Category: English

During a meeting, my son’s smartwatch alerted me his temperature was high. I rushed to school to take him to the doctor, but his teacher, Ms. Clarke, eyed me warily. “Who are you to Ethan Holloway?” she asked. “I messaged his mother this morning—she’s already taken him to the hospital.” I showed her my blank message screen. “Did you text the wrong person?” She pushed her phone toward me. “The records are right here. Don’t try to impersonate a parent.” As security escorted me out, I overheard teachers whispering: “She’s delusional, trying to marry into money. Mrs. Holloway warned us about people like her.” “Mr. and Mrs. Holloway are so devoted—he held her hand all through orientation.” But on orientation day, I’d been at the hospital with my mother-in-law. Lance had taken our son himself. So who was this “Mrs. Holloway”? Following the watch’s GPS, I reached the hospital and saw my best friend Vanessa carrying Ethan out of the clinic. Lance walked over with payment slips, gently pinching our son’s nose. “Get down from Mommy’s arms—you’re in elementary school now.” Vanessa… was his mother? Then what was I—after ten months of pregnancy and nearly dying in childbirth—just a joke? … The sounds of the crowded hospital faded into a blur. I was barely aware of my surroundings. The three figures before me, so intimately entwined, looked like a true family. Someone bumped into me, jolting me back to reality. I saw them walking towards my direction. Without thinking, I spun around and ducked into a corner. Ethan’s childish voice drifted to me. “Oh, if only Aunt Nessa were my real mommy.” “Just thinking about facing Mommy’s poker face when I get home gives me a headache.” His precocious tone made the two adults beside him laugh. But my heart, standing in the shadows, plunged straight into an icy abyss. Vanessa gently patted his back. “Don’t say that, sweetie. Mommy is busy with work and works very hard.” Lance’s tone was harsh, filled with disgust. “You’re too soft-hearted, still defending her. The child is sick, and she doesn’t even care. Is she the only one who’s busy? Is she the only one with a job?” Vanessa lightly hooked her finger through his. “Lance, don’t say such things in front of the child.” “Ethan, be good. Aunt Nessa always thinks of you as her own son.” Lance, moved, pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Vanessa, I’ve put you through so much. I’m lucky you’ve been with us all this time.” Vanessa’s eyes reddened, but she bravely shook her head. “I don’t feel wronged being by your side. It’s just…” She blinked, and a tear slid down at just the right moment. “If only time could go back to last week. That week was the happiest of my life.” Lance pulled her into his arms. “Don’t say that!” Ethan also reached out his small hand, clumsily wiping her tears. “Daddy, can you send Mommy on another business trip today, the farther the better? I’m sick, and I want Aunt Nessa to stay with me.” Last week? Lance had sent me to Arlington to deal with an extremely difficult client. He had held me from behind, exhausted, his chin resting on my shoulder. “Honey, help me. Those old geezers are all waiting to laugh at me. You’re the only one I can trust.” My heart ached for him. Despite a relapse of my stomach condition, I forced myself to go to Arlington. As I left, Vanessa had comforted me. “Chloe, you go focus on your work. I’ll help you take good care of Ethan.” At the time, my heart was filled with gratitude, feeling lucky to have such a thoughtful best friend. But it turned out that from beginning to end, this was all a carefully orchestrated lie, designed to get rid of me! My husband of ten years, my son for whom I endured ten months of pregnancy, my confidante. They had long formed a new “family” behind my back! I returned home, physically and emotionally drained, to find my mother-in-law sitting in the living room. Years ago, after my parents died, it was my mother-in-law’s financial support that allowed me to complete college. When my relationship with Lance was exposed, his entire family opposed it. She was the first to give in, agreeing to my marriage into the Holloway family. To me, she was more than just my mother-in-law; she was also my benefactor. So, no matter how bad my mood, I respectfully greeted her. “Mom, you’re here.” My mother-in-law glanced behind me, then smiled. “Yes, I came to see you all.” Our housekeeper, Mrs. Miller, peeked out from the kitchen. “Madam, should I soak the dried yams you brought, or boil them directly?” My mother-in-law hurried over. At that moment, her phone screen lit up, and I clearly saw a notification: “Temperature too high, precious might be unwell.” My eyes widened. I suddenly remembered the smartwatch was a gift from my mother-in-law to our son. Of course, she had also linked the app. So, she came today because she knew Ethan had a fever? But from the moment I entered, she hadn’t mentioned it once, nor did she show any surprise at seeing me come home alone. My hands and feet turned cold as I walked to the kitchen doorway. Sure enough, I heard my mother-in-law’s hushed voice. “The yams need to be cut into small pieces, and go easy on the sugar. The child has a fever; he needs something bland.” Mrs. Miller chuckled softly. “Oh, I know. Ms. Evans just called specifically to say we should make fewer sweets these two days.” My mother-in-law was silent for a moment, then sighed. “Vanessa… she knows how to handle things.” So, it wasn’t just my mother-in-law; even the housekeeper knew about Lance and Vanessa’s affair. Was I the only one kept in the dark all along? I went upstairs, made a phone call, and then, finding a flimsy excuse, prepared to leave. The front door suddenly opened, and Lance returned, carrying Ethan. He saw me and froze for a moment, then uncomfortably said, “Ethan has a fever. I just took him to the hospital.” Seeing Ethan clinging weakly to his shoulder, a pang of heartache went through me. He was only 7 years old, my flesh and blood, a part of me! To protect him during my pregnancy, I had spent a month on bed rest. Later, when he was born, my mother-in-law insisted on a natural birth, and I was in agony for two days and two nights. Finally, the doctor issued an ultimatum before my mother-in-law reluctantly agreed to switch from natural to C-section. Exhausted, I held my tiny baby, tears streaming down my face. “Baby, you’re amazing. We made it through together, you and I.” “From now on, the three of us will always be together.” Thinking of this, my heart softened. I raised my hand. “Ethan, come here, Mommy will hold you.” But Ethan opened his eyes, saw me, and burst into tears. “I don’t want you! I want Aunt Nessa!” “I hate you! Go away! I want Aunt Nessa to be my mommy!” My hand froze in mid-air. Vanessa flung open the door, reaching out to take Ethan into her arms, gently cooing, “Be good, sweetie. Aunt Nessa is here. Don’t cry!” My voice trembled. “Vanessa, give me back my son!” Vanessa held Ethan, avoiding my outstretched hand. “Chloe, don’t be angry. Ethan is still little. He was playing too wildly outside yesterday and ate ice cream. He’s afraid you’ll scold him.” She lightly tapped Ethan’s nose. “Tell Mommy you’re sorry and that you won’t do it again.” Ethan buried his face in her arms. Under her gentle gaze, he reluctantly mumbled, “I’m sorry.” Then he clung to her, whining, “Aunt Nessa, I just want you to stay with me, please!” I was about to speak, but Lance impatiently pushed me. “What’s the fuss? Let Vanessa take the child to his room first.” My mother-in-law, emerging from the kitchen, witnessed the scene and shot Lance a glare. “Why are you so harsh? Chloe has been busy at the office all day; she’s tired enough.” Then she took Ethan from Vanessa. “Vanessa, Ethan isn’t feeling well today. Why don’t you go home for now, so you don’t catch anything?” “It’s already dark outside; let Lance drive you back.” My mother-in-law’s words seemed to be defending me, but in reality, she was covering for Lance. I gave a bitter laugh, looking seriously at my son and asking, “Do you really not want me, and want Vanessa to be your mom?” Ethan hesitated, looking at Vanessa. Vanessa smiled and leaned closer, intimately hooking her arm through mine and swaying it. “Chloe, why are you being so serious with a child? We’re best friends; if I have children someday, won’t they be like your own?” I pulled her hand away, then looked up at Lance. “Do you think so too? Do you want Vanessa to be the woman of this house?” Vanessa, seeing me ignore her, forced a strained laugh. “No way, you’re not jealous of me, are you? Chloe, we’ve been friends for over ten years. I saw you were busy, and I came out of the goodness of my heart to help you take care of the house, and you…” Lance finally spoke, his voice filled with accusation. “Chloe, why are you getting angry at Vanessa? Why don’t you reflect on why our son isn’t close to you?” “Vanessa, just an ‘aunt,’ can make time to be with the child, but you? What have you cared about all day besides work?” “Our son had a fever today; where were you, his mother?” I waited for him to finish, then calmly said, “I went to the school today.” “The teacher told me the child had already been picked up by his mother.” “The contact person in her phone, the profile picture and name were mine, but it wasn’t my number.” “Lance, at the orientation, who did you actually put down as our son’s contact person?” One sentence changed everyone’s expression. Vanessa’s face froze. She tried to explain, her voice dry. “Chloe, it’s not what you think. We’re best friends; trust me…” Only Ethan didn’t understand what was happening. Seeing the tears welling up in Vanessa’s eyes, he angrily yelled at me, “Don’t bully Aunt Nessa! I just hate you. You don’t let me do anything, you’re always forcing me to do homework. Daddy said you only care about work and don’t love me at all.” “Go on your business trip already! I want Aunt Nessa to stay with me!” I deliberately ignored the dull ache in my chest. I quietly looked at Ethan. His small face was flushed from the fever, and his little chest heaved violently. “Next week is your eighth birthday. Your birthday present is hidden in the cabinet in your room.” That was the treasure hunt game he loved playing with me when he was little. “You’re allergic to lamb and tomatoes; don’t eat them anymore.” His allergies had been managed much better in the past two years, but those two things were still off-limits. I paused, suppressing the bitterness. “There’s one last gift.” “I promise you, I’ll leave, and let Vanessa be your mother.” With that, I left the house without looking back. Lance and Vanessa both rushed after me. Vanessa, trembling, grabbed my arm, tears streaming down her face. “Chloe, don’t go! I can explain! I really did envy your happy family, but I never intended to destroy it. Lance truly loves you; there’s nothing between us. I can stop being Ethan’s aunt. If you don’t want to see me, I’ll leave. I’ll disappear forever, okay?” I shook her off. “Vanessa, even now, you’re still acting. You claim to be my best friend, yet you snuck into my husband’s bed behind my back. When you were kissing and hugging him, did you ever think of us as friends?” “Presuming on my trust, doing something so shameless, aren’t you afraid of karma?” I couldn’t be bothered to listen to their continued excuses and justifications. I simply shoved the hospital photo of Lance kissing her in front of them. Lance’s pupils constricted. The composure he had maintained finally cracked. “How did you end up at the hospital?” he asked, his voice dry. “Chloe, I’m sorry.” I stared at him, asking word for word, “When did you start the affair?” Lance was silent. After a long pause, he finally managed to squeeze out a single sentence. “When… you were pregnant, I was drunk and lost control.” Tears streamed from my eyes. Hatred almost consumed my last shred of sanity. I raised my hand and slapped his face. “Lance, you bastard! Who was it who pointed fingers and cursed men who couldn’t control themselves as disgusting?” “Who swore at our proposal that if he ever betrayed me, he would meet a terrible end?” Before he could speak, I slapped him again with my other hand. “Now you’ve cheated, you’ve betrayed me, so why aren’t you dead yet?!” Vanessa cried, lunging forward, arms outstretched to shield Lance. “Don’t hit him, Chloe! It’s all my fault! I was the one who fell for Lance first. I wanted to keep it a secret forever, but feelings are truly uncontrollable.” Lance pulled her closer into his embrace. “Chloe, it’s true that cheating was my fault. But after we got married, you focused entirely on the company, always talking to me about clients, reports, and performance.” “After you got pregnant, you constantly talked about the child.” “I’m a man; I have desires too. Did you ever consider my feelings?” I found it utterly ridiculous. “Lance, do you have a conscience? You were the one who said you were too young to control the old guard at the company. You and your mother begged me to join the company to help you get established.” “You come home from work, say you’re tired, and then feel perfectly justified in doing your own thing. What about me? After I come home, not only do I have to spend time with Ethan and research his allergy-friendly recipes, but after he’s asleep, I still have to work overtime to prepare for the next day’s meeting materials.” “I’m so busy I only get five hours of sleep a night. Did you ever ask if I was tired?” I stared intently at him. “You cheated because you’re selfish. Don’t try to blame me.” “You don’t deserve it.” “Lance, I want a divorce.” Lance released Vanessa, took two steps forward, massaged his jaw, and gave a short, bitter laugh. “Chloe, can you really give it up? Without the Holloway family, how would you have climbed to your current position?” “Stop this nonsense. I never intended for anyone else to take your place as Mrs. Holloway.” Vanessa stumbled, then suddenly clutched her abdomen, her face pale. “Chloe, don’t divorce Lance. I’ll get rid of the baby, disappear forever, and never appear before you again. Please forgive me, okay?” Lance spun around, seizing her wrist, and raised his voice. “You’re pregnant? Why didn’t you tell me?” Vanessa slumped weakly into his arms, her eyelashes trembling. “I didn’t want to put you in a difficult position. I felt so guilty towards Chloe.” “Lance, my stomach hurts so much.” “This baby, he shouldn’t have come…” Lance broke out in a sweat, yelling back towards the door, “Driver, hurry up and drive! To the hospital immediately!” He didn’t spare me another glance. I stood rooted to the spot, a cold sneer in my heart. So, this was Vanessa’s trump card. But she didn’t know that this card would also lead her to ruin.

