Category: English

The car crash that killed my parents happened while I was on the operating table, undergoing an abortion. It was our second child, mine and Jace Frost’. At my parents’ funeral, I called Jace again and again. Until his childhood sweetheart, Nora Vance, answered, her tone sharp with impatience: “Jace is washing strawberries for me. What do you want?” Clutching the urn with my parents’ ashes, my expression was distant. “Nothing. Just tell Jace, after you’ve finished your strawberries, that I agree to the divorce.” 1 I cremated my parents’ bodies alone. Along with the second child I had deliberately ended, the one I shared with my husband, Jace Frost. All my loved ones in this world were confined together in that small incinerator. Reduced to a handful of ashes. But it didn’t matter anymore. I was dying too. My parents had been kind people their entire lives; many relatives and friends attended their funeral. The only one conspicuously absent was Jace. My parents’ dearest friend, Uncle Ben, mentioned Jace’s name and shook his head with resentment, his eyes full of pity when he looked at me. They all said very similar things: “The Peterson couple, kind their whole lives, ended up supporting an ungrateful viper like Jace Frost!” Dressed in black mourning clothes, clutching the urn, I walked along the path to the burial site. The sky was overcast. My lower abdomen still throbbed faintly; I slowly touched it. It had once nurtured two unborn children. What a pity… Never mind. Their father didn’t love me, so he wouldn’t have loved them either. The half of my wrist exposed from the sleeve of my mourning gown was thin and withered. I remembered the doctor saying I had three months left to live. In these three months, I would take my parents’ and baby’s ashes to see the world one last time. Without Jace. I took out my phone and dialed the number I knew by heart. Again and again, no answer. Not until the 13th attempt did it finally connect. But it was Nora who spoke, her voice petulant and demanding: “Big sis, it’s four in the morning in Los Angeles!” In the past, I would have hysterically cursed her. But now, my heart was calm, devoid of emotion. I simply said, “I need to speak to Jace about something.” Nora scoffed, utterly impatient. “Jace is washing strawberries for me. What do you want?” Before I could answer, she sneered again, “Don’t you think you’re being too possessive? We just finished a big meeting, and Jace and I are both exhausted. Just tell me directly whatever you want.” I was silent for a moment, my gaze falling on the urn in my arms. My expression was detached as I replied, “Nothing. After you’ve finished your strawberries, tell Jace I agree to the divorce.” Without waiting for her reaction, I hung up. I had loved Jace for ten years, binding him to me through marriage for five. But I still couldn’t warm his heart. Now, I chose to let go. The next time I heard from Jace was the following day. I was sorting through my parents’ belongings. Jace’s voice on the phone was filled with disgust: “Liv Peterson, what are you stirring up now?! I’ve told you countless times, taking Nora abroad this time was just for business cooperation!” “You deliberately made Nora cry again last night, saying you want to divorce me because of her. Nora was heartbroken all night. Do you find that amusing?” Nora was clearly the apple of Jace’s eye. He chose to believe even such a clumsy lie. In the past, I might have felt wronged and tried to explain. But now, he could believe whatever he wanted. I carefully wiped my parents’ photos, softly replying: “Alright. So when are you coming back to the country? We can go to the courthouse for the divorce.” His voice stopped then. A moment of silence. I thought he was considering the property division, so I reassured him: “Don’t worry, I don’t want a single penny from you. I’ll leave with nothing.” Anyway, I wouldn’t live much longer. Jace’s money? I didn’t want it; it felt dirty. Jace, however, gritted his teeth, his voice venomous: “Liv Peterson, I’m not divorcing you! You can forget about it!” With that, he hung up directly. I was speechless. He had left with a harsh threat before going abroad: “Liv Peterson, your family forced Nora away back then. You ruined her chance at happiness.” “If you keep acting up like this, we’ll get a divorce!” He had made that threat because Nora had shattered the urn containing my first child’s ashes. I had slapped her. Jace, who arrived when he heard the commotion, showed only disgust when he saw the ashes on the floor. Nora, crying, explained: “Jace, I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry, I was just scared…” Jace, hearing this, slapped me on Nora’s behalf. His voice filled with revulsion: “They’re already dead. Why keep the ashes in the house? It’s bad luck!” It was then that my heart finally died. He truly didn’t love me, to the point of utterly despising even the child I carried for him. So, on the third day of his trip abroad, I aborted the second child. It was a beautiful, sunny day. My parents had just attended my cousin’s wedding. They didn’t know I was pregnant yet, but they were so happy. They had just received an investment, and with that money, their bankrupt factory could reopen. Just as I was about to call them, I received a recording from an unknown number. The recording contained only Jace’s voice. He said: “…Nora’s brother’s leukemia is a ticking time bomb. Luckily, Liv is still useful. I’ll have another child with her. The baby’s cord blood can save him…” I was thunderstruck. I had always known Jace didn’t love me. But I never imagined he would manipulate me to such an extent! So I gave up. In that moment, the last shred of my love for Jace vanished. I went directly to the hospital for an abortion. But I never expected that my parents would be rear-ended by a dump truck. And perish. Jace returned home on the third day. At that time, I had just returned from the hospital with my medication. A bag full of painkillers. The doctor who prescribed them had a solemn expression and asked me, “Ms. Peterson, where are your family members? Painkillers will only worsen your condition—” I curved my lips, a faint smile forcing its way onto my gaunt, hollow cheeks. “I know. But my family is all gone. I don’t want to live anymore.” The doctor’s words froze. He looked at me with pity. I wore the oversized coat my mother bought me, but it still couldn’t hide the cold that chilled me to the bone. I was truly sick; my physical condition was too poor. I tightened my coat and opened the villa door, only to see Jace sitting on the sofa. When he saw me, he stood up and walked over. But I recoiled a step, as if his aristocratic aura had stung my eyes. His eyes, which had initially held a flicker of expectation, were now covered by a thick cloud of gloom. “Where have you been?” He looked down at me, his voice harsh. I blinked, ignoring the cufflink on his wrist, and said nothing. I had seen that cufflink just two weeks ago on Nora’s social media. It was her birthday gift to him, a custom design. All the gifts I had given him over the years had been discarded for various reasons. A handmade cup, given to a subordinate as an ashtray; a coat that took six months to tailor, later used as a mat for Nora’s dog; even the pregnancy test results for our first meticulously planned child, torn up carelessly… For ten years, I had tirelessly pursued Jace, caring for him, worrying about him, loving him. Now, I was tired. “Why did you go to the hospital? Why do you look so pale? Do you have a fever?” He frowned, stepping closer, reaching to check my forehead, but I dodged him. “Don’t trouble yourself, Mr. Frost. I’m fine.” I lowered my gaze, suddenly understanding Jace’s past feelings. It turned out that when you no longer loved someone, even trying to make small talk with them was exhausting. “It’s still early. We still have time to go to the courthouse.” I returned to the master bedroom, put away my medication, and then went downstairs with our marriage certificate. Only to be met with Jace’s astonished expression. I asked him, “Didn’t you want a divorce? I agree. Let’s go.” Jace’s face instantly turned ashen. As if struck in a raw nerve, he pointed at my nose and roared, “Liv Peterson, what do you mean by this?!” “Why are all you Petersons so selfish? Your parents, seeing my potential, forced me to marry you just because your family supported me for a few years!” “And then used their power to force Nora to study abroad at a young age!” “Now that I’ve made a name for myself, your family is still insatiable, wanting to divorce me to get a share of my earnings so you can run off with your lover?!” He finished his outburst, like an enraged lion, his face contorted in a snarl. Yet, I couldn’t help but want to laugh. And I did. The tremors in my abdomen exacerbated the ache in my muscles, and tears streamed down my face as I laughed uncontrollably. So, my parents, these good people who spent years on charity. Sponsoring Jace Frost, a brilliant student whose parents had died, was that wrong? My secret decade-long love for Jace, begging my parents to secretly give Jace’s startup a project, was that wrong? My mother, believing Nora’s artistic talent was better suited for a prestigious foreign art school, sponsoring her studies abroad—was that wrong too? “…Hahahaha, yes, I was wrong…” My chest ached from laughing, my mouth filled with the taste of blood. “My whole life, I’ve been utterly, disastrously wrong…” Jace seemed startled by my hysteria. He stared at me coldly, grinding his teeth as he spoke: “Tell me, was this another one of your parents’ snobbish ideas? “Tell them to come speak to me themselves!” I closed my eyes, letting tears stream down my face. Remembering my parents’ bloody bodies after the car crash, only regret remained in my chest. Just then, there was a knock at the door. It was our next-door neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Davies. They were close friends with my parents but had settled abroad. They had rushed back after hearing the news of my parents’ passing. Mrs. Davies’ eyes were red and swollen from crying. She trembled as she hugged me: “I’m so sorry, Liv. We’re too late…” Mr. Davies wiped his tears, choking out: “The Petersons never did a bad thing in their lives. How could they just be gone like that?!” The grief and regret in their voices seemed genuine. Seconds later, Jace’s incredulous voice rang out: “Who did you say passed away?” I looked at Jace with red eyes and a cold sneer. “You hate my parents so much, shouldn’t you be happy they’re gone?” Jace, however, opened his mouth, speechless for a moment. Mrs. Davies hadn’t recognized Jace. As if remembering something, she asked me, “You didn’t end up with that young man your family sponsored, did you? Oh, back when your factory was struggling and cash flow was tight, your dad specifically borrowed thirty thousand dollars from me to pay for that boy’s tuition. He said the boy was very talented and would surely achieve great things in the future…” CRASH! It was the sound of Jace bumping into furniture. His face was pale, as if he couldn’t believe it. But I just tugged at the corner of my mouth, telling Mrs. Davies, “Let’s not talk about that, Mrs. Davies. I’ll take you to see my parents.”

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At 2:00 AM, my ex-boyfriend called and said he wanted to get back together. With red, tear-filled eyes, I agreed. But on the other end of the line, the room erupted into thunderous, mocking laughter. “I told you guys. This woman, Chloe, is so pathetic that all I have to do is crook my finger, and she’ll come crawling right back to me.” I didn’t get angry. I just asked him if what he said a second ago still counted. “Ethan, as long as you come back, you can do whatever you want to me…” Dead silence fell over the other end of the line. “Chloe! I’m Liam! What the hell are you talking about? Who the fuck is Ethan?!” 1 In the middle of the night, I was running a fever. Through my hazy, dizzy state, I heard my phone ring. I answered it. There was a lot of background noise and rowdy shouting. After a long moment, a man’s magnetic voice finally reached my ear. “Chloe, I miss you.” That familiar voice instantly brought tears to my eyes. For the past few months, I had only been able to fall asleep with the help of sleeping pills. Hearing his voice again, I couldn’t help but choke on a sob. “I miss you too.” Soon, the voice on the other end spoke again. “Chloe, let’s stop fighting. Let’s get back together.” His voice was like aged, rich red wine, instantly intoxicating me. My feverish body broke out in a sweat, soaking through my pajamas. My long fingernails dug into the edge of my phone case. Barely able to suppress my crying, I eagerly nodded and agreed. But immediately after, the other end of the line erupted in roaring laughter. “Liam is the absolute man! Two words and he gets his ex-girlfriend kneeling and begging like a dog!” “Does anyone actually fall for the ‘2 AM let’s get back together’ routine? Liam, where did you find this freak? When you guys were together, she served you like you were royalty. It’s been three months since you dumped her, and she’s still obsessed with you.” “That’s just the irresistible charm of our guy Liam. When they were dating, he’d tell her to get lost, and she’d roll over like an obedient puppy.” “One time Liam was out on a date with another girl, and with one phone call, Chloe literally drove over to deliver him condoms.” “How can someone be that pathetic?” “Like I said, Liam’s charm is unmatched. I’ll take the penalty drink for this round.” The phone line was filled with their unbridled, cruel mockery. Finally, Liam’s voice sounded again: “I told you all. Chloe is completely pathetic. All I have to do is crook my finger, and she’ll come crawling right back, begging for attention.” Liam’s voice was still deep and magnetic, but now it was laced with smug arrogance. Then, he addressed me: “Chloe, we’re playing Truth or Dare. Thanks for taking the penalty for me.” His tone was completely dismissive. He was ready to hang up. But I didn’t want to miss this incredibly rare opportunity. I hurriedly asked: “Did you mean what you said just now?” The other end froze. Even the background music seemed to lower in volume. “Chloe, are you mentally ill? Did you honestly think I called you at 2 AM because I actually wanted to get back together?” Liam cursed at me. I ignored it, insisting: “You said it, and I agreed.” Saying that, I couldn’t hold back my cries anymore. My voice filled with desperation as I lowered myself to the absolute dust: “Ethan… as long as you come back, you can do whatever you want to me…” No response. For a long, long time, it was dead silent. And then, came Liam’s furious, explosive roar: “Chloe! You better explain yourself right now! Who the fuck is Ethan?!” 2 Ethan. That name accompanied me through my entire youth. In a daze, I was transported back to the summer I was sixteen, the first time I ever saw him. Those were the darkest days of my life. My grandmother, the only person I had left in the world, had passed away. I became an unleashed, rabid dog, completely letting myself rot in the mud. After getting caught in yet another violent fight, my homeroom teacher, Mrs. Davis, gave me an ultimatum. If my parents didn’t show up, she was going to report me to the school board and have me expelled. I didn’t care. I leaned lazily against the wall and said dismissively, “My dad’s in Canada, my mom’s in Mexico. Neither of them can be reached. How about I summon my dead grandma’s ghost for you instead?” “Chloe!” Mrs. Davis was so furious with my attitude that she grabbed my arm, fully intending to drag me to the office to process my expulsion. That was exactly when Ethan appeared. He rushed into the hallway and stood protectively in front of me. His very first words were: “I apologize for being late. I am Chloe’s older brother.” Brother? I froze. Mrs. Davis froze too. Mrs. Davis froze because the man standing in front of her radiated a clean, sharp, and intimidating aura. Standing next to my frizzy, dyed hair and heavy, cheap makeup, we looked like we belonged in entirely different universes. I froze because I never knew my parents had a secret love child who was this old. So, I was immediately hostile toward him. “Bullshit! I don’t have a damn brother!” I started screaming and charged at him to push him away. But Ethan, who looked lean and intellectual, effortlessly restrained me with just one hand. At the same time, he calmly and politely apologized to Mrs. Davis. He promised her that from now on, he would keep me on a very tight leash. Thanks to his earnest pleading, Mrs. Davis decided to give me one last chance. Ethan physically dragged me all the way home. On the way, he shoved me into a hair salon. He had them chop off my messy, dyed hair and scrub off my heavy makeup. The mirror revealed my natural, original face. He stared at me for a moment, then smiled and ruffled my hair: “This looks so much better for a student.” I didn’t dodge. Taking advantage of the proximity, I lunged and bit down hard on the webbing of his hand. I didn’t succeed. Instead, he pinched my chin. “Tsk, such a fierce little girl?” “Get lost! I’m calling the cops! You’re a kidnapper!” I yelled at him, my words muffled. Even though Ethan was incredibly handsome, it didn’t stop me from hating him. Especially when he smiled—it was so bright it physically stung my eyes. I cursed, kicked, and fought. Ethan didn’t get angry. He let me throw my tantrum until I finally ran out of energy. Only then did he slowly explain: “I’m not a kidnapper. Your parents entrusted me to take care of you.” “Bullshit! They don’t give a damn about me! If they did, why didn’t they even show up when Grandma died?!” I tried to act like I didn’t care, but as I screamed at him, my voice broke. I glared at him with red, tear-filled eyes. My cheeks felt itchy, and then wet… Ethan fell silent. He let go of my chin. After a long pause, he promised me: “Once you get into college, they’ll come back.” I thought about it for a second, then replied: “In their dreams.” 