Category: English

I was the untouchable golden girl of a billionaire family. Four years after my death, I was resurrected. By then, my lookalike stand-in had successfully taken my place. Wearing a face identical to mine, she smirked and provoked me: “Everything of yours is mine now. You came back too late.” But what she didn’t know was the fatal power of the original: the moment I appear, everyone will abandon their principles and run back to me. 1 “I’m home, Mom.” I pushed open the grand doors to the Sterling estate without a hint of hesitation, smiling brightly at my mother sitting on the sofa. It felt as casual and ordinary as coming home from school. A loud crash echoed through the foyer as her teacup shattered on the marble floor. “Serena!” she wailed, her voice tearing with absolute, agonizing disbelief. “My Serena is home!” I am Serena Sterling, the eldest daughter of the Sterling family. I originally died of heart failure. On the brink of death, I was bound to a Multiverse Survival System. That was when I learned my reality was just a cliché romance simulation, and I was the classic “doomed golden girl”—the early-dying first love. The actual female lead was a girl who looked 90% like me. Her face allowed her to cross social classes, drawing the attention of the elite and becoming the darling of my family. My parents practically adopted her. My childhood sweetheart became her lover. My little brother obeyed her every word. She was destined to get everyone’s love, but only on the condition that I stayed dead. So, when the System asked if I wanted to complete missions to earn my resurrection, I agreed instantly. Why should my tragedy be the stepping stone for her happy ending? So, I came back. “Mom, it’s me. I’m back.” Her embrace was as warm as ever, but so tight I could barely breathe. She held me like she was terrified I would vanish into thin air if she let go. I sighed and patted her frail back to comfort her. The System had altered their memories, changing my death from heart failure to “missing in a shipwreck” four years ago. She thought she had just spent four agonizing years searching for me. But our tearful reunion was cut short by a commotion at the front door. 2 “Mom, look what we brought you!” A sickeningly sweet, unfamiliar female voice rang out. A young girl skipped inside holding a box of pastries from a high-end bakery. Close behind her was a voice I knew all too well, dripping with indulgence. “Slow down, don’t run.” It was Carter, the boy I grew up with. My childhood sweetheart. “Mom, do we have guests? Why are you crying?” This was my younger brother, Spencer. I was facing away from him, so he couldn’t see my face as he walked in. My mother hugged me tighter. Her eyes were red, lips trembling, but she couldn’t stop crying long enough to speak. “Mom, please don’t cry. What’s wrong? Who is this?” Spencer asked. “Ouch, Carter, why are you squeezing my hand so hard?” the sweet voice complained, adding a hint of a pout. Carter didn’t react to her. I could feel his burning gaze fixed on my back. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he struggled to call out a name he hadn’t spoken in years. “Why are you all acting so weird? The security guard at the gate even said I had already come home a few minutes ago. So weird,” the girl mumbled. She looked at my crying mother, my silent brother, and Carter, who looked like he had seen a ghost. Finally, her gaze landed on me. A terrible premonition rose in her chest. As if to confirm her worst fears, I pulled away from my mother’s embrace, turned around, and looked right at them. “Spencer. Carter. Long time no see.” 3 “Serena…” Carter’s voice trembled imperceptibly. Spencer, however, was much more explosive. “Serena Sterling! You actually dared to come back?! Where the hell have you been all these years? Do you know I thought you were dead?! How could you… how could you…” The eighteen-year-old boy tried to sound tough, gritting his teeth, but his eyes were terrifyingly red, and the tears fell one after another. I patted his shoulder, feeling a pang of guilt. “Spencer, you’ve grown up.” He was only fourteen when I “disappeared.” He was practically a man now. Unable to hold it in any longer, he buried his face into my shoulder and sobbed quietly. “I missed you so much, Serena.” It was a bittersweet reunion. As the pastry box hit the floor, everyone finally noticed the girl standing frozen by the door. I looked at her. That face, so highly identical to mine, was completely drained of color. She looked utterly pathetic. Later, we all sat down for dinner. The table was filled with all my favorite dishes. My mother kept putting food on my plate, and Spencer automatically peeled my shrimp for me. But when Carter unconsciously picked up a piece of sweet and sour rib—my favorite—and placed it into Chloe’s bowl, everyone froze. “Thank you,” Chloe said quietly, gripping her hands tight. It was the first time she had spoken since finding out who I was. “Yeah,” Carter replied faintly. I ignored the undercurrents of tension and calmly ate my meal. “Your room hasn’t changed at all. I cleaned it myself every single day. Go get some rest. I’ll have the family doctor check on you later, and your father will be flying back tomorrow,” my mother rambled, filled with worry. I nodded to everything. They didn’t say much about Chloe, but I wasn’t panicked. This was the confidence of being truly loved. But I didn’t expect the mountain to come to me. Late that night, there was a knock on my bedroom door. 4 I opened the door to find Chloe’s familiar face. She was holding a glass of warm milk. I raised an eyebrow, thinking she was here to awkwardly make peace. Instead, her face twisted into a mocking sneer. “If you were dead, you should have stayed dead. Why come back? Do you think you can compete with me?” “I’ve spent four years conquering them. Aside from this bedroom, everything you used to own is mine now. You’re too late, understand?” Conquering? That was a very specific word. Like something from a System. Before I could react, she suddenly splashed the glass of milk all over her own face. Then, she screamed and threw herself onto the hardwood floor. The glass shattered into pieces. She started sobbing, looking like a fragile, broken doll. “Serena, I’m so sorry! I just wanted to bring you some milk. I didn’t mean any harm!” How long had it been since I witnessed such a low-tier framing attempt? For a second, I almost found it funny. I looked down coldly at the pitiful girl crying on the floor. Her thin pajamas and hair were soaked with milk. She looked at me with pure terror, the perfect image of a bullied victim. Honestly, I had no real desire to fight Chloe. Regardless of her motives, she was the one who kept my family company during their darkest times. I didn’t hold deep malice toward her. I just wanted her to back off gracefully. But her hostility was crystal clear. A scream in the middle of the night in a house where no one was truly sleeping yet drew immediate attention. Doors slammed open down the hall. 5 “What happened?! Is Serena okay?” My mother stumbled out of her room, pale and panicked, haphazardly throwing a robe over her shoulders. She had even put her slippers on the wrong feet. She didn’t let out a breath of relief until she saw me standing there unharmed. Only after confirming I was safe did Chloe’s pitiful whimpering reach her ears. “What’s going on? Why are you on the floor?” my mother asked, frowning at the shattered glass next to Chloe. Before Chloe could answer, my mother continued, “Why are you so careless? What if someone steps on the glass? Get up quickly.” “It was Serena… she…” Chloe pouted, tears welling in her eyes, ready to put on a show. But she was interrupted again. “What happened to your hand?!” Spencer marched straight past Chloe and grabbed my hand. There was a tiny, bleeding scratch on the back of my hand, probably from a stray shard of glass. It didn’t even hurt, but Spencer looked at it like it was a fatal wound. “Do you not know how to take care of yourself? Didn’t you feel that?!” he scolded, instinctively blowing on the tiny cut like he did when we were kids. “I’ll get the first-aid kit,” he said, turning to run down the hall. My mother rushed over, her face full of heartache. “Hurry, Spencer! It’s bleeding. Oh, Serena, does it hurt? It’s Mom’s fault for not noticing.” She held my hand, looking incredibly guilty. Once again, Chloe was completely ignored. Her face twisted with resentment. Ever since she used her face to climb into the upper echelon of society, she hadn’t tasted defeat. The love of parents, the affection of a lover, the care of a younger brother—she had it all in the palm of her hand. She thought she was the luckiest girl in the world. Why did the dead have to come back to life?! 6 “Mom, it’s fine. It doesn’t hurt,” I said, catching the raw jealousy in Chloe’s eyes. I knew she wouldn’t let this go. When you possess something for too long, you start to believe it rightfully belongs to you. “Mom, it hurts… I’m bleeding too.” Taking advantage of my mother’s turned back, Chloe had grabbed a shard of glass and squeezed it, cutting her own palm deeply. She held up her bloody hand, tears streaming down her face, looking like a desperate child begging for her mother’s attention. “I got the first-aid kit,” Spencer announced as he rushed back. He paused when he saw Chloe’s blood-soaked hand. “Spencer, it hurts,” Chloe whimpered. She knew exactly what worked on him. In the past, whenever she looked at him with that weak, dependent gaze, he would complain but gently take care of her, yielding to her every wish. Seeing him hesitate, she called his name again, softer this time. “Spencer…” Spencer pursed his lips. My mother took the first-aid kit from his hands and pulled me into my room to treat my scratch. “Spencer, help her up,” I finally spoke. I knew my mother and brother were ignoring her partly to show they prioritized me, and partly because they were afraid her presence made me uncomfortable. I wasn’t an idiot. I knew what she represented during the years I was gone. My voice surprised even my mother, who paused and looked back. Spencer always listened to me. He carefully stepped around the glass and helped Chloe up. “Spencer, do you and Mom hate me now?” Chloe leaned into his grip, her eyes red. All her calculated victimhood was instantly shattered by a single sentence from me. Spencer didn’t answer. “I just wanted to bring Serena some milk. I really didn’t mean any harm. I don’t know why she pushed me. Mom won’t look at me, Serena hates me… Spencer, are you guys going to kick me out?” “If I apologize to Serena, will she forgive me? I don’t want to leave…” “Chloe,” Spencer cut her off calmly. Chloe froze, looking up at him. Spencer met her gaze with an eerily calm look, almost like he was looking at a stranger. “Serena is my sister,” he said. 7 That single sentence was enough for Chloe to understand. Serena is my sister. Not her. Calling me “sister” in that sickeningly sweet tone was a mistake. Because Serena was his sister, he trusted me unconditionally. He didn’t believe a single word coming out of Chloe’s mouth. Tears rolled down Chloe’s cheeks. She bit her lip and asked stubbornly, “What about me, Spencer? What about the last three years we spent together? You used to call me your sister too…” her voice choked with sobs. “I didn’t. I never called you my sister,” Spencer denied it flatly. He never called Chloe his sister, except on the very first day they met, when he thought I had come back. Chloe choked on her tears, remembering the truth. Spencer had mostly been quiet around her. She thought he was just not much of a talker. She didn’t realize that from the very beginning, he knew the difference between the original and the replica. He had been too stingy to even give her that title. But she refused to believe it. Three years of living together, three years of accumulated “Affection Points” verified by her System. There was no way he felt nothing for her. “Aren’t we family?” she muttered. This time, Spencer didn’t reply. He gave her a long, deep look, then turned and walked into my bedroom. Chloe’s expression shifted wildly before she fell silent. She followed him into the room. It was the first time she had stepped inside this “forbidden zone” since becoming the adopted daughter of the Sterling family. It was decorated completely differently from her room, yet everything was exquisitely elegant. She had always thought that one day, she would move into this room as its rightful owner. She never expected the true owner to be the one to open its doors. 8 The scratch on my hand had already been bandaged. I hadn’t missed the drama by the door. “You should get Miss Chloe’s hand cleaned up. Spencer, go help her. The first-aid kit is right there,” I offered, my tone gentle and kind, perfectly matching the sister Spencer remembered. “Okay,” Spencer agreed without hesitation. He obediently got to work. Chloe felt utterly humiliated. She thought I was showing off my authority over him. She shot me venomous glares while Spencer worked on her hand. I acted completely oblivious, chatting away with my mother. “The doctor said your body went through a lot. You need a lot of rest. If you feel uncomfortable anywhere, you have to tell me immediately, understand?” “Yes, yes, I’ll listen to you, Mom. Don’t worry so much. I’m not a little kid anymore.” “No matter how old you get, you’ll always be my baby.” My mother was a loving woman, but she rarely expressed her affection so bluntly. My nose prickled. I thought of all the times I died in those foreign worlds, endlessly completing missions just for the chance to come back. I died over and over again. I thought I had grown completely hardened, but my mother’s simple words turned my heart to mush. “Hiss…” A sharp intake of breath broke the moment. Spencer paused his hands. Chloe had been ruthless with herself. The cut on her palm was deep, and picking the glass shards out required precision. “Bear with it,” Spencer said, his eyes lowered. He was very patient when executing a task given by his real sister. Chloe let out a nasal “Mhm.” She didn’t make another sound. Whenever the pain flared, her free hand violently gripped her crumpled pajama dress. Soon, Spencer finished bandaging her hand.