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After spending a fortune to get the social media contacts of the Head Cheerleader and the Campus Queen Bee, others might dream of dating them. I was different. I wanted to set them up. Through my relentless efforts… The Campus Queen Bee and the Head Cheerleader started dating. I was there, popcorn in hand, ready for the big reveal. But it turned out to be a disaster, and they both turned on me, dragging me into the spotlight. The Head Cheerleader screamed, “Is this the adorable campus sweetheart you found for me?!” The Campus Queen Bee burst into tears, “You owe me a six-foot-tall, aloof boyfriend!” 01 Beside the club recruitment booth, a guy was mysteriously hawking… “Get the Campus Queen Bee and Head Cheerleader’s contacts! Fifty bucks for both!” No one believed him. Only I stepped forward and asked, “For real?” The guy pulled out his phone and scanned the QR codes for me on the spot. “Guaranteed, bro!” Without thinking twice, I added both accounts. “Added!” “Sweet, bro!” The guy grabbed the money and sprinted off. I stared at the two new contacts on my phone. Had I just been scammed? Head Cheerleader Blair Thompson’s profile picture was an abstract smiley face, and Campus Queen Bee Riley Vance’s was a goofy husky. Was this… legit? 02 Back in my dorm, I told my roommates about it. They didn’t believe me. “You totally got scammed.” “I’ve got Blair’s contact on my phone, and her profile picture is clearly an ice-queen goddess.” “Exactly! Riley’s profile picture is an anime character, no way she’d use some funny dog pic!” “Feeling sorry for you for a second there, how could you fall for that and lose fifty bucks!” I sighed, staring at the two profile pictures. “Seriously, I’m done.” My allowance was already tight, and now I’d been fleeced for fifty bucks. What a total chump! Just as I spiraled into endless regret, the husky profile picture sent me a message: Who’s this? I hesitated for a few moments before replying. Classmate. Well, I’d added them. I might as well just imagine this person as the Campus Queen Bee and picture her beautiful face. Husky: Oh. So aloof? I fidgeted, racking my brain until I finally squeezed out a question: Are you from Alistair University too? Husky: Yeah, you too? Yep. After that, another silence. I really sucked at chatting. If only there was an AI auto-reply. 03 The day after I added them, those two contacts lay dormant in my chat list, as silent as the grave. During a boring lecture, I clicked into Blair’s chatbox and poked her. Smiley: ? Hello. Smiley: Something up? So direct? How was I supposed to respond to that? Are you Blair Thompson? Smiley: Yeah, something up? Quite bold, actually. She admitted it. Alright, I’ll tease her. Looking for a relationship? Smiley: Not considering it at the moment. Got someone you like? Smiley: A little interested, but not exactly “like.” Oh, she has someone she’s interested in. I immediately typed: Who? There was a moment of hesitation. Smiley: Who are you? “…” Why did everyone ask who I was? What should I say? Got it! I typed a string of words and, closing my eyes, hit send: I’m setting people up. Interested? Smiley: Setting up what? You know, a boyfriend. No reply for a long time. What was it with her and the husky profile pic? Did they just love disappearing acts? I just sent over the Campus Queen Bee’s contact. With a caption: A cute campus sweetheart, great at gaming, super handsome, and a killer voice! These two were meant to be. I turned off my phone and focused on the lecture. 04 Smiley: ? To ensure Smiley didn’t sit around, I sent the Head Cheerleader’s contact to the Campus Queen Bee. With a caption: A six-foot-tall, aloof hunk, great at gaming, and a straight-A student! Husky: ? What did those question marks mean? Not interested? I messaged Husky: The guy I set you up with. If he’s not good, return him to me. Husky: Guaranteed? Watching Husky gradually fall into the trap, I couldn’t hide my excitement any longer. Absolutely guaranteed! Turns out, people never get tired when they’re up to no good. I then messaged Smiley: A cute campus sweetheart, return if not pure. Smiley: What kind of scheme is this? A path that leads you to both a successful career and a flourishing love life! … Ah, this should seal the deal. 05 Two days later, rumors spread across campus: the Head Cheerleader was in love. She’d spend lectures staring at her phone, giggling like an idiot. In my dorm, everyone except me was crying their eyes out. “I’m heartbroken!” “Who did the Head Cheerleader fall for?” “No news on the forums at all! I’m dying to know! Are they actually dating or not?” “Her roommates said she is, so she must be!” They chattered on, completely absorbed. I listened quietly from the side until someone noticed me. “Alex, why aren’t you sad?” “Yeah, weren’t you Blair’s biggest fan?” Turns out, one lie requires a thousand more to cover it. When I first moved into this dorm, to get along with them, I’d claimed to be a fan of Blair. That’s how I found common ground with them. I forced out two fake tears. “I’m heartbroken inside. I’m going to lie down.” “We know you’re hit the hardest. Go rest.” Only after I got into bed did I let out a sigh of relief. My phone suddenly exploded with notifications. Smiley: Thanks for setting me up. Here’s a little token of my appreciation. Followed by a digital red envelope. Husky: This aloof hunk is truly amazing! Here’s a little token of my appreciation! Followed by a digital red envelope. I shot up, wide-eyed. Holy smokes! This actually worked! I was a matchmaker now? 06 “Alex, are you okay?” My sudden movement was too loud, and my roommate asked with concern. I coughed, feigning composure. “I’m fine.” Then I quietly accepted both red envelopes. Smiley sent a generous $388, and Husky sent $1000. I’d made back the fifty bucks I’d been scammed out of and then some! This was awesome! I truly had the potential to be a matchmaker! I sent both of them a message: Wishing you two the best! When I logged into my game, I saw both their accounts were online. Just as I was about to start a match, they simultaneously pulled me into a private room. Smiley: You join too. We need a support. Wait. What was happening? Before I could decline, the game instantly started. A social media message popped up. Husky: He’s too good! I’m playing a bit poorly, and it’s awkward with him around! Was I just part of their game? What do you mean? Husky: You’re worse than me. Distract him. My blood pressure spiked, but remembering that thousand bucks, I forced it down. Okay. Smiley: He’s playing really cute, but he seems shy. He might not open up as much if you’re there. Me: … $388 is still money. I had to endure. 07 The game started. Smiley was jungle, Husky was mid-lane. And I, because I was replying to their messages, was forced to pick a healer! Early game, Husky: Go support the carry lane. Mid-game, Smiley: Go protect mid-lane. Late game, Husky: Go protect the jungler. By the end of the game, my in-game shoes were practically falling apart. After we finished, I immediately left the private room. I was just about to start my own game to relax. Husky: Are you his friend? What does he like? I want to get him a gift. Smiley: He’s your friend, right? I want to know what he likes, I want to get him a gift. Dude! Are you two really playing this Campus Queen Bee and Head Cheerleader dating game? Again, money’s hard to earn, and some things are just tough to stomach. What else could I do? I had an idea. I asked Husky: Is there anything you particularly like? I sent the same question to Smiley. Husky: I like collecting sneakers. I’m pretty athletic. Smiley: Nothing specific, just cute things. Isn’t this perfect? What were they so shy about? Did they really have to act so convincingly? I copied and pasted their exact words to each other. Not long after, Husky sent two pictures: Which one should I choose, do you think? They both looked the same, damn it. I just casually picked one. The second one. Husky: Exactly what I thought. Heh. At midnight, just as I was getting ready to sleep, Smiley: Are you asleep? Not asleep, but I’m about to break. What’s up, honey? Smiley: I want to ask him his shoe size. I sent the question to Husky. Husky: Nine. I replied to Smiley: Nine. Smiley: That… that small? I was so tired I typed with my eyes closed. Why don’t you ask him yourself? …No need. Seriously, this was annoying! 08 In the morning, I opened social media and nearly fainted. Messages: 99+. Had I committed some divine offense? These two lunatics! If they wanted to date, they should do it privately! I scrolled through and gathered they’d had a fight. Smiley thought Husky wasn’t ambitious enough, and Husky thought Smiley was too serious. They’d debated right and wrong all night, even creating a special group chat for it. The group kept tagging me, asking who was right and who was wrong. I swear, if it weren’t for the post-sales service, I’d block them both right now. “Alex, are you up?” “Yeah, what’s up?” “Nothing, we just didn’t want our crying to bother you.” My mouth twitched. “What happened now?” “You don’t know? Blair posted on the campus forum, basically making it official!” “I still don’t know who the guy is! Who could have landed the ice-queen Head Cheerleader?!” “Holy sh*t! I can’t live anymore!” I looked at my roommate, who had just sprung out of bed. “What’s wrong with you?” “The Campus Queen Bee is dating too! I’m crying my eyes out!” Damn, I almost forgot, this dorm also had a Campus Queen Bee fanboy. “What’s going on? Are all the pretty girls suddenly dating?” “They’re all taken. What pretty girls am I supposed to look at now?” “My emotional support isn’t working!” The dorm echoed with wails and lamentations before everyone finally headed to their 8 AM class. 09 During class, as I dozed off, my phone suddenly vibrated. Husky: Forgot to ask, what’s your name? I typed with my eyes half-closed and sent: Alex Quinn. Two minutes later, I shot my eyes open and grabbed my phone. Damn it, undo! Undo! Crap, why did I just give away my name? I’m screwed, totally screwed! My roommate asked, “What’s wrong with you?” “I’m kind of dying.” “Well, hurry up, class is almost over.” Husky: That’s a nice name. I’ll call you Alex from now on. I—was—DOOMED. 10. After playing dead for two days, I saw both of them post on social media simultaneously. The real Blair Thompson, the Head Cheerleader, posted a selfie. In her hand, she held a doll that Riley Vance had given her. Blair: See this, see me. And the real Riley Vance, the Campus Queen Bee, posted a mirror selfie wearing shoes Blair had given her. Riley: Never thought my first online romance would be true love. You gotta be kidding me! These are real people?! I’m truly in trouble now! My head spun. I felt like the rest of my life was going to be a disaster. Right, right, I need to break them up first. I messaged Husky: Forgot to tell you, I introduced you to the wrong person. I don’t even know that person. In my panic, I accidentally forwarded the same message directly to Smiley. Smiley: ? Smiley: What do you mean? Trying to stir trouble? Damn it! How could a person make the same mistake twice in a row?! I’m being framed! I also forgot to tell you, I introduced you to the wrong person. I don’t know anyone named him. Smiley: It’s fine, we get along, and we’re about to meet in person. Meet… meet in person?! Holy crap, are two girls dating in fast-forward? Meeting so quickly! No, no, if I get exposed, Riley Vance, the Campus Queen Bee, won’t let me off the hook. I might not get into Harvard, but I definitely don’t want to get beaten up! 11. So, I harassed them both morning, noon, and night. I became the person I once hated most. Even an outsider like me can see you two aren’t a good match! If you stay together for long, you’ll definitely argue all the time! Blair: It’s fine, I’ll be accommodating. You’ll accommodate my foot! During the debate competition, I was pushed in as a last-minute replacement for my club and Blair absolutely shredded me. I couldn’t get a single word in. Blair’s mouth was like it was coated in poison. One lick and I’d poison myself. Riley: I have a good temper. You have a good temper my butt! I still remember when Riley got into a conflict on the basketball court freshman year and, in a fit of pique, threw the ball, hitting me. I’ve had a fear of basketball courts ever since. Seeing I couldn’t argue with them, I could only say: Log on! Let’s play a game! They say gaming can make feelings fade. I didn’t believe it. I was going to mess things up so badly they’d have to break up! Blair: What are we playing? Me: Ranked! Okay. As soon as the game started, I deliberately sabotaged Riley. She immediately typed a furious message to me: What’s wrong with you?! Why didn’t you block that skill for me?! Me: I didn’t buy boots, I couldn’t move fast enough. Wasn’t it because you’re bad that you died? Riley: You were clearly standing still! All the enemy damage went straight to me! Me: Say whatever you want. I think I played pretty well. I went to follow Blair. After a few kills, Blair typed: He’s playing pretty well. Riley: Why are you defending him? Blair: I watched his plays, they really were fine. Riley: So it’s my fault then?! Blair: No, no, it has nothing to do with you. Riley: Right, right, it has nothing to do with me! Blair: I didn’t… mean it like that. My mouth was practically splitting from smiling. Argue, argue, more fiercely! I refuse to believe they won’t break up after this! 12. Just one game, and these two were already arguing offline. As I was happily drifting off to sleep, Riley messaged: Oh right, we’re meeting up in two days. You should come too. I shot up, wide awake. No way… What did you say? Meeting up? Riley: Yeah, we’re in the same school anyway, it’s not hard to meet. No way! You don’t even know who they are, and you’re just going to meet them? What if it’s… Riley: Well, you’ll be there, right? You were the matchmaker, you have to help me vet them carefully. Was it too late to give the money back? I’m not going. I have plans in two days. Riley: What plans are more important than us meeting? Oh, and I got you a gift. She sent a photo. Cartier!? Holy smokes! I’m there! I’m there! You shouldn’t have bothered with a gift. I’ll treat you all to dinner depending on how things go. I wondered if they’d even have dinner after they met. Anyway, it felt like I could save some money. At most, I’d just get beaten up, and I’ve been tough since childhood. I’ll be fine!

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On the day I thought I had legally bound my life to the man I loved, I spent all afternoon in the kitchen. I prepared a massive, elaborate dinner—his favorites—just waiting for him to come home so we could pop the champagne and celebrate. I called him, just to ask how far away he was. The call connected, but instead of his voice, I heard the muffled, echoing acoustics of a bar, and then, a conversation that made the blood freeze in my veins. “Man, your girl is dangerously gullible,” one of his friends was laughing. “A fake marriage license from some novelty website, without even a raised county seal, and she actually bought it.” “Hey, if Maddie and I hadn’t already gone to City Hall and gotten the real one, we wouldn’t have had to pay those guys to play-act as county clerks today,” my boyfriend—my supposed husband—replied. Then came Connor’s careless, dismissive scoff. A sound I had heard him make a thousand times about things that didn’t matter to him. “Don’t call her my girl. That kind of pathetic doormat is only good for being a free maid.” The ice in his voice was casual, which somehow made it worse. “Maddie and I grew up together. We’ve been best friends for over a decade. In my heart, she’s always been the only one who matters.” I stood perfectly still in my kitchen. The pristine, fake marriage certificate crumpled in my tightening grip. The tears came fast and silent, blurring the lavish spread of food on the counter. Five years. I had loved this man for five years, shrinking myself to fit his needs, only to realize I was nothing but unpaid domestic help. The man I had desperately wanted to marry had never loved me at all. I took a shaky breath, swiped the tears from my face, and dialed a different number. The one I knew by heart. “Are you free?” I asked when he picked up. “Let’s go get married.” 1 It wasn’t until I held a real, government-issued marriage license in my hands that I realized just how insulting Connor’s forgery had been. It didn’t even have a watermark. “Pack your things and get out of that cursed house,” Cole said, his voice flat and unreadable as he tucked our new legal document into the inner pocket of his leather jacket. “Give me two days. I have some business to handle first. It’s about to pour—I called a car for you.” My childhood best friend delivered the instruction with a cool detachment, then ducked into a waiting black SUV. I rubbed my thumb over the empty space in my pocket where my fake license used to be, and slipped into the back of the town car he’d hailed for me. Just as he predicted, the sky broke open, rain violently lashing against the windows. As if on cue, my phone vibrated. It was Connor. “Where are you? It’s pouring. Why aren’t you home yet?” Once upon a time, I would have softened at his tone. I would have playfully begged him to come pick me up. But the illusion was shattered. The love and the marriage he gave me were counterfeit. And just like that, whatever was left of my heart turned to ash. When I didn’t immediately answer, his voice spiked with irritation. “Look, wherever you are, hurry up and get back. We haven’t eaten yet.” We. Before I could say a word, the line went dead. I let out a hollow, bitter laugh, dropping the phone into my purse. I directed the driver back to the place I had called home for the last five years. My intuition had been dead on. When I walked through the door, Madison was already there. She was sprawled comfortably on my sofa, popping grapes into her mouth. Right beside her sat a matching designer luggage set, plastered with travel stickers. Seeing me dripping wet in the entryway, Connor immediately frowned. “Hurry up and start cooking. Maddie and I already picked up the groceries on the way back, so we saved you some trouble.” He paused, not quite meeting my eyes. “Oh, by the way. Maddie’s lease is up. She’s going to be staying here from now on. When you’re done with dinner, go clear out the guest room.” Whenever Madison or his frat-boy friends were around, Connor always turned the dial up on his arrogance. He liked to put on a show of how easily he controlled me. In the beginning of our relationship, he used to apologize for it in private, claiming it was just his “pride” acting up in front of the guys. Now, he didn’t even bother with the apologies. My infinite patience had simply become his entitlement. A hysterical smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. Before I could speak, Madison mistook my silence for submission. She reached into her Prada bag, pulled out a crisp sheet of paper, and held it out to me with a saccharine, challenging smile. “Harper,” she purred. “Since we’re all going to be living together, I really hope we can keep the peace. If you’re okay with this roommate agreement, just sign at the bottom. You wouldn’t want to make things difficult for Connor, would you?” I dropped my gaze to the paper. I only had to read the first bullet point to feel a surge of pure, unadulterated disbelief. 1. As this is Connor’s house, you have no right to dictate who he sleeps with at night. Connor’s house? The sheer audacity of it knocked the wind out of me. Because his old apartment was a terrible commute to his office, he had moved into my newly purchased townhouse three years ago. He had sworn up and down that once we got married, we’d buy a massive estate together. He promised we’d move my parents into this house so we could take care of them as they aged. Empty words. He hadn’t kept a single promise he’d ever made me. When I didn’t take the paper, Connor clicked his tongue, impatient. “Maddie is just trying to establish boundaries so we’re all comfortable. Don’t be unreasonable, Harper. I’ll even invite a few of the guys over later, and we can call it a celebration of us tying the knot today.” Every time he invited his leeches over, I spent four hours sweating in the kitchen. I wasn’t just his unpaid maid; I was the catering service for his entourage. I’d played the role of the docile servant for five years. I was entirely suffocated by it. “No need,” I said, my voice shockingly steady. “I’m not signing anything. Furthermore, this is my house. Both of you need to leave.” 2 Connor’s face twisted into a mocking sneer. “Harper, do you honestly think that just because we got a piece of paper today, you can suddenly start calling the shots?” He stepped closer, towering over me. “Maddie and I grew up together. I don’t care if I’m married; I am never going to leave her out in the cold.” How could someone deliver such a shameless, disgusting line with such self-righteous conviction? The clearer I saw him, the more my stomach churned with nausea. I let out a dark, freezing laugh. “If she matters that much to you, why didn’t you just marry her?” I tilted my head, feigning innocence. “Or… have you already done that?” Connor’s face went rigid. The color completely drained from his cheeks. Just as the silence stretched to a breaking point, Madison whined from the couch. “Aren’t you going to make dinner? Connor, I’m literally starving to death…” It was the lifeline he needed. Connor let out a forced, awkward chuckle and immediately seized on her complaint. “Stop talking nonsense, Harper. I know you’re just throwing a tantrum because you don’t want to sign the agreement. Forget it. Maddie is hungry. Just go make the food.” I was completely done watching this pathetic theatrical performance. I turned on my heel and walked down the hall to my bedroom. Except, it wasn’t my bedroom anymore. Everything I owned—my clothes, my books, my perfumes—had been violently swept off the surfaces and dumped into messy piles on the hardwood floor. “Oh, Harper,” Madison said, trailing right behind me. She stood in the doorway, surveying the wreckage with a triumphant gleam in her eyes. “Connor said I should take the master bedroom since my immune system is so delicate. The morning light in here is better. You don’t mind, do you?” Connor materialized behind her, showing zero remorse. In fact, he looked indignant. “Maddie’s health has always been fragile. It makes perfect sense for her to have the warmest room. Hurry up and move your trash into the guest room. She doesn’t have any space to unpack.” I stared at my vanity. It was already overflowing with her expensive skincare bottles. Then I looked at the floor. My favorite foundation was shattered. A framed photograph of Connor and me—taken on our second anniversary—lay face down, the glass spider-webbed and completely destroyed. Looking at my desecrated sanctuary, a hot, blinding rage broke through the numbness. I slowly lifted my eyes to Connor. They were bloodshot. For a fraction of a second, he looked away, a flicker of genuine guilt crossing his features. But that guilt vanished the second I stepped forward and, with one brutal sweep of my arm, sent every single one of Madison’s expensive glass bottles crashing to the floor. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” Connor roared. He lunged forward and grabbed my arm. The sheer, terrifying force of his grip spun me around, and he threw me backward. I lost my footing and went down hard, right into the pile of my own broken picture frame. Shards of glass sliced deep into the palm of my hand and my bare knee. The physical pain was blinding, sharp and hot, but it was absolutely nothing compared to the sickening, hollow crack of my heart finally shattering into dust. “Are you insane?!” Connor yelled, ignoring the blood beginning to pool on the floorboards. “How dare you destroy Maddie’s things? Apologize to her right now!” He saw the glass embedded in my skin. He saw the blood blooming down my leg. And yet, because I had touched herthings, he wanted me on my knees. I planted my bleeding hand on the floor and forced myself to stand, trembling violently. The shard of glass sticking out of my knee was a horrific sight. “Oh, so my things are allowed to be destroyed?” I breathed out, my voice vibrating with a terrifying calm. “Let me make this perfectly clear, Connor. This is my home. My name is on the deed. I want both of you out. Now.” Because I was trembling so hard, my new, legitimate marriage certificate slipped from my pocket and landed on the floor. Connor glanced down at it. A cruel, condescending smirk spread across his face. He bent down, picked it up, and flipped open the heavy cardstock cover. Before his eyes could focus on the page, Madison gasped dramatically, clutching his arm. “Connor, if she’s going to be this violent, I’ll just leave. I’m actually scared of her. Just let me go.” She squeezed out two perfectly timed, crocodile tears. Hearing her cry, Connor immediately dropped the little booklet back onto the floor like it burned him. He wrapped his arms around her, gently wiping the tears from her cheeks. “Hey, don’t cry.” He shot me a look of pure venom, pulling her tighter against his chest as he guided her toward the front door. “If she leaves, I’m leaving. You’re going to regret this, Harper.” He was right about one thing. I did regret it. I regretted not seeing him for what he was years ago. I regretted letting him strip me down until I was hollow, bruised, and bleeding. But as the front door slammed shut, a twisted sense of disappointment washed over me. I looked at the little booklet lying on the floor. It was a shame he dropped it so fast. I had really been looking forward to seeing the look on his face when he realized the husband in the photograph wasn’t him. 3 I took an Uber to the ER to get the glass removed and my wounds stitched and bandaged. On the ride back to my eerily quiet house, my phone buzzed. A text from Madison. Two photos. Two sentences. The first photo was a crystal-clear shot of her and Connor holding a real, county-certified marriage license. The second was a shot of a garbage can, with a torn, used condom wrapper resting on top. Does your little certificate have a real government seal? I’m the real wife. So I get to sleep with him first. It was almost comical. I stared at my heavily bandaged hand resting in my lap. I didn’t type a single word in response. I just blocked her number and deleted the thread. People who belong in the trash aren’t worth my mental energy anymore. I tossed and turned all night in the guest bed. First thing in the morning, I hired a deep-cleaning service. But before I could even start bagging up the rest of Connor’s belongings to throw on the lawn, I heard the electronic chirp of the front door unlocking. Connor strode in like he owned the place, laughing loudly, flanked by Madison and three of his worst frat-house buddies. “Hey, little wifey!” one of his friends shouted, tossing his keys on the counter. “We’re craving seafood today. Do us a favor and run to the market, yeah? Grab some lobsters—Maine only—and some good sea bass.” “She’s loaded, man,” another guy laughed. “She always gets us the good stuff. Hey, she loves our boy Connor, so we get to reap the benefits, right?” I stood in the hallway, staring at the ugly, entitled expressions on their faces. The arrogance of men who hitched a ride on Connor’s coattails. The first time they called me “little wifey,” I had naively asked why they added “little.” They laughed and said it was because I was younger than them, and they didn’t want to make me feel old. Thinking back on it now made me physically ill. They called me “little” because Connor and Madison were already secretly married. Madison was the real wife. I had swallowed their inside joke with a smile. “Don’t call me that,” I said, my voice slicing through the room like a blade. “If you want seafood, buy it yourselves. And get the hell out of my house.” The laughter died instantly. The room went dead silent. Connor’s face darkened into a furious scowl. He puffed his chest out and raised his voice, clearly trying to assert his dominance in front of his audience. “How the hell are you speaking to my friends, Harper? Apologize to them immediately. And then go buy the damn groceries. Consider it your way of making amends.” All he ever knew how to do was demand my apologies. There was a time when he actually protected me. When we first started dating, one of these exact guys joked that I was only with Connor for his money. Connor had nearly gotten into a fistfight over it, demanding the guy give me a formal apology before he’d speak to him again. On our first anniversary, a restaurant accidentally brought out a soup with clam broth. Knowing I had a severe shellfish allergy, Connor made the manager and the entire waitstaff come to the table to apologize. Now, he was demanding I go buy him lobster. I wondered if he even remembered the allergy. Right on cue, Madison’s bottom lip began to quiver. She clung to Connor’s bicep, looking utterly heartbroken. “Connor… I don’t think Harper wants us here. We only came over to celebrate you guys getting married yesterday…” She placed a heavy, mocking emphasis on the word married. The guys immediately joined in, letting out a chorus of fake, exaggerated aww’s. “Oh, yeah!” Madison suddenly chirped, her eyes lighting up. “Harper, show them your marriage license! Let’s all see it!” She immediately started darting around the living room. In the chaos of last night, I had left the certificate sitting on the TV console. Madison spotted it instantly, snatching it up like a trophy. “Who wants to see the happy couple’s certificate?” she sang. My blood ran cold. I stepped forward, holding out my bandaged hand. “Give it back.” But Madison just giggled, maliciously locking eyes with me as she tossed the booklet over my head to one of Connor’s friends. I lunged for it, but they turned it into a game of keep-away, laughing as they tossed my marriage license back and forth across the room. Finally, the booklet landed squarely against Connor’s chest. He caught it. “You left it right out in the open. You clearly wanted everyone to look at it,” Connor sneered, entirely too pleased with himself as he opened the cover. “Let’s all take a good look, then.” 4 He opened the little booklet and held it up, his eyes scanning the page. Staring back at him was a perfectly legal, county-sealed photograph of Cole and me, looking entirely at peace beside each other. But I wasn’t about to let him process it at his own pace. I marched forward, snatched the certificate right out of his hands, and shoved it deep into my pocket. I needed these parasites out of my house right now. “I told you,” I said, my voice deadly low. “This is my house. Get out, or I am calling the police.” I turned my back on them, walking toward the dining table where a steaming bowl of instant ramen I’d just made for myself was sitting. I glanced back over my shoulder. “And take your trash with you. I left your boxes by the front door. Don’t ever step foot in my life again.” Connor looked paralyzed. Even Madison looked genuinely shocked. “Harper… are you breaking up with him?” she asked, her voice faltering. “Are you just saying this because you hate me? Because if you are, I’ll just leave.” She made a dramatic pivot toward the door, but as she spun, her hand strategically ‘slipped,’ violently backhanding the hot bowl of ramen right off the table. The boiling broth splashed directly onto my legs. I shrieked, jumping back blindly, knocking over a heavy wooden chair in the process. I tangled in the legs of the chair and crashed hard onto the floor. “Ah! It burned me!” Madison screamed instantly, clutching her perfectly fine wrist and bursting into hysterical tears. Connor didn’t even look at me on the floor. He crossed the room in two strides, wrapping Madison in his arms, his eyes blazing with fury as he glared down at me. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you, Harper?!” he roared. “Don’t think just because we have a piece of paper you can do whatever the hell you want to her!” I pushed myself off the floor, gritting my teeth against the searing pain of the burn and the fresh throbbing in my stitches. Compared to the physical agony, looking at this man I had worshipped for five years was a far worse torment. If you stop loving someone, fine. But why the cruel deception? Did my infinite patience just translate to an invitation for abuse? Was I just a prop to stroke his ego in front of his friends? I looked at him, a cold, empty smile spreading across my face. “Did we really get a piece of paper, Connor?” I asked, my voice deadly quiet. “Is it really my name listed as the spouse on your marriage license?” Connor froze. The anger instantly evaporated from his face, replaced by a sickening, unmistakable guilt. He looked at the floor, unable to meet my eyes. “What are you talking about?” he stammered defensively. “We went to get the license together. You know whose name is on it.” The absolute lack of shame was breathtaking. I pulled out my phone, pulled up the blocked messages folder, and shoved the screen in his face. “Take a look for yourself. Am I talking nonsense, or is your actual wife talking nonsense?” Faced with undeniable proof, his bluster completely collapsed. He clearly hadn’t anticipated Madison bragging about it to me. He shot her a vicious glare, then looked back at me, rubbing the back of his neck in irritation. “Look, if she hadn’t pressured me into marrying her, I wouldn’t have had to lie to you,” he snapped, somehow making himself the victim. “Stop being so dramatic about it. Give it a couple of days, and I’ll take you down to City Hall to get a real one. It’s fine.” I almost laughed until I choked. The sheer, delusion arrogance to think I was still sitting around, begging for his ring. Before I could reply, the heavy front door swung open again. A deeply familiar, dangerously calm voice drawled from the entryway. “Awfully crowded in here. Did you all come to congratulate my wife and me on our wedding?”

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The end of the world didn’t arrive with a bang, but with a sound much more intimate. Every night, there is a scratching at the door. Those who open it simply vanish. No one can explain how this catastrophe began, nor does anyone know if there will ever be a morning where it ends. 1 It is exactly midnight, and the thing outside is getting louder. I’ve constructed a fortress on my bed using a weighted blanket and a duvet—a psychological barrier, if nothing else. I check my phone. Twelve percent battery. In a night without electricity, that glowing bar is the closest thing I have to a companion. Iris: You really don’t want to know what it is? A notification slides onto my screen. It’s from my girlfriend. Well, “girlfriend” is a loose term. It started a week ago. The scratching woke the world up. Everyone who opened their doors to investigate disappeared into the dark. The government collapsed within days; the grid went down; cities became isolated islands. We were left with the “Self-Rescue” protocol. Every night, I hear weeping. Every night, someone’s resolve breaks, they open the door, and they are gone. The scratching continues until 5:00 AM. Then, as if a switch is flipped, humanity falls into a collective, comatose sleep. We wake up with the night’s terror wiped from our memories. The world functions: traffic flows, baristas pour coffee, the stock market ticks. But at 11:00 PM, the memories crash back in. The terror returns. The missing people are remembered. And at midnight, the scratching begins again. Our reality has been cleaved in two: The Day: violently normal. Humans and machines obeying the algorithm of life as if the horror never happened. The Night: a silent void, filled only with the sound of claws on wood and the agonizing choice of whether to turn the handle. It took three nights for the survivor groups to figure it out. The announcement went out in the “Last Stand” group chat: “Residents, do not listen to the voices. Do not open the door. Repeat: DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR.” Those who leave never come back. Walk out, vanish. So, we stay in. I met Iris in a sub-group called “Apocalypse Survival Guide.” It was full of twenty-somethings, pragmatic science majors, and burned-out cynics. Our admin was a Ph.D. candidate in Nuclear Physics at MIT who rarely spoke, except to talk someone off a ledge. I was explaining to a frantic user why this wasn’t an elaborate prank or “performance art.” Iris chimed in. We clicked. Iris: We don’t know when we’ll die. We should probably date. I’ve never had a boyfriend before. Maybe it was the crushing nihilism of the chat room, but I hesitated for a second, then agreed. Iris: I bet a lot of girls like you, right? I gave a vague, non-committal answer. I’ve never dated anyone, but I didn’t want to be the guy who died a virgin andalone during the apocalypse. User_A: Is it aliens? Or did Cthulhu finally wake up? User_B: We’re screwed. Might as well end it now. At least I can choose how I go. User_C: Why? Can’t we fight back? User_B: …If it’s cosmic horror, fighting is useless. It always ends in tragedy. Iris: What are they talking about? She DM’d me. Me: Just a literary trope. Basically, the idea that the entity is so powerful that human resistance is futile. Iris: But in stories, isn’t there always a hero? Someone who suffers and sacrifices but eventually leads civilization to a rebirth? Me: Umm… usually. But cosmic horror is different. Or, look at it this way: If a hero leads humanity to a rebirth, is the civilization that rises from the ashes still human? Iris: Wow. That’s deep. My roommate, a guy who changes girlfriends like he changes socks, once told me: “When a girl says ‘That’s deep,’ she means ‘I have no idea what you just said, but I like you.’” Me: Did you buy the supplies? I changed the subject. I’d told her to stock up on first-aid kits, lithium batteries, bleach—the works. Iris: Of course! I always listen to my boyfriend. She sent a photo of a cramped storage closet overflowing with gear. See? I can barely close the door. Iris: So… you really aren’t curious about what’s outside? Me: Curious? Yes. But I’m terrified of dying. The most honest answer I could give. 2 The thing is, I don’t just hear scratching anymore. “Holden. Get out here. If you don’t come out, you’re going to die.” I’ve heard this voice every day for two years. It belongs to the guy who sleeps in the bunk above me. My best friend, the charismatic heartbreaker, Davis. Davis, usually I’d kill to hear you ramble about nothing. But for three nights straight, the moment the scratching starts, he’s out there at 12:00 AM sharp, repeating the same mantra. Come out. Or die. But tonight feels different. The scratching is softer, more frantic. And out of the corner of my eye, I swear I see something dart past the window. “Holden! Get out here! Before it’s too late!” Too late? What happens then? I don’t know what Davis is right now. Dead? Alive? Something in between? Do all the people who vanish end up as voices on the other side of the door? My door is an old solid wood slab with a heavy deadbolt. No peephole. No chain. To see him, I have to open it. My window faces east. I inch toward it, peeling back the curtain a fraction of an inch. Moonlight spills in—thin and pale—but the world outside is an impenetrable blur. My phone screen lights up, startling me so bad I nearly drop it. Iris. Iris: Holden… sobbing emoji …my best friend got taken. I know this happens every night, but reading her grief makes it real. Iris: Why didn’t she listen? Why did she go out? You go out, you die. Why did she do it?! “Holden, come out! Seriously, man, you’re running out of time!” Davis is screaming now. I feel a sudden spike of irritation. I don’t know how to comfort a crying girl over text, and Davis yelling in the hallway is ruining my focus. “You keep saying the same thing over and over! What are you? If you’re really Davis, tell me how the hell I’m supposed to comfort a girl!” The scratching stops instantly. Silence. Shit. Did I just say a trigger word? I crawl out of my blanket fortress, phone forgotten, and creep toward the door. Total silence. It’s as quiet as the grave. Iris: Holden? Are you there? My battery is red. I wish I could call you. I’m about to type back when a voice speaks from the hallway. Not screaming. Just talking. “Holden. You’re behind the door, right? Listen to me.” “When you comfort a girl, listen first. She might not want a solution; she just needs to vent. Then… give her a hug. Or send a hugging bear sticker. Or the rabbit patting the bear’s head.” What kind of psychological horror movie is this? It’s 1:30 AM. My maybe-dead-maybe-demon best friend is giving me dating advice through a locked door? Iris: Holden?! She’s desperate for a response. Me: I’m here. I pause, scroll through my sticker pack, and send the cartoon rabbit patting the bear’s head. “Holden. It’s me, Davis. I’m not dead. But if you don’t come out, I will be.” “How do I prove it’s really you?” I steady my breathing. I’m exhausted. The nights are draining the life out of me. “Remember my ex? The Music major? The one with the violin?” Everyone knew Davis dated the Music department’s golden girl. That’s public knowledge. “She came to our dorm to dump me at the start of the semester. She accused me of cheating. I denied it. You even vouched for me.” True. But also, not a secret. “I did cheat.” His voice is clear. Steady. That arrogance I know so well. You son of a bitch. “Holden, you snore. You talk in your sleep. You mumbled about…” Ding-ding-ding-ding. An incoming voice call. Iris. I thought she had no battery? “Holden!” “Holden!” They speak at the exact same time. The name I’ve carried for twenty-one years suddenly sounds alien. “Who is that?!” “Who is that?!” 3:00 AM. Separated by one door and one screen. Outside, the voice of my best friend. On the phone, the voice of the girl I’ve loved for three days. Iris sounds soft, terrified, bewildered. The silence stretches from the phone, fills the room, and bleeds through the door. A minute later, she hangs up. Dead battery? Or fear? Me: Iris? No reply. “Davis?” I whisper. Silence from the hallway. Then, the scratching begins again. Soft at first, then louder, joining a chorus of scratching sounds coming from the apartment next door, and the one below. Just like every other night. 3 At 5:00 AM, the world resets. But something has changed: I remember last night. I passed out from exhaustion and didn’t wake up until 9:00 AM. I bolt upright, heart hammering. Sunlight filters through the blinds, mocking me. Holy shit. The terror of the night hits me in a wave. I remember everything. I scramble to the window and rip the curtains open. The aggressive sunshine gives me a momentary hit of courage. Then I freeze. Along the edges of the window frame, there are gouges. Deep scratches, like a wild animal—or a person with very sharp tools—tried to get in. Bang! Bang! Bang! I scream. I haven’t even reached the door when my phone buzzes. “Holden! Open up!” It’s Brody, a guy from my calc class. I live off-campus in a studio because of my insomnia, but he crashes here sometimes. I open the door. He pushes past me. “Dude, where have you been? You promised to help with the club fair today!” Right. The Robotics Club meet-and-greet. I promised to be the face of the operation. “If you don’t show, the president is gonna eat us alive. You know the freshmen are only coming to see you.” He looks fresh. Rested. Like he gamed until midnight, slept like a baby, and woke up ready to seize the day. Am I the only one? “How was your night?” I ask, testing the waters. He looks at me weird. “Fine? Won ten ranked matches in a row.” “Did… did the power go out for you?” “Maybe? I slept through it if it did.” “You didn’t hear anything? Like… scratching?” “Scratching? Like a cat? Or…” He raises an eyebrow, grinning lewdly. “Or did you have a guest over?” “I just didn’t sleep well,” I say, deadpan. “Right, right. Hey, maybe you’ll find a girlfriend among the fresh meat today.” I ignore him. “Did you see Davis today?” “Davis? He’s in Boston for the competition, remember? Man, you really are out of it. You drove him to the airport.” Bullshit. I know he went to the competition. But how do I tell Brody that Davis spent the entire night clawing at my door? I follow him to the campus center, my mind racing. I need to check on Iris. Previous days, I’d wake up and the horror would be gone. Erased. Daytime: Normal. Nighttime: Hell. This is the first time the two worlds are bleeding together. I find a corner in the club room and pull out my phone. Nothing. The “Survival Guide” group is gone. Iris’s chat history is gone. I search my contacts. Fifty-seven friends. Three groups. They don’t exist. Around me, students are laughing, setting up banners, eating donuts. They look so happy. For the first time, their happiness makes my blood run cold. I hide behind a curtain in the corner, grab a notepad and a pen. When my mind is chaos, I write.

