come with me somewhere,” he said as he pushed the door open. I waved the contract in my hand. “Don’t forget you have to come with me to the notary office to transfer the contract.” After getting ready, he took me to a jewelry store and asked me to help him pick out a wedding ring. I teased him, “What, are you proposing again?” I used to constantly complain about the ring he picked when he first proposed. It seemed he had finally learned his lesson and was letting me pick it myself. He laughed. “It’s not for you. Just help me pick.” Naturally, I picked the biggest diamond ring in the store. After paying, he slipped the ring into his pocket. Then, we went to the notary office to process the contract transfer. After handing the documents to the clerk, I turned to look at Arthur. He couldn’t hide the smile on his face. It was the exact same expression he had the last time he proposed. I cleared my throat and said, “Wait here. I’m going to the restroom.” I quickly walked to the restroom, washed my hands multiple times, and applied a thick layer of hand cream, prepping myself for the impending proposal. After fussing for half an hour, I held out my fingers. Seeing they looked soft and delicate, I walked back to the counter, thoroughly satisfied. The clerk handed the contract back to me and stated, “This is invalid. It’s a fake contract.” “What?” I took the contract suspiciously, rapidly scanning the clauses and signatures. “That’s impossible. Are you sure you didn’t read it wrong?…” Just as I was about to argue with the clerk, I looked over at Arthur. He couldn’t suppress his smirk anymore. I had been tricked again. I furiously slammed the contract against his chest, screaming, “Arthur, is playing me for a fool really that fun for you?!” He looked at me with that same punchable grin. “I just love seeing you angry.” More and more people in the notary office stopped to watch the crazy woman and the calm man. I took a deep breath. “If you keep this up, don’t even think about me marrying you again!” Arthur stood up. “When did I ever say I wanted you to marry me again?” 6 I pointed at the ring in his pocket. “Isn’t that for me?” Arthur chuckled. “We’re already divorced. Why would it be for you?” In the past, if a joke went this far, he would immediately start coaxing me. But today, he didn’t. Just as I was about to speak again, my parents walked into the notary office with Liam. Liam excitedly handed me a contract. “Chloe, I finally managed to secure this contract! Don’t worry, you don’t have to pay a cent. It’s a gift.” Before I could even speak, he handed the contract to the clerk to process the transfer. I watched the clerk’s serious expression. “Yes, this one is authentic. We will now transfer it to Chloe Price’s name.” Arthur leaned in close and whispered, “I told you I didn’t acquire it, but you didn’t believe me. It seems he’s really changed. Congratulations.” My eyes widened slightly in shock. I quickly snatched my ID back from the clerk. “There’s no need to transfer it.” Leaving my confused parents and Liam behind, along with that smiling Arthur, I walked out of the notary office alone. Back in my car, I stared blankly at the entrance of the notary office. It seemed it really had all been my own wishful thinking. I never believed Arthur would genuinely care about how we split the money. I had always assumed he snatched that old street away just for me. I never expected he only admitted to it because I was annoying him so much. I let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh. All those years of him taking care of me had given me a blind, arrogant confidence. Tap. Tap. Tap. Someone knocked on my window. My parents and Liam had somehow found their way to my car. I unlocked the doors. They got in and immediately started discussing my wedding with Liam. I cut them off. “How did you know I was at the notary office?” My parents looked at each other. Liam stayed silent for a moment before saying, “We originally came to ask about the contract transfer process, and then we saw you.” “The old street was already acquired by someone else. How did you get it? And where did you get so much money?” Liam didn’t speak. My mom told me that to get this street and marry me, Liam had gone to the previous buyer’s house every single day, begging them. He eventually acquired it by paying a 20% premium over the original purchase price. As for the money, he transferred ownership of all his storefronts, sold his old family home, and took out a massive bank loan just to buy that old street for me. My mom told me not to let him down. After dropping my parents off, I went downstairs alone. My mind was a mess. Everything happening recently was slowly spiraling out of my control. Liam chased me downstairs and called out my name. 7 He said, “Chloe, I know with your wealth now, you don’t lack a single street. Maybe that day you just said it casually.” I looked at him coldly. “If you know I don’t want to get married, then why did you come down?” He paused, then said, “Putting that one incident aside, we were really good together before, right?” I didn’t answer. He continued, “The things you and Arthur do, even though they aren’t illegal, they always involve deceiving people…” I cut him off. “Shut up! What do you mean ‘deceiving people’? The money we offered was above market value! It was a willing transaction between buyer and seller.” He kept arguing