Category: English

At our high school reunion over the holidays, I drew a “Truth” card during a game of Truth or Dare. A classmate asked if I still liked Ethan Vance. I smiled and shook my head: “I haven’t liked him for a long time. I have a boyfriend now.” No one believed that I, who had once been madly in love with Ethan, would give up so quickly. Everyone thought I was just putting on a brave face, and even Ethan smiled disdainfully. Later, my boyfriend pinned me against his car and kissed me passionately: “Trying to coax me? You’ll have to put a little more effort into it, Chloe. That’s not enough.” I was kissed until my lips were slick and my whole body went weak. And right at that moment, Ethan Vance was standing right outside the car window. 1 “Chloe, do you still like our guy Ethan?” That one question silenced everyone in the room. Eyes darted between me and Ethan, eager to hear my answer. Because Ethan and I were childhood friends, and I had indeed been crazy about him in high school. But now, I just smiled faintly and shook my head without a shred of hesitation: “I haven’t liked him for a long time. I have a boyfriend now.” “Who is it?” A classmate pressed. I reminded them: “You only get one question for Truth.” Everyone’s faces immediately fell, and someone couldn’t help but voice their doubt. “You’re probably just making it up, right? You obviously don’t have one, but you’re still pretending.” Ethan had been focused on his phone the entire time, but when he heard someone doubting me, he seemed to let out a mocking chuckle. I didn’t argue, placing my card on the table: “You guys keep playing, I’m going to the restroom.” I don’t understand why they didn’t believe me. Is a person only allowed to like one person their entire life? Everyone has moments when they’re blind, right? 2 Coming out of the restroom, I saw Ethan standing a short distance away. He had great physical attributes; standing there, he caught the eye immediately. In just that short time, several girls had already approached him to strike up a conversation and ask for his number. He smiled, added their contacts, and let their hands wander over his chest. After saying goodbye to them, Ethan pulled out a pack of cigarettes and locked eyes with me. I frowned, suddenly feeling that he wasn’t really that handsome after all. I was about to leave, but he grabbed my wrist as I passed by. “Why did you lie to everyone and say you have a boyfriend? “What? Trying to make me mad? Hoping to see me look sad and regretful after hearing that? Chloe, maybe you should watch fewer soap operas.” I looked up and met his slightly provocative gaze. He was always so confident. Just like when I confessed to him in high school. Ethan and I grew up together. He was always the brightest presence in any crowd, yet he would get into bloody brawls if anyone ever bullied me. He would also climb the wall into my room, ignoring the danger, just to bring me my favorite candy when I was crying after being scolded by my parents. We used to share everything and promised to be together forever. As we grew older, our friends would always tease me about being Ethan’s “little wife.” He never denied it, continuing to carry my backpack and buy me lunch every day. If any guy asked about me, Ethan would pull him into an alley the next day and threaten him. I thought Ethan liked me too. So, after confirming my college entrance exam scores were high enough to get into the same university as him, I gathered my courage and confessed my feelings. Ethan accepted quickly, as if he had anticipated it. But the joy of that success didn’t last long. The very next day, I received a photo from Mia, the school’s “it” girl. In the photo, she and Ethan were acting intimately, their bodies practically pressed together. When I rushed to the private karaoke room, I saw Ethan with his arm around Mia, kissing her passionately. The practiced way they moved made it obvious it wasn’t their first time. 3 My body felt like it was plunged into an ice cellar, and my mind went completely blank. In my ears, I could hear Ethan’s friends cheering them on. Someone couldn’t help but ask: “Ethan, aren’t you afraid Chloe will get mad? She literally just confessed to you yesterday.” Ethan wiped the moisture from his lips and scoffed lightly: “She’s been following me around like a lost puppy for years, do you think she’d actually leave?” “True, Chloe looks pretty desperate. She finally got you, she’d probably be willing to be your side piece, let alone tolerate you cheating.” In the past, if anyone dared to talk about me like that, Ethan would be the first to throw a punch and beat them until they couldn’t speak. But this time, he just laughed nonchalantly: “Who said accepting her confession means I can only be with her? “Actually, Chloe is fine, just too obedient. She’s boring. Not like Mia, who’s sexy and feminine. College is so great, it’d be a waste to settle down before I’ve even tasted what’s out there. “But for marriage, I’d still choose Chloe. After all, a wife is different from a hookup; you still need someone obedient and domesticated.” Saying that, Ethan pulled Mia in by the waist and blew into her ear. The laughter in the room grew even louder. I don’t know how I got home. All I knew was that the perfect boy I had hidden in my heart shattered completely in that moment. That night, my pillow was soaked. But I also told myself that I was only allowed to be sad for this one day. I wouldn’t torture myself over someone else’s mistakes. None of this was my fault. The sun would rise tomorrow, and no one is indispensable. The next day, with eyes swollen like walnuts, I changed my college preferences. I changed my top choice from Boston, where I had promised to go with Ethan, to New York. I had originally wanted to apply to a school in New York because their art programs were better. I only chose Boston for Ethan. But when Ethan heard I was majoring in fine arts, he still smiled disdainfully. He thought fine arts was a dead-end career and that he’d be mocked if his college classmates found out his girlfriend was an art student. Well, now Boston and New York are far apart; he doesn’t have to worry about being mocked anymore. 4 The day I broke up with Ethan, he looked impatient. “Chloe, what are you throwing a tantrum about? It was just a few kisses, is it necessary to be this angry? “If you break up with me, do you really think you can find someone better? “Believe it or not, I can find a prettier, more obedient girlfriend in the blink of an eye.” I didn’t say a word. I just returned all the gifts he had given me over the years. Ethan gritted his teeth: “Fine. When you get bullied in Boston, don’t come crying to me.” That summer, I took the money I had saved for a trip with Ethan and enrolled in an oil painting class to improve my weakest skill. I left early and came home late every day, channeling my heartbreak into motivation. Ethan seemed to be doing well too; his social media was full of pictures from trips to various places. Mia was in every single picture. I heard they got together, and then broke up later. The next time I saw Ethan was a month later. He was tanner, had styled his hair, and had shed his high school awkwardness. I was still wearing my hair in a high ponytail and overalls, my face still smeared with paint from class. Seeing me, the corners of Ethan’s mouth twitched up: “Didn’t I tell you to buy some more mature clothes? Why do you still look like this? When we get to campus, people are going to think I brought my little sister.” I knew this was his way of trying to make peace. In the past, every time we fought, he would act like this, and I would happily run back to him. But this time, I ignored him and walked right past him. Hearing constant belittlement hurts eventually. I didn’t tell Ethan I had changed my college preferences until the moment I boarded my flight. On the plane, I saw his last message. [Chloe, you actually dared to change your college choices behind my back.] I didn’t reply. I deleted him and blocked him. Ethan used to tell me that there were a lot of bad people out there, that I should stick close to him and not easily trust strangers. It wasn’t until I left him that I realized everyone else was perfectly nice; the only one who hurt me the deepest was him. And now, facing his interrogation, I could look him in the eye calmly. “Ethan, I’m not as immature as you think.” He scoffed: “Fine, keep pretending to be tough. Let’s see how long you can last.” With that, he left before me. We didn’t speak another word after that. 5 When the reunion ended, most of our classmates were pretty drunk. Ethan and I lived the closest, so someone suggested he walk me home. He glanced at me, but before he could speak, I immediately refused. “No thanks, my boyfriend is coming to pick me up.” Without caring about the surprised looks from the others, I grabbed my things and left. I saw Liam at our agreed-upon meeting spot. He was wearing a black dress shirt, standing tall and straight. The line of his brow bone beneath his silver-rimmed glasses was striking. Looking at him, I couldn’t help but smile sweetly. But right now, his expression was a bit dark. When he saw me, he immediately stepped forward and took my hand. “Chloe, am I that unpresentable? Why do I have to hide so far away to pick you up?” Knowing I was in the wrong, I quickly rubbed his arm. “I can’t help it. You’re too famous. If you show up, the whole high school class will know we’re dating by tomorrow. “Didn’t we agree to keep it low-key for three months? We’ll go public after the trial period.” Liam had gone to the same high school as me. But he was too outstanding. Almost everyone in the school knew who he was. He had received an early acceptance letter from a university in New York before he even took the final exams. He was constantly winning major academic competitions and was the “model student” on every teacher’s lips. Even though he had graduated, he was still a legend among the younger students. Honestly, Ethan also played a part in Liam and me getting together. When he found out Liam and I were going to the same university, he asked him to look out for me. Maybe he thought someone as aloof and distant as Liam would never be interested in a boring “good girl” like me. But it was exactly this kind of person who had dug a pit for me early on, just waiting for me to jump in. Once we got in the car, Liam’s face was still dark. I kissed him on the cheek trying to coax him: “Don’t be mad, okay?” “Trying to coax me?” He turned, his gaze deep as he looked at me. I nodded vigorously. “You’ll have to put a little more effort into it, Chloe. That’s not enough.” 6 With that, Liam reached up, took off his glasses, pulled me onto his lap, and leaned in to kiss me. I gasped instinctively, and he seized the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue tangling with mine. His hot hand firmly gripped the back of my neck, preventing me from retreating, kissing me deeper. So deep I was afraid he was going to do something even more outrageous right there in the car. Feeling the heat radiating from the man beneath me made my legs go weak. I couldn’t care about anything else anymore; I could only let him do as he pleased. It wasn’t until the tip of my tongue felt numb that Liam finally let me go, looking like he still wanted more. A silver thread connected our lips. Meeting my unfocused eyes, a smirk appeared on his lips as his thumb brushed over my slightly swollen, red lips. I suddenly realized that his shirt had been unbuttoned at some point, revealing a firm chest and defined abs. His hot breath tickled my ear: “Satisfied with what you see?” I swallowed hard. His smile deepened, and just as he was about to continue, we heard approaching footsteps. I looked up and saw Ethan walking toward us. 7 I instinctively hid against Liam’s torso. My clothes were a mess, my lips were swollen; if I were seen like this, I’d die of embarrassment. But I forgot that this position was basically throwing fuel on the fire for Liam. It was the first time I had ever been this close to the source of his heat, and I could feel its breath puffing against my face. Liam’s breathing grew heavier. Ethan’s surprised voice came from above: “Hey man, what are you doing here?” Liam grabbed a jacket and threw it over my head, his voice hoarse and laced with slight anger. “Just passing through.” Ethan didn’t notice anything wrong and continued asking: “Did you happen to see Chloe? She said she was coming to meet her boyfriend, but she disappeared in the blink of an eye. You went to the same college; do you know who her boyfriend is?” At that moment, Liam’s hand was caressing my waist, his tone nonchalant: “Didn’t see her. Don’t know.” Those few words seemed to satisfy Ethan greatly: “I knew she was lying. She can’t forget me; she just made someone up to make me mad.” Liam raised an eyebrow, his tone subtle: “Is that so?” As he spoke, his hand squeezed my waist firmly. I couldn’t help but let out a soft moan and bit my lip hard. Hearing a familiar sound, Ethan stepped closer, confused, and caught sight of the figure huddled beneath Liam. “Dude, you play that hard?” He hadn’t recognized me. Liam shifted his body, blocking Ethan’s view of me. He looked at him coldly: “So why are you still here?” Ethan rubbed his nose awkwardly: “Leaving, leaving, I won’t bother you guys. “Remember to introduce your girl to us sometime.” As he walked away, Ethan still felt the figure looked somewhat familiar. He turned around for another look, only to see Liam driving away. He hadn’t expected the usually aloof and restrained Liam to be so impatient. But for some reason, Ethan’s heart felt inexplicably irritated. 8 Later, knowing I hadn’t eaten much at the reunion, Liam drove us to get a late-night snack. But my mind was entirely focused on what had just happened, and I didn’t dare look him in the eye the entire time. When it was time to part ways, Liam suddenly pulled me into his arms and planted a quick kiss on my lips. “If you’re this shy now, what are we going to do later? “Chloe, we’re going to be together for a lifetime. So, with me, you can afford to be a little bolder.” I looked around nervously, but I didn’t push him away. It wasn’t until he let me go that I hurriedly ran off. My heart was filled with shyness, but also a sweet, fluttering joy. But all of that vanished the moment I saw the person standing outside my house. Seeing me return, Ethan’s tense expression relaxed slightly. “Back so late? I thought you and that ‘boyfriend’ went to get a room. “Looks like he’s not very capable.” My expression turned cold: “I didn’t bring my ID.” His face instantly darkened. “What are you doing at my door?” He pulled an amulet out of his pocket: “My mom told me to give this to you.” His mother got us peace amulets every year, but couldn’t he just give it to me tomorrow? Did he really need to wait at my door until this late? My frown deepened, but I reached out and took it. “Tell your mom she doesn’t need to get one for me anymore. My mom will give me one.” After I spoke, he looked like he wanted to say something else, but I ignored him and shut the door in his face.

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At the Carter family’s charity gala, my husband’s childhood friend, Eleanor, burst in, her dress disheveled: “Grandpa Carter, you must uphold justice for me! Luke Smith’s brother forced himself on me, I can’t live like this!” “My innocence is ruined, and I have no face left to marry the Carter family’s young master!” Guests around murmured, cursing my brother as a horny dog, blaming me for his lack of upbringing. My husband, James Howard, looked heartbroken, shielding Eleanor with his body: “Lily, you know how important Eleanor is to the Carter family, yet you indulged your brother in such a despicable act.” “We can’t cross the Carters. If your brother is a man, he should come forward and take responsibility. Even if Mr. Carter cripples him, I’ll take care of him for life.” Watching Mr. Carter glare at me with murderous intent, I just smiled. Because my brother, he really wasn’t a man. 1 Mr. Carter looked at me and spoke in a deep voice: “Miss Smith, I need an explanation.” I remained completely unfazed: “Mr. Carter, actually, my brother…” Before I could finish, James shoved me aside: “Lily, any excuses are useless now. Hand over your brother, Luke, immediately!” “Let him confess his sins by severing his own hands in front of Mr. Carter, otherwise, don’t blame me for abandoning our marriage!” Everyone attending the gala today was a prominent figure in Boston. Now they looked at me, full of disdain. “The Smiths are a reputable family, both parents are university professors. How could they raise such a shameless beast?” “Young Master Carter has a cognitive disability and is only attached to Eleanor, his caregiver. Mr. Carter just announced Eleanor would marry into the family, and this happens.” “I think the Smith family is doomed. With her brother involved in such a scandal, how could the Carters let him off?” Eleanor cried even harder, trembling in James’s arms: “James, my innocence is gone. How can I ever face Young Master Oliver now…” She cried while glancing at Mr. Carter. Mr. Carter’s face immediately darkened: “Miss Smith, your brother committed such an outrageous act in my home, you must give me an explanation!” James, with an air of righteous indignation, quickly interjected on my behalf: “Sir, rest assured, I, James Howard, will never cover up for him!” “Though Luke is my brother-in-law, for committing such an unforgivable crime, I will have his hands broken and that vile thing that caused the harm chopped off as atonement!” I raised an eyebrow, looking at Eleanor: “Eleanor, are you sure it was my brother who forced you?” Eleanor’s body stiffened, her voice suddenly rising: “Lily, what do you mean? Would I really use my own innocence to frame him?” “He was so strong, I couldn’t escape no matter how hard I struggled. This was my first time, it was meant for Young Master Oliver!” Saying this, she yanked open her collar. Ambiguous red marks on her neck, and purple bruises, were shockingly visible. “I’m sorry for the Carter family’s kindness, but Luke is worse than an animal!” James immediately took off his jacket and wrapped it around her: “Lily, that’s enough! Eleanor has already been ruined by your brother, what more are you doubting?” “I’ll say it one last time, hand Luke over! Otherwise, we’re done!” The crowd also began to murmur: “What does she mean? Would Eleanor really frame her own brother?” “I think she’s just trying to deny it! Quickly, bring that beast out! Such scum deserves to be torn to pieces!” But I actually smiled, under everyone’s gaze. I called my brother directly and put it on speaker. “Since you’re so certain, let my brother come here in person. We’ll confront each other face to face.” “I’d like to see how he was such a beast to you.” 2 But the phone rang for a long time without connecting, which puzzled me. With all this commotion, everyone was in the main hall. Where had that kid gone? James immediately spoke up: “Did your brother know about his atrocious acts and run away in fear of punishment?” “Lily, do you and your brother have no shame!” Watching James’s desperate attempt to distance himself, my heart turned to ice. Married for three years, he always harbored feelings for Eleanor, his childhood friend. I wasn’t unaware. But Eleanor was the Carter family’s chosen one, and my marriage to James was also supposed to be a love match. If he was unwilling, he should have said so earlier. Why would he try to ruin my brother’s life? “James, you seem even more eager to condemn my brother than a judge.” “He’s a grown man, where could he possibly run off to on Carter family property?” I paused, then changed my tone, my voice turning cold: “Or, are you hoping my brother ran away?” James was momentarily stunned by my words, then his veins bulged: “Lily! You’re still talking tough even at death’s door! This is the Carter family estate, not a place for you to make a scene!” “Since you can’t reach that beast, don’t blame me for being unmerciful!” He turned to Mr. Carter and knelt down directly: “Sir, it is my Howard family’s misfortune to have married such an ignorant woman, and to have such a scandal occur.” “To give Eleanor justice, and to provide the Carter family an explanation, I request to use the Carter family’s security team to search the entire city for Luke!” “Once he’s caught, break his limbs and throw him into the sea to feed the fish!” Eleanor, hearing this, cried even more frantically: “James, but Luke had a knife, he threatened me with it!” Bruises on her wrist were exposed, along with bloodstains from a knife cut. Immediately, a chorus of accusations erupted: “He even used a knife? The Smiths look respectable, but secretly they’ve raised a psychopath with antisocial tendencies.” “Mr. Howard is unlucky to have such a brother-in-law, but disowning a relative for justice, that’s a true man!” Mr. Carter immediately waved to the security guards at the door: “Lock down the ballroom, gather all personnel, and find that animal Luke for me!” Dozens of guards immediately acknowledged the order. James stood up from the floor, looking at me with triumph: “Lily, when your beast of a brother is caught, I will personally cripple him, and make him pay for touching Eleanor!” I watched James’s distorted face and slowly walked to a sofa, sitting down. I picked up a glass of red wine, swirling it gently: “Alright, then I’ll wait here.” “But James, how about we make a bet?” James frowned: “What new trick are you trying to pull now?” I took a sip of wine: “If my brother is innocent, I want you to kneel and kowtow 100 times in front of everyone, and then leave our home with nothing!” James immediately scoffed: “How could your brother be innocent? Are Eleanor’s injuries fake? Is her humiliation fake?” Eleanor also sniffled and chimed in: “Lily, I know you care for your brother, but the facts are right in front of us, you can’t deny them.” “Or are you just jealous that I’m marrying into the Carter family, and purposely sent your brother to ruin my purity?” James’s eyes grew colder after hearing Eleanor’s words: “Fine! I’ll take that bet!” “If Luke is innocent, I, James Howard, will leave with nothing and kowtow in apology!” “But if Luke indeed forced Eleanor, I want your brother to break his own limbs and get out of Boston!” I put down my wine glass and clapped my hands: “It’s a deal.” “I hope, Mr. Howard, your knees will be as tough as your mouth later.” Just then, a lazy voice came from the doorway: “Whoa, quite a party, huh? Heard someone wants to cripple me?” 3 Everyone’s eyes snapped towards the doorway. A silver-haired handsome guy walked in. James’s eyes immediately flared with rage upon seeing him: “Luke, you beast, you dare show your face again! Get him!” Several security guards immediately moved to pounce. “Wait!” I shouted, standing up: “Now that he’s here, and the matter isn’t clear, who dares lay a hand on him?” Mr. Carter also raised a hand, signaling the guards to pause. My brother casually tossed his hair. Many socialites in the room stared, discussing amongst themselves: “Lily’s brother is that handsome? Eleanor got lucky, if it were me, I’d have volunteered…” “Bah! He’s a rapist, what good is looks! Worse than an animal!” My brother ignored James’s murderous gaze and walked to my side: “Sis, I just went to get you that cheesecake you love, the line was a bit long.” “And now I’m back, why does everyone look like they want to eat someone?” My heart warmed, and I looked at Eleanor: “Eleanor, look closely again, was the person who forced you really my brother?” Eleanor immediately pointed at my brother and shrieked: “It was him! He dragged me into the lounge, tore my clothes, and said even if he killed me no one would dare do anything to him!” “Grandpa Carter, you must stand up for me! Look at Luke, how arrogant he is, he shows no remorse at all!” My brother blinked, looking innocently at me: “Sis, what is she saying? I don’t understand.” Just then, a man was pushed in by the butler. It was Oliver, the Carter family’s young master with a cognitive disability. “Eleanor, baby… in tummy…” His words were slurred and unclear. Everyone was confused, wanting to ask questions, and Mr. Carter also stepped forward anxiously. But upon seeing Young Master Oliver, Eleanor’s face immediately hardened with determination: “Luke, you ruined my innocence! My belly might even be carrying your illegitimate child because of this!” “I have no face to see Young Master Oliver anymore! I won’t live!” Eleanor finished speaking and slammed her head into a nearby pillar. With a dull thud, blood streamed down. The entire ballroom erupted into chaos. “First ruining someone’s purity, now forcing Eleanor to her death, these Smith siblings are too cruel!” Mr. Carter gave a command, and the security guards immediately pinned my brother to the ground. James, spurred by Eleanor’s blood, had bloodshot eyes. He abruptly stood up, grabbing a baseball bat, and rushed over: “Luke, you’ve done this to Eleanor, today I’ll make you pay with your life!” He raised the baseball bat. Aiming directly for my brother’s groin, he swung it down! 4 In that critical moment, I lunged forward without hesitation. The baseball bat struck my back, and I uncontrollably coughed up a mouthful of blood. James’s voice was vicious: “Lily, what are you doing! Originally, if this beast broke his own hands to atone to the Carters, I would have taken care of him for life out of respect for you!” “But now you’re as stubborn as him, so don’t blame me for being ruthless!” Eleanor, supported by others, clutched her head and stood up: “James, forget it. It’s my fault for being impure and unworthy of Young Master Oliver, it’s me who should die…” The surrounding crowd began to criticize: “Still protecting her brother, Lily is hopeless!” “Mr. Howard has been more than generous, I say just kill that beast!” My brother broke free, supporting me, his voice trembling: “Sis, are you okay? Don’t scare me!” I wiped my mouth, straightening up: “James, you’re so eager to silence him, could it be that you were the one messing around with Eleanor?” James immediately panicked: “Lily, what nonsense are you spewing!” “To clear your brother, you dare to throw dirt on me!” Saying this, he raised a hand to slap my face! My brother stepped in front of me, kicking him. “Brother-in-law, are you implying I forced Eleanor?” “Even if I were blind, I wouldn’t go for someone like that.” Eleanor’s face turned ashen, and she shrieked, her voice trembling: “Grandpa Carter, he not only ruined my purity, but he publicly humiliated me! How can I live like this!” James, ignoring the pain, hugged Eleanor tightly: “Eleanor, don’t do anything foolish again! It’s not worth it for scum like him!” “Mr. Carter, please preside over justice! I want him to pay with his life right now!” Young Master Oliver nearby trembled incessantly, clearly frightened. Mr. Carter’s face also darkened: “Miss Smith, facts are facts. You’ve broken my Carter family’s rules, and you should know the consequences.” “Guards, break Luke’s limbs and throw him to the dogs!” As the security guards surrounded us again. I looked at Eleanor: “You keep saying my brother forced you, right?” Eleanor’s face was filled with indignation: “Yes! He’s an animal, a pervert! He tortured me for a whole hour in that room!” “My injuries are proof! Lily, don’t even think about denying it!” I nodded, looking at everyone present: “Did everyone hear that? Eleanor admitted herself that my brother forced her.” People exchanged glances, confused: “Isn’t that obvious? What does Lily mean, is she scared senseless?” I smiled, then turned and walked over to my brother. He looked at me in horror, shaking his head and backing away frantically. But I ignored him, and ripped open his shirt. Everyone looked over, puzzled, and then froze.

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I spent three years trying to rewrite the ending of a tragedy. My mission was simple: save Nancy, the beautiful, obsessive “doomed girl” of this story, from sacrificing her life for a man who didn’t love her. But when the “hero” of this world finally returned, she still smiled as she crawled through fire for him. By the time I reached the underground fighting pits, the air was thick with the copper scent of blood and the roar of the crowd. Nancy was there, kneeling in the dirt at his feet. A gold victory medal was clenched between her teeth, and her long, dark serpent’s tail was coiled listlessly behind her. Silas, the man I was supposed to keep her away from, leaned over her. He ran a sharp, manicured nail over the raw, jagged wounds on her back. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t resist. She just looked up at him with a terrifying, hollow devotion. Silas used the tip of his expensive leather boot to tilt her chin up. He offered a thin, mocking smile. “I heard a rumor you got married, Nancy. Do you actually love that husband of yours?” Nancy’s lips curled into a faint, ghost-like smile. “No.” Silas arched a brow, amused. “Oh? Then why marry him?” Her answer came without a second of hesitation. “Gratitude. He saved my life once. I was merely paying a debt.” The sound of Silas’s sharp, cruel laughter was the background music to my death sentence. In my mind, a cold, mechanical ping rang out: [Task Failed. Host life-support sequence terminated.] Looking at the two of them, no one would believe that just last night—the night before Silas returned—this same woman had been shifted into her half-beast form, her black scales shimmering as she wrapped her tail gently around my arm. She had looked at me with eyes bright with what I thought was affection and whispered, “Cade, you’ll stay with me forever, right?” Now, I finally had the answer for her. There is no “forever” for us. With the task failed, my terminal condition was no longer being suppressed by the System. I had exactly twenty-eight days left to live. 1 Silas leaned back against the arena railing, his voice dripping with the casual arrogance of a man who knew he was worshipped. “Nancy, go get me the second gold medal. I want the set.” Nancy’s dark, fathomless eyes locked onto him. She nodded once. “Anything for you.” Her opponent for the second half was an avian-shifter—a hawk. In the world of predators, the hawk was the snake’s natural nightmare. Nancy was at a devastating disadvantage. I watched from the shadows as the hawk’s talons, sharp as surgical hooks, tore into her abdomen. The moment her flesh was ripped open, her entire body convulsed. Her tail coiled in a violent spasm of agony before lashing out. But she didn’t stop. She didn’t even slow down. She used the momentum of the strike to lung forward, her fingers clawing toward that meaningless gold token. Every time the hawk dived, it took a piece of her with it. I stood there, watching the body I had spent three years painstakingly piecing back together—using every hard-earned point I had to heal her scars and mend her bones—get torn to shreds by her own choice. Finally, she gasped, her fingers closing around the medal. She dragged herself back to Silas’s feet, trembling, and forced a bloody smile as she held it up. “The medal… for you.” Silas took it, tossing it lightly in his hand. Then, with a sudden, sharp grin, he raised his boot and ground his heel into her mangled tail. Nancy’s face went paper-white. A strangled, muffled groan of pure agony escaped her throat as cold sweat broke across her skin. Silas pressed harder, his weight crushing the bone beneath the scales, until a fresh pool of crimson began to spread across the dirt. Suddenly, chaos erupted. Someone had left a cage door open, and one of the wilder beasts broke loose. Nancy’s instincts kicked in instantly. Ignoring her crushed tail, she surged upward, wrapping herself around Silas, using her own back as a shield against the screaming crowd and the charging beast. A shard of glass, shattered by the stampede, whistled past my arm. I barely stepped aside. I wanted to move toward her, to pull her out of that hellhole, but my feet felt like they were bolted to the floor. The System was right. Shifters have instincts a thousand times sharper than humans. I had been standing there for two hours. I had watched her bleed, watched her offer up her soul, watched her throw her life away for a man who enjoyed her pain. And in those two hours, she hadn’t looked at me once. Not even a glance. A sharp, stabbing migraine hit me out of nowhere. My vision tunneled into blackness. I couldn’t hold myself up anymore. With my last shred of strength, I whispered to the void, “System… get me out of here.” 2 I woke up curled on my bed, feeling as if a colony of fire ants was gnawing at my marrow. My “illness” was a side effect of the transmigration. Three years ago, I had accepted this mission to save my own life. When I first found Nancy, she was a wreck. Her scales were scattered like broken glass, her flesh torn from tail to hip, her white bones peeking through the red. She was huddled in a rainy alley, looking more pathetic than I felt. I held an umbrella over her and knelt in the mud. “Beg me,” I told her, “and I’ll save you.” She had looked up at me then, her dark eyes cold and defiant. She bit her bloodless lip and turned her head away, choosing pride over survival. I had laughed. I told the System, She’s the one. Let’s do this. During her recovery, she watched me like a caged wolf. Once, while I was changing her bandages, she bit my hand so hard I bled. I just sighed, looking at the wound. “You have to cooperate if you want to get better, Nancy.” She had frozen then, her pupils slitting into thin vertical lines. She stared at the blood on my hand, then at my face, a flicker of genuine confusion and guilt crossing her expression. After that day, the walls came down. She went from cold silence to soft responses, and eventually, to a suffocating dependence. I’ve always been a magnet for bad luck—tripping, getting sick, minor accidents—but for the three years Nancy was healthy, I didn’t suffer a single scratch. She would tilt the umbrella toward me in the rain. She would spend months crafting gifts for me. Once, in a car accident, she threw her body over mine, using her strength to create a pocket of safety in a heap of twisted metal while she bled out. The System warned me: [Host, remember this is just a task. Do not invest real emotion into the target.] But I wasn’t a professional. I didn’t have the cold, clinical detachment of a long-term jumper. So, when she looked at me with those shining eyes and clumsily presented a ring she had polished from one of her own shed scales, stuttering through a proposal… I nodded. I said, “Yes.” The pain in my chest intensified, blurring my thoughts. Habit took over. I reached for my phone and dialed Nancy’s number. I just wanted her to bring me my meds. But the phone, which she used to answer on the first ring, just kept ringing. I remembered the way she held me every night, her eyes watching me in the dark. I remembered the cool touch of her scales against my skin when she was being affectionate. It was all just “paying a debt.” The pain finally dragged me under, and I spiraled into unconsciousness. 3 I was jolted awake by the thick, metallic scent of blood. As I came to, I felt something shifting inside me. The System had told me that my “illness” wouldn’t just kill my body; it would erode my personality, stripping away my capacity for emotion until there was nothing left. I looked up to see Nancy standing by the bed. She was swaying, barely able to keep her balance. There wasn’t a patch of clean skin on her. She looked like she’d been put through a meat grinder. I frowned, feeling nothing but a sharp, biting annoyance at being disturbed. She didn’t notice my coldness. She reached out, grabbing the hem of my shirt with trembling fingers. Her voice was a raspy whisper. “Cade… I’m hurt.” I nodded curtly. “I can see that. I’m not blind.” She flinched as if I’d slapped her. Her dark eyes, clouded with pain and blood loss, searched mine in confusion. After a few seconds of heavy silence, she tried again. “Cade, I’m in pain… tell me a story? Like you used to?” I looked at the bloody handprints she was leaving on my shirt and felt a wave of disgust. I pulled my clothes out of her grip. “I didn’t do that to you,” I said, my voice flat. “If you’re in pain, why is it my job to entertain you?” The air seemed to leave her lungs all at once. The last bit of color drained from her face. She stared at me for a long time, her voice trembling. “What… what’s happened to you?” I wanted to tell her nothing was wrong—that I just couldn’t stand the sight of her—but a fresh wave of agony hit my head, stealing my voice. My sudden pale face and gasping breath terrified her. She panicked, reaching out to hold me but afraid to touch me, her voice shaking. “Cade? What is it? Where does it hurt?” The medical tech in this world was primitive. Painkillers were the only thing that worked for what I had. I stopped caring about the blood on her hands and grabbed her wrist. “Get… get me the medication… the strong ones…” I lied to cover the System’s involvement. “My migraines… they’re back.” “Yes! Yes! Right away! I’m going!” she cried. She threw on a coat over her ruined clothes and vanished into the night. 4 I waited for hours. I drifted in and out of consciousness, the pain a dull roar in the back of my mind. She didn’t come back. Eventually, the pain leveled off enough for me to throw on a jacket and head to the clinic myself. I didn’t expect to find Nancy there. And I certainly didn’t expect to find her with Silas. Nancy was strapped to a cold metal surgical table, her wrists bound by heavy iron chains. Her tail hung limply off the side. She was hooked up to a dozen machines and tubes I didn’t recognize. Silas stood over her, holding a syringe filled with a glowing neon fluid. He was smiling. “First injection, Nancy. Let’s see how you take it.” The moment the fluid entered her veins, her body arched violently. The veins in her neck and forehead bulged, and her black tail convulsed in a rhythmic, agonizing spasm. Silas watched the monitors with a predatory obsession, taking notes. He picked up a second syringe. “One more to go. Can you handle it, or are we done?” Nancy was gasping for air, her face a mask of sweat and agony, but she forced the words out. “It’s… it’s fine. Keep going.” Standing in the doorway, I remembered what the System had said. In the original story, she was the “Martyr.” She willingly let the “hero” dissect her and experiment on her in the name of “medical progress.” Silas would build his entire career on her mutilated body, becoming the star of the medical world while she withered away. I should have turned around. My emotions were nearly gone anyway. But the sight of her like that triggered a lingering spark of logic. I pushed the door open. “Stop it. What the hell are you doing?” They both froze. Silas looked at me and blinked. “Doing an experiment,” he said, his tone as casual as if he were making coffee. I took a deep breath, glaring at him. “She’s in agony.” Silas let out a sharp, condescending laugh. “What do I care? She volunteered.” He looked at Nancy. “Besides, even if she dies here, it’s for the greatness of medicine. An honor, right, Nancy?” Nancy’s pupils constricted the moment she saw me. She looked at me not with relief, but with a cold, piercing warning. “What are you doing here?” she snapped. Her voice was ice. “This is none of your business, Cade.” “Get out.” “Don’t interrupt Silas’s work.” I stared at her, the absurdity of it all hitting me. I let out a short, dry laugh. As I turned to leave, the very last tether of affection I had for her finally snapped. 5 I shut the door firmly behind me. The Martyr? I thought. More like a masochist with a death wish. The System chimed in: [Well, look on the bright side. Your emotional decay makes dealing with toxic people a lot easier.] I didn’t answer. I went home, took my meds, took a hot shower, and buried myself in my blankets. If you want something done right, do it yourself. I only had twenty-eight days left. I might be dying, but I was going to die comfortable and clean. I was half-asleep when a cold body pressed against my back. A heavy weight wrapped around my legs. I was too tired to process it at first. I just clutched my pillow and rolled to the far side of the bed. But she followed, her tail coiling tighter around my ankles. The cold, reptilian sensation made my skin crawl. I slammed my hand onto the bedside lamp. Nancy’s face was inches from mine. She looked pathetic. “Cade,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Today, I…” I didn’t let her finish. I grabbed the heavy brass lamp and swung it at her with everything I had. “Get out!” She didn’t move. She didn’t even flinch. The lamp caught her in the temple, and a streak of blood began to travel down her pale cheek. I pointed at the door. “This is my house. Who gave you permission to be here? Get out before I lose my mind!” She looked at me with those wide, wounded eyes. Then, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled, tear-stained box of pills. She held them out to me. “The medicine… I brought it. Are you still hurting?” I looked at the box—the meds she was “too busy” to bring because she was being Silas’s lab rat—and I felt a wave of pure, unadulterated loathing. “I’m hurting,” I sneered. “Looking at you makes me sick. Are you leaving, or am I calling the police?” She stared at me, stubborn as a mule. “I’m not leaving.” She reached out to grab my sleeve, a gesture that used to be sweet. Now, it was the final straw. The “illness” was taking over my brain. I couldn’t control the rage. Why did she get to be a martyr for him and a victim for me? I lunged forward, grabbed her black tail where it sat on the floor, and yanked. “Get. Off. My. Bed!” She tumbled to the floor, looking up at me in shock. “Cade, don’t be angry. I’m moving, I’m moving…” But I wasn’t finished. I stepped down, hard, with my heel on the most sensitive part of her tail, grinding my shoe into the scales. She froze. Her fingers clenched into the carpet. She looked up at me, her eyes filling with tears of shock and betrayal. What are you crying for? I thought. You seemed to love it when Silas did it. I ground my heel down again. And again. I didn’t stop until I felt the floor become slick and wet. When I looked down, Nancy was huddled in a heap, and the rug was stained a deep, dark red. I felt a sudden dizzy spell. The anger drained away, leaving only a hollow exhaustion. Nancy slowly looked up. She forced a tiny, twisted smile. “Are you done?” she whispered. She turned her face away. “If not… you can keep going.” She was trying to play the guilt card. She was waiting for me to apologize, to gather her in my arms and cry. But the dizziness turned into a black void. I pitched forward, losing consciousness before I hit the floor.

