Category: English

My boyfriend of three years, Liam, always looked down on my job as an Uber driver. He said it was a dead-end gig. That night, he told me he was hanging out with some guys from work. He said they’d probably be out late and he’d just grab a Lyft home, telling me not to wait up or pick him up. Around 10:30 PM, the app pinged with a new ride request. I accepted it out of habit, pulled up to the pickup spot, and waited in the driver’s seat. In the rearview mirror, I saw a man and a woman get in. The guy was hammered, slumping heavily against the woman. She had her head down, her hand casually slipping under the waistband of his pants. He tilted his head back, seeking a kiss, a deep flush spreading across his cheeks. He didn’t recognize me. As he moved, the necklace around his neck slipped sideways against his collarbone. It was the necklace I had personally clasped around his neck for our three-year anniversary. He had told me it was the best gift he had ever received in his entire life. 1 I pulled out my phone and deliberately dialed his number. A ringtone went off in the backseat. His body went rigid for a second. He turned his head slightly to squint at the glowing screen of his phone, then immediately flipped it face-down onto the leather seat. He buried his face back into the woman’s chest, not even bothering to look up. The phone rang six times before it went to voicemail. I called again. It rang out again. The third time, he reached down and hit “Decline” with swift, practiced efficiency, as if he were hanging up on a telemarketer. I slid my phone back into my pocket. Both my hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white. The woman in the backseat looked up and barked at me: “Hey, Uber! What the fuck are you staring at? Keep your eyes on the road!” “Three miles took you twenty minutes. Are you intentionally taking the long way to milk the meter?” I didn’t say a word. Liam chuckled softly, patting her chest playfully. “Come on, Sarah. You know how these gig apps are. They just give rides to anyone. She drives like a fucking snail.” He paused, not lowering his voice a single decibel. “And she keeps staring at my abs in the mirror. It’s disgusting.” He said it with a smile. It was a tone I had heard for three years. It was the exact same flippant, dismissive tone he used when complaining about delivery drivers or sneering at waiters. Like he was talking about a stray dog blocking his path. Sarah, apparently a senior exec at his firm, snapped at me again: “The AC. Set it to 72. Do you not know how to work a dial? Your hands are shaking. Did you buy your license off the internet?” I adjusted the temperature to 72 degrees. I didn’t say a word. “I asked you a question. Are you deaf? Where is your customer service?” Liam chimed in from the backseat, his voice lazy and drawling: “What kind of class do you expect from an Uber driver? Don’t let her ruin your mood, Sarah.” “These bottom-feeders… they just don’t know any better. Let her drive. Don’t expect her to understand what decency is.” Bottom-feeders. The word slipped out of his mouth so casually, as flatly as if he were commenting on the weather. Sarah smiled, clearly satisfied. Her arm tightened around his waist, her thumb slowly tracing circles against the skin under his dress shirt. He didn’t pull away. He leaned deeper into her embrace. I kept my eyes locked on the road ahead. Without uttering a single syllable, I pulled the car smoothly up to the entrance of their luxury hotel. Sarah stepped out first. She reached into her designer bag, pulled out a few crumpled dollar bills and a handful of loose change, and tossed it casually through my open window, aiming right at my face. The paper bills hit my forehead and fluttered down. The coins slammed against the dashboard, bouncing loudly. One quarter rolled and wedged itself deep into the crevice of the passenger seat. “Take that and buy yourself a coffee. Maybe it’ll wake up those few brain cells you have left. Think about how pathetic you are.” She clapped her hands together, as if dusting off something filthy. “With your driving skills, you’re only fit to deliver DoorDash. Letting you drive actual people is an insult to the profession.” Liam slowly got out of the car. As he walked past my window, he stopped. He looked down and spat on me. The spit landed on the sleeve of my jacket, seeping into the fabric and leaving a dark, wet stain. Then, he linked his arm through Sarah’s. The two of them pushed through the heavy glass doors of the hotel and disappeared inside. I sat in the driver’s seat, completely motionless. I slowly bent down, picking up the crumpled bills from the floor mat, one by one. I dug my fingers into the seat crevice, prying out that single quarter, and clenched it tightly in my fist. I opened the dashcam app on my center console and replayed the interior footage from the very beginning. The video quality wasn’t cinematic, but it was more than enough. His face, her hands, that specific necklace catching the light—it was all crystal clear. I saved the video file directly to my phone. Then, I sent a text to my company’s legal department: [Run a full forensic audit on Sarah Jenkins’s accounts for the past two years. I want every single detail.] Three years. From the first time he told me my Uber job was a dead-end embarrassment, to tonight, calling me a “bottom-feeder” in my own rearview mirror. I had spent all this time waiting for him to say something different. To be someone different. I waited for nothing. The legal team replied the next day. Their tone was highly cautious. Sarah Jenkins had authorized a massive transfer of funds from the corporate petty cash and expense accounts. It was a substantial sum, signed off and wired directly into a private, external checking account. The name on the receiving account… I stared at the line of text three times to make sure I was reading it right. Liam Sterling. 2 I set my phone face-down on the counter and walked into the kitchen to pour a glass of water. The water was ice cold, but I didn’t feel it as it slid down my throat. I sat back down and pulled up my calendar. I cross-referenced every single “late-night team meeting,” every “staying at my buddy’s place,” and every “networking event” Liam had claimed to attend over the past three years. I opened Sarah’s corporate travel and expense logs and compared them line by line. Match. The second date, match. Third, fourth, fifth… almost every single date matched perfectly. The timestamps aligned within a fifteen-minute margin of error. It was choreographed. I pulled up the “selfies” he had sent me over the years. I had never bothered to scrutinize the backgrounds before. Zooming in on one photo taken in a hotel hallway, I saw a reflection in a decorative mirror behind him. A sliver of a silhouette, the collar of a blouse, the hem of a skirt. It was the exact outfit Sarah had posted on her Instagram that very same day. I saved every single screenshot and dumped them into a master folder on my desktop. My father had been calling me relentlessly for the past few days. Our luxury auto group was expanding into its third major metropolitan market. The West Coast division desperately needed an executive who could make the hard calls. He called me, skipping the pleasantries entirely: “How much longer are you going to play around driving Ubers?” “Do you have any idea how many critical decisions are bottlenecked right now waiting for you to come back?” I said, “Just give me a little more time.” He went silent for a moment. “Are you still hung up on that boy?” I didn’t answer. He sighed, his voice softening. “Your mother told you years ago that boy was shallow and short-sighted. We tried to stop you, but you insisted on slamming your head against a brick wall. Are you finally done?” I said, “Dad, as soon as I finish cleaning up the mess here, I’ll head back and take over the West Coast division. Send Chloe over to me first.” He was quiet for a while before finally saying, “Alright. I’ll have Chloe fly out to you tomorrow.” After hanging up, I got a text from Liam. He said he had to stay late at the office to finish a pitch deck. He asked if I had eaten, told me not to wait up, and said he’d be home very late. He ended the text with “Be a good girl and wait for me at home,” followed by a kissing emoji. I replied with a simple “Okay.” Then I grabbed my coat, walked out the door, and called an Uber. I gave the driver the address of Liam’s “office.” When I arrived, the corporate building was completely dark. The entire floor was deserted. I walked across the street, found a concrete planter to sit on, and waited. Ten minutes later. Sarah’s sleek Audi turned the corner and pulled to a stop on the side of the road. Liam approached from the opposite direction, walking quickly. He opened the passenger door and slid in. The windows rolled up. The car stayed parked. It didn’t drive away. I pulled out my phone, switched to video mode, and pointed the camera directly at the Audi. Ten minutes. Thirty minutes. A full hour. The car just sat there under the amber glow of the streetlight, the engine idling. The chassis was shaking. The movement wasn’t violent, but it was rhythmic and continuous. I saved the video, stood up, dusted off the back of my jeans, and called a ride home. He walked through the front door at 1:00 AM. As he entered, he sighed heavily and said, “Working late is brutal.” He tossed his briefcase onto the sofa, kicked off his shoes, and went straight to the shower. When he came out, his hair was still damp. He leaned against the headboard, scrolling through his phone, a look of profound, lazy satisfaction on his face. It wasn’t the exhaustion of a long workday. It was the heavy, satiated relaxation of someone who had just gotten exactly what they wanted. He looked up and noticed I was still awake. “Why are you still up? Don’t you have to drive tomorrow?” I said, “Couldn’t sleep.” He gave a noncommittal “Hmm” and didn’t ask anything else. He turned off his lamp and lay down. Three minutes later, his breathing was deep and even. Over the past three years, how many of those “late nights at the office” were actually spent sweating in the passenger seat of that Audi? I sent Chloe a text: [Fly in tomorrow. We need to talk.] Chloe arrived the next afternoon. She sat down across from me, her first words being: “Boss, have you finally snapped out of it?” I slid my phone across the table to her. The screenshots of the forensic accounting, the hour-long video of the shaking Audi, the dashcam footage from the Uber ride. I showed her every single file, one by one. She watched it all in silence. A long silence. Then, she slid the phone back to me. “How do you want to play this?” I said, “The annual corporate gala. We’ll end it there.” 3 A week before the gala, Liam suddenly became incredibly, suffocatingly attentive. Before I even woke up in the morning, a hot matcha latte and fresh pastries from my favorite bakery were waiting on the nightstand. When I got home from “driving,” the apartment was spotless. My clothes were neatly folded on the bed, and my house slippers were perfectly aligned, pointing toward the door. At night, he would actively pull me against his shoulder while we watched TV, his fingers lightly tracing circles on my waist. He would look down at me and smile randomly, looking exactly like the sweet, devoted guy I met three years ago. I knew exactly what he was doing. He needed to bring me to the corporate gala. He needed my cooperation. He needed me to look stable, compliant, and supportive, so I wouldn’t cause any drama. He needed me to continue playing the role of the oblivious, devoted girlfriend, just like I had for the past three years. I played along perfectly. I smiled as I took the water he offered, asking him, “Why are you being so sweet lately?” He wrapped his arms around my neck, pressed his cheek against mine, and whispered, “Because I love you, obviously.” The necklace hung from his neck, catching the light and sparkling brightly. Over the weekend, he dragged me to a high-end mall. In a designer boutique, he picked out a silk blouse for me. It cost over eight hundred dollars. While paying at the register, he casually mentioned to the sales associate: “She doesn’t really care about fashion. If I don’t force her, she’ll just wear the same old faded t-shirts everywhere.” The sales associate offered a polite, professional smile but didn’t respond. Her eyes flicked over my casual clothes for a split second. I understood that look. It was the look of someone wondering why a guy like him was wasting his money on someone like me. On the drive home, he kept his eyes on the road and delivered a steady stream of instructions: “At the gala, just keep a low profile. Don’t mention the Uber driving. If anyone asks, just say you’re ‘transitioning careers’.” “Don’t try to make conversation with anyone at Sarah’s table. They operate on a different level; you won’t be able to keep up.” “Don’t go around offering toasts, don’t wander off. Just sit quietly and look nice.” He delivered these instructions with a casual, natural authority. It wasn’t a discussion; it was a mandate. Like he was instructing a slightly slow-witted child on how to behave in public so they wouldn’t embarrass the family. Patient, but overwhelmingly condescending. I sat in the passenger seat and nodded. “Understood.” He patted my hand approvingly, a satisfied smile on his lips. Then, he looked down to reply to a text. He tilted the screen slightly away from me so I couldn’t see it. But in the reflection of the passenger window, I caught a glimpse of the contact name. Sarah, followed by a red heart emoji. The night before the gala, he told me he had to go to the venue early to coordinate logistics. I didn’t follow him this time. I had enough evidence; I didn’t need any more. I called Chloe and told her to double-check the master file we had prepared: The dashcam footage, the hour-long Audi video, the forensic accounting breakdowns, and the petty cash transfer agreement bearing Liam’s signature. I told her to compress it all into a single file and have the broadcasting equipment ready to go. Chloe asked, “Boss, are you absolutely sure you want to drop this at the gala?” I said, “I’m sure.” She was quiet for two seconds. “Alright. Consider it done.” Liam came home past midnight. As usual, he walked through the door complaining, “I’m exhausted.” He took a shower, slid into bed, and just before falling asleep, rolled over to look at me. His tone was purely instructional: “Make sure you wear that blazer I bought you tomorrow. No sneakers. Stay close to me.” “I’ve already given Sarah a heads-up about you. Just don’t say anything stupid.” I said, “Okay.” He turned off the lamp and lay back down. His breathing leveled out almost instantly. The morning of the gala, he woke up early, styled his hair meticulously with pomade, and put on a brand-new, tailored casual suit. He stood by the door, waiting for me. I walked over. He picked up a delicate brooch and pinned it carefully to the lapel of my blazer. His fingers adjusted it a few times, pressing it flat. He looked at it, then adjusted it again. “Perfect.” He patted my chest lightly, smiling. “Don’t embarrass me today, okay?” I looked down at him. I wanted to say, “I won’t.” But instead, I just nodded. Because today, I wasn’t going to be the one getting embarrassed. As we walked into the grand ballroom, Liam linked his arm through mine and walked quickly, almost as if he were afraid of being seen. A female coworker walked toward us. Her gaze swept over me from head to toe. She didn’t bother lowering her voice as she said to Liam: “Is this your girlfriend? The Uber driver?” She wrinkled her nose, not even trying to hide her disdain. “She reeks of cheap gas station coffee.” Before Liam could respond, a guy next to her laughed and chimed in: “Liam, seriously man, Sarah thinks so highly of you. Bringing an Uber driver to a corporate event? You’re dragging your own brand through the mud. And here I thought you were a smart guy.” A few people standing nearby snickered quietly. Liam kept pulling me forward. He didn’t defend me. He didn’t say a word. He just walked faster, his fingers digging painfully into my arm. He wasn’t holding me tight because he felt protective; he was holding me tight because he was terrified I was going to open my mouth and ruin his image. 4 After delivering her keynote speech, Sarah stepped off the stage and began mingling with the crowd. She spotted me instantly and stopped. Right in front of a circle of executives and colleagues, she spoke loudly and clearly: “Well, well. So this is Liam’s girlfriend? The Uber driver?” She looked me up and down slowly, shaking her head. Smiling, she turned to the VP of Sales standing next to her: “Look at this. I guess Liam really does have terrible taste, bringing an Uber driver to a black-tie event.” “He’s our top luxury auto salesman. Isn’t this just humiliating himself? And to think, I actually believed he had some ambition.” The VP offered a sycophantic, awkward laugh, nodding in agreement. Sarah turned back to me. She patted my shoulder. Her touch wasn’t friendly; it was heavy, condescending, pressing down on me. “Little girl, what kind of future do you think you have driving a cab?” “Life is short. Don’t drag Liam down with you. If he stays with you, he’s going to be eating dirt for the rest of his life.” I didn’t say a word. Liam kept his head down, staring at the floor. Not a single syllable escaped his lips. Liam’s younger sister, Emily, squeezed through the crowd holding a champagne flute. She yelled out loudly: “Sister-in-law! Oh, wait, I guess we don’t know if you’ll actually make it that far yet!” She looked around the room, making sure she had everyone’s attention, then raised her glass with a mocking smile. “Everyone, my brother is the top salesman in this entire company. Does anyone else think he’s absolutely blind for dating an Uber driver?” The crowd erupted in laughter. Someone murmured, “Yeah, he could definitely do better.” Others shook their heads or sipped their drinks, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle. Emily turned to look at me. Her fake smile vanished, replaced by blunt, naked contempt. “Look, lady, I’ll just be honest. Are you worthy of him? In what universe do you deserve my brother?” “What do you actually have? Do you have money? Do you have connections? All you have is a driver’s license.” “Uber drivers are the absolute bottom-feeders of society. The kind of trash that will never, ever climb out of the gutter. Do you seriously lack that much self-awareness?” Another wave of laughter rolled through the crowd. This time, Liam finally spoke up. He muttered, “Emily, that’s enough.” But his tone was as flat and unemotional as if he were commenting on a mild breeze. Then, he raised his glass, turned his back to me, and went to clink glasses with a coworker. He didn’t look at me once. I sat in my chair, my hands resting quietly on my knees. I didn’t touch my drink. I thought about the past three years. Every single time he told me, “Can you please show a little ambition?” I thought about the smirk on his face when he sat in the backseat of my car and said, “Bottom-feeders belong at the bottom.” I thought about Sarah throwing crumpled dollar bills in my face. I thought about that Audi parked under the streetlight for an hour, the engine idling. I thought about the forensic accounting screenshot. Payee: Liam Sterling. His mother, Mrs. Sterling, suddenly stood up from a nearby table. Her voice was shrill and grating, loud enough for the entire section to hear: “What can a filthy Uber driver possibly offer my son?! Can she buy him a mansion?! Can she buy him a Porsche?!” “Her entire monthly salary is less than the commission my son makes selling one car!” Her finger was practically jabbing me in the eye. The people around us were laughing openly, pointing and sneering. Right at that exact moment, Chloe slipped into the ballroom through a side door. She didn’t look at anyone. She walked smoothly and silently to the AV booth in the corner. She bent down and plugged the HDMI cable directly into the main projector interface. The massive LED screen behind the stage flared to life. The first image: The official corporate business license for the National Luxury Auto Group. Under the “Legal Representative / CEO” section, it read clearly: Evelyn Vance. The second image: The corporate organizational chart. Sarah’s name was listed under the “Regional General Manager” bracket. My name was sitting directly at the very top. Above hers. The entire ballroom went dead silent. [The color drained from Sarah’s face in less than a second.]