with me, saying that if they hadn’t sold to us, they would have made even more money when the demolition happened. He also told me that this kind of work looked shady to outsiders, and it would be embarrassing if relatives or friends asked about it and we couldn’t give a straight answer. I covered my ears and walked quickly toward my car. He continued babbling behind me. They completely didn’t understand. Why should I care what other people think? I have financial freedom now; I can go wherever I want. And they definitely didn’t understand how much judgment and mockery Arthur, an orphan, had endured to get to where he was. Besides, the people we contacted… some had family members who were sick and couldn’t afford treatment. Some needed to put their kids through school, or had whole extended families crammed into a tiny, dilapidated house, or needed money for a bride price. Like us, they didn’t know for sure if the demolition would happen. They couldn’t afford to gamble, and they couldn’t just wait around doing nothing. They had tried to sell their houses themselves, but buyers lowballed them relentlessly. So they willingly sold to us. Were we in the wrong? The moment I opened my car door, Liam stopped me. “Have you still not forgiven me?” I said coldly, “Why should I forgive you? The most humiliating moment of my life was given to me by you.” I shoved him hard and got into the car. He said, “Arthur doesn’t even want you anymore.” My hand, about to close the door, stopped. I said quietly, “Even so, you still won’t get a turn.” I will never forget that day after Arthur hit him. Liam rallied a group of “good students” to boycott and slander Arthur, reporting him to the administration and causing a massive scene. Because of that, Arthur was forced to drop out. Luckily, he was strong, and he even comforted me, telling me not to blame myself. In the rearview mirror, Liam was holding his phone, looking incredibly anxious. These people… when I had no money, they constantly criticized me for living off my parents. When I got rich, they hovered around me, constantly analyzing the so-called “pros and cons.” After leaving school, Arthur and I had relied solely on each other. We had no friends, but we thoroughly enjoyed our life as a duo. At a red light, my car stopped right outside the jewelry store Arthur had taken me to that afternoon. I stared inside, lost in thought. Right. Neither he nor I had any friends. So who was that ring for? Maybe he was just messing with me again this afternoon. Maybe he didn’t actually want to hand me over to Liam. Holding onto the confidence built from years of relying only on each other, I made a U-turn and drove toward Arthur’s house. I used my key to open his front door. The first thing I saw was all the furniture covered in white dust sheets. I walked through the entire house. He had left. I pulled out my phone and called him. It went straight to voicemail. I could only comfort myself, thinking he must have gone out of town to scout a new project. We used to do this—randomly disappear for a few days. We would go to other cities to investigate old streets, and if we could secure a deal, we would immediately tell the other person the good news. Of course, these post-disappearance “surprises” weren’t really surprises to us anymore, but we always played along, faking an exaggerated look of shock. I pulled off the white sheets and moved into his house.

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After I developed insomnia, I could only fall asleep if I smelled a specific scent. Yet, my boyfriend wanted to break up with me. I begged him: “Can you just sleep with me one more time?” After all, his scent was my sleeping pill. With his arms around two gorgeous women, his tone was impatient: “If you’re sick, go see a doctor!” That very night, his college roommate showed up at my door. “Sister, I’ll sleep with you.” 1 It was 2:00 AM. I don’t know if the begonia flowers were sleeping, but I definitely wasn’t. I had a condition, common and widespread— Insomnia. But this wasn’t your average insomnia. My body chemistry was unique. Ever since I became an adult, I could only fall asleep if I smelled a scent that made me feel secure. The feeling of having incredibly heavy eyelids while your nerves are firing off wildly is pure torture. Today was the third day since Nolan proposed we break up. I was so, so, so sleepy. Unable to hold out, I opened his chat and begged: “Can you just sleep with me one more time?” Nolan’s scent was genuinely wonderful. It was like the rich aroma of a latte mixed with the fresh scent of jasmine. It enveloped me warmly and politely. And it was stronger than any sleeping pill. But the man himself wasn’t nearly as polite. Nolan replied almost instantly: “If you’re sick, go see a doctor! “You pass out the second your head hits the pillow every day. Are you a pig??” I could tell he was furious. I wasn’t a pig. …But I was genuinely sick. The key was, it couldn’t be cured. Then, Nolan sent a photo. Judging by the background, he was at a nightclub. He had his arms wrapped around two beautiful women. “You can’t afford me anymore!!” “…” Ignoring his melodramatic teenage-boy quote, I opened TikTok to search for my next sleeping buddy. If I didn’t sleep for five days straight, I would die. Tonight was already the third night. A direct message popped up. It was from my brother, Matthew. It was a video. A