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The Rolex box was empty. On the black velvet lining, there was nothing but a faint, circular impression—a ghost of the heavy metal that had rested there for decades. Twenty million dollars. It was a legacy piece from my grandfather, one of only three in existence globally. I pulled up the security footage from the living room on my phone. I scrolled through the timeline until I hit yesterday afternoon, 2:17 PM. Madeline opened the safe. She didn’t hesitate. She lifted the watch box, slid the timepiece into a signature Tiffany-blue gift bag, and tucked it under her arm. Just before she stepped out the door, she glanced down at her phone. The notification on her screen caught the light. A name I knew all too well, though I’d spent months trying to convince myself I was being paranoid. Dominic. I took a screenshot of the frame and moved it into my encrypted folder. Then, I pulled up my contacts and tapped the name labeled “James – Legal.” 01 The phone rang twice before he picked up. “Adrian? It’s late.” “James, I need a consultation. If one spouse disposes of the other’s separate pre-marital property without consent, how does the law categorize that?” There was a heavy silence on the other end for three seconds. “What’s the valuation?” “Twenty million.” Another silence, longer this time. “Don’t tip your hand yet,” James said, his voice dropping into a professional, steady register. “Find every shred of documentation you have—titles, purchase receipts, certificates of authenticity. Secure the footage. Don’t delete a thing before you see me.” “It’s all in my home safe.” “Good.” I could hear him scribbling something. “Adrian, listen to me. If she ‘gifted’ it to a third party, we can sue for its return. But if she claims it was a ‘loan,’ things get murky. We need to be surgical about this.” “I understand.” I hung up and sat on the bay window seat in our bedroom, pulling my knees to my chest. I stayed like that for a long time, watching the rain streak against the glass, until the sound of the front door lock clicked. Madeline was home. It was 11:40 PM. She drifted into the room wearing a blush-pink Chanel dress, her heels clicking softly, damp from the street. I smelled the wine first. And then, beneath it, a trace of something cold and sharp. An expensive cologne. It wasn’t mine. “Still up?” she asked, tossing her keys onto the marble vanity. I looked at her, my voice flat. “Where’s the watch from the safe?” She stiffened. It was a micro-expression, gone in less than a second, but I caught the flicker of guilt before it was smoothed over by her usual practiced composure. “Oh, that,” she said, walking to the mini-fridge and pulling out a bottle of Fiji water. “I lent it to Dominic for a few days.” Lent. “Lent?” “He has an investors’ gala the night after tomorrow. He needed to look the part,” she said, twisting the cap and taking a long swallow. “Dominic’s latest real estate venture is worth three hundred million. He specifically asked to partner with us, Adrian. You know what this deal would mean for the firm. It’s a career-maker.” I felt my fingernails bite into the palms of my hands. “That watch belonged to my grandfather. It’s a family heirloom.” “I know that. I’m not giving it away.” She set the water down and finally met my eyes, her expression shifting into one of mild annoyance. “Two days, maybe three. He’ll give it back the moment the gala is over. Why are you being so tense?” She stepped toward me, reaching out to brush a stray hair from my forehead. I took a step back. Her hand froze in mid-air. “Adrian, don’t be small-minded about this. Think of the big picture.” Small-minded. The words felt like a needle being driven into a nerve. “Did you even think to ask me before you touched my things?” “I called you yesterday afternoon. You didn’t pick up.” I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the logs. Between 2:00 PM and 3:00 PM yesterday, there were no missed calls. Not a single one. “Madeline,” I said, turning the screen toward her. “You never called.” She glanced at the screen, her face remaining a mask of cool indifference. “Then I must have misremembered. It’s just two days, Adrian. Stop making a scene out of nothing.” Making a scene. I didn’t say another word. She showered, climbed into bed, and was asleep within three minutes. Her breathing was rhythmic and steady, as if her conscience was as clear as the Manhattan skyline after a storm. I lay beside her, staring at the ceiling. At 1:30 AM, her phone buzzed on the nightstand. The screen illuminated the dark room. I turned my head. Dominic: [Got the watch. It’s stunning. Thank you, babe.] Not “Thank you, Madeline.” Not “Thank you to the firm.” Thank you, babe. Followed by a heart emoji. I didn’t touch her phone. Instead, I picked up mine and went to Dominic’s Instagram. His latest post was from twenty-three minutes ago. A carousel of nine photos. The first was a close-up of a man’s wrist resting against a black velvet tablecloth. The watch was unmistakable. The rose-gold casing, the star-dusted dial. My grandfather had it commissioned by a master watchmaker for his seventieth birthday. One of three. Serial number 003. On the back, I knew there was a line of German text in delicate script: Für meinen einzigen Stern. To my only star. The caption was a single word: [Captivated.] It had 247 likes and 36 comments. I screenshot the post. Then I turned off my phone and closed my eyes. Madeline shifted in her sleep, her arm draping heavily over my waist. It felt like a lead chain. 02 The next morning at 10:00 AM, I was sitting in the appraisal lab at the auction house. I’d been holding a jeweler’s loupe for twenty minutes, but I hadn’t processed a single facet of the diamond in front of me. My colleague, Miles, pushed the door open. “Adrian, man, you have to see this.” He shoved his phone in front of my face. It was a post on a high-end lifestyle blog. The handle was @Dominic_Stone_Official. The image was a high-res macro shot of a watch. My watch. The caption read: [Just received an incredible gift. A custom Rolex, one of only three in the world. Collectors know what this represents. Some gestures can’t be measured in dollars.] Received. Gift. Not a loan. “Whoa, isn’t that piece worth like twenty-five million on the open market?” Miles’s eyes were wide. “Who is this guy’s benefactor?” I set the loupe down. My hands were perfectly still, but inside, I was vibrating with a cold, sharp clarity. “Do me a favor, Miles. Dig into that account. Find out everything he’s been posting for the last six months.” “Wait, for real? Okay, you got it.” Miles was the firm’s social media strategist; he lived for this kind of digital sleuthing. Fifteen minutes later, a folder landed on my desk. Dominic Stone, 31. Managing Director at Obsidian Capital. High social media presence, frequent attendee of charity balls and private equity mixers. The last page was a photograph. At a winter gala three months ago, Dominic was wearing a forest-green Hugo Boss tuxedo. Standing beside him, in a crimson Dior gown, was Madeline. Her hand was tucked firmly into the crook of his arm. The date on the photo was November 14th. That was the night Madeline told me she was pulling an all-nighter at the office to finalize the quarterly reports. She’d told me not to wait up. I opened my calendar and marked that day with a small, red dot. “Adrian? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” “I’m fine, Miles.” At noon, I took a cab back to our apartment. My father was in Florida for the winter, so the place was empty except for the housekeeper. I went into the study, opened the floor safe, and pulled out a manila envelope. Inside was the complete provenance of the watch: the limited-edition certificate from Rolex, the Geneva Seal certification, the original purchase contract from my grandfather, and the notarized deed of gift he’d signed before he passed. Donor: James Alexander Sterling. Donee: Adrian Sterling. Property: Rolex 7130R-001 (Serial 003). The red notary seal was embossed six years ago. The day my grandfather gave me that watch, he held my hand with a grip that was surprisingly strong for his age. “Adrian,” he’d said, “this was the last gift your grandmother gave me. No matter what happens in this life, never let it go. It’s not just a timepiece. It’s the weight of a lifetime of promises.” I scanned the deed into my phone and put the original back in the safe. As I was heading for the door, the housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, stopped me. “Mr. Sterling, your father-in-law stopped by a few days ago. He was asking where your father’s jewelry collection was kept. I didn’t let him into the study, of course.” I froze. “When was this?” “Last Thursday. He kept asking about that jade set your father owns. He was quite insistent.” Last Thursday. Madeline took the watch on Wednesday. My hand tightened on the doorknob until the wood groaned. 03 When I got home that evening, Madeline was in the living room on a call. Seeing me, she lowered her voice, whispered, “I’ll call you back,” and hung up. “Adrian, perfect timing. I wanted to talk to you.” She patted the cushion beside her, gesturing for me to sit. I remained standing. “Dominic is incredibly impressed with the project proposal,” she said, her voice light and airy as she crossed her legs. “We might sign the framework agreement as early as next week. See? I told you it would only be a couple of days—” “He posted on social media calling it a gift, Madeline.” Her legs uncrossed. Her smile faltered. “What?” I handed her my phone. She stared at the screen for five seconds. A small frown appeared between her brows, then vanished as quickly as it had arrived. “He’s just posturing, Adrian. People in his position need to maintain an image. Calling it a gift sounds better for his brand. I have it under control. The moment the contract is signed, I’ll get it back.” “Madeline, it’s a twenty-million-dollar heirloom. You don’t ‘have it under control’ when it’s on another man’s wrist.” She stood up and walked to the kitchen island to pour a glass of wine. “Can you please try to have some perspective? This is a three-hundred-million-dollar deal. What is one watch compared to that? When this closes, I’ll buy you something even better. Whatever you want.” Something better. There were only three in the world. What could possibly be better? The doorbell rang. Madeline went to answer it. “Dad? What are you doing here?” My father-in-law, Arthur, walked in wearing a cashmere overcoat, his hair perfectly coiffed. He was carrying a thermal container. “Madeline told me you were feeling a bit… stressed lately,” he said, setting the container on the dining table and giving me a pointed look. “I had the cook make some sea bass. Good for the nerves. Sit down, let’s eat.” For the nerves. “Arthur,” I said, my voice steady. “Madeline took my grandfather’s watch and gave it to another man.” Arthur opened the container, steam billowing out. “Madeline told me about that. It’s just a loan for business purposes, Adrian. You’ll get it back. Don’t be so sensitive.” “It’s not a two-hundred-dollar trinket.” “I know what it’s worth,” Arthur said, spooning the fish onto a plate and sliding it toward me. “But Madeline is doing this for the family business. She’s worked incredibly hard to get where she is. As her husband, shouldn’t you be her biggest supporter?” “It was my grandfather’s legacy.” “The man is gone, Adrian. Are you really going to tell me a piece of metal is more important than your wife’s future?” My breath hitched for a second. Arthur didn’t seem to notice. He kept talking. “Besides, you’ve been part of this family for five years. We’ve provided everything—the clothes, the cars, the lifestyle. Has Madeline ever mistreated you? It’s one watch. Is it really worth causing this much drama?” Madeline sat at the table, silent, staring into her wine glass. I looked at her, but she refused to meet my gaze. “Arthur,” I said, picking up the plate and setting it back down. “When you went to my father’s house last Thursday and asked where his jade collection was… did Madeline send you?” Arthur’s hand paused for a fraction of a second. Then he shrugged. “I was just checking in on things. Family looks after family.” “That jade belongs to my father. It is not, and will never be, part of our marital assets.” “You see?” Arthur turned to Madeline. “Your husband is interrogating me like I’m a common criminal. Madeline, are you going to let him talk to me like this?” Madeline finally spoke. “Adrian, just drop it. Dad is just looking out for us.” Looking out for us. From the beginning, not one of them had asked for my permission. “Madeline,” I said, standing up. “I’m saying this one last time. Get the watch back. You have three days.” She sighed, a long, weary sound. “Fine, fine. I’ll talk to Dominic. Happy?” As Arthur was leaving, he patted my shoulder with a patronizing heavy hand. “Don’t be so petty, Adrian. Look at your own father—he’s been married to your mother for decades and never started a fight over ‘things.’ Be a bigger man. That’s how a marriage lasts.” The door clicked shut. I stood in the foyer, staring at the cooling sea bass. Three days. I gave myself a deadline. 04 Three days passed. The watch didn’t return. Madeline claimed Dominic was out of town on a business trip and would return it next week. Next week. Always next week. I didn’t argue. Instead, I did something else. On Friday afternoon, I used a burner phone to call Dominic’s assistant. I identified myself as a senior associate from a major auction house and requested a private meeting for Monday at 3:00 PM to discuss a “portfolio expansion.” Monday. Dominic’s office was on the 52nd floor of a glass-and-steel tower in the Financial District. The receptionist, a young woman in a sharp blazer, led me into a sleek conference room. “Mr. Stone will be with you momentarily.” I waited ten minutes. The door opened. Dominic was even more polished in person than in his photos. His hair was jet black, his suit a deep navy, his shoes Italian leather. And on his left wrist sat the Rolex. My eyes lingered there for two seconds. He noticed. “Hello. You’re from the auction house?” He sat down opposite me, crossing his legs with an easy, practiced grace. “Adrian Sterling.” His expression didn’t flicker at first. “And what can I do for you, Adrian?” I slid my business card across the table. He picked it up, glanced at it, and set it down. “Adrian,” he repeated the name, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “That name sounds familiar.” “I imagine Madeline mentioned it.” The air in the room seemed to solidify. “Madeline?” His smile deepened, becoming something sharper, more predatory. “You know her?” “She’s my wife.” The conference room went silent for exactly three seconds. Dominic tapped his fingers twice against the mahogany table. “No wonder the name rang a bell.” He looked down at the watch on his wrist, making no move to hide it or take it off. “Are you here to ask for it back?” “I’m here to reclaim my property.” He leaned back in his chair, studying me with a look of pure, unadulterated condescension. It was almost pity. “Mr. Sterling, let me give you some advice.” He stood up, adjusting his cuffs to reveal even more of the watch face. “In this world, once something is given away, you don’t get it back. That goes for watches. And it goes for people.” I stared at his wrist. The back of the watch was against his skin, but I knew what was etched there. Für meinen einzigen Stern. “Dominic,” I said, standing up to meet his height. “The serial number on that piece is 003. The Geneva Seal certification number is GS-2017-0389. The movement sequence is PP240-81726. All of that is recorded in my deed of ownership.” His eyes shifted. Just for a heartbeat. Then the mask of composure returned. “You’re a fascinating man, Adrian.” He picked up his phone. “But honestly, this is a conversation you should be having with your wife, not me. Are you even sure you understand the state of your own marriage?” He turned and walked out, his leather soles echoing with a steady, arrogant rhythm against the marble floor. I stood in that empty room, listening until the sound of his footsteps vanished. Are you even sure you understand the state of your own marriage? The question felt like a nail being driven into my skull. On the cab ride back, I pulled out my phone and accessed the records for Madeline’s secondary credit card.