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I found out Arthur Sterling was keeping another woman on the side. I was much calmer than I ever imagined I would be. After tracking down her address, I headed straight for her house, fully intending to lay all my cards on the table. But when I actually stood in her living room, I froze. “This condo cost $1.65 million. Arthur paid for it in full, in cash. The deed is in my name.” The woman’s expression was perfectly serene, as if she had been expecting me for a long time. She walked into her bedroom and brought out a marriage certificate, placing it right in front of me. “We got married last month.” “So,” the woman looked at me, her eyes brimming with sheer contempt, “legally speaking, you’re the dirty little mistress who can’t see the light of day.” The marriage certificate stung my eyes. It reminded me that Arthur and I had been together for fifteen years. Fifteen years. I never got a marriage certificate, but I did end up with a label: Mistress. Chapter 1 “Chloe Davis.” The woman tapped her manicured acrylic nail against the section of the certificate that bore Arthur’s name, her tone mocking. “You have no right to be here, and you certainly have no authority to strike a pose in front of me. Understood?” She held the marriage certificate like a hard-won trophy. She stood there, looking like a flawless, expensive porcelain doll. I recognized the diamond bracelet on her wrist. It was the exact one Arthur and I had won at a charity auction last month. Arthur had told me he was going to give it to me as our fifteen-year anniversary gift. But the day before our anniversary… Arthur had come to me in a panic, telling me the bracelet had been stolen. His eyes were full of guilt—so much guilt that they were red-rimmed and teary as he spoke. “Honey, I promise I’ll give you something even better.” He gently rubbed the calluses on my palms, his tears falling out of sheer heartbreak. “I’ve made you suffer so much over the years building this life with me. Once the company’s IPO goes through, let’s get married, okay?” “Chloe,” Arthur had hugged me tightly. “I want to marry you. I want us to have a real family.” And I had actually believed him. I thought Arthur and I were finally reaching the finish line. I thought that after all the years of grinding from absolutely nothing to immense wealth, I had handed in a satisfactory answer sheet for my life, and we would just live peacefully from then on. But now. I stared at the crushed diamonds on her bracelet. They sparkled brilliantly, like tiny, invisible needles piercing straight into my heart, hurting so much I could barely stand. Yet, I fought to maintain my dignity. “And so?” I snatched the marriage certificate from her hand. I looked at the bride’s name: Mia Harper. I met her perfectly made-up face and her visibly stunned expression, and I smiled. “Are you trying to tell me that after fifteen years with Arthur, it’s time for me to step down so you can enjoy the high life?” “Mia,” I rubbed my thumb over her photo on the document and smirked. “What makes you think I would just hand over the empire I bled to build?” I watched Mia panic. She lunged at me to snatch the certificate back, but I sidestepped her. Losing her balance, she crashed into a display cabinet and let out a sharp scream. “Chloe Davis!” “Are you insane?!” I watched Mia finally rip off her elegant mask and scream at me. “Are you trying to ruin my relationship with Arthur?! Are you going to be a shameless homewrecker?!” “Chloe!” “Have you no shame?!” Before Mia could lunge at me for a physical fight… I calmly pulled out my phone, snapped a crystal-clear photo of the marriage certificate, and immediately texted it to Arthur. “Arthur.” “I heard you got married.” “Why wasn’t I invited to the reception?” “Chloe!” “Honey!” The call connected instantly. Arthur’s frantic voice echoed through the living room. “I can explain!” “It’s all a massive misunderstanding!” “Chloe!” I heard a commotion on Arthur’s end, followed by the sound of a car door slamming. “I’m coming over right now.” “Don’t do anything rash.” “Just wait until I get there, we’ll talk!” While Arthur was still rambling… Mia, consumed by rage, screamed into the phone like a lunatic. “Arthur Sterling! Whose husband are you?! Who the hell are you protecting?!” Mia’s hysterical screams bounced off the walls. I took another look around the condo. The decor was warm and luxurious—blush pink silk drapes, a cream-colored cloud sofa, an entire wall dedicated to designer blind-box figurines. There were even cute couple’s magnets on the smart fridge. The plush blue cartoon slippers by the shoe rack perfectly matched the pink ones on Mia’s feet. Even the pristine white walls were covered in framed photos of Mia, mixed with several shots of Arthur’s back. It was obvious. Whoever decorated this place poured their entire heart into it. A $1.65 million condo. Paid in cash. In Mia’s name. A $3 million diamond bracelet. That was supposed to be my anniversary gift. Plus the authentic silk robe she was wearing, the expensive custom manicure on her fingers, the artisanal tea set resting on the coffee table, the premium tea leaves… not a single thing in this room was cheap. Every single item reeked of elite wealth. Every single item. I looked down at my own bare nails, devoid of any polish or decoration. I looked at my palms, rough with calluses from years of hard labor. I looked at my outfit—my clothes and shoes combined cost less than a hundred dollars. Suddenly, I found it all incredibly hilarious. So hilarious that I actually laughed out loud. “Arthur.” I cut him off mid-sentence. “Since you’re already married,” I took one last glance at the certificate clutched in Mia’s hands, “then we have absolutely nothing left to talk about.” I didn’t wait for Arthur. I didn’t need to hear his explanations. All I knew was that the fifteen years of blood, sweat, and tears I had given him were reduced to a monumental joke. And Arthur was the one who made me the biggest clown in it. Sitting in my best friend’s law firm, I dropped the photo of the marriage certificate on her desk and relayed everything I had just witnessed. Then, I asked her one question. “In a situation like this.” “What are my odds?” My voice was terrifyingly calm, as if discussing the weather. “Arthur and I built the company from scratch. Our equity is split down the middle. All our assets are shared and transparent. But Mia is the wildcard.” I tapped my knuckles against the mahogany desk, thinking of the $3 million bracelet and the $1.65 million condo. “I refuse to let anyone off easy.” “Stepping on my flesh and blood to sit back and enjoy the spoils? There is no such thing as a free lunch in this world, and I refuse to accept that logic!” I looked my best friend, Riley, dead in the eye. “I want them to pay.” “But,” Riley sighed, fighting her own anger to maintain her professional stance, “your company is at a critical stage for the IPO. If a massive scandal breaks now—” “I don’t care.” “Then that’s all I need to hear!” Riley patted her chest confidently. “I will fight this for you until the bitter end.” Walking out of the bank, I sat in my car, staring at dozens of pages of bank statements. The amounts Arthur had transferred to Mia ranged from tens of thousands to hundreds of thousands of dollars. And next to every single transaction was a memo: [Voluntary Gift]. It felt like my chest was caving in. A suffocating grip seized my throat, and my eyes burned with hot tears. I remembered a time when I had envied other women for having beautiful manicures and dressing up. Wanting to feel like a normal girl, I had booked a salon appointment, gotten my nails done, and gone home, purposely flashing my pretty hands in front of Arthur, waiting for a compliment. Instead… Arthur had met my hopeful gaze with a chilling coldness. “Chloe.” “I know our lives are getting a little better now.” Arthur grabbed my hands, looking at my nails and shaking his head in disapproval. “But the scariest thing a person can do is forget their roots.” “We can’t just start throwing money away just because we have a little extra, right?” “What if times get tough again? How will you cope?” “Honey,” Arthur had pulled me into his arms. “I prefer you when you’re simple and unadorned.” My heart full of hope shattered into bubbles. Arthur’s words were like a bucket of ice water over my head. I froze, forgetting to even react, as I watched him ruthlessly pick off the rhinestones from my freshly done nails. “Flashy, useless things. What’s the point?” Yeah. Flashy, useless things. What’s the point? Yet, Mia was draped in those flashy, useless things, dressed up like a perfect porcelain doll from an entirely different universe. The cruelest irony was that every single cent used to dress Mia up was paid for by the blood and sweat I had shed over the years. Why should she get it? The tears fell despite my best efforts. I wiped them away aggressively, staring at Arthur’s relentless incoming calls, and finally swiped to answer. “Chloe?!” “You finally picked up!” “Thank God!” Arthur’s frantic voice blasted through the speaker. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Where are you? Whatever it is, let’s talk face-to-face, okay?!” “Chloe, we’ve been together for fifteen years! Not fifteen days! You can’t just hide from me—” “Arthur.” I forced down the lump of acid in my throat, keeping my voice level. “Let’s meet.” I gave him the location. “At the old Northside apartment. We’ll meet there.” There was a clear pause on his end. Silence for a few seconds. “Okay.” “Honey, I’m heading there right now.” Arthur sounded relieved, almost thrilled. “I’ll stop by and grab those soup dumplings you love so much and bring them over!” Before I could decline, Arthur hung up. I turned to meet Riley’s worried gaze. “I’m fine.” I forced a smile. “Don’t worry about me.” It had been almost five years since Arthur and I moved out of that old Northside apartment. Staring at the chipped, peeling paint on the front door, I remembered how we had poured our hearts into decorating this place after finally upgrading from a windowless basement. Arthur had said back then, “Honey, this is our very first real apartment. It means everything!” “When we get old, if you want, we can retire here!” “Let’s come back and stay here for a few days every year, okay?” Back then, my heart was so full of joy. I thought my life was perfectly complete. Now, only a few years later. Everything had turned to ash. I pushed the door open. Arthur jumped up from the sofa. “Honey!” Looking like a child seeking praise, he held up the bag of hot soup dumplings and offered them to me. “They’re still warm.” In the past, I used to say how much I loved these dumplings, and how I loved that Arthur would wake up before dawn to wait in line for them. Later on, whenever I mentioned the dumplings… Arthur only had dismissive excuses. “Chloe, time is money. Do you really think I have the luxury of standing in an hour-long line just to buy you breakfast?” Now, the dumplings were right in front of me again, but somehow, they completely lost their appeal. “Arthur.” I ignored his desperate fawning, walked past him, and sat on the old couch. The worn-out springs groaned under my weight—nothing compared to Mia’s cloud sofa. “Do you remember this couch?” I looked up at him. “You and I went to the flea market and hunted for two days to find it.” “Because we were too cheap to pay for delivery,” I recounted the memory like it was just a mundane Tuesday, “you borrowed a flatbed cart, and I held the armrest to keep it steady. In the middle of summer, in hundred-degree heat, we walked for two and a half hours to drag it home.” “Back then, you said even if we became billionaires, we would never replace this couch.” “Because it was the ultimate proof of our love.” Arthur’s eyes darted around, unable to meet my gaze. I casually picked up the TV remote from the coffee table. It was wrapped in a layer of duct tape. Arthur had drunkenly dropped it once and shattered the back; I couldn’t bear to spend money on a new one, so I taped it together. I rubbed my thumb over the duct tape. “But the truth is, people change, and everything fades, doesn’t it?” “No!” Arthur rushed forward, dropping to his knees. “That’s not how it is!” His eyes turned red. Just like always, whenever he was desperate, he would cry. “Mia was just an accident! I don’t love her! I swear to God!” Arthur knelt before me, reaching out to grab my hands, but I shifted sideways to dodge him. I watched the flash of hurt in his eyes as he continued. “There was a business dinner, I drank too much, and I have no idea how Mia ended up in my hotel room! When I woke up, I was terrified! I’m not lying to you!” His tears spilled over. “I was so scared you’d find out, that you’d break up with me, that you’d hate me! I didn’t know how to face you! So I—” “How long?” “What?” “How long,” my voice remained chillingly flat, “have you been with Mia?” Arthur suddenly fell dead silent. He stared into my eyes for a long time before choking out the words. “Three and a half years.” I remembered Arthur promising we would come back and stay here for a few days every year. But as time went on, Arthur was always “too busy.” Turns out, he wasn’t too busy. He was just spending all his free time on someone else. A sharp, stabbing pain twisted in my chest. Then, Arthur offered his ultimate defense. “I wanted to break up with her! But she clung to me, crying about how poor her family was, how her parents favored her brothers and abused her… I just felt sorry for her…” Arthur’s voice trailed off. He lacked the courage to say the final sentence out loud. “Mia… got pregnant.” It felt like a bomb detonated right next to my ear. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. Even though I had already deduced the truth before I got here, hearing it from his mouth still sent ice-cold chills down my spine. While I was eagerly waiting for our wedding… Arthur had already given someone else his name, turning me into the outsider. And now, I had to listen to Arthur say: “I thought… since you’re getting older, having a baby would take a toll on your body…” Getting older. Take a toll on my body. What an absolute joke. “So,” Arthur looked up at me, “I figured letting her have the baby was actually for your own good.” For my own good. My nails pierced my skin, but I couldn’t feel the pain. “As long as you forgive me! I’ll agree to anything you want!” “Really?” I forced down the volcanic rage boiling in my chest and locked eyes with him. “Really!” I suddenly smiled. I stood up from the creaky couch, walked over to the front door, and pulled it wide open. I stared at the person standing outside, my smile growing even wider. “So, did you catch all that?” “Who’s the mistress now?” I looked at Mia’s horrified face, then pulled out my phone, which was on an active video call with Riley. “Don’t bother editing this video. Send it directly to the media, word for word!” “I don’t care how much money you have to burn, I want this to be the biggest scandal of the year!” Before I could finish. Someone grabbed my wrist and yanked me backward. I met Arthur’s furious, panic-stricken eyes and laughed. “Arthur.” “You made your bed.” “Did you really think you could walk away clean?” “How do you like these consequences?”