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I tried to win the male lead’s heart ten times, and every single time, I failed because of his best friend, Ethan Vance. On my eleventh attempt, the male lead and I were finally married. All I needed to do was get pregnant and have a child, and I would succeed. But then Ethan showed up again. He told my husband that I was a manipulative schemer who had orchestrated everything. My husband immediately moved out and hired a lawyer to draft divorce papers. That very night, I hired someone to kidnap the root of all my misery: Ethan Vance. He knelt before me, his hands bound tightly behind his back. Even though he was bruised and battered, his gaze remained as arrogant and condescending as ever. I let out a cold laugh, used the tip of my shoe to tilt his chin up, and then stomped my foot down hard onto his face. I’ve been terrified of you ten times. This time, it’s your turn to be terrified of me. 01 Even while kneeling, Ethan’s back was ramrod straight. His clothes were torn into ribbons from the whipping, and blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. The moment the tip of my shoe lifted his chin, his chest heaved violently, and beads of sweat formed on his forehead. “What’s with that look?” I sneered, stepping on his shoulder and shoving him backward. The old wooden floorboards groaned loudly as he crashed heavily onto his back, completely defenseless. The next second, I stood up and planted my foot firmly on his lower abdomen. “Who gave you permission to look at me?” He stared straight back at me, his face devoid of expression, but the mockery in his eyes was unmistakable. I slid my foot down a couple of inches, stopping abruptly, and looked at him with a playful smirk. “Stop!” The face that had been completely stoic for an eternity finally cracked. His voice was strained, carrying a barely detectable trace of suppressed agony. “Stop?” I dragged the word out, feigning innocence, and pressed my foot down hard. “But you didn’t say the magic word.” Ethan’s face turned serious, his voice trembled slightly, and his breathing grew heavy. “Let me go. I won’t press charges.” “Let you go?” I removed my foot, watching him curl up slightly. “Do you really think you can walk out of here like this?” “How about I give you a bath before sending you on your way?” His eyes were bloodshot. His bound hands struggled fiercely behind his back, but before he could move his legs, I sat down heavily on his thighs. “You have to take your clothes off for a bath.” I tapped his belt buckle with my finger. “So, should we take the pants off first,” I moved my hand up to brush against his shirt buttons, “or the shirt?” The pauses between his gasps lengthened. His eyes grew hazy, as if his brain had short-circuited. I let my guard down. Suddenly, he jerked his legs up violently. I lost my balance and tumbled hard to the floor. Seizing the opportunity, Ethan shimmied toward the door, trying to use the wall to stand up. But I was faster. I grabbed a bucket of saltwater I had prepared and splashed the entire thing over his battered body. He didn’t even let out a whimper. Tough guy. But so what? Watching Ethan writhe on the floor like a drowned rat, I grabbed him by the hair and delivered a sharp karate chop to the back of his neck. He quickly lost consciousness. Wrestling a guy his size was exhausting; tying him to the bed cost me half my energy. Once I double-checked that all the doors and windows were securely locked, I finally felt safe enough to drive away. Now, it was time to go win back my male lead. 02 Ethan and I were naturally parallel lines with zero intersection. But ten times. Ten times I had tried to conquer the male lead’s heart, and every single time I was on the verge of success, Ethan ruined it, sending my progress plummeting. The first time, Ethan invited the male lead to dinner. The male lead met his “destined” female lead there and dumped me. The second time, I was driving the male lead to Ethan’s place. We got into a car crash on the way back, and I died on the spot. The third time, before I even officially started dating the male lead, I accidentally offended Ethan. He had me shipped off to a foreign country to do hard labor. And in the subsequent attempts, all my strategies failed because of him, no matter how hard I tried to avoid him. Ethan was the type of person I feared the most: wealthy background, ridiculously good looks, incredibly competent, and worst of all—he had no weaknesses and couldn’t be threatened. Whenever the male lead was around him, he turned into a loyal lapdog. If Ethan said walk in a straight line, he would never dare to turn around. During my fifth attempt, the male lead brought me to meet Ethan. Ethan looked at me like I was a piece of trash, warning the male lead not to bring just any random stray dog around him. I knew he looked down on me, so I always took detours to avoid him and never willingly crossed his path. I never imagined that this time, after Liam and I were already married, Ethan would actually demand that Liam divorce me. And Liam, stupid as a pig, actually believed the so-called “evidence” Ethan provided, accused me of having ulterior motives, and sent a lawyer to negotiate our divorce. I admit, winning him over was my mission, but my love for him wasn’t fake. Every single time I restarted this loop, my eyes were only on him. I racked my brain to plan the perfect “accidental” first meeting, worked tirelessly to fit his exact ideal type, never wore the same date outfit twice, and even did all his group projects for him in college. After finally enduring all the hardships, he wants a divorce? Impossible. My informant texted me that Liam was currently at home packing his bags. I didn’t waste a second and sped home. “Liam, what exactly do I have to do to make you believe my feelings are real?” Opening the door and seeing Liam dragging his suitcase toward the exit, I threw caution to the wind and wrapped my arms tightly around his waist. “Chloe, don’t be unreasonable.” He didn’t stroke my hair like he used to. His voice carried a distinct note of warning. “You’re sentencing me to death over a few pieces of paper from Ethan?” I buried my face in his chest. “I love you. Even if I schemed and calculated, it was only because I wanted to be with you.” “Chloe, when feelings are mixed with calculation, they turn sour.” He mercilessly pried my fingers apart. “And I don’t like it when you talk about Ethan that way.” Then, he strode out the door. When he loved me, he was so afraid I’d be lonely that he kept a video call on even while we slept. When he didn’t love me, he left me all alone in a massive, empty house. It was all Ethan’s fault! If it weren’t for Ethan, I would have succeeded a long time ago. Checking the time, it had been three hours. Ethan should be waking up right about now. 03 Thankfully, I arrived just in time. Ethan had almost freed one of his feet. I sneered and delivered a sharp slap across his face. “You broke my bed.” Ethan really did have delicate skin; half his face swelled up immediately. I grabbed his foot, tied it securely again, and then viciously slapped the other side of his face. “There. Now it’s symmetrical.” He remained silent, his mouth shut tight like a clam. “Speak.” I squatted by the edge of the bed. “Doesn’t it hurt?” I poked at the bleeding corner of his mouth. He still didn’t make a sound. “That’s fine.” I didn’t care. I leaned in closer, letting my dark hair brush against his ear, cheek, and neck. “Ethan, you are going to beg me.” He squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to look at me. I shrugged, pulled up a chair to sit beside him, started playing on my phone, and placed a water-drop hourglass on the nightstand. I watched a movie for two hours. My back was getting stiff, so I stood up to stretch. Glancing over, I saw the man on the bed resting with his eyes closed. I smiled. Let’s see how long you can hold out. Another movie, another two hours. The man on the bed was starting to lose his composure. I hadn’t played the movie audio out loud, so the rhythmic dripping of the water hourglass was exceptionally clear. Ethan’s brow furrowed slightly, and his breathing became erratic. I glanced at him again, the corners of my lips curling up. Half an hour later, the expected voice finally sounded. “Chloe, untie me.” “What was that?” I stood by the bed. “I didn’t hear you.” “Untie me.” His body was contorting involuntarily, though he couldn’t see it himself. “Untie you to do what?” I asked again. “You know what.” The veins on his forehead popped, and the sound of him struggling against his bonds grew louder and more desperate. “I have no idea.” I continued playing dumb. “Chloe!” His voice grew stern. “Untie me, and we’ll pretend this never happened.” “Beg me.” I felt a thrill of excitement coursing through me. “Chloe!” His calm facade shattered completely. He looked like an irrational beast. I watched his frantic state with cold detachment. He looked exactly like he did during my third loop, when he looked down at me like I was an ant. “Please.” He finally surrendered. “What did you say?” I asked. “I’m begging you.” He closed his eyes in defeat. I knew not to push him too far. I smiled brightly. “Alright, since you asked so nicely.” I turned to leave the room. “Chloe!” He panicked. “Why aren’t you untying me?” “Untying what?” I looked completely innocent. “You promised me.” “Yeah, I promised you.” I said nonchalantly. “What did I promise you?” He froze, not knowing how to respond. I laughed. “Like I promised… “I won’t look. “Help yourself.” 04 I had only intended to scare Ethan. I never expected his psychological defenses to crumble so easily. He lay on the bed like a corpse, his breathing barely perceptible. Just now, when I changed his clothes, he hadn’t struggled at all. “Ethan?” I called his name. His eyes were vacant. He didn’t seem to hear me. “Should I untie you?” I asked again. He continued to stare blankly at the ceiling, his eyes totally devoid of life. Oh my god, did I break his brain? I untied one of his hands. No reaction. So I untied the other. His feet were still tied, so I wasn’t afraid of him attacking me. But he still lay there, completely motionless. I started to panic. My first instinct was to run. As long as there’s life, there’s hope. The worst-case scenario was that I’d just have to restart the loop. I still had chances. I didn’t even have time to lock the doors or windows. I sped away, rushed home, packed my bags, bought a ticket for the earliest flight out of the city, and went into hiding in a remote border town. For a whole month, nothing happened—except for Liam constantly calling me to come back and finalize the divorce. I contacted my informant and asked if there was any major news in the city. My informant replied with a question mark. Before I could prompt further, the informant sent another message, saying the only big news was that the Vance family was increasing their overseas investments, and the head of the family was personally overseeing it abroad. Wasn’t the head of the Vance family Ethan? It seemed he hadn’t gone crazy. I breathed a sigh of relief, but then my heart leaped into my throat—he was definitely going to come after me for revenge. The system urged me to speed up my progress. The progress bar had been stagnant for a month. It also delivered a piece of devastating news: if I failed this loop, my ultimate reward—returning to the real world and resurrecting my grandmother—would be permanently revoked. I asked my informant if they could find out how long Ethan would be abroad. The reply was a year at minimum, maybe three to five years. Without Ethan interfering, I could finish my mission in six months tops. Then I could negotiate with the system. By the time Ethan returned, I might already be back in the real world. High risk, high reward. I immediately booked a flight back to the city to continue my mission. I never expected to be grabbed by a group of men the moment I stepped off the plane. And the man who was supposedly “abroad” was now sitting right in front of me. Except this time, I was the one kneeling. 05 His subordinates all left, leaving just me and Ethan in the massive room. He toyed with a lighter in his hand. The flame flickered to life, died, and sparked again, perfectly mirroring the erratic spikes of my heart rate. Then it hit me—he was just a fictional character in a novel. What did I have to be afraid of? My fear vanished instantly. I raised my head, looking down my nose at him, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on my lips. “What are you smiling at?” He stopped spinning the lighter. His eyes held a mix of confusion and a hint of madness. “Who gave you permission to sit?” I demanded. In an instant, his chest rose and fell rapidly, and the sound of him swallowing was loud in the quiet room. “Kneel,” I commanded. The very next second, Ethan dropped to his knees like a robot. His face was flushed crimson, and he was shaking like a leaf in the wind. Even if I hadn’t eaten pork, I’d seen pigs run. I felt like I was doing something terribly forbidden. “Untie me,” I continued. His eyes grew icy, holding a mixture of pain and deep reluctance. “Be a good boy,” I said, my voice dropping to a husky whisper. With just a few words, the power dynamic between me and Ethan had completely shifted again. 06 I was overjoyed. Liam was Ethan’s loyal lapdog. If Ethan was now completely obedient to me, completing the mission would be a piece of cake. Running my fingers through Ethan’s fine, dark hair, I didn’t hesitate to slap him twice across the face. “Who told you to tie me up?” He suddenly acted like a wronged golden retriever, grabbing my hand and trying to blow on it to soothe the sting. I immediately yanked it away. “Don’t touch me.” He knelt there, lost and unsure of what to do. His lips parted and closed several times before he finally spoke: “I didn’t tell them to tie you.” “Ethan.” I leaned in closer. He became visibly happier, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks. “I don’t like it when you talk back.” His face paled, and he lowered his head in silence. “I don’t like it when you give me the silent treatment, either,” I added. At those words, Ethan’s head snapped up. Tears were actually welling in his eyes. “Please don’t dislike me.” “Then you have to be good.” I gently touched his swollen cheek. “Does it hurt, Ethan?” He took the opportunity to grab my hand, then quickly released it under my warning glare. “It doesn’t hurt.” I knew the art of the carrot and the stick perfectly. “But my heart aches for you.” “Don’t ache for me.” He struggled, unsure of what to call me. I cupped his cheek. “Call me Chloe.” He shyly looked down, then quickly looked back up. Like a child who had just sneaked a taste of honey, his eyes couldn’t hide his delight. “Chloe.” “Good boy.” I took his hand. “What reward do you want?” “Can Chloe kiss me?” He squeezed his eyes shut nervously, his eyelashes fluttering. I pressed a quick kiss to his forehead, not missing the flash of disappointment in his eyes. “Chloe, don’t leave.” I stood up, preparing to go. My main quest for today was finding Liam; I had already wasted too much time here. Ethan looked frantic, but I didn’t let him get up. He had to stay kneeling. “Count to one hundred and eighty before you stand up.” Looking into his desperate eyes, I smiled and said, “I like it when Ethan listens to me.” 07 The system informed me that Liam would meet the female lead, who was working as a part-time waitress, at a cocktail party tonight and enact a classic “hero saves the beauty” scene. I had to intervene and save the female lead before he did, severing the red thread of fate between them. Sure enough, when I arrived, the female lead was already surrounded by a group of rich playboys. Luckily, no one else had noticed yet. I thoroughly chewed out the little brats, then comforted the female lead and told her that her dorm RA was doing a surprise room check, urging her to hurry back to campus. The female lead had always been a stellar student. She completely believed me but was worried no one would cover her shift. Right on cue, the replacement waitress I had hired in advance showed up, and the female lead successfully left the party. Having disposed of that ticking time bomb, I scanned the room for Liam, ready to pounce. At exactly 8:00 PM, Liam made his entrance. He wasn’t as powerful as Ethan, but he was still a young, successful CEO that everyone wanted to network with. People swarmed him to hand out business cards. I found an opening and appeared in front of him. I hadn’t seen him in a month. A wave of grievance washed over me, and my nose stung. After spending ten loops with him, our emotional connection couldn’t be summed up in a few simple words. When things were good between us, I genuinely intended to have a child with him before I left this world. The people around us tactfully dispersed, leaving Liam and me standing face-to-face. “You didn’t even come looking for me?” I pouted, acting petulant like I always did, waiting for him to coax me. “I called you,” his voice was distant. “Since you’re back, let’s finalize the paperwork. The mandatory cooling-off period is over.” “Liam, you weren’t like this before.” I raised my hand, the wedding ring on my ring finger sparkling under the lights. “Did you forget what you said?” Liam had custom-made the ring himself, setting a circle of tiny, crushed diamonds into the band. I had told him that setting all those tiny stones was too hard on his eyes, and that a single diamond or a plain band would be fine. But Liam had said that setting every single diamond felt like kissing my eyes. “Don’t forget to return the ring,” he said, his eyes completely dead, as if he were discussing the weather. “Liam, look me in the eyes.” I grabbed the lapels of his suit. “I refuse to believe you have absolutely no feelings left for me.” “You know me.” He gently but firmly removed my hands. “I’ve always despised being lied to.” “What are you two doing?” Ethan’s voice suddenly rang in my ear. Looking at the architect of my misery, I started trembling with rage. Liam used the distraction to push me away. I tried to chase after him, but Ethan grabbed my arm. “Chloe, didn’t you two get divorced?” I slapped Ethan across the face. The entire ballroom fell dead silent. “No, we didn’t,” I enunciated clearly. He wasn’t angry. He just pulled me into his arms. I struggled violently but couldn’t break free, and he half-carried, half-dragged me out of the venue.