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Right before the New Year, the new transfer student started showing up constantly in front of my childhood friend and fiancé. Either she sprained her ankle, or she had a math problem she just couldn’t solve. But my fiancé was a severe germaphobe and a possessive psycho. When the transfer student intentionally hiked up her skirt and tried to fall into his arms right in front of me… He simply took a step back, coldly watching her tumble into the swimming pool, leaving her to flail in the water. “If you don’t want to live, dying is a fine option too.” 1 My childhood friend, Liam, was a germaphobe and a psycho. He couldn’t stand anyone touching him except me. When his condition was at its worst, even his parents couldn’t lay a finger on him. I was the only leash that could hold this wild dog. During my eighth-grade year, as the child of his family’s nanny, I started attending the elite private school alongside the young master. On my very first day, I walked past his classroom wearing the school uniform skirt. Some idiot decided to catcall me. The young master grabbed a chair and hurled it straight at him. Even in an elite school swarming with wealthy heirs. Liam was the undisputed top dog. When he charged out with bloodshot eyes, acting like a rabid dog… I simply stood there and softly called his name. He instantly stopped dead in his tracks. He turned around and looked at me, eyes filled with grievance. The mad dog instantly became a good boy. That same day, the news of the psycho campus idol being tamed spread throughout the school. Not long after, another saying began to circulate: If you offend Liam, Chloe might still plead for your life. If you offend Chloe, you’re looking at a dead end. It sounded a bit like something out of an anime, but it was highly accurate. This rumor persisted from middle school all the way through high school. Until our junior year, when some girl with a death wish decided to shatter it. 2 During our junior year, a transfer student joined our class. She had waist-length hair and an innocent face. The moment she appeared, she captured the attention of the entire class. Not because she was exceptionally beautiful, but because she looked so much like me. Even her aloof aura resembled mine somewhat. Liam stared at that face for a long moment. As the girl walked past us, she brushed her long hair and shot me a provocative look. It’s a pity she didn’t see it. While Liam was looking at her, his brow furrowed in utter disgust. After the first period, the teacher called me, the class president, into the office. The core message was to ask me to take good care of the new student. I nodded in agreement. When I returned to the classroom, I saw Liam waiting for me at the door, arms crossed. Seeing me, his eyes lit up, and he walked quickly toward me. The new student, Mia, happened to be walking past him. On a perfectly flat floor, her ankle miraculously twisted, and she fell with precision right toward Liam’s chest. Liam frowned and took a step back. With a loud thud. Mia hit the floor hard. Liam didn’t even spare her a glance as he quickly walked to my side. A smile played on his lips. 3 “What happened? What did the teacher want?” The woman on the floor shot me a venomous look. Remembering the teacher’s request, I sighed softly and offered her a hand. But the moment my fingertips brushed her, she threw herself back down heavily. She looked at me, tears welling in her eyes, looking as if she were about to cry. “Chloe, I just transferred here. I haven’t done anything to offend you, have I? Why are you treating me like this?” She lowered her eyes slightly. Her slender neck and smooth jawline were indeed quite pretty. Her tear-filled eyes were very pitiful and moving. The students chatting in twos and threes in the hallway all turned to look at her. She thought she had so easily seized the moral high ground. Little did she know, everyone else was just watching a joke. I had always been kind to everyone at school. Not only did I never use the “mad dog” to bite people indiscriminately, I actually frequently helped others. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have elected me class president. Liam stepped up beside me, going into full protective mode. His disgust was practically overflowing. The once-bustling hallway fell dead silent. Everyone backed away, terrified of getting caught in the crossfire. But Mia couldn’t read the room. She actually pointed at me and complained. “Liam, look at her.” Before the mad dog could escalate into a full-blown psycho, I grabbed his hand. “Let’s go. Looks like someone doesn’t need help.” Instantly, Liam’s eyes held nothing but me and our clasped hands. 4 The school had a two-hour lunch break. At noon, most students slept in their dorms. I left the dorm briefly to grab a book. As I passed the flowerbeds behind the cafeteria, I heard noises coming from inside. The young masters at this elite school played hard. Things that shouldn’t be seen happened often on campus. I wasn’t curious and even quickened my pace. But then, unexpectedly, I heard my own name. “That bitch Chloe is really in the way! Can’t you think of a way to get rid of her?” I peeked through the bushes and saw Mia sitting on a stone bench. Even more surprisingly, she was taking small bites from her lunchbox and hadn’t actually spoken out loud. Another voice, seemingly coming from nowhere, answered: “Then just gather more strategy points. Once your points are high enough, everything will be easy.” It was a slightly mature male voice, and it sounded very close. But looking around, I saw absolutely no one else near her. Adding the term “strategy points” to their conversation, I had a pretty good guess. “Didn’t you say this face is exactly Liam’s type? Why doesn’t he seem to feel anything when he looks at me?” “How do you know he feels nothing? The strategy meter clearly went up by one point.” I was genuinely surprised. I didn’t expect a mad dog like Liam to actually waver. “So what do we do next? The ‘innocent victim’ act isn’t working on him.” “Then change tactics. Men love novelty. Chloe always has that aloof, arrogant look. She probably rarely gives him any affection. You just need to act more enthusiastic.” “Fine, I’ll listen to you.” … I slipped away quietly. 5 Sure enough, that afternoon, Mia switched tactics. As soon as class ended, she ran over to our desks, clutching a workbook. Chirping like a little sparrow. The student sitting in front of us was incredibly annoyed and snapped coldly: “Are you done yet? The teacher just went over these problems. Were you not listening in class at all?” Mia flipped her hair: “Just because I listened doesn’t mean I can’t ask questions, right?” “These problems are so simple. If you listened and still don’t understand, maybe you should get your brain checked at a hospital.” “What do you know? I’m not really here to ask about the problems. I just want to talk to Liam.” She turned her head, rested her chin on her hand, and smiled at Liam. The smile was exceptionally bright, like a blooming sunflower. “Liam, I like you.” The classroom, which wasn’t very noisy to begin with, suddenly became so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Every single pair of eyes snapped toward us. Even the students who had fallen asleep were forcefully woken up to watch the drama. Liam looked at me, seemingly seeking my opinion. I turned my head away, pretending not to see. But the sound of his back teeth grinding together was incredibly clear. His voice was so cold it could freeze a person solid: “I don’t need you to like me. Get lost!” I turned my head back. Mia opened her cherry lips to speak again, but Liam just grabbed the nearest textbook and hurled it. “Do you not understand human language?” Low snickers rippled through the surrounding students. Shredding whatever little dignity Mia had left to pieces. She glared at me fiercely, stomped her foot, and stormed off. 6 The last class of the day was P.E. As soon as the bell rang, everyone rushed down to the field. Mia, still unwilling to give up, looked back at us one last time, only to be scared away by Liam’s icy glare. I slowly packed my things, waiting until everyone else had left before standing up. I had barely taken half a step when Liam grabbed my wrist and pulled me into his arms. His voice carried a hint of a whine, like a wronged puppy. “Why didn’t you look at me earlier?” “Look at you.” I lifted his chin. “Aren’t I looking at you right now?” “You’re brushing me off. I meant earlier, when she said she liked me, why didn’t you look at me?” I pretended to think about it. “Back then… you could handle it yourself, couldn’t you?” Even though he knew this wasn’t the real answer, his anger still dissipated. Or rather, he was never truly angry with me; he just needed to be coaxed. Don’t let his “mad dog” persona fool you. Underneath, he was just a pitiful dog with severe insecurity. And precisely because of that, he developed an intense possessiveness. He was terrified—terrified that someone would separate us again. “Can you let me go now?” I patted his hands resting on my waist. “You won’t leave me, right?” He stared at me, breathing heavily, his eyes desperate for an answer. I stroked his head, my tone gentle: “Of course not.” 7 During P.E. class. Mia was acting very sneakily. She wanted to get close to Liam, but was terrified of his glare. A few girls gathered around me and said: “Class Prez, shouldn’t you do something about her? This endless nonsense can’t go on.” “Mia’s only been here a day and she’s already acting like this. If you don’t step in, she’ll think she owns the place.” While they were talking, the conversation between Mia and the mature male voice continued: “Seriously, why are you chickening out? Go! This is your mission.” “Easy for you to say! That book barely missed my forehead earlier, and his eyes looked like he wanted to kill me.” “He won’t. He’s just a psycho, not a serial killer.” “Then you need to give me some time to recover! My heart is still pounding just thinking about what happened earlier.” “How are you going to accomplish anything great if you’re this timid? You can’t even complete mid-level worlds. How could I dare put you in an advanced world?” … From their conversation, I roughly deduced that Mia was a “System Host.” A common trope in web novels. Her purpose in coming to this world was to win over Liam. That mature male voice was her System, responsible for helping her. The only thing that puzzled me was why, for some reason, I could hear their conversation. “Did you guys hear an older man’s voice?” The girls next to me shook their heads. It seemed I was the only one who could hear it. Mia and her System started a pointless argument, and I shifted my focus back to the classmates around me. They were actually still discussing the previous topic. “Even though Liam only has eyes for you, Class Prez, she looks so much like you. Aren’t you afraid…” “What nonsense are you talking about? The Prez and Liam are perfectly fine.” “Oops, my bad. Don’t worry, Prez, Young Master Liam will definitely not betray you.” “Look at how cheap Mia is acting. I’m really afraid she’s going to throw herself at him.” … I turned my head and gave them my usual calm smile. “We’re all girls here. Let’s not say these speculative things.” They laughed awkwardly. “But… thank you for the warning. I’ll keep an eye out.” As I turned to leave, I crooked my finger at Liam. He immediately came trotting over happily. Where else could you find such a good dog?