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In the sixth year of my secret crush on my childhood best friend, he fell for my roommate. I played his wingman, listening to him pour his heart out about his lovesickness. In return, he told me, “Chloe, whatever you do, please never fall in love with me.” At a party, he publicly confessed his feelings to her. My roommate’s eyes, holding a mockingly ambiguous smile, swept over me. “I don’t date guys who are entangled with other girls.” The gazes of everyone around pierced me like needles. Ethan anxiously tried to explain, “Chloe and I are just…” I raised my hand, smiling as I showed off the couple’s ring on my finger. “I’ve actually had a boyfriend for a while now.” 1 Mia went clubbing with some other people tonight. I was scrolling through my phone, looking at her freshly posted Instagram story from three minutes ago. Under the hazy, ambiguous club lights, she was sandwiched between a group of young, attractive guys and girls. And she still managed to look stunningly out of place. Ethan sat on the bench by the campus lake. Looking as depressed as a dog with drooping ears. “…I asked her to hang out, and she said no…” “And then I turn around and see she posted this story tonight…” The air by the artificial lake at night was a bit chilly. Couples strolled by in twos and threes. I shot Ethan an annoyed look. “And so, this is your excuse for dragging me out of the library?” Ethan looked up. The young man was blessed with good looks—charming, slightly tilted eyes, thin lips. He had a face that naturally looked like a playboy’s, yet he was surprisingly devoted. In twenty years, the only person he ever fell hard for was Mia. The corners of his eyes were slightly red as he pitifully threw himself at me, hugging me: “Chloe, Chloe…” “I know you’re the best to me… With our dozen years of friendship… you’ll definitely help me, right?” My entire body went rigid. Ethan remained completely oblivious, rubbing against me like a giant golden retriever: “Please… Chloe.” “…” I pushed him away with one hand. “Stop getting so handsy.” “Hey…” Ethan blinked, his charming eyes looking somewhat innocent: “We’re friends, right?” “Friends forever.” 2 Friends my ass. I had ulterior motives. They say a rabbit doesn’t eat the grass near its burrow. But I just had to go and fall in love with my childhood best friend. Ethan and I had known each other since we were kids. Childhood sweethearts, inseparable. He stuck to me, and I stuck to him. As we grew older, the boy gradually shot up and filled out. His features became increasingly handsome, his height and long legs more pronounced. A lot of girls at school chased after him. Ethan had that playboy look, the kind of guy who seemed like he could have a whole platoon of girlfriends. But in reality, other than me, he hadn’t even held another girl’s hand. Every time someone confessed to him, he would just smile, his eyes curving, and reject them. Said he was innocent. But occasionally, this guy would drop some incredibly romantic lines. For example, when I asked him why he never accepted any girls’ confessions. Ethan took a sip of milk, casually threw his arm around my shoulder. The fresh scent of his body wash, mixed with the sweetness of strawberry milk, lingered near my nose. He grinned and said: “None of them are as good as you, Chloe.” “If I absolutely have to like someone, I’ll just like you.” I only remember my ears turning bright red. I feigned composure and told him to stop talking nonsense. But inside, my heart felt like carbonated bubbles rising in a soda. In that instant, I felt so happy I thought I might burst. —I thought we had plenty of time. Time enough to stay by his side and wait for him to finally realize his feelings. I never anticipated… That he would fall in love at first sight with my roommate, Mia. 3 “I got it.” I said, “I’ll help you.” Ethan immediately smiled, his eyes curving into crescents: “You’re the best, Chloe!” I pushed him away. “It’s getting late. I need to head back to the dorm.” “Okay.” Ethan obediently let go. “Be careful on the way.” He didn’t walk me back. The campus at night was much quieter than during the day. I was walking slowly down the path when someone unexpectedly pulled me into a dark corner. The crisp, woody scent of the person’s cologne enveloped me as I was wrapped inside their leather jacket. A slightly higher body temperature transferred to me in an instant. “Seeing my girlfriend hugging and cuddling with her roommate by the lake late at night.” “Little Bird, don’t you think I should submit this to the campus confession page?” Liam’s voice was lazy, his warm breath brushing against the top of my head. “Go ahead, then.” I buried my face in his chest. Liam chuckled lightly and dropped a kiss on my forehead: “I can’t bear to.” “So even if you cheat on me, I guess I’ll just have to accept it.” “You’re crazy.” I pinched his waist. 4 Dating Liam was purely an accident. He was always the “big man on campus,” and I only knew him in passing. Liam’s looks were absolutely on par with Ethan’s. But this guy gave off a vibe that was far too flirtatious. Like a fox. His eyes looked full of affection, yet somehow devoid of it at the same time. But even so, his heartlessness was captivating. Acting as Ethan’s wingman, I set up a hangout and brought Mia along. Young men and women, drinking and playing games—the atmosphere quickly heated up. I had a few drinks and went to the restroom to sober up. When I came back, the private room was empty. My stomach felt awful. I crouched by the entrance of the bar, calling Ethan’s number. I called seven or eight times, but he didn’t answer. I sent a message to Mia. She replied quickly with a voice note: “I drank too much and wanted some BBQ from Southside. Ethan took me.” “Sorry, forgot to tell you.” The female voice sounded completely nonchalant. In the background, I could hear Ethan’s joyful voice: “Mia, I waited in line and got…” I was so angry I almost threw my phone. When I looked up, I saw Liam leaning against the doorframe, watching me. The young man was tall with long legs. Looking down at me, his fox-like eyes curved into a smile. “I…” “You look really pretty.” Liam smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Want to date?” “…” I think I was drunk, otherwise, I definitely would have stood up and punched him. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the heartbreak, or maybe it was just that Liam was really good-looking. “I have someone I like.” “That’s fine.” The young man’s tone was amused, his eyes alluring. “I don’t mind.” “…Alright then.” I thought at the time. I’d just treat it as a fling. 5 And so, we “played” for three months. Existing in a bizarre yet stable state. We kissed and hugged like a real couple, but it felt like neither of us was truly invested. Liam liked my face. And my heart belonged to someone else. The kind of situation where, if posted anonymously online, would get us cursed out for two hundred comments as a trashy couple. I admit, I was pathetic. The only thing in this world that can turn a person pathetic, requiring immense effort with zero reward, is love. But if it were that easy to let go… It wouldn’t be called love. Liam walked me to my dorm building. I was wearing his jacket and wanted to take it off to return it. He gripped my shoulder and smiled. “Give it back to me later. It’s cold in the stairwell.” I didn’t refuse. Liam kissed my cheek. “Are you free tomorrow?” I shook my head. “Tomorrow I’m being Ethan’s wingman again.” The curve of Liam’s lips deepened, his fingertips pinching my cheek: “…You really aren’t afraid of me getting jealous.” The young man leaned in, using his height to create a slight sense of pressure. But then, like a puppy, he gave my cheek a light bite. “The day after tomorrow, you’re mine.” “…Okay.” Sometimes I felt like Liam and I were truly weirdos. Clearly not in love. Yet acting exactly like any other couple deeply in love. Because we didn’t love each other. We never fought. It made things even more stable. 6 Mia finally rushed back just before lights-out. Catching a glimpse of the jacket hanging by my bed, she gave a half-smile: “Out on a date?” “Yeah.” I put my phone face down. On the screen, Ethan had just sent a pitiful-looking sticker. “With Ethan?” “No, with my boyfriend.” Mia let out a soft scoff, clearly not believing me. “Are you free tomorrow?” I spoke up. “Ethan said he found a nice lounge. It’s really pretty, and it would go perfectly with that dress you bought recently.” Mia put her bag on her desk and looked at me, her eyes carrying a hint of mockery and condescending pity: “You’re really pathetic, Chloe.” I suppressed the irritation flaring in my chest. “…Playing wingman for the guy you like, enduring my sarcasm.” “You even invented a fake boyfriend… Tell me, does Ethan know?” Mia’s eyes curved into crescents. Carrying a natural malice. But even so, she was still damn gorgeous. “Or maybe…” “Is this your new tactic to get his attention?” “…Mia.” My tone turned a bit cold. Mia smiled: “Just a joke, what’s the rush?” “I’ll go.” 7 My hands clenched and unclenched. Finally, I yanked the bed curtain shut, blocking out her face. My WeChat was pinging non-stop. I picked it up and saw several messages. Ethan: — How did it go? How did it go? — She’s back, right? Was she tired from hanging out today? — If she’s tired, it’s totally fine if she doesn’t want to come tomorrow… — Did she… I replied with one line: — She said yes. A flood of messages instantly poured in: — Really?! — I knew you were the best, Chloe! — [Flower_giving_cat.jpg] I stared at the cute sticker of the cat offering a flower. That was the sticker pack Mia always used. I typed and deleted, typed and deleted for a long time, but ultimately didn’t reply. Outside my curtain, I could hear Mia’s soft giggles. Who knows which new guy she was on the phone with now. I took a deep breath, tossed my phone aside, and buried myself under the covers. It wasn’t the first time. Anyone with eyes could see Mia was stringing Ethan along. Especially me. The one secretly harboring a crush. In the very beginning, I had tried to warn him. Even though I knew the truth, saying it out loud always made it sound like I was just jealous and bitter. So I chose my words carefully, stammering for ages, before finally only managing to say: “Maybe… you’re just not her type.” That was the first time I saw Ethan look so serious. The sun was setting. Casting a golden halo on the side of his face. Warm. Yet exceptionally lonely. “…I know,” he said. “I know Mia doesn’t like me… and I know… she might just be stringing me along…” “But I just like her.” “And I hope that she’ll like me back.” “So, I want to try a little harder. Hard enough that she either likes me… or gives me a clear rejection.” A clean, pure, burning love. I knew I was supposed to say something right then. But those words felt like knives, slicing my heart into pieces. My throat seemed to lose its voice at the exact same moment. So, in the end. All I could offer was a dry: “Good luck.” Perhaps from that moment on. I should have known that there was no possibility left between Ethan and me. For a split second, I felt hatred. I hated him for being so open, hated him for loving so passionately, hated him for not giving me a single chance. I hated my own cowardice, hated that I loved him but couldn’t say it, hated that I was too good at pretending— At least, he had the courage to say it out loud. While I only ever dared to test the waters right at the boundary of our friendship. Never daring to take a single step forward.

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Seven years into our marriage, Elias Thorne’s kept canary finally said she was bored. She packed her bags and ran, leaving behind only one sentence: “Elias, I’ve milked you for enough cash. I don’t want you anymore.” I watched from the sidelines with cold detachment, waiting to see how long Elias could endure it this time. After all, this exact drama had been playing out constantly for the last three years. But this time, he just laughed coldly. “She’s just a pet. Did she really think I cared?” Until, not long after, news broke that she had died in a horrific car crash. The man who was always so cold and unfeeling instantly lost his mind. 1 After Chloe’s death, Elias acted like a man possessed, locking himself in his study without food or water. When I knocked on the door, the only response I got was a muffled, icy, “Get lost.” I knew he was grieving, and for a split second, I almost apologized. But then I stopped myself, realizing how pathetic that was. We weren’t divorced yet. He was the one who cheated and betrayed our marriage. Why should I be the one apologizing? I looked at the cold dinner on the table. The soup I had slow-cooked for five hours had congealed, giving off a faint, unpleasant smell. I threw it all into the trash. Just like our twenty years of history. If I didn’t throw it away now, it would just rot and breed maggots. Disgusting to me, and disgusting to everyone else. On the eighth day, Elias finally walked out of the room. He had cleaned himself up, shaved, and returned to his usual arrogant, untouchable self. But the way he looked at me was darker than ever, as if I was the reason the love of his life was dead. I stared back quietly, waiting for him to speak. I knew a storm was coming. We had known each other since childhood and had been married for seven years. From school uniforms to a wedding dress, I always thought we would walk the same path until the end. But halfway through the journey, someone decided to get out of the car, and it seemed I had no choice but to accept it. “Where is she?” Elias’s voice was dead, devoid of any emotion. After a long silence, I answered softly, “Buried.” Elias’s face instantly darkened, and he glared at me with pure, concentrated hatred. “Scarlett, who gave you permission to bury her?” “Do you think your filthy hands are even worthy of touching her?” He spat the words out through gritted teeth, his eyes vicious. I could feel it—if I wasn’t currently pregnant, he would have lunged forward and strangled me. But I still overestimated my place in his heart. A second later, he shoved me hard onto the sofa. His massive hands clamped down on my throat, squeezing tightly, forcing the last bit of air from my lungs. The room started spinning. My vision went black, and the sounds around me faded into a dull ringing. He sounded completely deranged. “Did you really think being pregnant meant I wouldn’t touch you?” “Do you actually think I care about that bastard child?” “Chloe is dead. Don’t worry, you and that little mutt inside you are next.” The sheer terror of suffocation made me try to scream for help, but his grip was so tight I couldn’t make a sound. I realized then that Elias truly wanted me dead. I don’t know how much time passed before the crushing weight on my chest vanished, followed by the deafening sound of the front door slamming shut. As my consciousness slowly returned, I sat numbly on the sofa. I picked up my phone and booked an appointment at an abortion clinic. 2 Elias and I were childhood friends, and our marriage was a strategic business alliance. Our parents had arranged our engagement when we were three, and we signed our marriage papers before we even graduated college. Our early married life was harmonious and happy. Perhaps due to his upbringing, Elias was unfazed by most things. He never compromised, didn’t know how to love properly, and certainly never said sweet things. But after we got married, he would prepare little surprises for me. On my birthdays, he would bake a cake himself. Then, like a magician, he would pull out a necklace I had been eyeing for months, hugging me tightly. “Scarlett, I’m not heartless. Just give me some time. I’ll figure out how to love you properly.” “Don’t give up on me, okay?” Every time he said that, I would nod vigorously and whisper that we had a lifetime to figure it out. And in the dead of night, lost in the heat of the moment, he would press his lips to my ear and whisper things that made me blush. When did it all change? Probably the day Elias first met Chloe. Because we had stayed up too late the night before, I couldn’t get out of bed the next morning. Elias had to attend a scheduled networking event alone. Chloe was the assistant of the client he was meeting. She was fresh out of college, radiating a nervous, timid energy. When she smiled shyly, she looked harmless and adorable. She didn’t know how to play golf, so she boldly asked Elias to teach her. They exchanged numbers, and from their first meeting to making things official, it took less than two weeks. Chloe quit her job and jumped ship to his company. Elias kept her close, teaching her every aspect of the business, meticulously cultivating her like a rose about to bloom. The pathetic part was, I never even got the chance to confront Chloe face-to-face. Elias hid her incredibly well. I tried to investigate, but found absolutely nothing. Worse, trying to dig into her only triggered his wrath. Once, I paid a fortune and finally got ahold of Chloe’s personal background file. Before I could even do anything with it, a massive dossier detailing my own father’s secret mistresses was placed on my desk. And it wasn’t just my dad—almost every dark secret and privacy violation of my entire extended family was in that file. Elias’s warning was crystal clear: if I targeted Chloe, my family’s scandals would be leaked to the press immediately. That night, I smashed every single vase, plate, and lamp in the mansion right in front of him. Elias just sat quietly on the sofa, watching me destroy the place without a care in the world. He looked at me like I was insane. The irony was… Now, he was the one who had gone completely insane. 3 That same night, just as I fell asleep, his executive assistant called me. “Ms. Sterling, Mr. Thorne is digging up the Madam’s grave. Please, you have to come stop him.” I let out a bitter laugh. I was Elias’s legal wife, the one he actually married, yet everyone called Chloe “Madam” and referred to me simply as “Ms. Sterling.” Ever since I decided to divorce him and stood him up at the lawyer’s office, Elias had publicly declared on his official corporate social media account: Chloe is the only wife I will ever have in this lifetime. After that day, I became the biggest laughingstock in New York high society. I touched my throat, the bruises still throbbing with dull pain. “If he’s losing his mind, call his parents. Don’t call me. It has nothing to do with me.” With that, I hung up. I never expected Elias to actually resort to grave robbing. Ever since he got together with Chloe, we talked about divorce more often than we ate dinner. But it never went through. Either I refused, or Chloe would call him away with some emergency excuse right as we were about to sign. The closest we got was two months ago. Elias offered me half his net worth in exchange for a divorce. I agreed. But the day before we were supposed to sign the final papers, I found out I was pregnant. I didn’t show up. Elias blew up my phone that day, and that was the exact same day Chloe packed her bags and left. When Elias’s grandfather found out, he came over and talked to Elias all night. Elias defied everyone else, but he deeply respected and obeyed his grandfather. The next day, Elias recalled all the men he had sent out to find Chloe. He stopped tearing the world apart looking for her. We didn’t speak a single word to each other after that, and neither of us brought up the divorce again. At the time, I thought that even if he didn’t care about me, he at least cared about the baby. Looking back, trying to use a child to tie down a man was the most pathetic thing I had ever done. The next morning, I went to the clinic and had the abortion. I wasn’t a saint, and I had no desire to be a single mother. I could live without being loved, but any child of mine deserved to be born into a stable, healthy family. The procedure was quick, and I was discharged and back home by the afternoon. Now that the baby was gone, getting a divorce was just a matter of signing a piece of paper. Elias hadn’t shown his face once during this entire time. But then again, he was busy scouring the globe for his little mistress. He absolutely refused to believe Chloe was actually dead. 4 After seven years of marriage, I didn’t have too many personal belongings, but it wasn’t a small amount either. I hired some workers to set up an incinerator bin in the courtyard. Anything that could burn, I burned. Anything that couldn’t—like the jewelry—I sold. I didn’t want to take a single item from this mansion, nor did I want to leave a single trace of my existence behind. So I just burned it all. When Elias finally returned, he caught me right as I tossed our massive wedding portrait into the fire. I was a little surprised to see him. He had been MIA for over a month; I thought he might have actually gone and killed himself to be with her. Through the thick smoke, his eyes were freezing cold. He looked at me like I was a corpse. He was holding a wooden urn against his chest. As he walked past me, he suddenly shoved me hard. If the butler hadn’t reacted quickly and caught me, I would have fallen face-first into the incinerator. I would have been permanently disfigured. A chilling realization shot up my spine. Elias had completely lost his mind. He was trying to brutally disfigure me as revenge. Elias clicked his tongue, sounding genuinely disappointed. “Clean this mess up.” With that, he turned and headed for the stairs. A surge of white-hot rage erupted from my chest. He kept a mistress—I endured it. He threatened my family—I endured it. Chloe’s endless provocations—I endured it. The time he forced himself on me while drunk, resulting in my pregnancy—I endured it. I endured, and endured, and endured for three whole years. And now he was openly trying to kill me? I was done enduring. If this is how it’s going to be, let it all burn. I sprinted after him, grabbed his arm, spun him around, and slapped him across the face with every ounce of strength I had. His head snapped to the side from the impact. He slowly turned back, glaring at me with dead, icy eyes. Looking at the bright red handprint forming on Elias’s cheek, I instantly felt a massive wave of satisfaction. “Tomorrow morning at 9 AM. We’re getting divorced.” “Chloe’s death has absolutely nothing to do with me. Stop trying to pin your tragedies on me. You know exactly how I got pregnant, and the only reason I didn’t show up to sign the papers that day was because your mother dragged me to the family estate.” “And your little mistress was buried because your mother explicitly ordered it. Because she couldn’t stand watching her son act like a pathetic, deranged ghoul. So stop blaming everyone else for your own miserable life.” Elias didn’t react to my explanation at all. I didn’t care if he believed me or not. It had nothing to do with me anymore. I had made myself perfectly clear. As I walked out of the Thorne family mansion, I carefully recalled the question Elias had asked me months ago. “Have you ever experienced the agony of watching the person you love die?” The person I love? Hah! How did I answer him back then? Oh, right. I remember now. I said, “Elias, as far as my heart is concerned, you died a long time ago.” When two people are deeply in love, they are completely blind to anyone else. In the past, I was so blind I couldn’t see Chloe. Now, Elias was so blind he couldn’t see me. 5 “After all these years, are you really just going to walk away?” Carter was a mutual friend of mine and Elias. Throughout this tortuous three-year love triangle, he had been my sole source of information regarding Chloe. Walk away? After seven years of love, hate, and obsession, it would be a lie to say I never fantasized about him changing his ways. But when Chloe died, I finally understood. In a love triangle, whoever ends up being the “backup option” has already lost. I chuckled softly, tapping the ash off my cigarette. Ever since I found out about Chloe, I had picked up smoking. I hated alcohol. I was terrified of doing something I’d regret while drunk, so I smoked to release the stress. It was my only way to momentarily soothe my completely numb heart. Seeing me stay silent, he continued: “Chloe is dead. Since you already put up with him for three years, why not just wait a little longer? He’ll come back to you eventually.” “Plus, you’re pregnant. Even if Elias agreed to the divorce, the Thorne family would never allow it.” “I don’t need their permission.” I hadn’t told anyone about the abortion yet. Seeing that I wouldn’t budge, Carter grew visibly agitated. He cursed at me in frustration: “Are you an idiot? For all we know, Chloe might not even be dead.” I frowned. “What do you mean?” He stayed silent for a long moment, then gritted his teeth and spilled the whole story. Chloe wasn’t dead! That was a plot twist I genuinely didn’t see coming. Chloe had thrown a tantrum, run away, and gotten into a car crash. To force Elias to move on and live a normal life with me—especially since I was pregnant—his grandfather had declared her dead and hid her away in a remote facility so Elias would give up. But no one expected his grandson to go so utterly insane that he would literally dig up graves in the middle of the night. Elias’s mother couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t just sit back and watch her son grieve himself to death. So, she finally caved. They had just brought Chloe back. Carter sighed, still trying to convince me: “It really doesn’t need to end in divorce, Scarlett. I can tell he still cares about you deep down.” “Now that the truth is out, just focus on having the baby safely. With your family and the Thornes backing you, no matter how much Chloe jumps around, she’ll never be able to step over you.” “And then what?” I crushed the cigarette stub into the ashtray, my voice flat. I pretty much understood the whole picture now. He froze. Seeing my expression remain completely indifferent, he swallowed whatever else he was going to say. I didn’t wait for him, continuing calmly: “And then what? I just keep enduring them like before? Watching Chloe occasionally pop up in my face to assert dominance, while they continue their little ‘runaway bride’ roleplay?” “And when I have the baby, my child has to grow up watching this twisted dynamic?” “And the next time Chloe gets bored and decides to fake her death again, my baby and I will probably be forced to join her in the grave to appease his grief, right?” I suddenly found it all incredibly hilarious. I remembered how, not long ago, he had his hands around my throat, calling my unborn baby a mutt. And then he turned around and dug up graves for Chloe. He was willing to take thirty lashes from his grandfather’s cane just for a shred of news about her. But when he came home, he intentionally tried to shove me into an incinerator. Having grown up with him, I knew exactly how rotten Elias’s core truly was. The most ironic part? By the time he pushed me toward that fire, he already knew Chloe was alive. And yet, he still wanted to destroy me. After all these years of entanglement, it boiled down to one simple truth. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to love. It was just that he didn’t love me anymore. 6 Elias didn’t show up on the day we were supposed to finalize the divorce. I didn’t bother calling him. I knew exactly where he was—at the hospital, by Chloe’s side. She hadn’t died, but she had suffered multiple fractures and temporary blindness. The two of them were experiencing a dramatic, tearful reunion. He probably couldn’t bear to leave her side for a single second. Elias had even flown in the top medical specialists from Europe for her. Such “profound” love. I laughed bitterly. Since we had a prenup anyway, I just contacted my lawyer and filed the papers through the courts. There was no other reason—it was simply the fastest way. I bought a random plane ticket down south. I changed my phone number and permanently deleted all my social media accounts. Sitting on the plane, I stared out at the layers of white clouds passing by the window. In a daze, my mind drifted back to when Elias and I were kids. Our families were old money and deeply connected. Our parents got along so well they literally bought houses next door to each other. But my parents loved to party and travel the world—separately. I didn’t understand it back then. I naively asked Elias about it. “Why don’t your parents and my parents ever play together?” “Do they not like each other?” I was seven. Elias was eleven, but he was already acting like a miniature adult. He kept a straight face, thought about it for a long time, and then handed me a piece of candy. “From now on, I’ll only play with you.” I didn’t fully grasp what that meant back then. Which led to my brain short-circuiting years later, when we were older, and I ended up asking him a similar question again. By then, he had graduated college and officially taken over his family’s empire. He was so busy he barely had time to eat. It was the week before my sophomore year of college started. He came home incredibly late that night because of work. We had barely seen each other the entire summer. That night, like an idiot, I asked him that question again. Except this time, he didn’t give me candy. I remember it vividly. He took off his suit jacket, cupped my face with both hands, and his eyes surged with an intense, raw emotion I couldn’t read. Because he had been drinking at a business dinner, the moment he leaned in, I smelled the sharp tang of alcohol mixed with a faint trace of tobacco. I tried to step back, but he locked me in his arms, rendering me completely immobile. His lips brushed against my ear, whispering words that made my face burn. “Tonight, it’s just the two of us playing.” My brain stalled. Before I could even process what he meant, his lips crashed down on mine, kissing me fiercely. The cool September night breeze should have calmed me down, but the flowers in my heart were already quietly blooming. The intercom announcement on the plane woke me up. I opened my eyes in a daze, realizing I had fallen asleep. I couldn’t remember the last time I dreamed about our childhood. As I stepped off the plane, I recalled what happened after that night. Elias and I made our relationship official that very evening. We completely skipped the dating phase. Because the very next afternoon, he drove me straight to City Hall and we signed the marriage license. Then, we casually informed our parents. I complained that he was way too domineering and didn’t even give me time to mentally prepare. He just said, “I needed to lock you down early so I wouldn’t have to worry. We have the rest of our lives to date.” “Scarlett, the second you graduate, we’re having a massive wedding.” Back then, my eyes and my heart were completely overflowing with happiness. But I forgot that every process has its natural order for a reason. Because we skipped the dating phase… Someone else eventually stepped in to fill that void. 7 After getting off the plane. I was too lazy to run, too tired to plan. I just found a random luxury hotel, checked in, and slept until the world went dark. I was usually a light sleeper in new places, but surprisingly, I slept like the dead. I felt like I had been sleeping for an eternity. In my hazy semi-consciousness, I heard my phone ringing endlessly. I didn’t answer it. I just let it ring. Until the battery finally died, and I sank back into a deep slumber. When I opened my eyes again, four days had passed. While I felt well-rested, a lingering sense of dread washed over me. If I had died in this hotel room, no one would have known. My phone was flooded with missed calls and texts. I scrolled through them casually, replying to a few people I actually liked. I also called both my parents back. They had stopped living together years ago, but refused to officially divorce. It wasn’t for my sake. The main reason was that the people they dated on the side didn’t care about a title; they just wanted a good time. And my parents found the legal paperwork tedious. They figured life is short anyway, and when they die, they’ll just be buried in the same family mausoleum. Other than their playboy lifestyles… they were actually decent parents. In the past, I thought I could accept a marriage like theirs. After all, it just meant the love faded, right? At least there was mutual respect. You just close your eyes and get through it. But later, I realized the only reason my parents could maintain that kind of marriage was because there was absolutely no love between them to begin with. Naturally, they didn’t care what the other person did. But Elias and I? We had loved each other. We both knew exactly what it looked like when the other person was in love. That was why I couldn’t accept a hollow marriage. And that was why he couldn’t accept Chloe’s “death.” After hanging up with my parents, I received two massive wire transfers. Undeniably, even though they didn’t love each other, they had always done their best to love me. Among the missed calls, Elias had tried to reach me too. I didn’t call back. I chose to pretend I didn’t see it. We were divorced. There was nothing left to untangle. After lounging in the hotel for a few more days, it suddenly hit me—I had nowhere to go. I should thank the universe for letting me reincarnate into a wealthy family. Thanks to my parents’ money and Elias’s protection, I grew up experiencing things most people couldn’t even dream of. Before getting married, whenever I had a break from school, I would drag my friends on wild trips all over the world. The vast deserts out west, chasing the Northern Lights in Scandinavia—romantic, childish adventures. Sleeping in tents in the wilderness, staring up at the sparse stars hidden behind the clouds. Back then, I was fearless. I dreamed big, chased hard, and did whatever I wanted the second the thought crossed my mind. But after marriage, my only job was to be the perfect “Mrs. Thorne” who never embarrassed Elias. Now, I was finally free.