incredibly handsome guy, his shirt soaked in alcohol, was being force-fed more drinks by a crowd of jeering people. My brother: [Utopia Club, Booth 8. Come quick.] Me: [?] My brother: [His scent should be exactly what you’re looking for.] I sprang out of bed like a startled carp. 2 By the time I reached Utopia, it was almost 3:00 AM. The lights were dim and flashing, the music was deafening, and the dance floor was packed with wave after wave of people. Sporting massive dark circles under my eyes, I dodged the disposable couples making out everywhere and found Booth 8. I immediately spotted the man from the video. He was too striking to miss. His features were deep and masculine, his lips a dark, moody shade, his eyes tilted upwards at the corners, radiating an undeniable, aristocratic aura. The ambient club lighting hit his face, adding a layer of seduction. Even thrown into a massive crowd, he would be the one person you’d notice instantly. Right now, his eyelids were slightly lowered, his long eyelashes trembling. He looked like the absolute epitome of someone being bullied to their limit. I knew it was my time to shine. The perfect opportunity for a “beauty saves the hero” moment. I massaged my temples, trying to slightly ease my throbbing headache. Putting on a face that was 30% aloof, 30% arrogant, and 40% careless, I slammed my foot onto the table: “Tonight’s tab is on me! “Can we be friends? “Mind if I take my boyfriend home now?” Everyone looked shocked. The man beside me widened his eyes, his intoxicated pupils filled with disbelief. As the physical distance closed, I caught his scent. It was different from Nolan’s. His scent was cedar mixed with the crisp smell of winter. Cool, clean, and incredibly sleep-inducing. In just a few short seconds, my eyelids actually started to feel heavy. The firing nerves in my brain were soothed and slowly began to calm down. Not even specialized medication worked this fast. The next second, someone from across the booth yelled out: “Sister-in-law??” The people around looked somewhat familiar. They seemed to be my ex-boyfriend’s friends. Scanning the room, I finally noticed a highly familiar figure sitting in the corner— 3 Nolan. He sat silently in the corner, twirling his glass, his expression aloof. He wasn’t participating in the drinking games, and the two beauties from the photo were nowhere to be seen. Sitting beside him, keeping him company, was his childhood friend, Chloe. When Nolan and I were together. She always relied on her “innocent little sister” act, constantly spouting manipulative, passive-aggressive nonsense in front of him. I couldn’t be bothered to argue with her. I just asked Nolan: “Aren’t you going to say anything to her?” He looked completely unconcerned: “We grew up together. If something was going to happen between us, it would have happened a long time ago. “I just see her as a little sister. Our parents know each other; I can’t be too harsh with her.” Then he frowned at me: “Could you not be so maliciously suspicious?” I stopped talking. Relying on the fact that I couldn’t live without him, he became increasingly reckless with my feelings. On his birthday, I carried a cake I baked myself and a carefully chosen gift to his party. Just as I reached the door of the private room, I unexpectedly heard my name. My hand, reaching for the handle, paused. “Bro, what are you thinking? Why haven’t you broken up with her yet? “Didn’t you say back then you just wanted to see what it was like to date an older girl? Just playing around? What, did you catch real feelings? “Or could it be… the older girl has a unique flavor in bed?” A chorus of sleazy laughter followed. Nolan’s tone was dismissive: “Whether she’s good or not, you can try her out after I’m done with her. “Someone is desperately throwing money at me. I’m just playing along. “Maybe I just have some magical charm. I can’t even chase her away. It’s just so annoying that she makes me sleep with her every single day.” I felt like I had plunged into an ice cavern. I lowered my eyes, pressed my lips together, and left. Magical charm, indeed. Dating him for almost two years, I would have plucked the stars and moon for him. I firmly believed he was “The One,” perfectly aligned with my soul. But apparently, that wasn’t the case. 4 When I was twenty, my insomnia started. Every day, I fell asleep with the help of melatonin and sedatives. Gradually, even the medication stopped working. It wasn’t until the freshman orientation, when I, as a senior, was sent by the department to give advice to the incoming students on planning their four years of college. That day, I smelled something different. The fresh scent of jasmine. Mixed with the aroma of coffee. I can’t describe the feeling. It just felt like my entire body was wrapped in clouds, soft and fluffy. Without realizing it, my eyelids started to droop. When it was my turn to take the stage, I forced myself to stay awake and shared my advice with the underclassmen. But my eyes scoured the vibrant faces below the podium. Finally locking onto the very last row. The rich scent was emanating from there. But there were too many people, and the smells were mixed. I couldn’t pinpoint the specific target yet. After the session ended, I waited by the door. Until the very last person walked out— That night, my brother gathered all the information on him. Nolan, 18 years old, a