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In the ruins of the world, I’d gotten used to my boyfriend spoiling me. I’d send him out for food again and again, and he’d always let me. Just as he returned from another supply run, his arms full, a strange screen of text flickered into existence before my eyes. 【This side character is so lazy! It’s a zombie apocalypse and she’s still making the male lead go out for snacks!】 【But isn’t the male lead the Zombie King? He has to scrub the blood off himself every single day before he comes inside, all because she’s a neat freak.】 【Only the heroine’s psychic powers can tame the Zombie King. The side chick ends up as a crippled zombie in the sewers.】 He’s the Zombie King? Panic seized me. I slammed the deadbolt on the bedroom door and scrambled under the bed. Alaric’s tearful voice came from the other side, muffled by the wood. “Rose, please open the door. I’ll go find you those potato chips tomorrow, I promise, okay?” 1 I curled into a ball under the bed, hands clasped over my head, trembling. The comment stream was still scrolling. 【She won’t let him in just because he didn’t find potato chips?】 【Dude, it’s the end of the world! Chips? She’s starting to look like a crispy little potato chip for a zombie herself. Crunch.】 【The poor guy risked his life, crossing three whole blocks to find her ramen, and she complained it wasn’t the spicy chicken flavor.】 Outside, Alaric was still sniffling. “Rose, please don’t starve yourself. I’ll leave the food by the door. I can go look for chips right now, okay?” My lips parted, but my voice was a shaky whisper. “Don’t…” His voice brightened instantly. “Then you’ll open the door, Rose? Please?” Open the door? How could I? Just half an hour ago, I was happily planning to tear open a bag of snacks. Then my vision blurred, and that text appeared out of nowhere. They called me a useless side character, a burden to the male lead, Alaric. They said he was the Zombie King. And they said I would end up as a crippled zombie, rotting in a sewer. I stared at those lines for a long time, my blood running cold. Then I bolted the door and dove under the bed. Six months ago, a virus had torn through the world. It started with our neighbor’s dog, barking at nothing, its eyes wild. Then it mauled its owner. Soon, the people who were bitten started changing, too. By the time I truly understood what was happening, the streets below our apartment were already swarming with the dead. Back then, I had just agreed to meet Alaric’s parents. The day before we were supposed to leave, I opened my front door and was nearly devoured by a zombie. He saved me, pulling me back just in time. Alaric was my neighbor. He was tall, over six feet, with a clean-cut look. When we’d pass in the elevator, he’d offer a small smile, and I’d just stare at my phone, too shy to meet his eyes. That all changed the night the power went out. I worked up the courage to knock on his door. One thing led to another, and we got close. His cooking was incredible. He was always inviting me over for dinner. I was a disaster in the kitchen, the kind of person who could burn instant ramen. After months of mooching off his hospitality, he confessed his feelings. “Rose,” he’d said, “let me cook for you every day from now on, okay?” At that moment, I thought it was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard. When the world ended, Alaric told me he had a fortified villa, a safe place where we could wait for rescue. It was only then that I realized he came from a wealthy family. All the food we had in this villa, he found it. I never knew how he managed to come back unscathed every time, but he’d always return like a magician, pulling my favorite things from his pack. Ramen, jerky, and sometimes, even a bag of potato chips. I never questioned it. But the comments said he was the Zombie King. They said he was bitten by his own family dog at the very beginning of the outbreak. They said a heroine would appear, tame him with her psychic powers, and together, they would build a new world where humans and zombies could coexist. It sounded incredible. Heroic. Not like his life with me. All I ever did was throw tantrums, demanding this snack or that meal. I should have known. I should have guessed. Why were there never any zombies around the villa? Why did he always return from his supply runs without a single scratch on him? And why, whenever we ate, did he just watch me, never taking a bite himself? I always just assumed he’d eaten while he was out. 2 The sounds from outside the door stopped. Gathering my courage, I crawled out from under the bed. I crept to the door, got down on the floor, and peeked through the tiny gap at the bottom. A pair of tear-filled eyes was pressed against the other side, trying to peer in. I yelped and scrambled backward as the door was pushed open. Alaric lunged forward and wrapped me in a hug, sobbing, a complete mess. “Oh, Rose, I’m so sorry! Please don’t be angry! You can hit me, you can yell at me, just please don’t go hungry…” He nuzzled my cheek and planted a kiss there. A shiver ran down my spine. I pushed him away. “Don’t kiss me.” He looked wounded. “Can I kiss you if I find the chips?” I took a step back, studying him properly. Besides being a little pale, what about him screamed “zombie”? From what I knew, there were two main types of them out there. The advanced ones looked almost human, but they couldn’t control their primal, vicious urge to bite. The basic ones were mindless eating machines. Alaric and I had been together for so long. He held me every night as we slept. He’d had a thousand opportunities to bite me, and he never did. Maybe the comments were wrong. Aside from being a bit of a crybaby and a clinger who was always calling my name, how could he possibly be the Zombie King? Could a Zombie King really be this… pathetic? “I don’t want chips anymore,” I said. Alaric blinked. “Then what do you want? I’ll go find it.” “I want to leave.” He froze, then the words tumbled out of him in a rush. “Isn’t it safe here? I can protect you, Rose. It’s dangerous out there…” The comments reappeared. 【Is leaving the only threat she knows how to make?】 【It’s the apocalypse and she’s still throwing fits. So high-maintenance.】 【But you can tell he’s really into her. Guess he has a thing for her spoiled little act.】 Seeing the panic in his eyes made my own heart ache, but I steeled myself. “I want to find other survivors.” Alaric was silent for a second. “If you want to go, Rose, I’ll go with you.” He just… agreed. He didn’t ask why. He didn’t try to stop me. He just turned and started packing. I stood in the doorway, watching him hustle around. He stuffed ramen, jerky, and bottles of water into a backpack. He even packed several changes of clothes for me. His own belongings were a tiny bundle. “It gets cold outside. You’ll need extra layers,” he muttered as he packed. “Rose gets cold so easily. What if we can’t find shelter…” A lump formed in my throat. I walked over and hugged him from behind. “I’m not going.” He stilled. “I’m staying here.” Alaric spun around, his eyes red-rimmed and shining with joy. “Rose, I swear I can protect you.” I looked at him, and suddenly, everything became clear. So what if he was a zombie? In all the time we’d been together, he had never once hurt me. And besides, if I left him, I’d probably die even faster. Better to be bitten by him than by some random monster out there. With that thought, I leaned in and offered my cheek. “You can kiss me now.” Alaric stared for a moment, then he pulled me into a bone-crushing hug, his eyes sparkling. The comments were calling me shameless, accusing me of seducing the male lead. I ignored them. How was this seduction? He was my boyfriend. If that so-called heroine really showed up, and Alaric fell for her… then, and only then, would I leave. 3 That night, I climbed onto the bed, straddling his hips and tilting his chin up. “Alaric, if I became a zombie, would you leave me?” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Never.” “Even if you turn into a zombie, Rose, I’ll never leave you.” His voice was a little hoarse. “We’ll be a zombie couple. We’ll bite people together, find potato chips together…” He didn’t finish, his hips bucking beneath me. I gasped, my fingers tangling in his hair. “Same for you. Even if you’re a zombie, I’m not going anywhere.” His eyes instantly welled up. Then he gripped my waist and flipped us over. The next morning, while I was still lazing in bed, a noise came from downstairs. Someone had broken into the yard. Alaric stared at the security monitor, a flicker of surprise on his face. Two men and a woman. The girl had her hair in a ponytail. She looked ragged, but you could still tell she was beautiful. The two men flanked her, scanning the surroundings with wary eyes. The comment stream flared to life. 【Here we go! The heroine is his unforgettable first love! They only broke up because of a misunderstanding. He might hate her now, but you can’t have hate without love.】 【Her psychic powers are still weak, she can only control one zombie at a time. They’re running from a horde.】 【Get ready for the famous dog-taming scene! The heroine is about to bring the male lead to heel.】 My heart leaped into my throat. I scrambled out of bed. In the yard, the girl looked up at the security camera, her eyes lighting up. “Hello? Is anyone there? We don’t mean any harm!” she called out. “We’re just passing through and looking for a safe place to rest.” The men beside her stayed close. “Seraphina, how come there are no zombies here?” “Do you think they have some kind of advanced defense system inside?” Alaric’s voice was cold as ice as he spoke into the intercom. “You’re not welcome here.” The girl, Seraphina, was taken aback. “You? How many of you are there?” She paused, then tried a softer approach. “If it’s not convenient for us to come in, could we please just shelter in your yard for a while? We’ll leave as soon as the horde passes.” Before anyone could answer, she closed her eyes for a fraction of a second. Suddenly, Alaric clutched his head, swaying on his feet. My heart twisted. His face was even paler than usual as he leaned against a wall to steady himself. Seraphina opened her eyes and whispered to the men beside her, “There’s a zombie inside.” She didn’t know the yard was bugged with three different cameras. We heard every single word. Alaric instinctively glanced at me. I pretended I hadn’t heard a thing. 4 The comments buzzed again. 【Why isn’t he opening the door? He obviously misses her so much. He tried to kill himself over her back then, he still has the scars on his wrist.】 【His fists are clenched. He’s definitely fighting his instincts.】 【Tonight’s the night! The steamy reunion scene is coming!】 I looked down. Sure enough, Alaric’s hands, hanging by his sides, were balled into tight fists. A bitter taste filled my mouth. The voices from outside drifted in again. “Seraphina, maybe we should just wait until dark and sneak in…” I saw the man who spoke had two pistols holstered at his back. “They’re armed.” If they really wanted to get in, we couldn’t stop them. As dusk fell, we sat in the living room, eating. The rich aroma of instant ramen filled the air. I was cradling my bowl when a knock came at the door. Seraphina’s voice was faint through the heavy wood. “Could you spare some food? We lost all of ours.” Alaric dropped another piece of jerky into my bowl without even looking up. “No.” The comments were merciless. 【He’s holding such a grudge. And he gave the extra jerky to the side chick!】 【The heroine only left because she had to. Her mother was sick, and his father offered her a two-million-dollar check to disappear.】 【He’s acting tough now, but he’ll be begging for her forgiveness soon enough.】 Silence fell outside the door. Then, one of the men started cursing. “So stingy! It’s the end of the world and you’re hoarding food?” “Seraphina, stop begging. There’s a zombie in there with them. Just wait, they’ll be the ones begging us soon enough.” Seraphina paused, then her voice rang out again. “There’s a zombie hiding in your house. I can help you…” “We don’t need your help!” “There are no zombies here!” Alaric and I shouted at the same time. Her tone turned cold. “Fine. If you don’t need help, then forget it.” Silence returned. I don’t know how much time passed. I was dozing off, my head resting on Alaric’s shoulder, when he suddenly sat bolt upright. “There’s a noise.” 5 The next second, the lock on the front door clicked open. Seraphina and the two men stood in the doorway. When she saw us emerge from the living room, her face lit up with joy, then immediately froze. “Alaric? It’s you?” “There are only two of them? Where’s the zombie?” “Seraphina, did you sense it wrong?” The comments went wild. 【He’s so heartless! It gets freezing at night in the apocalypse. Is he trying to let the heroine freeze to death?】 【She’s about to cry, seeing him again.】 【My poor girl!】 Seraphina took an eager step forward. “It’s been so long, Alaric. Are you okay?” Alaric gently pulled me behind him. “Whether I’m okay or not is none of your business.” She faltered, her gaze shifting past him to me. Her expression was a mixture of surprise and a deep, sour sadness. “Is this your…” “Your friend Owen told me you took in a stray.” “Is this… the little stray you picked up?” What did she just say? She called me a pet? A knot of anger tightened in my chest, but I stayed silent. One of the men beside her sneered. “Seraphina, is this the rich boy who dumped you?” The other chimed in, “Look at this pretty boy. He’s probably only survived this long because of his stockpile of supplies.” Alaric’s face hardened. “You’re not welcome here. Leave.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulder, his voice like stone. “And for the record, Rose is my girlfriend, not some stray.” Seraphina’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. She turned to me, her tone softening. “Hello. I’m Alaric’s ex-girlfriend, Seraphina.” I gritted my teeth, about to respond. Alaric cut me off. “Rose, go upstairs and get some rest. I’ll handle them.” The smile on Seraphina’s face vanished. “Alaric, even if you hate me, can you please just let us stay for one night?” Her voice became pleading. “It’s too cold outside.” The comments were a blur of text. 【It’s okay, she’ll explain the misunderstanding to him.】 【Hehe, I can’t wait to see him kneeling and barking like a dog once she tames him.】 【But she never came back for him, even after her mom passed away. She seemed to be doing just fine.】 I dropped my gaze and gently tugged on Alaric’s sleeve. “Alaric, maybe… just let them stay for the night.” He glanced at me, hesitating. But I had seen it. The two men had their hands resting on the butts of their holstered guns. If we said no, I was afraid they’d get violent. I didn’t know what Alaric was capable of. How powerful was a Zombie King, really? Could he stop a bullet? I was terrified he’d get hurt. 6 “Fine. You can stay,” Alaric finally said. “But you’re restricted to the living room. No one goes upstairs.” Seraphina nodded. “I’m hungry, Alaric. Can we have something to eat?” I answered for him. “There’s ramen in the kitchen. Help yourselves.” She gave me a small smile, her eyes lingering on my face for a moment. “Thank you. What’s your name?” She gestured to the two men. “These are my friends, Griffin and Flynn.” “Rosalie.” Alaric wrapped an arm around me impatiently. “We’re going upstairs.” He led me towards the staircase. As we rounded the landing, I couldn’t help but glance back. Seraphina was standing right where we left her, staring up at our retreating backs. Her eyes were filled with a sorrow so profound it made my own chest ache. In the bedroom, Alaric moved to sit beside me. I shifted away. He paused, then scooted closer. I moved again. He was about to fall off the edge of the bed when he reached out and pulled me into his arms, resting his chin on the top of my head. “Rose, are you jealous?” “No,” I said, my voice betraying me. The comments were quick to judge. 【What right does she have to be jealous? How long have they even been together?】 【The heroine and male lead were together since high school. They only broke up after college.】 【A few months can’t compete with years of history.】 The bitterness in my heart intensified. Alaric rested his chin on my shoulder, his voice soft and coaxing. “I can explain. Rose, she is my ex, but there’s nothing between us anymore.” I raised a hand and covered his mouth. “I trust you.” He pressed a kiss into my palm. My face flushed. I tried to pull my hand back, but he held it fast. The air in the room grew thick and heavy. He leaned in, his nose brushing against mine, our breaths mingling. And then…

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When I saw my husband and his intern making out in the company lounge, reflected in the mirror… I didn’t scream, or snap photos, or quietly plot revenge. Instead, I went to Legal, drafted a divorce agreement, and waited in my office for them to finish. When they emerged, Silas had the girl, Olivia, completely hidden behind him, shielded. “I lost control, it’s my fault. Name your price, just don’t bother her.” The way he protected her, like she was his precious heart… It was as firm and unwavering as he’d been ten years ago, standing before my parents, defending me. “If you won’t cure her, I will! It’s just cancer, isn’t it? I’ll sell everything I own to get her well! If you don’t want her, I do! From now on, I am her only family!” I smiled through the ache in my chest. My expression was gentle as I pushed the divorce agreement toward him. “Consider this divorce agreement repayment for saving my life back then. We’re even.” 1. The girl’s trembling moans signaled the end of their tryst. Silas slowly led Olivia out. Seeing me, a flicker of panic crossed his eyes. But it quickly smoothed into calm. He settled the shaky Olivia onto the sofa, his expression distant. “I had planned to tell you at a more suitable time, but since you’ve found out already, I’ll be direct. I’ve lost the passion of love for you; only the habit of companionship remains. If you can accept her, we’ll continue as before.” His words were a knife slicing through my heart. I never imagined he’d cheat with his secretary. Even less did I expect him to be so candid, as if infidelity was just a small white lie. My hands clenched, my voice trembling. “How long?” He idly spun his wedding ring on his finger. “A year and a half.” That was right after my last chemotherapy session. I opened my mouth, wanting to say something. Olivia suddenly clutched her stomach. “Mr. Croft, I… my stomach hurts.” Silas didn’t wait to hear what I had to say. He immediately called for the family doctor. Fifteen minutes later, Dr. Chen arrived. After taking her pulse, his expression was hesitant, glancing at me briefly. “Ms. Peterson is pregnant. It seems the frequent intimacy might have irritated things. It’s best to go to the hospital for a check-up.” Olivia, her eyes red, chided him. “It’s all your fault! You didn’t use protection last time! And you were so rough just now, so many times. I told you to stop, but you wouldn’t!” Silas ignored me completely, lowering his head to apologize. “My fault, it won’t happen again.” The doting tone made my heart clench. It had been so long since he’d spoken to me so gently. I had to clench my palms tightly to hold back my tears. Olivia then seemed to notice me, pulling away from his embrace and speaking with a wronged air. “Mr. Croft, please don’t act like this in front of your wife. She’ll be sad. Maybe we should forget about this baby; after all, it’s not exactly proper.” Silas frowned, gripping her hand. “Forget about it? What do you mean? If I want you, I will naturally take responsibility! You focus on your pregnancy and have this child. Don’t worry about anything else.” “We’re going to the hospital for a check-up right now!” Silas hastily scooped her up and rushed out. As he strode away, the gust of wind from his clothes knocked me backward. He paused, but didn’t look back. “You go home first. Don’t come to the office for now; she’s easily frightened.” The long-suppressed pain, triggered by the collision, spread through my entire body. Tears flowed ceaselessly, yet he was utterly oblivious. I knew I was no longer the person whose single tear would send him into a panic. I looked around the office, now filled with the traces of a young woman. Contraceptives in the drawer, Olivia’s matching underwear sets. The pen holder now held several lipsticks in delicate shades. Cute labels on the file rack read “Thinking of me today, too.” So, the perfunctory treatment at home, the phone he never let me see, his frequent late-night outings under the guise of “work”… all because he had found someone more important. And the debt of saving my life meant I couldn’t even righteously ask why I was being betrayed. I gave a self-deprecating laugh. I called my lawyer. “Draw up a divorce agreement for me. I’ll take nothing.” Silas didn’t return until after midnight, finding me alone on the sofa. Seeing my face, his smile faded. He habitually reached for my sleeping pills. “Can’t sleep again? Didn’t I tell you not to stay up late?” I didn’t reply, instead handing him the signed divorce agreement. My voice was hoarse. “She’s pregnant. I’ve thought about it a lot. Since you love her, I’ll step aside. Consider it repayment for saving my life.” Silas paused, a flicker of imperceptible anger in his eyes. He tore the agreement to shreds. “Her pregnancy is not unexpected. Your health hasn’t allowed for children these past years. Her child will be your child. I won’t divorce you. After all these years, you only have me. I’ll give you dignity and respect, but as for love, I’ll give it all to her as compensation.” “I’ve already spoken to her. She doesn’t seek status; she just wants to be with me. You don’t have to worry about her affecting your position. Just focus on raising the child. Don’t dwell on meaningless things.” A sharp, delayed pain shot through my heart. I still couldn’t reconcile the distant man before me with the boy who once stayed by my bedside, swearing he’d never let go of my hand. After graduating college, I was diagnosed with early-stage cancer. My parents, who had originally wanted to marry me off for money, abandoned me upon hearing of my illness. Silas gave up his postgraduate studies and entered the business world. He clawed his way from an ordinary person to the owner of a publicly traded company. He provided me with the best medical care, allowing us to love each other for a few more years. During that time, his mother tried several times to get me to leave. He refused, threatening to die, saying I would be his only wife, that he would only love me. I once believed this was the perfect ending to a fairy tale, where the hero and heroine overcame countless hardships to finally be together. But reality delivered a brutal blow just when I thought I could be happy forever. Silas saw my ashen face and softened his tone. “You’re wonderful. I just don’t feel it anymore.” “It’s late. Get some rest. I’ve arranged for Dr. Chen to look after her. Your health is pretty stable now; just go to the hospital if you have any issues.” Dr. Chen had cared for me for five years, a top doctor Silas had hired at great expense. I had told him before that my health was stable and I didn’t need a live-in doctor anymore. He had insisted that my health was never something to be taken lightly. I didn’t say anything, just moved my belongings to the guest room. Silas instinctively reached out to grab my hand, then paused. “Good, she’s pregnant and emotional. Sleeping separately will give her a sense of security. Tomorrow, find some time to move all your things to the guest room.” During my chemotherapy. I was in so much pain that I couldn’t sleep all night, which meant he didn’t rest well either. I once snuck into another room in the middle of the night, but he got incredibly angry and carried me back. He said he couldn’t rest easy if he wasn’t by my side. He couldn’t sleep soundly without my scent near him. For over two thousand nights since then, we had slept in each other’s arms. Arguments and cold wars never separated us. Now, he was saving himself for someone else. I bit my lower lip hard, taking each step as if walking on nails, leaving the marriage bed that held so much of our profound emotions. That night, tears soaked my pillow. I had lost the last person in the world who loved me. Early the next morning, with a pounding head, I took the divorce agreement to Silas’s mother’s house. She never liked me, thinking I was a burden on her son. Hearing about Olivia’s pregnancy, she was even more eager for me to leave. She gleefully prepared a new divorce agreement. Knowing my place, I was offered ten percent of his assets. She implicitly warned me not to bother Silas after taking the money. I didn’t refuse. After all, half a month ago, I had been diagnosed with a recurring tumor. It wasn’t yet clear if it was benign or malignant. She didn’t bother with