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In my parents’ eyes, I was a depreciating asset—a bad investment they were waiting to dump. When I was seven, I came home with a silver medal from the math decathlon. My mother didn’t look at the trophy. She looked at me and said, “Remember, Tess, second place is just the first of the losers.” Years later, when I confessed how soul-crushing my job had become, my father simply pointed at the window. “Go down to the docks at 4:00 AM. Look at the men hauling crates in the freezing rain. They have real problems. You? You’re just self-indulgent.” On New Year’s Eve, I dragged my exhausted body through the front door after pulling eighty-hour weeks for fourteen days straight. I just wanted a bed. Instead, I got a performance review. At dinner, my mother expertly carved the roast chicken. She handed a prime breast to my cousin, Bradley: “Tenured at the state department. A man with a real career. The pride of the family.” She handed a succulent leg to my cousin, Nora: “Married into the Sterling’s. A girl who knows her value. She brings us grace.” Then it was my turn. She tossed the skinny, gristly neck—the parson’s nose—onto my plate. “You eat this. You’re just a corporate drone. You have nothing to show for yourself compared to them.” If I was a failed investment, a stock destined to crash, then it was time to delist. Permanently. … 1 “Why aren’t you eating? Is the food not good enough for you?” My mother’s fork tapped sharply against the rim of my plate. She narrowed her eyes at me. “Look at Bradley. Look how much he’s enjoying it. You can’t beat him in the office, you can’t beat him in the bank—can you at least try not to be a failure at the dinner table?” My hand tightened around my silverware. Two weeks of overtime. Four hours of sleep a night. My nervous system was a frayed wire. Before I’d opened the door, I’d told myself that if I could just get one sip of hot soup, I could swallow a whole year’s worth of bitterness. “I don’t like the neck,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “You don’t like it?” My father slammed his scotch glass onto the table. “Who are you to have preferences? Bradley just pulled a sixty-thousand-dollar bonus. And you? You come home empty-handed and have the audacity to be picky?” My mother chimed in, her voice dripping with practiced condescension. “Eat it. You have to eat it. In the old country, they say the neck is the ‘Phoenix’s End.’ It’s supposed to ward off bad luck. It’s the only way you’re ever going to turn your pathetic life around.” She leaned in, her eyes scanning my tired face. “I’m doing this for your own good. I saved this piece specifically for you. I wouldn’t give it to anyone else.” Under the table, she kicked my shin hard. “Everyone is looking at you,” she hissed. “Smile. Stop looking so miserable, like we’re abusing you.” I forced my lips into a grotesque imitation of a smile. My Aunt Sarah sat across from us, cracking sunflower seeds and watching me like a hawk. “So, Tess, working at a tech giant like that… you must have a massive 401k, right? Any boyfriends? The girl down the street just got engaged. The ring alone cost eighty thousand.” My father cut in before I could breathe, his voice booming with a strange, post-drink bravado. “Ha! Her? Save money? She spends it as fast as she makes it. As for marriage…” He pointed a finger at me, a distorted sense of pride flickering on his face. “I tell Tess all the time: material things are fleeting. People who obsess over dowries and rings are just selling their souls. When she asked for help with her mortgage last month, I gave her four words: Self-reliance is virtue.” He thumped his chest. “She might not be a millionaire, but she’s obedient. She knows the family’s struggles. Those words are the true spiritual wealth I’ve given her.” The relatives offered a chorus of half-hearted praise. “So deep, Richard.” “A father with real vision.” The praise buzzed in my ears like a swarm of wasps. I had used my scholarships, my bonuses, and my sanity to pay off their mortgage, dollar by dollar. I bought their “vision” so they could look dignified in front of the neighbors. And in return, they’d dismissed my plea for help with a lecture on virtue. “Eat!” my mother prompted again. “You’re not leaving this table until it’s gone.” Bradley leaned back in his chair, a smug smirk playing on his lips as he sipped his wine. “Go on, Tess. Auntie is favoring you. It’s all fat. Good for the brain.” Nora laughed, her eyes bright with malice. She pulled out her phone and aimed the camera at me. “Come on, Tess. Do it for the ‘Gram. Show everyone how much you love it.” My chest heaved. Shaking, I picked up that greasy, hairy piece of meat. I shoved it into my mouth. The rancid fat exploded against my tongue, the smell of it hitting the back of my throat like a physical blow. I wanted to retch. But my mother’s foot nudged me again under the table. I grit my teeth and swallowed the nausea along with my tears. “Look at her!” Nora shrieked with laughter. “She looks like a stray dog begging for scraps!” My mother hummed in satisfaction. A second later, her face transformed into a mask of fawning adoration as she placed a prime rib on Bradley’s plate. “Here, Bradley, have more. You’re the future of this family, after all.” I lowered my head, pushing cold rice around my bowl. The sickness in my stomach eventually subsided. But somewhere deep inside me, something had finally, quietly, died. 2 New Year’s Day. I hadn’t slept. My eyes were bruised with exhaustion. I sat on the sofa, clutching a mug of hot water. My mother tossed an old, scratchy blanket over my legs, grumbling under her breath. “Don’t get sick. Nobody has time to nurse you.” My father walked past, nudging the mug toward my face. “Drink up. Stop acting like a martyr. It’s the first day of the year; don’t bring that dark energy into my house.” “I’ve been having insomnia,” I said, my voice raspy. “The overtime at the office…” “Overtime?” he scoffed. “Sitting in a climate-controlled office is ‘hard work’ now? Try hauling drywall for twelve hours and then talk to me.” My mother emerged from the kitchen with a plate of breakfast, adding the finishing blow. “We spent a fortune on your education just to raise a fragile, entitled girl. Bradley was out drinking until 3:00 AM and he was up at dawn to visit the elders. That’s what we call grit.” I looked up at them, my vision blurring. “Is that all you have for me? A list of people I’m worse than?” My mother slammed the plate onto the coffee table. “You are worse than most people. If you don’t compare yourself, you’ll never realize how much of a failure you are.” She pointed at the bags of gifts I’d brought home. “Look at this trash. That’s all you brought? Nora bought her parents a 75-inch OLED TV. What have you done to bring this family honor?” “Fine,” I said, standing up. “What about you? Most of the girls I work with had their parents buy them their first condos. Their parents paved the way for them. Why don’t I compare you to those parents?” My father’s face turned the color of raw liver. He lunged forward and backhanded me so hard the buttons on his dress shirt strained. “You ungrateful bitch! You think we’re poor? You’re a goddamn leech!” “Why don’t you compare us to the addicts on 5th Street? Or the kids in foster care? We fed you! We raised you!” I looked at him, and for a moment, I wanted to laugh. “Right,” I whispered, clutching my throbbing cheek. “You’re always ‘just enough.’ And I’m always ‘never enough.’” “Don’t you talk back!” My mother lunged, shoving me backward. I stumbled, my hip slamming into the wooden arm of the sofa. A dull, sickening ache radiated through my bone. She held out her hand, palm up. “Give me your savings from this year.” “What?” “You’re too stupid to manage it. You’ll just get scammed,” she said with terrifying entitlement. “Your Aunt Sarah needs a new car, and you’re going to ‘lend’ her the money. It’s called building social capital. Do you understand?” “You’re a nobody right now, Tess. You need to suck up to Nora and her husband. If you give Sarah a hundred thousand now, when you inevitably lose that little job of yours, they might drop a few crumbs to keep you fed. I’m paving your way!” I opened my mouth, but my throat felt like it was packed with cotton. “That was my down payment. For my own place.” My father roared, “Stop being so selfish! Use your head for once!” He pointed to the door. “Give us the money, or get the hell out. And don’t bother coming back!” My mother stared at me, her eyes predatory. “You were always the ‘good’ child. Be good now. Don’t make us look bad in front of the family.” Her phone buzzed. She put it on speaker. Aunt Sarah’s voice filled the room. “I found the Lexus! I’m just a hundred thousand short. Tess is at that big tech firm, surely she’s got it? Transfer it over!” My mother shoved the phone in my face. “You heard her. She’s already counting on it.” “Transfer it,” my father commanded. “Now. Don’t waste our time.” I looked at them. Really looked at them. I slowly pulled the card from my pocket. “Here.” I stared into their eyes, my voice flat. “A hundred thousand. We’re even now, right?” My mother snatched the card so fast I thought she’d break my fingers. “Even?” she snorted. “Dream on. As long as you’re breathing, you owe us.” My father grinned. “That’s right. That’s just your lot in life.” I sat back down on the sofa, feeling completely hollow. The relationship with my parents was like a heavy, sopping wet wool coat. I had worn it for twenty-three years, and it had finally frozen solid. It didn’t just weigh me down anymore. It was entombed me in ice. Every breath I took hurt. 3 By noon, my face was still swollen, but the doorbell rang anyway. My mother practically sprinted to open it. “Mr. Henderson! Please, come in!” A man walked in, his eyes raking over me from head to toe. He smiled, revealing teeth stained yellow by coffee and tobacco. “So, this is Tess?” he said. “A bit thin, but… the frame is good.” I instinctively backed away. “Mom, who is this?” My mother grabbed my arm, her fingers digging in like talons, and dragged me toward him. “This is Miller Henderson! He owns three properties in the valley. Recently divorced, no kids. You marry him, and you’ll never have to work a day in your life.” My brain felt like it was short-circuiting. “I’m twenty-three!” “So what?” my father barked, already offering Henderson a cigar. “You’re practically twenty-five. Miller might be older, but older men know how to provide!” He turned to Henderson with a groveling smile. “Miller, the girl down the street—the one who married the developer—her family got a massive payout. Our Tess is a top-tier university grad. She brings prestige. Theoretically, her ‘value’ is higher.” He paused, playing the part of the reasonable patriarch. “But we’re fair people. Since you’ve been married before, we won’t ask for the world. Seven hundred thousand. A nice, lucky number.” A cold sweat broke out over my skin. I wasn’t their daughter. I was a KPI. I was a performance metric they were trying to hit to win a game against the neighbors. Henderson toyed with a heavy ring on his finger, his eyes narrowing. “Seven hundred? She’s educated, sure… but I heard she works at one of those internet companies. Isn’t that just a glorified call center? I hear those places are cesspools. No one gets home before midnight. How is she supposed to take care of a house?” “And besides,” he added, “she’ll be aged out and fired by thirty-five. That’s not a real career.” My mother nodded vigorously, her smile sickeningly sweet. “You are so right, Miller! I’ve always said her job isn’t respectable. Tapping away at a computer all day? It adds no value to society. Not like your construction firm.” She turned to me, her voice dropping to a hiss. “You’ll quit the moment you’re married. You aren’t making real money anyway. A woman’s place is supporting her husband.” My fists clenched until my nails drew blood from my palms. “I have a career. I make two hundred thousand a year. I can take care of myself!” My father glared at me. “That’s not a career! That’s being a servant to a corporation! Miller pulls in millions on a single contract. Your yearly salary wouldn’t cover one of his dinners!” He turned back to Henderson, laughing off my “outburst.” “She’s just young and foolish. Don’t mind her.” My mother reached out to straighten my collar, her voice low and coercive. “Once you’re married and have someone to lean on, your father and I can finally stop worrying about you.” She gave me a hard shove toward him. “Go! Pour him a drink!” I stumbled, nearly falling into the man’s lap. Henderson reached out. His hand—thick, damp, and hot—clamped around my wrist. “Fragile little thing,” he chuckled, his thumb rubbing over my skin in a way that made my stomach turn. “Don’t be shy, Tess. Stay with me, and you’ll be living the high life. Isn’t that better than killing yourself at a desk?” I tried to pull away. He held tighter. I looked at my parents. I was begging for help with my eyes. They stood there, wearing identical expressions of smug satisfaction. “Let go!” I screamed. I threw my weight backward with everything I had. CRASH! I knocked over the glass pitcher on the coffee table. It shattered into a thousand jagged pieces. Henderson’s face darkened. SLAP! My father’s hand hit my face before I could even register the movement. The second one today. My ears rang. My face burned like it had been branded. “You ungrateful brat!” my father screamed, his eyes bloodshot. “Miller Henderson is interested in you, and you act like a common tramp? You’re going to embarrass us?” My mother jumped in, pinning my shoulders down. “Don’t you dare ruin this for us!” My father stepped closer, his voice a low, terrifying growl. “I’m telling you now. You are marrying this man. Whether you like it or not.” I looked down at the shattered glass on the floor, my hand over my face. Suddenly, the fight just… left me. “Fine,” I whispered. “I’ll marry him.” 4 After Henderson left, the house felt like it was celebrating a victory. My mother was beaming. “Think of how jealous the neighbors will be! No one will ever laugh at us again for not having a ‘successful’ child.” I sat on a small stool in the corner, my phone vibrating in my pocket. It was the work Slack. The servers were down. A critical system failure. We needed an emergency patch immediately. By instinct, I stood up and ran to my room to grab my laptop. The moment my fingers touched the keys, my father’s shadow fell over the doorway. “What do you think you’re doing?” “The company has a crisis,” I said, not looking up. “I have to fix this. It’ll take ten minutes.” “Ten minutes?” he sneered. “It’s New Year’s Day and you’re still acting like a slave for that company? Look at Nora. She’s married to a winner; she’s going to the Maldives next week.” He walked into the room, his voice rising. “And you? You’re like a guard dog, barked at and jumping whenever they whistle.” “Dad, if I don’t fix this, I’ll be the scapegoat. I could lose my job—” “Then lose it!” My mother appeared, slamming my laptop screen shut. “Did you not hear us? You’re marrying Miller. You’re quitting this pathetic job!” I tried to open the laptop again, but she held it down with all her strength. “You spend every waking hour on this machine—does it give you a Porsche? Does it give you status? All it gives you is the stench of the working class!” “Shut it down!” my father commanded. I let out a raw, jagged scream, shielding the computer with my body. “I won’t! This is my life! This is how I eat!” My father’s face twisted into a mask of pure rage. “You dare defy me?” He lunged forward and snatched my phone from my hand. “The work group, right? Let me tell them exactly what I think of them.” I scrambled to get it back, but my mother tackled me from behind, pinning my arms. “Stop it! Let your father handle it!” I watched, frozen in horror, as my father typed into the Slack channel using my account. “To all the managers and colleagues: Happy New Year. I quit. This system is trash because you’re all incompetent leaders. You pay me peanuts and treat me like livestock. Never contact me again.” He wasn’t done. He held down the voice memo button and roared into the phone: “Your shitty company is going to go bankrupt anyway! Stop wasting my daughter’s time! She’s marrying a real man!” A white light exploded in my brain. I fought like a wild animal, my voice breaking. “Delete it! Give it back and let me delete it!” My father shoved the phone into his pocket. “It’s done. I’m helping you cut ties with this nonsense.” The Slack channel began to explode with notifications. Tess? Are you drunk? What is happening? Is this a joke? My blood turned to ice. My mother whispered in my ear, “See? You’re so pathetic, crying over a job. Soon you’ll be a woman of leisure. Why do you need this shameful paycheck anyway?” My father turned his attention to the laptop. I dove to block him. He shoved me aside with a violent heave. CRACK. The laptop, covered in stickers from years of hard work, hit the tile floor. The screen shattered into a spiderweb of dead pixels. The chassis bent. Internal components scattered across the floor like teeth. I stood there, feeling like my skeleton had been removed. My father breathed heavily, pointing at the wreckage with a sickening sense of righteousness. “I did this for you! Look at what this machine was doing to you! You’re going to be a wife with a seven-hundred-thousand-dollar bride price. Stop doing this servant work. You’re embarrassing the family name!” My mother kicked a piece of the broken screen aside. “Stop crying. Out with the old, in with the new. One day, you’ll thank us for this.” I slowly knelt down. I picked up the pieces, one by one. “Dad. Mom.” I stood up and walked toward the balcony. “This ‘investment’ called Tess? It’s being delisted today.” I looked back at them, a calm I had never known settling over me. “Thank you to all the shareholders for twenty-three years of short-selling and suppression. This exit is final. No refunds.” Without a moment’s hesitation, I gripped the railing and vaulted over. The New Year’s wind was so incredibly cold. As I fell, I thought I heard my mother scream. But for the first time in my life, I didn’t have to care.