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I was Charles Anderson’s trophy mistress, a vixen in bed, bewitching him. Away from the bedroom, I acted like the lady of the house, regularly clashing with his unrequited first love. In others’ eyes, I was a stand-in, madly in love with Charles, destined to be discarded. In reality, I didn’t love him at all; I only loved his money. Using his name, my business flourished. I was on the verge of joining the ranks of the new business elite. I decided to dump him first, feigning a dramatic breakup: “Charles, I’ve spent five years and still can’t make you love me… I’m tired. Let’s break up.” Charles’s sweat dripped onto me, and he looked at me with a half-smile. “Indeed, women change when they get rich. How about this, I’ll bankrupt you, and help you find your original self.” 1 Charles rose from beside me, dressing as he spoke. “She’s coming back to the country today. Prepare a welcome dinner at the Starlight Estate.” “She” was Clara Sterling, Charles’s unrequited first love. Like a boneless cat, I wrapped my arms around Charles’s waist from behind, my perfectly manicured fingers tracing his abs. His body visibly tensed. “Who else will be there?” “Just friends from our circle.” My eyes rolled playfully. “A party needs decent jewelry. I’ve got my eye on a high-grade jade bangle, but it’s a bit pricey… eight hundred thousand.” “Buy it.” I happily kissed his cheek. “Charles, I love you.” Charles was unmoved by my declaration. He grabbed my wrist, saying indifferently, “With nails that long, my back is covered in your scratches.” I gave a guilty smile: “They’re pretty, though… Should I cut them?” “Keep them. They really are pretty.” Charles’s eyes darkened. He pulled me onto his lap and gave me a long, passionate kiss. When I greeted guests at the Starlight Estate, I wore my new jade bangle. I abandoned my usual bedroom vixen persona, smiling gracefully and generously, exuding the air of a virtuous wife. Clara’s sisterhood loudly gossiped about me: “Clara, that’s her, Mr. Anderson’s trophy mistress.” “Her eyes and brows are so similar to Clara’s. Everyone in the circle knows she’s just a stand-in for Clara!” “I heard she used to be a small-time actress, only got where she is today by riding on Clara’s coattails.” “Clara, don’t be sad. Mr. Anderson loves you.” My gaze met Clara’s. She was very beautiful, clearly the product of a privileged upbringing, like a delicate hothouse flower. Rumor had it, Clara had “rescued” a penniless Charles during high school. Clara, however, loved Julian, the golden boy of the city’s elite. She had married Julian early, and they had both immigrated to the States. Charles was with me, using me as a stand-in for Clara. Now, Clara was divorced and back in the country. Many people were waiting to see me, the stand-in, discarded by Charles. I raised my glass, giving Clara a friendly nod and smile. She was surprised by my reaction, freezing for a moment. She was Charles’s darling, and I wasn’t foolish enough to provoke her. Avoiding her was enough. But Clara’s sisterhood wouldn’t let me off the hook. Suddenly, I was harshly shoved, knocking over a champagne tower. I lost my footing, about to fall into a heap of broken glass. I protected my precious bangle, resignedly closing my eyes. The expected pain didn’t come. Someone grabbed my arm and pulled me up. Then, I crashed into a firm chest, inhaling a familiar masculine scent. Clara and her friends really irritated me. No matter, I would go wild. I casually wrapped my arms around the man’s neck, looking at the disposable crony who pushed me, saying, with feigned fragility, “Charles darling~~~ I’m pregnant. Our baby… she almost killed it.” Everyone seemed to hit a pause button, wide-eyed with shock. Charles frowned at me, his eyes showing shock, surprise, and even emotion, his gaze reddening. He always used protection; how could he possibly believe my lie?! He wouldn’t think I secretly tampered with it, would he? 2 “You’re lying… I didn’t push you!” I pointed to the security camera above her head: “Should I call for the surveillance footage?” The crony looked at Clara, hoping she would speak up for her. Clara avoided her gaze, distancing herself from the situation. The crony panicked: “You’re fine, aren’t you? I… I was just joking!” Charles’s anger turned to a cold smile. “Joking? Then I’ll be ‘joking’ with you often in the future. I hope you’ll be laughing then.” Charles was a fearsome figure in the city’s elite circles, decisive and vengeful in his actions. For him to say that meant the crony would certainly suffer. The crony collapsed to the ground, disheveled, and was escorted out by a servant. My original plan was to first stand on the moral high ground, then go wild and press the crony’s face into the broken glass to scare her. I hadn’t expected the big boss to believe my lie and stand up for me. I was just about to confess to Charles. Clara said, “Charles, I want to talk to you.” “Let’s talk in the tea room.” Charles and Clara left together, he didn’t spare me another glance. Was I sad? Of course not. Over these five years, aside from the gifts Charles gave me, the stocks and funds I invested in through him, and the projects I joined through him, had all made me a fortune. Looking at the eight-figure sum in my bank account, I was the happiest, sunniest girl in the world. With Charles gone, I felt like a mouse in a rice bin. Charles’s circle of friends were all wealthy and influential; how could I waste such valuable networking opportunities? I had started my own company, and this welcome dinner was my sales event, with all the guests being my potential clients. I was smooth-tongued, and in the space of one meal, I achieved three million in sales. Charles’s good friend, Ethan, said, “Charles is alone with his first love in a room. Aren’t you jealous?” “I’ll be jealous later. I want to invest five million in your new project.” “What if you lose money?” “If I lose, I’ll go cry to Charles and make him pay me back.” Ethan laughed, “Alright, Charles has really fallen for you.” I had researched Ethan’s project; it wouldn’t lose money. If it weren’t for Charles, Ethan wouldn’t have let me invest. My abacus beads clicked loudly; making money was the happiest thing in the world. However, in front of my patron, I still had to pretend to love him more than money. 3 I peeked around the tea room door, ready to act jealous. Charles saw me and waved me in. “From now on, Clara will be staying at the Starlight Estate. Arrange a room for her. “She’s my honored guest. Pay close attention to her food, clothing, and expenses.” The Starlight Estate was a sprawling traditional mansion. Old money families often had ancestral homes, family compounds. The Starlight Estate was Charles, the self-made tycoon’s, family home, where he spent most of his time. A sudden pang of bitterness twisted in my heart. Indeed, his first love. She appeared and immediately gained access to his home. Ugh, I’ll just use Charles’s card to buy a designer bag to cheer myself up later. I smiled, appearing gracious and composed: “Of course, Charles.” Charles took a sip of tea, his expression detached. “Go.” I led Clara to her room. She initiated conversation with me: “It’s been over ten years, and Charles is truly a big shot now. “You never met eighteen-year-old Charles. He was the only poor student at our elite high school, so rough and shabby, and very gloomy. Julian and a group of rich kids bullied him, even hitting him until he went deaf. If I hadn’t paid to treat his ear, how could a deaf man have risen to become the Mr. Anderson he is today?” So she was using his past debt of gratitude, freeloading here. When he was poor, Clara looked down on him. Now that he’s successful, she’s clinging to him, trying to take him back? We walked across a bridge. Suddenly, Clara pushed me into the lake. “Help! Someone’s fallen into the water!” Clara cried out, then jumped in herself. She grabbed my hair, her eyes venomous. “Tell me, could such icy water cause you to miscarry?” She forced my head underwater. Terrifying memories flooded back… In winter, my father held my head in a frozen water barrel: “I’ve worked hard all day, and you haven’t even made a hot meal! What’s the point of girls going to school? You’re eighteen now, we’ve settled the bride price with the Miller family, you’re getting married!” Clara kept pressing down, preventing me from breathing. I held my breath to my limit, then choked on a mouthful of water. Rage consumed me. I struggled, lifted my head, and punched Clara in the face. Almost out of strength, I dog-paddled to shore. Just then, Charles and the others arrived. I shivered, freezing, and looked at Charles. Charles took off his coat, crouching down to tightly wrap it around me. I huddled in his arms, contemplating how to get revenge on Clara. In our first encounter, I had to make her understand what I was capable of. “Charles… save me!” Clara thrashed in the water, calling for help. Charles told his subordinates, “Get her out.” After Clara was pulled ashore, she cried pitifully, “She accidentally fell in, and I kindly tried to save her. When she reached the bank, she punched me in the face, causing me to lose strength and almost drown…” The bruise on Clara’s face was glaring evidence. Her sisterhood seized the opportunity: “Theresa! You’re so vicious!” “Our kind Clara risked her life to save you, and you tried to harm her!” I clutched my stomach, wailing to the sky, “Charles, our baby… it’s gone!” The guests gasped. Moments ago, they had been looking at me with disgust and contempt, as if I were the villainess. Now, they looked at me with full sympathy, turning to scold Clara and her friends. “Shut up! She just lost a baby, don’t provoke her further.” “She must have been terrified, that’s why she accidentally hit Clara.” “You just got punched; she lost a child.” “If you’re so kind, then stop harassing her.” Charles scooped me up and hurried towards the bedroom. I wrapped my arms around Charles’s neck, triumphantly looking at Clara. Clara stood frozen, her face filled with resentment and jealousy. 4 In the bathroom, Charles pinned me against the tiles. Charles had seen through my lie the moment I confronted the crony. “Let me go!” “Charles… you didn’t use protection!” “Don’t you want a child? I’ll give you one now!” I turned my head to look in the mirror. Charles was kissing my neck, desperately and fiercely, my expression a mix of dark pleasure and triumph. Five years. Whether he ever fell for me, I didn’t know. But he definitely had a physical attraction to me. I picked up his cigarette pack and lit a cigarette. He looked up at me. “Focus.” I laughed, blowing smoke in his face. “It’s too intense. I need a cigarette to calm down.” Then, he became even more intense. … “Today, you made many mistakes. “Reflect on them yourself, and list all your errors.” Charles carried me to the bedroom. I struggled to think. “I shouldn’t have lied about being pregnant.” “Continue.” “I shouldn’t have… hit your first love.” Charles gripped the back of my neck. “You have no idea what you did wrong. It’s alright… we have plenty of time.” I buried my face in the pillow. He’d been working out like crazy lately; his stamina was even better. I wanted to escape. Charles grabbed my ankle, pulling me back to continue. He kissed my swollen lips, wiping away my tears: “Crying so pitifully, do you know what you did wrong now?” Unable to control myself, a thought suddenly struck me: “I shouldn’t have protected my bangle first when I fell.” “Mm.” I smiled. “I knew Charles cared about me.” Charles stroked my back, asking, “I’m letting her stay. Will you be jealous?” “Of course. I love you so much, I’m green with envy.” He sat up, lit a cigarette, his tone and expression detached: “Heh, you don’t love me; you only love my money.” I retorted, unashamed, “How could I be so shallow? I also crave your body.” I took the cigarette from his hand and finished the remaining half. Just then, the butler came in to say that his first love had a fever. “You sleep. I’ll go check on her.” Men turn cold as soon as they get out of bed. Actually, I was a little sad, just a tiny bit. I burrowed under the covers and slept soundly. 5 Waking up early the next morning, I saw Charles standing on the balcony, smoking. I wondered when he had returned. There was a deep sense of loneliness about Charles. After five years together, he remained a mystery; I couldn’t quite see through him. He was rich, handsome, fit, and excellent in bed. He was generous with me, provided me with resources to start a business, and personally taught me many things. He truly was a very charming man. Seeing I was awake, he slid open the door and came in. He walked over and hugged me. He was cold, carrying the chill of the night. The atmosphere was so intimate, I couldn’t help but ask the question that bothered me most: “Am I Clara Sterling’s stand-in?” “Guess.” “I don’t think so.” I flattered him: “Finding a stand-in is the behavior of a low-down jerk. Charles, you’re a man of integrity, you wouldn’t stoop to that.” Charles was amused, kissing my forehead: “Mm, you’re not a stand-in. “Then who are you to me?” I proudly puffed out my chest: “I’m Charles darling’s favorite trophy mistress!” I was playful; he didn’t smile. He frowned, asking, “About the falling in the water incident, don’t you have anything to tell me?” I knew the destructive power of the “first love” trope. So, without evidence, making an unfounded accusation against her would not only make him disbelieve me but also dislike me. “Not for now.” The warmth in Charles’s eyes vanished completely, his expression as if he wanted to strangle me. Sure enough, harming his darling made him unhappy. I decided to stabilize him first, brushing my hair aside, looking seductively alluring: “Charles darling, I’ll give you an explanation later. Please calm down.” Heh heh heh. Clara messing with me was like hitting a brick wall. If I didn’t drive her out of the Starlight Estate, I’d eat my shoe! “Whatever.” Charles stalked off, his robes swirling. My stomach hurt. Grimacing, I pressed my hand to my stomach, already planning how to deal with Clara. Charles returned, bringing stomach medicine and a bowl of millet porridge. My stomach problem was an old ailment from being hungry as a child. In these five years, pampered by Charles, I rarely had stomach pains anymore. I had been enduring the pain, how did he know my stomach was acting up? “Take your medicine, then drink the porridge.” “Oh.” I sniffled, touched, and tugged on his belt. “Charles, I don’t care about your past with her. My bottom line is, you can only sleep with me. If I find you’re not a proper gentleman, I’m done with you.” As a trophy mistress, one shouldn’t always fawn over the patron. Showing a strong side at the right time is more appealing. He looked at me for a long time, his eyes bright: “Okay.” He was hooked.