pleasantries, uncharacteristically speaking softly. “I will do everything I can to make him sign it. You just prepare for your future.” After being politely escorted out of the Croft mansion by the butler, I numbly walked home. But before I could even enter, Silas’s men grabbed me and took me to the hospital. At the operating room door, his eyes were bloodshot. He furiously slapped me across the face. “Who told you to tell my mother about Olivia’s pregnancy? Do you know how much she hates illegitimate children? If I had been a moment later, she would have dragged Olivia in for an abortion!” “Yesterday you acted all calm and detached, turns out you were playing hard to get! If anything happens to her, what will you use to compensate?” After the stinging pain on my cheek, came a numb haze. Ever since he took my father’s slap for me that year, he had said he would never let anyone hurt me again. But in the end, he had ruthlessly slapped me himself. I held back tears, about to speak, when the operating room door opened. His anxiousness was more intense than when I had miscarried a year ago. The doctor’s expression was grim. “The pregnant woman shows signs of bleeding and is currently in critical condition. Family members should prepare blood as soon as possible.” He glared at me, his fury overflowing. “Are you satisfied? If anything happens to her and the baby, you won’t get off easy either!” He dragged me to the blood donation room. “She’s the same blood type as the patient. Draw from her for backup.” I looked at him in disbelief. A year ago, we had a child too. But because of my poor health and severe anemia, I bled and miscarried shortly after the diagnosis. Dr. Chen frowned. “Mr. Croft, your wife is not in good health herself. The last time she had a major hemorrhage… perhaps I should donate instead.” Silas’s eyes flickered with hesitation, but under the doctor’s urgent prompting, he coldly ordered, “Draw from her. The blood type matches.” The needle churned in my vein. I trembled uncontrollably from the pain. But his gaze remained fixed on the operating room door, not sparing me a single glance. Not until the light indicating the surgery was over went out, and I heard muffled conversations beside me. My consciousness was too hazy to understand. After a long while, just as I thought I could finally leave, my arms were held down. Another needle was plunged into my other arm. Silas’s urgent voice echoed in my ears. Not out of concern for my fading consciousness. But, “Don’t change donors! Olivia is frail; it’s best for one person to donate blood to avoid any abnormalities. No matter how much, I just need to ensure the safety of her and the baby!” In my blurred state, I even wished I would just die right then. Returning this life to him would make us even. But somehow, I was still alive. When I woke again, it was late afternoon. Just as I was about to sit up, I heard rustling beside me. “It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t been so insecure back then, if I hadn’t insisted you aborted her baby, she wouldn’t have had that severe hemorrhage and her health wouldn’t have deteriorated so much.” “You already lied to her for me, and now you’ve hurt her again for my sake. I feel terrible about it.” Silas took a deep breath. “Aborting her baby has nothing to do with you. I didn’t want it myself. Her health isn’t good, and that child would have been a burden. Besides, I can’t give you legitimacy now; my child can only be born from you.” “If you’re truly remorseful, then from now on, protect our child well.” Listening to their sticky voices. It felt like a piece of flesh had been ripped from my heart. The pain was so intense I could barely breathe. Yet, he had said then that we would be just as happy even without children. He had said then that I was all he needed in this life. I never imagined that the child who caused me countless sleepless nights of anguish was actually aborted by the man I loved most, just to appease his mistress. I clutched the bedsheet tightly, tears still falling. After the dull thud of a teardrop hitting the floor, the privacy curtain was pulled open. Meeting my desperate, grief-stricken eyes, a flicker of guilt crossed Silas’s face. He reached out to wipe my tears. But I flinched away. He sighed almost imperceptibly. “Since you heard, there’s nothing more to explain. Your health isn’t good anyway, and losing the child was for your own good. Get some rest. I’m taking her to a new room.” The hospital room door closed. I could no longer hold back my sobs. I frantically smashed everything in the room. The IV needle tore across my vein, piercing my skin. But I felt no pain. If I could, I truly wished I had died on the operating table during my cancer surgery that year. Instead of being here, helpless, stabbed again and again by the person I loved most. Perhaps out of guilt, during my week in the hospital, nutrient drips, various tonics, customized meals, and luxury jewelry flowed into my room. Silas himself never appeared. The doctors said he had been constantly by Olivia’s side for days. He hadn’t slept for nights, nor had he gone to the company. On the day of my discharge, he came to pick me up. He reached out to help me up, but I flinched away. He frowned but didn’t insist. “I know you’re hurting inside. Tonight, I’ll take you to an auction. Bid on whatever you like.” “Try to move on. Don’t save my money; after all, it’s the only thing I can give you now.” In the evening, he had the driver take me to the auction house. When I got out of the car, he was already stepping out of another, arm around Olivia. Their gestures were intimate, exactly mirroring how we were when we were first in love. I numbly followed them to our seats. As if to vent, I bid on every item. I even drove up the price of items worth only a few thousand dollars to hundreds of thousands, or millions. But Silas’s attention was entirely on Olivia and the items she liked. He didn’t spare me a single glance. At this moment, my insides were consumed by disgust and resentment. I couldn’t calm down. I threw down my paddle and ran to the restroom. I splashed icy cold water on my face, looking at my gaunt, sallow reflection in the mirror. Olivia appeared behind me, I don’t know when. Her skin was pristine, like jade, her face plump with collagen. A world of difference from me. I said nothing. As I turned to leave, she grabbed me. She stroked her still-flat stomach. “I said those things on purpose that day, for you to hear.” “You’ve seen it, his heart and eyes are completely for me now. If it weren’t for years of sentiment and responsibility, he would have abandoned you long ago.” “If you’re smart, you’d better leave while he still has a shred of affection for you. Don’t hinder our happiness.” I paused. The words “as you wish” were on my tongue, but seeing her challenging gaze, I swallowed them. I scoffed. “I know you’re desperate to get rid of me and take my place, but it’s no use. As long as I’m here, you’ll always be the mistress, and the child in your belly will always be illegitimate.” “He’ll still have to call me Mommy, and he’ll have to take care of me in my old age. I’ll teach him from a young age that mistresses are the most despicable beings on earth. Do you think a life like that will be happy?” Olivia’s anger was palpable. Her eyes burned red as she glared at me. “You won’t believe it until you see it! Fine, keep being stubborn. Since you don’t want to leave, I’ll give you a push!” I ignored her empty threats. When I stepped out, I saw Silas’s worried expression turn to caution the moment he saw me. He only relaxed when he saw Olivia emerge, completely unharmed. The auction ended, and Silas received an urgent work call. He instructed the driver to ensure Olivia and I got home safely. He, in turn, got into another car to work overtime at the company. We rode in silence. But I noticed the road wasn’t leading home, or to Olivia’s place.

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1 I’ve been exceptionally capable since I was a kid, but I love playing weak. I love watching people call me a useless loser, only to slap them hard in the face with reality later. Growing up, I was always the teacher’s pet, the “perfect child” in the eyes of all the neighbors. Being invincible was honestly quite lonely. That is, until I got to college and met our academic counselor, a total “pick-me” who worshipped men. During freshman orientation, she pointed at the guys lounging in the shade, praising their “perseverance,” while claiming us girls only knew how to act coy and dodge training. Without a word, I stood at attention under the blazing sun for ten hours straight. Even the drill instructor couldn’t help but call me an eagle among women. During her lectures, she would only ask the guys basic, surface-level questions. But when it came to the girls, she practically threw Olympic-level math at us. When we couldn’t answer, she’d call us useless and say we had zero potential. That comment flipped a switch in me. I stayed up day and night watching advanced competition videos. By the second class, I left her completely speechless. A visiting expert sitting in on the lecture even wanted to offer me a direct spot in a graduate program and take me to his lab right then and there. When it came time for scholarship applications, I filled out the forms exactly to spec, but she rejected them over and over again. She saved all the quotas for the guys and rolled her eyes at me. “You’re so competitive, you’ll never find a husband! You need to take a good look at yourself!” I laughed out of pure anger. “Professor, were you a horse in your past life? Why are you so obsessed with being ridden?” …… “Go write a ten-thousand-word apology essay, and read it in front of the whole class at our meeting next Sunday!” Our counselor, Susan, turned beet red, slamming her pen violently onto my chest. “Professor, I don’t think I did anything wrong, did I?” Was it the list of awards on my application that stung her eyes? But considering how blatantly she favored the guys, what’s wrong with me showing off a little? “Emma, how did your parents raise you? You’re always grandstanding. You don’t act like a college student at all!” Susan tore up my application—which I had already revised fifteen times—right in front of my face. “If you really want this scholarship, get on your knees and apologize to me! I’ll teach you the manners your parents clearly failed to!” My expression instantly turned ice cold. It was one thing to insult me, but she had to drag my parents into it. I was about to fire back, but Susan beat me to it. She probably assumed I was applying for the scholarship because I was poor. She looked at me with pure disdain and provocation. “I see you listed your parents’ occupations as ‘Confidential.’ Are their jobs too shameful to mention?” “Makes sense. Maybe your mom raised you by selling her body to please men. That would explain why you dress up like a peacock every day!” “If you want to lessen your mother’s ‘burden,’ beg me properly, and I might just give you the lowest-tier scholarship.” Me? Short on money? What a joke. I only applied because the requirement was being in the top ten percent of the major. Your name gets posted on the honor roll at the campus entrance. It was just for bragging rights. It’s not like I needed it! “Professor Susan, I won’t be writing an apology, I won’t be at the class meeting next week, and I certainly won’t be kneeling for you.” “I’m not approving your weekend leave! I’ll mark you absent, and you won’t be able to graduate!” Seeing that I dared to challenge her directly, Susan began abusing her authority. She looked at me with smug triumph. But I just let out a cold laugh. “Then please take it up with the Dean. I’m hosting the Arts Gala next Sunday. He specifically requested me.” The moment those words left my mouth, she exploded. “You? Host the Gala?!” She swung her hand to slap me hard across the face. Luckily, I’ve taken mixed martial arts since I was a kid, so I dodged it easily. Otherwise, my face would have swelled up instantly. Seeing that she missed, Susan gritted her teeth in fury. She grabbed a fistful of my hair and snatched a pair of scissors from her desk. “Who are you trying to seduce, always leaving your hair down? Do you think college is a joke? Are you going to cut it yourself, or should I?!” With a quick block, I made her cry out in pain and let go. I smoothed out my pulled hair, my heart aching for the damage. “What are you doing?! Do you have any idea what this costs? I’ve been maintaining my hair with caviar treatments since I was little!” “I’ve spent at least three hundred thousand dollars on it! Can you afford to pay for that with your measly salary?” Crash. Susan smashed her water cup onto the floor. Shards of glass scraped my ankle, and a malicious smirk curled on her lips. “You have the nerve to tell such lies while applying for a scholarship! I’m reporting you to the university to strip you of your honors student status!” Saying that, she dialed my parents’ number several times in a row. “I’m going to have you expelled!” I waved her off, entirely unbothered. “My parents won’t answer your calls. You’re way below their pay grade!” She got even angrier. “I don’t know what kind of parents would raise such a shameless daughter!” I smiled faintly. “I’m afraid if I tell you who they are, you’ll be the one kneeling.” 2 Susan was practically radiating heat, completely enraged. “With an attitude like yours, don’t even dream of finishing college! I’m going to the Dean tomorrow to have him contact your parents!” “What exactly is wrong with my attitude?” She was the one constantly picking on me, and now she was trying to force me out of school. I’ve been like this since I was a kid. Was I supposed to suppress my true nature just because I was in college? When I was three, my parents took me overseas to visit my uncle. He kept a prairie lion as a pet. The other kids were so terrified they didn’t even dare to breathe. I was scared too. But I bit the bullet, stood in front of everyone, and yelled at the lion that could swallow me whole: “Stop roaring!” Even with my legs trembling, I climbed onto the lion’s back, soaking in the awe-filled gazes of the other children. Since that day, I realized I could do anything to save face. On my tenth birthday, my parents wanted to gift me a subsidiary company. My chauvinistic older brother scoffed. “What does a girl need a company for? Her destiny is to be a pretty vase and get married off for a corporate alliance!” I didn’t waste a single word arguing. The very next day, I went to the company and charmed all the employees. Everyone praised me endlessly to my parents. They called me meticulous, capable, and a management prodigy. When my brother came back from a business trip, the receptionist politely told him: “Our little boss is still at school today. Would you like me to schedule an appointment for you?” To prove I was worthy of their trust, I started taking college-level business administration courses while I was still in elementary school. My brother just thought I was putting on a show, badmouthing me to our parents every day. But my parents saw my hard work, and even planned to hand over the reins of the family business to me. As an eighteenth birthday present. But my grandfather, who heavily favored boys, wasn’t happy about it. My brother provoked me like a victorious rooster. In just one summer vacation… I took the messy, failing company he left behind and took it public. My grandfather, with tears in his eyes, patted my brother’s hand. “My foolish grandson… maybe wait for your next life to take over the family.” From then on, he washed his hands of the matter, and my brother never saw him again. So when it came to flexing, my parents supported me 100%. “There’s nothing wrong with a girl showing off! Mom just wants to see you shine!” “Why keep a low profile? As the wealthiest family in the city, we didn’t work this hard for nothing!” I didn’t reveal my parents’ identities because I found it much more satisfying to earn people’s attention through my own abilities. I never expected that in Susan’s mouth, it would turn into: “Your parents probably have shameful jobs anyway, probably picking up trash! Maybe they’ll come crying and begging me to let you go!” I was just about to snap back when the door opened from the outside. Our class president, Kevin, walked in. Even though I had won the popular vote by a landslide, Susan had forcefully appointed him instead. And yet, he pushed all the actual work onto me, the vice-president. He spent his days entirely focused on sucking up to Susan. Seeing me there, Kevin immediately curled his lip in annoyance. “Looks like someone’s got a great relationship with the Dean, becoming the Gala host without even auditioning.” “Susan, you don’t know how long I prepared for this, only to get screwed over in silence!” Susan instantly understood what he meant. She looked at him with a heart full of pity. “Don’t worry, I’ll go fight for it for you tomorrow.” “After all, someone is about to be expelled from our school!” 3 I didn’t want to deal with them, so I grabbed the door handle to leave the office. Kevin stepped right in front of me, grabbing my hand, his finger disgustingly tracing my palm. He mouthed to me: “If you agree to be my girlfriend, I won’t let Susan report you!” Susan was still yapping away in the background. “My boyfriend is a major donor to this school! Emma, you’re finished!” What a joke. My family is the biggest donor to this university. Snap. I twisted Kevin’s hand backward into an unnatural angle. Amidst their curses, I left the office. Back in my dorm, before I could even rest, the class group chat started blowing up. It was about some group project. Kevin sent a voice memo: “If you don’t turn it in today, you automatically fail the class!” What assignment? Confused, I asked my roommate next to me. Chloe covered her mouth, her eyes wide. “You didn’t know? The counselor assigned it. We’re supposed to pair up, one guy, one girl, and shoot a campus video.” “She assigned the groups herself. I think she DM’d everyone individually.” I couldn’t help but scoff. She was trying to set me up to fail. Without a second thought, I tagged her in the group chat. “Professor Susan, are you getting forgetful in your old age? You didn’t notify me about the group project.” When I looked at my phone again, I had been kicked out of the group chat. Susan sent me a private message. Her tone was arrogant. “You’re too stuck-up. None of the guys in the class wanted to be in a group with you.” Is that so? I opened WeChat, took screenshots of the friend requests from almost every guy in the class, and sent them to her. The next second, she lost her mind, sending a long string of abusive voice memos. “Dressing up like a peacock every day, looking like a streetwalker! Anyone can tell you and your mother are both trash!” But it was true that she seemed to have some connections at the school. I forwarded the voice recordings to the disciplinary office to report her. They rejected it, claiming it was AI-generated. The next day, Susan doubled down. Using my “failure to submit assignments” and “poor conduct” as excuses, she formally petitioned the Dean to replace me as the Gala host. She even claimed I was insubordinate and demanded I be expelled. But the Dean just looked at her like she was an idiot. “Your class is just an elective. Emma already has enough credits to graduate. Why would I expel her?” I stood in front of Susan, a provocative smile on my face. What a joke. A few credits? Did she really think I cared? I finished my four-year credit requirement during my freshman year. If you log into the system, you can see I have almost double the credits of the person in second place. Susan was humiliated and stomped away in a rage. But I knew she wouldn’t let it go. Sure enough, when I got back to my dorm… I found all my hair accessories and custom skincare products gone from my desk. The clothes in my closet were missing too. My roommate Chloe called me in a panic. “Emma! All your clothes are in the dumpsters downstairs!” 4 I called the police. The surveillance footage showed Susan leading a group of guys into the girls’ dorm under the guise of “moving things.” They swept my desk clean and threw everything into the trash. The clothes from my closet, my silk duvet—Susan had aggressively stomped all over them. When Susan arrived, she was holding two hundred dollars, showing zero remorse. “You had a lot of contraband items. I was just doing a routine inspection.” “This money is compensation. It should be enough. After all, that’s the amount of the scholarship you wanted.” I sneered. “This little amount? Who are you trying to buy off, a beggar?” I backhanded the list of missing items right into Susan’s face. “The hair clips were Chanel, the clothes were haute couture, and the skincare was custom-formulated for my exact skin type.” “The purchase receipts are all right there. That cash isn’t even enough to buy one of my hair clips!” Susan’s eyes widened in shock. “Impossible! If you’re that rich, why would you apply for a scholarship?!” She insisted I was lying, but the police verified the receipts. I thought being on the hook for hundreds of thousands of dollars would make her pack her bags and leave. Surprisingly, she didn’t panic at all. “You think you’re the only one with money? My boyfriend is way richer than a nouveau riche brat like you!” She cooed and acted helpless in front of the police. “Officer, my boyfriend will compensate her for the losses.” Her boyfriend did have means; the money was quickly transferred to my account. The university also claimed that as a counselor, she had the right to inspect for contraband, and she didn’t even get a reprimand. I originally wanted to call my parents right then and there to have them use their influence to squash this nuisance. But on second thought, slapping her down like that was too boring. It would be much more fun to deliver the slap to both Susan and her boyfriend personally. So I held back and applied to the Dean to move off-campus. For three days, I was basically living at the Arts Gala rehearsals, and Susan stopped picking on me. I thought she had turned over a new leaf. But on the day of the Gala, I found my evening gown shredded in the dressing room. I didn’t even have to guess who did it. I instinctively tried to open the door to confront her, but it was locked from the outside. Then, the lights suddenly went completely dark. Someone had pulled the breaker. This situation… I almost wanted to consider Susan a soulmate. How did she know that I absolutely thrive on flexing my skills in desperate situations like this? I’ve never been afraid of the dark. And as an heiress, knowing how to pick a lock is a perfectly normal skill to have, right? So, I grabbed a bobby pin, picked the lock, and casually texted my family’s butler, Uncle Wang. In the broadcast room, the Dean was pacing anxiously. “Why isn’t Emma here yet? The Gala is about to start!” Susan spared no effort in putting me down. “Girls like her have no concept of time. Why don’t we let Kevin do it? He’s definitely better than her.” But the next second, Susan’s eyes went wide. Because I stepped onto the stage wearing an even more magnificent, breathtaking gown. The Arts Gala was a massive success, but Susan just couldn’t stop acting up. Over the next few days, rumors spread like wildfire across campus that I was a sugar baby for an elderly billionaire. The “proof” was a photo of Uncle Wang delivering my gown. Whether I was in the library or the cafeteria, students would cast weird looks my way. There was even a campus forum thread with thousands of replies. They claimed I was a fake socialite whose entire lifestyle was funded by a sugar daddy. They even posted my leave of absence record from last semester. [She claimed she had stomach pains and took a week off. Now it looks like she went to get an abortion!] This was right during a critical period when I was participating in a national-level academic competition. The academic affairs office politely approached me, suggesting I withdraw voluntarily. I ignored them and showed up on the day of the competition. To my surprise, that half-wit Susan was actually sitting on the judging panel. She was constantly whispering to the other judges. Before I could even step onto the stage, they stopped me. “Student, this is a national-level competition. Someone with your moral conduct is not permitted to participate.” Susan walked over to me with a cold smirk. “I told you, my boyfriend is way more powerful than your sugar daddy! If you get on your knees and apologize to me right now, I might let you keep a degree!” I was just about to slap her when her eyes suddenly lit up. She waved at someone behind me. “My boyfriend is here! You might be permanently reduced to a high school graduate today!” I turned around and saw her boyfriend. When he saw me, a flash of surprise crossed his eyes. And the slap that was meant for Susan landed squarely, and viciously, on her boyfriend’s face, right in front of everyone’s shocked eyes.