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There was a whiteboard in our house. Written on it was my countdown. “Days until Lily’s estimated heart failure: 47.” Every morning, my mother would carefully erase yesterday’s number and write a new one. Like a grocery store counting down to a clearance sale. Precise, cold, and full of anticipation. My name is Lily Brooks. I am twelve years old. I have congenital heart disease. The doctors said without surgery, I wouldn’t live past six months. The surgery costs three million dollars. My father, Edward Brooks, is a real estate tycoon worth two billion dollars. But he said, “Three million. It’s not worth it.” Because there was another, perfectly healthy child in the house. My little brother, Noah. Eight years old, smart, beautiful, plays the piano, and knows exactly how to charm adults. He was the only one in this family considered “worth it.” … The first time I heard them discussing my death was on a Wednesday night. The study door wasn’t closed all the way. I was walking by, clutching my pill bottle, when I heard the conversation inside. My mother Victoria’s voice was calm, like she was discussing a stock investment. “The insurance company confirmed it. Lily’s policy is worth five million. In the event of her death, we are the sole beneficiaries.” Edward flipped through some documents. “Five million? The premium we paid back then was only eighty thousand. That’s a solid return on investment.” Victoria nodded. “And since it would be death by natural illness, there’s no waiting period for the investigation. They pay out directly. I’ve already had the lawyers confirm it.” “Then skip the surgery.” Edward put his pen down. “Three million for a surgery with only a sixty percent success rate. We might as well save the cash, wait for the insurance payout, and net five million.” “That five million will perfectly cover Noah’s European summer camp and that new penthouse in Manhattan.” Victoria hesitated for a moment. “But people will gossip.” “Saying what?” Edward sneered. “She has a congenital heart defect. The doctors already said it’s a difficult case. We are simply respecting medical reality.” “When the time comes, we tell the public we tried everything, but it was God’s will.” “We’ll throw a beautiful, high-profile funeral, invite the press. It’ll be great PR for the company.” The pill bottle slipped from my hand. It hit the floor with a loud clatter. The study instantly fell dead silent. I picked up the bottle and turned to walk away. Victoria’s voice called out from behind me: “Lily? Why are you out in the hall?” I didn’t turn around. “I was just getting my medication.” “Take your pills and go to bed early. We have your hospital checkup tomorrow.” “Okay.” I went back to my room and closed the door. I looked at the whiteboard on my nightstand. 47 days. It turned out this wasn’t my countdown. It was their “payout date.” That night, I made a decision. Since they were waiting for me to die. I would give them the show of a lifetime. But not the kind of death they were hoping for. Chapter 2 The next day, I didn’t go to the hospital for my checkup. I went to the insurance company. The receptionist was taken aback when she saw a twelve-year-old girl walk in alone. “Sweetie, who are you looking for?” “Miss, I want to check on my insurance policy. My name is Lily Brooks. The policyholder is Victoria Brooks.” The receptionist hesitated but looked it up for me anyway. “Your policy… the death benefit is five million dollars. The beneficiaries are your parents, Edward and Victoria Brooks.” “Miss, can the beneficiaries be changed?” “Yes, but it requires the policyholder’s consent. That would be your mother.” I nodded. “And if the policyholder doesn’t agree?” “Then it can’t be changed.” I thought for a moment. “What if I buy my own insurance policy? Can I name someone else as the beneficiary?” The receptionist looked stunned. “Sweetie… you’re only twelve. You can’t buy life insurance yourself. And… why are you asking these things?” I offered a small smile. “Nothing. I just wanted to know if, when I die, the money could go to someone other than my parents.” The receptionist’s face fell. She knelt down, looking me in the eye. “Sweetie, is something going on at home?” “No. Thank you, miss.” I turned and walked out of the insurance company. Standing on the street, the sun felt wonderful. But I knew I probably wouldn’t see many more sunny days like this. Not because of my heart. But because I had decided that before they could touch that five million, I was going to make sure they got nothing. I would make sure they didn’t see a single dime. When I got home, my brother Noah was in the living room practicing the piano. Seeing me walk in, he didn’t even look up. “Lily, Mom said you skipped your checkup. She’s really mad.” “Oh.” “She said if you don’t behave, she’s going to cut your medication.” I stopped in my tracks. “What does that mean?” Noah played a chord, speaking casually: “Exactly what it sounds like. Your pills are really expensive, right? Like twenty thousand a month. Mom said if you don’t cooperate, she’ll just stop buying them. Anyway—” He paused, seemingly realizing his next words were a bit harsh. “Anyway what?” I asked. “Anyway, you can’t be cured.” When my eight-year-old brother said those words, his tone was exactly like our father’s. Light, dismissive, treating it as a matter of fact. I looked at him. This boy who had been pampered since the day he was born. He wasn’t inherently evil. He just genuinely believed my life had no value. Because from the moment he entered this world, everyone in this house had taught him one thing: His sister was a burden, a financial drain, a defective product that could break down at any moment. “Noah.” “Yeah?” “You play beautifully.” Noah finally looked up, glancing at me in surprise. “…Thanks.” I went upstairs to my room. I opened the old iPad my dad had given me—the only electronic device in the house that belonged to me, and only because it was an outdated model Noah didn’t want anymore. Chapter 3 I started searching: “Can a minor write a will?” “How to stop parents from collecting a life insurance payout?” “Slayer rule in life insurance.” The search results gave me one crucial piece of information: If a beneficiary intentionally causes the death of the insured, the insurance company will deny the claim. I stared at that sentence for a long time. Then, I started keeping a diary. But not an ordinary diary. It was an evidence log. Using that old iPad, I began recording audio and video. Every time they discussed my insurance. Every time they reduced my medication. Every time they updated the countdown on the whiteboard. I recorded it all. Three days later. The number on the whiteboard changed to 44. And just as promised, Victoria cut my medication. I used to take three pills a day. Now, she only gave me two. “Mom, I’m missing a pill.” Victoria was peeling an apple for Noah, not bothering to look up. “The doctor said you can reduce your dosage at this stage.” “The doctor never said that.” Victoria’s knife paused. “I am your mother. If I say we reduce it, we reduce it.” I didn’t say anything else. I went back to my room and turned on my voice recorder. I saved the conversation I had just captured. File name: “Evidence_004_Med_Reduction”. That evening, Edward came home. He brought a stranger with him. A man in a sharp suit, carrying a briefcase, wearing a professional smile. “Lily, this is Mr. Sterling. He’s a claims advisor for the insurance company.” Edward’s tone was exceptionally gentle. Whenever he was gentle with me, it meant he needed my cooperation. “Mr. Sterling needs to do a quick health assessment for you. Be a good girl and cooperate, okay?” Mr. Sterling knelt down and smiled. “Hey there. I’m just going to ask you a few quick questions, alright?” “How are you feeling these days? Any discomfort?” I glanced at Edward. His eyes carried a distinct warning. I smiled back at the advisor. “I feel pretty good. Just a little chest tightness sometimes.” “Are you taking your medication? Right on schedule?” “Yes, on schedule. Three pills every day. I haven’t missed a single one.” The corners of Edward’s mouth twitched upward. Victoria visibly exhaled a sigh of relief. Mr. Sterling finished his notes and shook Edward’s hand. “Don’t worry, Mr. Brooks. I’ll have the paperwork sorted immediately. If… God forbid… something unfortunate were to happen, I’ll make sure the payout is expedited.” “Thank you, Mr. Sterling.” After seeing the advisor out, Edward patted me on the head. “You did great today. As a reward, you can watch an extra thirty minutes of TV tonight.” Thirty extra minutes of TV. That was my compensation for cooperating in the “rehearsal of my death.” Chapter 4 I went back to my room and exported the files from my recorder. File name: “Evidence_007_Insurance_Pre_Claim”. I backed up all the files in three places. One copy on the iPad. One copy on a USB flash drive hidden under my mattress. The third copy… I needed to give to someone I could trust. But I didn’t have anyone I could trust. Classmates? They only knew me as the rich, sick girl. None of them were close friends. Teachers? Once, a teacher asked about a bruise on my arm. Victoria made one phone call, and the teacher never brought it up again. Relatives? They all worked for Edward’s company. No one dared to cross him. I thought about it all night. The next morning, I saw a man by the gates of our gated community. A homeless man. He sat on the bench across the street every day, holding a dirty, scruffy cat. Security chased him away constantly, but he always came back. I walked over to him. “Sir, what’s your name?” He looked up, his cloudy eyes focusing on me. “…Henry.” “Henry, do you have a phone?” “No.” “Do you know how to read?” “…I used to be a teacher.” I was stunned. A homeless man who used to be a teacher? “Henry, can I come talk to you every day?” He didn’t speak, just gave a slow, gentle nod. From that day on, I visited Henry after school every day. I brought him a bottle of water and a sandwich. Food I had secretly saved from my own meals. Henry used to be a high school English teacher. After his wife died of cancer, medical debt bankrupted him, and he ended up on the streets. We gradually became friends. One day, I pulled the USB drive from my backpack. “Henry, if I die one day, can you take this to the police for me?” Henry’s hands began to shake. “What… what are you talking about?” “My parents bought a five-million-dollar life insurance policy on me. If I die, they get the money. So they aren’t treating my illness, and they are lowering my medication.” “This flash drive has all the evidence. As long as the police prove they intentionally denied me care, the insurance company won’t pay out.” “They’re waiting for me to die. But instead of five million dollars, they’re going to get a prison cell.” Tears streamed down Henry’s dirty, weathered face. “I can’t let you die. You’re only twelve years old!” I crouched beside him, gently patting his back. I was the one who was dying. Yet here I was, comforting a stranger who was crying for me. Chapter 5 The number on the whiteboard changed to 31. My body was failing faster now. Before, it was just occasional chest tightness. Now, I was gasping for air after walking just a few steps. Victoria looked at my pale face, but there was no heartbreak in her eyes. Only calculation. “One month left,” she whispered to Edward in the kitchen. “The insurance company is prepped. When the time comes, we just say her condition rapidly deteriorated and she passed naturally.” “What about the pills?” Edward asked. “I’ve cut it down to one a day. In a few days, I’ll stop them completely.” “Good. Make sure nobody outside the house notices.” I stood outside the kitchen door, the voice recorder silently spinning in my pocket. File name: “Evidence_015_Stopping_Meds”. That afternoon, I collapsed at school. When I woke up, I was in the hospital. My attending physician was Dr. Emily Carter, a woman in her forties. She looked at my chart, her face grim. “Your medication levels are entirely wrong. Based on your condition, you should be taking Amiodarone three times a day. Why are you only taking one?” I didn’t say anything. Dr. Carter stayed silent for a moment, then sat on the edge of my bed. “Lily, tell me the truth. Is something going on at home?” I looked at her. Her gaze was earnest, not just going through the motions. “Dr. Carter, if I tell you something, can you keep it a secret?” “What is it?” “My parents want me to die.” Dr. Carter’s pupils dilated in shock. “They bought a five-million-dollar life insurance policy on me. They are the beneficiaries. They’re cutting my meds, waiting for my heart to fail so I die naturally, and then they’ll collect the money.” “I have proof. Audio recordings, videos, diaries. I have everything.” Dr. Carter’s hands began to tremble. She had practiced medicine for twenty years. She had seen countless life and death scenarios. But she had never seen a twelve-year-old child describe her own parents plotting her murder with such chilling calmness. “Why… why haven’t you called the police?” “My dad is Edward Brooks.” Dr. Carter froze. Edward Brooks. The biggest real estate developer in the city. The brand-new inpatient tower we were currently in was funded by his donations. His name was literally on the building—The Brooks Pavilion. “Lily, I’m going to keep you admitted for a few days. I’ll use observation as the medical justification.” “In these few days, I’m going to contact someone for you.” “Who?” I asked. “A friend from college. He’s a District Attorney at the state level. Your father’s hands are long, but they can’t reach the state.” Chapter 6 I looked at Dr. Carter. This was the second person willing to help me. The first was Henry, the homeless man. The second was this doctor. Both were complete strangers with no blood relation to me. “Dr. Carter.” “Yes?” “Thank you. But… if my dad finds out, will he do something to you?” Dr. Carter offered a small, fierce smile. “On my first day as a doctor, I took an oath to save lives and do no harm.” “Your father donated a building. That’s very impressive. But a building can’t buy my conscience.” Victoria came to the hospital to pick me up. She wore her picture-perfect “doting mother” expression. “Lily, Mommy’s here to take you home.” Dr. Carter blocked her path. “Mrs. Brooks, the child’s condition is highly unstable. I strongly recommend keeping her for further observation.” Victoria’s smile stiffened for a fraction of a second. “Dr. Carter, we can take perfectly good care of her at home.” “Then why are the child’s medication levels incorrect?” Dr. Carter stared directly into her eyes. “Given her condition, she should be taking three doses a day. But the drug concentration in her blood is only one-third of the normal level. Unless, of course, someone deliberately reduced her medication.” Victoria’s face drained of color. “What… what are you implying?” “I’m not implying anything. I am stating medical facts.” Dr. Carter closed the chart. “The child cannot be discharged right now. If you insist on taking her, you must sign an ‘Against Medical Advice Discharge Declaration.’ This document will be kept on record. If anything happens to this child, the hospital will submit it directly to the authorities.” Victoria stood there, her lips trembling. She knew that signing that declaration would leave a massive paper trail. “…Then she can stay for now.” She turned to leave. As she passed my bed, she leaned in and whispered: “Lily, don’t think for a second you can pull a fast one on us.” I didn’t look up. But beneath the blankets, I pressed the save button on my voice recorder. File name: “Evidence_019_Hospital_Confrontation”. It was enough. Without any hesitation, I zipped all the evidence files and hit send. I watched the progress bar complete. Mom, Dad, this is my final gift to you. I hope you’re ready to catch it.

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I touched my empty stomach, trembling uncontrollably, surrounded by the mocking laughter of his friends. “Commander Harrison Brooks, just because Audrey Sinclair said one word, you really aborted the child you had with Evelyn?!” “Haha, look at the princess, all the color drained from her face! What, are you gonna hit someone?!” Harrison merely pulled Audrey into his arms, his tone impossibly gentle. “I told you I would never have a child with her. Do you believe me now?” The ice on Audrey’s face finally melted into a sweet smile. I tried to step forward to demand an answer, but I was violently held back by my three older brothers. My eldest brother, State Senator Bennett Vance, frowned in disgust. “Audrey finally smiled. Stop acting like the grim reaper and ruining the mood.” My second brother, Oliver, Director of the National Research Institute, spat at my feet. “She suffered so much in the brutal foster system before we found her. Just give Harrison up to her! I’ll find you another guy!” My third brother, Miles, Director of the National Arts Company, practically poked his finger into my eye. “They are the ones truly in love! Were you really going to bring a child into a loveless household?! Stop committing a sin!” They dragged me back to the family estate and locked me inside, forbidding me from ruining the happiness of their precious golden girl. It was then that the System, which had been silent for years, finally spoke. “Host, detecting that the strategy mission has been completed! Would you like to return to your original world immediately?” I hung a rope over the exposed ceiling beam. My eyes were completely out of focus, but my heart was screaming with wild ecstasy. I finally didn’t have to act anymore! …… Before I was fully dead, the bedroom door was kicked open. Oliver rushed in, and his security details frantically cut me down. Oliver was absolutely furious. “When did you learn to throw these pathetic tantrums?! Crying, screaming, hanging yourself?! Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re causing this family?!” But all my attention was focused on the System’s voice in my head. “Detecting that the Vance brothers and the male lead’s affection levels reached 90%. The mission to conceive a child with the male lead, Harrison Brooks, is complete!” “Once the host’s physical body dies, you may return to your original world, receive your cash reward, and cure your cancer!” I suppressed the overwhelming joy bubbling in my chest. I could finally go home! I looked up and met Oliver’s eyes. A guard leaned in and whispered something into his ear. The fiery rage in Oliver’s eyes instantly vanished, replaced by a soft, gentle warmth like a spring breeze. Unsurprisingly. He only ever looked like that when it came to Audrey. Catching my gaze, he immediately stiffened and cleared his throat. “What? Did you think you could use death to scare Harrison?! How could you be so malicious?!” “Do you have any idea how much Audrey suffered bouncing around the foster system?! She finally found us. What’s so wrong with letting her be a little happy?!” I clenched my fists tightly, letting out a self-deprecating laugh. If “suffering” meant having three powerful men orbiting you, ready to pluck the stars from the sky if you asked for them… Then I would gladly suffer too. Perhaps seeing how ghastly pale I looked, Oliver softened his tone slightly. “Just go apologize to Harrison. Stop being so stubborn.” He reached out to pull me up, but I lightly dodged his hand. I sneered. “Why should I apologize? What exactly did I do wrong?” Oliver froze. Then, his brows knitted together in renewed anger. “Evelyn Vance! Are you really trying to push your luck?! Do you want to be sent away to a disciplinary facility?!” I closed my eyes. Even if I only did this for a mission, after so many years, I had developed real feelings for them. I had genuinely cried over their coldness before. But now, it was all over. “Once Audrey finishes her performance for the President and gets promoted to Principal Dancer, you will go and apologize to her.” I no longer held a single shred of hope for him. I simply communicated with the System in my mind. “As long as this body dies, I can go back, right?” “Yes.” I let out a slow sigh of relief. I scanned the room, looking for the fastest way to kill myself. Oliver immediately realized what I was doing and roared. “Evelyn, what twisted scheme are you plotting now?! Can’t you understand a word I say?!” I ignored him. Locking my eyes on the heavy mahogany dresser, I steeled my heart, closed my eyes, and sprinted headfirst toward the sharp corner. The wind rushed past my ears. I felt a fleeting sense of lightness. But the next second, a strong arm clamped around my waist. I was hoisted into the air by a pair of large hands. I let out a yelp before I was violently slammed onto the hardwood floor. The security guards immediately surrounded me. Furious, Oliver pushed through them and delivered a vicious kick to my side. “You’re crazy! You’re completely insane! I say one sentence to you, and you try to kill yourself?! We spoiled you too much!” I let out a muffled groan, feeling nothing but annoyance that I hadn’t died. I ignored him completely. Seeing my apathy, Oliver grew even more enraged. “Doing this just to get our attention again, right?! Put away your pathetic little tricks!” Turning a deaf ear to his screaming, I staggered to my feet and dusted off my clothes. The guards boxed me in tightly, terrified I would cause more trouble. A heavy, bizarre silence filled the room. I don’t know how long passed. But the moment I caught them looking away, I seized the opening and threw myself out the second-story window. “I jumped on my own! Don’t take your anger out on anyone else!” I shouted the words as I plummeted. “Evelyn!” Oliver screamed in absolute despair. He and the guards were a second too late. I was filled with hope, welcoming death with open arms. Even though returning to my world meant facing the agony of cancer again, I didn’t want to spend another second in this hell. But unexpectedly, I was met with a violent, piercing pain. I thought I was dead, but the agony radiating through my torso told me otherwise. I opened my eyes. I was impaled and caught in the thick branches of an oak tree just outside the window. The commotion drew the attention of all our wealthy neighbors in the gated community. They quickly gathered around. “Isn’t that the Vance family’s daughter? Why is a girl that young trying to end her life?” “Oh, please. Everyone knows how horribly the Vance family treats her in her own home… Sigh, it’s a sin!” I was stuck in the branches, unable to move. I dropped my head in defeat. “You’re insane! Evelyn, have you completely lost your mind?!” Oliver’s eyes were bloodshot. He shoved through the crowd, stumbling and falling to his knees beneath the tree. Soon, the estate’s security brought a cherry picker and carefully brought me down. Oliver immediately started checking my body. “Does it hurt anywhere?! Talk to me!” My gaze inadvertently fell on Oliver. A man who was usually obsessed with his immaculate appearance was missing a shoe, limping heavily. His right ankle was swollen to the size of a baseball. He must have twisted it rushing out of the house in a panic. If this were the past, my heart would have ached terribly. I would have demanded he go to the hospital immediately. But now, I just apathetically looked away. “What? Do I need your official permission to die, too?” Oliver froze, his face stricken with disbelief. I scoffed, walked around him, and politely thanked the security guards. “I’m sorry for causing you all so much trouble.” I also bowed to the gossiping neighbors. “Please don’t tell anyone about