3 Whether I agreed or not didn’t matter. Ethan aggressively moved into my apartment. I tried calling the cops on him once, but Ethan somehow produced a legally binding guardianship document, physically signed by my parents. It left me completely speechless. I gave up. I decided to treat him like he was invisible. It was a two-bedroom apartment. I had one room, and Grandma used to have the other. Now he lived in Grandma’s room. He actually started preparing three meals a day and taking over all the household chores. A free maid? Why not. Once I rationalized it, I accepted his presence without any guilt. But one thing was incredibly annoying. He demanded I come home immediately after school every day. No matter which shady internet cafe I hid in, he would always track me down and drag me out. As soon as I got home, he checked my homework. When I said I didn’t understand it, he actually sat right next to me and tutored me. Whatever I didn’t know, he knew how to teach. “Ethan, tell me the truth…” After being dragged home from an arcade yet again, I couldn’t help but ask: “Are you part of some secret reality show where you get a million dollars if you get me into college? Or is this the cure to a terminal illness you have?” Ethan flicked me hard on the forehead. “Going to college is for your own future.” “What’s the point of college?” I rubbed my forehead and complained: “It’s not like I actually want them to come back…” “Do you really not want them to come back?” Ethan cut me off. He looked at me, his tone dead serious: “Don’t you want to prove to them that even when you’re entirely on your own, you can still become something amazing?” My fingers curled inward. My heart swelled in my chest. He had a tiny tear mole at the corner of his eye. I looked into his eyes, and it felt like they held an entire galaxy. They were so, so bright… 4 Midterm exams. I went from being the second-worst student in my grade to the top fifty. When the grades were posted, no one could believe it. I was ecstatic. All I could think about was how I was going to tell Ethan the good news that night. I planned to lie to him, tell him I was still second-to-last, and use it to extort a massive plate of his homemade BBQ ribs to comfort me. Ethan’s BBQ ribs were genuinely incredible. I was happily plotting my deception, but before the school day even ended, Mrs. Davis called me into the office… She suspected me of cheating and threatened to void my scores. That night, I went straight to a club. 5 Ethan was the one who bailed me out of the police precinct. According to the officers… They raided the club and rounded up a bunch of underage drinkers. I was the most obvious one—wearing a high school uniform, completely wasted, grinding on the dance floor with a bunch of shady guys, having the time of my life. Ethan’s face was completely black. I saw him speaking quietly with the officers, then signing a document before walking over to lead me out of the precinct. Honestly, I hadn’t drank that much. Plus, standing in the freezing, drafty hallway of the police station had sobered me up considerably. The entire ride home, Ethan didn’t say a single word to me. Seeing his stone-cold face ignited my own temper. I stubbornly marched toward my bedroom door, but he stopped me: “Hold it! Do you not have anything to say for yourself?” That single command triggered every rebellious bone in my body. “I don’t need you to manage me! You aren’t my dad, and you aren’t my mom! Do you really think a piece of paper gives you the right to control my life?!” Ethan strode toward me. Even though he was lean, when his face went cold, his aura was absolutely terrifying. He stopped right in front of me. He was a full head taller than me. Looking down at me, his face was like ice, and his voice was harsher than it had ever been: “Do you have any idea how disappointed your parents would be if they saw you like this?!” Hearing that, I violently hurled my backpack at him and screamed hysterically: “How disappointed could they possibly be?! The grass on their graves is probably taller than me by now! They don’t know shit!” I watched Ethan’s icy facade shatter into a million pieces. The atmosphere stagnated for a long, agonizing moment before his low voice finally broke the silence: “Since when did you know?” I clenched my fists so tight my nails dug into my palms. The adrenaline and alcohol surged back to my head, making my entire body burn. Biting my lip, I stared directly into his eyes and enunciated every single word: “Don’t treat me like a child. I understand everything. I know my parents are dead! You hid it from me, Grandma hid it from me… I know a lot of things. I know they were undercover cops. And I know you’re a cop too!” 6 My head was spinning. The memories of the past flooded my brain like a tidal wave, making my already throbbing head feel like it was going to split open. Through the phone, Liam was still demanding an answer. I snapped back to reality and replied purely on instinct: “Where are you? I want… I want to see you right now.” I missed him so much. I truly, desperately wanted to see him right now. The other end went silent. I could hear the mocking, teasing voices in the background. Some said I was shameless, others said I was playing hard to get, and some laughed, asking if Liam was getting anxious. Finally, Liam texted me an address. I didn’t even bother getting dressed up. I rushed out the door. When I arrived at the bar, Liam’s group hadn’t left. Seeing my pale, sickly face, Liam, who was sitting in the center of the booth, froze for a second. “Chloe, it’s only been a few months. Do you… look like you’re about to drop dead?” I didn’t care. I ignored the sneering, judgmental stares of everyone in the room and walked straight up to him. But as my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting and I got a clear look at Liam’s face, a surge of indescribable fury exploded in my chest. “Where is your tear mole?” I reached out, grabbed his chin, and frantically inspected his face. It had only been a few months. Liam’s face was different. The corner of his eye, the bridge of his nose… but most importantly, the tear mole at the corner of his eye—the exact same mole Ethan had—was gone. He didn’t look like Ethan anymore! Annoyed by my grabbing, Liam shoved me away roughly, his tone impatient: “That mole was ugly as hell. I’ve been wanting to get it lasered off for a long time. I look way better now.” He touched his own face, smiling confidently. But I suddenly lunged at him like a maniac, tearing at his clothes. “Who gave you permission to remove it?! You don’t look anything like him anymore!” I had searched so hard and finally found an existence so similar to him, and now Liam had ruined it! I projected all my rage onto the man in front of me. I stood up to leave, but my arm was grabbed violently. “What the hell do you mean? Like who? This ‘Ethan’ guy? Chloe! You better explain right now, who the fuck is Ethan?!” Liam finally remembered his earlier question, his voice sharp with interrogation. Someone tried to break it up. “Liam, calm down. Chloe is definitely just playing mind games…” “Yeah, this guy definitely doesn’t even exist.” Hearing this, Liam’s expression relaxed slightly. The way he looked at me grew even more contemptuous. He said: “If you want to get back together, show some sincerity. Don’t just make up some random name, using a nonexistent ghost to try and play me…” Liam didn’t get to finish his sentence. I slapped him across the face as hard as I physically could. With one hundred percent of my strength. “Who are you calling nonexistent?! Ethan isn’t dead! HE ISN’T!” “Chloe, have you lost your fucking mind?! Are you crazy?!”

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When I was seven, my older brother was too busy chasing a scholarship girl to watch me, which resulted in me being kidnapped. By the time I finally escaped and made it back home years later, that same scholarship girl had essentially taken my place, living as the fake heiress of our family. Wearing an outrageously expensive princess dress, she pinched her nose and looked at me with undisguised disgust. “She smells terrible. Do you think she has some kind of infectious disease?” And just like that, the way my parents looked at me shifted. My brother’s face was filled with outright revulsion. “Why did you have to come back and ruin our perfect lives?” That was the moment I realized the fake heiress was also my brother’s fiancée! In the end, I was tortured to death by her, while my parents and brother watched, completely indifferent to my suffering. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to being a five-year-old. This was the exact year my parents’ corporate rivals targeted my brother, intending to kidnap him to force my parents into surrendering a massive contract. This time, I chose to be selectively blind. My useless brother and my heavily biased parents can all go straight to hell! 1 “Little girl, go tell your mom and dad to drop the current project, or they’ll never see your brother again.” A middle-aged man wearing a baseball cap and a surgical mask growled at me viciously. His hand was clamped tightly around my brother’s arm. At this time, my brother was just a little kid—not tall, not strong, and not yet the malicious monster he would become. The look he gave me wasn’t filled with hatred, but with pure terror and desperate pleading. A large, dark wet spot was spreading across the front of his Spider-Man jeans. My brother had peed himself. I feigned an expression of utter horror, nodding my head frantically like a woodpecker. Satisfied, the kidnapper scooped my brother up and swaggered away, tossing him into a black Honda. He didn’t even bother to cover or remove the license plate. What kind of amateur kidnapper was this? “Wow, that smells so good! What is that?” I sniffed the air, following the sweet scent until I found myself in front of a small convenience store. The colorful cotton candy looked absolutely delicious. By the time I happily waddled home clutching my cotton candy, my parents had already returned. Seeing me alone, they looked confused. “Where’s your brother?” I took a small lick of my cotton candy, answering in my sweetest, most innocent toddler voice: “I don’t know~ The cotton candy is so yummy! Do Mommy and Daddy want a bite?” My parents searched the house for a while, then combed the neighborhood multiple times. Finding absolutely no trace of my brother, panic finally set in, and they called 911. But in an era before security cameras were on every corner, finding human traffickers was like finding a needle in a haystack. The police officer looked puzzled: “This doesn’t make sense. Your gated community has excellent security. How could kidnappers even get in? I just spoke with the guards, and they didn’t see anyone suspicious entering or leaving.” My mother collapsed onto the floor, wailing uncontrollably. My father was yanking his own hair out, consumed by grief. I sat on the edge of the planter box, swinging my little legs, watching them unblinkingly with my wide, innocent eyes. They looked so heartbroken, so devastated. So why, in my past life, when they watched me being tortured to death right in front of them, were they so utterly indifferent? Right. My brother’s life mattered to them. Mine didn’t. Since that’s how it is, then none of you deserve to have a good life. 2 By that afternoon, missing person flyers with my brother’s face were plastered across every street and alley, and the story was broadcast on the local news, offering a $30,000 reward. In this era, $30,000 was a massive sum of money. Initially, I had wondered if the kidnappers would reach out to negotiate privately. But the moment those flyers went up, I knew my brother was never coming back. A private ransom exchange was now completely off the table. With countless major and minor cases occurring every day, my brother’s kidnapping case was eventually moved to the cold case files. In my past life, because I remembered the license plate number and told the police, they easily tracked down and rescued my brother. His repayment for my saving his life was negligently allowing me to be kidnapped when I was seven. After all, we were biological siblings; the same blood ran in our veins. Returning the favor is only fair, right? … As I grew, I gradually revealed my intelligence and business acumen, occasionally suggesting highly profitable investment ideas. Slowly, these successes pulled my parents out of the abyss of losing their son. My father happily ruffled my hair: “Mia really is our lucky charm. She’s helped Mom and Dad make so much money.” I giggled sweetly: “I saw on TV that rich people live in huge houses with giant swimming pools in the front! It looks so cool!” “Mom, Dad, let’s move to a big house too! If we live next to other rich people, maybe we can share ideas and make even more money!” “I heard people say that your social circle is the most important thing!” My words struck a chord. My parents exchanged a look. The money we were making now was more than enough to buy a luxury villa. But deep down, they were still holding onto the hope that my brother might be found. What if he came back and they had moved? So, I had to completely sever that hope and erase every last trace of my brother from their lives. My father nodded decisively: “Alright, we’ll listen to Mia. Your social circle is everything.” The very next day, my parents started house hunting. They eventually spent a fortune on a massive estate in the city center, surrounded by neighbors who were either old money or political heavyweights. With my adorable looks and sweet talking, I easily won over the neighbors. Carrying plates of my mother’s homemade cookies, I visited several of the surrounding households and quickly built a rapport with them. Because of these connections, my parents secured several major contracts. Even though they intentionally bid low to the point of breaking even, the crucial relationships were established. I took the opportunity to speak up: “Mom, Dad, you guys are always so busy with work, and it gets so quiet and lonely at home when I’m by myself. Why don’t we adopt a brother so he can play with me?” Why a brother? Because I needed to completely obliterate my biological brother’s position in my parents’ hearts. If he miraculously managed to find his way back, my deeply misogynistic parents would immediately hand all my hard-earned accomplishments over to him. Acting as his stepping stone? Not a chance in hell. At this point, my parents doted on me completely and agreed without hesitation. 3 You can’t choose your biological parents, so if they’re garbage, you’re stuck with them. But I could choose an adopted brother. Naturally, I was going to pick one that suited my exact needs. I have a severe allergy to stupidity, so anyone dim-witted was immediately disqualified. Ugly ones were out too; it ruins the appetite. The most important criteria were a good personality and a genuinely kind heart. I absolutely refused to deal with a second ungrateful, backstabbing brother. After scouring every orphanage in the city, I finally found a boy who met all my requirements. What really sealed the deal was the faint glint of fierce determination hidden deep in his eyes. In my past life, I dealt with monsters and demons of all kinds. A kid with that kind of edge would be hard to control if I met him as an adult, but grooming him from a young age? That sounded incredibly rewarding. “My brother got lost. Do you want to be my brother?” I pulled a piece of premium milk candy from my pocket and placed it in his slender hand, my voice soft and sweet: “I have so many toys and snacks, and I can share half of everything with you. Do you want to come home with me?” No little boy could resist a kid as cute as me, and he was no exception. He carefully took the candy from my hand, making sure his fingers didn’t brush against mine, seemingly terrified he might get my hands dirty. I, however, proactively grabbed his hand and happily paraded him in front of my parents. “Mom, Dad, I really like this brother.” My parents were pleased with his appearance. After asking him a few questions and finding him to be exceptionally well-mannered and polite, they agreed to the adoption. … I gave him a new name: Julian. Julian Vance. Because his eyes were as beautiful as a starry night. He moved into the bedroom directly across from mine. The layout was identical to my room. It was the room my parents had been saving for my biological brother, but now, it belonged to Julian. At the dinner table, he sat in the seat to my father’s right—the seat that used to belong to my brother. Gradually, he truly replaced my brother’s presence entirely. My parents started taking him everywhere out of habit. Even in private conversations, they casually referred to him as “our son.” At first, Julian was a bit timid, but under my influence, he grew outgoing and fiercely confident. However, my initial display of adorable vulnerability must have left a permanent imprint on him. Because of it, he truly treated me like a fragile little sister who needed constant protection. Every night, he read me fairy tales until I fell asleep. He would quietly transfer the vegetables I hated from my plate onto his and eat them without a word. If I accidentally bumped into a table and bruised myself, he looked like he wished he could absorb the pain for me. 4 In the blink of an eye, we were in high school. Surrounded by love and support, Julian had blossomed into a brilliant, radiant young man. The moment he stepped onto campus, he caused an absolute sensation. Even though he was older, we were in the same grade and the same class. It was both my parents’ wish and his own insistence, so he could protect me more closely. Simultaneously, an old acquaintance made her appearance: Chloe Jenkins. The very same fake heiress who had personally orchestrated my torture and death in my past life. She looked delicate and fragile. Every smile, every frown radiated a pitiful, “damsel in distress” aura. Her large, watery eyes were specifically engineered to elicit sympathy. “Julian, look at three o’clock. Do you think that girl is pretty?” Julian followed my gaze and saw Chloe, standing there in a plain white sundress, her long black hair blowing in the wind. He looked confused but answered seriously, “I don’t know. Maybe she’s the type other guys like?” More than just what guys like, I thought. She was the exact type my biological brother would be obsessed with. He was so obsessed he watched his own sister suffer a fate worse than death just to please her. I licked my lips and asked, “Do you like that type?” A flash of absolute disgust crossed his eyes, though his face remained perfectly composed and polite. “I don’t.” I chuckled. “Then what type do you like?” He looked down at me, raising an eyebrow. “I like girls who are arrogant, demanding, bossy, and totally unreasonable.” Me: ? … Chloe was in our class. She didn’t test in; she was an access student. The designated “scholarship case.” Every year, our elite prep school admitted a few scholarship students to maintain the illusion of an egalitarian, merit-based tradition. In reality, these scholarship kids were usually bullied relentlessly, considering everyone else was either a corporate heir or old money. In my past life, because my biological brother acted as her aggressive, violent bodyguard, she basically ruled the school. But this time, my brother wasn’t here. I couldn’t wait to see how she planned to survive. The first period was dedicated to self-introductions. Everyone confidently walked up to the podium, completely unfazed. We were all used to large crowds and high-pressure situations, so a simple classroom introduction was nothing. When it was Chloe’s turn, her face flushed crimson. She acted painfully shy, twisting her hands together, refusing to walk up. “I… I’m too embarrassed.” The teacher smiled kindly. “It’s okay! We’re all meeting for the first time, don’t be nervous. Class, let’s give her a warm round of applause!” The class applauded politely. Seeing I didn’t clap, Julian kept his hands resting on his desk as well. But after three rounds of applause, the class was visibly annoyed. Chloe still hadn’t moved. She bit her lip, her face turning even redder, and tears began to well up in her eyes. What an absolutely pathetic display.