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When my stepsister caught a cold, my brother’s heart ached so deeply that he forced me into the bottom freezer, sealing it shut with heavy iron chains. “Mia is in so much pain. As her older sister, how could you not suffer alongside her?” Inside the deep freeze, my fingers stiffened from the biting cold. Trembling uncontrollably, I cried and begged for mercy, only to be met with his cold reprimand: “If you can’t even endure this little bit of hardship, you don’t deserve to be my sister!” He ignored me after that, dedicating all his warmth, care, and attention to Mia. I felt my limbs go numb inch by inch, my blood solidifying, until my despair in our shared bloodline was absolute. A week later, Mia recovered, and my brother finally remembered me. “Since Mia is better, you can come out now.” He didn’t know that my body was already encased in a layer of white frost, never to emerge again. 1 “That troublemaker hasn’t bothered me these past few days. It’s truly a miracle!” “Looks like she finally learned her lesson this time.” “I still remember her swearing to cut ties with me, only to cling back onto me like a leech not three days later.” “It’s been a week this time, hasn’t it?” Arthur twisted the prayer beads around his wrist, a hint of confusion in his voice. The butler stood nearby, his head bowed, his voice trembling: “Sir, the young miss… she seems to still be locked inside.” Arthur’s fingers paused, a fleeting moment of unease flashing across his mind. He brushed it off. “Let her suffer a bit longer.” The butler’s expression tightened. After a brief internal struggle, he advised: “Sir, the freezer where the young miss is locked… there’s been no sound from inside.” “Would you like to open it and check?” Arthur’s face instantly darkened. “No need! She’s definitely pretending to be pitiful again!” “It’s just one of her cheap tricks to get my attention. If I check on her, she’ll just throw another tantrum.” The butler opened his mouth to speak, but Arthur coldly cut him off. His tone carried undisguised disgust toward me. “Enough. I know what I’m doing. I’ll unlock it and let her out tonight.” “This time inside will have taught her how hard Mia has it. As long as she promises not to target Mia anymore, we’ll let this go.” “After all, she is my biological sister.” As he said those last words, his expression remained as cold as ice. A second later. Mia walked over. His icy demeanor instantly melted into a warm, spring-like breeze. He smiled gently and asked with deep concern: “Mia, are you still feeling unwell anywhere?” “Don’t worry, I’ve locked Anna up. She’ll pay tenfold for every bit of suffering you endured!” Mia gratefully hugged Arthur’s arm. “Brother, you’re the best.” “Silly girl, as your brother, of course I should be good to my little sister.” Arthur smiled affectionately, curling his finger to gently tap Mia’s nose. Mia giggled sweetly. After a moment, she lightly bit her lip: “It’s been a week. Anna must have realized her mistake by now. I just want to spend time with you, Brother. I never wanted to take anything from her. Why won’t she believe me?” If this were the past… Hearing Mia’s manipulative, syrupy words, I would have exploded like a firecracker, harshly calling out her fake act. And then Arthur would have sternly warned me. But now… I stood right in front of them and laughed out loud. Yet, I drew absolutely zero attention. Because… I was already dead. In the final moments before the white frost completely covered me, my soul finally separated from the bone-chilling freezer. I saw my own body, frozen into a mottled purplish-blue. Right before I died, I was still desperately pushing against the freezer door with whatever strength I had left. The entire freezer was wrapped in heavy iron chains. As if worried I’d escape, a massive padlock had been added, ensuring not a single sliver of a gap remained. Even though I was now just a spirit… The sight of those heavy chains still made me tremble with terror. Meanwhile, Arthur, who was as cold and hard as iron toward me, turned soft as silk when facing Mia. He said gently: “Anna just has a dark heart. It has nothing to do with you.” He wrapped an arm around Mia’s shoulders, patting her comfortingly. “I still haven’t done enough for you, Mia.” “Anna is manipulative and calculating, stopping at nothing to get what she wants.” “It would be one thing if she targeted outsiders, but she shouldn’t have aimed at you. She brought this lockup on herself!” The blood ties that were once so intimate now morphed into sharp blades, slicing my heart piece by piece. I truly was, as Arthur claimed, someone who would stop at nothing to achieve my goals. At first. When I was forced into the bottom freezer, I struggled violently. Realizing it was futile, I curled up tightly, trying to conserve body heat. But minus twenty-four degrees Celsius was simply too cold. My hair and eyelashes quickly frosted over. Feeling my body stiffening further, I used all my might to slam against the door. Only to hear Arthur’s cold voice from outside: “Can’t take it already?” “Because of you, Mia is bedridden. Today, I’ll discipline you on behalf of our late parents!” I submitted. I apologized. I confessed to things I had never even done, begging him to just let me out. Until the frost locked my fingers, and with a slight movement, they snapped away from my wrists. The dripping blood froze into icicles… Before my consciousness faded completely… I heard him order the butler: “Find some iron chains. Wrap the freezer and lock it tight!” “Without my explicit command, no one is to open that lock. This time, I must teach her a painful lesson!” Absolute despair washed over me as I listened to the heavy chains clanking around the freezer. Death, too, tightened its grip around my neck. 2 “Unlock Anna.” “Tell her that if she has even a shred of conscience left, she’ll apologize to Mia voluntarily. Tell her not to disappoint me again.” Arthur commanded coldly. The butler hesitated several times, eventually letting out a sigh before nodding and leaving. Mia leaned against Arthur’s chest, whining softly: “Brother, once Anna apologizes, let’s put this behind us. You have to make it up to her. Don’t break her heart.” “If she leaves, you won’t have any family left.” A flicker of disdain crossed Arthur’s eyes, but he affectionately ruffled Mia’s hair. “It’s better if she leaves. A vicious person like her doesn’t deserve to be my sister!” “If she hadn’t deliberately hidden the AC remote, you wouldn’t have caught a cold in the dead of winter. You’ve lost so much weight while you were sick.” “Mia, you’re just too kind, which is why she bullies you over and over.” His eyes blazed with intense anger. But when Mia looked up at him, he concealed it flawlessly, as if afraid the mere sight of his anger would hurt her. I thought that being dead meant I wouldn’t feel pain anymore. Yet, watching this, my eyes burned uncontrollably. A week ago. I was painting. Arthur’s birthday was approaching, and I had painted a family portrait to surprise him. Mia, however, threw a bucket of paint over it. She provocatively sneered, “Don’t think painting two dead people will help you steal Brother Arthur away from me!” Furious, I slapped her. I didn’t expect what happened next. She immediately drenched herself in freezing water. In the freezing, sub-zero winter temperatures, she hid the AC remote and slept on the floor all night. When Arthur found her the next day… She was burning up with a fever, near the point of fainting. “I know Anna hates me.” “She thinks I stole everything that belonged to her.” “I can leave. As long as Brother isn’t caught in the middle, I don’t care what happens to me.” “Brother Arthur, after I’m gone, make sure you rest and eat on time…” That day. Arthur canceled several crucial meetings and rushed Mia to the hospital like a madman. The diagnosis was an acute cold caused by severe chilling. I stood at the door of the hospital room. I watched him grip Mia’s hand, pleading repeatedly: “Mia, please, don’t leave me alone…” I found it laughable. My biological brother, who shared my blood and bone. The head of the Sterling family, who commanded absolute authority in the business world. Here he was, acting out a melodramatic life-and-death scene over a minor cold, holding the hand of an outsider. Yet, when Arthur gripped my neck… And shoved me into the bottom freezer… I finally understood that in his heart, he only had one sister: Mia. As for me— I was nothing. “How could I have such a vicious sister!” “Mia almost developed pneumonia. Even when she recovers, she’ll be weak for a long time.” “Anna, let me tell you, don’t think sharing my blood gives you the right to act recklessly!” “For every day Mia is sick, you’ll stay in there for a day, until you admit you were wrong!” To teach me a profound lesson, he locked it. Until now. He decided enough time had passed, and reluctantly ordered the lock to be opened, allowing me out. He didn’t know. I could no longer come out. “Sir, Sir, something’s wrong!” “The young miss, she… she’s frozen to the freezer. We can’t open it.” Arthur paused. I leaned in closer, wanting to see his reaction. After all, blood is thicker than water; surely, he’d feel something. But I was disappointed yet again. He scoffed: “The freezer isn’t even plugged in. How could she freeze to death?” “You can’t open it? She’s probably holding the door from the inside, putting on another show!” “Have someone drag the freezer to the junkyard. Since she loves staying inside so much, let her rot in there forever!” The butler stood there nervously, immobile. Silence hung heavy for a long moment. Arthur snorted coldly, his tone dripping with fake magnanimity: “Go tell her that if she keeps this up, it won’t just be a simple lock-in. If she doesn’t want worse punishment, she better know when to quit.” The butler still didn’t move. Arthur’s patience evaporated. He barked, “What are you standing around for? Go!” A second later. He comfortingly stroked Mia’s hair, gently advising her: “Mia, when Anna comes out later, don’t believe a word she says.” “I’m going to make her kneel for three hours first, to see if she’s really learned her lesson this time.” “This is a test for her. You can’t be soft-hearted and warn her.” Mia, acting like a delicate, helpless flower, nodded weakly. “I’ll listen to you, Brother…” Suddenly, I felt exhausted, unable to bear watching any longer. But my spirit seemed bound by the power of our bloodline, unable to leave Arthur’s side. I could only masochistically watch him coddle Mia while trampling me into the mud. 3 Arthur was born three minutes before me. Although we were twins, he matured early. Alongside our parents, he pampered and protected me as I grew up. I was always my brother’s little shadow, the person closest to him. When our parents suddenly passed away, the inheritance they left behind drew the greedy eyes of our uncles and relatives. Arthur was forced to step up and take the position of family head, suppressing those who lurked in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to strike. But I forgot that he was only twenty-one at the time. Stubbornly believing him to be too cold-blooded, I said many hurtful things. When turning away, I accidentally fell down the stairs and slipped into a coma. When I woke up, I saw his bloodshot eyes. He held my hand tightly, his voice trembling as he asked: “Anna, Mom and Dad are gone. Are you going to leave me all alone too?” In that moment, I understood. Arthur wasn’t heartless. He just wasn’t allowed the luxury of weakness given the responsibilities on his shoulders. So I grew up overnight. I stopped being picky with food, started exercising, and studied hard—all so I could share his burdens and keep him company. Later. He said the company was too busy, so he found me a playmate. Initially, I genuinely treated Mia like a younger sister. When she had her period, I clumsily boiled brown sugar water for her, burning several blisters onto my hands. But right after drinking it, she suffered severe diarrhea and dehydration. Because of this, Arthur yelled at me for the first time. After that. Similar incidents occurred frequently. The look in his eyes grew colder and colder. All the gentle care he once gave me was now devoted entirely to someone else. Strange. My heart had stopped beating, so why did it still ache so deeply? It was as if reliving these memories killed me all over again. As time ticked by, Arthur’s face grew darker and darker. “It’s been five minutes, and she still refuses to come out!” “Anna, it seems you’re determined to be stubborn to the bitter end!” He spun the prayer beads faster and faster, his brows furrowed tightly. An intense unease was welling up inside him. “Mia, Anna is too ungrateful.” “The butler doesn’t dare touch her. I’ll go myself. Sit here and wait for her to come kneel and apologize.” Arthur stood up and walked away with quick, long strides. His retreating figure revealed a poorly concealed panic. Arriving at the kitchen, he saw the butler trembling and asked in displeasure: “What are you shaking for?” “Sir, I… I…” The butler stuttered, cold sweat beading on his forehead. I stood to the side, unsure of how I should feel watching this unfold. Perhaps the pain had been too great; I couldn’t even remember how I looked when I died, but it surely wasn’t pretty. Arthur pushed the butler aside in disgust and stood before the freezer. The wrist-thick iron chains had been tossed aside, and the freezer’s power cord had been unplugged. The ice in the lower compartment had begun to melt, the water seeping out carrying a faint tint of blood. He ordered, “Anna, the lock is open. Why aren’t you coming out? Do you really enjoy being in there that much?” I smiled bitterly. It was freezing and pitch-black inside. It was far from enjoyable. I had tried so hard to get out, wanting to feel the warmth of the world one last time. It was my closest sibling who had locked the door. And now. My body was covered in frost, never to emerge again. “Are you done?! Do you really think I’m going to coddle you like before?” He pulled the handle twice but couldn’t open it. In a fit of anger, he kicked it. “If you’re not dead, roll out of there!” The full-force kick of an adult man carried immense power. Ice crystals from the gap shattered and fell. The freezer door dropped to the floor, exposing the cramped, freezing compartment to the air. I watched as my frozen, stiff body tumbled out of the freezer. As it hit the ground, it snapped cleanly in half at the waist. The frozen organs met the warm air and began to slowly thaw. A pungent stench and the metallic smell of blood filled the room. The prayer beads in Arthur’s hand suddenly snapped, scattering across the floor. …………………… In the deafening silence, his voice trembled with panic and helplessness. “What is this thing? It’s disgusting. It stinks…” Arthur covered his nose and mouth, taking several steps back in sheer revulsion. The butler, his face twisted in agony, said, “Sir, this is the young miss. The young miss… she’s dead!” “Impossible!” He immediately denied it, his eyes sweeping over my corpse, looking sick to his stomach. His voice turned chillingly cold: “Evil endures. How could Anna possibly die?” “I know. She definitely ran away and deliberately left this disgusting thing here to sicken me.” The butler looked like he wanted to cry but had no tears left. “Sir, this is the young miss’s home. Where could she run to? You… you need to face reality.” But Arthur just snorted coldly. With confident certainty, he declared, “Mom and Dad left her so many properties. Check them one by one. We must find her!” Hearing his words, I laughed in sheer frustration. But the smile didn’t reach my eyes. Arthur seemed to have forgotten. Before our parents died, they did leave a will. Arthur got the majority of the shares, while I was given numerous properties. But later on. Arthur made a catastrophic error in a corporate decision. Our uncles and older relatives, who already resented being subordinated to someone younger, seized the chance to attack him, intent on dragging him down from the CEO’s seat. It was I who unconditionally transferred all my shares to Arthur. I helped him become the largest shareholder in one fell swoop, stabilizing his position. As for the financial losses he caused. It was I who sold off every single one of my properties to barely cover the deficit. The butler let out a long sigh and recounted this very history. Arthur stood frozen, stunned for a long time. Until time passed, and as the corpse continued to thaw, the putrid smell became impossible to ignore. The butler gently reminded him, “Sir, should we send the young miss to the crematorium?” Arthur snapped back to reality. Hearing the butler’s suggestion, his face darkened. “Send what? Since Anna had the nerve to leave this thing here to sicken me, she can clean it up herself!” Having said that. Arthur turned and left without looking back. The butler had watched Arthur and me grow up. He knew better than anyone how much I cherished this villa after our parents passed away, because it was my home. Even when Arthur and I had our worst fights. I had never run away from home. I couldn’t even bear to break a single item in the house. Because. This was my home, my roots. The place where I was born. And also— The place where I died. 4 Arthur hurried back to the living room. Mia giggled and was about to throw herself into his arms when she caught a whiff of the foul odor clinging to him. Her face scrunched up as she asked, “Brother, where did you just go? It smells terrible.” Arthur, who had always maintained a perfect image in front of Mia, now acted like a beast suppressing its rage. He pushed Mia aside and headed upstairs without a backward glance. “Brother, Brother…” A flash of panic crossed Mia’s eyes. Biting her lip, she chased after Arthur. Arthur didn’t return to his bedroom. He went straight to the study. Here. He could access the security cameras for the entire villa. I stood behind Arthur. I watched as he skillfully entered the password, selected the time frame, and the surveillance footage from a week ago began playing on the computer screen. From a third-person perspective, I watched myself being dragged by the hair and shoved into the freezer by Arthur. My screams, pleas, and wails… echoed through the study. Even though Arthur had orchestrated this with his own hands, he now seemed unable to accept it. His face grew increasingly grim as he repeatedly clicked fast-forward. Soon. The freezer in the video was bound in iron chains, secured with a heavy lock, entirely trapping me inside. Then. It was as if the video had been paused. An empty room. No one entered. No one checked on me. And I— Never walked out of that freezer. “Impossible… this is impossible…” Arthur’s brows furrowed. As if struck by a sudden thought, he sneered coldly, “If you’re going to fake it, you should make it look real. Using a still image for the rest of the footage? Do you think I’m an idiot?” In the silent study. The screech of a chair scraping against the floor echoed sharply. Arthur stood up, walked to the study door, and opened it, only to see Mia waiting outside. “Brother, you looked awful earlier. I was so worried…” Mia looked up at Arthur, her wide, doe-like eyes brimming with concern. The anger Arthur had harbored towards me suddenly evaporated. He chuckled softly, “It’s nothing.” “Anna ran away from the house just to avoid apologizing to you.” “I’ve made my decision. Since she chose to leave the Sterling family, I’m striking her name from the family registry!” “Perfect timing.” “Next week is your birthday. At your birthday banquet, I will officially announce that the Sterling family has only one daughter!” Mia’s eyes lit up with wild joy. She threw her arms around Arthur’s neck, burying her face in his chest with a sweet laugh. But I… I was shaking with fury. I knew Arthur cared about Mia. But I never expected him to erase my very existence for her! How dare he! What right did he have? A year ago. On the anniversary of our parents’ death, I ordered flowers early in the morning, planning to ask Arthur to go pay our respects together. But the butler told me he had gone to the office. At the time, I was a bit resentful. No matter how important company business was, it shouldn’t take priority over our parents. But soon after, I saw posts from company employees on social media. “Mr. Sterling said today is a special day. He wrapped up work early and gave everyone the day off! Thank you, Mr. Sterling. May all your wishes come true!” My resentment instantly vanished. I assumed Arthur had done all this to clear his schedule so he could spend time honoring our parents. So I didn’t rush him. Instead, I took the two bouquets of flowers and waited quietly at the cemetery alone. I waited until the sun set and the stars filled the sky. But Arthur never came. Perhaps our parents’ spirits in heaven pitied me. A news notification popped up on my phone. “Sterling CEO Illuminates the City with Fireworks to Celebrate His Sister’s Birthday!” Oh. I had forgotten. The anniversary of our parents’ death was also Mia’s birthday. Everything Arthur did wasn’t to honor our parents, nor was it for me. It was all for Mia. The rain poured down in sheets. I couldn’t tell if it was tears or rain sliding down my face. After that day. I fell severely ill when I returned home. Arthur, uncharacteristically, nursed me back to health himself. During those few days, it felt like we had returned to the time when our parents were still alive. I was still the little princess of the family. To keep me from getting punished by my teachers, Arthur stayed up all night doing my homework. When I had menstrual cramps, he rubbed my stomach. When I had a crush on a boy, he strictly forbade me from dating early, yet simultaneously helped me hide it from our parents. We were twins. We shared a bond that ordinary siblings could hardly comprehend. But Arthur’s once unconditional devotion was completely withdrawn the moment Mia appeared. Because of the extreme contrast. Seeing Arthur show concern for me again ignited a fierce sense of hope. I begged him, begged him to send Mia away. He didn’t get angry. He didn’t argue with me. He just looked at me calmly. He said, “Anna, why are you so unforgiving?” He said, “Mia’s father was my driver. He died protecting me. I can’t just abandon her.” He said, “Don’t worry, I know the difference between a benefactor and a family member.” But Arthur. For her, you even forgot the anniversary of our parents’ death. You forgot the difference a long time ago.