this. If word gets out, my eldest brother will curse me out again.” Oliver dug his fingernails into his palms. The corners of his eyes turned bright red. I frowned slightly, confused by his reaction. “Don’t worry,” I assured the neighbors. “Everyone in the compound knows each other. You won’t spread it. If you need me to, I’ll apologize door-to-door so you don’t have to bother Bennett or Oliver…” “Evelyn!” He cut me off, unable to bear it anymore. And then, to my utter shock, a flash of genuine grievance appeared on his face. “You are the only daughter of the Vance family! You’re the youngest! We three brothers want nothing more than to lift you up! Why are you speaking to us like we’re strangers?!” I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing. “Do you even believe the words coming out of your own mouth?” He trembled, as if he had just been slapped awake. Because the one living with the Vance family, the one treated like their daughter now, was Audrey Sinclair! As for me? I had been banished to a dusty storage room at the Arts Company. I was originally supposed to live in the dorms, but because Audrey hated the sight of me, my third brother Miles expelled me from the company entirely. As an act of “charity,” he let me sleep in the storage closet. I looked at Oliver with completely dead eyes, but a deep sense of sorrow bled through. Outside of the arts company, I used to love studying biology in my spare time. Oliver was a leading expert in the field. Seeing my talent and passion, he used to love mentoring me. We would discuss scientific problems until the sun came up. But now? Now he only looked at me with cold disgust, ordering me to yield to Audrey in every single aspect of my life. Oliver lowered his head in resignation, his voice as quiet as a mosquito. “Once Audrey finishes her performance and gets promoted to Principal Dancer, you can move back home… Audrey turned your bedroom into a dance studio. This is a critical time for her career. You’ve always been so understanding. You get it, right?” “Everything that happened before… it was all just a misunderstanding…” I couldn’t be bothered to respond. I just sneered and walked away. Before I transmigrated, I was an orphan. I lived meal to meal, starving half the time. To make matters worse, after coughing up blood on the street, a kind stranger took me to the hospital, where I was diagnosed with terminal cancer. I lay in that hospital bed, slipping into a coma from the agonizing pain. When I opened my eyes again, the System had brought me to this world, placing me in the body of a nine-year-old child. That was the first time I heard the System’s voice. “Reach an 80% affection level with the three Vance brothers and the male lead, Harrison Brooks, and conceive a child with Harrison. Once complete, you may return to your modern world and your cancer will be cured!” Then, it vanished. I thought the pain had given me hallucinations. But looking down, I was indeed in the unformed body of a nine-year-old. I adjusted quickly. I had no ties in my old world, and having a healthy body here was a blessing. Now, Oliver and I sat in the grand living room of the estate. To ease the tension, he started recounting funny stories from before Audrey came to our house. I hadn’t felt that kind of warmth in almost ten years. There was a time when Oliver’s smile almost made me want to abandon the mission and stay here forever. But after I brought Audrey—a fellow orphan from my school—home out of pity, she stole all of Oliver’s favoritism. I went from angry, to acting out, to absolutely hysterical. And all it earned me was his cold reprimand: “Stop throwing a tantrum. Look at how pathetic you’re acting.” Seeing that I wasn’t responding to his stories, Oliver’s voice took on a pitiful, pleading tone. “Evelyn, I hurt my foot trying to save you. Can you please get the first-aid kit and help me…” I cut him off, my face blank. “Your security detail is standing right there. If it’s serious, call a doctor. Why are you telling me?” Suddenly, heavy, powerful footsteps echoed from the porch. I knew immediately it was Harrison. And the steady, authoritative footsteps beside him belonged to my eldest brother, Bennett. Bennett’s voice was dark and threatening. “Audrey has been so worried about you she hasn’t eaten or slept. She’s lost weight! You better treat her with respect, or don’t blame me for what happens next!” Audrey quickly stepped between everyone, playing the perfect peacemaker. “Bennett, Harrison, I’m really fine! It was all a misunderstanding. As long as we talk it out, everything is okay.” I sat on the sofa, admiring their sickeningly sweet display of sibling devotion. I rubbed my face, only to realize my cheeks were wet and freezing. I hadn’t cried in a very long time. Oliver limped over to me. He was just about to speak when the front doors swung open. Seeing Oliver’s condition, Audrey immediately rushed over. “Oliver! How did you get hurt so badly? You…” She didn’t get to finish her sentence before my fist connected squarely with her jaw, knocking her to the floor. Audrey panicked, collapsing onto the rug, looking up at me in utter shock. Almost simultaneously, a massive, bruising force clamped down on my shoulders. The pain forced me to my knees. Bennett nodded approvingly at his guards. He shot up from his chair, pointing at me furiously. “Evelyn Vance! We have spoiled you beyond repair! Apologize to Audrey!” I kneeled pathetically on the floor, spitting out a mouthful of blood. “I apologize? What exactly did I do wrong? My husband cheated on me, and I’m not allowed to hit his mistress?!” Bennett grew even more enraged, his voice turning shrill. “What kind of delusional nonsense are you spouting?! Audrey and Harrison are a couple! Have you forgotten?! You and Harrison never signed the marriage papers! You aren’t husband and wife!” “How could I have such a shameless, classless sister?! You’ve humiliated the Vance family!” I looked at him like he had just told the funniest joke in the world. “Shameless? Have you forgotten that Harrison was the one who coaxed me, saying we would sign the papers after I got pregnant?! He treated my love like garbage, and I’m the shameless one?!” Harrison stared at me with eyes like ice. “Thank God I didn’t marry you. Thank God I had the foresight. The Brooks family would never accept a wife like you!” Miles, who had just walked in, stormed over and slapped me hard across the face. “Evelyn! Apologize!” I didn’t speak. I just slowly, coldly swept my gaze over all of them. Bennett’s eyes were indifferent. Miles’s face was full of disgust. Harrison looked like he wanted me dead. Oliver frowned, his lips moving slightly, but in the end, he didn’t say a single word. Just like three years ago. Audrey had snuck into Oliver’s lab and destroyed years of his life’s work by messing with the equipment. The government demanded Oliver give them an explanation. Oliver begged me to take the fall, and pleaded with Bennett to cover it up. But Audrey intentionally leaked the scandal to the public. I was publicly disgraced and could no longer stay at the Arts Company. So Miles fired me. And my bedroom was converted into a dance studio, simply because Audrey wanted to “soak up the aura” of the former Principal Dancer. “You have security guards following you everywhere! Audrey is all alone! She lives in the house so she can communicate easily with Miles! Can’t you be a little more mature?!” I had screamed at them hysterically back then. And the way they looked at me then was exactly how they were looking at me now. Today, I couldn’t be bothered to defend myself. I grabbed the fruit knife resting on the coffee table. Oliver’s eyes widened in terror. He tried to lunge forward, but Audrey tightly locked her arms around his waist. “Evelyn, what are you doing?!” I looked at Audrey with a mocking smile. “Didn’t you want an apology?” I ignored the panic-stricken men around me. In one swift motion, I dragged the blade across my own throat. Screams erupted in the room. I was crying and laughing at the same time. “I’m paying her back with my life! Is that enough?! Are you happy now?!” Warm, thick blood violently sprayed from my neck. The dizzying wave of blood loss made my legs give out. Amidst the chaotic, indistinguishable roars, my vision went dark. The last thing I saw was the absolute, unadulterated horror on the men’s faces. Oliver broke free and caught me against his chest. “Call an ambulance!”

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Right before the wedding ceremony was supposed to start, my mom found me, her face dark with anger. “Chloe, did you arrange the catering for the reception?” I nodded, confused. I had personally handled all the catering details. We even went to several different hotels for tastings before settling on this one. My mom froze for a second, then glared at me. “Are you out of your mind?! I gave you thirty thousand dollars, and this is the garbage you serve at your wedding?!” “Your husband’s family gets top-shelf whiskey, premium steak, and lobster!” “And you serve our relatives cheap beer and generic chicken?!” “Do you have any idea how humiliating this is going to be for your father in front of our entire extended family?!” I was completely stunned. We paid for the exact same premium catering package for every single table. How could there be such a massive discrepancy? Just as I was about to storm out of the bridal suite to find the hotel manager, my husband, Liam, grabbed my arm. “The ceremony is about to start. If you go now, you’ll delay the schedule and ruin the timing.” Then, he muttered under his breath: “Besides, I’m the one who told them to change it. Why would you go yell at the hotel?” 1 Even though Liam muttered it under his breath, I heard him perfectly clearly. My brain stalled for a second before the realization hit me like a ton of bricks. The two-tiered catering—the blatant disrespect toward my family—was Liam’s doing! I forced down the raging fire in my chest and tried to keep my voice level. “Why? I paid the hotel in full for the premium package. Why did you change it?” “You downgraded the food and drinks for my side of the family. How are my relatives supposed to look at my parents now?” “Did you even consider for a second that after this wedding, my parents won’t be able to show their faces in front of our family and friends?” Despite my best efforts to stay calm, my voice unconsciously rose into a shout. Liam looked away, too guilty to meet my eyes. My mom’s face was livid. She was breathing heavily, on the absolute verge of an explosion. But maintaining the elegant, composed image she had cultivated for years, she held it in and said to me in a low, tight voice: “The ceremony starts in thirty minutes. I am giving you exactly ten minutes to find a reasonable solution to this mess.” After she finished, my mom shot Liam an icy, lethal glare, turned on her heel, and walked out. The bridal suite fell dead silent. The only sound was our breathing. “Honey, please, just listen to me explain…” After a long, uncomfortable silence, Liam took a deep breath and reached out to take my hand. I took a step back, pulled up a chair, sat down, and stared at him silently. Liam awkwardly withdrew his hand and scratched his head, pretending it wasn’t a big deal. “Look, honey. The premium catering package is eight hundred dollars a table. We booked twenty-eight tables, plus three reserves.” “If we used the premium package for everyone, the money your mom gave you wouldn’t be enough.” “Plus, your family alone takes up twenty-one tables! If we kept the premium package, we’d end up having to pay the difference out of our own pockets!” Liam counted on his fingers, eagerly breaking down the math for me. “But changing the package changes everything!” A look of calculated greed flashed in his eyes—a look I had never seen before. My heart grew colder by the second. This hidden side of Liam was completely rewriting my understanding of the man I was about to marry. “I talked to the hotel manager and downgraded the catering for your family’s tables to the basic hundred-and-fifty-dollar package.” “By doing that, we’ll actually have money left over from your mom’s budget after the wedding! We can use that extra cash to take my parents on a nice vacation with us!” When Liam mentioned the vacation, his eyes lit up with excitement. It was as if he was already sitting on a beach with his parents. I, on the other hand, was completely dumbfounded. I never, in my wildest dreams, imagined he would go behind my back like this. Sneaking off to the hotel manager to downgrade the food, without even bothering to consult the person who was actually paying the bill. I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear my own wedding to the ground! 2 But then I thought about our three-year relationship, and all the relatives waiting outside. I was trapped. This was the man I had fought my parents so hard for, blinding myself to all his red flags. We were already at the venue. The guests were seated. Backing out now would be a catastrophic, humiliating scandal. I took a deep, shaky breath, trying my absolute hardest not to lose my mind. “Go find the manager right now and change the catering back to the premium package.” “My parents paid for this reception. You know exactly what was agreed upon.” “More importantly, today isn’t just about my extended family. My dad’s business partners and clients are out there.” “Did you even think about the consequences of insulting them like this?” The excited, daydreaming look on Liam’s face instantly vanished, replaced by a sullen scowl. “I can’t change it back… I told the manager to downgrade the order the very next day after you finalized the menu.” “The kitchen definitely prepped all the food in advance!” “Besides, they’re just here to celebrate our marriage. Who actually cares if the food is a little cheap?” It felt like a ball of fire was lodged in my throat. I was literally shaking with rage. “Then go out there and tell your relatives they’re sitting at the wrong tables! Tell them to switch!” “Let my dad’s business partners sit at the tables with the top-shelf liquor and steak! All the relatives get the basic package!” The moment I suggested moving his family, Liam stiffened defensively. He stuck his neck out and argued back: “We can’t do that! How humiliating would it be to serve my family cheap food?!” I let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. Oh, so now he understands it’s humiliating. But he was perfectly fine serving that exact same garbage to my family? “Besides, they’re already seated! If I make them move now, how am I supposed to look them in the eye?!” “Are you trying to ruin me?!” I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I slammed my hand down hard on the vanity table. CRASH! Everything on the table swept onto the floor. I stood up and screamed at him: “And what exactly are YOU doing to ME?!” “Did you forget that when we were negotiating this wedding, your family cried poverty over and over again?!” “I felt bad for you! I didn’t ask you to pay a single cent! I let your family eat and drink for free on my dime, under the strict condition that everyone received the exact same premium treatment!” “And what happens? I pay the bill, and I end up being the one humiliated?!” “That is not how the world works! Liam, do you still want to get married or not?!” I roared at Liam, and the suffocating pressure in my chest finally eased a fraction. I took a deep breath of air. Liam was completely stunned that I would threaten to call off the wedding. He stared at me, his eyes wide in disbelief, looking like a chicken being choked. Before Liam could even utter a word, the door to the bridal suite was violently kicked open. “How dare you speak to my son like that?!” 3 “You aren’t even officially married yet, and you’re already screaming at your man? You think you run this house?!” My mother-in-law, Martha, stormed into the room and slapped me hard across the face. Feeling the burning, stinging pain on my cheek, my mind went completely blank. I stared at this wicked, vicious old woman in utter shock. Martha’s face was twisted in pure malice. There was absolutely no trace of the sweet, loving future mother-in-law she had pretended to be. In that moment, I realized with chilling clarity that all her previous kindness had been an act. This was her true face! Liam was also shocked by his mother bursting in and slapping me. Snapping out of it, he hurried over to check my face. “Mom! What are you doing?! The ceremony hasn’t even started, and you just slapped her face swollen!” “When we go out there, what are the guests going to think?!” Martha yanked Liam behind her, shielding him, and glared at me with absolute venom. “The wedding is about to start, and you two are in here screaming like animals! What is wrong with you?!” “And I heard you actually had the nerve to demand my family switch tables?!” “Do you still want to marry into this family or not?!” Holding my stinging, swelling cheek, a wave of profound regret washed over me. If I had known his family was like this, I never would have fought my parents so bitterly to marry Liam. When our families first sat down to discuss the wedding, I, trying to be understanding of Liam’s financial situation, directly told my parents we didn’t need a dowry, an engagement ring, or any of the traditional expensive gifts. I told them if I saw something I liked, I would just buy it myself. I didn’t need his family to pay for it. My parents strongly disagreed, but because I was so incredibly stubborn, they eventually caved. They even bought me a brand-new car as a wedding gift out of their own pockets. When it came time to discuss the reception, my in-laws looked visibly disgusted when my parents mentioned we had a large extended family and would need around twenty tables. “Look, it’s not that I’m being cheap, but I just don’t agree with bringing that many people to a wedding reception.” “Twenty tables? That is ridiculous!” “Are you just inviting every random person you’ve ever met? Do you have any idea how much that’s going to cost?!” “Besides, if you invite all those people, they’re going to give cash gifts. Who gets to keep that money?” My mom instantly lost her temper. “That is exactly how large our extended family is! And I’m actually giving you a conservative estimate!” “Who keeps the cash gifts from our side of the family is none of your business!” “Even if I give every single cent of it to my daughter, that is her personal asset, and it has absolutely nothing to do with your family!” After being chewed out by my mom, Martha muttered something under her breath in defense. I forget the exact words. But the gist of it was that my mom was a greedy, calculating woman who was trying to pack the reception with freeloaders just to recoup all the wedding gifts she had given out over the years, all without spending a dime of her own money. Meanwhile, even if every single one of Liam’s relatives showed up, they wouldn’t fill ten tables. Thirty tables for a reception was simply too expensive. They claimed that after giving Liam the money for a down payment on a house, they had absolutely nothing left for the wedding. Hearing Martha say that, my mom was ready to grab me and walk out right then and there. But I, being young, naive, and completely blinded by love, physically blocked my parents from leaving. I stubbornly defended Martha, insisting there must be a misunderstanding, that she couldn’t possibly mean it like that. My parents were exhausted by my stubbornness. My mom looked at me with deep disappointment. She raised her hand as if to slap some sense into me, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead, she gave me another thirty thousand dollars specifically to cover the cost of the reception. The moment Martha heard she didn’t have to pay a single cent for the wedding, her face instantly lit up. She grabbed my hand, acting as if the entire ugly argument had never happened. “Oh, Chloe is truly the best daughter-in-law a mother could ask for!” “Don’t you worry, once you marry into our family, I promise I will treat you like my own flesh and blood!” 4 She even promised my parents that once I married Liam, she would never let me suffer. Back then, I was stupid enough to believe that Martha had only insulted my parents because she was genuinely stressed about money. But seeing her now, looking like she wanted to eat me alive… I finally saw her for what she truly was. “Then let’s call it off!” “You refuse every option I give you to fix this, so there’s absolutely no point in continuing this wedding.” “Liam, take your mother and your relatives, and get the hell out of here!” “I’ll just treat today as a private dinner party for my family and friends!” I screamed at Liam, completely ignoring Martha’s existence. “We can’t do that! The guests are already here! We have to get married!” “Mom, if we have to, let’s just listen to Chloe and have our family switch tables.” Liam tugged at his mother’s sleeve, whispering nervously. Martha glared at me darkly. She pulled Liam aside and hissed: “Are you an idiot? She practically begged to marry you, paying her own way. There is no way she’s going to call off the wedding!” “If you cave to her demands now, she’s going to walk all over you for the rest of your life!” “Listen to me. She doesn’t have the guts to cancel the wedding. She’s just bluffing!” Martha finished her whisper and shot a cautious glance back at me. I found it hilarious. The bridal suite was tiny. Did she really think taking two steps back meant I couldn’t hear every word she said? “Chloe, it’s not that I’m trying to be difficult, but the guests are already seated. We can’t just make them move.” “Listen to me. You’re marrying Liam today. What’s wrong with letting his family eat a little better?” “Once you’re married and living your life, our relatives will remember your generosity.” Martha spoke with sickening sweetness, acting as if she and her son were doing this entirely for my benefit. If this were the past, when my brain was completely clouded by love, I might have actually fallen for it. But that sudden slap to the face had violently woken me up to exactly what kind of person she was. Seeing Liam cowering behind his mother, utterly devoid of a spine… I lost every last shred of hope I had for him. “I don’t need them to remember my generosity! I only know that I paid the bill!” Seeing that I wasn’t falling for her manipulation, Martha immediately dropped the act. “Ha! You little ungrateful bitch, you just refuse to listen to reason, don’t you?!” She looked up at her son and declared loudly: “Son, if we don’t get married, we don’t get married! With your looks, you can find any woman you want!” “She’s obsessing over a few plates of food like a psychotic cheapskate. I told you not to marry her from the start!” “Look at her now, showing her true colors!” “I told you to find a girl from a rich family, and we wouldn’t be dealing with this garbage!” I froze. His mother actively wanted him to marry a rich girl? So basically, Martha wanted her son to be a gold-digger. And I, the ultimate sucker, had just been completely blind to it all this time. Hearing his mother say she was fine with calling off the wedding, Liam panicked. He leaned in close to his mother’s ear and whispered: “Mom, we can’t call it off! Where am I going to find a rich girl?!” “With our background, being able to marry her…” Martha aggressively shook her head, patting Liam’s hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry, son. Her dad manages a factory. She wouldn’t dare humiliate her family by calling off a wedding!” “She’s just bluffing! She can’t afford the embarrassment!”