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To save my husband’s life, I had to do the unthinkable: I left my newborn son behind to become a live-in wet nurse for a billionaire family. I had just received my six-month bonus from my employer, Serena Vance—payment for the milk that should have been my own son’s. I was rushing home, clutching the check, dreaming of the moment I’d finally reunite my husband and child. But when I stepped into the foyer of the Vance estate to say my final goodbyes, the world stopped. There, in the sun-drenched living room, Serena wasn’t alone. She was draped over a man’s lap, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw in a way that was sickeningly intimate. I turned to leave, my face flushing with the shame of witnessing something I shouldn’t have, until I heard her voice—saccharine and mocking. “Dominic, honey, how much longer are we going to keep this charade up? I almost feel bad for her. I just gave her a two-hundred-dollar bonus, and she looked like she’d won the lottery. It was pathetic.” A deep, familiar voice chuckled. “The toilet paper I buy for you costs more than two hundred dollars.” The sound hit me like a physical blow. My heart skipped, then hammered against my ribs. I must be hallucinating. My husband’s name was Dominic, too. But my Dominic was a mute. He couldn’t speak a word. Then, the man turned his head. He smirked, that same crooked smile I had fallen in love with in a dim hospital room three years ago. “Keep it going a little longer. You were too vain to breastfeed, and the brat likes her milk. Having her here to look after both of you makes my life easier.” Serena leaned in, nipping at his ear. “What about her kid? If she finds out you’re worth twenty billion dollars and you’ve been playing ‘poor husband’ just to trick her into being our nanny, won’t she lose it?” Dominic pulled her chin up and kissed her deeply. “She worships me,” he murmured against her lips. “Even if she found out, she’s too desperate to leave. She’d settle for being your maid just to stay in my orbit. Besides, how else was I supposed to know if her love was ‘pure’ unless I pretended to have nothing?” “And her baby?” Serena purred. “That kid isn’t royalty,” Dominic said, his voice cold and indifferent. “He can survive on rice water.” My blood turned to ice. My eyes locked onto the small, jagged birthmark on the side of his neck. Tears blurred my vision, hot and stinging. Dominic. If you aren’t a mute, then I don’t owe you a damn thing. I stepped back into the shadows, pulled out my phone, and dialed a number I hadn’t touched in years. “Dad?” I whispered, my voice trembling with a rage so cold it felt like glass. “I’m done playing this game. I’m tired of being poor. Come pick me up.” 1 I don’t remember the drive home. By the time I regained consciousness of my surroundings, I was standing in the middle of our cramped, peeling apartment, drenched in a cold sweat. A faint, pathetic whimper—like a dying kitten—echoed from the bedroom. It jolted me awake. I sprinted inside. “Charlie!” I reached the crib. My son was nearly six months old, but he looked like a skeletal newborn. He was fragile, his skin sallow and tight over his tiny bones. On the bedside table sat a bowl of crusty, dried-up rice water. “He can survive on rice water.” Dominic’s words played on a loop in my head, carving out my heart. He had actually done it. He had let our son starve. Whenever Serena’s baby went an hour without feeding, she would go into a frantic state, and I would be summoned. I could rarely get away to come home. I had sent every cent of my wages to Dominic’s account. I didn’t spend a penny on myself; I ate Serena’s leftovers just to save more for Dominic’s “medical treatments.” He had promised me he would take care of Charlie. And this was his version of care: he wouldn’t even spend a few dollars on formula for his own flesh and blood. Charlie’s cries were getting weaker, fading into a terrifying silence. Panicked, I gathered his limp body into my arms and ran for the hospital. It was well past midnight by the time he was stabilized. Standing outside the Neonatal ICU, watching Charlie through the glass, I couldn’t stop shaking. I checked my phone. The frantic texts I’d sent Dominic three hours ago were still unanswered. Then, I saw a familiar movement down the hall. Dominic was there. He was carrying Serena’s baby, and Serena was clinging to his arm, looking distraught. He was cornering a doctor, his face a mask of paternal agony. “He coughed twice on the way here,” Dominic said, his voice urgent and articulate. “Are you absolutely sure he’s okay?” The doctor sighed, looking exhausted. “Sir, we’ve run every test twice tonight. Your son is perfectly healthy. You can go home.” I stood frozen, still struggling to reconcile the man I knew—the man who communicated in clumsy sign language—with this commanding, eloquent stranger. My phone chimed. A notification. I watched as they disappeared around the corner, heading toward the private exit. Then I looked down at the screen. Dominic had finally replied. [Sorry, babe. My boss had an emergency and needed a driver. It’s going to be a long night. I’ll be home late.] I let out a jagged, hysterical laugh. How could I have been so blind? Dominic drove ten-million-dollar cars and wore bespoke suits. I had actually believed him when he said he was just a chauffeur for a wealthy family and that the clothes were “hand-me-downs” from his employer. [By the way, is Charlie okay?] He finally remembered to ask. Serena’s son coughed twice, and Dominic rushed him to the hospital, demanding the best care money could buy. Our son had a fever of 104, and Dominic had ignored my messages for three hours. I scrolled up through our chat history. It was a graveyard of my one-sided conversations. I’d share every milestone, every worry, and his replies were always short, functional, or just a thumbs-up emoji. I remembered Serena bragging about her husband. She said he was “obsessive,” that he checked in on her every hour when he was away. I thought Dominic was just stoic. Quiet. He wasn’t quiet. He just had nothing to say to me. He had spent three years pretending to be a mute because he couldn’t be bothered to hold a conversation with a woman he considered beneath him. I cleared the chat history with a trembling thumb. Then, I saw Serena’s latest Instagram post. 2 The photo showed the silhouette of a man rocking a baby. In the foreground was a designer bottle—the kind that retailed for five thousand dollars. Serena’s caption read: “Daddy bought a whole warehouse of these for our prince. Nothing but the best.” One of those bottles could have paid for a year’s worth of Charlie’s formula. But in Dominic’s eyes, Charlie didn’t even deserve the cheap stuff. He was a “rice water” baby. And the worst part? The milk inside that designer bottle had come from my own body. Dominic had tricked me into being a human fountain for his mistress’s child while our son withered away. I started to laugh, the sound turning into a sob that choked me. My phone vibrated again. A text from a private number. [Miss Thorne, the private jet will be ready in three days to collect you and the young master.] Attached to the message was a file. Everything I needed to know about the man I thought I loved. I wiped my eyes and stared at the screen. Dominic Vance. CEO of the Vance Group. Net worth: $22 Billion. Marital Status: Married to Serena Vance. My hands shook so hard I almost dropped the phone. Married. He was already married. When I got back to the apartment, I dug through the closet and found our marriage certificate. I looked at it under the light. There was no official seal. No state registration number. It was a prop. A fake. The paper fluttered to the floor as I collapsed onto the bed. I sat there in the dark until the sun began to peek through the grime-streaked windows. The door clicked open. Dominic walked in, stopping short when he saw me. He rushed over, his face twisting into a mask of “mute” concern. He began to gesture frantically. [Honey, what’s wrong? You look terrible.] I looked up at him with bloodshot eyes. The scent hit me immediately—Serena’s perfume. Expensive, floral, and suffocating. I used to think rich people just all used the same soap. I never realized that the “mysterious owner” of the estate, the man whose muffled groans I heard through the nursery walls at night, was my own husband. He continued to sign, his expression earnest and apologetic. [Is it the baby? I’m so sorry. I’m a failure. I couldn’t get my wages today because I dented the boss’s car. I have nothing for you.] He hung his head in “shame.” Always the same story. His pay was always docked, always withheld. In the past, I would have thrown my arms around him, telling him it was okay, that I’d work an extra shift, that we’d get through it together. Now, I just watched him. When I didn’t respond, a flicker of hesitation crossed his eyes. He tried to pull me into a hug, but I stayed stiff. He pulled back and signed again. [Tessa, talk to me. What happened?] My gaze landed on a faint red mark on his collarbone. A hickey. I reached out and touched it. He caught my hand, his face perfectly miming a panicked explanation. [A mosquito… it was a long night in the car.] I pulled my hand away. My voice was dead. “Charlie is in the hospital. He has a severe infection and malnutrition.” I watched his face. There wasn’t a single spark of genuine fear. Just a calculated shift into his “guilty” persona. [It’s my fault. I’m useless. I can’t even speak, I’m just a driver. I can’t even take care of my own son.] He used to say that to make me feel guilty. Because the reason he couldn’t speak—the reason he was “broken”—was supposed to be because of me. 3 Three years ago, I was on vacation in Aspen when my hotel caught fire. As the flames licked at my door, a stranger from the room next door had smashed his way in and carried me out. I walked away with minor scratches. He ended up with severe burns and, according to the doctors, permanent damage to his vocal cords. Consumed by guilt, I walked away from my life. I cut ties with my wealthy parents, who wanted me to come home to London, and stayed by his side. I spent six months nursing him. When he “couldn’t” speak again, I cried in the hospital stairwell. He found me there and wrote a note: “If you feel you owe me, why not marry me instead?” I was young, traumatized, and overwhelmed by his “sacrifice.” We married a month later. He took me to this hellhole of an apartment and signed: [I have nothing. If you want to leave and not suffer with me, I understand.] I stayed. I worked five jobs. I worked until my hands were raw and my back felt like it was breaking. I saved every penny for a vocal cord surgery that cost half a million dollars. I slept four hours a night. I even got hit by a car while delivering food, leaving a ten-inch scar on my leg and a permanent limp, all because I wouldn’t stop working. I thought I was paying back a debt of life. I was actually just the lead actress in his twisted psychological experiment. Dominic reached into a plastic bag and pulled out a used baby bottle and a half-empty tin of formula. He held them out like he was presenting a treasure. [I spent hours at the flea market bargaining for these. I know we ran out. Why don’t you feed Charlie today?] I looked at the bottle. I recognized the scratches on the plastic. It belonged to Serena’s dog. They used it to give the puppy water. To Dominic, my son was worth less than his mistress’s pet. I pushed the items back. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve saved enough for your surgery. I don’t need to be a wet nurse anymore. I’ll be staying home with Charlie.” Dominic stiffened, but he didn’t argue. He led me to the bed, tucked me in, and made an excuse to go to the bathroom. Five minutes later, my phone rang. It was a “doctor” from the clinic. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Thorne, but the estimate for the surgery was wrong. It’s not two hundred thousand; it’s five hundred. And we have a very limited window. If you don’t pay by the end of the week, your husband may never speak again.” Dominic walked out of the bathroom just as I hung up. He looked at me with “sorrowful” eyes and signed: [Forget it, Tessa. Let’s not do the surgery. I don’t want you to suffer anymore.] I looked him straight in the eye. “I’ll get the money. Don’t worry.” His brow smoothed over instantly. He turned away, his fingers flying across his phone screen. I caught a glimpse of his reflection in the dark window. He was smiling. A real, triumphant smile I had never seen before. That night, as I lay in the dark, I felt his hand reach under my shirt. But as he pulled the fabric up, he stopped. He saw my chest—the skin raw, bruised, and bleeding from where Serena’s greedy child had bitten me earlier that day. Dominic flinched. Not out of pity, but disgust. Even in the shadows, I saw the flicker of revulsion in his eyes. The mood died instantly. He sat up and signed: [I need to use the restroom.] A few minutes later, I followed him. I didn’t go to the bathroom. I went to the small storage room where we kept our junk. I peered through the crack in the door. Dominic was standing there, his phone glowing with a photo of Serena. He was touching himself, his breath hitching, whispering her name over and over in a low, husky baritone. A wave of nausea hit me so hard I nearly gagged. I turned and ran for the bathroom, slamming the door. Dominic was there a second later, knocking, his “mute” mask back on. [Tessa? Are you okay?] I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear his eyes out. But before I could open the door and end the lie, his phone rang. A real ringtone. 4 He answered it. He didn’t realize I was right behind the door. His voice was cold, sharp, and authoritative. “What? When? I’m coming now.” He didn’t look at me. He didn’t say a word. He just grabbed his jacket and vanished into the night. I stood in the silence of the apartment. I walked to the wall and took down our “wedding” photo. I threw it into the trash. I gathered every note he’d ever written me, every fake “I love you” on a scrap of paper, and burned them in a pot on the stove. I scrubbed the apartment of any trace of me and Charlie. Then, I went to the hospital. By evening, the doctor told me Charlie was out of the woods and moving to a regular ward. I was finally holding him, my heart beginning to heal, when he was ripped out of my arms. Dominic appeared like a ghost. He looked at me, his expression unreadable. “What are you doing?” I screamed, lunging for him. “Give him back!” Suddenly, Serena Vance burst into the room. The elegant, haughty woman I had served for six months threw herself at my feet, sobbing. “Tessa, please! You have to save my son! My little boy… his heart is failing. Only Charlie is a match!” Dominic stepped between us, pulling Serena up and shielding her. He didn’t sign. He spoke. “It’s an emergency, Tessa. I’ll explain everything later. Charlie’s heart is the only one that can save him.” The world tilted. I finally understood why he’d kept me around. Why he’d kept Charlie alive just enough. We weren’t a family. We were a backup parts warehouse. I tried to grab the carrier, but Dominic’s security detail—men in suits I’d never seen before—pinned me against the wall. “You want to take his heart?” I shrieked, the sound tearing my throat. “If you take his heart, how does he live? How does Charlie live?” For a fleeting second, Dominic looked away. A ghost of guilt? Or just annoyance? Serena wailed, “Dominic! If he dies, I’ll die too!” Dominic didn’t hesitate again. “I’ve arranged for the best artificial heart team in the world for Charlie,” he said, his voice clipped. “He’ll be fine.” Charlie began to cry—a thin, terrified sound. “Dominic, please,” I sobbed, my strength failing. “I just got him back. Don’t hurt him. He’s your son!” Dominic paused. He looked at the baby, then at Serena. Then he turned his back on me. I fought like an animal. I bit a guard’s hand, drawing blood, and broke free. I ran for Dominic, but he turned and kicked me back. Hard. I slumped against the floor, gasping for air. “Stop being hysterical, Tessa,” Dominic said, his eyes filled with genuine loathing now. “Charlie should be honored to save a life like this. After this is over, I’ll settle enough money on you that you’ll never have to work again. You should be grateful.” The guards grabbed me again. I watched through the small window in the door as he carried my son into the operating theater. Hours passed. I was locked in a consultation room. Suddenly, fireworks exploded in the sky outside. I could hear the nurses in the hall cheering. “Mr. Vance is so generous! The transplant was a success. He gave everyone on staff a three-thousand-dollar bonus!” “They’ve already left for the airport. Taking the private jet to a recovery villa in Switzerland. What a perfect family.” I waited until the shift change, then I smashed a chair through the glass observation window and ran. I searched every floor. I finally found him in the basement. The morgue. Charlie was lying on a cold steel table, covered by a thin white sheet. I pulled it back. There was a jagged, horrific seam running down his tiny chest. There was no artificial heart. There was nothing inside him at all. I didn’t even scream. I just vomited blood onto the linoleum floor. It was all a lie. I picked up his cold, light body and held him to my chest. I didn’t cry until I heard the sound of the world ending outside. The roar of multiple helicopter rotors drowned out the hospital’s hum. The doors to the morgue were kicked open. A dozen men in tactical gear, led by a man in a grey suit who looked exactly like my father, marched in. “We’re so sorry, Miss Thorne,” the man said, bowing his head. “We were too late.”