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I lost my memory. I remembered everyone else, but I completely forgot about him. Looking at Oliver’s dark expression, I asked tentatively, “Are you my… boyfriend?” His fingers paused over his laptop keyboard, and his voice grew even colder. “I’m your brother. Your biological brother.” I stared at his incredibly handsome face, which looked absolutely nothing like my parents, and fell into deep thought. Before I could figure it out, Oliver leaned in to feed me my medicine. The collar of his shirt was slightly unbuttoned, and I caught a glimpse of a tattoo resting just below his collarbone. —Mia. What kind of “biological brother” tattoos his sister’s name on his chest? 1 Our family has a secret. A secret that my parents and I all know, but Oliver doesn’t. Oliver isn’t my parents’ biological son. When he was ten years old, both of his parents died in a tragic car accident. He was so devastated that he developed a dangerously high fever that wouldn’t break. When he finally woke up, his memories of the first ten years of his life were completely wiped clean. His uncle’s family eagerly took over the house his parents left behind, but they completely neglected him. During the entire time he was unconscious in the hospital, they never visited him once. Oliver’s father and my father had been best friends. So, my dad decided to take him in and raise him until he became an adult. My mom fully supported the idea. “It’s fine. It’s just one more child. Our family can afford to raise him.” I, on the other hand, was very confused. I tugged on my dad’s shirt and asked, “If Oliver becomes my brother, does that mean I can’t marry him when I grow up?” My question made both my parents burst out laughing. My dad ruffled my hair and said, “You can still marry him. Oliver isn’t legally adopted; he’s not on our family register. He’s just going to live with us.” Even though I didn’t fully understand the legalities, I felt a lot better. As long as I could still marry him, who cared if he lived in our house or if he was a little slow? None of that mattered! I was overjoyed. I grabbed my favorite stuffed bunny and was about to run into his room to play, but my mom stopped me. She frowned slightly. “Mia, Oliver lost his parents and his memory. To keep him from being overwhelmed with grief, we’re going to treat him exactly like he’s your real brother. We’re going to give him a warm, loving home. You have to promise Mommy and Daddy that you’ll help us keep this secret, okay?” Back then, I nodded clumsily, agreeing to my parents’ well-intentioned lie. And we kept that secret for ten whole years. 2 Ten years later. Oliver was twenty, and I was seventeen. We had both reached an age where we understood how the world worked. And this secret… it felt too cruel to just drop on him. Neither my parents nor I could bring ourselves to tell him the truth. My mom looked at me, a little conflicted. “Mia, you’re all grown up now. Do you… still want to marry Oliver?” I shook my head, silently refusing. For one thing, I couldn’t bear to shatter his reality just to satisfy my own desires. For another, over the past decade, Oliver had treated me exactly like a blood sister. He didn’t show a single ounce of romantic interest in me. Why should I force it? But even though I said that, deep down, I still hadn’t really let him go. One weekend. I was scrolling through TikTok and came across a video about step-sibling romance tropes. Out of habit, I opened the comment section. The top comment was: [Like this comment so it gets recommended to my brother and scares the crap out of him.] I thought about it for a second and hit ‘like’. I figured Oliver would never see it on his feed anyway. I was so wrong. That very night. He actually took a leave of absence from his college dorm and came home. When he appeared in my bedroom with a face as dark as thunder, I still didn’t grasp the severity of the situation. Until he confiscated my phone. His tone was deadly serious: “Mia, your final exams are in three months.” I brushed it off. “I was just relaxing on the weekend…” Oliver took a deep breath. “Then shouldn’t you be watching something educational, or genuinely relaxing? Instead of liking that messed-up, inappropriate garbage?” Oh. So he did see it. Maybe it was the moonlight filtering into the room that made me reckless. Without thinking, I reached past Oliver, locked my bedroom door, and wrapped my arms around his waist from behind. “But Oliver, I really, really like you.” Oliver’s entire body went completely rigid. It felt like tension, or maybe even fear. Before he could pull away, I let go of him voluntarily. “I’m kidding! It’s just a novel trope, don’t take it so seriously.” In the dead-silent bedroom, I clearly heard Oliver let out a massive sigh of relief. That night was the only sleepless night I had when I was seventeen. 3 When I was twenty. I wasn’t getting along with my college roommates, so Oliver picked me up to stay at his apartment for the weekend. He was a perfect gentleman and let me take the master bedroom. But of course, a massive thunderstorm rolled in that night. The apartment was huge, and I was terrified of being alone in that room. So, just like when we were kids, I sneaked into Oliver’s bed. I knew it was wrong, but subconsciously, I always felt like he belonged to me. Besides, he was twenty-three and had never had a girlfriend. That meant I still had a chance. I pressed my freezing hands against his warm, broad back. Oliver jerked awake, as if startled from a deep sleep, and quickly flipped on the bedside lamp. The sudden, bright light made me squint. Oliver’s voice was rough, sounding almost like a warning: “Mia, we aren’t kids anymore.” In that instant, it felt like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over my head. I shakily started to get up, intending to crawl back to the master bedroom. But as I moved, I accidentally caught sight of the tattoo just below his collarbone. I immediately threw myself back into his arms, tracing the tattoo with my fingers. I smiled brightly. “Oliver, do you have a secret crush on me?” Oliver’s jaw clenched. He didn’t answer. He just coldly slapped my hand away. I felt like I had uncovered the world’s biggest secret, so I kept teasing him. “But Oliver, I’m your sister. Your biological sister.” Suddenly, a crack of thunder rattled the windows. The temperature in the room dropped, and I shivered. Oliver grabbed the edge of the duvet and wrapped me tightly in it, terrified I would catch a cold. I took advantage of the situation, snuggling deep into his chest, and reached out to poke his abs, acting as intimately as a real girlfriend. Before I could even enjoy the moment, Oliver caught my wandering hand. His voice was terrifyingly calm: “You aren’t my biological sister.” I froze, looking at him in utter disbelief. “What did you say?” He knew? Since when did he know? Faced with my shock, Oliver’s eyes gradually cleared. He didn’t say another word. He just scooped me up—blanket and all—carried me back to the master bedroom, and dumped me on the bed. He dropped a single sentence: “Whatever. Go to sleep.” Then he turned to leave. In a panic, I grabbed his sleeve. “Oliver, what do you mean?” He tucked my hand back under the covers, his voice muffled and distant. “It’s late. Go to sleep. We can talk about whatever it is in the morning.” But… when I finally rolled out of bed the next morning after tossing and turning all night… Oliver was nowhere to be found. There was only a warm plate of breakfast on the dining table, along with a sticky note he left behind. [Eat your breakfast. Be good.] He was treating me like a toddler. Chewing on my sandwich, I finally realized that Oliver had also learned how to run away from his problems. 4 After returning to campus, I couldn’t stop thinking about what Oliver had said. When my parents called, I even felt a sudden, inexplicable wave of panic. But they sounded completely normal, chatting with their usual parental concern, entirely oblivious to Oliver’s weird behavior. So, right before hanging up, I cautiously asked, “Mom, Dad… has Oliver said anything to you guys lately?” My parents were totally confused and immediately asked if we had gotten into a fight. Feeling incredibly guilty, I made up an excuse and quickly hung up the phone. We hadn’t technically gotten into a fight, but he was definitely, unilaterally avoiding me. It had been three days, and he hadn’t replied to a single one of my texts. Monday. Me: [Are you hiding from me? I don’t bite…] Tuesday. Me: [If you’re a man, text me back. If you understand, type ‘understood’!] Wednesday. Me: [If you don’t reply, I’m going to ambush you at your office. I’m actually going.] … Even a cornered dog will jump a fence, and a pushed rabbit will bite. If I didn’t show him I meant business, he was going to treat me like a total pushover! Staring at the screen full of unanswered green text bubbles, my anger boiled over. I decided to call an Uber and head straight to his corporate building. But I never expected that my Uber would get into a massive car crash on the way there. And that I would take a nasty hit to the head. 5 When I finally woke up, I was staring groggily at a sterile white hospital ceiling. My brain was still booting up. It wasn’t until I heard my parents sobbing that my hearing finally kicked in. My throat was incredibly dry. “Mom, Dad… what are you crying about?” Through their broken, tearful explanations, I managed to piece together what had happened. I forced a weak smile. “Hey, it’s fine! Surviving a disaster means good luck is coming, right?” Seeing how optimistic I was, my parents finally stopped crying. I went right back to joking around with them like nothing had happened. Amidst the laughter, a tall, unbelievably handsome man walked into the room. His deep, intense eyes locked onto me, making my heart skip a literal beat. This was, without a doubt, the most handsome man I had ever seen in real life. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, long, elegant fingers. Every single feature was flawlessly tailored to my exact type. I was so mesmerized that I accidentally blurted out, “Man, the messy fringe haircut really is superior to the curly mop.” Hearing this, the handsome guy smirked slightly and asked, “Did that car crash knock all the sense out of your head?” I suddenly realized my behavior was a bit rude. I straightened the collar of my hospital gown and asked in my sweetest, most polite voice, “Excuse me, handsome, but who are you?” I was in a private VIP hospital room. He was either in the wrong room, or he was here to visit me. But I absolutely did not know a guy this hot. The second the words left my mouth, my mom’s hand, which had been peeling an apple, stopped dead. My dad was the first to react. “Mia, you don’t recognize him?” I shook my head. “Should I?” Was he some distant relative? Like a cousin or something? But there was no way my brain would let me forget a guy this gorgeous. I scanned him from head to toe one more time, but still drew a complete blank. When I tried to force myself to remember, a sharp, dull ache pulsed through my nerves. My condition made the handsome guy’s brow furrow deeply. He immediately rushed out to get my attending doctor. After a thorough examination, the doctor explained that I was suffering from temporary selective amnesia and told them not to panic. Hearing the doctor’s reassurance, my parents let out a massive sigh of relief. The handsome guy’s face, however, grew darker by the second. I figured he must be someone incredibly close to me. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be this furious. I looked at him cautiously. “So… what exactly is our relationship?” He didn’t say a word. He just walked over to the table by the window, sat down, pulled out a laptop, and started aggressively typing. It looked like he was working, but it felt much more like he was throwing a silent tantrum. Sensing the toxic atmosphere, my parents quickly made up an excuse and slipped out of the room. The tension in the air was suffocating. I ran through eight hundred different relationship scenarios in my head before finally settling on the most logical one. Looking at Oliver’s dark expression, I asked tentatively, “Are you my… boyfriend?” His fingers paused over his laptop keyboard, and his voice grew even colder. “I’m your brother. Your biological brother.” I stared at his incredibly handsome face, which looked absolutely nothing like my parents, and fell into deep thought. Before I could figure it out, Oliver leaned in to feed me my medicine. The collar of his shirt was slightly unbuttoned, and I caught a glimpse of a tattoo resting just below his collarbone. —Mia. What kind of “biological brother” tattoos his sister’s name on his chest?

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I was reborn, waiting in line in the Underworld, to pick a new mother. The Fate Official, his face expressionless, presented me with three options. Card A: Gentle and Loving Mother; Card B: Wealthy but Single Mother; Card C: Random Blind Box. He asked, “What did your last mother do to you, that you’d rather risk your soul dissolving than be tied to her again?” When my father was home, she would always make me wear a metal muzzle. She’d say, “Your voice is too seductive, it will steal men’s souls.” The first lipstick my father ever bought me, she broke it in front of me, then brutally smeared it all over my face, accusing me of mimicking her to entice men. When my father praised my good grades at the dinner table, she would immediately report me to the school for cheating, forcing me to read a public apology in front of the entire student body. The Fate Official listened in silence. I looked at the words “Gentle and Loving” on Card A and bowed deeply to him. “Sir, please, I just want to be the daughter of an ordinary person.” But to my dismay, when I opened my eyes again, I saw my mother. Are you serious?! … 1 They said I was getting a new reincarnation, but instead, I was back in my ten-year-old self. The crystal chandelier in the living room cast fragmented light. My father, Mr. Harrison, pushed a delicate velvet box towards me. “Stella, happy birthday.” I opened it. Inside was a music box shaped like a ballerina, with a warm, white jade base. My father smiled and said, “My daughter is so beautiful; she’ll surely shine on stage like this someday.” Phoebe Frost, my mother, walked over, wrapped her arm around my father’s, and smiled, her beauty graceful and moving. “Of course our Stella is the best. Darling, you have such good taste, this gift suits our daughter perfectly.” Her fingernail brushed lightly against my shoulder, and my whole body tensed. That night, I placed the music box by my bedside and wound it up. Clear music flowed out, the ballerina spun under the lamp, her skirt twirling. I watched it until I fell asleep. In the middle of the night, I was startled awake. Phoebe Frost stood by my bed, holding the music box. In front of me, with a chilling smile, she slowly twisted the winding key until it snapped. The crisp music abruptly ceased. Then, as if breaking a dry twig, she easily snapped off the ballerina’s head. She tossed the fragments at my feet, looking down at me, her voice cold and piercing: “Do you deserve something like this?” “Don’t think just because your father gives you a few nice things you can become some princess. Dream on! You low-born trash, you only deserve garbage!” At the dinner table the next day, my father asked about the music box. Before I could speak, Phoebe casually said, “It broke. Kids are clumsy.” My father frowned. “How could you be so careless?” Phoebe glanced at me, the warning in her eyes chilling me to the bone. I could only lower my head, swallowing all my words. My father didn’t press further, just told me to be more careful next time. But as he looked at Phoebe, a hint of doubt flickered in his eyes. A few days later, my father returned from a business trip and brought me a delicate silver bracelet. As soon as I put it on, Phoebe walked over. She glanced at it, a sneer curling her lips. In front of me, she unclasped the bracelet, threw it on the ground, and stomped on it with her high heel until the silver chain broke and deformed. She dug her nails hard into my arm, warning, “Don’t tell your father.” Then she said contemptuously, “Cheap junk, just like you. You only bring me shame. You’re worthless!” Phoebe’s ways of being “good” to me were always unique. She never hit me, never yelled at me. She simply, with the gentlest demeanor, pushed me little by little into an abyss. The school was holding an arts performance, and the teacher chose me to be the lead reciter. I brought the notice home, and my father was overjoyed, saying that night he would buy me a new dress. Phoebe smiled and said, “Our Stella is so impressive, Mother is proud of you.” The day before the performance, she brought in a cup of hot milk. First, she scoffed at me, “A toad trying to eat swan meat. Someone as low-class as you doesn’t deserve to be the lead reciter.” Then she pinched my arm hard, leaving an almost imperceptible bruise. She handed me the milk, saying in a grim tone, “Drink this, and you won’t have to make a fool of yourself.” I looked at the cup of milk, smelling the familiar, slightly bitter almond scent. In my previous life, I drank this milk and developed a high fever the next day, missing the performance. I smiled and took the milk. “Thank you, Mother.” The moment she turned away, I poured all the milk into the potted plant by my bed. The next day, the leaves of that expensive orchid turned yellow. On the morning of the performance, I discovered my speech was missing. I frantically searched my entire room, sweating profusely. Phoebe walked in, pretending to help me search. She stroked my head, sighing, “Stella, are you too tired? You can’t even remember where you put things.” “How about you just don’t go? Mother feels bad for you.” I stood in the center of the stage, wearing the beautiful new dress my father bought me. Phoebe and my father sat in the front row. The lights came up, and I clearly saw the gentle smile on her face instantly freeze. She clearly hadn’t expected me to be able to stand here safe and sound, without even needing the speech manuscript. I didn’t look at any notes, delivering the recitation in the loudest, clearest voice. The audience erupted in applause. My father excitedly stood up, proudly introducing me to those around him, “That’s my daughter!” Phoebe also stood and clapped, but the smile on her face didn’t reach her eyes. On the way home, she kept praising me. “Our Stella was amazing today, like a little star.” The moment we entered the house, the smile on her face vanished. She walked into my room and closed the door. She stared at me sinisterly, her voice slithering into my ears like a venomous snake: “You’re very smug, aren’t you? Don’t forget, everything you have belongs to the Harrison family, including your life.” 2 I needed an opportunity to escape. An opportunity my father couldn’t refuse, and Phoebe couldn’t openly obstruct. I began to “obsess” over painting. I spent all my allowance on art supplies, shutting myself in my room every day after school. My academic grades plummeted. The teacher called my parents. When my father came home, he lost his temper with me for the first time. He threw a stack of failing test papers in front of me. “Stella Harrison, what on earth are you doing?” Phoebe quickly stepped in to mediate. She hugged me and said to my father, “Don’t scare the child. Stella might just be under too much pressure lately.” She turned to me, gently asking, “Stella, tell Mother, why aren’t you studying well?” I lowered my head and pulled a drawing from my art portfolio. It was a charcoal portrait of my father that I had worked on for an entire week. In the drawing, he wore a suit, looking spirited and bright-eyed. It was him at his most handsome, as I remembered him in his youth. My father was stunned. He picked up the drawing, his fingers gently tracing the image. His anger visibly dissipated. “This… you drew this?” I nodded. Phoebe’s face changed. I continued to pull out more drawings from my portfolio. I had drawn him working, playing chess, and telling stories. Every single one was him. My father looked through them one by one, his eyes slowly reddening. “Darling, look how much Stella loves you,” Phoebe’s voice was strained. I seized the opportunity and whispered, “Father, I want to learn to paint.” Phoebe immediately objected, “What’s the use of learning to paint? Can you eat it? The most important thing for you right now is to improve your studies!” But my father carefully collected the stack of drawings and put them in a drawer in his study. He came out and said to Phoebe, “Let her go.” “This child has talent.” “Hire the best teachers, go to the best art studio.” Phoebe’s lips moved, but she ultimately failed to voice her objections. After my father left, the facade on Phoebe’s face instantly shattered. She grabbed my arm, her nails almost digging into my flesh, hissing in a low voice, “You think just because you have some talent for painting, you can fly? You’re useless! What else can you do besides paint? You don’t deserve your father’s love!” The art studio my father found for me was called “River Bend.” It was the most famous art center in the city. In my previous life, I was only recommended here by my school psychologist when I was on the verge of a breakdown. Here, I met Professor Hayes. She was the Card A I had drawn. She was the only light in both my lives. In this life, I arrived five years early. Pushing open the studio door, the warm scent of paint washed over me. Sunlight streamed through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, falling on easels and plaster casts. Children sat quietly in front of their easels, only the soft rustle of brushes on paper to be heard. A woman in a linen dress was bending over, teaching a child how to mix colors, hand-over-hand. Her profile was gentle, her voice soft. “See, add a little more blue, and it’s like the evening sky.” It was her. Professor Hayes. I stood at the doorway, my heart pounding. How could I get back to her side? She seemed to notice my gaze, looked up, and met my eyes. Her gaze was clear and warm, with an inquiring kindness. I gripped the drawing board in my hand and walked towards her. “Professor, hello, I’m a new student, my name is Stella Harrison.” She gave me a gentle smile. “Welcome, Stella. What a beautiful name.” She pointed to an empty easel. “Your spot is over there. Go ahead and put your things down.” That afternoon, I painted a sunflower. Vast fields of golden sunflowers, reaching for the sun, growing wild. Professor Hayes walked behind me and watched for a long time. She didn’t comment on my technique, but just asked softly, “You seem to really like the sun?” I nodded vigorously. She ran her hand through my hair, a natural and intimate gesture. “It’s beautifully painted, full of vitality.” When my father came to pick me up, Professor Hayes chatted with him for a few minutes. She praised me, saying I was “spirited, talented, a child born to walk this path.” My father was overjoyed, smiling all the way home. Phoebe Frost’s face, however, grew darker and darker. That night, she walked into my room and picked up my sunflower painting. “Not bad.” She placed the painting on the table, her fingertip aggressively slashing across the golden paint. A glaring scratch appeared right in the center of the sun. She then picked up a paintbrush, savagely poking at my painting, muttering, “So ugly, no talent at all.” She looked at me, a sinister smile playing on her lips. “You think you’re good at painting? It’s just Mr. Harrison’s charity. You are nothing, and you’ll never escape my grasp!” 