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At the start of the new semester, my homeroom teacher mandated that every single parent had to come to the school for “Classroom Beautification Day” to clean and prep the rooms. I went to him privately and explained, “Mr. Harrison, my parents have a highly classified work situation. They can’t make it.” Mr. Harrison slammed his lesson planner onto his desk, his eyes flashing with anger. “Everyone else’s parents can make it, but yours can’t? On your emergency contact form, their occupations are listed as ‘Classified,’ and now they can’t even show up? It seems to me you just have zero respect for my authority!” “If your parents don’t show up, you don’t need to show up either. My class doesn’t accept students like you!” I stood there, stunned. But a classified federal agency isn’t exactly a place you can just clock out of whenever you want! Little did he know, when my parents did finally show up, Mr. Harrison wouldn’t be able to stay in his seat. Mr. Harrison marched into the classroom, his face as dark as a thundercloud, and slammed his books onto the podium. “For the new semester, I asked all parents to come and help clean the classroom. Only one student’s parents failed to show. What, is pushing a broom beneath you? Or do you think getting good grades means your family is too good for manual labor?” His voice rose sharply. “Let me make one thing clear. In my classroom, the attitude your parents show me dictates exactly how I will treat you.” Parent participation for Beautification Day was supposed to be strictly strictly voluntary. But Mr. Harrison was a narcissist who cared entirely about optics. To him, the more parents he commanded, the better he looked to the administration. “Leo Carter,” he barked, calling me out directly. I stood up. “What exactly do your parents do for a living? Are they street sweepers? Do they guard a parking lot? They must have a shift that ends eventually, right?” He crossed his arms, mocking me. A few students snickered. “They…” I paused. “Their agency is highly secure. They can’t just leave.” “What agency? Let’s hear it.” “I can’t say.” The classroom fell dead silent for a second. Mr. Harrison turned red with fury. “You can’t say? Or are you too ashamed to say it?!” “Playing passive-aggressive games with your teacher on the first week of school? You think I can’t handle a kid like you?” “Mr. Harrison, I’m not,” I quickly explained. “It’s genuinely classified…” His face turned a furious shade of purple. He slammed his hand on the desk. “I’ve been teaching for years, you think I haven’t seen every type of parent? I’m calling them right now! I’ll ask them myself! And if they don’t give me a good reason, you will stand at the back of this classroom for the rest of the year!” Without hesitating, he pulled out his cell phone, dialed the emergency number I had provided, and deliberately put it on speakerphone. A sterile, automated voice echoed through the classroom: “We’re sorry. The number you have dialed is an unallocated federal line. Please check the number and try again.” The entire classroom erupted into roaring laughter. Mr. Harrison hung up the phone, his chest heaving. He felt like he had been played and publicly humiliated. “Leo Carter,” he gritted out through his teeth. “You think this is a game?” “No, sir, they really are—” “Shut your mouth!” He pointed a finger right at my nose. “Do you think I’m an idiot? You’ve been lying from the start! There is no classified agency! You just didn’t want your parents to come, and you’re intentionally defying me!” The more he spoke, the angrier he got. “Since your parents won’t come to my school, you don’t need to attend my class. Get out. Now!” I tried one last time. “Mr. Harrison, I told you, their line is secure. Not just anyone can dial in.” He was trembling with rage. “Get the hell out of my classroom!” I sighed, accepted my fate, and walked out into the hallway. Mr. Harrison was notoriously petty. Once, a student accidentally brought the wrong textbook to class, and Harrison publicly berated him for a full forty-five minutes. If I didn’t get this sorted out, he would make the rest of my high school life a living hell. I pulled out my encrypted phone and sent a message to the group chat with my parents: [My homeroom teacher, Mr. Harrison, has a misunderstanding because you guys couldn’t make it to the classroom cleanup. Could you possibly explain it to him?] A moment later, my mom replied: [Understood. The situation has been flagged to our superiors. Personnel will be dispatched to handle it.] I stood in the hallway for the entire class period, my legs aching. When the bell finally rang, I headed to the teachers’ lounge to try and explain myself again. But right outside the door, I heard Mr. Harrison’s voice. “That Leo Carter is a cancer in my classroom! His parents skip the cleanup, their jobs are ‘classified,’ and their phone number is disconnected! What does that tell you? He’s openly defrauding the school! He comes from a family of trash!” My heart sank. Another teacher spoke up: “Come on, maybe there’s a real reason. He’s usually a very well-behaved kid.” Harrison scoffed, his voice rising. “Well-behaved? I’ve seen a million kids like him. Who cares if his grades are good? His character is rotten, and he’ll end up being the scum of society! His parents are probably fugitives on the run, that’s why he’s covering for them!” I couldn’t take it anymore. I shoved the door open. Failing to explain my situation was on me, but as a teacher, what right did he have to slander my family? Every teacher in the room turned to look at me. I stared straight at him. “Mr. Harrison, you can question me all you want, but you have no right to insult my parents! You have zero proof. How dare you call them fugitives!” Mr. Harrison pointed at me, his face livid. “Excuse me?! Eavesdropping on teachers and barging in to talk back? Did I say something wrong? You have zero respect or upbringing!” “My upbringing taught me to seek the truth and follow the rules!” I stepped forward, holding his gaze. “I’m telling you the truth. As for my parents’ exact jobs, you don’t have the clearance to know!” “You little punk!” Harrison trembled with rage. He grabbed a heavy grading binder from his desk and hurled it right at my head. I dodged it just in time. He roared, “Get out! You are permanently banned from my class! Get out!” I pressed my lips together and turned away. Behind me, he bellowed, “Look at that attitude! He’s a lost cause! I’ll teach him a lesson he won’t forget!” Back at my desk in the classroom, a few students were grouped together, whispering and shooting me dirty looks. “Mr. Harrison said his parents are literal fugitives!” “We better stay away from him.” My hand froze on the page of my book. The class president stood up and clapped his hands. “Alright everyone, pass up your winter break assignments.” I reached into my backpack and pulled out my completed packet, ready to pass it forward. Suddenly, Mr. Harrison marched straight down the aisle toward me. In front of the entire class, he snatched the stack of assignments out of my hand, turned around, and dumped them straight into the trash can. The room went dead silent. The blood rushed to my head. “Mr. Harrison!” “What?” He turned back to look at me. “You keep challenging my authority. Since I clearly can’t manage you, I won’t be accepting any more of your assignments.” He walked to the podium, grabbed a stack of practice exams, and handed them to the class president. “These are the weekly exams. Hand them out.” He shot me a venomous look. “Oh, and skip Leo Carter. He doesn’t get one.” “In fact, I’ve already spoken to all your other teachers. From now on, Leo doesn’t need to turn in any homework. Even if he does, it goes straight to the trash. We will not be grading his work.” I felt ice cold. Just because my parents couldn’t come to mop a floor? I was being treated like a pariah? The bell for the next period rang. Harrison pointed to the door. “My class is starting. Get out.” I gritted my teeth, turned on my heel, and marched straight to the Vice Principal’s office. I told Vice Principal Davis everything. “Because my parents couldn’t come to clean, Mr. Harrison told the other teachers my parents were fugitives, and now the whole class thinks so. He threw my homework in the trash, refused to give me my exams, and told the other teachers to fail me. I need you to step in.” Vice Principal Davis listened, tapping her pen, and fell silent for a moment. “Leo,” she said, her voice stern but measured. “I hear what you’re saying. I know Mr. Harrison well. He can be a bit hot-headed, but his heart is in the right place.” She offered me a warm, reassuring smile. “Tell you what. I’ll get on the PA system in a few minutes. I’ll make an announcement to clear up your parents’ situation so the teachers and students don’t misunderstand. How does that sound?” My eyes instantly welled up with tears of relief. “Thank you, Vice Principal Davis! Thank you so much!” “Go on, head back,” she waved me off gently. I bowed slightly out of respect and left the office. Standing in the hallway, I let out a massive sigh of relief. The PA system was going to chime any second. Once she cleared this up, I could go back to learning like a normal student. I stood in the corridor outside my classroom. Inside, Mr. Harrison was teaching. The speakers crackled to life. I stood up straight. “Attention all students and staff,” Vice Principal Davis’s voice echoed through the halls. “Please listen to the following disciplinary announcement.” I took a deep breath. “Regarding the disciplinary action for sophomore Leo Carter.” “Following an investigation, this student has been found guilty of falsifying parental information, defying his homeroom teacher, and refusing to participate in class activities. Despite multiple warnings from his teacher, he showed no remorse, and today, he skipped class without permission, disrupting the educational environment. His behavior is a severe violation of the school’s code of conduct.” “The administration has decided to place Leo Carter on final disciplinary probation. Let this be a warning to all students to respect your teachers. That is all.” I stood there, feeling like I had been struck by lightning. My mind went entirely blank. Through the classroom window, I saw Mr. Harrison looking right at me, a smug, mocking smirk plastered across his face. I turned and sprinted down the hall, kicking the door to the Vice Principal’s office wide open. Davis was calmly sipping her coffee. She frowned deeply. “What is wrong with you? Do you not know how to knock?” “Why did you lie to me?!” I panted, my voice shaking. “You promised you would clear my name! Why did you put me on probation?!” She stood up, slamming her mug down. “Listen to me, Leo Carter! Stop throwing a tantrum in my office. Your punishment is final!” Right then, Mr. Harrison stormed into the office, his eyes blazing with fury. “You’ve got some nerve, Leo! Coming to harass the Vice Principal!” He crossed the room in three massive strides, raised his hand, and slapped me hard across the face. My cheek exploded in burning pain, and I stumbled backward, my ears ringing. “You little punk!” Harrison pointed right at my nose. “Going to the Principal won’t save you! I run that classroom! You messed with the wrong guy today!” “Calm down, cousin,” Vice Principal Davis said casually from her desk. I held my burning cheek, staring at them in pure disbelief. No wonder Harrison was so untouchable. The Vice Principal was his cousin. She had his back the whole time. My phone vibrated in my pocket. A text from my mom: [Son, we are pulling up to your school in ten minutes.] Harrison’s face darkened. He lunged forward and smacked the phone out of my hand. “Trying to call the cops? Dream on! I’m going to educate you on behalf of your fugitive parents right now!” I clenched my fists. The blood rushed to my head. The burning on my cheek, the heat in my eyes—it all mixed into an indescribable rage. But my parents were almost here. I wanted to see how arrogant he would be when they arrived. I let out a cold laugh. “Are you sure you want to do this, Mr. Harrison?” Harrison scoffed loudly. “Security! Get in here!” Two campus security guards rushed into the office. Harrison pointed at me, feigning outrage. “This student violated school rules and physically attacked me!” “Look at the red mark on my face! He’s completely out of control. Restrain him!” I looked at Harrison’s perfectly smooth, unblemished face and almost laughed out of pure anger. The gaslighting was unbelievable. The guards rushed me. One grabbed my left arm, the other my right, pinning me in place so I couldn’t move. I struggled with everything I had, but I couldn’t break free from two grown men. Mr. Harrison stood right in front of me, looking down at me like I was dirt. “Since your parents won’t discipline you, I’ll do it for them. I’ll teach you what it means to respect your superiors!” “Get on your knees right now and beg for forgiveness!” “I didn’t do anything wrong!” I yelled, fighting against the guards’ grip. “I’m not kneeling!” The guards pressed down hard on my shoulders, making my joints scream in pain. I twisted my body, planting my feet firmly. “Hold him down!” Vice Principal Davis barked, stepping up behind me and kicking me hard in the back of the knees. My legs gave out, and my knees slammed onto the hard floor. Harrison crouched in front of me, pulling out his phone and aiming the camera right at my face. “Look up. Let everyone see the face of the kid who attacks teachers.” “Say it. Say your parents are fugitives.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, refusing to speak. He stood up, shoving his phone into the hands of one of the guards. “Hold this. Make sure it’s in focus.” The guard took the phone, keeping the lens locked on me. Harrison walked behind me and kicked me squarely in the back. I pitched forward, catching myself on my hands. My palms scraped painfully against the floor. “Not going to talk?” His voice echoed from above me. “Fine. Let’s see how tough you really are.” He leaned down, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and yanked my head back violently. My scalp burned like it was tearing apart. “Look at the camera. Admit your parents are criminals. Say it,” Harrison commanded. Tears of pain rolled down my cheeks, but I clenched my jaw shut. My silence pushed him over the edge. He reached out and snatched the stun gun off the security guard’s utility belt. My blood ran cold. “Harrison!” I screamed. “That’s illegal! You have no right to be a teacher!” He pressed the metal prongs of the stun gun against my shoulder. I flinched in terror. “Now you’re scared? Are you going to say it?” “In your dreams! My parents aren’t criminals,” my voice shook, but I enunciated every word clearly. “They protect this country. A piece of trash like you isn’t even worthy of speaking about them.” His face contorted with rage. “Let’s see if your mouth stays that tough!” His thumb moved to press the trigger. BANG! The office door was kicked violently open. Several figures filled the doorway. I broke down and cried out: “Mom! Dad!”