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On the day of our tenth wedding anniversary, my husband’s ten-year long project—a time machine—was finally completed. He was going to take our son back to the past, to be reunited with his deceased first love. Before leaving, my son rolled his eyes at me: “You’re just a nanny, don’t hold up Dad from seeing Auntie Chloe!” My husband’s expression was cold: “Mia, I’ve already sold this house, you should move out as soon as possible.” I let out a cold laugh: “Don’t regret it.” Following them to the laboratory, at the very last second the machine booted up, I reached out my hand into the glow. The father and son had no idea that, in order to save my original husband and daughter, I had been waiting for this exact moment for ten whole years. 1 Ethan Vance’s research was finally successful. He was going to take his son, Leo Vance, and rewind time to return to ten years ago. And I heard this news from the TV. Today was our tenth wedding anniversary. I had just finished making dinner and was waiting for him to come home. As soon as he walked in the door, I went to greet him: “Ethan, I made your favorite dishes to celebrate our tenth anniversary.” Ethan just sighed slightly: “Mia, it’s over. You took good care of the two of us for ten years, but I still can’t forget Chloe.” Underneath his gold-rimmed glasses, his cold eyes showed no emotion, as if he were stating an entirely ordinary fact. I was holding a hot plate, but I felt completely numb. Looking at the man in a suit before me, I subconsciously searched for the mole near his eye, “Ethan, do you want a divorce?” “My research was successful, I’m going to go find Chloe.” He said. My fingertips were burnt red by the plate, and only belatedly did I loosen my grip. The plate crashed to the ground, scattering the exquisite food everywhere. I widened my eyes in disbelief: “You mean… you’re going back? Back to ten years ago?” Chloe Sinclair was Ethan’s first love. She had passed away ten years ago due to an accident, and Ethan had never been able to forget her. “Yes. I will take Leo back with me.” Thinking about reuniting with Chloe soon, a hint of a smile flashed across his eyes. I stepped forward and frantically grabbed his arm, “What about me, Ethan, what am I? Today is our tenth anniversary…” “Mia, we are done.” Ethan mercilessly pried my fingers off, one by one. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms, but I felt no pain. “So you’re abandoning me?” “Leo, are you leaving Mom too?” The son I had painstakingly raised rolled his eyes at me, walked over to Ethan, and looked me up and down with a hint of contempt. “You’re old and ugly, always staying at home looking like a worn-out housewife. You can’t even compare to Auntie Chloe. Don’t delay me and Dad from finding Auntie Chloe. I want Auntie Chloe to be my mom!” Looking at the two of them, I felt a mix of complex emotions. When Leo was sick, I stayed up for nights on end, my eyes red from exhaustion, to take care of him. Back then, he was like a little sticky rice ball, tugging on my pinky finger calling me Mom, bringing me origami cranes he learned to make in kindergarten crafts class, and softly calling me “Mommy”. But as he grew up, he only complained about my nagging, treating me like a nanny, saying I wasn’t as glamorous as other moms. “Face reality, I won’t be coming back. I’ve also signed a donation agreement for this house, giving it to the foundation I established for Chloe. As for you, pack your bags and move out as soon as possible.” Ethan added. I just felt it was a bit ridiculous. They were leaving and still remembered to donate the house to Chloe’s foundation? “Okay,” I took a deep breath, “I hope you don’t regret it.” “Regret? I’d only regret not being able to be with Chloe!” Ethan said, enunciating every word. After saying that, he took Leo and drove away. He didn’t notice that I drove another car and tailed right behind them. Inside the lab, Ethan and Leo’s eyes were filled with excitement and anticipation. On the table, an instrument was emitting a blinding light. “Dad, can we really use this to go back and find Auntie Chloe?” Leo rolled his round eyes, a curious expression on his face. “Yes.” Ethan curled the corners of his lips. Hearing Leo mention Chloe, a rare tenderness flashed across his face. It was a look I had never seen before. Upon hearing this, Leo’s eyes lit up. “I love Auntie Chloe the most! She’s so beautiful, like a fairy. Look at Mom, she looks like a worn-out housewife. I don’t want a worn-out housewife to be my mom.” Ethan patted his head: “Don’t worry, when we go back to the past, Auntie Chloe will be your mom.” Look, my ten years of care and companionship were met with such disdain in their eyes, they were even willing to take the massive risk of time travel just to go back and find Chloe. But none of that matters now. Until the father and son disappeared into the halo of light, I took three steps at a time and rushed in, reaching out to touch the machine just as the halo was fading. The next second, a powerful force sucked me in. When I regained my senses, I was standing on an empty street. Everything before my eyes was both unfamiliar and familiar; I had really returned to ten years ago. I was ecstatic, but suddenly a voice next to me said, “Why are you here too?” I looked up and met Ethan’s dark eyes. “You didn’t follow us here to cause trouble, did you! Mia, give up, even if you’re here, it’s impossible for us to be together.” He frowned, his face full of defensiveness. “Bad woman, don’t hurt Dad and Auntie Chloe!” Leo, who had turned back into a four-year-old, stood in front of Ethan, clenching his little fists as if I were his enemy. I pursed my lips, opening my mouth with a bewildered expression: “Excuse me, do you have the wrong person?” Ethan was slightly taken aback, the look in his eyes when he looked at me still written with mistrust. “Wrong person? You think I’ll believe you if you pretend like this, Mia, what are you scheming!” I ignored Ethan, turning around to leave. “You can’t leave!” Ethan grabbed my wrist, “Explain yourself clearly, did you intentionally follow us, do you want to ruin things between me and Chloe?” My wrist hurt from his grip, I forcefully shook off his hand, stumbling back a few steps and bumping into someone behind me. The girl behind me cried out, I was just about to apologize, when a sharp slap landed heavily on my cheek. Ethan spat on the ground, “Mia, you are truly vicious!” I gritted my teeth and looked up, only to see Ethan holding the girl I had bumped into in his arms, looking at her as if he were looking at a lost and found treasure. “Chloe, are you okay?” He asked in a low voice, his tone gentle. “Are you blind.” Leo yelled, then trotted over to Chloe, his face full of concern. Oh, so they know how to care about people too? I remembered when I was in so much pain from acute gastroenteritis that I couldn’t get out of bed, I asked Ethan to buy medicine for me. He frowned and said coldly: “Can’t you buy it yourself? I have to go to the research institute for a project, I’m very busy.” Then he grabbed his bag and left without looking back, leaving me, who was pale with pain and almost fainting, in the room. I asked Leo to call a doctor for me, but Leo was playing a game on his phone and looked at me impatiently: “Wait until I finish this round.” It wasn’t until a few hours later when the cleaning lady came and saw that I had fainted from pain and called an ambulance for me that I narrowly escaped death. But now, Chloe was just accidentally bumped, the son mocked me, and the husband Ethan actually hit me! It was truly ridiculous. Chloe leaned against Ethan’s chest, her pale little face slightly red around the eyes, looking as if she had suffered a great grievance. “Mia, apologize to Chloe!” Ethan turned to look at me sitting on the ground, his face full of anger. “I’m fine, this miss didn’t mean it either…” Chloe bit her lip and said, “Ethan, who is she?” Ethan was taken aback for a moment: “She…” “Auntie Chloe, she is a bad woman who likes my dad!” Leo immediately interjected. Hearing Leo’s words, the look in Chloe’s eyes when she looked at me flickered. “I see… Sorry, am I bothering you guys?” She lowered her eyes and said in a small voice. “No, I have no relationship with her whatsoever.” Ethan hurriedly explained, distancing himself from me. Ten years of marital affection, lightly brushed off with one sentence “no relationship whatsoever”. I laughed self-deprecatingly, struggling to get up from the ground: “This gentleman, I don’t even know you, and you push me and hit me, and now you’re saying these weird things, are you sick?” “Stop pretending, you’re here, who would believe it if you said you weren’t following me?” Ethan furrowed his brows tightly, the look in his eyes when he looked at me full of disgust. “I told you, I will not like you, stop bothering me.” “Yeah! Dad only likes Auntie Chloe, give up!” Leo chimed in from the side. Just then, a familiar yet unfamiliar male voice came from across the street. “Mia!” Looking up in the direction of the voice, a man in a white shirt and dress pants was waiting for the traffic light on the other side. He was holding an ice cream in his left hand and holding a cute little girl in his right hand, the little girl was waving at me. My fingers couldn’t help but tremble slightly, and my nose began to ache uncontrollably. The red light turned green, he picked up the girl with one hand, and was about to walk over. “Julian! Don’t move from there!” Seeing this, I couldn’t care less about anything else, and screamed out loud. Julian was startled by me, he paused and stopped where he was. The next second, a large truck that ran a red light sped past right by his body. My heart felt as if it was being pulled by something, a suffocating feeling of drowning made me unable to breathe at all. After confirming time and again that there were no more cars, Julian then jogged over to me holding the child. “That really startled me just now.” He put the child down, patted his chest, and said with lingering fear. Then he handed me the pink ice cream in his hand, “Here, Mia, your favorite strawberry ice cream.” He curled the corners of his lips, his eyes full of smiles. “Julian… Lily…” Looking at these two faces I hadn’t seen for ten years, I was still somewhat in shock. Julian stuffed the ice cream into my hand, and ruffled the top of my head: “What’s wrong, I just went to buy you an ice cream, why do you look like you’re about to cry.” “Mom, what’s wrong with you?” Lily’s tender voice sounded, she reached out a small hand to me, “Lily wants a hug from Mom.” My heart was beating fast, I took a deep breath, bent down to pick up Lily, and kissed her on the cheek: “Mom is fine, Mom just missed Lily.” “Why are your cheeks a little swollen? What happened just now?” Julian carefully noticed my injury. I shook my head: “It’s fine, got bitten by two mad dogs.” “Who are you calling mad dogs?” Ethan stared dead at Julian and Lily, his face already as black as the bottom of a pot. “Whoever answers is the mad dog.” I couldn’t help rolling my eyes. “Dad… this person… looks like you…” Leo tugged at Ethan’s clothes, suddenly speaking in a small voice, his words were like adding fuel to the fire, Ethan immediately angrily said: “Mia, who are these people?” I blinked, looked at the beautiful tear mole under Ethan’s eye, and then looked at Julian who had a tear mole in the same place. Not very similar really, just that between the eyebrows, there was indeed a bit of a resemblance. “This gentleman, this is my husband and daughter. I have already said you have the wrong person.” I licked the ice cream and said slowly, “I don’t know you.” Seeing Ethan’s unfriendly tone, Julian immediately stood in front of me, frowning and saying: “Who are you? Please don’t harass my wife and daughter.” “Wife? Daughter? Hehe, Mia, how come I didn’t see before, you actually have someone else behind my back? You really have good tricks!” Ethan only felt that he had been deceived and his self-esteem insulted, but I firmly bit that I didn’t know him, making him feel a sense of powerlessness like punching cotton. “Ethan…” Seeing Ethan very angry, Chloe couldn’t help but say, “Don’t be angry, didn’t you say you have no relationship with her?” “Right, of course we have no relationship.” Ethan snorted coldly, “Mia, don’t regret and come begging me!” “You’re overthinking it.” I said coldly. “Dad, Auntie Chloe, let’s go to the amusement park!” Leo, seeing his favorite Chloe, didn’t want to see any more entanglement between Ethan and me, and couldn’t help urging. Ethan pursed his lips, his jawline so sharp it seemed like it could cut me. He endured and clenched his fists, finally leaving a sentence: “Fine, take care of yourself.” Then he took Chloe and Leo and strode away. I glanced at the backs of the three of them, then withdrew my gaze without any nostalgia. “Mia, let’s go home.” Julian took my hand, his warm fingers interlacing with mine. He didn’t know, this sentence of going home, I had waited a full ten years for. “Julian…” The ice cream in my hand slipped and fell to the ground, I threw my arms around his neck, holding him and Lily in my arms. Tears finally couldn’t help but fall. “I missed you guys so much, Julian…” I cried bitterly, my snot and tears wetting his clothes. “What’s wrong with you?” Seeing me crying so hard I couldn’t catch my breath, Julian became visibly flustered. He clumsily took out a tissue to wipe my tears, while gently patting my back. “Mia, did that man just now bully you? What happened when I went to buy ice cream? Don’t cry, I’ll go teach him a lesson!” Julian waved his fist, pretending to chase Ethan, I hugged him tightly, and said in a muffled voice: “No, Julian, don’t leave me, not even for a minute.” 4 Ten years ago, Julian took Lily across the street to buy ice cream, but was hit by a large truck that ran a red light while crossing the road. At that time, I was standing right opposite them. That scene became the pain of my life. I held back my grief and organized the funeral for Julian and Lily, preparing to follow them, but accidentally bumped into Ethan on the road and picked up his folder. I flipped through it casually, only to find that an entire folder was about researching time travel. Not only that, inside that folder, were Ethan’s ID and photos. On the ID photo, his face was five-parts similar to Julian, especially the tear mole at the corner of the eye. And below the photo, a line of small print caught my attention. “Member of Quantum Mechanics Research Group, City B Research Institute” An incredible idea gradually appeared in my mind. If he really could research a method for time travel, could Julian and Lily come back to life? Holding this secret thought, I approached Ethan, married him, helped him take care of Leo, and placed all my longing for Julian and Lily on them. Facts proved that I bet right. I held Lily in one hand and Julian in the other, feeling like I was dreaming. For the past ten years, I had dreamt of reuniting with them every night, and now, I was actually able to hold their hands for real. It wasn’t until we reached the door of our house, looking at the familiar door, that I suddenly felt a little timid. I was afraid that, like those dreams, once I pushed the door open, my dream would wake up. “Mia, what’s wrong?” Julian saw me stunned at the door, and pinched my cheek. “Were you scared by that psycho just now? I’ll make you something delicious in a bit.” He took out his key, opened the door, and pulled me in. At a glance, I saw the wedding photo of Julian and me on the wall facing the entrance. When Julian and Lily had their accident, I personally burned that photo to ashes. Seeing me still somewhat absent-minded, Julian found a fairy tale book for Lily, and poured me a cup of hot milk. “Drink some hot milk and rest, the food will be ready soon.” He kissed me gently on the forehead, then tied an apron and went into the kitchen. I sat on the sofa in the living room, looking at Lily quietly reading a book beside me, smelling the aroma of food wafting from the kitchen, my panicked heart suddenly calmed down. Those things no longer existed, what I needed to do now was to cherish the present, cherish every moment with them. Unknowingly, I leaned against the sofa and fell asleep, until Julian gently shook me awake, his tone gentle: “Wife, time to eat.” Seeing him and Lily, tears couldn’t stop flowing from my eyes again. “What’s wrong, you’re a bit strange today.” Julian touched my forehead with some concern. “Are you not feeling well?” I sniffled, shaking my head: “No… I just… really missed eating with you guys…” Julian was stunned by my words, he laughed helplessly: “Then come over quickly, I made your favorite sweet and sour pork ribs.” Lily was already sitting at the dining table waiting for me, seeing me come over, she smiled until her eyes turned into slits, and used a spoon to scoop a big spoonful of sweet and sour pork ribs into my bowl. “Mom, the ribs Lily scooped for you!” “Thank you baby.” I couldn’t help but pinch Lily’s little face, “How is my daughter so cute.” Happy days passed quickly, and unknowingly a year flew by. On this day, Lily’s kindergarten held a parent-child sports day, Julian had to work overtime and didn’t have time, so I had to take Lily alone. For the first game in the afternoon, Lily participated with the other kids. Seeing it was still early, I decided to buy a cotton candy and wait for her at the finish line, to give her a surprise. As I squeezed my way back with the cotton candy, I heard some parents whispering. “Seems like kids are fighting over something over there, a little girl is crying…” My heart suddenly clenched, and I ran towards the field, but before I could squeeze into the crowd, Lily’s crying reached my ears. I was instantly furious, pushing aside the spectating parents and rushing to the front. Lily had fallen to the ground, her white T-shirt already stained with mud. She was crying like a little dirty cat. Seeing me come over, she immediately threw herself into my arms. “Wuwuwu, Mom, someone stole my peace lock…” “Who stole it?” Seeing my daughter being bullied for no reason, my face turned cold, my eyes locking onto a little boy next to us who also had his head down, looking like a gray mouse. “How can you steal someone else’s things at such a young age! Where are your parents? I need to talk to them!” Seeing the boy neither speaking nor looking up, I got angry and was about to find the park teacher directly. “Mom, that was originally my thing, you gave it to me!” The boy suddenly spoke with a crying voice, full of grievance. 5 Mom? I stopped and turned around, right into the tearful eyes of the little boy, it was none other than Leo. “That was the birthday present you gave me, how could you give it to someone else…” His small face was scrunched up, full of grievance. The surrounding parents seeing this also began to whisper. “So it’s a family after all? What’s going on with this mom, she can’t even keep an eye on her own kids…” “Is she playing favorites? Look how aggrieved the little boy is, tsk tsk.” I immediately spoke loudly to Leo: “Whose child are you? I am not your mom, my only child is Lily. Hand over what you stole, or I’ll call your parents!” Hearing this, Leo threw a tantrum and rolled on the ground: “Mom, don’t you want me anymore? You clearly are my mom! Why won’t you acknowledge me!” Seeing his unreasonable behavior, Lily wiped her tears, tugging at the corner of my clothes: “Mom, I don’t want it anymore… let’s go…” I nodded and said to Leo: “Fine, keep it if you want it.” With that, I picked up Lily and turned to leave. “Mom, don’t leave!” Leo got up and chased after us. It wasn’t until we reached the back door of the stadium, seeing there was no one around, that I stopped and turned to look at him: “Is there anything else?” Leo held the peace amulet in his hand, pouted and asked me: “Mom, you clearly gave me this peace amulet, why did you give it to someone else?” I just found it very funny. “Leo, I did give you a peace amulet before, but didn’t you look down on it? Your peace amulet has long been thrown in the trash can, right.” When Leo was young, he was sickly. I went to Jiuhua Temple to ask for a peace amulet for him to bless his health. But later he despised me, naturally also despising the things I gave him, and threw the peace amulet away early on. Lily’s peace amulet was something I specially went to Jiuhua Temple to ask for when I first came back, in order to thank the heavens for letting me regain what I lost. “Mom…” Large teardrops rolled down Leo’s face, “Don’t abandon Leo.” A mocking smile formed at the corner of my mouth. “Don’t call me mom, I can’t bear it. Leo, it was you who looked down on me, no matter how good I was to you, I couldn’t compare to Chloe who you didn’t even know. Why are you remembering to call me mom now? Is your new mom not treating you well?” Hearing me mention Chloe, the grievance on Leo’s face deepened: “She, she doesn’t like me at all, she’s not good to me at all…” “Oh, but what does that have to do with me?” I sneered, “This was a choice made by you and your dad. I’m telling you, my only child is Lily, don’t bother us anymore!” After saying that, I walked up to him and snatched Lily’s peace amulet from his hand. “This, you don’t deserve.” Leo seemed not to expect me to be so heartless, the look in his eyes was full of disbelief. “Mia! Leo!” Not far away, it was actually Ethan chasing after us. He ran up to me, panting heavily. On his cold face, there was a rare look of embarrassment and conflict. I looked him up and down. Compared to a year ago, the current Ethan looked much more weathered. His hair was messy, he had a stubble, and his face beneath his glasses was written with exhaustion. Even one of the buttons on his shirt was buttoned wrong. “Mia, long time no see.” He pursed his lips, “You… missed Leo, didn’t you?” I raised an eyebrow: “Are you sick? I have my own child, why would I miss your child?” After being retorted by me, he just rubbed his hands and continued: “Mia, I was wrong before, can you give me and Leo another chance?” This was truly the sun rising from the west? I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye: “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please control your ill-mannered child, stop snatching my daughter’s things!” “You!” Ethan’s face finally turned dark. “Mia, how did you turn into this mean look? Leo and I already know we were wrong, what more do you want?” Hearing his words, I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Is this the attitude for begging people? So high and mighty. “I don’t want anything, I don’t know you guys, and I don’t want to have any relationship with you! Don’t disturb my life!” I coldly left a sentence, leaving the father and son behind, and hurried away from the stadium with Lily in my arms.