3 My time at the “River Bend” art studio was the most peaceful period of my ten years. Professor Hayes never stinted on her praise. She would hang my paintings in the most prominent spots, and recommend my works to gallery owners who came to visit. With her encouragement, I grew more confident, and my painting skills improved by leaps and bounds. Phoebe’s need for control, however, grew with my “unruliness.” She began to appear frequently at the studio. Sometimes bringing afternoon tea, sometimes picking me up after school. Each time she came, she would intimately link arms with Professor Hayes, addressing her as “Professor Hayes” over and over again. “Our Stella really owes it all to you.” “This child has been shy since she was little, doesn’t like to talk. Only you have the patience.” She handed Professor Hayes a beautifully wrapped box. “Just a small token of my appreciation, please don’t refuse.” Professor Hayes couldn’t decline, so she accepted it. After Phoebe left, Professor Hayes opened the box. Inside was a scarf, gaudily colored and old-fashioned. Most importantly, the price tag hadn’t been removed. A glaring number highlighted its cheapness. Professor Hayes looked at the scarf, her expression becoming complex. I walked over and whispered, “Professor, my mother, she…” But Professor Hayes shook her head at me. She put away the scarf and gave me a gentle smile. “Your mother loves you very much.” I knew she saw through it. But she couldn’t say anything. Phoebe was too cunning. She disguised herself as an ordinary mother who loved her daughter dearly but was not good at expressing it. Any questioning of her would be interpreted as a provocation against a mother. Phoebe’s tactics didn’t stop there. She started trying to isolate me. She would bring exquisite pastries to the studio, distributing them to all the children, except me. She would smile and explain, “Stella is a bit prone to heat lately, she should eat less sweets.” The children, eating their desserts, looked at me with a mix of pity and a hint of distance. She would also, in front of Professor Hayes and other parents, “accidentally” bring up some of my “embarrassing moments.” “This child is particularly timid; she can’t sleep alone at night.” “And she’s a picky eater, won’t touch a single green vegetable. She worries me sick.” With these trivial, seemingly harmless details, she wove a web. Inside that web, I was a troublesome child, disobedient, needing constant “care.” And she was the great mother, worrying herself sick over me. Professor Hayes noticed my low spirits. That day, she kept me back alone. She didn’t ask me anything, but simply pulled out a photo album. Inside were her paintings from childhood to adulthood. The first one was a wobbly stick figure. “This is what I drew when I was five. My mother said it was the handsomest prince she’d ever seen.” The last one was a mature oil painting that had won an international award. She closed the album and looked at me. “Stella, art doesn’t lie.” “Your paintings tell me you are a child with a volcano inside.” “Don’t let anyone extinguish your flame.” I looked into her clear eyes, and the ice that had frozen in my heart for so long cracked open. That evening, I didn’t go straight home. I used the studio phone to call my father. I said I missed him, and wanted to wait for him at the studio after work so we could go home together. On the other end of the line, my father was pleasantly surprised. Half an hour later, he appeared at the studio door. Phoebe had come along, her face grim. “Stella, why are you so thoughtless, bothering your father’s work so late?” But my father scooped me up. “My daughter wanting me is never a bother, no matter the time.” He looked at Phoebe, his brow slightly furrowed. “Don’t always criticize the child.” This was the first time my father had openly contradicted Phoebe because of me. Phoebe’s body stiffened. I rested my head on my father’s shoulder, looking at her ashen face, my heart completely calm. This was just the beginning. 4 The city was holding a Youth Art Competition. The first-place prize was a full scholarship to an art summer camp in France. For two months. This was a perfect opportunity for me to escape Phoebe’s control. I poured all my time and energy into preparing my competition piece. I would paint the best painting. A painting that would allow everyone to see my light, and also her shadow. I chose the theme “Caged Bird.” On the canvas, a magnificently plumed golden bird was trapped in an exquisitely beautiful cage. Outside the cage, spring bloomed brightly, with flowers everywhere. Inside the cage, there was only a small dish of clear water and a few grains of rice. The bird’s eyes stared out the window, filled with a longing for freedom. When Professor Hayes saw my rough sketch, she was silent for a long time. She only said one thing: “Stella, paint what you want, paint boldly.” I could feel Phoebe growing more anxious. She would come to the studio every day, ostensibly to visit, but truly to supervise. She would stand behind me, watching me construct that elaborate cage stroke by stroke. Her voice was faint and eerie. “Stella, the cage is so beautifully drawn.” “The bird stays inside, safe from wind and rain, so secure.” I ignored her, continuing to paint. I didn’t touch the afternoon tea she brought. I didn’t listen to a single word of her “jokes.” In my world, there was only the canvas, and that bird longing to fly. The night before the submission deadline, I finally completed the painting. I carefully rolled it up and placed it in an art tube. I knew Phoebe would act. I waited for her. Phoebe came, as expected. She carried a cup of warm milk, her smile as gentle as ever. “Stella, when you’re done painting, get some rest. You have the competition tomorrow.” I took the milk and meekly said, “Thank you, Mother.” She watched with satisfaction as I drank the “milk,” then tucked me into bed and turned off the light. I lay in bed, listening to her footsteps fade away. Then, I immediately got out of bed, rushed to the bathroom, and spat out all the plain water I had just drunk. I had already poured out that cup of milk. I returned to my room, pulled an identical art tube from under my bed. Inside was a rough draft I had hastily copied in two days. I placed this art tube in the most obvious spot. The real “Caged Bird” was hidden in the deepest part of my closet. Having done all this, I lay back in bed and closed my eyes. At three in the morning, my bedroom door quietly opened. A dark figure tiptoed in and took the art tube from the table. In the darkness, I opened my eyes, perfectly clear. The next day, Phoebe drove me to the competition venue. She encouraged me all the way. “Stella, don’t be nervous, just do your best. Winning or not isn’t important; Mother will always be proud of you.” Her performance was, as always, flawless. At the venue, staff began to receive submissions. I handed over the art tube. Phoebe stood beside me, her face a mix of anticipation and nervousness. The staff member opened the art tube and pulled out the rolled canvas. The moment the painting unfurled, everyone gasped. The canvas was haphazardly smeared with black oil paint. The golden bird was completely covered by heavy black, revealing only one desperate eye. The entire painting was utterly destroyed. Phoebe immediately rushed forward, her reaction even faster than mine. She embraced me, her voice trembling with “shock.” “Oh my goodness! Who did this? How could this happen?” Her eyes were red-rimmed as she looked at me, full of feigned distress. “My Stella, you spent so long painting… what will we do now…” Her acting was worthy of an Oscar. The surrounding parents and contestants gathered, pointing and whispering about the ruined painting. I stood rooted to the spot, unmoving. I looked at Phoebe, at her face etched with “grief” and “anger.” She thought she had won again.

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Everyone knew I was Alexander Clark’s favorite trophy girlfriend. Beautiful and compliant, gentle and considerate. As long as the money was right, I’d endure his endless whims. Even when he humiliated me for the sake of his true love, I never showed the slightest complaint. Everyone assumed I would never leave. But no one knew that when the contract expired, I would marry another man and completely sever ties with that relationship. The ping of my phone broke the silence as I sorted through research documents for my return home. The words “500,000 credits deposited” flickered on the screen. I casually placed my phone on the corner of the table and continued verifying the files. That was my monthly allowance. My best friend, Sophia, looked worried. “Alexander knows you’re getting married. He won’t come back and make trouble, will he?” My fingers paused. My voice was calm. “He won’t. He’s always generous with ex-lovers. He’ll just find a new trophy girlfriend.” My contract would expire in a month. Then I could change my name, move to a new city, and forget everything about this foggy city. The rain started falling again in this foggy city. I returned to my apartment. As I reached the door, a custom black umbrella caught my eye—it was Alexander’s. My steps involuntarily halted, and my heart tightened slightly, as if entangled by fine threads of rain. He was here. Pushing open the door, in the warm orange glow, his back was silhouetted in the kitchen. I wrapped my arms around his waist from behind, a perfectly calibrated tone of complaint in my voice. “You haven’t been back in twenty days. Before, it was never more than fifteen.” This was the dynamic I had painstakingly learned: an occasional complaint from the trophy girlfriend made the benefactor feel depended upon. In the past, he would always ask if I needed money. But this time, he simply plated a steak, his voice cool. “Eat, then take a shower.” I glimpsed a bite mark beneath his cuff, thick with a scab. I resisted asking questions, quietly heading into the bathroom. The woody scent from the shower was identical to the first time I met him four years ago. My thoughts drifted back to that moment, echoing the rhythm of the rain. That year, during my university entrance exams, my mother slipped notes into my stationery, and I was caught cheating, my scores invalidated. I, who could have attended an Ivy League, ended up branded a ‘cheating student,’ mocked by everyone. She then cried and knelt, forcing me to give up my re-take to work and support my sister’s art college tuition. I fled to this foggy city, but on my way home one night, I was mugged, all my money gone. I didn’t even have enough for next month’s rent. Desperate, I called my mother for help, only to be met with, “It’s your own choice.” In the international student community, for a poor student like me, apart from scholarships, the only way to make money was to find a rich “boyfriend.” That day, with my last bit of cash, I dressed myself provocatively. I went to a midnight party and immediately saw Alexander Clark in the center of the crowd. I forgot how I ended up kneeling before him, allowing his hand to easily touch my most vulnerable neck. I only remembered him smiling faintly, his eyes slightly narrowed under the dazzling lights. A clap of thunder pulled me from my memories. I walked out of the bathroom. Alexander stood by the window, surrounded as if by deep winter’s ice and snow. “Come here.” His voice was indifferent. As I approached, he pulled me onto the bed. His movements were rough, and I bit my lip, daring not to make a sound. “Not going to ask about the bite mark? Or why I’m angry?” He curled his lip. I forced a smile, leaning in to kiss him. “As long as you’re happy, nothing else matters.” Maintaining boundaries, that’s how a trophy girlfriend avoids getting hurt. Initially, I couldn’t distinguish love from desire, mistaking his indulgence for affection. Until the first time he treated me roughly, and I said he was out of line. He coldly replied, “If you don’t like it, get out.” Afterward, I learned my lesson, understanding I was merely a pet. But I am still a person, so when the contract ends, the trophy girlfriend should leave. The next day, Alexander was already gone. Due to his company’s international business, Alexander spent half of each month in Capital City and the other half in this foggy city. I opened my phone. The international student group chat had exploded, hundreds of messages flooding in, half of them tagging me. A secretly filmed video went viral: Alexander holding a woman’s hand. The woman bit his wrist, yet he didn’t let go, instead forcefully kissing her. The sadness and deep affection in his eyes were something I had never seen before. Sophia messaged me, asking if I was okay. I replied, “I’m fine,” but stared at the video for a long time until my eyes ached. I had always accepted my fate; a trophy girlfriend should live in her cage, not peek into her benefactor’s life. As graduation approached, I was busy with wrapping things up. Returning home on a stormy day, I heard piano music as I reached the door. Pushing it open, I saw a woman with delicate features sitting at the piano. Her profile was identical to the woman in the video. “So you’re the little trinket Alexander keeps in this foggy city?” Her tone was dismissive. I clenched my hands, responding politely, “Hello, I’m Stella Taylor.” She didn’t introduce herself, merely saying casually, “This piano still sounds perfectly in tune. Alexander must have it tuned regularly, doesn’t he?” I remembered when I first moved in, thinking Alexander liked piano, I had specifically studied for a year. But when I played for him, he angrily pulled me away, scolding, “What right do you have to touch this piano?” Now, the one with the right had finally arrived. The door opened. Alexander saw the woman and his body stiffened. After a long moment, he spoke coldly, “Fighting with my brother again? Sister-in-law?” I froze. So, she was Alexander’s sister-in-law, Victoria Lin. Victoria’s voice was low. “Alexander, must you speak to me like that?” Alexander’s jaw tightened, and he softened his tone. “Haven’t eaten?” “I was waiting for you,” Victoria murmured. Alexander took off his suit and walked towards the kitchen. “The usual? Filet mignon with Merlot, alright?” My heart clenched—this was the dinner he often made for me. I had once thought it was a unique gesture, only to realize it was merely a continuation of someone else’s preference. Victoria suddenly asked what I wanted to eat. Alexander finally looked at me, his voice icy. “You, go out.” I feigned composure. “Okay, I’ll come back later.” He flatly refused. “No need. Stay in a hotel these next few days. I’ll call you when it’s time to come back.” The door slammed shut behind me, rain lashing against my face. It felt as cold as it did three years ago when the landlord kicked me out. I thought I was clear-headed enough, but subconsciously, I had still considered this place “home.” Sophia called, reminding me that the contract expired on March 14th, asking if I wanted to book a flight for the 16th, avoiding Alexander’s birthday on March 15th. I took a deep breath. “Book it for the 14th. End it on the day it’s meant to end.” The next morning, Alexander messaged, “Come back.” I obeyed, taking a taxi back, only to see workers moving things out. “All this is being thrown out just because one woman doesn’t like it. Rich people are so capricious.” The worker’s words stopped me in my tracks. Another worker held up a cartoon plushie, carefully asking Alexander, “Not this one either?” That was a gift Alexander had given me. I had once mentioned wanting it as a child but never getting it, and he had specially postponed three days of his schedule to return home to find it. That was the first time I had forgotten my place, hugging him and crying uncontrollably. But now, Alexander said coldly, “Throw it away.” The plushie dropped into the garbage truck, buried beneath trash. I wanted to step forward, but Alexander called out, “What are you doing?” I forced myself to be calm, linking my arm through his. “I got your message. I was back in ten minutes, wasn’t I quick?” He made no comment, merely stating, “Live here from now on. Don’t leave anything behind.” I looked at the garbage truck, where all my belongings lay. After a long moment, I gently nodded. “Okay.” Alexander didn’t stay that night. The next day, his assistant delivered a dozen limited-edition Chanel bags. Along with a 7-million-credit black card and a property deed for an apartment in the city center. “This is Mr. Clark’s graduation gift to you.” I knew it was his way of placating me after he’d discarded my belongings. “Will he be coming back these next few days?” I asked. The assistant replied, “Mr. Clark postponed his business trip for Ms. Victoria Lin’s concert. He’ll return after it’s over, probably next month.” But I couldn’t wait until next month. I bought a ticket to the concert. Sophia scoffed, “A third-rate musician built on capital, what’s there to see?” But this was my last chance to see Alexander. The concert had already begun. The hall was dim, yet I instantly spotted Alexander in the first row. He gazed at Victoria Lin on stage, his eyes a deep ocean blue, a tenderness I had never witnessed. Victoria spoke, “I want to thank my husband. He gave me this piano, and I brought it. He’s always by my side.” The host mentioned Alexander, and Victoria smiled, saying, “Besides being family, we’re also very good friends.” Alexander abruptly stood up and walked out, bumping right into me. He grabbed my wrist, pulling me into a car. The driver, sensing the tension, discreetly left. His kiss was filled with icy rage; I couldn’t breathe, my wrist ached from his grip. “Mr. Clark, not here…” “Shut up!” he barked, yet his movements gradually softened. Finally, he whispered in my ear, “I love you…” My heart skipped a beat, but the next second I heard him call out, “Victoria Lin.” Under the starlit ceiling, I froze. His ‘love,’ it turned out, was never for me. Tears fell uncontrollably. Alexander asked what was wrong. I hugged him tightly. “Nothing, I just wanted to hold you.” It started raining outside. He suddenly asked, “Why did you come looking for me?” I softly said, “I wanted to see you.” He looked down at me, a slight upturn to his lips. “Such a good girl. What do you want? I’ll have Liam send it over.” For the first time, I refused. “No, thank you, Mr. Clark.” He froze, but his phone rang. Victoria’s voice was tearful. “Alexander, the hotel I’m staying in is blocked by the police. I’m so scared…” “I’ll be right there.” Alexander hung up, glanced at me, his voice icy. “Get out!” The heavy rain instantly soaked me. He shoved an umbrella into my hand, his voice detached. “I have something to do. Go back by yourself.” The Rolls-Royce’s headlights vanished into the rainy night. I held the umbrella, but the wind broke its ribs. I boarded a bus. The cold air made me shiver. Then, a jacket was draped over my head. I looked up, only seeing a handsome profile. He quickly got off the bus, disappearing into the rain. Back at the apartment, I washed and put away the jacket. I opened my phone. In a pushed news interview, a reporter asked if the woman Alexander had taken away was his girlfriend. Victoria smiled and said, “Just an irrelevant person who stumbled in. Alexander took her out because he was afraid of affecting me.” Alexander merely responded, “Yes.” I exited the video and opened my email. Two emails lay side by side: one was an invitation to a top domestic research project. The other was an offer for a million-dollar annual salary from a top 100 global conglomerate. On March 12th, I took a deep breath and replied to the research project email: “I am honored to join.” The next day, I returned home. The kitchen light was on, and