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On the day the settlement money from the buyout of our parents’ old house arrived, my brother secretly transferred three million dollars to my account. He explicitly warned me not to let my sister-in-law know. He told her that, according to “tradition,” I was only entitled to sixty thousand dollars. My sister-in-law still complained about that sixty thousand for a long time. Later, when my brother’s business went under, she came to me in a panic, begging. “Chloe, your brother can’t hold on much longer. Look…” I cut her off, pulling out my phone. “Give me your account number, Sarah. I’ll transfer thirty thousand.” The day the buyout money hit the accounts, my phone pinged with a text from the bank. Almost simultaneously, my brother, Mark, called. His voice was low. “Did you get it?” “I got it.” I stared at the long string of zeros on my screen, feeling a little hollow. “Three million. You hold onto it for now.” “Mark, this is too much.” “It’s not. It was Mom and Dad’s house. Half of it rightfully belongs to you.” From the background of the call, I heard Sarah’s muffled voice yelling, “Who are you talking to? Sneaking around.” Mark immediately said, “I gotta go. Remember, don’t tell anyone. Especially Sarah.” “Why?” “You know how she is. Just trust me.” The call disconnected. Before I could even process the shock of that massive sum, a message popped up in the family group chat. It was from Mark. “Chloe’s sixty thousand has been transferred.” Sarah replied instantly: “Finally. Now that’s settled.” A second later, she sent another message: “If you ask me, a married daughter is like spilled water. Giving her that sixty thousand was too much. If it weren’t for the fact that she’s struggling on her own, she shouldn’t have gotten a dime.” The group chat fell dead silent. I gripped my phone, staring at the words, and said nothing. That evening at dinner, Sarah brought it up again. “Mark, did Chloe even say thank you for that sixty thousand?” Mark kept his head down, shoveling rice into his mouth, and mumbled, “Yeah, she did.” “Hmph. At least she has some conscience.” Sarah picked up a piece of rib and dropped it into her son’s bowl. “That money was supposed to be for Leo’s college fund. Giving it away to an outsider just rubs me the wrong way.” “What outsider? She’s my blood sister,” Mark said, irritation creeping into his voice. “So what if she’s your sister? Even brothers have to keep their finances straight. She’s going to marry into another family eventually. Why are you being so good to her?” “Enough. Let’s just eat.” Mark clearly didn’t want to fight. But Sarah had no intention of stopping. She looked at Mark pointedly and said, “I just worry that some people are too eager to give our family’s money away to outsiders. Mark, let me remind you, our family is counting on this buyout money now. Don’t do anything stupid.” Mark slammed his chopsticks down. The bowl hit the table with a sharp clack. “What exactly are you trying to say?” “I didn’t mean anything by it.” Sarah shrank back slightly, but her mouth kept running. “I just think people need to have a conscience. Our family took the lion’s share, giving her sixty thousand was already extremely generous. If she knew what was good for her, she would have returned it.” “In your dreams!” Mark roared. Their five-year-old son, Leo, jumped at the shout and burst into tears. Sarah quickly hugged him and started crying herself. “Fine! Mark Davis, you’re yelling at me now? You’re yelling at me and your son for your sister? I’m only thinking about this family! Do you know how many tutoring classes that sixty thousand could have paid for?!” The atmosphere in the house plummeted to freezing. Mark looked at her, his eyes filled with exhaustion. I knew this was only the beginning. For the next month, Sarah complained about that sixty thousand dollars almost every single day. “The neighbor’s daughter didn’t get a cent, and she’s perfectly happy.” “Karen from our subdivision—her sister-in-law actually gave her brother thirty thousand to help buy a car.” “Sigh. Comparing people just makes you mad. Why did I get stuck with a sister-in-law like this?” She would say these things in the family group chat, or post them on Facebook, specifically blocking me from seeing them—but I always heard about it from other relatives. I never replied. Not once. I just quietly moved that three million into a high-yield CD and set a very complex password. Mark would occasionally message me privately. “Don’t take what your sister-in-law says to heart.” “I know.” “Keep that money safe. That’s my safety net for you.” “You too, Mark.” I didn’t know if he understood what I meant. I hoped he did. After getting the buyout money, Mark was incredibly motivated. He had always wanted to start his own business but never had the capital. Now, with cash in hand, he aggressively leased a storefront and started a construction materials supply business. Sarah was entirely on board at first. She posted pictures of the new store on Facebook every day, calling Mark a business genius who was about to strike it rich. I went to the grand opening. As soon as Sarah saw me, she grabbed my hands, smiling so widely her face scrunched up. “Chloe, look how capable your brother is. When our family gets rich, we’ll make sure you’re taken care of.” It was as if she had completely forgotten how she had obsessed over that sixty thousand dollars. I just smiled faintly. “It’s good that Mark is doing well.” “Of course.” she puffed out her chest, pulled me aside, and lowered her voice. “Chloe, look, the store just opened, and we need money for everything right now. That sixty thousand isn’t doing much just sitting in your hands. Why don’t you… lend it to your brother for cash flow for a bit?” I looked at her, my heart turning ice cold. “Sarah, that’s my living expense money.” “Oh, come on, how much can one person spend? Besides, that money belonged to our family in the first place. Isn’t it only right that you lend it to your brother now?” Her tone was so entitled, as if the money inherently belonged to her. I pulled my hand away and didn’t speak. Her face changed instantly. She pulled a long face and muttered, “Ungrateful brat.” It wasn’t loud, but I heard it clearly. For the first few months, the business really was booming. Mark was full of energy, looking ten years younger. Sarah was even more insufferable. She posted eight times a day about new designer bags, manicures, and check-ins at high-end restaurants. 她 started organizing frequent family dinners, always rushing to pick up the check. At the dinner table, she constantly made passive-aggressive comments directed at me. “Chloe, how is the single life treating you? Work going okay?” “It’s fine,” I said, keeping my head down. “Sigh. Why do girls need to work so hard? Look at your brother. His business is taking off; he can easily support our whole extended family.” She paused, pivoting sharply. “Speaking of which, that sixty thousand isn’t earning much interest in the bank. Why not listen to me and invest it in your brother’s store? We’ll give you dividends at the end of the year. Isn’t that better than a dead savings account?” Mark kicked me under the table, giving me a look. I pretended not to notice and just said, “I don’t understand business. I’ll pass.” Sarah’s face fell again. “Why are you so stubborn? I’m only offering you this chance to make money because we’re family. Other people beg for this kind of opportunity.” The atmosphere became awkward. A distant relative chimed in to smooth things over: “The younger generation has their own ideas, don’t worry so much about it.” Sarah dropped it, but she didn’t give me a pleasant look for the rest of the meal. On the way home, Mark called me. “Ignore her. She’s just obsessed with money.” “I know.” “If she brings it up again, just tell me.” “Okay.” I hung up, watching the city lights blur past the window. Honestly, I had seen the warning signs in Mark’s business for a while. He expanded too fast, hired too many people, and unnecessary overhead was crushing him. Every time he saw me, he claimed everything was fine, but the bloodshot eyes and exhaustion he couldn’t hide told a different story. But he didn’t say anything, and it wasn’t my place to ask. He was the man of the house, the provider. He had his pride. Sure enough, the good times didn’t last. The market shifted unpredictably. The developers downstream ran out of capital, leaving Mark with a massive pile of unpaid invoices. The store’s cash flow collapsed overnight. First came the layoffs, then selling off the delivery trucks. The tone of Sarah’s Facebook posts changed too. Instead of bragging, she started sharing “inspirational” quotes and articles about “never giving up.” She stopped organizing family dinners and barely spoke in the group chat. The atmosphere in their home grew increasingly suffocating. One day, I bought some fruit and went to visit them. When the door opened, a heavy cloud of cigarette smoke hit my face. Mark was sitting on the couch, the ashtray by his feet overflowing. He had lost a significant amount of weight, his beard was scruffy, and his eyes were hollow. Sarah sat on the other side, her eyes red and swollen. She glared at me with pure resentment. “Why are you here?” she asked icily. “I came to see Mark.” “See him? You came to laugh at him?” Sarah suddenly stood up, pointing at Mark. “Look at him! This is all because of you! You jinx!” I froze. “If he had listened to me and just put the money in the bank, none of this would have happened! But no, he had to start a business! And now the money is gone!” She turned her fury on me. “And you! If you had a shred of conscience, if you had just given him that sixty thousand when he needed it, he wouldn’t be in this mess! You’re cold-blooded! Ungrateful!” She was screaming hysterically. Mark suddenly stood up and slapped her hard across the face. “Shut your mouth!” The living room fell dead silent, save for Sarah’s shocked gasp. She held her cheek, massive tears rolling down her face. “Mark Davis, you hit me? You hit me for her?” “I hit you for running your toxic mouth!” Mark was shaking with rage. “The business failing is my fault. It has nothing to do with Chloe! Try saying one more crazy word, I dare you!” Sarah collapsed onto the floor and started wailing. The sound was shrill, ear-piercing, full of despair and grievance. Standing at the door, watching this absolute disaster, my chest felt incredibly tight. I placed the fruit on the shoe rack and said softly, “Mark, I’m going to head out.” I turned and walked downstairs. The crying and arguing faded behind me. I knew the real storm was yet to come. After that, Mark didn’t contact me again. I knew he was trying to endure it alone. He didn’t want me to see him look any more pathetic. Until one afternoon, an unknown number called my phone. It was Sarah. Her voice was hoarse and exhausted, completely lacking her usual arrogance. “Chloe, where are you?” “At home.” “Can you… come out for a bit? I’m at the coffee shop downstairs from your apartment.” My stomach dropped. I knew the inevitable had arrived. I changed and went downstairs. I spotted her from a distance, sitting by the window. She looked incredibly haggard, wearing a faded old jacket, her hair a mess. Her former polished look was completely gone. Seeing me, she forced a smile that looked worse than crying. “Chloe, you’re here.” I sat across from her and didn’t speak. She stirred her black coffee for a long time before struggling to speak. “Your brother… he can’t hold on much longer.” Her eyes instantly reddened. “He’s drowning in debt. People are coming to the house every day demanding money. The store is closed, we sold everything we could, and there’s still a massive hole we can’t fill.” She looked up at me with pleading eyes. “Chloe, I know I was wrong before. I apologize. But right now, you are the only one who can help us.” She pulled a crumpled debit card from her purse and pushed it toward me. “I know you still have that money. Your brother told me everything. He gave you… he gave you a lot.” Looking at her, I finally understood. Mark couldn’t handle the pressure and confessed. I just didn’t know how much he had confessed. “Chloe, please, I’m begging you. Take the money out and save your brother’s life! If this continues, those debt collectors will drive him to his grave!” She looked like she was about to get on her knees. I held her arms, looked her dead in the eye, and asked slowly, deliberately. “How much did Mark say he gave me?” Sarah froze. Her eyes darted away, and she stammered, “He… he said… he gave you a few extra tens of thousands to round it up…” I sneered internally. Even now, at the absolute edge, he was still preserving his final shred of dignity—or rather, he was still guarding against her. He hadn’t told her the truth. Seeing my silence, Sarah grew more frantic. “Chloe, your brother can’t hold on much longer. Look…” I cut her off, pulling out my phone and opening my banking app. “Give me your account number, Sarah.” Her eyes lit up instantly, like she had grabbed a lifeline. She hurriedly rattled off the account number. I entered it, then moved to the amount field. I typed a ‘3’. Followed by four zeros. “I’ll transfer thirty thousand.” Sarah’s expression froze. The light in her eyes visibly died. “How much?” she asked, as if she hadn’t heard correctly. “Thirty thousand.” I turned the screen toward her so she could see the number clearly. “That’s all I can give.” “Thirty thousand?” Her voice spiked, sharp as nails on a chalkboard. “Chloe Davis! What is thirty thousand going to do? Are you tossing change to a beggar?” People in the coffee shop turned to look at us. She bristled like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. “Your brother needs money to save his life! And you? You pull out thirty thousand to humiliate us? Do you have any conscience at all? After everything your brother did for you?!” I looked at her calmly and pulled my phone back. “Sarah, Mark gave me sixty thousand initially. The whole family knows that. I haven’t touched a dime of it. I’ve been working for a few years and saved twenty thousand myself. That’s eighty thousand total. I’m giving you thirty, keeping fifty for my own living expenses. Is there a problem with that?”

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As the absolute pinnacle of Hollywood’s A-list and the ultimate It-girl of the internet, If I post a single selfie, The comments can easily break a hundred million. Trending on X and Instagram is practically my daily routine. People either call me a pure, talentless plastic vase, Or they curse me out, saying I post online just to seek attention over nothing. I literally do not care! The most important weapon to dominate this industry Isn’t my acting skills or my raw talent, It’s my drop-dead, devastated-nations, flawless face. Sure, Hollywood has never had a shortage of beautiful women. But there is a difference between a swan and the most beautiful swan in the lake. Even if my acting is explosively terrible, Even if I sing off-key and trip over my own feet when I dance, Even if my business acumen is zero and my EQ is in the negatives, The audience simply eats up this face! My Instagram notifications crashed the app again. When my assistant, Lexi, called me, she sounded like she was on the verge of tears: “Chloe, look at Twitter right now!” “Serena Vance is throwing shade at you in her latest interview!” I was sitting in front of my vanity mirror, carefully inspecting my fresh manicure. Hearing this, I just gave a lazy, “Mhm.” Oh well, rivals dragging me is just human nature. Beautiful people are always hated by the jealous! “She said, ‘A soulless shell won’t make it far in this industry’!” “Now her fans and your fans are tearing each other apart online!” “The PR department’s phones are ringing off the hook. They’re saying she’s a tough target and want to know how we should respond.” On the other end of the line, Lexi was pacing like a cat on a hot tin roof. I held my hand up to the light, admiring the sparkle of the crushed diamonds on my nails, and casually asked: “That photoshoot I did yesterday, are the edits done?” “Chloe! Now is not the time!” Lexi was losing her mind. “Serena Vance just won the Academy Award! She’s at the absolute peak of her career right now. Her words carry weight!” “The whole internet is mocking us, calling you a vase, saying you have absolutely nothing to offer except your face!” “Oh,” I finally found a shred of interest. I put my hand down, Opened the front-facing camera on my phone, tilted my head to find the perfect angle, “Isn’t that perfect, then?” “The harder they curse at me, the more it proves how obsessed they are with this face.” Online, Serena’s fans were quoting classic literature and film theorists, elevating her to the status of a pure artist untainted by the secular world. My fans were much more straightforward. They spammed my legendary red carpet photos from over the years with the caption: “Beauty is enough. Does your fave have a face card that never declines?” A brutal war over “Talent vs. Beauty” raged across the internet, turning social media pitch black. Serena’s team was clearly thrilled with this outcome. Riding the momentum, they bought off several gossip blogs, Pushing the hashtag #TheDedicationOfAnActor to the top of the trending list, attempting to nail me to the pillar of shame. Lexi reported over the phone: “Chloe, her team is pushing the narrative again. The public opinion is turning really bad for us.” “Should we issue a statement? Maybe say something like—” “No need,” I cut her off. I had already selected the nine most flawless selfies from my camera roll. “Post this photo dump. Make the caption: Face card looking pretty good today.” “Huh? Just that?” “Just that.” A few minutes later, the hashtag #ChloeSterlingPhotoDump crushed everything in its path, parachuting straight into the number one trending spot worldwide. Unsurprisingly, the servers crashed for a solid ten minutes. By the time the tech guys got it back online, seven out of the top ten trending topics had my name on them. #ChloeSterling Flawless #GodsMasterpiece ChloeSterling #LookingAtChloeMakesMeWantPlasticSurgery As for Serena’s #TheDedicationOfAnActor hashtag? It had been pushed down past the top twenty, completely ignored. Lexi called back, her voice now brimming with ecstasy and sheer worship: “Chloe! I heard Serena’s PR director was so mad he literally smashed his phone against a wall!” I let out a soft laugh, locked my phone, and picked my mirror back up. Miss Vance, in this industry, being incredibly beautiful really does let you do whatever you want. Especially when you’re a thunderously invincible, explosive beauty like me. Public relations? I don’t need it! After all, there’s a running joke in the industry: People say watching me act makes them want to gauge their own eyes out. But then they realize if they gauge their eyes out, they won’t be able to see my face anymore. So they think, Ah, what a pity, and give up on the blinding. Coincidentally enough, Serena and I had been cast in the same movie—the $200 million summer blockbuster, Chronicles of the Wind. She was the leading lady; I was the undisputed second lead. At the press junket, the press release from her team featured her name followed by a long, glittering list of Oscar and Golden Globe titles. After my name, there were only two words: “Hollywood It-Girl.” On our first day shooting together, she ruined seventeen takes. When the director asked her what was wrong, she massaged her temples, looking at me with an expression of profound agony: “Director, looking at Chloe’s face, I simply cannot get into character.” The entire set went dead silent. Her reasoning was that my face was too “modern.” My features were too exquisitely perfect, like a soulless porcelain doll, Destroying the gritty, broken, historical aesthetic required for the film. When she said this, her eyes were cold and aloof, As if she were discussing some profoundly complex artistic dilemma. Over the next few days, this became her standard operating procedure. Whenever we shared a scene, she would inevitably cause endless outtakes. Either she would claim she got “distracted” by my face while delivering her lines, Or she would yell “Cut!” halfway through a scene, claiming my beauty was “pulling her out of the illusion.” While I outwardly cooed, “Oh my gosh, I’m really not that pretty~”, Internally, I was cursing this dramatic bitch out. She was deliberately messing with me. After the production schedule was severely delayed, the producer and director finally started looking grim. They cast displeased glances my way, though their expressions would inevitably soften the moment they actually looked at my face. My assistant Lexi stomped her feet in anger: “Chloe, she’s doing it on purpose!” “What kind of actor complains that their co-star is too pretty? She’s abusing her power for a personal vendetta!” I was flipping through the script. I didn’t even look up: “Let her act.” Lexi was confused: “Act like what?” “Act like a dedicated, artistic Oscar winner whose pursuit of perfection is being dragged down by a talentless plastic vase.” Sure enough, a couple of days later, “leaked” behind-the-scenes footage flooded the internet. The hashtag #SerenaVanceDedicated Professional trended at number one. The gossip blogs praised her for striving for artistic perfection, Saying she was even willing to offend a massively bankable influencer backed by big studios just to protect the film’s integrity. And me? Naturally, I became the villain—the “pretty face committing crimes,” the “talentless dead weight dragging down the whole crew.” Eventually, the director asked to speak with me. The meeting took place inside Serena’s luxury trailer. Serena was there, along with her junior from Julliard who had just graduated. The director rubbed his hands together, looking incredibly awkward: “Chloe, look… Serena’s state of mind really isn’t great right now.” “For the sake of the artistic vision of the entire film, we’ve had a discussion…” Serena sat to the side, slowly sipping artisanal pour-over coffee, not even lifting an eyelid. I looked at the director, waiting for his punchline. “The second lead role originally given to you… we might need to recast it.” “We’d like to let Serena’s junior try it out. They trained at the same conservatory, so they might have better chemistry.” Lexi was ready to explode on the spot, but I pressed her back down with a single look. Of course, I knew this was a targeted hit against me. I quietly glanced at the Julliard junior’s face. She was pretty enough, a sort of girl-next-door type. But most importantly… she definitely wouldn’t overshadow Serena. Instead, she would act as a perfect, bland foil to make Serena’s leading-lady aura shine even brighter. I tucked away my thoughts and asked plainly: “And what about me?” “The production still wants you to stay,” the director said, lowering his posture even more. “There’s a role for a maid in the mansion. The screen time isn’t huge, but it has some real highlights.” “There’s a pivotal scene where the female lead slaps the maid across the face. It’s a great test of emotional explosiveness…” The intent to humiliate me was now laid bare on the table. Everyone stared at me, waiting for me to throw a diva fit, waiting for me to tear up my contract and storm out. Then, they could smoothly slap a “toxic diva” label on my head and feed me to the press. Serena finally set down her coffee cup, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. I ignored her and simply looked at the director, my voice perfectly calm: “Fine. I’ll take it.” The air inside the trailer seemed to freeze in that exact instant. The director was stunned. The Julliard junior’s expression stiffened. Even the smugness on Serena’s face showed a tiny, visible crack. On the day we shot the slapping scene, the entire crew was present. They weren’t there to watch a movie scene; they were there to watch me. The director yelled, “Action!” Serena swung her hand and slapped me across the face. No camera tricks. No stunt coordination. Just solid flesh violently colliding with flesh. It was crisp, loud, and burned like fire. “Cut!” The director’s voice carried a hint of hesitation. “Serena, the emotion was great, but… you can pull back on the physical force a little.” Serena rubbed her wrist, looking at me with wide, innocent eyes: “Director, in order to pursue absolute realism, the instant reaction to being hit can’t be faked.” “What do you think, Chloe?” She tossed the grenade right into my lap. Every eye on set locked onto my face, waiting for my reaction. My assistant Lexi clenched her fists so hard her knuckles turned white, her eyes welling with tears. I raised a hand, signaling her to stay back. I smiled at the director: “Serena is right. For the sake of the film’s effect, it’s fine. Let’s do it again.” And so, there was a second take. A third. A fourth… Every single time, Serena demanded a retake, claiming her “emotions weren’t quite there” or my “reaction wasn’t realistic enough.” And every single time, her slap was harder than the last. By the eighth take, I could taste the metallic tang of blood seeping from the corner of my mouth. My left cheek was completely numb, swollen high and red, feeling like I was holding a scalding hot stone in my mouth. “Moving on!” The director finally called it. Lexi immediately rushed over, holding an ice pack to my face. Her voice cracked with tears: “Chloe, they’re crossing the line! This is bullying!” I stopped her, turned to the makeup artist nearby, and said calmly: “Please touch up my makeup. Conceal the blood at the corner of my mouth.” Then, I turned back to the director, maintaining that exact same, unbothered demeanor: “Director, was the effect to your liking?” The director looked at my swollen face, his eyes full of complex guilt. In the end, he just nodded. Word of this incident leaked immediately. The internet was blanketed with PR articles praising Serena’s dedication to her craft, saying she was willing to offend anyone for the sake of cinematic realism. And me? I became the useless hack who was so untalented she couldn’t even act out getting slapped correctly. My public favorability plummeted to rock bottom. My management team was running around with their hair on fire, but I didn’t have time to care about any of that. Because the global ambassador contract for the international luxury house V&L was in its final stages of negotiation. This was my ultimate weapon for a counterattack. As long as the official announcement dropped, it would prove that my commercial value was unshakeable. But the night before the signing, Lexi burst into my hotel room, her face pale as a sheet. “Chloe, V&L just made the official announcement… The ambassador isn’t us.” My hand, which was in the middle of removing my makeup, paused. “It’s Serena.” Lexi’s voice was shaking. “I asked around. Yesterday, she personally flew her team to V&L’s global headquarters in Paris.” “She told the brand that she was willing to sign an iron-clad five-year contract for absolutely zero compensation.” An Academy Award-winning actress, lowering her quote to literally zero dollars. No corporate brand could resist a temptation like that. She didn’t do it for the money. She didn’t even do it for the endorsement itself. She did it purely to snatch it out of my hands. Overnight, the internet threw a massive party celebrating my downfall. “Hahaha, a vase is just a vase in the end. Her commercial value just got steamrolled by actual talent.” “Even her corporate sugar daddies abandoned her. Looks like Chloe Sterling’s career is finally over.” “She used to rely on her face to eat, but now her face is swollen from slaps, and her rice bowl has been smashed.” The hashtag #TheVaseIsBroken rocketed to the number one trending spot in less than an hour. Lexi looked at the vicious comments flooding her phone, pacing in circles in a panic: “Chloe, what do we do now? The PR department’s phones are blowing up!” I looked at my swollen face in the mirror. The five finger marks were still clearly visible. My phone screen lit up with a breaking news push notification. Star-Studded Lineup: Nominees for the Annual Hollywood Icon Awards Announced. I tapped it. Under the category for “Most Commercially Valuable Artist of the Year,” I saw two names listed side-by-side: Chloe Sterling, Serena Vance.