freshman in the Physics department, 6 feet tall, 155 lbs, single. The report even detailed his family background, upbringing, and dietary habits. I read it over and over, but couldn’t find anything special about him. Yet this was the person who possessed that unique scent. A scent no one else could smell but me. That night, I went to a coffee shop and bought a latte, then went to a florist and bought jasmine, trying to recreate that unique fragrance. After all that effort, my mind was only more stimulated, completely devoid of sleepiness. The next day, I paid a top-tier perfumer to create a custom scent, but it was absolutely useless. I accepted my fate. And so, I launched a fierce pursuit of Nolan. Limited edition sneakers, expensive in-game skins… I showered him with gifts like running water. A month later, we made it official. My attitude toward relationships has always been straightforward: either don’t start one, or take it seriously. Clearly, in this relationship, I was the only one taking it seriously. 5 The club was chaotic, a mix of all sorts of people. Unless I got close, I couldn’t smell Nolan clearly. Besides, I had a “sleeping pill” radiating its scent right next to me. He looked up, staring straight at me. Our eyes met. My eyelids felt heavy. I was the first to look away. Since everything was out in the open, and I had a new sleeping buddy. There was no need for me to hang myself on this one tree. I grabbed the handsome guy’s hand, turned around, and prepared to leave. “Maya—” Nolan called my name. The atmosphere was tense and explosive. Everyone turned to look. I paused for a second but didn’t look back. My sleeping pill was right beside me. I just wanted to sleep. Nolan’s gaze fell on my hand holding someone else’s. He frowned, his face looking awful: “What is the meaning of this? “Do you think doing this will make me want to get back together with you?” The next second, his expression turned icy: “Save it.” I thought he was acting completely bizarre. I had a new sleeping buddy. Why would I care about him? “You’re overthinking it. “Where do you get your confidence? Do you think I have that much free time? “I’m genuinely pursuing him.” Hearing this, Nolan stood up. His face looked even worse, his jaw tight, speaking through gritted teeth: “He’s my roommate!!!” “…” Well, if you put it that way, I guess I am being a little bizarre. I looked in shock and uncertainty at the person beside me, who was obediently letting me hold his hand. Noticing my gaze, he paused for a moment, then slowly nodded. And rubbed his nose, looking a little guilty. Regardless, in front of an ex-boyfriend, you can’t lose the verbal battle. “So what if he’s your roommate? “The dark ages are over. We advocate for free love now. Even if he was your dad, I could date him!” The guy next to me nodded, seeming to agree completely, and immediately echoed: “Yeah, free love! Even if I was your dad, she could date me!” Nolan stood in silence, his jaw tight. I thought about it for a second; that didn’t sound quite right. After a brief pause, I added: “Of course, I wouldn’t cross that moral line.” The guy next to me repeated: “Of course, wouldn’t cross that moral line!” His parroting made me accidentally let out a small laugh. Nolan’s face was livid, his eyes dark as he glared at us. A few seconds later, he suddenly laughed out loud. Nolan shifted his gaze to the person beside me: “Asher, she’s my ex-girlfriend. She was so obsessed with me she practically begged to sleep with me every single day.” He pulled out his phone, pulled up our chat history, and showed everyone: “Just a minute ago, she was begging me to sleep with her one more time.” In the chat window, my pleading words were exposed for everyone to see. The looks directed at me were laced with malice. “Asher, she’s just using you to get back at me. Are you sure you want to go with her?” My heart clenched, and my grip tightened. I looked at the person beside me. 6 My newly calmed nerves spiked with anxiety once again. Quietly waiting for his answer. He looked at Nolan, then looked at my hand gripping his tightly. Everyone around us held their breath, watching the scene unfold. He lowered his gaze to my face and said slowly: “Unless I’m mistaken… this is the first time we’ve ever met, right?” Nolan let out a sigh of relief. It made sense. Ditching your roommate to leave with your roommate’s ex-girlfriend was definitely crazy. I started calculating in my head whether I should have my brother throw a sack over his head and drag him to my bed, or if I should just knock him out and carry him away myself. The next instant, my pinky finger was gently hooked. He blinked, the corners of his mouth curving up. A huge, dazzling smile appeared on his handsome face as he said— “Okay. “I’m sure I want to go with her!” ??! Nolan stopped breathing for a second. He looked like he had worked himself to death all day, only to come home and find out he was being cheated on—a completely foul expression. He couldn’t believe it: “Asher??” This time, no one tried to stop us. I shot a careless glance at Nolan. Holding Asher’s hand, I held my head high and walked right past him. Before leaving, I didn’t forget to let out a cold snort in his direction. Then I remembered myself just moments ago, begging my ex-boyfriend to sleep with me. I couldn’t help but mentally spit on myself twice. How can a person have so little backbone?