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At my wedding reception, the counterfeit heiress leaned in close under the guise of offering a toast and gave me a provoking smile. “Happy wedding. I’ve slept with your husband, and he’s pretty good.” Furious, I slapped her right across the face. The next second, Liam publicly slapped me six times. “Chloe never fights or grabs for anything; she’s let you have everything, yet you still can’t tolerate her!” “I’d rather marry a dog than a woman as unpresentable as you!” With his order, I was locked in the basement and thrown into a pit filled with venomous snakes to reflect on my actions. After being tortured for seven days, my three biological brothers came to settle the score with me. My eldest brother, the CEO, kicked and broke my leg. “Chloe cried all night. I’ve taken the liberty of transferring all the assets under your name entirely to her.” My second brother, an A-list actor, twisted and broke my arm. “From now on, only Chloe’s name will be on the family trust. As for you, don’t ever think about being recognized as a member of this family.” My third brother, a renowned surgeon, was even more ruthless, driving a scalpel straight into my abdomen. “Chloe has had kidney disease since she was a child. To compensate her, you must donate one of your healthy kidneys!” Before I could even utter a word of defense, my internal organs were carved out alive. Amidst the crushing agony, the system’s cold, mechanical voice chimed in. [Congratulations, Host! You have completed all the abuse plotlines for the cannon fodder female supporting character!] [Just wait for this physical body to die, and you can return to your original world to enjoy the $1.5 billion prize money!] …… Hearing this, my wailing abruptly stopped. The despair and pain in my heart morphed into the relief of impending liberation. My eldest and second brothers had already left with my kidney. In the filthy basement, it was just me and my third brother, Caleb. Blood continued to gurgle from the incision. Caleb frowned in displeasure as he stitched me up. “If you had just cooperated and donated the kidney earlier, I wouldn’t have had to perform surgery directly under such primitive conditions.” “Making me go through all this trouble, what a nuisance.” Just last week, while handling some paperwork, Chloe got a paper cut so small it was barely visible. Caleb acted as if the sky was falling, calling in the top medical team to help him apply emergency bandages and checking on her healing progress every three hours. But now, facing me—who just had an entire kidney ripped out—he complained about the trouble of doing even the most basic suturing. Shutterstock Perhaps noticing my lack of response, he leaned down, patted my face, and injected me with antibiotics. “Stop pretending. I know you’re perfectly healthy. This minor injury is nothing.” “Aren’t you just trying to act pitiful to make me feel guilty so you can steal my affection from Chloe? You’re too dark and narrow-minded. Since you’ve entered the Sterling family, put away those petty schemes!” In the past, facing such misunderstandings from my closest relatives, I would have defended myself with red eyes, crying that I wasn’t that kind of person. But now, I only felt numb tranquility. I closed my eyes and said hoarsely, “You should go too. I can wait here to die alone.” For me, the fastest way to find peace right now was to die immediately. But to Caleb’s ears, those words clearly meant something else. “Emma, what do you mean? You’re deliberately saying depressing things to disgust me, aren’t you!” He purposefully yanked the suture thread hard. The fragile, bloody edges of the wound tightened instantly, and dirty blood gushed out, bringing agonizing pain no normal person could bear. Seeing me gasp in pain, my forehead slick with cold sweat, a flash of reluctance crossed his eyes, and he softened his tone. “You are my biological sister, connected by blood. You can’t even imagine how much money and effort the three of us spent over the years to find you. How could we just let you die?” “When it comes down to it, if you weren’t so narrow-minded, refusing to tolerate Chloe and even hitting her, how would you be suffering like this?” While complaining, he gave my wound an injection of anesthesia. “As long as you promise that when you go back, you won’t make things difficult for Chloe anymore and properly apologize to her.” “I can take you back to the hospital, let you receive the best treatment, and you won’t have to suffer here anymore.” Listening to his patronizing tone, I felt even more chilled and mocked. Although I was a transmigrator, I had crossed over into Emma Sterling’s body in this world since she was six years old. Three years ago, after I had suffered countless hardships, the three Sterling brothers found me in tears, claiming I was their long-lost biological sister, and brought me back to the Sterling family. But upon returning, I discovered the Sterling family already had a daughter—Chloe, whom they had adopted back then. The moment I saw her, I recognized her. Years ago at the orphanage, she was the one who locked me in a dark closet and took my place to be adopted by the Sterlings. For twenty years, Chloe enjoyed all the care and love from the Sterling family in my place, while I bore all the suffering meant for her. Yet, all she had to do was furrow her brows in feigned grievance, and my three biological brothers would unconditionally take her side, accusing me of being narrow-minded. Even my fiancé, Liam, who was betrothed to me from birth, only had smiles for her and treated me with cold disdain. I was tired of this entanglement and pain, and didn’t want to waste any more energy arguing. I simply raised my hand and forcefully ripped open the newly stitched incision. When blood and intestines spilled out together, Caleb was so shocked his voice cracked. “Emma, you’re crazy! You’ll die!” Looking at the tears born of his panic, I just twitched the corners of my mouth. “Death? That would be wonderful.” “Living even one more second makes me… feel sick!” After saying that, I could no longer control my drooping eyelids. Then my head lolled to the side, and I passed out. I don’t know how long passed before I woke up from the darkness. I thought I had returned to my original world, but when I opened my eyes, I saw the familiar face of my eldest brother, Arthur. “You’re finally awake.” He had dark circles under his eyes, looking sleep-deprived, but his tone was full of impatience. “You’re a grown adult, why are you so impulsive?” “Making a life-or-death fuss over a trivial matter, where is the dignity of a Sterling…” Thinking about having to deal with this completely rotten world, a wave of exhaustion washed over me. I didn’t even have the interest to offer a single word of defense, so I stared blankly and interrupted him. “You’re right, I’m an embarrassment, unworthy of being human.” “So, let me die.” Arthur’s face changed drastically, and he instinctively raised his hand to slap me. But when he saw my deathly pale, bloodless face, that slap ultimately didn’t land. “Emma! I warn you, stop talking nonsense!” His voice trembled, the impatience in his eyes fading a bit, hiding a trace of panic even he hadn’t noticed. “I paid such a huge price to pull you out of the basement, not for you to talk crazy here!” I twitched my lips, revealing a completely cold smile. Paid a price? More likely he was afraid that if I died, there would be no one left to act as Chloe’s spare organ bank, no one to let her play the aggrieved innocent victim to her heart’s content. Just as I was thinking this, the hospital room door was pushed open, and my third brother, Caleb, walked in carrying medication. Seeing I was awake, a fleeting look of joy crossed his eyes, but when he spoke, his tone was still aggressive. “Since you’re awake, drink your medicine. Don’t force me to pour it down your throat!” He handed the medicine cup to me. The liquid was pitch black and emitted a bitter smell. I turned my head away, closed my eyes, and refused: “No need, it’s a waste of medicine.” “You!” Caleb was shaking with anger, but he didn’t force the medicine down my throat like he usually would. Instead, he placed the cup on the nightstand and reached out to check my wound. When his fingertips touched the bandages, his movements were unusually gentle. For the first time, there was a bit of the tender consideration he usually reserved for Chloe. “Just as I thought, using the best medicine makes the recovery much faster…” He rewrapped the bandages and glared at me fiercely. “You better behave. If the wound bursts open again, I won’t stitch you up a second time!” Though his words were harsh, I clearly saw the bloodshot lines in his eyes and the subtle trembling of his fingertips. Presumably, he had pulled his fair share of all-nighters watching over me these past few days. If it were the past, I definitely would have been moved by this sliver of gentleness, hugging him and crying about my grievances. But now, I only found it ironic. I shook off his hand, violently threw off the blanket, and prepared to tear the incision open again. Right now, living even one more second was torture. As long as I could die faster, I didn’t care how. “You’re crazy!” Arthur grabbed my arm, gripping so hard he almost crushed my bones, but instantly loosened his grip when I groaned in pain. He roared at me, his voice thick with tears: “Emma, what exactly do you want?” “To die.” My tone was calm, as if discussing an insignificant, trivial matter. “Letting me die is good for everyone.” “You guys won’t be put in a difficult position anymore, and Chloe can peacefully be the Sterling family heiress.” “So, please have some mercy and let me die quickly.” Those words seemed to hit Arthur’s sore spot. With red eyes, he raised his hand and slapped me, but it was lighter than any time he had hit me before, feeling more like him venting his frustration at my failure to meet his expectations. “I forbid it! You are the biological daughter of the Sterling family. Who dares let you die?” Caleb panicked too. He stepped forward, pressed my shoulders, and pushed me back onto the bed, his tone carrying a rare plea. “Emma, stop making a fuss.” “I know it hurts, but if you recover properly, from now on… from now on I’ll dote on you more, okay?” Looking at the pleading in his eyes, I just found it absurd. Where was he before? When he was cutting out my kidney alive, when he was making a mountain out of a molehill for Chloe’s tiny scratch, why didn’t he think about doting on me more? I closed my eyes, no longer looking at them, letting Caleb tuck me back in, letting him bring the medicine cup to my lips, but I absolutely refused to open my mouth. During the standoff, my second brother, Julian, pushed the door open, followed by a pale-faced Liam. Seeing me, Julian’s eyes reddened, and he quickly walked to the bedside. “Emma, it’s good that you’re awake. You scared me to death.” When I was first recognized by the Sterling family, Julian was the one who treated me best among all my relatives. He didn’t just take me traveling around; he also told me how much the family had missed and searched for me over the years, often gazing at me for a long time when he spoke emotionally. But later, after Chloe wiped away tears and complained about me to him a few times, he changed his tune, accusing me of being a two-faced hypocrite who betrayed the family’s sincere love for me. Seeing him again, I only felt more annoyed, avoiding his hand that tried to touch my face. Julian’s hand froze in mid-air, and he withdrew it with a bitter expression. Seeing this, Liam stepped forward and took the initiative to take the medicine cup from Caleb. “Let me feed her. Maybe she’ll listen to me.” It wasn’t surprising he was so confident. After all, over the past few years, anyone with eyes could see how endlessly tolerant and accommodating I was toward this fiancé, loving him to my very core. Just as he was walking toward me, the hospital room door opened again. “Emma, I came to see you.” Chloe, dressed in a hospital gown, walked in looking incredibly weak. Arthur immediately stood up to support her: “Chloe, you just underwent kidney transplant surgery and your body is still weak, why did you come over?” Chloe shook her head, her gaze landing on me, full of fake guilt. “It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t failed to stop Emma that day, things wouldn’t have escalated to this point.” “I feel so uneasy, I had to come and apologize to her.” Saying that, she took the cup from Liam’s hands and sat on the edge of my bed herself. “Emma, stop being angry with yourself. Drink your medicine and recover well. Everyone has been worried sick about you.” “I know you still blame me, but I really didn’t want to fight you for anything. Everything in the Sterling family was supposed to be yours anyway…” These words seemed like a concession, but every sentence insinuated that I was narrow-minded, clinging to the past, and deliberately risking my own body out of spite. Before her spoon could touch my lips, I raised my hand and slapped the medicine cup away. With a crash, the porcelain cup shattered on the floor. The scalding liquid splashed all over Chloe, especially her wrists and the front of her gown, immediately turning red. Chloe cried out, her eyes instantly reddening, her voice thick with tears. “Emma… how could you do that? I just wanted to feed you your medicine…” She bit her lip, looking utterly wronged. Tears welled up in her eyes, making anyone’s heart ache for her. “Emma! You’re crazy!” Arthur flew into a rage, pulling Chloe behind him and glaring at me viciously. “Chloe kindly came to see you and feed you your medicine, and this is how you treat her?” Caleb immediately stepped forward to check Chloe’s burn, his tone full of anxiety. “How is it? Is the burn bad? Get a doctor, quickly!” Julian also frowned tightly, his eyes full of disappointment. “Emma, you’ve gone too far! Chloe took the initiative to apologize, when are you going to stop making a scene?” Liam also walked quickly to Chloe’s side, taking out a tissue to wipe her down, his tone carrying blame. “Emma, can you stop being so unreasonable? Chloe meant well. Even if you don’t appreciate it, you shouldn’t resort to violence and hurt people.” Several people surrounded Chloe, asking about her well-being, completely ignoring me—the person who had just had a kidney carved out and whose wound was still throbbing with pain. Chloe leaned against Arthur’s chest, stealing a glance at me. A flash of triumph crossed her eyes, though her mouth was still putting on an act of pleading for mercy: “I’m fine, don’t yell at Emma, she was just in a bad mood…” In the past, this “innocent white lotus” act would have made me tremble with anger. But now, I just found it laughably absurd. Such a clumsy trick would have been seen through instantly by anyone else, yet these four exceptional men, standing at the pinnacle of their respective fields, willingly let Chloe string them along. Or perhaps, it’s a case of one willing to hit and the other willing to suffer, and I was just a prop in their game. “If your heart aches for this animal, please take your heartache outside. Don’t pollute my hospital room.” Hearing my cold voice, the men trembled with anger. “Emma, it seems you haven’t reflected enough!” Caleb looked at me with a face full of disappointment and said sternly, “From this moment on, I’m stopping all your painkillers!” “Whenever you figure things out, whenever you’re willing to apologize to Chloe, that’s when I’ll resume your medication.” Arthur chimed in: “Exactly! Let you have a good taste of pain and see if you dare to be this willful again!” Julian sighed, his eyes full of helplessness, but he didn’t object. Liam stood to the side, nodding in silence, clearly agreeing with the decision. I closed my eyes, offering no rebuttal, nor any anger. So what if the painkillers were stopped? The pain from the wound was nothing compared to the twenty years of grievances and torture I had suffered. On the contrary, the pain would keep me more awake as I waited for death to arrive. Seeing my impervious attitude, Caleb immediately took action and disconnected my PCA (patient-controlled analgesia) pump. The moment the overwhelming pain hit, my dearest family and fiancé anxiously surrounded Chloe and walked out. Until the door slammed shut with a “bang,” no one looked back. Enduring the blood seeping from the corners of my mouth, I pulled out a shard of the broken porcelain bowl I had hidden under my pillow just moments ago, and without hesitation, slashed it across my throat. As I collapsed again, I could feel the strength draining from my body bit by bit. The pain from my wounds gradually faded away, and my heartbeat grew slower and slower… The moment darkness descended, I even let out a laugh. This suffocating, painful life could finally end. ……