Alexander was cooking. I walked over, only to see oxtail clear soup on the table—my favorite—instead of his usual steak. “Why this today?” I asked softly. He said casually, “I won’t be making steak anymore. You try this.” I glimpsed Victoria’s message on his phone: “I don’t want to be like everyone else.” My heart clenched, and I sat down in silence. “Tomorrow, Victoria and I are going to Germany. Don’t contact me these next few days,” he said coldly, pushing the bowl of soup towards me. I knew he was going to celebrate Victoria’s birthday with her, as he had for the past two years. “Okay,” I forced a smile. He promised, “I’ll bring you a gift from France.” “No need,” I looked up at him. “Mr. Clark, happy birthday.” He stood up and walked over to me, his tall figure eclipsing the light. His kiss was as hot as a volcano, and he lifted me, carrying me towards the bedroom. This was the most intense time in three years. I eventually passed out. He held me while cleaning, then pressed a kiss to my forehead. When I woke up, he was already gone. Sophia messaged, “3 PM flight. I’ll pick you up.” I scanned the apartment; all traces of me had long been thrown away. Packing my last few items of clothing, I placed the property deed and bank card on the study desk. “Honestly, I’ve always been grateful to you for helping me when I was at my lowest.” I took one last look at the apartment. “Thank you, Alexander Clark.” At 3 PM, Alexander’s plane landed in Germany, and my plane took off. 12 hours later, he was at a birthday party in Germany. I landed in Capital City. Taking the new phone handed to me by the staff, I headed to the research base. Two days later, Alexander returned to the foggy city early. His assistant smiled, “Mr. Clark, don’t worry, I’ll deliver the gift to Miss Taylor.” “It’s for her,” Alexander said flatly, then added, “Draft the renewal contract again, increase it from 500,000 to 700,000 credits. Send it tomorrow.” He returned to the apartment, made dinner, and waited for me from dusk until deep into the night. I didn’t come back. He took out his phone to call, but only heard an automated voice: “Hello, the number you have dialed is no longer in service…” Alexander dialed again, still getting the same message. He rushed upstairs; the bedroom, balcony, and study were all empty. Only the card and property deed remained on the desk, with a note tucked underneath: “Alexander Clark, thank you for these three years.” He called his assistant, his voice icy. “Find out where she is.” The assistant, bewildered, replied, “Isn’t Miss Taylor with you, Mr. Clark?” “Find her,” Alexander cut him off. Victoria messaged, “Alexander, I want to see you.” In the restaurant, Victoria cried, “Your brother found another woman. Help me get rid of her. You’re already keeping a little trinket in the foggy city, so keeping another one in Capital City won’t matter.” “Victoria Lin,” Alexander interrupted her. “Her name is Stella Taylor.” Victoria froze. Alexander continued, “This was your choice, back then.” Victoria tried to speak, but Alexander pulled his arm away. “I’m leaving.” Standing in the long corridor, looking at the city lights, Alexander suddenly thought of me. He took out his phone. “Find her location. Bring her back tonight.” The assistant hesitated. “Mr. Clark, someone has deliberately hidden Miss Taylor’s information. We can’t find her.” Capital City, Seventh Aerospace Research Institute. The academician patted my shoulder. “We have a new member joining. You both studied abroad in the foggy city, so you can pick him up.” “He’s a genius in physics, a rare talent in a century. He earned two bachelor’s degrees at 15, a doctorate at 17, and now holds two doctorates.” I turned, curious, and the young man at the door turned towards me—it was the same person who gave me his jacket on that rainy night in the foggy city. “It’s you.” My heart skipped a beat. “You remember?” he asked. “You’re not someone easily forgotten.” I extended my hand. “Thank you for that day. Welcome aboard. My name is Stella Taylor.” “Jasper Harris,” he said, shaking my hand, his voice cool and clear. In the foggy city apartment, Alexander looked at his assistant. “You’re telling me that with all of Clark Holdings’ connections, you can’t find a single Stella Taylor?” The assistant wiped sweat from his brow. “Top hackers, both domestic and international, have tried, but they can’t breach that firewall. It’s likely a state-level secret.” Alexander dismissed his assistant. The room instantly became a mess. He leaned over his desk, emotions surging in his chest, threatening to drown his reason—something had utterly slipped from his control. Alexander went to the club, walking directly towards Sophia. “Where is Stella Taylor?” Sophia feigned ignorance. “Stella Taylor? I don’t understand.” “On the afternoon of the 14th, you drove her to the airport. I’m asking you one last time, where is she?” His eyes were icy cold. Sophia’s heart turned cold. “She went back to the country. Said she wanted to go home to get married.” “Married?” Alexander was almost too angry to laugh. Sophia mustered her courage. “If you don’t like her, then let her go. She only came to you because she was desperate, treating herself like a commodity. But she’s a human being, with flesh and blood.” “Humiliation?” Alexander frowned. “You think I was humiliating her?” Sophia opened her phone. The screenshot showed the trending topic “A certain female international student, shameless, selling her body to climb the ladder.” It also showed photos of me trying to please Alexander. Suddenly, Alexander’s fingers froze—the zipper of the plushie in the screenshot was open, revealing a note inside the cotton. “I love you, Alexander Clark.” It was the plushie he himself had said he’d thrown away. Alexander gripped his phone tightly, Victoria Lin’s face flashing in his mind. “I didn’t know,” his voice was hoarse. Sophia said, “She paid to suppress the news that night, saying she didn’t want to trouble you. But what did you do?” Alexander remembered that day. Victoria had said she didn’t like the things in the apartment, so he, in front of me, had thrown away all my belongings. Standing under the eaves, Alexander called Victoria. Victoria exclaimed with delight, “Alexander, did you agree to what I asked? I knew it…” Alexander gently interrupted her. “That night in the apartment, what did you do?” Victoria froze. “I didn’t do anything. I was so tired that day; I went to bed early.” “Victoria Lin!” Alexander said coldly. “That day, what did you see in my room?” Victoria was silent for a moment. “If you’re asking me this way, do I still need to say it? Haven’t you already figured it out?” Alexander said in disbelief, “How could you be like this?” “Isn’t it because your brother and you forced me? One cheated, the other didn’t help me, always hiding out with his little mistress in the foggy city. When I needed support, there was no one behind me. I just wanted to drive her away, to make sure your attention was only on me. What did I do wrong?” Victoria gritted her teeth and yelled, “And anyway, weren’t you the one who actually threw her things away?” Alexander was completely stunned. Yes, he was the one who threw away my things, who lost me. It had always been him. He weakly hung up the phone with Victoria, looking at the dark night sky. A strange fear spread from his bones. He sent me a message: “I’m back.” “I, I’m back.” But there was no reply. Rain poured down. The assistant rushed over with an umbrella. “Mr. Clark…” The rest of his words caught in his throat. He watched Alexander stand silently in the rain, water soaking his hair, tracing his eyelids, leaving streaks on his face. The rain in this foggy city seemed to never cease. Two years later, the project ended. I called Sophia.

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Chapter 1 Every time my husband went to visit his terminally ill childhood friend, he would hint at getting a divorce. Because his childhood friend’s greatest dying wish was to have a legitimate title. Today, he hinted at it again. I didn’t cry, and I didn’t make a scene. I just calmly said, “Okay.” Because this exact conversation had already happened ninety-nine times. And today was the one-hundredth time. I had finally found the definitive reason to convince myself to divorce him. I had miscarried our baby. Now, the only thing tying us together was two thin pieces of paper—our marriage certificate. … Seven days after my miscarriage, I ran into Liam at the mall. He was carrying bags full of shopping, his eyes overflowing with tenderness as he looked at Olivia. But the moment he saw me, he frowned instantly. “What are you doing here? Didn’t we agree to get the divorce finalized first? Are you backing out now?” He looked at me defensively, his icy stare piercing straight through to my heart. Olivia playfully swatted his arm and looked at me apologetically: “Serena, please don’t misunderstand. Liam is just too eager to marry me.” Saying that, she covertly glanced at my stomach, a smug smile playing on her lips. “Our wedding is set for next week. We’d love it if you and the baby came to watch.” I instinctively touched my flat stomach. Before I could speak, Liam cut me off: “How can she come to a wedding when she’s pregnant? What if her condition brings you bad luck? It’s bad energy.” My hand froze on my stomach. Once again, I was stunned by Liam’s absolute callousness. Olivia has a terminal illness, and you don’t think that’s bad luck? You spend every day running around a hospital, and you don’t think that’s bad luck? But because I was carrying your flesh and blood, you think I’m bad luck. It was truly ironic. But then again, I wasn’t Olivia. Why would I deserve your concern? Otherwise, you wouldn’t have completely vanished while knowing I was in the hospital trying to save my pregnancy. If you had just asked me a single question, you would have known. Our baby was already gone. Seeing me stay silent, Liam didn’t care. He just lowered his head and went back to discussing wedding details with Olivia, completely ignoring me. I watched them silently, countless memories flashing through my mind. Ever since Olivia was diagnosed with her terminal illness, Liam became a completely different person. He stopped caring about our baby, and he stopped coming home. Disappearing without a trace became a regular occurrence. At first, he said: “Serena, Olivia is very sick. I can’t just leave her side.” “Don’t worry, I just feel sorry for her. There’s nothing else going on.” Later, he said: “Serena, Olivia’s greatest dying wish is to marry me. I don’t want her to die with any regrets.” I knew exactly what he was implying, but I refused to understand. He dropped that hint ninety-nine times. And I found ninety-nine different excuses to reject him, ninety-nine times. Until the one-hundredth time, when he stopped hinting. That day, right after I received my 32nd progesterone injection to save the pregnancy, I walked out of the hospital and received a text from Liam. No concern, no comfort. Just a cold, hard notification. [The day after tomorrow, 9:00 AM, meet me outside the courthouse. We’re getting a divorce.] A single sentence, just a few words, completely shattered me. That day, lying on the cold concrete of the parking garage, I called Liam countless times. But in the end, the only call that went through was to 911. The doctor told me they couldn’t save the baby. I lay in my hospital bed from dusk till dawn, waiting, only to receive a single text from him. [Stop calling me so much. The ringing is annoying.] Staring at the message on my screen, I bit my lip until it bled. Liam, I agree. From now on, we will never have anything to do with each other again. I wish you… happiness. My memories stopped there. Liam nudged me, reminding me coldly: “Don’t forget, we’re going to get the divorce finalized tomorrow. Don’t try to fake being sick again.” I was stunned for a moment, then I remembered. On the third day after my miscarriage, Liam had called me. It was the only call he made, while he was waiting outside the courthouse. At the time, I had just finished an IV drip that lasted all night, and I was in terrible shape. When I answered the call, I accidentally hit the speakerphone button, and Liam’s impatient, accusing voice echoed through the entire hospital room. “Serena, is this fun for you?” “We agreed on 9:00 AM for the divorce, and it’s already noon. What excuse are you going to use this time?” Under the strange looks from the nurses, it took all my strength to stop trembling. I replied softly: “I’m in the hospital.” The breathing on the other end of the line hitched for a second, then quickly returned to normal. I heard Liam’s disdainful chuckle: “Enough. Stop making excuses. I’ll give you one last chance.” “Next Wednesday, I’ll see you at the courthouse.” The call ended. The nurses didn’t say anything, they just quietly walked out. The moment the door clicked shut, my remaining dignity was utterly destroyed. That was when I realized that the most painful thing wasn’t the harm inflicted by the person you love. It was the pity from bystanders while the person you love is hurting you. Closing my eyes, I pulled myself out of the mud of my memories: “Okay.” Liam raised an eyebrow and continued: “After the divorce, just stay home and focus on your pregnancy. Don’t contact me unless it’s an absolute emergency.” “Okay.” Perhaps because I agreed too readily, Liam was actually taken aback. He loosened his grip on Olivia and his gaze fell on my stomach. “How’s the baby? Is he behaving?” The moment he spoke, my eyes instantly turned red. I used every ounce of my strength to swallow the sob rising in my throat. “He’s behaving. Very well-behaved.” So well-behaved that even when he left, he couldn’t bear to let me suffer for too long. Terrified that I would lose control of my emotions, I didn’t dare say another word and simply turned to leave. As we brushed past each other, I noticed a lipstick stain on Liam’s collar. It was the exact same shade as the lipstick on Olivia’s lips. And the exact same color as the blood on the parking garage floor that day. Walking past a maternity store, a salesperson enthusiastically stopped me. “Ms. Davis, the clothes you ordered last time have arrived.” “Is it convenient for you to pick them up today?” I was about to say I didn’t need them anymore, but my eyes uncontrollably locked onto the baby in the poster. If my baby had been born safely, he probably would have been just as cute. While I was distracted, the salesperson efficiently bagged the clothes and handed them to me. It was a pastel yellow baby onesie. Liam’s favorite color was yellow. I stared blankly at the tiny clothes in the bag and fled the mall in a panic. The moment I closed my car door, the dam broke. How muffled and agonizing can the cries of a mother who just lost her child be? In that moment, I finally knew. By the time I got home, it was late at night. The moment I opened the fridge, I saw the papayas inside. I couldn’t eat them while I was pregnant, and every time I saw them, my mouth would water. Now that I could eat them, seeing them only made me want to cry. Going back to the kitchen, I made two dishes. Papaya stewed in milk, and a bowl of chicken congee. Just as I was about to eat, I heard the sound of keys turning in the front door. Liam walked in, pulling a suitcase behind him. I found it strange; he hadn’t been home in a long time since Olivia’s condition worsened. “Why are you back? Don’t you need to stay with Olivia?” Liam dragged his suitcase straight toward the bedroom, answering casually: “Since Olivia and I are getting married, I came back specifically to pack my things.” “Saves me the trouble later.” I gave a noncommittal “hmm,” but my mind uncontrollably flashed back to Olivia’s words. [Our wedding is set for next week. We’d love it if you and the baby came to watch.] Right, it was only a few days away. If he didn’t move his things now, he might catch my ‘bad luck’ in a few days, and then he wouldn’t be able to shake it off. My tears fell into my bowl, vanishing without a trace, just like Liam’s love for me. But it wasn’t supposed to be like this. He used to anticipate this baby’s arrival, too. We had been so happy for so long. I lowered my head, about to eat my congee, when Liam, having finished packing, suddenly spoke up: “You made chicken congee?” “What a coincidence, Olivia didn’t have dinner. This will be perfect to tide her over.” With that, he naturally walked over and snatched the bowl right out of my hands. I stared at my empty hands, forgetting to react for a moment. It wasn’t until he had already found a clean thermos to pack the congee that I finally spoke: “That’s my dinner.” Liam didn’t even look up as he packed the thermos. “Aren’t there other things on the table? Just eat that.” My gaze fell on the bowl of papaya stewed in milk. I twitched my lips and said softly: “Pregnant women shouldn’t eat papaya.” Liam froze for a second, setting down the thermos: “Then… maybe just eat a little less?” “You’ve had so many prenatal checkups and everything is fine. A little bit shouldn’t hurt, right?” My nose stung. I lifted my head, refusing to let the tears fall. “It’s fine.” The baby was already gone, so nothing mattered anymore. Perhaps sensing my sadness, Liam sighed and pulled me into a hug. “Serena, just hold on a little longer, okay?” “Once the wedding is over, I promise I’ll spend quality time with you. Just bear with it for a bit, alright?” I gave an “mhm,” but my mind uncontrollably drifted to the past. [Serena, Olivia can’t be left alone right now. Once she’s feeling better, I’ll go with you to your prenatal checkup.] [Serena, Olivia has a fever. I’ll call you after her tests are done.] [Serena, Olivia won’t let me leave. I’ll come home to you after she falls asleep.] Liam, when will you realize that I truly can’t wait anymore? I pulled out of his embrace and handed him the thermos. “Go.” Don’t look back. The moment he was about to close the door, I called out to him. “Liam, do you remember what number you were on when you asked me for a divorce that day?” Liam’s back stiffened. Before he could speak, I continued: “One hundred.” “Today is one hundred and one.” “Tomorrow, outside the courthouse. Be there.” With that, I stepped forward and slowly, but firmly, closed the door. Leaning against the door, I heard Liam’s rapid breathing on the other side. He didn’t leave, and I didn’t move. The physical distance between us was just a four-inch thick door. But our hearts were separated by an entire world. The next second, Liam used his key to open the door. He didn’t step inside, just looked at me for a long time. Finally, he pulled a palm-sized baby rattle from his pocket and handed it to me. “I saw this at the mall today. Our baby should like it.” That one sentence shattered all the strength I had forced myself to build. Taking the rattle, I immediately closed and locked the door, collapsing to the floor, sobbing silently. I didn’t understand why people only recognize love after they’ve lost it. Why must he give me a glimmer of hope right after I had finalized my decision? The rattle fell to the floor with a sharp, crisp clink. I sat there on the floor, withered, for the entire night. The next morning, I left on time. As soon as I got in the car, I received a call from the hospital, asking me to pick up the miscarriage report I had left behind. I hadn’t had the courage to open it back then, burying my head in the sand and leaving it at the hospital. I thought that as long as I didn’t look at it, I could pretend nothing had happened. Now, it was time to wake up. At 9:00 AM, Liam was late. He looked like he hadn’t slept all night either, his eyes bloodshot. When he saw me, a flash of disappointment crossed his eyes. “I thought… you wouldn’t come today.” I didn’t say anything, just walked into the courthouse ahead of him. How could I not come? We had both waited too long for this day. Right before signing, Liam suddenly hesitated. His black pen hovered over the paper for a long time, refusing to move. Seeing this, the clerk kindly suggested: “Since the gentleman hasn’t fully made up his mind, maybe you should reconsider.” I smiled, finding it ironic. If he truly hadn’t made up his mind, why would he have insisted on it a hundred times? Liam turned to look at me and whispered: “Serena, as soon as Olivia and my wedding is over, we’ll remarry.” I gave another “mhm,” remaining silent. I figured, he had lied to me so many times, it was my turn to lie to him. Holding the divorce certificate, Liam’s heart beat erratically. He felt an intense, inexplicable unease, as if he had missed something crucial. Walking out the front doors, Olivia had also arrived. She was wearing a yellow sundress, looking absolutely healthy in the sunlight, without a trace of illness. I tilted my head, gesturing to Liam: “Olivia is waiting for you.” Liam gave an unnatural “mhm,” his face devoid of joy. Olivia walked over, pulled an invitation from her purse, and handed it to me with a smile: “Serena, Liam and I talked about it, and we still want to welcome you and the baby to our wedding.” “Here is your invitation.” My first instinct was to tell her I didn’t have a baby anymore, and I wouldn’t be going to the wedding. But then I caught a glimpse of Liam’s tense expression. Forget it, we’re divorced anyway. What’s the point of saying it now? Shaking my head, I stepped around them, ready to leave. A couple walking toward me bumped into me. Smack! My purse fell, its contents spilling all over the ground. Liam’s pupils contracted. He immediately rushed to help me up, asking with urgent concern: “Are you okay? Does your stomach hurt? Our ba—” The rest of his sentence died in his throat. The man’s gaze was locked onto the miscarriage report lying on the ground.