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It had been ten years with Daniel, and for the first time, he baked me a birthday cake with his own hands. I took a bite, my heart swelling with joy, only for my skin to erupt in red, angry hives. My throat started to close. Vicky, watching me, clapped her hands and burst out laughing. “So Daniel was right! Some people really are allergic to cheap, artificial cream!” I begged Daniel to take me to the hospital. He just stared at me, his face cold. “An allergic reaction? It’s not that serious. Are you just trying to scare Vicky?” “I have to go with Vicky to shoot her vlog. If you want to go, go by yourself.” That day, it was a waitress who called the ambulance for me. Three months later, he finally remembered to call, his first words an accusation: “Sophie, are you done playing games?” The man beside me snatched the phone from my hand. “I hear you’re a great baker. We’re having our engagement party tomorrow. Why don’t you send a cake over?” Daniel panicked, but the line went dead. 1 The itching was unbearable, and a slow, horrifying realization dawned on me: I was having a severe allergic reaction. Ever since I was three years old and ended up in the emergency room after eating cake, I’ve known that imitation whipped cream was poison to me. And Daniel knew it too. My throat was swelling shut. I collapsed to my knees, gasping for air. “This has… artificial cream in it,” I rasped, forcing myself to look at the cake on the table, the one with a single slice missing—my slice. “Daniel, you knew…” Vicky cut me off, pointing at my face and howling with laughter. “Haha! Sophie, your face is so swollen you look like a pig!” “So Daniel was right! Someone really is allergic to that stuff!” She was doubled over, snapping pictures with her phone. Daniel’s face was a mask of impatience. “I know. So what? A little bit won’t kill you.” Vicky suddenly put on a pathetic pout. “It was my fault. I was just so curious if the allergy was real, that’s the only reason Daniel did it. If you’re going to be mad at someone, be mad at me.” I couldn’t speak anymore. If this continued, I was going to go into anaphylactic shock. I grabbed Daniel’s arm, desperately making gestures, trying to tell him to call 911. Vicky shrank behind him. “Danny, she’s scaring me.” Daniel violently shook my hand off, shielding Vicky. His voice was laced with disgust. “An allergic reaction isn’t that dramatic. You’re just trying to scare her on purpose.” “I have to go with Vicky to shoot her vlog. If you need a doctor, call one yourself.” And with that, they left, leaving me alone on the floor. Watching his retreating back, my heart felt like it was being crushed by a giant fist, a pain that eclipsed anything my body was feeling. So this was their birthday gift to me. At nine years old, Daniel had promised to protect me forever, to never let anything hurt me. At twenty-nine, he had shattered that promise with his own hands. Tears streamed down my face. If this was how it was going to be, then I was letting go. For my own sake. My vision blurred, and then everything went black. 2 I woke to a blinding light, and a large hand immediately covered my eyes. The clean, crisp scent of soap wafted from his sleeve, a scent that was inexplicably calming. Daniel? Had he come back? I knew it was unlikely, but a foolish sliver of hope flickered within me. I reached up to push his hand away, to see his face, but he caught my wrist and gently tucked it back under the covers. “Don’t get cold.” His voice was cool, a stark contrast to his gentle touch. It was Noah, my junior from grad school. The moment I saw his face, my heart sank. “Oh, it’s you.” I tried my best to hide my disappointment, but Noah saw right through it. “Who else were you hoping for? That useless boyfriend of yours?” He handed me a glass of water. “You’ve been out for a whole day. Drink something.” I took the glass, watching as he put the insulated thermos he’d poured it from back inside his jacket, close to his chest. It was the one I’d given him for his birthday three years ago. Seeing me staring, he awkwardly placed it on the bedside table. “I just… I just kept it because it’s good quality.” I didn’t press him. My mind drifted back to when I was eighteen, when Daniel and I had made a pair of matching couple’s mugs at a pottery class. He had held me and whispered, “These represent our love. I’ll keep mine until I’m eighty.” A few days ago, I saw Vicky post a picture on her Instagram story. It was a small succulent, planted in a familiar mug. The caption read: I said I wanted it, and he gave it to me right away. It’s perfect for my little plant! And there it was, Daniel’s mug. He had even commented below: As long as you like it. I’ll get you something even better next time. When I called to confront him, he got angry. “It’s just a mug, Sophie. Are you serious? When did you become so petty? We can just make another one.” After we hung up that day, I felt a profound weariness settle over me. He was the one who had forgotten his promise, but he was telling me I was the one who had changed. We had a huge fight. We didn’t speak until yesterday, when he messaged me, saying he wanted to celebrate my birthday. I thought he wanted to apologize. I never imagined he was just planning to deepen my disappointment. All the little disappointments were piling up, and the love I once felt was slowly eroding away. “Hello? Are you even listening to me?” Noah’s raised voice pulled me back to the present. “You knew you were allergic. Why did you eat it? You’re a grown woman, how could you make a mistake like that?” His face was tense. “They ended up calling me, you know.” “Was Mr. Wonderful so busy that he couldn’t even answer your call at a time like this?” I checked my phone. Three missed calls to Daniel. All unanswered. The nurse must have gone through my recent calls and found Noah’s number, since I had called him a few days ago about our mentor’s birthday. Noah was just getting warmed up. “He doesn’t even have time to pick up the phone? I think he’s just—” “Stop it!” My voice was suddenly sharp. “I’m hungry. Can you get me something to eat?” Noah looked at me, a strange emotion flickering in his eyes. Seeing me avoid his gaze, he turned and left, a shadow of disappointment in his posture. Watching him go, I felt a pang of regret for my harsh tone. He was still in his suit, obviously having rushed over from work. I’d heard he had recently taken over his family’s company; he must be incredibly busy. We were just friends, barely even in contact since graduation. I had no right to treat him that way. I was surprised he had even come at all. It was just… hearing him talk about Daniel made me feel ashamed. Even an outsider could see how little Daniel cared. I was only fooling myself. My phone buzzed. It was a