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Chapter 1 When I turned 32, my mother finally launched an indiscriminate, full-scale marriage-pressure campaign against me. I swiftly broke up with my supermodel boyfriend of four years, packed my bags, and moved back to my hometown. My best friend was aghast: “Are you crazy? I thought you were obsessed with Liam’s face and body? You’re really willing to let that go?” I scoffed: “I’m not an idiot. Dating a guy like him for a thrill is fine, but if I actually married him, what would my life be? Spending the rest of my days catching him cheating and then forgiving him?” Just as the words left my mouth, a voice as cold as ice, yet incredibly familiar, came from behind me. “Chloe, is that your reason for dumping me?” Dragging my suitcase back to the apartment Liam and I shared, I bumped right into a woman walking out. She was wearing a flimsy camisole with Liam’s silk dress shirt draped loosely over it. She was barefoot, holding a pair of limited-edition high heels in one hand. I recognized her. She was a new, up-and-coming designer Liam had recently collaborated with. Her name was Ellie, barely twenty, practically radiating youth. I instinctively took a step back, hiding in the shadows of the elevator lobby. A few seconds later, Liam followed her out. He had only a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair was still dripping wet, and his skin was flushed. He leaned against the doorframe, lit a slim cigarette, and looked lazy and exhausted. A moment later, he casually tossed an unopened, latest-model designer watch box toward her. “Take it.” Ellie’s eyes lit up instantly. She threw herself at Liam, hugging him and squealing, “Ahhh! Oh my god, it’s the Starlight series! Liam, you’re the best!” “Picked it up while I was in Milan for the shows.” “I love you so much! Baby!” Ellie tried to kiss him. But Liam had run out of patience. He frowned slightly and turned his face away to avoid her. “Alright, hurry up and leave.” The girl wasn’t annoyed, speaking in a tone that was half-whining, half-complaining: “So ruthless, tossing me aside the moment you’re done. You were just calling me your little vixen in bed.” She happily hugged the new watch box and blew Liam a kiss before leaving: “I’m off. See you at the studio tomorrow.” Only after she left did I step out from the shadows. Liam probably hadn’t expected me to return from my business trip early. He froze for a second, but quickly resumed his usual nonchalant demeanor. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?” I stared at him for a moment. “My flight got changed. It was too late, I didn’t want to wake you.” The hickey on Liam’s collarbone was glaringly fresh and ambiguous, yet he showed no remorse. He walked over, intending to take my suitcase. “You must be tired. I’ll go run a bath for you.” As he bent down, his towel loosened slightly, acting as if the scene I had just witnessed never happened. Seeing me standing still, he raised an eyebrow: “What’s wrong?” Then understanding dawned on him, and a lazy smile touched his lips: “Missed me?” He leaned in close. He still carried the scent of body wash mixed with another woman’s perfume. His hand skillfully slid under the hem of my shirt. “Then let’s get down to business first, and then—” He was a runway model who worked out constantly. His fingertips had thin calluses, and when they brushed against my skin, they brought a tingling, numb itch. I closed my eyes and tiredly pushed him away. I have to admit, I was infatuated with Liam’s body. The reason I pursued him in the first place was because I caught a glimpse of him backstage at a fashion show and was absolutely blown away. But maybe because I had just flown for over ten hours, or maybe because of the woman I just saw, right now I only felt nauseous. I had zero interest. Liam was rarely rejected by me. He froze for a moment, his face darkening slightly. “What kind of tantrum is this?” I looked down and saw a women’s earring on the entryway rug that didn’t belong to me. Liam clearly saw it too. He clicked his tongue, his expression turning impatient. The living room fell into a dead silence. He pulled another cigarette from the box and lit it, smoke swirling around him. “She’s just a junior designer. She drank too much and had nowhere to go, so I let her crash here for a night.” “We didn’t do anything.” Chapter 2 I looked at him. The white smoke separated our lines of sight, making it impossible to clearly see each other’s expressions. But we both knew perfectly well how pathetic that excuse was. This wasn’t Liam’s first time cheating. He was probably born to live among a garden of women. When I met him, he was already like this. At the time, my company was organizing a high-end fashion collaboration. My best friend took me to meet the red-hot top supermodel, saying he had a unique aura but a terrible temper. I didn’t have a good impression of models; I always felt they were just empty shells. Until Liam walked in. He was wearing a simple black turtleneck sweater, standing tall and straight, with a few stray hairs falling across his high, straight nose bridge. The moment he walked in, the air in the entire conference room seemed to freeze. That face, that body—he was the Creator’s most biased masterpiece. He looked up, those deep eyes sweeping over us with careless detachment. I didn’t hear a single word he said that day. My mind was entirely consumed with how to get him into my bed. After the meeting, countless people swarmed him trying to get his contact info, and he coldly rejected them all. Only I persistently cornered him in the parking garage. Single since birth for 26 years, that was the boldest moment of my entire life. Liam was probably annoyed by my pestering, or maybe he just found it novel. Anyway, I became his girlfriend. Right up until now. But I knew that for these six years, Liam had never truly loved me. Or perhaps, he loved me in his own way. He loved my independence, my understanding nature, my ability to handle his messy PR crises, and the fact that I never made a fuss about the endless gossip surrounding him. Every time I caught him, he’d throw out some random excuse, and I would forgive him. He once mocked me for living too rationally, saying I wasn’t like a real woman. He also joked that one day, when he met his true soulmate, he would kick me to the curb. For these past few years, the relationship was entirely sustained by my unilateral tolerance. “You promised me you wouldn’t bring anyone home again,” I said, my voice very low, staring at the expensive earring. A flash of mockery appeared in Liam’s eyes; he had absolutely no intention of coaxing me. “Since when did you become so uptight?” He leaned in close, blowing smoke into my face, his eyes full of malice: “Can’t take it anymore?” “If you can’t take it, then get out.” He had said things like this countless times over the past four years. The ending was always the same: I would lower my head, apologize, hold him, and beg him not to be angry. Over time, he found my weak spot. He knew that as long as he said that, I couldn’t do anything about it. I turned my head away: “I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.” Liam grabbed my wrist. His brow bone was high; when he was expressionless, he always carried a sharp, oppressive aura. “Chloe, quit while you’re ahead. Don’t push your luck.” I shook off his hand and went into the guest room. Not long after, an earth-shattering slam of the front door echoed through the apartment. Liam left. He was angry. I knew that. After all, between us, I was always the one compromising, the one doing the coaxing. I had never given him the cold shoulder like I did today. I rolled over and turned on my phone. In the family group chat, my mom sent another picture of a man: “Chloe, Auntie Li introduced this one. A college professor, steady and reliable. You’re 32 this year; it’s time to start thinking about the important things.” Then I opened my work group chat. My boss tagged me: “Chloe, the new Brand Strategy Department at headquarters has just been established, and we’re missing a director. I think your capabilities are a perfect fit. The resources and platform at headquarters are on a whole different level compared to the branch office. Think it over.” My mom was calling me home for blind dates. The company wanted to promote me and send me back to headquarters, which happened to be right in my hometown. The timing, the location, the circumstances—it all lined up. It seemed I truly had no reason to stay in this city anymore. I sighed. To be honest, I really liked Liam. He was handsome enough, his body was hot enough, and we were a match made in heaven in bed. Most importantly, he was a total scumbag. Being with him was easy. I didn’t have to think about the future, and I didn’t have to be responsible for him. During those first few years in the corporate world when the pressure was crushing me, I just wanted someone to relieve the stress. But I was dead set on looks, picking and choosing until I met Liam. His best years were spent by my side. When I was tearing my hair out over KPIs, he used his body to comfort me through countless late nights. And even though he had a constant stream of women, he was somewhat particular—all his flings had to provide regular health checkups. I took all the necessary precautions, so I wasn’t afraid of catching anything. It would probably be hard to find such a satisfying… bedmate again. But there was nothing I could do. Dating was one thing; getting married and living a life together was another. I liked Liam a lot. But I also knew very clearly that he wasn’t the right person for me. Now, the game was over. Chapter 3 Liam didn’t come home that night. For the next few days, he completely vanished. The messages I sent sank like a stone in the ocean. When I called, his phone was turned off. When I tried messaging him again, a red exclamation mark appeared. He had blocked me. The familiar cold shoulder. He had done this before. Liam was a master of the silent treatment. Every time, I had to rack my brain, go to his modeling agency, or stake out the gym he frequented to corner him, humbling myself to coax him before he would unblock me. But this time, I was busy handing over my work and didn’t have time to play his games. That evening, as I was booking my flight back to headquarters, my phone rang. It was Liam’s assistant. Through the phone, the deafening sound of club music and the laughter of men and women assaulted my ears. “Ms. Hastings, Liam drank too much. He’s at the Rosemary Club. Could you come pick him up?” Liam loved clubbing. He came from a wealthy family; modeling was just an interest and a talent for him. I once asked him why he didn’t just take over the family business. He scoffed, saying he couldn’t be bothered to fight with all the mistresses and illegitimate children who were tearing each other apart for the inheritance. He knew his grandfather’s and mother’s shares would eventually be his anyway, so he just wanted to live his life exactly as he pleased. Liam had absolutely zero career ambition, and we were complete opposites in that regard. Whenever I landed a massive contract or got promoted and told him about it, he showed zero interest. He once disdainfully said that working myself half to death for that salary, which wouldn’t even buy him a single watch, was pointless. I knew that down to our bones, we were not the same kind of people. Other than physical intimacy, we had nothing in common. I didn’t understand his soul, and I only lusted after his body. He ignored my hard work, only accustomed to my compliance. That was fine. That way, when we parted, neither of us would feel heartbroken. I thought about it for a second and said yes. Putting the phone down, I glanced at my plane ticket: 10:00 AM, the day after tomorrow. I sighed. Actually, I didn’t want to break up this quickly. Liam and I were truly synchronized in bed. The pressure from changing roles recently was immense, and I had originally wanted to have breakup sex one last time. I clicked my tongue, feeling it was a bit of a shame. But since the opportunity presented itself, I might as well go with the flow. … When I arrived at the club, Liam was surrounded in the center of a booth. Men and women, all glamorous, all very beautiful, their faces full of youthful collagen. It was obvious they were all quite young. It made sense. Liam had money, looks, and spent generously. His playboy lifestyle seemed like just an extension of his carefree supermodel charm. I touched the fine lines at the corner of my eye, remembering what Liam had said in disgust before. “Chloe, you’re 32. Can you please go get some treatments? Don’t live so roughly.” No wonder he was disgusted by me. Turns out he was surrounded by girls in their early twenties. I didn’t speak. I stood outside the crowd, my eyes meeting Liam’s. He acted like he didn’t see me and quickly looked away. Ellie’s face was flushed, her whole body practically hanging off him, her voice sticky-sweet: “Liam, just one more drink.” Liam smiled. Under the club lights, his deep, devastatingly handsome eyes rippled with a charm that lacked any warmth. “Drinking like this is boring. Feed me.” “How?” Liam didn’t answer, just looked down at her. A half-second later, Ellie realized what he meant. A flash of wild joy crossed her eyes as she threw her head back and downed the whiskey in her glass! Then, Liam abruptly grabbed the back of her head and kissed her fiercely. His kiss held no tenderness; it was more like he was venting. Ellie tilted her head up to receive it, the corners of her eyes reddening from the lack of oxygen. Liquor spilled from the corners of their intertwined lips. The atmosphere around them instantly exploded, screams and whistles rising and falling. I knew he was doing it on purpose. He was punishing me. Punishing me for not coaxing him that day and for daring to give him attitude. It wasn’t until I walked right up to Liam that everyone quieted down, watching me like I was the main act in a play. Liam looked up, his expression flat: “What are you doing here?” Looking at this face, my mind drifted back to the countless days and nights of intimacy over the past four years. In the heat of passion, we had even spoken of love. Was it painful? Maybe a little. But was it agonizing? Not really. After all, I had known what kind of person Liam was for a long time. A playboy, always chasing novelty, unable to say no. Selfish, raised on a pedestal, always self-centered, never considering anyone else’s feelings. My voice trembled as I spoke: “Liam, you’ve gone too far.” Liam looked at me. Even though he was sitting and I was standing, I felt like he was looking down on me. He still wore that flat expression, a contemptuous smile on his lips. “Too far? You can break up with me. It’s not like I’m stopping you.” I remained silent, just looking at him. I couldn’t count how many times he had threatened me with a breakup. Eighty times? A hundred times? A friend nearby probably felt he had gone too far and tugged at his sleeve: “Liam, that’s enough. Look at Chloe, she looks like she’s going to be sick.” In truth, my eyes were red. If you’re going to act, you have to commit. When that teardrop hit the carpet, I clearly saw Liam’s expression freeze. The fingers holding his cigarette twitched, but he still didn’t say anything, just looked at me coldly. The next second, I said softly: “Okay, Liam.” “Let’s break up, then.” The expression on Liam’s face instantly solidified. For a moment, I even thought he was going to flip the table. However, instead of getting angry, he laughed, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes. It looked like it was squeezed through his gritted teeth. “Fine, Chloe, look at you getting a spine. But remember this: I, Liam Sterling, never go back to an ex.” “Don’t come crawling back to me like a dog begging for me later.” “Okay.” I nodded and wiped my tears. Then I turned and walked away, never looking back at him once. Liam didn’t come home that night. Overnight, I deleted all his contact information and packed my bags. Early the next morning, I got on the earliest flight back to headquarters. As the plane soared into the sky, I took out my SIM card and tossed it into the trash bag. Chapter 4 I didn’t contact Liam again. My life at headquarters got back on track. I quickly adapted to the rhythm of my new department, and I also met the man my mother had set up for me. The 30-year-old man sitting across from me, wearing a stiff suit, was still droning on. “I think that for women, before 30, the focus should be on the family. Having too much ambition isn’t good. What I mean is, after we get married, it would be best if you put more energy into the family and taking care of the kids…” He kept blabbering. I stirred my coffee with a smile, telling myself I had to hold back and absolutely could not throw this coffee in this self-absorbed man’s face. Finally, when he finished, he adjusted his glasses: “Did you catch all of that? Do you have any opinions?” I maintained my smile: “No. But Mr. Davis, I don’t think we’re a good fit. Let’s just split the bill for this meal.” Then, amidst his grumbling complaints of “Women over 30 aren’t in demand anymore, what are you being so picky for, old maid…”, I turned and left. In the days since I returned to my hometown, my mother had arranged no less than ten blind dates for me, some with relatively decent prospects. However, having seen the ocean, all other waters pale in comparison. After being with someone with Liam’s god-tier looks for four years, it was genuinely hard for me to generate any interest in these ordinary men. This depressed mood lasted until the Monday group strategy meeting. Everyone arrived early. The conference room was completely silent, the atmosphere heavy. I quietly asked the colleague next to me: “What’s going on? Did something happen?” My colleague lowered her voice: “The ‘Young Master’ hired by the board of directors has dropped in! Rumor has it he’s using our group as practice to familiarize himself with domestic operations before taking over the entire Asia-Pacific region.” “This Mr. Vance, they say he has a Juris Doctor from an Ivy League school. After graduating, he did M&A on Wall Street and never lost a case. When he came back to the States, he started his own venture capital firm and reached the top of the industry in just a few years. If the old chairman hadn’t threatened and lured him with shares, he wouldn’t have agreed to come back at all. He’s a truly ruthless guy, be very careful with what you say later!” Shortly after, a man wearing a dark gray three-piece suit walked in. He wasn’t wearing a tie, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone. The moment he stepped into the conference room, his assistant respectfully took his files. I looked up. In that instant, everyone’s breathing seemed to stop. The first thing that struck you was the aura radiating from this man. It was a sense of absolute control and oppression. He clearly had no expression, but everyone present, myself included, instinctively stiffened their backs, not daring to make eye contact with him. It was only on the second glance that you noticed his slightly slanted phoenix eyes, framed by gold-rimmed glasses, the lenses hiding coldness and scrutiny. This man was incredibly handsome, but a completely different type from Liam. If Liam was a blazing, scorching fire, then he was a frozen undercurrent in the deep sea. “Apologies, my flight was delayed. I’m late.” His voice was cold and clear. He sat at the head of the table and got straight to the point: “My name is Alexander Vance. Starting today, I am taking over the group’s strategy. I have already reviewed all departmental files and financial reports from the past three years. Now, starting with Group A, each person has three minutes to report on your work achievements over the past year and your future plans.” The department heads went up one by one, trembling as they reported. Alexander was as sharp as the rumors said, accurately pointing out every loophole and glossed-over statistic intended to deceive him. “I don’t like listening to nonsense, and I don’t like being treated like a fool. I expect efficient communication with smart people. But if communication fails, I will consider changing the method.” He didn’t explicitly curse anyone out, but the backs of the several directors who were called out were soaked in sweat. When it was my turn, a thin layer of sweat broke out on my palms. Fortunately, I was well-prepared, and my performance over the past year was dazzling enough. Once I started speaking, I became increasingly fluent. My education and my career are my pride and my foundation; I never cut corners when it comes to work. Alexander didn’t interrupt me. Through his glasses, I saw a hint of appreciation in his eyes. A moment later, I stopped, signaling the end of my report. He nodded: “Chloe Hastings, is it? Not bad.” “From now on, everyone’s reports will be held to this standard.” Ever since Alexander arrived, the entire department plunged into hell. He drastically cut many redundant projects and personnel, and he also pulled in several top-tier resources that seemed entirely out of reach. Everyone was working longer and longer hours of overtime, but the estimated numbers for our year-end bonuses also doubled. The colleagues, especially the young female ones, were full of fantasies about Alexander. There were two new interns who perhaps read too many CEO romance novels. One openly contradicted him in a meeting, trying to catch his attention. The other deliberately spilled coffee on his custom suit and tried to wipe it off with her hands. The first one didn’t show up for work the next day. The second one packed her bags and was gone by that afternoon. The female colleagues fell into line. However, during breaks, everyone still gossiped in the pantry. “I heard he’s always been single, not even a rumored girlfriend. You don’t think his romantic history is just nonexistent, do you?” “Impossible! With a man of his caliber, so many women are eyeing him. His standards are probably just too high.” “Oh my god, did you guys see him in that three-piece suit today? That shoulder-to-waist ratio… If I could catch him, I’d willingly hand over my paycheck!” I listened, suddenly intrigued. Without Liam, this Alexander Vance seemed like an even better prey. This man, I wanted to try.