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Chapter 1 My older sister and I both got accepted into the county’s top magnet high school at the same time. My mom baked two pieces of sweet cornbread to celebrate. One was dusted with powdered sugar and cinnamon; the other was completely plain. “I have the best grades, so I get the sweet one,” my sister, Chloe, declared, instantly snatching the sugared piece off the plate. My mom smiled and nodded, pushing the plain piece toward me. “My sweet little Lily is so mature. She doesn’t fight over things like this.” I took a bite of the bland, dry cornbread. I didn’t say a word. Three years later, Chloe and I both got accepted into the State University’s teaching program. The day the acceptance letters arrived in the mail, my mom did something unprecedented: she slaughtered the only egg-laying chicken we owned. When we sat down for dinner, she placed a massive bowl of chicken noodle soup right in the center of the table. She picked up the ladle, scooped a generous bowl for my dad, and then one for Chloe. When it was my turn, her hand paused mid-air. She gave me exactly half a bowl of broth. I didn’t say anything. I just quietly took the bowl. Then, she picked up her fork and reached for the only two drumsticks in the pot. One landed squarely in Chloe’s bowl. The other… also landed in Chloe’s bowl. “Chloe, you’ve been studying so hard. Eat up. You need to keep your strength up.” My dad kept his head down, slurping his soup as if it were a Michelin-star meal that required his absolute, undivided attention. Chloe kept her head down too, picking at her rice. Her fork carefully avoided the two glistening, golden drumsticks, but she didn’t say a single word. Since we were kids, if there was ever anything good in our house, it automatically belonged to her. Just like when we got into high school, and my mom made that cornbread. The piece I had in my hand wasn’t even warm yet before my mom told me to give it to my sister. Her reasoning? Chloe had better grades, so she needed the sugar for brain power. I thought that getting into college would finally change things. We got into the exact same university. Our SAT scores were only twenty points apart. The neighbors were constantly praising my parents, saying how blessed they were to have two brilliant daughters flying out of the nest at the same time. But the moment my mom opened her mouth, that “blessing” belonged solely to Chloe. “You both know our family’s financial situation,” my mom said, putting down her fork. She looked around the table, her gaze finally landing heavily on me. “Your dad’s salary from the hardware store is barely enough to feed us. There is absolutely no way we can afford two college tuitions.” My heart began to sink, inch by agonizing inch. “So, your dad and I talked it over. Chloe is going to college. Lily… you aren’t going.” My head snapped up, and I stared at her. She avoided my eyes and kept talking. “Your sister’s grades are slightly better than yours. She has a brighter future. You’re the younger sister; it’s your duty to help support the family and support your sister.” “I’ve already pulled some strings. You’re going to start working at the textile mill in town next week. You’ll work to pay for your sister’s tuition.” “Listen to your mother.” My dad, who had been silent the entire time, finally opened his mouth—just to say those five words. I turned to look at Chloe. She had finally stopped pretending to eat. She looked up, a fleeting trace of guilt in her eyes, but it was immediately eclipsed by a profound sense of overwhelming relief. She didn’t look at me. She looked straight at our mom and said, “Mom, I promise I’ll study hard. I’ll pay you, Dad, and Lily back someday.” Pay you back. What a beautiful, hollow promise. I looked down at the few pathetic, meatless chicken bones swimming in the clear broth of my bowl. Then I looked at the two massive, intact drumsticks sitting in hers. And suddenly, I understood. From that piece of sugared cornbread to this opportunity to go to college… it was never actually about whether we were poor or not. It was because, in their hearts, I was the one who could be sacrificed. And therefore, I must be sacrificed. I gripped my fork so tightly my knuckles turned white. I didn’t say a single word. For the rest of dinner, the only sounds were my mom and Chloe excitedly whispering about what she needed to pack for her move to the city. Their voices were bright and full of hope for the future. The hot chicken soup in my stomach felt like it had turned to solid ice. The next morning, my mom woke up at the crack of dawn. She didn’t ask me to make breakfast. Instead, she dragged a locked metal lockbox out from under her bed. It held our family’s entire life savings. She dumped the contents onto the mattress—stacks of crumpled one-dollar bills, loose change, and a few crisp fifty-dollar bills. She counted it all, meticulously, three separate times. When she was done, she wrapped the money tightly in a handkerchief, shoved it deep into her coat pocket, and turned to Chloe, who was brushing her hair. “Come on, Chloe. Mom’s taking you into town to buy some nice fabric for a few new dresses, and a brand-new pair of leather shoes. You’re going to be a college student now; we can’t let people look down on you.” Chloe caught my eye in the mirror. She looked away quickly, but couldn’t hide her excitement as she replied, “Okay!” From beginning to end, my mom didn’t glance at me once. It was as if I were just another piece of furniture in the room. After they left, I heated up the leftover oatmeal from the stove and handed a bowl to my dad. He kept his head down, eating silently. Suddenly, he looked up and muttered, “Your mother… she’s just doing what’s best for the family.” I didn’t respond. I took the dirty bowls into the kitchen and started scrubbing the pots. They came back that afternoon. Chloe was clutching a roll of pretty floral fabric, her feet sporting a pair of shiny black Mary Janes. She paraded back and forth across the living room several times. Once my mom had admired her enough, she finally directed her attention to me. “Lily, you’re reporting to the textile mill on the east side of town tomorrow. I already talked to Mrs. Higgins. You’re a fast worker. The first month is an apprenticeship, so the pay is lower, but you’ll still get a hundred and fifty bucks. When you get your paycheck, you hand it directly to me, every single cent. It’s going toward your sister’s living expenses.” Her tone wasn’t that of a mother speaking to her daughter. It sounded more like a plantation owner barking orders at a field hand. I replied quietly, “Understood.” The next few days in our house were incredibly loud. Aunts, uncles, and distant cousins heard Chloe got into the State University and came flocking to the house to congratulate her. They brought casseroles, baked goods, or just handed her cash in greeting cards. Every single time, my mom would push my sister to the front, her face beaming with pride as she accepted the gifts and cash, loudly announcing to everyone: “I’m putting all this money straight into a savings account for Chloe! It’s her college fund! Our entire family is counting on her now!” Occasionally, a relative would notice me and ask, “What about Lily? Didn’t she get accepted too?” My mom would immediately let out a dramatic sigh, putting on a pained, conflicted expression: “Oh, I know! But the girl is so mature. She knows how hard things are for us financially, so she volunteered to drop out! She said she wants to give the opportunity to her sister. She’s going to work at the mill to pay for Chloe’s tuition!” Every person in the room would then look at me with a mix of approval and pity, praising me for being so sensible, so selfless, such a “good sister.” I didn’t say a word. I just poured their coffee, refilled their water glasses, and quietly retreated to my tiny bedroom. My room was practically a closet. It fit a twin bed and a battered wooden chest. I opened the chest. Inside was everything I owned in the world: two faded, overworn t-shirts, a few dog-eared textbooks, and a small tin box. I took my clothes out, folded them meticulously, and packed them into a canvas duffel bag I had prepared days ago. Then, I opened the tin box and dumped out all the money inside. It was money I had scraped together over the years by tutoring kids in the neighborhood and collecting scrap metal. It was a pathetic pile of crumpled bills and heavy coins. It totaled exactly $348.50. I carefully tucked the money into the inner pocket of my jacket. It was late at night. Through the thin walls, I could hear Chloe and my mom still excitedly discussing college life. Their voices were bright, warm, and overflowing with dreams for the future. But not a single ray of that light reached my pitch-black room. I lay in bed, shoving the canvas duffel bag deep into the gap between my mattress and the wall, hiding it completely. I closed my eyes, but my mind had never been clearer. From the exact moment this family decided I was the one who had to be sacrificed… this was no longer my family. The loudest day in our house was the day Great-Uncle Henry came to visit from the city. He was a mid-level manager at a regional logistics company and was widely considered the most successful, respectable person in our extended family. The moment he walked through the door, my mom dragged out the nicest chair we owned and brewed a pot of expensive jasmine tea she normally kept hidden away. After the pleasantries, Uncle Henry pulled a small, velvet-lined box out of his briefcase. Inside lay two brand-new, high-end Parker fountain pens. “Chloe, Lily, you both got accepted to college. I don’t have much to offer,” he said with a warm, booming laugh, “but here’s one for each of you. Take good notes at school, and go do great things in the world!” A chorus of impressed gasps echoed from the relatives gathered in the living room. A Parker fountain pen was a serious status symbol. It represented intellect, class, and respectability. My heart involuntarily skipped a beat. Without even thinking, my hand instinctively reached out toward the box. But Chloe was faster. Her hand swooped in front of mine, smoothly and naturally plucking both pens from the velvet lining, clasping them securely in her palm. “Thank you so much, Uncle Henry.” She smiled flawlessly, waving the pens at the room. “College coursework is so demanding, I’m going to have to take a million notes! It’s perfect—one to use, and one as a backup!” Her movement was fluid; her excuse was airtight. Uncle Henry froze for a second. He clearly felt something was off, but looking at Chloe’s beaming, joyous face, he swallowed whatever he was going to say. My mom immediately stepped forward and patted Chloe’s hand—as if terrified someone was going to snatch the pens away from her. She quickly offered an explanation to Uncle Henry: “You’re absolutely right! Chloe’s studies are the priority. Our Lily… well, she’s not going to school anymore. She’s going to work at the textile mill. She’ll be dealing with cotton and heavy machinery all day. She has absolutely no use for such an expensive, fancy pen. Giving it to her would just be a total waste.” She emphasized the word “waste” with crushing clarity. My hand, still hovering halfway in the air, froze completely. The cheerful atmosphere in the room instantly curdled into something incredibly awkward. The eyes of the relatives darted back and forth between me, my mom, and the two fountain pens, filled with probing curiosity and second-hand embarrassment. My dad was crouching by the front door, lighting another cigarette. The thick smoke obscured his face. I slowly, deliberately pulled my hand back and shoved it deep into my pocket. From beginning to end, Chloe didn’t look at me once. She kept her head down, lovingly stroking the two fountain pens—one of which was undeniably meant for me—as if they were her most prized possessions. In that exact moment, the very last, fragile, crumbling pillar holding up my heart completely collapsed. For years, I had compromised. The sugared cornbread, the new clothes, and now, even the chance to get a college education—I gave it all up. I always told myself it was because we were poor. Because our family had limited resources, and we had to pool them together for one person to succeed. But now… these two pens were explicitly, specifically gifted to both of us by Uncle Henry. It turns out, it had absolutely nothing to do with being poor. I raised my head. My gaze swept over the faces of every person in the room, finally landing dead center on my mom and my sister. The room was noisy with awkward chatter, but my voice cut through it, ringing out with crystal clarity. “So, it’s not because we’re poor.” I asked, enunciating every single syllable. “It’s just because the person who is supposed to be sacrificed… will always be me. Right?” The chaotic noise in the room slammed to a halt. Everyone looked as if they were physically choking, staring dead at me. The entire house was plunged into a suffocating, deathly silence. My mom’s face instantly flushed a violent, furious red. She shot up from her chair, pointing her finger right at my nose, her voice shrill and piercing: “Lily Davis! We put you through high school, and this is the ungrateful, venomous trash you learn to spew?! How dare you speak to me like that?! I am your mother!” “Mom, please, let it go. Lily is just upset and isn’t thinking straight.” Chloe immediately played the gentle peacemaker, though her hands were still gripping the two fountain pens in a vice grip, as if they were her only family. Several relatives nervously tried to smooth things over, saying I was just young and impulsive, and told me to hurry up and apologize to my mom. My dad, crouching by the door, viciously ground his cigarette out against the floorboards. He finally spoke, his voice raspy and exhausted: “Everyone, just drop it.” The ugly, humiliating spectacle was forcibly swept under the rug, overshadowed by the impending “joyous occasion” of Chloe leaving for college. But everyone in that room knew that something had fundamentally, permanently fractured. Soon, the day of Chloe’s massive send-off party arrived. My family had set up three large banquet tables in the backyard. The entire extended family was there; it was louder and more festive than Thanksgiving. Chloe was wearing a brand-new, custom-made dress my mom had sewn for her. She looked like a proud peacock, surrounded by a flock of admiring relatives. After a few drinks, my mom stood up, her face glowing red with pride, holding her glass high. First, she gave a highly emotional, theatrical speech about how incredibly hard she worked to raise such a brilliant daughter, praising Chloe for being the golden child who was going to elevate the entire Davis family name. Inside and outside the house, the air was thick with applause and fawning compliments. Then, she pivoted. Her gaze shot across the yard, locking directly onto me. “Of course, the fact that our Chloe can go off to college with peace of mind… is also thanks to her younger sister.” “Our Lily is such a good girl! So incredibly mature! She knew how hard our financial situation was, so she volunteered to drop out! She insisted on giving her spot to her sister! She’s going to work at the mill to earn money to pay for Chloe’s tuition!” She painted me as a willing, selfless martyr. The relatives immediately turned their approving, sympathetic gazes toward me. “Lily really is such an amazing sister!” “Martha, you are so blessed! Both your girls are incredible!” Basking in the glow of these hypocritical, hollow compliments, my mom smiled in deep satisfaction. She looked at me and said loudly, “Lily, when you start at the mill, you better work hard! No slacking off! Every month when you get your paycheck, you mail it straight home immediately. Don’t you dare hold a single cent back, you hear me? Your sister is living in the big city now, her expenses are going to be huge!” Under the watchful eyes of every single person in that yard, I slowly stood up. I didn’t say a word. I just reached deep into the inner pocket of my jacket. And right in front of everyone, I untied the string and dumped the contents directly onto the banquet table. Clatter. It was a massive pile of worn-smooth quarters, dimes, nickels, and a thick stack of meticulously folded one-dollar and five-dollar bills. There wasn’t a single twenty-dollar bill in the pile. It was every single cent I had scraped together, literally taking food out of my own mouth, tutoring kids, and collecting recycling for years. My entire life savings. I took my time, carefully counting the money out, arranging it into neat piles until it totaled exactly one hundred dollars. I pushed the neat stack directly into the center of the table. Then, I raised my head. Meeting my mom’s shocked, horrified gaze, I spoke in the absolute calmest voice I had ever used in my entire life: “Mom. This is the exact cost of every meal you fed me and the clothes you put on my back. One hundred dollars. I am paying you back right now.” “From today on, we are completely even.” With that, I turned around, grabbed the canvas duffel bag I had hidden by the back door, and resolutely walked out of the gate. Behind me, I could hear my mom’s furious, hysterical screaming, followed by the sharp, shattering crash of plates and glasses hitting the patio. But I never looked back. I took a step forward, and I kept walking.