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My son, Noah, had just been diagnosed with chronic nephritis. We were on our way to the hospital to schedule his kidney transplant when the car slammed into us. My husband, Spencer, was the Chief of Emergency Medicine at that very hospital. But instead of saving his own flesh and blood, he was using his authority to bypass the transplant list, hijacking the only available kidney to save his untouchable first love—the woman who had always been the phantom third person in our marriage. I didn’t call him. Instead, I dialed 911. Then, I called the State Medical Ethics Board to file a report. In my past life, I had made the mistake of calling Spencer. Because of my hysterical pleas, he had abandoned Stella as her uremia flared, authorizing the transplant for our son instead. Noah survived the surgery, cheating death. Stella, however, died alone in her apartment. Spencer told me he didn’t blame me. He looked me in the eye and said our son was his entire world. He even planned a lavish birthday party for Noah the day he was discharged, a celebration of his second chance at life. But that night, the celebration ended in darkness. He struck us both unconscious. I woke up tied and gagged in front of Stella’s gravestone. With the same scalpel he used to save lives, Spencer pierced our little boy’s chest. I was forced to watch as he hollowed out our son, organ by organ. When he finally turned to me, his eyes were hollowed out, replaced by a venomous, unhinged hatred. “He was just a kid. He could have waited for another donor! He wasn’t going to die right away!” Spencer had screamed, his face contorted. “Why did you have to steal the kidney from Stella? Now she’s dead because of you. You and your bastard son are going to pay her back with your lives!” … Before I could even scream, he yanked the blade from my child and drove it straight into my throat. Hot, crimson spray hit his face, splattering across the pristine porcelain photograph of Stella on her headstone. Then, my eyes snap open. I am back to the day of the crash. A deafening crunch of metal. The car rolls, the world spinning in violent, jagged flashes until we slam into the asphalt. The blinding agony of the impact jolts me awake. It takes a fraction of a second to realize what has happened. I have been pulled back through time. I am breathing. I whip my head toward the passenger seat. Noah is slumped in a pool of his own blood. His small face, already severely swollen from the nephritis, is crushed against the door, his features indistinguishable. He hasn’t made a single sound. He is already entirely unconscious. Through the shattered window, I see the SUV that ran the red light gunning its engine, speeding away into the distance. The tragedy of my previous life is playing out exactly as it did before. Panic, cold and sharp, spikes through my veins. Ignoring the agonizing pain in my ribs, I twist my body, clawing frantically at Noah’s seatbelt, trying to drag his limp body from the wreckage. But the severe edema from his failing kidneys makes him heavy, and the seatbelt mechanism is crushed, locking him in place. “Noah!” I scream, my voice tearing my throat. “Noah, please!” Silence. Cold sweat drips down my forehead, stinging my eyes. I force my head and shoulders out of the shattered window, screaming for help. A few bystanders are sprinting toward us. While I beg them to help pry the door open, my trembling, blood-slicked fingers find my phone. My thumb hovers over Spencer’s contact. My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache. Remembering how he illegally diverted the organ in my last life, I bypass his name and dial the hospital’s emergency dispatch. The moment the line connects, I gasp into the receiver. “My son is in a severe car crash! He needs an ambulance right now! He has late-stage nephritis, his kidneys are failing. I know your hospital just received a donor kidney today—please, you have to hold it for him. The crash is at the intersection of—” The woman on the other end is Brittany. She went to med school with Spencer and now works the emergency triage desk. We’ve met a few times. I always knew she harbored a quiet, lingering obsession with my husband. Before I can finish, she cuts me off with an exasperated sigh. “Mrs. Carmichael, Dr. Carmichael isn’t at the hospital today. You can drop the act. And as for where he is, I’m not at liberty to say. If you need him, call his cell. This line is for actual medical emergencies, not for you to play your little marital games.” “Furthermore,” she continues, her tone dripping with condescension, “you haven’t even picked up Noah’s latest lab results. What nephritis? Can you stop making things up for attention? Dr. Carmichael specifically told me not to tell you where he went because he knew you’d pull a stunt like this. Joking about your own kid’s health… honestly, I don’t know why he married you. I’m hanging up.” The beep of the disconnected line is a physical blow. A white-hot rage consumes me. I hit redial. “I said my son is dying in a crushed car! Are you deaf?” I roar into the phone, the last threads of my sanity snapping. “Did I say a single damn word about looking for Spencer? I don’t care if he drops dead! You need to dispatch an ambulance to my son right now! If you delay this, his blood is on your hands!” My violent outburst only hardens her resolve. “Are you done?” she snaps back. “I told you, Spencer isn’t here! Don’t you think a doctor knows his own son’s medical history? He brought a bag of meds home for him yesterday. It’s pediatric diabetes, for God’s sake. What ‘severe illness’ are you talking about?” “You sit at home all day, playing house, never stepping foot outside. And you expect me to believe a car drove into your living room to hit you? If you’re going to lie, at least put some effort into it! Spencer is your husband. Cursing him like this, cursing your own child—what is wrong with you? He really must have been blind to choose you.” Click. Hot, desperate tears spill over my eyelashes, cutting tracks through the dust and blood on my cheeks. I’m living this twice. I refuse to believe that in this massive city, Spencer Carmichael is God. I refuse to believe calling him is the only way to save my little boy! Outside the crushed passenger door, a crowd has gathered. A few men are straining against the warped metal, trying to pry Noah free. Hearing my screaming match with the hospital, a woman in a trench coat pulls out her own phone, furious on my behalf, and dials 911 again. But call after call from the bystanders yields the same bureaucratic dead-end, the same sluggish response from the dispatch center that routes back to Spencer’s hospital network. Finally, a dispatcher tells the woman, “Stop tying up emergency resources with a domestic dispute,” and refuses to pick up again. A memory flashes—a box cutter I left in the center console after opening a package. I dig through the shattered plastic and debris, my fingers wrapping around the plastic handle. With shaking hands, I slice through Noah’s seatbelt. At the exact same time, I dial the State Medical Ethics and Oversight Board. I spill everything. Spencer’s location, the diverted kidney, the triage nurse refusing to send an ambulance. Ten minutes later, the wail of sirens finally pierces the air. When the paramedics pull Noah onto the stretcher, his tiny body is so saturated with blood that his pale skin is entirely obscured. I ride in the back of the ambulance, watching the EMTs perform chest compressions as we blow through every red light in the city. The moment the surgical doors swing shut, swallowing Noah’s stretcher, the adrenaline leaves my body. I collapse into a plastic waiting room chair, burying my face in my hands, sobbing until I can’t breathe. An investigator from the Ethics Board, a stern-faced man who had taken my call, arrives in the waiting room shortly after. Seeing my state, he turns on his heel and marches straight to the ER reception desk, his voice echoing through the busy hall. “What kind of operation are you running here? Ignoring emergency dispatches? Refusing ambulances? If you don’t want your medical licenses, I can revoke them today! You will never work in healthcare again!” “Who took the initial call? Bring her out here! The patient’s mother states you actively blocked subsequent calls. Who gave you the authority to play God? If this mother hadn’t called the Board, were you just going to let a child bleed out on the street?” “At best, this is gross negligence. At worst, it’s vehicular manslaughter by proxy! Couldn’t you hear the desperation in her voice? Bring out whoever was on the dispatch desk! Does she think hiding is going to save her job?” Every word he shouts lands like a sledgehammer against my chest, making it impossible to pull air into my lungs. Even total strangers on the street were willing to bloody their hands to save my son, screaming at dispatchers and threatening to expose the hospital on Twitter. Yet my husband of six years, the father of my child, is currently sacrificing our son’s life to save his first love. The vows he whispered when we were young and in love have mutated into the very blade carving out my heart. A sharp, stabbing pain grips my chest, and my breathing turns ragged. The ER staff, pale and trembling under the investigator’s fury, immediately throw their colleague under the bus. They drag Brittany out from the back office. The moment she appears, the investigator tears into her. She hadn’t believed the crash was real. The arrogant sneer from the phone call is entirely gone, her head bowed so low her chin touches her chest. Crying hysterically, she walks over to me, bowing deeply in apology, and tries to hand me Noah’s medical file that she finally printed out. I am too busy wiping my tears to take it. The papers slip from her trembling hands, scattering across the linoleum floor. The words Late-Stage Nephritis glare up from the paper. Brittany’s eyes drop to the diagnosis. All the blood drains from her face. Shaking violently, she pulls out her phone and calls Spencer. To prove to the investigator that she isn’t the sole architect of this disaster, she puts it on speaker. But the moment she stammers out that Noah is actually in the ER from a horrific crash, before she can even bring up the kidney, Spencer’s voice cuts through the speaker, laced with venom. “Didn’t I tell you to ignore Tara? She’s always using his health to manipulate me. She’s having one of her psychotic episodes and you’re indulging her? I thought you were smarter than this, Brittany, but I guess all women are the same when it comes to drama. I told you, I am doing a surgery to save a life right now. Do not bother me! Throw those fake test results in her face and tell her to drag herself home and stop embarrassing me at my own workplace!” In the background of the call, Stella’s weak, delicate voice whimpers in pain. “Spencer… am I going to die?” His tone shifts instantly, dripping with an agonizing tenderness. “No, baby. I’m right here. I won’t let anything happen to you…” He hangs up. The dial tone echoes in the dead silence of the waiting room. Brittany’s terrified expression is frozen on her face. Right then, the surgical doors burst open. The lead trauma surgeon steps out, his scrubs stained red. His voice is heavy. “The patient has multiple ruptured organs. We just discovered the severe infection caused by his underlying nephritis. We need to do an emergency transplant right now. I know the hospital received a donor kidney this morning—we need to cross-match it immediately.” Nobody moves. For a long, suffocating moment, no one breathes. I know the truth. Spencer has already taken the kidney. My knees give out. I crash to the floor, grabbing the doctor’s scrub pants, my voice breaking into a guttural beg. “Spencer took the kidney. He bypassed protocol. Please, can you call the other hospitals in Boston? I’m begging you, just find a donor! If there’s a kidney out there, I will pay whatever they want! I’ll sell my house, my car, I don’t care! I’ll buy it!” If my blood type hadn’t been incompatible in my past life, I would have sliced myself open right here on the floor and given my son my own organ. The doctor’s brow furrows deeply. “Ma’am, please get up. Buying organs is a federal crime. Let us handle the network.” He turns a lethal glare onto Brittany. Under the crushing weight of her colossal fuck-up, and with the Ethics Board breathing down her neck, Brittany scrambles to the triage phone and starts dialing furiously. But call after call yields the same devastating answer. Kidneys are rare. A pediatric match, available at a moment’s notice for an immediate transfer? Impossible. With every click of the receiver, the light in my eyes dims, until there is nothing left but pitch black. Despair, cold and absolute, swallows my sanity. From inside the OR, the monitors begin to shriek. One alarm, then another, a cacophony of failing vitals. The sound of nurses rushing becomes frantic. I remember my past life. I remember Spencer was a match. Gritting my teeth, I lunge at the desk, ripping the receiver from Brittany’s hand and punching in Spencer’s private cell number. The second it connects, I don’t give him a chance to speak. The words pour out of me in a frantic, humiliating rush. “I know Stella needs the kidney! I know you need that donor for her! I’m begging you, take it! Give her the kidney! But please, you’re a match for Noah! Come to the hospital and give him one of yours! He’s on the table right now, he’s coding, please, Spencer, you’re his father! Save him!” “If you save him, I swear to God I’ll take him and disappear! I won’t ask for a dime in the divorce. I will leave the house, the money, everything to you and Stella. You’ll never see us again! Just save my baby, he’s my whole life, I’ll do whatever you want…” My pride is gone. I am nothing but dust beneath his shoes, begging for scraps of mercy. But even backed against the edge of a cliff, he still thinks I’m playing a game. “Are you insane?” he snarls. “It’s childhood diabetes! Give him his insulin! What the hell do you mean, a transplant? Can you stop this unhinged performance?” “Every time Stella’s name comes up, you lose your mind! It’s been six years. If something was going to happen between us, it would have happened! First it was a car crash, now you’re suddenly screaming about kidney transplants? I’m not even at St. Jude’s today, why the hell are you harassing my staff?” “I am warning you, stop embarrassing me! Take Noah and go home right now! Or so help me God, I will cut off his medical coverage next month!” And then, his voice drops, softening into that sickeningly sweet register as he turns back to the woman he truly loves. “Don’t be scared, honey. The anesthesia will put you right to sleep. I’m going to go make you that shrimp congee you love. It’ll be waiting for you when you wake up. I’ll be right outside the door the whole time, okay? Good girl.” Tears spill hot over my cheeks. My heart physically spasms, a pain so sharp it steals my vision. Before I can scream his name, the red light above the OR doors switches off. The surgeon walks out. His shoulders are slumped. He looks at me, and slowly, devastatingly, shakes his head. The phone slips from my sweaty palm, clattering loudly against the floor tiles. At the desk, the Ethics investigator is already pulling the digital logs of Spencer’s unauthorized organ transfer. People are crowding around me. I can see their mouths moving, offering apologies, offering condolences, but the sound is entirely muted. It’s like I’m underwater. In an instant, the marrow is sucked from my bones. My legs give way, and the world goes dark. As I drift into unconsciousness, my mind pulls me back to the nightmare of my first life. In that life, I had called Spencer the moment the crash happened. He had just grabbed his coat to go see Stella. Hearing my terrified, blood-choked screams, he had turned his car around and raced to the scene. While Noah was in surgery receiving the kidney, Spencer had held me in his arms in the waiting room, stroking my hair. When the doctor announced Noah was out of the woods, we had exhaled together, a family surviving a storm. But when he finally went to Stella’s apartment later that night, he found her cold, stiff body. He handled her funeral arrangements in absolute silence. When he came back to me and Noah, he calmly told us she had passed. Looking at my guilt-stricken face, he shook his head, feigning acceptance. He said he didn’t blame me. He said it was just fate. He told me that Noah and I were the most important things in his life. That he just wanted to be a good husband and father now. Looking into those earnest, grief-heavy eyes, I was so afraid of hurting him further that I never mentioned Noah’s kidney disease was genetic—inherited directly from his side of the family. I assumed, as a brilliant doctor, he knew diabetes could trigger nephritis. I was so incredibly wrong. When Noah was discharged, Spencer suggested throwing a party to celebrate his survival. It was the first time he had ever taken initiative as a father. I thought his heart had finally returned to our home. I excitedly booked the venue, baked the cake myself. And that night, he struck me in the back of the head with a baseball bat. I woke up bound hand and foot in the cemetery. I watched his surgical blade slide through Noah’s ribcage. He dug out the organs. The kidney that was supposed to go to Stella was thrown onto the dirt, and he stomped on it, grinding it into a bloody pulp beneath his heel. There was no father left in his eyes. Only a madman, possessed by a grief so toxic it had rotted his soul. He looked like a demon crawling out of hell to collect a debt. “It was a chronic illness! He wasn’t going to die!” he screamed, the sound tearing through the silent graveyard. “Why did he have to steal the kidney that could have saved Stella? He’s young! He would have had a dozen other chances to find a donor!” “Do you know how long I waited to find that match for her? And now, because of you, because of this little bastard you birthed, it’s all ruined! She’s gone!” “Do you know how much pain she was in when she died? She called me forty times, and I missed every single one! Her last voicemail was her crying, telling me she didn’t blame me. She loved me so much, she couldn’t bear to be mad at me.” “But I blame myself! I hate myself for having a moment of weakness for you! I’ve known her my whole life. She was terrified of pain. And she had to die alone, hurting, in the dark…” He let out a horrifying, jagged laugh. He yanked the blade from my son’s mutilated body. And plunged it into my throat.

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