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I genuinely thought I was dating Liam. That is, until he casually said: “Hey, my girlfriend is coming to visit. You should probably stay somewhere else for a while.” I completely froze, the words slipping out before I could stop them: “Aren’t I your girlfriend?” His response was an unapologetic, mocking laugh. “Seriously? I was just messing around, and you actually took it seriously?” 1 I pressed my swollen, feverish lips together. For a terrifying second, I couldn’t tell if he was joking or being completely serious. Liam’s devastatingly handsome face was inches from mine. His alluring, slightly slanted eyes held a faint, teasing smirk—the kind of look that made people weak in the knees. I turned my head away. The floor from the entryway to the living room was littered with our discarded clothes. Just a second ago, we were completely intertwined. “I’m dead serious this time.” Liam grabbed my chin, forcing me to look him in the eye. “It’s Chloe. The childhood sweetheart I’ve always loved. You can’t ruin this for me, okay?” My nose stung. I violently ripped myself from his grip and looked down. Chloe. I hadn’t heard that name in years. When Liam first came to live with my family, he would cry out her name in his sleep almost every night. He constantly begged his mom to let him go see ‘Chloe,’ but she always firmly refused. I don’t know exactly when it happened, but he eventually stopped bringing it up. He stopped saying her name. I thought he had forgotten… Seeing me stay silent for so long, Liam leaned down, inspecting my face. “Wait, seriously? You didn’t actually fall for me, did you? I’m five years younger than you! You really want to be a cradle snatcher?” He threw his head back, laughing as he sprawled out on the sofa. “If my mom knew this was how you were ‘taking care’ of me, what do you think she’d say?” His words felt like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head, chilling me to the bone. I blinked rapidly, stubbornly refusing to let the tears fall. “I-I’ll go pack my things.” I shoved his legs off of me, frantically grabbed my clothes from the floor, and pulled them on. I practically sprinted into my bedroom, grabbing whatever clothes I could find and shoving them into a suitcase. Liam threw on a pair of sweatpants and leaned against my doorframe, arms crossed, watching me in silence. The profound, agonizing shame of feeling completely naked and exposed in public crushed me so completely I couldn’t even lift my head. 2 I genuinely believed Liam and I were dating. We lived under the same roof. We did everything together. We hugged, kissed, and made love in every corner of this apartment, exactly like a couple. He loved the nightlife, often staying out at clubs until the early hours of the morning. No matter how late it was, he would always call me to come pick him up, claiming it was an exclusive “girlfriend privilege.” When his frat-bro friends chanted for us to get married, he would pull me into his arms and say I was the boss of the house, warning them not to scare me away. He would wrap his arms around my neck and whine until I made him midnight snacks. And when the nosy aunties downstairs chased me around trying to set me up on blind dates, he would grab my hand, kiss me right in front of them, and publicly claim me. But apparently, in his mind, every single one of those things was just a hilarious joke. Dragging my suitcase to the intersection, I felt completely, utterly lost. For the past five years, my entire life consisted of exactly two things: Liam, and work. Now that I had left his apartment, I literally didn’t know where to go. “If you don’t know where to go, go make some money.” My director took my suitcase from me, looking at me with deep sympathy. “Fuckboys play with your feelings. Money doesn’t.” She slid a transfer application form across her desk. She had asked me to transfer to the corporate headquarters with her countless times. I always refused, claiming I preferred “stability.” The real reason, of course, was that I didn’t want to do long-distance with Liam. But now… “You aren’t still in love with him, are you?” I stared blankly for a second before answering honestly, “I don’t know.” Claiming I felt absolutely nothing would be a lie. We had known each other for nineteen years, and we were in love… Wait, no. We were in a situationship for five years. You don’t just erase that kind of history overnight. But I still took the transfer application. Leaving was the most dignified exit I could possibly manage. 3 I just didn’t expect to step foot in Liam’s apartment again so soon. Liam’s phone was turned off again. Unable to reach him, his mother defaulted to calling me. She gently reminded me to take good care of him and drop off his lunch. I didn’t even have a chance to explain our current situation to her. After agonizing over it, I caved. When I was eleven, Aunt Sarah married my dad, bringing Liam with her. It was the first time I had ever experienced a mother’s love. Later, my dad was killed in a horrific car accident, and the severe injuries I sustained left me with a permanent limp in my right leg. For three agonizing days in that hospital bed, I was consumed by absolute despair and terror. I didn’t even dare close my eyes. Right when I was at my most isolated and broken, Aunt Sarah and Liam rushed to the hospital. “Don’t be scared. You still have me and Liam. We will always be your family.” Her voice was so gentle, and the way she wiped away my tears was so tender. Even after she eventually reconciled and remarried her ex-husband, she never neglected me. She even used my father’s entire life insurance payout to send me abroad for specialized medical treatment. I could say no to anyone in the world, except Aunt Sarah. But when I opened the door, the painfully familiar apartment felt like a silent interrogation, forcing me to confront the memories I was desperately trying to suppress. Flashbacks of our intimacy assaulted me, ultimately freezing on the humiliating image of me fleeing the apartment last night. The vase I had accidentally shattered in the entryway was already replaced. The sunflowers I bought yesterday were gone, replaced by a massive bouquet of red roses. My favorite Stitch plushie was missing from the sofa, and the living room was spotlessly clean. For Liam, this was practically a miracle. Ever since I moved in, I was the one who did every single chore, big or small. I couldn’t remember the last time he had voluntarily cleaned anything. “Liam? Liam?” I called out softly. The door to his bedroom was shut tight. No answer. I gripped the takeout bag tighter. After a few seconds of hesitation, I pushed the handle down. “Liam? Your mom wants you to wake up and eat…” The bedroom was thick with a very specific, undeniable scent. Clothes were scattered haphazardly across the rug. Under the tangled duvet on the bed, two bodies were pressed intimately together. One of them was Liam. My voice woke him up. He aggressively rubbed his face, his morning voice dripping with intense irritation: “What do you want?!” The girl next to him stirred, her eyes half-closed as she nuzzled into the crook of his neck, before settling back into a peaceful sleep. The reality of the scene crashed over me like a tidal wave, wave after agonizing wave completely obliterating my thoughts. My brain was entirely blank. It actually hurt. “My mom made you bring me food again? How long has that been sitting there? It’s probably soggy by now. Just eat it yourself.” “I’m not making her eat takeout on her first day here anyway. I’m taking her out to a nice place, and then I’ll cook for her tonight.” Liam propped himself up on one elbow, revealing a chest covered in fresh hickeys. His utterly dismissive tone echoed in my head. It felt like I was choking on glass. 4 I remembered my thirtieth birthday. I had been so incredibly hopeful, just wanting him to personally cook me a simple bowl of noodles for tradition. And how did he respond? Oh, right. He threw his phone aside, wrapped his arms around me, bit my earlobe, and used that low, magnetic voice to lazily reject me: “So greedy. I already took the day off to stay home with you, isn’t that enough? Cooking is too much work. Let’s just order takeout so we don’t have to wash dishes.” In that moment, the smile froze on my face, and all my quiet hopes shattered into dust. As he shamelessly continued to initiate intimacy, I forced myself to swallow the disappointment. I rationalized it, telling myself that as a stereotypical “straight guy,” it was completely normal for him to lack romance and understand the importance of milestones. But looking at him now. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand. He just couldn’t be bothered to put in the effort for me. “Liam, is this the older lady who lives with you? I want to get up, do you think she could… give us some privacy?” The woman’s soft, groggy voice cut through the silence. Her large, shimmering eyes stared directly at me. The older lady who lives with him? I instinctively looked at Liam. He was the one who had sneaked into my company dorms multiple times while I was at work, packing my things and moving them to his apartment. He was the one who explicitly told me that this was my home now, and that I was the woman of the house. But right now, he couldn’t even be bothered to look at me. He was entirely focused on gently running his fingers through the woman’s hair. I opened my mouth, but swallowed the words before they could escape. Anything I said would just make me look like an even more pathetic, desperate clown. I turned around and practically sprinted out the door, feeling exactly like a humiliated, defeated coward. Staring at the completely cold bowl of wonton soup in my hands. I aggressively cursed my own cowardice and hated myself for crying so easily. And Liam wasn’t about to let me go quietly. Barely thirty minutes later, he called me. “Didn’t I specifically tell you not to ruin this for me?! Can you use your brain for one second?! You’re thirty years old, do you not know how to knock on a bedroom door?!” “Your little stunt terrified Chloe! She was being perfectly polite to you, and you just threw a fit and ran off! Now she feels incredibly awkward, and I have to spend all my time trying to calm her down!” “This is an absolute nightmare! I never should have taken pity on you and let you stay here!” His voice grew louder and more piercing with every word. My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles turned white. My hand was shaking. Just as I finally gathered the courage to speak, the line went completely dead. I was the one who was completely blindsided, humiliated, and publicly degraded. How did I end up being the one who did everything wrong? 5 I never, in my wildest dreams, imagined our relationship would end up like this. The first time I met Liam, he was only 6 years old. He barely came up to my waist, but he stood in front of my dad and swore, in his squeaky little voice, that he would never let anyone bully me. From that day on, whenever he wasn’t in school, he was basically superglued to my side, following me around like a little tail. In other families, the older sibling compromises for the younger one. In ours, it was the exact opposite. Whenever he got a new toy, he would look at me with big, expectant eyes, insisting I play with it first. Whenever he had a delicious snack, the very first bite was always offered to me. After school, he would always wait for me at the gates. The second he saw me, he’d launch himself at me like a happy little deer, excitedly chattering about everything that happened that day. Even when relatives gave him red envelopes for Lunar New Year, he would immediately hand all the cash over to me, looking incredibly proud as he asked me to keep it safe for him. A younger brother like that was literally an angel. But all of that joy and warmth was violently annihilated in a car crash three years later. After my dad passed away, a tiny Liam knelt in front of his grave and solemnly swore he would protect me forever. When his parents got back together, he literally went on a hunger strike, threatening his grandparents until they finally agreed to let me live with him. When his grandmother called me a “cursed jinx,” he didn’t hesitate for a second. He immediately stepped in front of me to defend me, and spent all his saved-up allowance on candy to make me feel better. All those warm, beautiful memories were real. But now, he was saying he regretted it. When he was twenty, he snuck into my room, his face burning red, and clumsily stole my first kiss. He didn’t say he regretted it then. Throughout the years, playing all those ambiguous, flirtatious games with me in front of all his friends… he didn’t say he regretted it then. When he turned twenty-five, and we finally crossed that final line, half-resisting, half-yielding… he didn’t say he regretted it then. And now, just because my presence made his precious childhood sweetheart slightly uncomfortable, he was completely obliterating all the laughter, the tears, the deep affection, and the years of companionship we had shared. The massive, agonizing chasm between the past and the present finally broke me. I couldn’t stop the tears from falling. … I only want to see you, only want to see you, in the future and the past… My ringtone suddenly shattered the silence. The name ‘Liam’ glared mockingly on the screen. I hesitated. My emotions were a chaotic, tangled mess. After agonizing over it for a long time, I finally answered: “Aunt Sarah told me to bring you lunch. If there’s an issue with that, you can…” “Mia. I’m so sorry.” A soft, sobbing voice interrupted my defense. It was Chloe. “Liam just told me he yelled at you. It’s all my fault for being so sensitive and making you feel bad. He was just overly anxious about me, and he lost his temper. I’m apologizing for him. Please don’t take it to heart.” “I know an apology isn’t enough. If you have time in the next few days, I want to take you shopping to make it up to you. You can pick out whatever you want. Please, just give me a chance to fix this.” Chloe’s tone was incredibly humble and apologetic. It completely threw me off. After all, she had almost nothing to do with what actually happened, yet Liam, the one solely responsible, was aggressively defending her. Right on cue, frustrated by my prolonged silence, Liam sounded even more annoyed than Chloe: “Mia, Chloe is literally apologizing to you personally! What more do you want?! Don’t forget that if it wasn’t for me and my mom, you’d be a crippled, useless orphan on the streets!” Liam’s words were like a jagged knife plunged directly into my heart. He ruthlessly tore open my deepest, most agonizing scars, dragging my most vulnerable insecurities into the light, offering them up as a sacrifice to the woman he truly loved.