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Three years after our divorce, my ex-husband showed up at my door. In his arms was the baby he had with the mistress who destroyed our marriage. “She passed away,” he said. “Her dying wish was for the child to have a complete family.” I rolled my eyes hard, fully intending to slam the door in his face. But then he dropped a bombshell: “I will transfer all my money and every property in my name to you. Just treat this child as your own.” I immediately snatched the baby into my arms, smiling like a blooming flower: “Come here, sweetie! Call me Mom!” 1 Oliver Sterling stood at my front door, holding a toddler who had barely learned to walk. “She got sick and passed away. Before she left, her biggest wish was for the baby to grow up in a healthy, complete family.” “Chloe, you’re the only one I can count on.” The “she” Oliver was referring to was the other woman who had wedged herself into our marriage and successfully taken my place. And this little guy in his arms was the physical proof of their “true love.” I rolled my eyes in annoyance and grabbed the door handle, ready to shut it. But Oliver threw out bait I simply couldn’t refuse. “Every single asset in my name can be transferred to yours.” “As long as you raise this child as your own flesh and blood.” I instantly swung the door wide open and smoothly scooped the child into my arms. “Such a good baby. Say ‘Mommy’.” Oliver pulled back his expensive Italian leather shoe, which had been wedged in the doorframe and was now visibly creased. “He’s too little. He hasn’t learned to talk yet.” “If you have no objections, we can go to the courthouse and get remarried tomorrow.” Surprisingly, being held by a total stranger didn’t scare the kid at all. He was incredibly calm. He looked exactly like Oliver did in his childhood photos. I held the toddler’s chubby little hand tightly, refusing to let go for even a second. This wasn’t just a child. This was a literal golden goose falling straight from the sky. “We can go right now,” I said. I was crouching down, so I had to tilt my head way back to look at Oliver. He was too tall. My neck was practically cramping before I could clearly see his face. “Actually, never mind. Let’s give you a few days to calculate exactly how much money and real estate you have under your name first.” “Just to be safe, we should sign a prenuptial agreement before we remarry, so things don’t get messy later.” Oliver stared down at me, his lips pressed tightly together. He didn’t say a word. He just reached out and took the child back, not letting me touch him anymore. “The baby is too young. He needs someone with him at all times.” “Move back into the Sterling mansion before tomorrow morning.” Was that an order? I was furious. I wanted to jump up and slap him across the face. But then the thought of the hundreds of millions of dollars in his name flashed through my mind, and I forcefully swallowed my anger. I forced a flawless, professional smile. “No problem, Mr. Sterling.” Honestly, even before Oliver showed up at my door, I had seen the news about Mia’s death. Mia had been battling cancer for over six months. During that time, Oliver dropped almost all his work projects and flew her overseas for cutting-edge treatments. The media had a field day reporting on how much the CEO of Sterling Enterprises doted on his wife. It got to the point where everyone almost forgot exactly how he and his current wife had gotten together in the first place. But no matter how much money Oliver threw at it, he couldn’t buy his wife’s life. A week ago, Mia, wasted away by cancer, finally passed. Oliver was devastated. He threw Mia an absurdly extravagant funeral. On the day of the service, in front of a swarm of reporters, Oliver took off his sunglasses, revealing eyes swollen like walnuts. Tears were streaming down his face. “I couldn’t give her a proper wedding back then, so all I can give her now is the grandest funeral.” “I love her more than anything in this world.” I saw all of this on the news. Oliver treated Mia like his most precious treasure. So before he showed up at my door, it never even crossed my mind that he would come to me. More accurately, I never expected him to come to me this fast. When I headed to the Sterling mansion, I dragged a single carry-on suitcase packed with a few changes of clothes. Oliver, holding the baby, stood at the front door and looked me up and down. “That’s all you brought? Chloe, do you think you’re just here for a vacation?” Then, he quickly backpedaled and answered his own question. “Never mind. The Sterling house has everything anyway.” “If you need anything, just tell Mr. Lee. Don’t be a stranger.” Hilarious! I lived in this house way longer than Mia ever did! But I kept my smile and nodded obediently. “Understood, Mr. Sterling.” As I was carrying my suitcase upstairs, I bumped right into Mr. Lee, the butler, who was coming down. Mr. Lee rubbed his eyes hard, several times. “Mrs. Sterling?” He looked like he had seen a ghost, instinctively backing up several steps until his foot slipped and he landed hard on his butt on the stairs. “No, no, Ms. Davis, why are you here—” Before he could finish, I cut him off with a bright smile. “You’re trying to ask why I’m back, right?” Mr. Lee didn’t say a word. He just stared at me with a terrified expression. Like he had just witnessed a corpse sit up in its coffin first thing in the morning. I rested my hands on my knees, bent down, and looked him right in the eye. “Mr. Lee, I’m back.” “Aren’t you happy?” Back before Oliver and I divorced… Oliver would often wait until I was away on business trips to bring Mia into the house to fool around. If it hadn’t been for Mr. Lee covering for them and lying to both sides, it wouldn’t have taken me so long to discover their disgusting affair. Mr. Lee was essentially the most obedient dog Oliver ever owned. Seeing Mr. Lee so flustered and panicked, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “It looks like our head butler didn’t even know I was coming back?” So, it turned out he wasn’t privy to everything Oliver did after all. This was going to make things much easier. I stood up straight, grabbed my suitcase, and continued up the stairs, casually tossing a sentence over my shoulder. “It’s been three years and you still haven’t managed to become Oliver’s trusted confidant? You aren’t working hard enough.” 2 I officially remarried Oliver on the third day after moving back into the Sterling mansion. The agreements were signed and notarized by a team of lawyers. Everything was set in stone. I sat on the cashmere rug in the living room, idly shaking a toy to entertain the little guy. Oliver sat next to us, incredibly patiently reading a storybook to the baby. His voice was soft, radiating a deep, undeniable tenderness. Anyone watching would think this was a picture-perfect, loving family. It’s just a shame this child wasn’t mine. It’s just a shame this was all an act. After coaxing the baby to sleep… Oliver put down the storybook and carefully carried the sleeping child into the nursery. I tossed the toy aside, sprawled out on the rug, and scrolled through my phone out of boredom. This designer bag is nice. Buy! This diamond necklace is gorgeous. Buy! These are all amazing. Buy, buy, buy! Until a large shadow completely blocked my view. I sat up abruptly, staring at Oliver defensively. “Mr. Sterling, any further instructions?” Oliver stood with his hands in his pockets, looking down at me. “As a responsible mother, shouldn’t you be in the nursery watching over him right now?” “Chloe, I know you’ve never given birth, but you should at least learn how to take care of a child, right?” “From the moment we remarried, you became this child’s mother.” My grip on my phone tightened involuntarily. It’s true I had never given birth, but I had lost a child. Three years ago. On the exact day I first caught Oliver cheating. I had just returned from a grueling two-week business trip, feeling like my body was about to fall apart. It happened to be Mr. Lee’s day off. I didn’t call for a company driver; I just grabbed a cab and went straight home. My only thought at the time was: Take a hot bath, and then sleep for days in Oliver’s arms. But when I pushed the door open… The scene before my eyes instantly vaporized every ounce of my exhaustion. Oliver was holding another woman, lying right in our marital bed. The most laughable part was that our wedding portrait was hanging directly above them. That day, I not only discovered Oliver was cheating, but I also found out I was pregnant. Unfortunately, by the time I knew, it was already too late. I couldn’t keep the baby. Back then, to protect Mia, Oliver hadn’t hesitated to slap me hard across the face. “Chloe, are you done throwing a tantrum?!” He was the one screwing around outside, yet he acted like I was the one being unreasonable. I had been working overtime for two weeks straight; my body was already completely drained. Oliver’s slap carried so much force that I couldn’t even stay on my feet. I hit the floor hard, slicing my forehead open on the nightstand. And because of that slap, I lost my baby. It was the first child we had conceived in our five years of marriage, and the only one. Perhaps realizing he had misspoken, Oliver cleared his throat, about to explain. I looked up and smiled like nothing had happened. “Understood, Mr. Sterling.” “Starting today, I’ll learn how to take care of the baby. I’ll strive to be a perfect mother you can’t find a single flaw in.” The words caught in Oliver’s throat, and he swallowed them back down. He avoided my gaze, adding a sentence as if trying to give himself an out. “Alright. Just do your best.” Probably feeling guilty… That day, Oliver had someone deliver a mountain of designer bags and jewelry. It completely stuffed my previously empty walk-in closet. Mr. Lee approached me with a fawning expression. “Mrs. Sterling, is there anything else you require?” I casually sifted through the sparkling jewelry, not even giving him a direct look. But I couldn’t resist making him uncomfortable. “There’s still a pile of boxes downstairs. Those aren’t for me, are they?” The staff had clearly unloaded way more boxes in the driveway earlier. Almost half of the delivery hadn’t even been brought to my room. Mr. Lee looked incredibly awkward, stammering for a long time before finally getting a sentence out. “Mrs. Sterling, those…” I put down the jewelry and turned to look at him. “Hard to say?” Honestly, I had already guessed what was going on. But I needed someone to say the truth out loud. Mr. Lee lowered his head, his voice barely louder than a mosquito’s hum. “Mr. Sterling ordered them for the former Mrs. Sterling.” “Mr. Sterling specifically instructed that whatever you have, the former Mrs. Sterling must also have, and hers must be even better.” On the surface, Mr. Lee looked timid, but his words cut like a knife. It felt like he was intentionally trying to retaliate against me. Former Mrs. Sterling? He meant Mia. Time is a truly bizarre thing. It can dilute feelings, and it can also blur the order in which people arrive in your life. How did a woman who climbed the ranks by being a mistress become the legitimate “former Mrs. Sterling”? Just because she died before me? I forced a smile, too lazy to argue with a dead woman. “Get out.” 3 After Oliver and I remarried… Aside from the time we spent together playing with the baby, we lived completely separate lives. I lived in the master suite on the second floor. Oliver lived in the master suite on the third floor—the bedroom he had shared with Mia. I don’t have many special talents, but I am exceptionally good at maintaining boundaries. I never stepped foot in Oliver’s room. But I could guarantee that room was stuffed to the brim with everything related to Mia. A month passed in the blink of an eye. Oliver still hadn’t recovered from the blow of losing his wife. In fact, he was getting worse day by day. He only managed to act like a normal person when he was in front of the baby. The moment he was out of the child’s sight, it was like his soul left his body. He was like a walking corpse. A puppet drained of all vitality. Late one night. The baby’s sharp, piercing cries tore through the quiet night. Like a miserable employee forced to work overtime, I groggily dragged myself upstairs. The nursery was on the third floor, right next to Oliver’s bedroom. When I pushed the door open, I saw Oliver bent over, softly trying to coax the baby, who had clearly had a nightmare. The entire nursery smelled strongly of alcohol. Oliver was drowning his sorrows again. I reached out, tugged his sleeve, and lowered my voice. “Go outside, get some fresh air, and sober up. Don’t suffocate the baby with those fumes.” Oliver lifted his arm, sniffed his own clothes, nodded, and walked out. I picked the baby up and, following the techniques I had learned online, rhythmically patted his back. Thank god. This child was too young to remember what his biological mother looked like. Plus, during the six months Mia was sick, she hadn’t had the energy to take care of him anyway. Raised primarily by a nanny since birth, the child naturally wasn’t crying and screaming for his “mommy.” Since I had been by his side every day for the past month, he genuinely treated me as his mother. After coaxing the baby back to sleep… I quietly slipped out of the nursery, ready to go back downstairs to bed. Oliver was standing by the window at the end of the hallway, leaving me with only his lonely silhouette. I wasn’t pathetic enough to interrupt another person’s mourning session for their dead wife. But just as my foot hit the first stair, Oliver suddenly spoke. “Chloe, can you talk to me for a bit?” “In this whole world, I honestly don’t know who else I can pour my heart out to.” I stopped on the stairs, but I didn’t answer right away. I ran it through my head before finding an excuse to reject him. “Mr. Sterling, my job is to take care of the child. I don’t provide psychological counseling services.” Oliver sighed softly. “Chloe, if only I had never proposed to you back then.” “Being good friends for the rest of our lives would have been so much better than ending up like this.” “Chloe, do you hate me?” Hearing that, I finally turned around to look at him properly. Oliver turned his head to look at me too, his eyes full of disappointment. “Chloe, you hate me, don’t you?” I looked at Oliver acting like his life was ending, and I just found it funny. Hate? Why would I hate the golden goose who was handing me his fortune? I stared right into his eyes, my tone incredibly calm. “Mr. Sterling, you’re overthinking it.” “In the adult world, there isn’t that much dramatic love and hate. Everyone just takes what they need.” “You paid me to be a mother to this child. I’m doing the job I was paid for. This is a fair transaction.” Oliver froze. He clearly hadn’t expected me to say that. In his mind, I was supposed to be a bitter ex-wife. I was supposed to point a finger at his nose and curse him out, or throw myself into his arms and weep bitterly. Too bad I haven’t been that naive, lovesick girl for three years. I yawned and turned back toward the stairs. “Get some sleep, Mr. Sterling. I have to meet with the lawyers tomorrow to finalize the details of the asset transfers.” Oliver didn’t say another word. First thing the next morning, I had the lawyers bring a thick stack of documents to the Sterling mansion. Since the agreements were signed and notarized, I needed to secure the bag as quickly as possible. I sat on the living room sofa, verifying the asset inventory line by line. Real estate, luxury cars, stocks, mutual funds, and forty percent of the shares in Sterling Enterprises. Looking at those numbers, I could literally breathe easier. Mr. Lee walked over with a cup of coffee, his face looking like he had swallowed a fly. “Mrs. Sterling, these properties have been built up by generations of the Sterling family. Are you truly going to transfer them all to your own name?” I took a sip of the coffee without even lifting my eyelids. “Mr. Lee, what kind of question is that?” “It’s written right here in black and white. Oliver gave these to me willingly. Why make it sound like I’m robbing him at gunpoint?” Mr. Lee gritted his teeth and lowered his voice. “Aren’t you afraid the former Mrs. Sterling is watching you from heaven?” I couldn’t hold it back—I burst out laughing. I set the coffee cup down, stood up, and walked right up to him. “Let her watch.” “If she’s really that capable, she can crawl up from the grave and find me.” “But Mr. Lee, aren’t you overstepping your bounds?” “My current status is the lady of the Sterling household. You are an employee collecting a paycheck. What gives you the right to dictate what I do?” Mr. Lee was rendered speechless, his face flushing deep red. I turned to the lawyer. “Mr. Davis, please draft a termination agreement.” “Mr. Lee is getting old, and his mind isn’t quite clear anymore. He’s no longer suitable to continue working for the Sterling family.” Mr. Lee’s head snapped up, his face full of disbelief. “You’re firing me?! Mr. Sterling will never agree to this!” I shrugged. “Then go ask him. Ask him if he wants his butler, or if he wants a good wife who can take care of his child.” Furious, Mr. Lee ran upstairs to complain to Oliver. Less than ten minutes later, he came back down, looking entirely defeated. He didn’t dare utter a single word as he went back to his room to pack his things. Watching his back as he dragged his suitcase out the door, I felt incredibly satisfied. Three years ago, he helped Oliver and Mia humiliate me. Today, I sent him packing. And this was just the beginning.

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