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Working as an hourly maid abroad, the biggest taboo is overstepping your bounds and meddling too much. But when I saw my client’s house was freezing like an icebox, I couldn’t hold back and lent a hand. Turns out, that little favor was a big deal. The client was so thrilled he almost bowed down to me on the spot. When I opened my eyes the next morning, oh boy, the entire town of locals had formed a massive line outside my door, complete with deli-style number tickets. The old guy I worked for had a QR code hanging around his neck and a card reader in his hand, grinning from ear to ear: “Dear Maya, we’re going to strike it rich.” 1 I’ve been in this American town called “Mist Valley” for three years. My name is Maya. Thirty-five years old, no degree, no background, just a pair of hands that can’t stay idle. I didn’t come here for anything else but to earn medical fees for my daughter back home. Being an hourly maid—getting paid by the hour—is the most cost-effective job I could find. Today’s client is Mr. Arthur Sterling. He’s an old gentleman living alone. He has more books than furniture and keeps an orange tabby named “Toffee.” Usually, this old guy is quite particular but never nitpicks. However, the moment I walked in today, I felt something was off. The house was as cold as a morgue. Snowflakes were swirling outside the window, and there wasn’t a hint of warmth inside. Arthur was huddled in a rocking chair in front of the fireplace, wrapped in two heavy quilts, his face as white as a sheet of paper. The fireplace was black, unlit. “Morning, Maya,” he forced a trembling smile at me. “Morning, Mr. Sterling.” I put down my rag, rubbed my freezing fingers, and touched the radiator by the wall. Bone-chilling cold. “Heater broken?” Arthur sighed, a sound so pitiful it broke my heart. “It went on strike three days ago, my dear Maya.” “What about the repairman?” “I made an appointment. They said all the boilers in town conspired to freeze me to death. My number is up next Tuesday.” Today is only Thursday. In this godforsaken weather, a seventy-something old man and an old cat toughing it out for five days? This isn’t living; this is a survival challenge. “What about the fireplace? Why not light it?” “The chimney is blocked. I have to wait for those gentlemen with licenses to come and clear it too.” I felt a wave of speechlessness. This is America for you—rules trump everything, human lives take a back seat. I turned on the vacuum cleaner and started working. The buzzing echoed in the empty house, making it feel even colder. Arthur was coughing like he was going to hack up a lung. That old cat, Toffee, completely abandoned its dignity and rubbed around my ankles, treating me like a human heating pad. After tidying the living room, I pointed to the basement. “Sir, mind if I take a look down there?” “Go ahead, it’s just a bit messy.” I pushed open the basement door, and a smell of mold mixed with freezing air hit me in the face. Following the stairs down, that ancient gas boiler was squatting in the corner like a dead iron monster. This was the heart of the house, but unfortunately, it had stopped beating. I’m not a professional technician or anything. But my dad was a veteran fitter back home, dealing with boilers his whole life. I spent a lot of my childhood hanging around the workshop. I more or less understand the temperamental nature of these old-style boilers. Most of the time, they aren’t actually broken; they just need a good tune-up. I didn’t dare to mess with it recklessly. I leaned in and listened first. It was dead silent inside, not even the sound of airflow. I was thinking it’s better to avoid trouble. If I broke it, I couldn’t afford to pay for it even if I sold myself. But the old man upstairs kept coughing, one hack after another, making my heart flutter with anxiety. Then I looked at the freezing cat at my feet, its fur puffed up. Alright, screw it. My dad used to say, fixing this stuff starts with a “stethoscope” check. I knocked on the main intake pipe with my knuckles. A muffled thud. If it were clear, the sound would be crisp. Just from hearing that, I knew something was blocking it inside, or the gas pressure couldn’t build up. I glanced at the nameplate. An ancient American Standard model, crusty with age. Simple structure, sturdy and durable. The easiest place for this thing to act up is just one spot—the filter. Arthur’s toolbox was hanging on the wall. I picked out a wrench, took a deep breath, and shut off the main gas valve. When I was unscrewing the filter cap, my palms were sweating profusely. The cap was screwed on incredibly tight. I gritted my teeth, using every ounce of strength I had. Click. It loosened. A faint smell of gas drifted out. I pulled out the filter screen and took a look. Oh boy. It was caked with black sludge and rust flakes, completely airtight. If gas could pass through this, it would be a miracle. I grabbed the filter screen, ran upstairs, and headed straight for the kitchen. Arthur looked at me holding this black, grimy chunk of iron with a bewildered expression. I didn’t waste any time. Dish soap, steel wool brush, scrubbed it shiny in three minutes flat, then dried it with a hairdryer. Back downstairs. Reinstall, tighten, open the valve. A hissing sound of airflow immediately came from the pipes. I walked up to the boiler and pressed the ignition button. Whoosh! A blue flame shot up through the observation window. A wave of heat hit my face. That feeling was better than winning the lottery. I dusted off my hands and went upstairs. Arthur was standing at the basement door, his eyes practically popping out of his head. A few minutes later, the sound of flowing water came from the radiators. The temperature in the house began to rise. The old man trembled as he walked over, touching the radiator with an expression as reverent as if he were touching the heel of God. Suddenly, he turned around and strode toward me. His knees bent, about to kneel on the floor. “Hey, hey, hey! Don’t do that!” I was scared half to death, quickly catching him, so panicked my native language slipped out. “You’ll shorten my lifespan!” The old man was flushed with excitement, gripping my hands tightly: “Maya! Good Lord! You are not a maid at all!” He roared with the tone of an operatic tenor: “You are the mysterious Boiler Whisperer from the East!” I was still clutching that wrench, completely dumbfounded. What the heck? Whisperer? I thought it was just the delirious nonsense of an overly excited old man. Even though I explained eight hundred times that this was just some superficial knowledge I learned from my dad, Arthur still looked at me like I was a hidden master. “No, Maya, this isn’t technique, this is witchcraft! The mysterious power of the East!” Alright then, whatever you say. When I was leaving that day, the old man insisted on stuffing three times my wages into my hands. I refused; that money burned to hold. But he shoved it into my pocket with a dead-serious face: “This is what the ‘Whisperer’ deserves. Your value is only going to go up from here.” On my way home, my eyelid kept twitching. I had a feeling something was going to happen. Mist Valley was too small a town to hide secrets. That rundown dive bar in town was the intelligence center, and Arthur was definitely going to have a couple of drinks tonight. When that old man had too much to drink, his mouth had no filter. Sure enough. Early the next morning, I was woken up by a commotion. When I pulled back the curtains and looked, I almost passed out. Outside my door, a line of people stretched all the way to the street corner. These locals were bundled up like burritos, snot freezing on their faces, clutching handmade number tickets. Their eyes didn’t look like they were here for repairs; they looked like they were on a pilgrimage. At the very front of the line stood Arthur, wearing a crisp tuxedo and a bowtie, looking as sharp as a wedding officiant. The most outrageous part was that he was holding a portable card reader. There was a knock on the door. I braced myself and opened it. “Morning! My partner!” Arthur’s face was glowing red. He pointed at the crowd behind him: “Look! Business has come knocking!” “Who… who are all these people?” “Every unlucky soul whose heater has broken down!” The old man grinned so wide he couldn’t close his mouth. “I told them the miracle worker from the East is right here!” “No, I…” “Don’t be modest, my dear.” Arthur waved the card reader in front of my face. “I’ve consulted a lawyer, and the liability waivers are all signed.” “Just to take a look, fifty bucks.” “If you fix it, anywhere from two hundred to five hundred bucks.” “I handle the customers and the money, you handle the magic. We split it fifty-fifty.” He lowered his voice, a sly gleam in his eye: “Maya, we’re going to be rich.” I looked at the spectacle, my brain buzzing. This wasn’t just a good deed gone wrong; this was a good deed turned into a mythological epic. “I can’t do this, I don’t have a license!” I tried a last-ditch struggle. “You can! You’re incredibly capable!” The lady at the front holding the number 1 ticket rushed up: “Arthur’s boiler was supposed to have its core replaced for three thousand bucks! You touched it once and it was fixed! You are a god!” I finally understood. This was an information gap. The official repairman in town was a total scammer with shoddy skills, ripping these locals off terribly. My amateur tinkering was a dimensional strike in their eyes. “Please save my kids!” “We’re freezing to death in there!” Looking at those expectant faces, and then looking at Arthur’s “trust me, you can’t go wrong” posture. I knew I wasn’t getting out of my house today. I sighed, went back inside, and dragged out the tool bag I hadn’t thrown away even though it was rusting. “Let’s go, first house.” The crowd cheered like it was New Year’s Eve. Arthur cleared his throat, immediately getting into character: “Mrs. Bell, swipe your card first. Fifty bucks diagnostic fee, no credit.” Beep. The sound of a successful transaction was crisp and pleasant. Arthur winked at me: “Grand opening.” 2 So, I was basically forced into becoming the town’s traveling quack doctor. Mrs. Bell’s boiler was also an antique. I took one look. The ignition pin was bent. I grabbed my pliers, straightened it out, and turned it on. Whoosh. Fixed. The whole process took less than three minutes. Mrs. Bell screamed, threw herself at me, and planted a kiss on my cheek, looking like she wanted to adopt me as her godmother. “Two hundred bucks, thank you for your patronage.” Arthur smilingly presented the card reader. Mrs. Bell swiped it with absolute delight: “So worth it! Much cheaper than that bloodsucking repairman!” For the rest of the day, I was like a doctor on rounds. Second house, the water pump was jammed with scale. Cleared it, fixed. Third house, the thermostat wire was loose. Tightened it, fixed. Fourth house… I discovered that ninety percent of the boilers in this town had idiotic problems. They didn’t need replacement parts at all; they just needed cleaning and tweaking. That official repairman was either genuinely stupid or rotten to the core, specializing in scamming these clueless locals. By the end of the day, I had fixed fifteen houses. Arthur trailed behind me, handling the business side flawlessly. When we split the money that night, the old man slapped a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills into my hand. “Eighteen hundred bucks, your share.” Holding the money, I felt like I was dreaming. I couldn’t make this much washing dishes for a month, and today I just wiggled a wrench? “Maya, you are a genius.” “No, I’m just picking up the scraps.” “Picking up scraps is a skill too.” When I got home, the crowd at the door had dispersed, but there was an extra wooden sign. Arthur’s handiwork, written in cursive: “The Boiler Whisperer of the East, Maya’s Studio. Limited to 20 appointments daily. No latecomers accepted.” I rubbed my temples, feeling like this situation was getting out of hand. Sure enough, what you fear most is what happens. The next day, a black Mercedes G-Wagon blocked my driveway. The door opened, and a burly man wearing overalls with a face full of aggressive fat stepped out. He glanced at the wooden sign, then looked at me as I just stepped out the door. His eyes were as cold and venomous as a rattlesnake’s. He walked straight over and blocked my path. “Are you that ‘Whisperer’ stealing my business?” My heart skipped a beat. I touched someone else’s slice of the pie, and the owner came knocking. I knew this burly guy, or rather, the whole town knew him. Gary, the only licensed HVAC repairman in Mist Valley, and also the Mayor’s nephew. This guy looked like a grizzly bear walking upright. The pipe wrench in his hand was thicker than my arm. On a normal day, fixing a water pipe meant prying up someone’s floorboards, and changing a lightbulb cost a fifty-dollar call-out fee. Right now, those beady eyes of his were staring daggers at me, like he wanted to swallow me alive. “I’m Gary.” He took a step forward, the smell of unwashed motor oil rushing straight to my brain. “Did you get my permission to run wild on my turf?” I instinctively shrank back. After all, this was America. I didn’t have status or background. If I really provoked the local snake, I’d definitely be the one suffering. “Misunderstanding, it’s all a misunderstanding…” I was just about to explain. But Arthur leaped out like a protective mother hen, shielding me. Don’t let his usual wheezing fool you; right now, his back was straight as a ramrod, instantly radiating that aristocratic aura. “Mr. Gary,” Arthur slowly adjusted his bowtie, “Please watch your language. This is private property, and Ms. Maya is my… personal technical consultant.” “Consultant?” Gary sneered, spitting a thick wad of phlegm onto the snow. “A maid holding a rag? Sounds like a scammer to me! I have a full set of state-certified HVAC licenses. What does she have? She’s working illegally!” That was a huge accusation to throw around. My heart tightened, and my palms started sweating. If I got reported and deported, my daughter’s medical fees would be completely gone. “I’m calling the cops!” Gary pulled out his phone with a sinister grin. “Let’s have the police come see if this ‘Whisperer’ actually has a work visa!” The neighbors waiting in line began to whisper among themselves. Some looked worried, others were ready for the show. I tugged at Arthur’s sleeve and whispered, “Mr. Sterling, maybe we should just stop. We’ll refund their money…” “Refund what!” Arthur glared back at me, then turned around, pulled a pair of gold-rimmed glasses from his breast pocket, and put them on. In that moment, the old man’s aura completely changed. If he was just a money-grubbing little old man a second ago, now he looked like a Chief Justice sitting on the Supreme Court bench. “Call the police? Great idea.” Arthur smiled warmly. “As it happens, I’d love to have a chat with the police too. Regarding that ‘brand new’ water pump you installed for Mrs. Bell last month—why does it have a 2010 manufacturing date stamped on it? And Mr. Miller’s thermostat—why did you charge him an eight-hundred-dollar motherboard replacement fee when you only changed a battery?” Gary’s face instantly dropped, his phone frozen in mid-air. “You… what nonsense are you talking about!” “Whether it’s nonsense or not, we can have the police take those replaced parts in for authentication.” Arthur took a step forward, his gaze as sharp as a knife. “Fraud in this state starts at what, a three-year sentence? Mr. Gary, does your prison cell need its heater fixed?” Dead silence. I was stunned. This old man rarely left his house, how did he know the town’s gossip… no, the details of these commercial frauds so clearly? The fat on Gary’s face twitched, his eyes darting around. He was a bully who only picked on the weak. If they really investigated to the bottom of it, his ass was covered in crap. “Fine… you play hardball.” Gary gritted his teeth, pointing viciously at me. “We’ll see about this. Don’t think fixing two busted furnaces makes you a master. In a couple of days, the Mayor’s central heating system needs maintenance. I’d love to see how you handle that mess!” With that, he climbed into his G-Wagon, slammed the gas pedal to the floor, and sped off, spraying us with exhaust. “Bah! Scum!” Arthur elegantly waved his hand to clear the exhaust, turned to me, and winked. “Handled.” I looked at the old man, gulping. “Sir, who exactly are you?” “Me?” Arthur shrugged, returning to his profiteer persona. “Just a retired, nosy former diplomat. Don’t just stand there, dear Maya. We just wasted ten minutes, and time is money! Next!” 3 After the scene Gary caused, my reputation didn’t plummet; it skyrocketed. Even the “local snake” was chased away by us. What did that mean? It meant we had backbone! It meant we had real skills! In the days that followed, I was insanely busy. Arthur turned his living room into a waiting room, even setting up a makeshift ticket-calling system. That old cat Toffee became the mascot, letting anyone who offered canned food pet him, absolutely shameless. I also gradually figured out a hybrid “East meets West” repair theory. The American mindset is rigid: if it’s broken, replace it. Whatever breaks, replace that part. Sometimes they even replace it when it’s not broken. I’m different. I’m someone used to living poor, believing in “make do and mend.” For example, Uncle George’s oven door wouldn’t close tightly, leaking heat. Gary quoted six hundred bucks to replace the door. I grabbed a screwdriver, removed the spring from the door hinge, shoved a tiny wood chip inside the loosened spring to increase the tension. Done in two minutes. Uncle George looked at the perfectly sealed oven door, almost in tears: “Good Lord, what’s the science behind this?” I wiped my hands and spouted nonsense: “It’s called ‘Wood generates Fire,’ the Eastern art of balancing the Five Elements.” Arthur, standing by, translated vividly: “Ancient Eastern Magic, Wood boosts Fire.” Uncle George pulled out three hundred bucks on the spot and insisted on giving me a basket of homegrown potatoes. Another example: Aunt Susan’s washing machine vibrated like it was trying to take flight during the spin cycle. Gary said the motor bearings were shot and the whole machine needed replacing. I laid on the floor, took one look, and noticed the base was uneven. I found a piece of scrap cardboard, folded it a few times, and wedged it under the front-left foot. The washing machine instantly quieted down like a sleeping chicken. Aunt Susan covered her mouth in terror: “Did… did you cast an immobilizing spell on it?” I nodded calmly: “Yep, it’s called ‘Steady as Mount Tai’.” Arthur: “Solid as Mount Tai.” Another two hundred bucks in the bag. In just one week, Arthur and my split income had surpassed ten thousand dollars. I looked at the number in my bank account, my hands trembling. This wasn’t making money; this was robbery. But I always felt uneasy. Gary’s parting words, “The Mayor’s central heating,” stuck in my heart like a thorn. Sure enough, what you fear most is what happens. Friday evening, a black stretch SUV pulled up outside Arthur’s house. The window rolled down, revealing a stern face. It was the Mayor. And sitting in the passenger seat was Gary, sporting a look of gloating schadenfreude. “Mr. Sterling,” the Mayor’s tone was polite but carried an undeniable authority, “I heard you have a… magical Eastern technician here?” “Mr. Mayor, your presence graces my humble home.” Arthur greeted him with a beaming smile, not intimidated in the slightest. “My home’s heating system has a massive problem,” the Mayor sighed. “Gary’s been fixing it for three days, and it’s only getting colder. I’m hosting a charity gala tonight, and state senators will be attending. If the house is freezing then, I’ll be a laughingstock.” Gary chimed in sarcastically from the side: “Uncle, I told you the system is totally shot and needs a full replacement. You’re the one who insisted on believing in this ‘Whisperer’. Since she’s so magical, let her try, right? If she can’t fix it, well…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but the threat was obvious. If we messed up the Mayor’s gala, we could forget about staying in Mist Valley. Arthur looked at me, a questioning look in his eyes. I took a deep breath and slung my tool bag over my shoulder. If I backed down now, all the money and reputation I’d earned would have to be spat right back out. “Let’s go,” I said concisely. The Mayor’s house was as big as a castle. The boiler room in the basement was bigger than my entire apartment. That central heating unit was a behemoth. Complex pipes zig-zagged everywhere, and the control panels were densely packed, making me dizzy just looking at it. Gary crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, wearing an expression that said he was waiting for a good show. “This is the latest smart climate control system, fully computerized. Lady, can you even read the English manual?” I ignored him and walked straight to the unit. The machine was running, rumbling loudly, but the output pipe was ice cold. A string of red error codes flashed on the display screen: E04. I didn’t know English, but I knew machines. Machines are like people. If something is uncomfortable, they react. I placed my hand on the casing of the circulation pump. Scalding hot. The pump was spinning, but the water wasn’t moving. What did that mean? It meant there was air inside. An airlock. Usually, in this situation, you just need to open the bleeder valve and release the air. But I looked all around, and this high-tech machine actually didn’t have a manual bleeder valve! It was all automatic electronic valves! Gary sneered from the side: “Stop looking. I’ve already replaced three automatic bleeder valves, useless. The motherboard program is locked out. We have to have the manufacturer send someone to rewrite the program, next week at the earliest.” Next week? The Mayor would be a popsicle by then. I circled the machine three times, my mind racing, recalling my dad’s teachings from back in the day. “Only an idiot just looks at the computer; a living person looks at the pipes.” If the electronic valve won’t release the air, then I’d make a hole for it. My eyes locked onto a pressure gauge fitting right above the circulation pump. “Shut off the main breaker!” I shouted. Gary didn’t move: “Are you crazy? If you break it messing around, can you afford it? This system costs a hundred grand!” “Shut it off!” Arthur bellowed, his presence intimidating. Gary jumped in fright and reluctantly pulled the main breaker. The machine stopped. I pulled out my wrench, locked it onto the nut of the pressure gauge fitting, and forcefully torqued it. “What are you trying to do? That’s a pressure sensing zone!” Gary started screaming. I ignored him and quickly loosened the nut. Hiss—! A burst of high-pressure gas mixed with black water instantly shot out, splattering all over me. I pressed down hard on the nut, controlling the volume of the spray. The sound of gas escaping lasted for a full thirty seconds before it turned into a steady flow of water. Now! With lightning speed, I swiftly tightened the nut, locking it down. “Turn on the breaker!” I yelled. Gary froze. “I said turn on the breaker!” I raised my wrench, my eyes fierce. Gary was intimidated by me and tremblingly flipped the breaker back up. Hummm— The machine restarted. This time, that heavy, muffled rumbling changed; it became light and smooth. A few seconds later, the needle on the output pipe’s temperature gauge started to climb visibly. 68 degrees, 86 degrees, 113 degrees… A wave of warmth surged up the pipes toward the upper floors. I wiped the black water off my face and let out a long sigh. Turning around, Gary’s mouth was hanging open, his jaw practically on the floor. “This… this is impossible! That was violent dismantling! It’s an OSHA violation!” “It’s called ‘Cupping therapy’.” I looked at him coldly. “When the blood and qi are blocked, you gotta let out the pressure. Machines are dead, people are alive. If you only trust the computer and not physics, you’ll only ever be a parts-replacer.” Rapid footsteps sounded on the stairs. The Mayor rushed down, face flushed red, excited: “It’s hot! It’s hot! The radiators are burning hot!” He rushed over and grabbed my oil-stained hands: “Maya! You are my lifesaver! You are the miracle of Mist Valley!” I calmly pulled my hands back: “Mr. Mayor, the fee might be a bit higher this time.” “No problem! Double! No, triple!” Arthur opportunely presented the card reader, smiling like a blooming sunflower: “With gratitude. Expedite fee, technical guidance fee, and emotional distress fee, totaling two thousand dollars.” Gary’s face was ashen. He shrank into the corner like a defeated mangy dog. In that moment, I knew I had firmly planted my feet in Mist Valley.