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The outdoor temperature hit 95°F, and our dorm room felt like a sauna. “It’s too hot,” I suggested, “let’s turn on the AC.” Claire, lounging on her bed in just her underwear, panting, shrugged indifferently. “I’m not hot.” Mia, wiping buckets of sweat with a pile of tissues that filled a small trash bin, pulled her jacket tighter. “I’m a little cold, actually.” Adrian, chugging iced lemonade, looked up. “If you want it on, go ahead.” I set the thermostat to 79°F and sighed in relief as the cool air started to circulate. A month later, Claire sent me a bill. “The electricity bill is $200 this month. You should pay it.” … Returning to the dorm, it felt like stepping into a walk-in freezer. I rubbed the goosebumps on my arms and silently turned the temperature back up to 79°F. Soon after, Adrian clicked her tongue in annoyance. “Who told you to turn up the heat? It was perfect just now.” I frowned. “But 61°F is too low. You were all bundled under blankets. It’s better to turn it up a bit.” Mia peeked out from under her duvet, her voice timid. “We were just worried you’d be hot…” She even faked a sneeze. Adrian glared at me angrily. “Why are you being mean to Mia? If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t even have turned on the AC!” Claire directly forwarded the electricity bill. “The power bill was a thousand dollars this month. You pay it.” My eyes widened in shock. “How is it that much?” Adrian pouted. “Of course it’s a lot when you have the AC on all day. If you don’t have the money, why turn on the AC?” Mia chimed in, “Exactly. Running the AC all day costs a fortune. I wouldn’t even dare turn it on at home.” Claire shrugged, looking at me like I was an idiot. “You were the one who suggested turning on the AC first, so naturally, you should cover this extra expense.” I gritted my teeth, a knot of frustration tightening in my chest. “But it’s so hot. When I turned on the AC, you all got cool too, didn’t you?” Mia scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You have the nerve to say that! You’re the one who insisted on it! We were cold even without the AC!” Adrian put her hands on her hips. “We’re freezing under our blankets every day, but you’re comfortable with the AC on and act like a saint? And then you expect us to pay the bill? What kind of logic is that?” She then added, “Vanessa, don’t be so unreasonable!” I laughed, but it was a humorless sound. It was true that I was the one who suggested the AC first, but for the past month, every time I returned to the dorm, a blast of icy air greeted me the moment I opened the door. The three of them would be huddled in thick blankets, and the AC display clearly read “61°F.” It was obvious who was really enjoying the comfort. “You’re not trying to bail on the payment, are you? You should have said you were broke. If we knew you didn’t have money, we wouldn’t have turned on the AC for you.” Claire sized me up, her eyes full of disdain. “Poor thing!” Mia pursed her lips. “She definitely has money. I saw her buy a new handbag a few days ago.” She reached over, grabbed my bag, and started rummaging through it. I tried to stop her, but Adrian blocked me with a firm hand. The contents of my bag spilled onto the floor with a clatter, some bottles and jars shattering instantly. Although this small amount of money was nothing to me, I still frowned deeply. Mia pulled out a few high-end lipsticks. “These look pretty good, but too bad you’ve used them. Otherwise, they’d be worth a few bucks.” She handed one to Claire and one to Adrian, then tucked my designer bag into her arms. “Looks like you don’t have much money anyway. This bag is probably a fake. I’ll buy it from you for fifty bucks. Transfer the remaining nine hundred and fifty to Claire’s Venmo.” “You’re forcing me to sell my things!” I seethed, my teeth clenched. I tried to snatch my belongings back, but Adrian immediately twisted my arms behind my back. “If you hadn’t insisted on the AC, we wouldn’t have had to pay so much extra for electricity! If you don’t pay this, who will?” Adrian couldn’t resist shoving me. My lower abdomen hit the corner of the desk, and a sharp pain shot through me. Claire ignored everything, pressed my head down, and unlocked my phone, transferring money to herself. “Password?” I just glared at her. “What you’re doing is illegal!” Adrian slapped me hard on the head. I instantly felt dizzy. “Don’t talk back! What’s the password?” “I know the password! I saw her type it in!” Mia’s eyes lit up. She snatched the phone, and after a few tries, successfully transferred the money. Once they had the cash, they finally released me. My arms were bruised and marked from being held, but I couldn’t focus on that. Because at that moment, Adrian suddenly spoke up, “Since she doesn’t have money, why should we let her enjoy the AC we’re paying for?” Mia’s face lit up with understanding. “Right! She’s freeloading off the AC now!” With final exams approaching, I was afraid they’d pull another stunt, so I quickly said, “I’ll definitely pay my share of the electricity bill normally from now on.” Claire scoffed coldly. “That’s debatable. Who knows if you’ll go back on your word then?” “Or just make her pay a deposit,” Mia mused, propping her chin on her hand. In a moment, she came up with a “brilliant” idea. “Make her transfer the electricity bill to us in advance, then we won’t have to worry about her freeloading.” Mia quickly counted on her fingers. “There are twelve months in a year. Last month’s AC bill was nine hundred. That’s ten thousand eight hundred a year. Let’s round it down. Give us ten thousand, and you’re good.” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Ten thousand dollars for electricity a year? Are you kidding me?” Claire gave me a cold stare. Adrian immediately understood her meaning and cornered me against the wall. “If you don’t pay, you won’t live in this dorm. Ten thousand is already a discount.” “You’ve got some nerve. There are plenty of other dorms; I’m sure I can find an empty bed.” I snorted dismissively, internally noting how they truly were like snakes from the same pit. I made up my mind: I would apply to switch dorms in a little while. I didn’t want to stay in this dorm for another second! To my surprise, Mia and the others wouldn’t have it. Adrian stepped forward and immediately pinned my arms behind my back. Claire mockingly patted my face. “You think you can just leave whenever you want? If you leave, there will only be three of us. We’ll be short one person to split the electricity bill with. Who are we supposed to charge?” “So what do you want?” I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself, only wanting to deal with this quickly and get out of this troublesome place. “How about this, considering you’ve been with us for two months, we won’t ask for too much,” Claire said, holding up five fingers. “Give us fifty thousand as your share for future electricity bills, and then you can scram.” Before I could express my astonishment, Mia whispered, “We probably can’t take the money. She’s not trustworthy. If she switches dorms, she’ll definitely find a way to report us. Then we’ll all be charged with extortion, and none of us will escape.” Adrian panicked, her grip loosening slightly. “Then what do we do?” “I can give you fifty thousand! Just let me go, and I won’t report you.” I immediately struggled. Claire, seeing this, slapped me across the face. It stung fiercely. Mia looked at me with immediate suspicion. “She agreed so quickly. There’s definitely something fishy going on.” Adrian composed herself and viciously kicked the back of my knee. There was a sickening snap, and a searing, unbearable pain shot through my leg. Claire’s face was expressionless. “Then we definitely can’t let her leave.” She grabbed my hair and dragged me towards the balcony. “And we can’t let her freeload off the AC either. Let her stay out on the balcony.” I had checked the weather that morning; the high for today was 107°F. It wasn’t even noon yet, and the balcony was already scorching. Staying on the balcony, I wouldn’t die, but I’d be severely hurt! A wave of dread washed over me. I was about to scream, but Adrian shoved a rag into my mouth. To prevent my escape, they hog-tied me with rope, one end secured to the window handle. Even if I could move to the door, I couldn’t open it with my hands tied behind my back. Claire closed the door and drew the curtains, instantly turning the balcony into a sealed oven. I slumped to the ground, my face and body burning. Through the door, I could faintly hear their laughter and the sounds of their TV show. As noon approached, the temperature on the balcony rose higher and higher. I found it increasingly difficult to breathe. My lips were severely chapped, bleeding slightly. I slowly crawled to the door, bumping my head against the glass. I kept hitting my forehead until blood started to trickle down before Claire finally pulled back the curtain, glaring at me threateningly. “You’d better behave! The school dean is coming to inspect soon. If they find you, you’re going to regret it!”

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I was a master in the art of seduction, a professional femme fatale. Now, I was a ‘green tea’ side character in a novel, destined to be cyberbullied to death. The Kingston University gossip forum was plastered with a photo of me and the male lead, Alexander. [Heard Alex has a crush on someone. Don’t tell me it’s her?] [Get ready to watch Cinderella marry into the Sterling family fortune, folks.] The girl fueling the speculation in the comments was my own roommate, Isabelle. She smiled sweetly at me. “You should totally just confess to him. It’s not like he has a girlfriend.” A line of text, visible only to me, scrolled past my vision: [The male lead doesn’t have a girlfriend, but he has a fiancée!] [The female lead is so kind! She knows the side character has a crush on the male lead, so she’s hiding her identity as his fiancée.] [Side character, stop dreaming. The male lead only has eyes for his roommate.] [As soon as this clown confesses tonight, the male lead will officially announce the female lead as his girl.] A slow smile spread across my lips. I logged into a new account and posted a selfie, careful to keep my face hidden. The caption read: [My best friend keeps pushing me to confess to her childhood sweetheart. What should I do?] 1. Since the photo was tagged with a Kingston University IP address, it quickly circulated among the student body. The comments started rolling in: [You into him?] [Damn, that figure. I’m in love. Is your friend playing matchmaker? Trying to keep the good stuff in the family?] [Is he hot?] I replied to each one. To the first: [A little.] To the second: [Maybe. She’s always pushing us together, dragging me to every event.] To the third: [He’s gorgeous. But our families… we’re not exactly in the same league.] The replies turned into a chorus of good-natured teasing. [We all got into Kingston, who cares about family background? Unless he’s someone like Alexander Sterling, then yeah, maybe you should worry a little.] [Worry about what? Go for it, girl! Even if you break up, you might walk away with a multi-million dollar breakup check.] I liked every single one of their comments. The invisible text feed in my mind went wild. [Does she really think a thirst trap will seduce the male lead? Dream on. He only follows Isabelle.] [This post is so ‘green tea.’ Thank God the male lead won’t see it, or he might misunderstand the female lead.] This text feed—this constant stream of commentary on my life—was actually quite useful. It gave me a ton of inside information. A sly grin touched my lips. I might not know the male lead’s account handle, but I knew my roommate Isabelle’s. I tapped into her profile and went straight to her ‘following’ list. She only followed 36 people. [LOL, is she seriously trying to find his account? Pathetic.] [Give it up. You’ll never find it.] I scanned the list, eliminating one by one, until my eyes landed on a profile with a single follower: ‘momo.’ It was the only account that followed Isabelle exclusively and had a local IP address that never changed. I hit ‘follow.’ The text feed exploded. [WHAT THE HELL! You devious witch!] [How did she find it?!] Alexander’s account was a ghost town. Besides a few close friends from his inner circle, no one knew ‘momo’ belonged to him. When a notification for a new follower popped up, he frowned slightly. A Cup of Green Tea? Who was that? Shrugging it off, he closed his phone, figuring it was just a misclick. The text feed was gloating. [The male lead didn’t even bother clicking on her profile.] [That little green tea bitch. Her username fits her perfectly.] [This story is a slow-burn romance between childhood friends. The male lead is a man of honor; once they’re married, he’ll be completely devoted to the female lead. The side character’s looks won’t matter.] [The female lead thinks the male lead is cold to her and doubts his love. But later, when she sees him brutally reject the beautiful side character’s confession, all her insecurities will vanish.] [The clownish side character is nothing but a litmus test for their love.] I glanced at my bank account. Before I’d been transported into this world, Isabelle had convinced me to buy a dress for $20,000. She’d insisted I needed a “battle robe” for my big confession, claiming no one in their circle would be caught dead in cheap, off-the-rack clothes. Driven by a desperate need to fit in, the original owner of this body had gritted her teeth and bought an absurdly tacky, out-of-season designer gown. Now my balance was zero, and my credit card was maxed out. I stared at the empty account, my expression cold, and without a moment’s hesitation, listed the dress for sale online. Rule number one of my playbook: Never spend a dime of your own money on a man. 2. Isabelle’s social media was a masterclass in cultivating the perfect heiress persona. Her posts painted a picture of a flawless fiancé: handsome, wildly rich, and utterly devoted. Whatever she wanted, he provided in a heartbeat. Because their engagement was a recent, private family arrangement, she never revealed their identities. Instead, she’d frequently reward her most enthusiastic “shipper” fans with gifts in the comments. Her sappy, romanticized stories about their relationship regularly racked up tens of thousands of likes. Her account hadn’t always been so popular. It blew up after she posted about the “engagement gift” from her fiancé—a penthouse in the city’s most exclusive high-rise. I left a comment under the post: [I’m living for this! Your fiancé is so good to you, sis. I wish I could land a guy like that. What’s his type?] Isabelle loved when her fans gushed over her relationship, but my comment made her frown. She replied: [He has very high standards. He prefers girls who are accomplished in the arts, and they have to be brilliant, of course. You have no idea how hard I had to work just to get him to notice me.] Then, she liked another comment just below mine. [The most important thing is being from the same world.] Her followers went crazy in the replies. [An heiress who gave up studying abroad to get into Kingston for love!] [The vibrant, beautiful socialite vs. the cool, aloof childhood sweetheart!] [He just had to turn around to see she was always there waiting for him.] [It all paid off! After the engagement, his attitude completely changed. He used to be so distant, but now he gives her anything she desires.] [Her man’s family is loaded, and he’s already starting his own company in college. What a go-getter. Meanwhile, I’m just trying to get through the semester.] As the only one who knew the real story, I knew their actual romance didn’t start until after my character was written out of the picture. Theirs was a “marriage of convenience turned true love” plot. Right now, Alexander was only being attentive because of their families’ arrangement. Tsk. These two were using the original girl as a pawn. 3. A smirk played on my lips as I uploaded a new video to my profile: me, playing the piano. A top-tier seductress had to be well-versed in the arts of the upper class. Piano, equestrianism—I’d mastered them all. I replied to Isabelle’s comment: [I have lots of talents! And I’m learning new things every day~ All for the guy I’m crushing on.] My comment reeked of “green tea” one-upmanship, and plenty of people clicked on my profile out of curiosity. They filled my replies with sarcastic comments: [What a coincidence, ‘A Cup of Green Tea’ is a Kingston beauty too.] [I bet she just tagged the university IP. Show us your student ID if it’s real.] I ignored them. It didn’t take long for actual Kingston students to recognize the background of my first selfie as a campus dorm. The most-liked post on my page was still the faceless selfie with the caption: [So conflicted. My friend keeps pushing me to confess to her childhood sweetheart. What should I do?] Isabelle would never connect me to her timid, gullible little roommate. The original girl was utterly talentless. Not long ago, Isabelle had dragged her to a birthday party and pushed her to play the piano to get Alexander’s attention. The poor girl had stumbled through a cringey rendition of “Happy Birthday,” earning snickers from Isabelle’s friends until Alexander had stepped in to save her from further embarrassment. That was the moment the original girl had fallen for him. She had no idea her own roommate was his fiancée and, goaded by Isabelle, was about to walk into the most humiliating confession of all time. Alexander would announce his engagement on the spot, leaving her a laughingstock in front of the entire school. Afterward, the female lead, Isabelle, would write a viral post about her “insecure” but “beautiful” roommate, framing it as a tragic tale of unrequited love. This would paint the original girl as a scheming, social-climbing witch, and the resulting wave of cyberbullying would drive her to her death. The text feed flickered: [This side character is so manipulative. Is she just trying to get attention?] [It doesn’t matter. After Alex rejects her tonight, she won’t be a problem anymore.] Isabelle was about to message Alex when she noticed his follower count had ticked up by one. Suppressing a surge of irritation, she clicked on my profile. As she scrolled through my posts, a flicker of annoyance crossed her face. The silhouette in the photos felt disturbingly familiar. And my strategy for building a following was almost identical to hers: a mix of showcasing talents and vague posts about a secret crush. She knew Alex’s private account was a closely guarded secret, shared only with a few of their friends—a fact she’d flaunted in their group chat. She figured I must be some other heiress who’d caught wind of it. So, she went directly to my photo and tagged Alexander. [@momo, nice body. Your type?] Alex’s gaze lingered on the screen for a second, the photo flashing past his eyes. “Boring…” he typed back. Isabelle saw his reply and laughed out loud, quickly sharing the exchange with their circle as a joke. The text feed lit up: [LMAO, he saw her carefully curated photo and just replied ‘boring.’] [All that effort for nothing. So pathetic.] [She’s just a clown. Without her confession, Alex probably wouldn’t have even agreed to make his engagement to Isabelle public.] [He’s still secretly developing his game, ‘Mythic Realms,’ behind his family’s back. It’s in beta right now, and he doesn’t want any drama.] [They’ll fall in love after they’re married~ The male lead isn’t frigid at all. Once they’re together, he’ll drive the female lead crazy in bed.] [His family is super old-fashioned. They hate that he’s into gaming. His childhood sweetheart will be the only one who understands him.] [His game will become a massive hit, a national sensation. The first streamers who played it will make tens of millions.] I absorbed the information from the feed. A few days ago, I had already applied for the closed beta of Mythic Realms. Isabelle didn’t even know the game existed yet. This was the perfect way in. 4. I chose my in-game ID: A Cup of Green Tea. A smirk touched my lips as I multitasked, sending a message to Alex while grinding levels in the game. According to the novel, the male side character, Noah, was also in this beta. He was Alex’s roommate and ran in the same circles. He was the one who, after reading Isabelle’s sob story, had been the most vicious online, convinced the original girl was a homewrecker. Stupid, reckless, and self-righteous. The perfect tool. I spotted Noah, sent him a party invite, and then, at the very last second, kill-stole his mob. I switched on my mic and cooed, “Thanks, sweetie.” Noah’s hands fumbled on his keyboard, his triumphant grin freezing on his face. Meanwhile, Alex’s phone buzzed with a message from his best friend: [Dude, some chick in a voice changer just stole my kill! My server-first achievement is gone!] [I’m so pissed! This ‘A Cup of Green Tea’ is at the top of the leaderboard now! So shameless!] The text feed chimed in: [The side character’s tactics are so cheap! Who kill-steals like that?] [She’s obviously trying to get the male sidekick’s attention. Forget it, he only likes sweet, innocent girls.] After following Alex, I had sent him only one message: [Thanks for sticking up for me the other day, Alex~ Can I treat you to dinner tonight to say thank you?] Then, I posted a screen recording of my gameplay to my new social media account, making sure to tag #MythicRealms. The caption was simple: [This game feels incredible!] With its smooth gameplay, high-energy editing, and killer soundtrack, the video quickly gained traction. Alex saw the familiar ID and a flash of surprise crossed his face. He tapped on my profile picture. The first thing that autoplayed was my edited gameplay video, the thumbnail a triumphant shot of the kill-steal settlement screen over Noah’s character. The text feed buzzed: [LOL, he’s such a typical guy, only interested in the game.] [Suddenly I’m not worried anymore. He’s definitely not going to pay any extra attention to her.] [So what if she’s good at games? It won’t change anything.] As the video neared its end, he was caught off guard by a sultry, honey-sweet voice. “Thanks, sweetie.” The comments on the video exploded at that exact moment. Alex’s finger paused. He dragged the progress bar back a few seconds. And listened again. In the original story, he was a secret audiophile, a fact he only discovered in bed with the female lead. I had intentionally placed that voice clip at the end of the video. I was betting he’d watch the whole thing. The text feed was a stream of outrage— [What is this side character even doing, trying to sound so seductive!] Alex only allowed himself one more replay before closing the video, a model of restraint. On my profile, the only full-body picture was one of my back. The composition was perfect, showcasing an incredible figure without any obvious editing. He should have just exited the page. But his eyes lingered for a moment longer. Something about it felt familiar. He clicked on my newest video, a clip of me playing the piano, the fluid melody pouring from the speakers. The caption read: [If my confession fails tonight, I’m changing my username to ‘Lilith Wrecks Scumbags’.] He suddenly realized who I was. Isabelle had just messaged him. [Come to the dorm tonight. My little roommate has something to say to you.] Alex: [Lilith again? You haven’t told her about us?] Isabelle’s reply was vague: [A girlish crush is understandable. You can just turn her down privately.] He wracked his brain, trying to remember if he’d ever done anything to offend Lilith. The only memory that surfaced was the clumsy birthday song she’d played. In his mind, Lilith was just a pretty face who stammered whenever he was near. Online, however, she was a completely different person. By all accounts, he should have refused to meet me for dinner. And yet, he hesitated. First, he left a comment under my piano video: [You just started learning? You’re improving fast.] The text feed went into a frenzy. [??? Why is the male lead even talking to her?] [She’s such a fake! The female lead has been playing piano since she was a child. The side character is nothing in comparison!] I replied with a cute emoji, lying without a hint of shame: [Yep, I’m a quick study. My teacher says I’m a natural!] [I pick up everything super fast!] Alex’s gaze fell on the word ‘scumbags’ in my caption. His fingers hovered for a moment before he switched to our private chat and sent a reply. [I’ll pick you up at five.] Isabelle had told him to come at eight. He figured a quiet, early rejection would be more considerate. He refused to believe that the fleeting ripple of interest he felt would ever make him betray his fiancée. The male lead of the novel was a man of principle. Tonight’s confession was doomed to fail. All I needed to do was shift my position from ‘other woman’ to ‘innocent victim.’ I smirked and replied with another cute emoji: [Okay! (´｡• ᵕ •｡`)] Then I sent another message. [Can we not go somewhere too expensive?] [kitten_begging.gif] Alex raised an eyebrow. I sent him a screenshot, my tone pitiful. [My roommate said I had to buy a nice dress, and now I’m broke.] The screenshot showed Isabelle’s enthusiastic recommendation for a ridiculously overpriced dress, along with my payment confirmation for $20,000. Alex stared at the photo of the gaudy red gown and fell silent. Less than three seconds later, he replied. [Send me your account number.] I didn’t play coy. I sent it immediately. A moment later, a deposit of $30,000 hit my account. A triumphant smile graced my lips. The text feed erupted. [Not just a manipulative green tea, but a gold digger too!] [It’s his fiancée’s fault, so it’s only right for him to clean up the mess! It’s definitely not because he’s interested in the side character!] [She already sold the dress! And she’s still lying to him about it! What a bitch!] Meanwhile, Isabelle was busy replying to her followers, who were all dying to know what her mysterious fiancé was really like. She replied to a fan in her comments, [He’s not a fan of the spotlight, but I can try to find some pictures of us when we were kids.] That comment instantly shot to the top. Mine was right below it. The text feed was ecstatic: [Childhood sweethearts for the win!] I scoffed. If they were truly in love after knowing each other for ten years, they would’ve been together long ago. Isabelle wouldn’t need to resort to these games. Normally, a man who was already taken wouldn’t be on my radar. But since they had dragged me into their mess, all bets were off. 5. It was the first day of the closed beta, and not many players had spent real money yet. When Alex logged in, he saw a familiar name shoot up the top-spenders list. ID: A Cup of Green Tea. Sitting pretty at number two. Number one was Noah. Which pushed him down to number three. He remembered Lilith’s pathetic plea about being broke and felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. He knew her family background; there was no way she could afford to spend like this. It was one thing for her to play the game because she liked him, but it was another to watch her get sucked into reckless spending. The text feed was filled with comments calling me a spendthrift. Just then, Alex’s phone buzzed with a message from me. [I’m here.] 6. Alex had been waiting for a few minutes. His striking looks were already drawing scattered glances from passersby. When he saw me, he froze for a second. I had chosen a simple, form-fitting dress, my makeup understated with a nude lipstick. A soft breeze swept a strand of hair across my face. I closed the distance between us. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” A faint, alluring scent drifted from me. The male lead had a weakness for peaches, so I’d chosen a delicate peach-scented perfume. A simple anchor. From now on, every time he ate a peach, he would think of me. Alex’s gaze settled on my face again, lingering for a beat too long. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Get in,” he said, his voice a shade deeper than usual. He took me to an exclusive private restaurant, the kind of place I couldn’t afford on my own. But I knew a man like him would never let a woman pay. I accepted the menu and ordered without hesitation. When the food arrived, his eyes widened slightly—I had ordered all of his favorite dishes. “Looks like my wallet is only good for one dinner with you,” I said shyly. He shot me a look. “Spend your money wisely. A few less in-game purchases and you could afford to eat.” So blunt. I met his gaze, cutting straight to the point. “How did you know I was spending money in the game? Do you play Mythic Realms too?” Alex gave a clipped, “Mm.” The conversation flowed easily after that. Most of the dinner was spent talking about the game. I guided the conversation, and he chimed in readily. The man across from me was relaxed, his features softened, clearly in a good mood. I didn’t rush a confession. I just chatted, subtly closing the distance between us. From the game’s soundtrack to our favorite music. From the game’s lore to our favorite books. It was uncanny; no matter what he brought up, I could keep the conversation going. He was noticeably more talkative. [How does the side character know so much about everything?] [He’s talking way more than usual today. It’s like he’s trying to test her, to figure out her limits.] A man’s curiosity and admiration for a woman are a dangerous combination. I shot him a fleeting glance. In my previous life, I was eight years older than him. If he thought he could figure me out so easily, he was sorely mistaken. It was only when the conversation turned to various musical instruments that I simply smiled and nodded. He looked puzzled when I didn’t respond. I looked at him, my expression a mixture of helplessness and peace. “These are a bit beyond me,” I said, lying smoothly. “My family couldn’t afford lessons for things like that. I only just started learning the piano.” Just as a look of apology crossed his face, I chimed in with a sweet, admiring tone, “But you know so much. You’re incredible.” The tips of his ears turned red. I watched him quietly. At his age, Alexander was no stranger to eager, young admirers. He’d seen them all. But I had no interest in playing the part of the lovelorn girl in the inferior position. I preferred to be in control. He was so engrossed in our conversation that he’d let his guard down. So when I stood up and moved closer, he didn’t even realize anything was wrong. His cool, clear eyes just watched me with a hint of confusion.

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My sister was experiencing a complicated, life-threatening labor, and our father, a top obstetrician, was the only one who could save her. In my past life, I called him without a second thought. After I practically begged on my knees, my father abandoned his honeymoon with his new wife, turned around, and performed the surgery. My sister was saved, but soon after, we received horrifying news. My stepmother, suffering a severe depressive episode, had thrown herself into the ocean and committed suicide. Before she died, she left a suicide note accusing my sister and me of bullying her for a decade. She claimed the honeymoon was her last lifeline, the final reason she gave herself to keep living, and we had destroyed it. My father read the note and claimed he didn’t blame us. Yet, on the day we celebrated my newborn nephew’s one-month milestone, he poisoned everyone’s food. “If it weren’t for you two, Evelyn would still be alive.” “How did I end up with two such vicious, evil daughters? For the things you’ve done, dying a hundred times wouldn’t be enough.” He dragged my sister and me into the bathroom and brutally drowned us in the toilet, holding our heads under the water until we stopped moving. When I opened my eyes again, I had regressed back to the day my sister went into labor. … The very first thing I did after realizing I was reborn was sprint to my sister’s house. But I was still a step too late. Pushing the door open, a thick, metallic smell of blood hit me like a physical blow. My sister, Chloe, was lying on the floor in a massive pool of her own blood. My tiny nephew was lying beside her in the blood, the umbilical cord still attached. Shaking violently, I dialed 911, frantically searching for a blanket to wrap my nephew in to keep him warm. The ambulance arrived quickly and rushed us to the nearest hospital. Just as Chloe and the baby were wheeled into the emergency room, my brother-in-law, Mark, arrived. “Mia, how is she?!” He was deathly pale. It was freezing outside, but he was only wearing a thin dress shirt. He had clearly sprinted out the door the second he got the call. Before I could answer, an ER doctor rushed out. He told us Chloe’s condition was critical. She needed immediate, complex surgery, and there were only two specialists in the city capable of performing it: Dr. Arthur Sterling at the City Center Hospital, and Dr. David Vance at the State General Hospital. Before Mark could speak, I blurted out: “We’ll go to State General! Doctor, please arrange the transfer—” “Wait, why State General?” Mark interrupted me. “Dr. Arthur Sterling at City Center is your dad! He’s been Chloe’s primary physician this whole time; he knows her medical history inside and out. Obviously, transferring to City Center is the best option.” I told him point-blank: “Dad is about to leave on his honeymoon with Evelyn. We shouldn’t bother them.” In my past life, when I heard the doctor’s assessment, I immediately called my father and begged him to come back. Chloe was saved, but my stepmother killed herself. Her suicide note was a manifesto of our supposed cruelty, framing my phone call to my father as the final straw that broke her. The smell of that toilet water was putrid and revolting. I absolutely refused to die such a pathetic, agonizing death again. “Are you insane?! What’s more important, a honeymoon or your sister’s life?!” Mark pulled out his phone and immediately dialed my father’s number. It rang for a long time before my father finally answered, sounding incredibly annoyed. “What is it?” Mark quickly summarized Chloe’s critical condition and begged him to come back immediately. “Dad, Chloe’s situation is incredibly severe. Transferring her right now is a massive risk. Can you just come straight to this hospital and perform the surgery here? I’ll have them prep the OR immediately.” My father usually doted on Chloe. During her pregnancy, he had her admitted for observation at the slightest sign of discomfort. Mark was absolutely certain he would rush back. But this time, the response completely shocked him. “Mark, who told you to say that? Was it Mia?” “I never expected you to join the girls in bullying Evelyn.” “I personally examined Chloe this morning. Her vitals are perfectly stable, and there are absolutely no signs of premature labor. Do you have any conscience at all, pulling a stunt like this just to trick me into coming back?” My father viciously scolded Mark and abruptly hung up the phone. Mark stood frozen for a few seconds, then frantically redialed the number several times. My father’s phone was turned off. Even Evelyn’s phone went straight to voicemail. The ER doctor ran back out, urgently asking which hospital we had decided on. They had temporarily stabilized Chloe’s vitals, and she was ready for transport. Since we couldn’t reach my father, our only option was the much farther State General Hospital. Mark originally planned to ride in the ambulance with Chloe, but suddenly, the pediatric team announced that my newborn nephew was in distress. He needed to be rushed to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU), and a parent had to be present to sign consent forms. With his wife fighting for her life in one department and his newborn son crashing in another, Mark was completely paralyzed by panic, unable to make a decision. I grabbed his arm to ground him. “Mark, I will ride with Chloe to State General. You stay here and take care of the baby.” Mark’s eyes instantly turned red. He gripped my hand tightly. “I’m counting on you, Mia. Please, make sure she survives.” I nodded firmly. Chloe is five years older than me. Our mother died giving birth to me. We grew up without a mother. Our father was always consumed by his work, so Chloe and I practically raised each other. She is, without a doubt, the most important person in my life. Despite mentally preparing myself, seeing Chloe lying there unconscious, her face completely drained of color, broke me. I couldn’t stop the tears. During the entire ambulance ride, I kept talking to her, desperately praying she would pull through. Thanks to the police escort we arranged, the usual hour-long drive took only forty minutes. When we arrived, Dr. Vance told me he was still finishing up another surgery. He instructed me to go straight to the ward and find the Head Nurse to get Chloe formally admitted. Once he finished, he would head straight to our OR. But when we reached the ward, the nurses flat-out refused us entry. They told us, “There are no available beds.” Panicking, I said, “We spoke to Dr. Vance before we arrived! He authorized the admission!” A young nurse rolled her eyes. “Dr. Vance is rarely on the floor; he doesn’t know the current bed status. We literally do not have a single bed left in this department. It doesn’t matter if you know the Director, or even the hospital President. We can’t materialize a bed out of thin air.” I was on the verge of crying. I spotted an empty gurney parked in the hallway. “Can’t we just use that gurney? She can just stay on that! Please, you have to help us. My sister is hemorrhaging, and Dr. Vance is the only one who can perform the surgery.” The young nurse glanced at Chloe lying on the transport stretcher, then threw her hands up. “I’m just a junior nurse. I don’t have the authority to add extra beds to the floor. You need to talk to the Head Nurse.” She gave a pointed look toward the door with the ‘Head Nurse’ plaque. I understood immediately and rushed toward the office. Seeing the woman inside, I cried out in relief, “Aunt Nancy!” The woman was Nancy Lewis, one of my mother’s former colleagues. After my mother passed away, she frequently visited Chloe and me. Before she could speak, I grabbed her arm like a drowning person grabbing a lifeline. “Aunt Nancy, please, you have to admit my sister! She’s having a complicated labor and severe hemorrhaging! She needs surgery right now!” Nancy, who was famously known for her gentle demeanor, instantly scowled and yanked her arm out of my grasp. “Mia, I can’t believe you actually came to our hospital. Take your sister and go home right now. Stop causing a scene. Your father used to work at this hospital! Half the staff here know him! Acting out like this is completely destroying his reputation!” Her words hit me like a physical blow to the head. My ears started ringing violently. “Aunt Nancy, what are you talking about?! I’m not acting! My sister is genuinely having a complicated labor! If you don’t believe me, just step outside and look at her!” I grabbed her hand, trying to pull her out of the office. If she just looked at Chloe, she would instantly know I was telling the truth. “Mia, I have actual work to do! I don’t have time to play games with you!” “Your father just called me! He told me he was taking your stepmother on a makeup honeymoon, and that you and your sister were so furious about it you decided to pull this sick prank to ruin their trip!” Nancy’s voice grew increasingly stern and reprimanding. “Mia, I know you resent your stepmother, but raising you two wasn’t easy for her. I hear she’s even battling severe depression. You cannot bully her like this! And a hospital is absolutely not the place for your theatrical tantrums! Take your sister and leave immediately!” Listening to her, I felt like I was losing my mind. If my father were standing in front of me right now, I would literally scream in his face. I never imagined he would go to such extreme, sociopathic lengths. He knew we were transferring Chloe here for life-saving surgery, so he preemptively used his connections to ensure we would be denied entry. But this wasn’t the time to argue about his motives. I desperately tried to explain, “Aunt Nancy, you’re misunderstanding! We aren’t lying! My sister is actually hemorrhaging! I even contacted Dr. Vance before we came! If you don’t believe me, call him!” Nancy looked at me with profound disappointment. “Mia, you are crossing a massive line. I can’t believe you dragged the Director into your petty drama.” “Do you have any idea that Dr. Vance is currently performing a highly complex, critical surgery?! If your phone call distracted him, and his hand slipped, the surgery could fail! You could permanently ruin a young woman’s chance of ever having children!” “Medical resources are not your personal playthings! You need to call Dr. Vance immediately and apologize!” The girl on Dr. Vance’s operating table was young, yes, but so was my sister! Furthermore, before we left the first hospital, the ER doctor explicitly warned us: if Chloe didn’t get surgery within two hours, her chances of survival were basically zero. Thinking of that, I dropped to my knees without a second’s hesitation. “Aunt Nancy, I’m begging you! I am not lying! My sister is dying! Please, just process the admission!” I aggressively slammed my forehead against the floor, kowtowing to her several times. Nancy froze, her rigid expression finally showing a flicker of doubt. Just as she was about to step out and check, the office door flew open. A junior nurse poked her head in. “Head Nurse, are we admitting that patient in the hallway or not? They’re blocking the entrance to the ward and currently screaming at another patient’s family!” Hearing this, Nancy and I immediately rushed out of the office. At the entrance to the ward, the paramedics who had transported Chloe were in a heated screaming match with the family members of another patient. Apparently, the patient had accidentally bumped into one of the paramedics while walking past, and the interaction quickly escalated into a full-blown shouting match. Nancy quickly intervened, separating the two groups. After soothing the patient and their family and escorting them back to their room, she marched directly toward me. I stepped forward anxiously. “Aunt Nancy, can we process the admission now?” Smack! Nancy delivered a stinging slap across my face. “Where did you hire these actors?! They have absolutely zero class! Don’t they know there are sick people resting here?! Take these people and leave immediately, or I’m calling security!” My cheek burned like fire. I stared at her in utter disbelief. “How could you hit me?!” “Why shouldn’t I hit you?!” Nancy glared at me fiercely. “I am your elder! Don’t you feel an ounce of shame causing a massive scene in a hospital?! You clearly lack proper upbringing! You have absolutely no sense of decency or proportion!” You lack proper upbringing because you don’t have a mother. I had heard those exact words from countless people throughout my life. But it had never hurt as agonizingly as it did in this exact moment. Does not having a mother mean my words are inherently untrustworthy? Does not having a mother mean my sister doesn’t deserve medical treatment? I knew arguing with her was completely pointless. I violently wiped away my tears. “Fine! Fine! Nancy Lewis, you refuse to admit my sister? There has to be someone in this massive hospital who will! I’m going straight to the President’s office right now to see if he’ll handle this!” Seeing that I was actually going to escalate it to the President, Nancy panicked. She ordered two junior nurses to physically block my path. Then, she grabbed a phone and called security. “Security! We have individuals causing a severe disturbance on the maternity ward! Get up here and remove them immediately!” Security arrived in under three minutes. With a wave of Nancy’s hand, they began forcefully pushing us, and Chloe’s stretcher, toward the exit. I clung to the stretcher with a death grip, refusing to let them move it, sobbing hysterically for the entire floor to hear. “What right do you have to kick us out?! Isn’t this a hospital?! Aren’t you supposed to save lives?! My sister is critically ill, and you refuse to even look at her! How dare you call yourselves medical professionals?!” My screaming was so intense it drew a massive crowd of patients and their families. Even the two junior nurses seemed hesitant. They turned to Nancy and said cautiously: “Head Nurse… I don’t think they’re acting. Look at the woman on the stretcher. She hasn’t moved an inch. She looks like she’s genuinely unconscious.” “Yeah, she looks incredibly pale. Maybe you should at least quickly assess her before making a final decision?” Their words seemed to finally break through Nancy’s stubbornness. She hesitated for a few seconds and took a step toward the stretcher to take a closer look. Right at that moment, her phone rang. She answered it. “Dr. Sterling? Where are you? Your two daughters are causing a massive scene on my floor.” My heart sank like a stone. It was my father. The hallway was relatively quiet, so my father’s voice projected clearly from the phone speaker for everyone to hear. “They already caused a massive scene at another hospital, and now my former colleagues are calling me about it. Evelyn’s blood pressure spiked because of all this stress. I’m bringing her to your hospital for an evaluation right now. Kick those girls out immediately. I don’t want Evelyn to get upset if she sees them.” Hearing those words, I completely lost whatever shred of sanity I had left. “Arthur Sterling, have you lost your fucking mind?! Your daughter is hemorrhaging and needs emergency surgery! You refuse to operate on her yourself, and now you’re actively preventing anyone else from saving her?! What happens if she dies right here?!” My father let out a cold, cynical laugh. “Then let her die. I don’t want daughters like you anyway.” The call ended. I heard several people in the crowd gasp in horror. A father that ruthless is truly a rare sight. Nancy’s face hardened as she walked toward me. “Mia, you heard him. Stop intentionally antagonizing your father and your stepmother. They have it hard enough.” The moment the words left her mouth, someone in the crowd shrieked in terror. “Oh my god! So much blood!” Nancy and I whipped our heads around simultaneously. The blanket covering Chloe was completely soaked in thick, dark crimson. The blood was dripping rapidly off the edge of the stretcher… Pooling into a massive, terrifying puddle on the linoleum floor. The visual shock was so catastrophic my brain completely shut down for several seconds. Then, I threw myself onto the stretcher like a rabid animal. “Chloe! Hold on! You can’t die!” I turned and screamed at Nancy with homicidal fury: “What the fuck are you standing there for?! Get a doctor right now!” The junior nurse standing next to Nancy snapped back to reality and turned to run, but Nancy grabbed her arm. Nancy walked slowly toward me. “Mia, you and your sister are taking this act way too far. That volume of blood looks like she drained her entire body. Did you use chicken blood or pig blood for this stunt? Before you try to fake a hemorrhage, couldn’t you at least Google what a real one actually looks like?”