new video from Vicky. She was a minor influencer with a few hundred thousand followers, famous for her schtick of “randomly” picking handsome strangers on the street for romantic-themed photoshoots. A year ago, she had “randomly” picked Daniel. I remember him sending me a special text asking if I’d mind. How ironic that seems now. From that day on, he and Vicky became fast friends. Daniel had opened a small dessert shop after college, and thanks to the viral photos, a lot of Vicky’s fans flocked to his store. After that, Vicky used the excuse of photoshoots to spend more and more time with him. I told him they were getting too close. He’d just laugh it off. “We’re just buddies. What are you thinking? Besides, her popularity is great for business. It’s mutually beneficial.” I believed his nonsense and watched as they got closer and closer, until he started prioritizing her over me. I steeled myself and opened the video. The title was “A Happy Day with My Temporary Photographer!” The video showed them at an amusement park, taking photos in a “princess and knight” theme. In one shot, Daniel was on one knee, kissing the back of Vicky’s hand. I saw a familiar look in his eyes—a look that used to be reserved for me. The comment section was filled with people ‘shipping’ them. “Wow, the sparks are flying! Someone get these two a marriage license!” “This guy has been in so many of her videos. Is something really going on?” Vicky replied with a blushing, face-hiding emoji. Her fans went wild. Even though I had already decided to let go, seeing this still sent a sharp pain through my heart. 3 My allergic reaction had subsided. Noah drove me home. A folk song I loved was playing softly in the car. I remembered how Daniel’s car was always blasting rock music. When I complained it was too loud, he said I was getting old, that my taste couldn’t keep up. But he was the one who had told me folk music was beautiful in the first place, the reason I had started listening to it. The singer’s gentle voice lulled me to sleep. I dreamt of my childhood. Whenever bullies picked on me, Daniel would always fight them off. When I asked him why, he’d wipe his runny nose, his eyes brighter than stars, and say, “You’re going to be my wife someday. I can’t let them push around my future wife.” But dreams end. Reality had taken a sharp, cruel turn. A tear escaped the corner of my eye. I felt a cool touch on my cheek and opened my eyes to see Noah quickly pulling his hand back. “What are you doing…?” “Just curious,” he said with a smirk. “I never thought I’d see our ‘Iron Lady’ shed a tear.” He’d given me that nickname in grad school because of how hard I worked. I jabbed him with my elbow. “Still making fun of your senior, huh? You’re asking for it.” We roughhoused for a moment, and it felt like we were back in school again, a comfortable familiarity settling between us. My mood lifted. When we got to my apartment, Noah just looked at me, as if he had something to say. His stare made my cheeks flush. I laughed nervously. “What, are you about to confess your undying love?” He didn’t speak, just kept looking. Just as the silence became awkward and I was about to make an excuse to leave, he finally said, “Take care of yourself.” I didn’t have my keys, so it was Daniel who opened the door. “What took you so long?” he asked, as if nothing had happened. I didn’t answer. The silence stretched until he finally put down his phone, the smile he’d had while looking at the screen vanishing. He looked up at me, his tone accusatory. “You’re not still mad about the cake, are you? Seriously? It was just a joke to make a girl happy.” “Daniel, a severe allergic reaction can kill someone! Is a human life a joke to you?” The casual indifference on his face made my heart ache. This toxic relationship wasn’t worth saving. A sweet, feminine voice suddenly came from his phone. “Oh, Danny, please don’t fight. It’s all my fault. I really didn’t know it would be that serious.” The voice broke into a sob, and Daniel immediately became frantic. “Sophie, when did you become so vicious? She was just having some fun. Besides, you’re fine now, aren’t you?” His baseless accusation made me see the man I had loved for so many years with chilling clarity. In his stunned silence, I slapped him hard across the face. “‘Just for fun’ could have cost me my life,” I said, my voice shaking with rage. “I was lucky to make it out of the hospital today. If I had died, would you have stood over my grave and said it was ‘just for fun’? What you did was attempted murder. I could press charges!” The word “hospital” seemed to extinguish his fury. He looked me up and down. “Hospital? It was that serious? Are you okay?” I slapped away the hand he reached out to me. He tried to say something else, but was interrupted by a noise from his phone. “Ah! There’s someone lurking outside my house! What if it’s a stalker? I’m so scared…” “Don’t be afraid. I’m on my way,” Daniel said instantly. He pulled a box from his pocket, placed it on the table, and headed for the door. “This is your birthday present. I’ll explain when I get back…” I knew he wouldn’t be back tonight. The so-called gift was a pink necklace. I knew instantly whose style it was. I didn’t touch it. I had a business trip for work anyway. I packed a few things and left. 4 Over the next few days, Daniel sent a few texts. I just replied that I was on a business trip and then ignored him. Strangely, Noah kept asking me out to dinner, saying he wanted to discuss our mentor’s birthday plans, even though there was nothing special about it this year. I returned a week later, just in time for my grandmother’s 80th birthday. In previous years, Daniel and I would have gone back together. Now… My mom texted asking if I was coming. I was about to say I’d be coming alone when a message from Daniel popped up, offering to drive us both back. I agreed, thinking it would be the perfect opportunity, with all our family there, to make the breakup official. I thought, at the very least, he wouldn’t back out of something like this. But on the day we were supposed to leave, he went silent. I stood at our designated meeting spot for hours. Darkness fell. I decided I’d just go by myself the next day. But then my mom called. My grandmother had fallen down the stairs. I tried to book a ticket immediately, but it was the start of the university winter break, and everything was sold out. Staring at my silent phone, I didn’t hesitate any longer. Daniel’s actions had erased any reason I had left to forgive him. It was better to rip the band-aid off. I typed out a text. “We’re done.” I was frantic to find out more about my grandmother’s condition when my phone rang. A familiar yet distant number flashed on the screen. It was Noah. The contact name was still “Junior,” a relic of a more detached time.