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I’d been living in my new condo for less than two months when my upstairs neighbor suddenly tagged me in the building’s WhatsApp group. [Vanessa – Unit 315]: To the homewrecking bitch in 215: You’ve complained twice about your radiator being broken just to get my husband to come down and fix it. What exactly is your endgame here? [Vanessa – Unit 315]: He’s missing now. His phone is going straight to voicemail. If so much as a hair on his head is hurt, I swear to God, I will make you and everyone you love pay. I stared at the screen, entirely baffled. I quickly typed back that my heat was working perfectly fine and I hadn’t submitted a single maintenance request, let alone asked anyone’s husband for help. But Vanessa wasn’t listening. In her mind, the narrative was already written: I was the young, single woman living alone, spinning a web to steal her man. A week later, she knocked on my door, claiming she just wanted to talk it out. The moment I turned the deadbolt, she threw a mason jar of sulfuric acid directly into my face. In the center of that blinding, white-hot agony—the smell of my own melting skin, the horrific sizzling sound—she stood over me. Her face was contorted into a mask of pure, weeping hatred. “You ruined everything!” she shrieked over my screams. “He fought with me because of you! He drove off in the middle of the night and died in a car crash!” I didn’t even know his name. I died on the floor of my own entryway, suffocating on the pain. Then, I blinked. The scent of burning flesh vanished, replaced by the crisp, sterile air of my living room. I was sitting on my sofa, staring at my phone. The glow of the screen illuminated the exact same WhatsApp messages from the night the nightmare began. Faced with the identical unhinged accusations that had once cost me my life, a cold, jagged fury settled in my chest. I didn’t try to explain myself this time. I typed my response with a trembling but resolute thumb. [Paige – Unit 215]: If you’re having a psychotic break, I suggest you call a therapist. Your husband has been dead for three months. 1 [Paige – Unit 215]: Want me to grab a Ouija board so you can ask him how hell is treating him? I hit send. For a few seconds, the group chat was a graveyard. Absolute, stunned silence. Then, it exploded. [Unit 402]: Holy shit. 215, what is wrong with you? [Unit 211]: That is crossing a massive line. You don’t joke about people dying. [Martha – Unit 214]: @Paige_215 Paige, sweetie, apologize right now. You can’t say things like that! Vanessa’s profile picture began flashing violently as a barrage of venomous voice memos flooded the chat. “You sick, twisted whore!” her voice crackled through my phone’s speaker, shrill and hysterical. “You try to seduce my husband and when it doesn’t work, you curse him to die?! I hope you rot!” “I literally cooked dinner for Derek last night! How dare you say he’s dead! You just wait, I’m coming down there to rip your face off!” “@Everyone Look at this! Look at what a disgusting, evil piece of trash she is!” I watched the messages scroll by, a phantom chill ghosting down my spine. The memory of the acid felt like a heavy coat draped over my shoulders. Since moving into The Kensington, I had crossed paths with Vanessa exactly once, in the lobby by the mailboxes. She had looked jittery, avoiding eye contact, and scurried away. I had never even laid eyes on this husband of hers, Derek. As for the radiator? I liked it cold. I hadn’t turned the heat on once. Her accusations weren’t just baseless; they were coated in a thick, suffocating layer of the bizarre. I kept my fingers steady, tapping out a reply that carried the weight of my murdered past. [Paige – Unit 215]: @Vanessa Let’s see the receipts. Where are the texts? The call logs? Does he even have my number saved? Post the proof right now. [Paige – Unit 215]: You claim Derek was home last night? Great. Tell him to get on this chat, record a five-second video of his face, and say hello. If he does, I will get on my knees, apologize to the entire building, and break my lease tomorrow. [Paige – Unit 215]: But if you can’t, then you are publicly defaming me, and I will be contacting a lawyer in the morning. My logic was a surgical strike. It was as if I’d reached through the screen and wrapped my hand around Vanessa’s throat. The voice memos stopped. When she finally resumed typing, the accusations of seduction had vanished, replaced entirely by unhinged, caps-lock insults that completely bypassed my demands for proof. She spiraled for a solid ten minutes. Then, the inevitable happened. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. The pounding on my front door was so violent the peephole cover rattled. “Paige! You cowardly bitch!” Vanessa’s voice tore through the heavy wood. “Open the damn door! Look me in the eye!” I walked over. Through the fisheye lens, her face was distorted—cheeks flushed purple, eyes bloodshot and wild. The commotion had already drawn an audience; I could see Martha from across the hall peeking out, clutching her cardigan. “Vanessa, honey, please calm down!” Martha pleaded from a safe distance. “How am I supposed to be calm?!” Vanessa shrieked, kicking the base of my door. “My husband is in this bitch’s apartment refusing to leave, and she’s out here telling everyone he’s dead!” I knew I couldn’t just hide. Hiding let the narrative fester. Hiding made me look like the guilty party cowering in the dark. I checked the peephole one last time. Her hands were empty. No mason jar. No acid. I took a slow, deep breath, pulling the oxygen deep into my lungs, and unlocked the deadbolt. I yanked the door open. Vanessa clearly hadn’t expected me to actually face her. She froze for a fraction of a second, but then the madness took over. Like a rabid dog slipping its leash, she lunged. She shoved past me, her frantic eyes darting around my living room. “Derek! Derek, get out here! I know you’re in here with her! Show yourself!” She didn’t wait for me to speak. She bulldozed straight into my bedroom, ripping my duvet off the mattress. She dropped to her knees, peering under the bed frame, her breath coming in ragged, ugly gasps. “Where did you put him?! Where is my husband?!” 2 Vanessa was a hurricane in sweatpants. She swept the decorative candles off my coffee table. She yanked open my closet doors, sending my silk blouses cascading to the hardwood floor. Every movement was accompanied by a string of breathless obscenities. “Not in the bedroom? Fine. He’s in the bathroom! Or the balcony!” She spun around, eyes completely manic, and charged the bathroom, slamming the door open so hard the handle put a dent in the drywall. By now, a few of the neighbors had gathered at my threshold, exchanging wide-eyed, uncomfortable glances. Martha stepped tentatively into my entryway. “Vanessa! Stop this! Look at yourself! There’s no way Paige is hiding Derek in here!” “You don’t know that! She’s a manipulative whore!” Vanessa emerged from the bathroom, empty-handed and vibrating with even more rage. She marched back into the living room and started kicking the drywall near my bookcase, as if expecting to find a secret compartment. Thud. Thud. The sound of her heel hitting the baseboards was sickening. She bolted back into my bedroom and started punching my mattress—the expensive memory foam I’d saved up for—like it had personally wronged her. I stood leaning against the doorframe, my expression completely dead, silently recording the entire spectacle on my phone. In my past life, I had been too accommodating. I had tried to reason with insanity. I had tried to de-escalate. That politeness had ended with my face melting off my skull. As she raised her foot to stomp on my pillows, the quiet rage inside me snapped. I crossed the room in three strides. I grabbed her by the upper arm, twisted her momentum, and drove her straight to the floor. Vanessa hadn’t expected the retaliation. She hit the hardwood with a heavy, breathless thud. “What the hell are you doing?!” she shrieked, pain slicing through her voice as she thrashed against me. I dropped my knee sharply between her shoulder blades, pinning her flat. My voice was a glacial whisper. “What am I doing? You broke into my home. You destroyed my property. Now, you get to find out what happens when you push someone too far.” She flopped like a dying fish, but adrenaline made my grip like iron. I didn’t budge. The neighbors in the hallway gasped. Someone took a step back, but no one intervened. “Get off me! Let me go!” Vanessa screamed, her cheek smushed against my floor. Martha wrung her hands. “Paige, honey, let her up! This is going to end badly!” I didn’t look at Martha. “End badly? She broke into my apartment like a lunatic and started destroying my things. Where was this concern five minutes ago?” I grabbed a fistful of Vanessa’s hair at the base of her neck, just enough to keep her head down. “Tell them, Vanessa. When exactly did I seduce Derek? What does he even look like? Give me a single detail, or I’m calling the cops and letting them figure it out.” “Do it!” she spat, spit flying onto the wood. “Call them! I’m not afraid of you!” I released her hair, but kept my weight squarely on her back. With my free hand, I pulled up my phone, dialed 911, and put it on speaker. The dispatcher’s crisp voice echoed in the silent room. “911, what is your emergency?” The blood drained from Vanessa’s face. The neighbors went dead still. “Hi,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “I need an officer to my location…” Martha rushed forward. “No, no, wait! Paige, please! We’re all neighbors here. Let’s just talk. We don’t need police cars out front, it’ll be a whole ordeal!” I stared down at Vanessa. I looked up at the cluster of voyeurs in my doorway. “Actually, officer, I’m going to attempt to resolve this civilly first. I’ll call back if it escalates.” I ended the call. I leaned down so my lips were inches from Vanessa’s ear. “I won’t call them right now. But you came in here looking for your husband. Did you find him?” I eased my knee off her back, stepping away, though my body remained tense, ready to strike again if she lunged. “Besides your delusional ranting, what do you actually have? A text? A doorbell camera showing him walking in here?” I paused, letting the silence suffocate her. “If you don’t have proof, you’re just a trespasser throwing a tantrum. And I promise you, I will ruin your life for this.” Vanessa’s complexion cycled from ghostly pale to a mottled, ugly purple. She opened her mouth, but the words died in her throat. A quiet realization rippled through the onlookers. She had nothing. The sheer force of her mania hit a brick wall. Her silence was deafening, and looking at the faces in the hallway, I could see the tide of suspicion turning against her. 3 The standoff held for a long, agonizing moment before Vanessa clawed desperately at her last lifeline. “Proof?” she shrieked, her voice cracking. “Fine! I’ll give you proof! Come upstairs to my place. I’ll show you all his things are still there! We’ll see how you lie your way out of that!” A dark satisfaction bloomed in my chest. Perfect. “Lead the way,” I said evenly. “Let’s put this to bed in front of everyone.” Human curiosity is a morbid thing. Martha, Greg from 210, and a few others couldn’t resist the gravitational pull of the drama. Like a strange, twisted parade, we followed Vanessa up the stairs to Unit 315. She shoved her door open. The apartment smelled of stale air masking something heavy—like lavender Febreze sprayed over old dust. It was neat, but an undercurrent of neglect lingered in the corners. Vanessa, emboldened by being back on her own turf, stormed into the master bedroom. She yanked the closet doors wide. “Look! His clothes! Suits, shirts, everything is right here!” She marched into the en-suite bathroom, holding up a toothbrush and an electric razor like religious artifacts. “The toothbrush is damp! The razor has hair in it! Are you telling me this is fake?!” At first glance, it was convincing. The apartment was undeniably haunted by the presence of a man. The neighbors clustered around the door, their expressions shifting. The skepticism they’d aimed at Vanessa began to pivot back toward me. “Well, Paige,” Martha murmured, her tone dipping into an uncomfortable, placating register. “His things are all here. Maybe Derek just… stepped out for an errand?” Pam, a woman from the third floor who rarely spoke to anyone but seemed to thrive on neighborhood gossip, crossed her arms. Her eyes raked over me with thinly veiled disdain. “Honestly, it wouldn’t be the first time some pretty young thing got bored and went after a married man,” Pam sneered. “And now that she’s caught, she’s trying to gaslight the poor wife. Vanessa has been through enough. Telling her her husband is dead? That is sick.” “Yeah, completely shameless,” someone else muttered. “Trying to play the victim.” Vanessa, sensing the shift in the room, burst into fresh, dramatic sobs. She pointed a trembling finger at me. “You animal! What do you have to say for yourself now?! Where is my husband?!” In a matter of seconds, I was the villain again. The accusing stares pricked at my skin like needles. The crushing isolation of my past life threatened to drown me, but the memory of the acid burned away any lingering fear, leaving only ice. I took a deep breath, letting the anger crystallize. My voice cracked like a whip through the room. “Shut up!” The whispering stopped. I stepped toward Vanessa, locking onto her eyes. “Clothes in a closet and a wet toothbrush prove exactly one thing: a man used to live here.” I turned my back on her, sweeping my gaze over Pam, Martha, and the rest of the peanut gallery. “She claims her husband has been missing for a few days. She claims he’s sneaking down to my apartment. Fine. Let’s go to the front desk. The building has cameras at every exit, in the lobby, and in the elevators. Let’s pull the footage for the last month. Right now.” Vanessa flinched. It was minuscule, but I saw it. The panic. She had backed herself into a corner, and the only way out was through. “Fine!” she yelled, her voice vibrating with a desperate, manic pitch. “Check the cameras! They’ll show him walking right into your floor! You’re done, Paige!” 4 The procession moved again, this time down to the lobby. The night concierge, Stan, looked deeply alarmed as a dozen residents piled into the small back office. Once I explained the situation—and threatened to call management if he didn’t comply—he queued up the security feeds for the last thirty days. Everyone stared at the grid of monitors. Fast forward. Rewind. Pause. We watched the mundane rhythms of our building. There was me, carrying groceries. There was Vanessa, coming and going. There was Martha walking her dog. But for an entire month—thirty straight days—there was no sign of a man matching Derek’s description. Not in the lobby. Not in the elevators. Not leaving the parking garage. Nothing. He had simply ceased to exist on the property. Vanessa cracked. She slammed her hands against Stan’s desk, leaning over the monitors. “No! That’s impossible! This is a mistake!” She whirled on Stan. “Did she pay you off?! Did you delete the files?! Or—or the camera angles are wrong! They missed him!” Stan, deeply offended, crossed his arms. “Ma’am, I don’t appreciate that. Our system is cloud-based. I literally don’t have the administrative clearance to delete anything. And the cameras cover every single point of entry. If he left the building, we’d see it.” “Then she hacked it!” Vanessa screamed, pointing wildly at me. “She hired someone to alter the video!” I watched her flailing, drowning in her own delusions. It was pathetic, but more than that, it was terrifying to witness the lengths a broken mind would go to protect its own lies. I was done playing games. I pulled out my phone and dialed. “911, what is your emergency?” “Yes, I need police dispatch to The Kensington apartments,” I said, my voice steady and cold. “I have a neighbor who has illegally entered my home, destroyed my property, and is actively harassing me.” I paused, letting my eyes lock onto Vanessa. “I also need officers here to officially verify the integrity of our building’s security footage regarding a potentially missing person.” The moment the words missing person left my mouth, Vanessa’s entire body shuddered as if struck by lightning. The murmurs among the neighbors died instantly. The air in the tiny security office turned dense and heavy. The police arrived within fifteen minutes. After taking initial statements, they reviewed the footage with Stan, making a quick call to their tech department to verify the system’s log files. The lead officer, a stern-looking man named Detective Russo, turned to face the room. “Based on the system logs, the footage hasn’t been tampered with,” Russo announced, his voice devoid of emotion. “There are no gaps in the recording.” He turned his gaze to Vanessa, who looked like she might pass out. “Ma’am, the cameras confirm your husband, Derek, hasn’t entered or exited this building in over a month. Given the circumstances, do you want to file an official missing persons report so we can begin a formal investigation?” The detective’s professional, unyielding conclusion fell like a guillotine. It severed Vanessa’s last thread of denial and stunned the neighbors into absolute silence. Martha pressed a hand to her mouth, physically trembling. Greg looked like he was going to be sick. And then, almost as if orchestrated by a silent conductor… Every single person in the room turned to look at me.

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