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I was auditing our credit card statements when I found it: a recurring monthly withdrawal of $3,450. The memo simply read “Mortgage Payment.” The thing is, we’d paid off our house three years ago. I stared at the screen for a long time, the blue light stinging my eyes. The withdrawal was coming from Madeline’s salary account, but the recipient was a loan contract number I didn’t recognize. I didn’t ask her about it. Instead, I copied the contract number into a locked note on my phone. 1. Madeline came home late that night. It was 11:30 PM when she pushed through the door, a gust of November chill clinging to her coat. “Work was a nightmare,” she muttered, barely looking at me before heading straight for the bathroom. I sat on the sofa, my gaze fixed on her coat draped over the armchair. The left pocket was bulging. I didn’t move. I waited until I heard the shower start, the steady hiss of water masking my footsteps. Inside the pocket was a crumpled property management bill. The Lantern, Building 18, Unit 603. Quarterly HOA Fees: $1,260. I flipped the paper over. Under the owner’s name, it read: Madeline Vance. I stood there in the living room for three minutes, just staring at that name. The Lantern. I knew the place—a luxury high-rise downtown that had finished construction last year. Units there started at seven figures. I snapped a photo of the bill and tucked it back into her pocket exactly as I’d found it. The next morning, after she left for “an early meeting,” I opened my laptop. I’m a forensic accountant by trade; digging through digital footprints is what I do. I logged into the county property records using her social security number. There it was. The Lantern, Unit 603. 1,200 square feet. Purchased March 2022. Three years ago. The down payment had been $150,000. The mortgage was $1.1 million. The monthly payment? $3,450. I felt a phantom chill settle in my marrow. $150,000. In March 2022, Madeline had been two months pregnant. That was the same month our joint savings account had dipped by exactly $155,000. She told me she’d invested it in a friend’s tech startup. I had believed her. I had kissed her forehead and told her I trusted her instincts. I scrolled down to the title registration, and my heart skipped a beat. Owner of Record: Nathan Brooks. My name. I stared at those ten letters. Not Madeline. Not “The Brooks Family Trust.” Just me. Then the memory hit me like a physical blow. Back in 2022, the city had passed a luxury tax and zoning restriction—residents who already owned two properties faced massive surcharges on a third. Madeline already had our primary residence and the cottage she’d inherited from her parents. She couldn’t buy a third. So, she had used me. She’d used my identity, forged my signature on the digital loan documents, and bought a secret life in my name. She probably thought that since she was the one making the payments, the title didn’t matter. I looked at the screen and started to laugh. It was a dry, hollow sound that echoed through our empty house. I screenshotted everything and moved it into an encrypted folder. I didn’t know who she’d bought that condo for yet. But I knew that while she was carrying our child, she was stealing our future to build a nest for someone else—using my own name as the foundation. I’d keep that receipt. I just needed to see who was currently living in Unit 603. 2. I didn’t go there right away. I waited a week. In that week, I did my homework. I pulled Madeline’s personal bank statements. We’d been married for ten years; I knew every password she had. The trail was fascinating. Aside from the $3,450 mortgage, there was a steady, monthly transfer of $1,500 to an account held by someone named Silas Thorne. When I saw the name, the air left my lungs. Silas Thorne. Three years ago, he was the intern in my department. I was the one who interviewed him. I was the one who mentored him through his first big project. I was the one who wrote the glowing recommendation that got him hired full-time. On the day he got his permanent offer, he’d bought me a coffee and called me his “hero.” “Nathan,” he’d said, “meeting you is the luckiest thing that’s ever happened to me.” I’d clapped him on the shoulder and told him he’d earned it. I closed my eyes, doing the math. $1,500 a month for three years. That’s $54,000. Add the $150,000 down payment and the $124,200 in mortgage payments… I grabbed a calculator. Total: $328,200. Nearly a third of a million dollars of our marital assets, poured into the pocket of the kid I had hand-reared at work. On Saturday morning, Madeline said she had to go into the office to “catch up on some filings.” I waited thirty minutes, then drove to The Lantern. It was a sleek, glass-and-steel needle of a building. I sat in my car for twenty minutes. Then I saw it. A black Audi pulled into the underground garage. Madeline’s car. Five minutes later, a young man walked out of the lobby to meet her by the elevator bank. He had that messy-cool hair, an expensive linen shirt, and a smile that looked like sunshine. Silas. He looped his arm through Madeline’s, and they walked into the building together. It was intimate. Practiced. It wasn’t the first time, or even the tenth. It was the rhythm of a couple that had been living together for years. I sat in my car, watching their silhouettes disappear behind the frosted glass doors. I didn’t cry. My grip on the steering wheel was so tight my knuckles turned a ghostly white. I drove home, stopping at a 24-hour printing shop. I printed out a fresh copy of the property deed. Owner: Nathan Brooks. I folded the paper neatly and tucked it into my laptop bag. When Madeline came home at 7:00 PM, she looked exhausted. “I’m wiped,” she said, dropping her keys. “I’m sure,” I said, setting a bowl of homemade soup in front of her. “Drink this. You need your strength.” She smiled, oblivious, and took a sip. I watched her face—the face that had been pressed against another man’s all afternoon. “This is delicious,” she said. “Good,” I replied. I could wait. I wasn’t in a hurry. 3. For the next month, I played the part of the doting husband. I went to work, I cooked dinner, I played with our daughter. I was the perfect picture of domestic stability. But at night, while Madeline slept, I went to work. I spent two nights scrolling through her cloud backups. Her phone was set to auto-sync, and the password was our anniversary. She’d clearly forgotten she’d ever set it up. The message history was a map of betrayal. It started in January 2022. The first suggestive text was dated March 8, 2022. International Women’s Day. That evening, Madeline was at the clinic for an ultrasound. She’d texted Silas: Are you alone? I’m coming over. I remembered that day. The ultrasound results had shown the baby’s position was a bit precarious. The doctor told her to rest. I’d called her, and she’d told me she was at a “late dinner with a client.” “Don’t worry, honey,” I’d told her. “Just get home safe.” She hadn’t come home until 11:00 PM, claiming her client had too many martinis and she had to call him an Uber. Now I knew exactly who she’d been taking care of. I kept scrolling. March 17, 2022—the day I signed Silas’s permanent contract recommendation. That night’s chat: Silas: I’m officially in! Nathan signed the papers today! Madeline: We need to celebrate properly. Silas: Where? Madeline: Your place. I’ll bring the champagne. Silas sent a suggestive emoji. There were no messages after that. They didn’t need messages for what happened next. I put the phone down, my hands shaking. While I was helping this kid build his career, he was in bed with my wife “celebrating.” I went further. May 2022. Madeline’s text: The mortgage is approved. We get the keys next month. How do you want to decorate? Silas: Seriously?! I want that Scandinavian look. Light wood, warm tones, cozy everywhere. Madeline: Whatever you want, baby. Silas: Our home. Madeline: Our home. “Our home.” Madeline was five months pregnant then. I was spending my weekends painting the nursery, making sure every corner was safe for our baby. And she was on her phone, building a “home” with a twenty-four-year-old. I saved every screenshot. From 2022 to 2024. 487 images. Each one was a razor blade. But I didn’t use them yet. I had a much better plan. 4. Four details in the chat logs caught my eye. First: August 2022. Madeline was eight months pregnant. Madeline: I’m coming over for a couple of hours. The doctor says I shouldn’t overexert myself, so I have to be back early. Silas: Okay, hurry up then. I checked my calendar. In August 2022, she had visited him at least three times a week. Even when she was struggling to walk, she made sure she saw him. Second: January 2023. One month after our daughter was born. The baby was colicky. I remember those nights vividly—waking up four times a night to fix bottles, rocking her until my back screamed, then going to work on three hours of sleep. Madeline had moved to the guest room, saying she “didn’t want to disturb my sleep since I had to work.” In the logs, at 3:00 AM while I was warming a bottle in the kitchen, she was on a video call with Silas. Duration: 47 minutes. She hung up right as I finished burping the baby. Third: June 2023. Silas: Are you sure about the money for the down payment? Madeline: It’s from our savings, don’t worry about it. Silas: But… isn’t that his money too? Madeline: I earned that money. I’ll spend it how I want. Silas: But what if he finds out? Madeline: He won’t. And once I file for divorce, everything in that condo will be ours. She had been planning to leave me for three years. While she was pregnant. While she was “recovering.” While I was doing the 3:00 AM feedings. She was already mentally moved into Unit 603. Fourth: September 2024. Just two months ago. Silas: The contractor says the HOA is flagging the renovation. They’re saying it’s not to code and we have to tear it out. Madeline: What? Silas: They said the owner hasn’t signed off on the permits. Madeline: I’ll handle the HOA. I’ll just forge the signature again. Silas: I already spent $15,000 on those floors, Madeline. I’m not losing that money. Madeline: I’ll give you more. Just find a better contractor. Silas: No, I want to use my own savings for this part. I want to feel like I’m contributing to our home. Madeline: You’re so sweet. I read that last part twice. He wanted to use his savings to renovate “their home.” The home that, legally, belonged to me. I smiled. By all means, Silas. Renovate away. 5. I called my oldest friend, Bennett. He’s a high-stakes divorce attorney who eats people like Madeline for breakfast. I laid it all out for him. The bank statements, the deed, the 487 screenshots. He spent half an hour reviewing the file before looking up at me. “Nathan,” he said, “this is a bloodbath.” “Is it enough?” “It’s more than enough,” Bennett said. “The down payment was marital property. The mortgage was paid with marital property. But the deed? The deed is solely in your name. Legally, that condo is 100% yours.” “I know.” “If she tries to fight for it, she has to prove she used her separate funds, which she can’t because it’s all coming from your joint existence. You hold all the cards.” “Good.” “So, when do we file?” “Not yet,” I said. “I want him to finish the renovations first.” Bennett blinked. “Excuse me?” “He told her he wants to use his own life savings to fix up ‘their home.’ I think I should let him. It’s only polite.” Bennett leaned back in his chair, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face. “Nathan Brooks. You are a much colder man than I thought.” “I’m not cold, Bennett,” I said. “I’m just an accountant. I’m making sure the books are balanced.” That afternoon, I visited the property management office at The Lantern. I met with the manager, a guy named Miller. I showed him the original deed and my ID. “I’m the owner of 603,” I said. Miller checked his system. “Mr. Brooks. Nice to finally meet you. We’ve had some… issues with your unit.” “I know. The renovation?” “Yes, a young man has been spearheading it. He claimed to be family.” “He isn’t,” I said. “He’s a tenant. And apparently, he’s been doing work without my authorization.” Miller looked nervous. “Oh, God. We’ve already issued several stop-work orders.” “Here’s what we’re going to do,” I said, sliding my business card across the desk. “From now on, any issue regarding 603 goes through me. Not her. Not him. If a single nail gets driven into a wall, I want to know. But for now… let them keep working. Just keep a very close eye on the ‘safety violations’.” “I understand, Mr. Brooks.” I walked out into the sunlight. Building 18 loomed above me. Through the sixth-floor windows, I could see the faint flicker of a construction light. Work hard, Silas, I thought. Make it beautiful. 6. Silas’s first renovation attempt, according to the chat logs, cost him about $20,000. He went for the “Scandi-chic” look—expensive oak floors, custom grey cabinetry, and imported Italian tile. He was obsessed. He spent a week picking out light fixtures. I watched the progress through the photos he sent Madeline. Every picture was captioned with a string of heart emojis. Madeline: It looks stunning, baby. Silas: It’s our sanctuary! On the day the floors were finished, he posted a photo of himself standing in the middle of the empty living room, arms wide, grinning like he’d won the lottery. Caption: Finally, home. That caption felt like a needle in my heart. Then, I made a phone call. “Mr. Miller? It’s Nathan Brooks. I was looking over the HOA bylaws. Does Unit 603 have a valid permit for those new floors? Because I never signed one.” Three days later, Silas messaged Madeline in a panic. Silas: The HOA showed up! They’re saying the renovation is unauthorized! They’re demanding an owner’s signature or they’re going to fine us $500 a day!

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