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My ex-husband hated me with a vengeance that burned like a fever, all for the sake of the girl who’d been his “forever” dream. I did the only sensible thing: I took the settlement money and disappeared, leaving everything behind—including our child. Six years later, a miniature version of him, a little marshmallow of a boy, knocked on my door. He was wearing a bright yellow backpack, his small face set in a mask of solemnity that was far too old for him. “Dominic doesn’t want me anymore,” he announced, his voice steady despite the slight tremble of his lower lip. “I’m moving in with you.” I froze, the air caught in my lungs. Before I could even find my voice, he tilted his head back and began reciting legal statutes with the precision of a court reporter. “Under the Family Code, parents have a non-delegable duty to support and maintain their minor children…” He didn’t get to finish. I stepped aside, opening the door wide. “Get in here.” … 1 The warm light of the entryway hit his face, and for a split second, his eyes shimmered. Then, with a haughty little huff, he marched inside on his sturdy legs. As soon as the door clicked shut, the boy—Milo, as I knew him from the few photos I’d dared to look at over the years—began surveying my life. He gripped the straps of his backpack tight when he caught me watching him. “I’m Milo,” he said, puffing out his chest. The tone was unmistakable. It was a declaration of war and a plea for recognition all at once. He wanted me to know exactly whose blood ran through his veins. Not that he needed to say it; with that jawline and those piercing dark eyes, he was a carbon copy of Dominic. When I didn’t immediately fall at his feet, he looked slightly deflated. He turned his head away, pouting. I took his backpack, hanging it on the hook by the door, and led him toward the bathroom. “Wash up. Dinner’s almost ready.” He gave a small, obedient nod. By the time I’d set the table, he had already scrambled up into the dining chair, looking tiny against the high back. “Why are you here, Milo? Really?” I asked. He poked at a piece of broccoli with his fork, his head drooping low. His voice came out muffled, thick with unshed tears. “We had a fight. He threw things. He told me to get out, told me never to come back to the estate again.” A runaway. I remembered how fiercely the Thorne family had fought for custody, nearly burying me in lawsuits and threats of jail time just to keep me away from him. He was their crown prince. I figured Dominic was probably tearing the city apart looking for him right now. Watching him eat, a lump formed in my throat. I hadn’t prepared for guests. It was just a simple stir-fry and soup. Milo was clearly a picky eater—he meticulously picked out every sliver of onion and carrot—but eventually, only the greens were left. He stared at them like they were poison, stole a quick glance at me, and then, with the dramatic resolve of a martyr, closed his eyes and swallowed them whole. The arrogant little prince who had walked in ten minutes ago was gone, replaced by a kid who was trying so hard to be “good” that it broke my heart. It seemed he hadn’t been mistreated at the Thorne mansion, but he was certainly disciplined. I cleaned up the dishes, expecting a frantic knock on the door at any moment. But nine-thirty came and went. The hallway remained silent. Six-year-olds can only stay awake so long. Milo’s eyes were drooping. He pulled a pair of dinosaur pajamas out of his bag and looked around my cramped studio apartment. He wrinkled his nose. “Your house is so small. Why is there only one bed?” “Are we… are we sharing?” he asked, a hint of apprehension in his voice. I glanced at the clock, wondering where the hell Dominic was. I sighed and nodded. “Yeah. We’ll make it work for tonight.” I expected a tantrum. Compared to the Thorne estate, this place was a glorified closet. Instead, Milo just bit his lip, a flash of something that looked suspiciously like relief crossing his face. He scrubbed his face, changed into his pajamas, and climbed under the covers. Just like at dinner, he was playing the part of the perfect guest. He wiggled around until he was tucked in like a little silkworm, only his big eyes visible. Then, he reached under his pillow—God knows when he’d hidden it there—and pulled out a book of fairy tales. “Aren’t you going to read to me?” The hope in his eyes was so bright it was almost unbearable. 2 After Milo fell asleep, I pulled up the number that had been sitting in my block list for six years. My thumb hovered over the “unblock” button, trembling. I couldn’t do it. Dominic and I… we were a lifetime ago. When my family’s business collapsed, the Thornes decided I was a liability. They arranged a match between Dominic and Becca—the girl everyone said was his “true” soulmate. Dominic fought them. He gave up his inheritance, took a literal beating from his grandfather that left him bedridden for weeks, all for me. I had cried over his bruised body, and he had just smiled, wiping my tears away, promising me we’d be okay. We were young enough to believe love was a shield. We eloped, I got pregnant, and I spent nine months dreaming of our future. Then came the day of the delivery. The pain was agonizing. I called Dominic dozens of times, but he never picked up. A neighbor eventually drove me to the hospital. When I woke up from the C-section, the man standing over me wasn’t my husband. He was a stranger. His eyes were cold, filled with a visceral disgust, as if looking at me made him sick. It was Becca who eventually came to my room to explain the “truth.” She spoke about “narratives” and “destiny,” claiming I was just a glitch in the system. She was the protagonist of his life, and I was a side character who had overstayed her welcome. She told me the “universe” had corrected itself. Dominic’s love for me had been a mistake, and now, it had been inverted into pure, unadulterated loathing. As she left, she looked at me with chilling pity. “Have you thought about what will happen to that child?” I was broken. My parents had died in a car crash on their way to the hospital to see the baby. I was alone, hemorrhaging money I didn’t have, and the man I loved looked at me like I was dirt. I remember standing by the hospital window, thinking about jumping. Then, I heard a cry from the bassinet. I walked over, looking at that wrinkled little life, and a horrific thought took root: If I go, what happens to him? Would Becca hurt him? Would Dominic hate him the way he hated me? Maybe it was better to take him with me. My hands were shaking as I reached for his tiny neck. In that moment, the crying stopped. The baby opened his eyes—red-rimmed and bright—and looked straight at me, as if he were asking for a hug. A nurse burst in a second later, pulling me away. I stared at my hands, cold sweat pouring down my back. I had almost killed my own son. The Thornes heard about the incident. The grandfather came for the child. I didn’t fight. I signed the divorce papers, gave up my rights, and took the two-million-dollar settlement. I needed the money for my parents’ medical debts and funeral, and I needed to get away before I destroyed what was left of my soul. Dominic never showed his face. He hated me too much to even say goodbye. So I moved on. I told myself it was for the best. Milo rolled over in his sleep, his warm little body pressing against mine. His tiny hand gripped the fabric of my t-shirt, as if terrified I’d vanish if he let go. I brushed a stray hair from his forehead, my heart aching. If he knew that his mother had once considered ending his life, would he still be sleeping here? He’d probably run as far away as he could. 3 The next morning, Dominic still hadn’t called. I couldn’t figure out the game he was playing. Milo was six; he couldn’t have found my apartment on his own without help. Had Dominic sent him? I woke Milo up and hailed a cab to take him to his kindergarten. It was across the city, an hour’s ride. Before we got out, he gripped my hand, making me swear on my life that I’d be there to pick him up. As we approached the school gates, his eyes suddenly lit up. He saw a sleek black car idling at the curb. Milo pulled me along, but as we got closer to the car, he slowed his pace. He intentionally stepped in front of a chubby little boy who had just stepped out of a luxury SUV. With a voice loud enough for every parent on the sidewalk to hear, Milo chirped, “Mom, you’re definitely coming to get me after school, right?” It was the first time he’d called me “Mom.” The chubby kid stared, eyes wide. “You have a mom? Why hasn’t she ever dropped you off before?” Milo lifted his chin, his expression pure Thorne arrogance. “My mom is very busy. She runs a massive company. She took a special day off just to be with me today.” He emphasized the word “special” with a bite. He led me toward the door like a victorious little general. But just before he went inside, he turned back, his composure crumbling for a split second. “…You’ll be here?” When I didn’t answer immediately, panic flared in his eyes. “You promised in the car! Adults aren’t allowed to lie to kids!” I knelt down, straightening his collar, and ruffled his soft hair. “I’ll be here. I promise.” He tried to hide his grin, failing miserably. “Fine. I guess I can wait for a little while.” I watched him disappear inside, but a nagging feeling tugged at my gut. I went to the front office and asked to speak with his teacher. The teacher was hesitant at first, but then she sighed, leaning over her desk. “Look, I know the Thorne family is… complicated. But I have to say something.” “No matter how busy parents are, the child should come first. Milo has been here for three years, and not once—not once—has anyone come to a parent-teacher conference. The other kids tease him. They say he’s an orphan. It’s affecting him, Ms. Thorne.” Nobody had ever come? Even if Dominic hated the boy, wouldn’t he send an assistant? A nanny? I felt a surge of rage. For the first time, I wondered if giving up custody had been the right thing. I might have been poor, but I would have given him everything. He was a billionaire’s son, but emotionally, he was a beggar. I pulled out my phone and dialed the number I knew by heart. I needed to have it out with Dominic. If he didn’t want the boy, I’d take him. I wasn’t the broken girl I was six years ago. I could raise him. As the phone started to ring, a familiar melody sounded right behind me. My spine turned to ice. I turned around. Standing next to a black Bentley was a tall, imposing figure. Six years hadn’t changed him much. He looked harder, colder, his presence more suffocating than I remembered. He was holding his vibrating phone, his eyes narrowed as he stared at me. “You’ve been hiding for a long time,” he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “Are you finally ready to show your face?”

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