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I liked my wife. I liked that she was a Bishop, I liked that our merger solidified the market share for both our conglomerates, but mostly, I liked that she was clinically, obsessively fastidious. Camilla had germaphobia. She treated physical contact with the grim necessity of a surgeon scrubbing in. Her boundaries were electric fences. So, when I watched her peel a jumbo shrimp at the company gala—stripping the shell with bare, manicured fingers—and drop the pink meat onto her male assistant’s plate, I didn’t make a scene. I didn’t say a word. I simply went home, stopped by the fish market on the wharf, and bought ten pounds of raw, unpeeled shrimp. When she arrived at the penthouse, I dumped the icy, grey pile onto the marble dining table. “Peel them,” I said, my voice smooth as aged scotch. “Since you enjoy the labor so much.” A woman without boundaries is like a bad investment: if she can’t be corrected, you liquidate the asset and move on. After all, I have my own compulsions about cleanliness. 1 When I walked into the private dining room at Le Bernardin, a boy I didn’t recognize was already sitting there, using his own fork to spear a piece of sea cucumber from Camilla’s plate. Not a serving spoon. His fork. I smiled, nodding to the board members, but my eyes locked on the boy who hadn’t bothered to stand up. The sales director next to him looked nervous. “This is Mr. Montgomery. Our President’s husband.” The boy finally stood, wiping his mouth with a napkin. He had that soft, artfully messy hair that Gen Z seems to favor. “Hello, sir. I’m Rory, the new executive assistant. First time meeting you. Please take care of me.” I looked down, hiding a smirk, and didn’t take the bait. I just took the nearest seat. I went through the motions—the small talk, the corporate pleasantries—but my attention was a laser focused across the table. I watched Camilla eat the sea cucumber Rory had contaminated. Then, I watched Rory stare helplessly at a large langoustine on the seafood tower. He bit his lip, his eyes wide and pleading as they drifted to Camilla. Camilla frowned, just slightly. Then, she pulled on a pair of plastic gloves, cracked the shell with efficient grace, and tossed the meat into Rory’s bowl. I narrowed my eyes, pulled out my phone, and texted Arthur, our house manager. Buy ten pounds of shrimp. Boil them. Leave them on the dining table. Just as I hit send, Rory, who had been quiet, suddenly spoke up. “Mr. Montgomery, I honestly envy you. You have such a good life. You married a powerhouse like Ms. Bishop, and now you just get to stay home and enjoy the fortune. Unlike us corporate cattle, slaving away just to survive.” I looked up. My gaze lingered on his young, symmetrical face. “You’re definitely new,” I said, my tone dry. “Your manners are nonexistent.” Rory froze. He clearly hadn’t expected the trophy husband to bite back. Immediately, his face crumbled into a look of practiced vulnerability. “I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just unfiltered—I speak from the heart. Please don’t hold it against me.” His eyes dropped explicitly to my Patek Philippe and my custom Armani suit. “It’s just… seeing you so well-dressed, spending so freely… it makes my heart ache for Ms. Bishop. She sacrificed so much to get the company to where it is today.” I couldn’t help it. I laughed. I propped my chin on my hand and just looked at him. The rest of the table, however, looked terrified. The Product Director slammed his glass down. “What the hell are you saying? Do you think Mr. Montgomery is some idle socialite? In this room, we call him Mr. Montgomery out of respect, but out there, he is CEO Montgomery.” Rory blinked, looking genuinely lost. The sales manager next to him whispered harshly, “Mr. Montgomery and Ms. Bishop are a merger of two dynasties. He is the sole heir to the Montgomery Group. Stop talking before you get us all fired. Apologize!” Rory’s face went pale. He bit his lip, and his large, doe eyes filled with instant, misty tears. He looked at Camilla for rescue. Camilla met my amused gaze. She shook her head, a sigh escaping her lips. “Apologize to him, Rory. Watch your words in the future. Learn the hierarchy. If you don’t know, ask.” Rory turned to me, his voice trembling. “Sir… I’m sorry.” I stood up, not bothering to look at him. “I have another engagement. Enjoy the rest of the meal.” It was 10:00 PM when I finished my own meetings. Camilla was waiting for me in the underground garage, leaning against the hood of her Maybach. She opened the passenger door for me, same as always. The drive to our estate in the Hamptons was quiet, the air conditioning humming a steady rhythm. When we got home, she went to shower. When she came out, wrapped in white silk, I dumped Arthur’s ten pounds of shrimp onto the table. They were cooked perfectly, piled high in crystal bowls, stretching the length of the table. A grotesque buffet of pink. Camilla looked at the mountain of shellfish, then at me. I smiled, warm and terrifying. “Honey. Peel them for me.” 2 “Did you not eat enough at dinner?” Camilla asked, bewildered. “Why buy so much? You can’t possibly eat all this.” She reached for the bell to summon Arthur. “Stop,” I said softly. “I want you to peel them. With your own hands.” Camilla paused. A flicker of annoyance crossed her perfect features. “Declan, you know I have germaphobia.” “Do you?” I leaned back, loosening my tie. “Because tonight, I watched you peel shrimp for your little assistant with remarkable dexterity.” She froze, then let out a breathy laugh. “Oh, is that what this is? You’re jealous?” She sat beside me, draping an arm over my shoulders, the scent of her expensive body wash filling the space between us. “I rarely see you possessive. I thought the great Declan Montgomery was always unflappable.” She kissed my forehead, patronizing and sweet. “He’s just an intern, Declan. He’s fresh out of college, knows nothing about the world. He speaks without thinking. I just saw a kid struggling and helped him out. If it bothers you, I promise I won’t do it again.” I looked at her face. We had been married three years. She was thirty now, and time hadn’t touched her; it had only refined her, like polishing a diamond. I reached up and touched her cheek. “Camilla, do you know why I chose you out of every eligible heiress in New York?” She tilted her head. “Because you were clean,” I said. “Your parents told me you hated physical contact with strangers. That you were obsessive about your boundaries.” “It was perfect. Because I’m the same way.” I held her gaze until her smile faltered. “Our marriage is a binding contract between the Montgomery and Bishop empires. We have a good partnership. But I expect this marriage to remain sterile. Efficient. Clean. Whether it’s you and me, or our companies, I need things to run without contamination. Don’t disappoint me.” I stood up, bent down, and kissed her lips. “Peel the shrimp. Consider it penance for letting another man breach your perimeter. Be a good girl.” I went to bed early. I don’t know when she came to sleep. The next morning, the dining table was covered in bowls of perfectly peeled shrimp meat. Camilla was gone—an emergency board meeting, Arthur said. Arthur stood silently by the table. “You have a big family, Arthur?” I asked. “Yes, sir.” “Take these home. My wife peeled them by hand. They should be very clean. Don’t let them go to waste.” Life returned to normal. The incident felt like a blip, a dash of vinegar in an otherwise bland dish. If anything, she was more attentive. I didn’t have the time to track who she interacted with. I was running the Montgomery Group; I had acquisitions to finalize. A month later, she came to pick me up for a family dinner at the Bishop estate. As the car pulled up and the window rolled down, I didn’t see an empty seat. I saw Rory’s smiling face in the passenger seat. I frowned. 3 “Hi, sir! You look dashing today!” Rory seemed oblivious to the temperature drop in the air. He beamed, radiating that toxic mix of naivety and entitlement. Camilla’s expression was neutral. She didn’t see the problem. I didn’t smile. I walked to the passenger side, opened the door, and stared at him. “Get out.” Rory’s smile froze. “Sir… Ms. Bishop was just giving me a ride home. It was on the way. I get carsick in the back.” He turned, casting a desperate look at Camilla. Camilla looked at me, saw the set of my jaw, and decided this wasn’t the hill to die on. She stayed silent. “Get out,” I repeated. “Let Mr. Montgomery sit,” Camilla finally said. Rory bit his lip, eyes glistening, and climbed out with dramatic slowness. He reached for the back door handle. “Who said you could get back in?” I asked. Rory stopped. I reached into my breast pocket, pulled out two hundred-dollar bills, and stuffed them into his shirt pocket. “Can’t afford an Uber? Life is tough. Here. This covers it. Go home. Safe travels.” Camilla looked uncomfortable. “Declan…” I turned to her, smiling brightly. “Camilla, this reflects poorly on you. If your staff is so destitute they can’t afford a ride, that’s a failure of leadership. Starting tomorrow, raise the travel stipend for all level-three employees by 10%. Bill it to the Montgomery Group.” Rory’s eyes were now brimming with tears. He had the ‘brave victim’ look down to a science. “Sir,” his voice trembled. “I may be poor, but I have dignity. You can’t just use your money to humiliate me because you’re the CEO!” I laughed. I actually laughed. “You’re too poor for a cab, so you mooch off your boss, but me paying for your ride is an insult? Does your dignity require the CEO personally chauffeuring you to remain intact? That’s some expensive dignity. In the time we’ve wasted here, your boss and I have made millions. How do you plan to reimburse us? With your personality?” I scoffed, ignored his flushed face, and got into the car. Slam. Camilla started the engine in silence. In the side mirror, I saw Rory standing on the curb, biting his lip, looking like a discarded puppy. The silence in the car was heavy. I let it sit there. “He rents an apartment near the estate,” Camilla said eventually. “It really wasn’t out of the way…” “Camilla.” I met her eyes in the rearview mirror. “I told you I liked your cleanliness. Because I have boundaries too.” “Peeling shrimp for another man? Strike one. Putting him in my seat? Strike two.” “I give everyone around me three chances. You have used two.” “My standards aren’t high. Keep your distance from other men. Maintain the perimeter. It isn’t hard.” “Don’t disappoint me again.” 4 She didn’t speak again. I didn’t care if she was sulking. I grew up an only child in a dynasty; I never learned to walk on eggshells. We arrived at the Bishop estate. I took her hand as we walked in, looking every bit the power couple. “You know this marriage is bigger than us,” I murmured as we approached the door. “If you don’t want the stock prices to tank tomorrow, smile. We’re adults. Don’t be childish.” I was smiling, but my voice was ice. Camilla forced a tight, camera-ready smile, and we walked in. My mother-in-law, Eleanor Bishop, greeted me with a hug. “Declan! You get more handsome every time I see you. Sit next to me.” The dinner was loud and lively. The Bishop clan was large. Eleanor kept piling food onto my plate. “The joint venture is moving fast,” she said. “You’re doing incredible work, Declan.” “We’re family, Eleanor. It’s what we do.” Eleanor’s expression shifted. She turned to Camilla, who had been pushing food around her plate. “What is wrong with you? Why aren’t you talking? Take care of your husband.” “You two were talking shop,” Camilla muttered. “I didn’t want to interrupt.” Eleanor tucked a strand of grey hair behind her ear. “I heard you hired a new assistant. A troublemaker?” Camilla’s fork hit the china with a clink. She looked from her mother to me. Eleanor continued, casual as a shark. “I called HR. He’s fired. An intern with no skills and no sense of place? Useless. I gave him three months’ severance to go away.” Camilla slammed her fork down. “Mother! I run the company now. If you want to fire my staff, you go through me!” Eleanor calmly placed a prawn in my bowl. “You’re good at strategy, Camilla, but you have a blind spot for strays. You’re young. You’re soft.” She looked at her daughter with steel in her eyes. “The Bishop-Montgomery alliance is the bedrock of our future. When we chose you as heir, it was because you were rational. You knew how to assess value. Don’t lose your edge.” I ate my dinner, smiling pleasantly, saying nothing. The ride home was tense. The moment we stepped into our foyer, Camilla spun around. “We need to talk.” Her voice vibrated with suppressed rage. 5 I walked to the powder room to wash my hands. “Talk.” “Did we have to involve my mother in our marriage?” I dried my hands on a fresh towel and looked at her. “You think I went crying to your mommy?” Camilla’s eyes were dark, colder than I’d ever seen them. “Didn’t you? Declan, I can tolerate your arrogance, but bullying a kid? Getting him fired? You’re pathologically jealous.” I narrowed my eyes. I was starting to realize that perhaps my assessment of her intellect had been generous. “You went too far,” she continued. “You humiliated him, and you undermined my authority in my own company. You know I hate interference!” “Are you finished?” I cut in. “Are you angry because your mother overstepped, or are you angry because your pet boy got his feelings hurt?” “I’m angry because you refuse to admit you’re wrong!” she shouted. “Wrong?” I stepped into her space. “Wrong for not applauding when you blurred the lines with a subordinate? Wrong for not stopping your mother when she saw a leech and salted it?” “Or was I wrong for not divorcing you the moment you peeled that first shrimp?” Camilla flinched. I stepped back, looking her up and down with genuine disappointment. “Camilla, I told you. Three strikes. You just struck out.” She stormed out that night, slamming the door. The cold war began. I didn’t chase her. The Montgomery Group was expanding into Europe; I didn’t have time for tantrums. A week later, I saw the photo in the Post. Camilla, attending a high-profile charity gala. On her arm was Rory. He was wearing a tuxedo that cost more than his student loans, a diamond brooch sparkling on his lapel. They looked like a couple. A power couple. I stared at the photo. I nodded. Then I called my legal team. “Draft the papers. Full separation.” The merger was complex, so the divorce would be a surgical extraction. We were deep in the clauses when Eleanor called. 6 “Declan, what is this nonsense in the papers?” Eleanor sounded frantic. “It looks like a fight,” I said, flipping through the draft agreement. “It looks like Camilla isn’t clean anymore.” “She lost her head,” Eleanor pleaded. “I will make her apologize. I will fix this.” “No need, Mrs. Bishop,” I said. “The divorce papers are being couriered to your estate. Review them.” “You can’t be serious!” “I am.” “Declan! Over a trifle? Over an assistant?” “It’s not a trifle. I gave her three chances. She failed. I don’t make exceptions.” “Think about the stock prices! Think about the scandal! You are a son of the Bishop family by marriage—you can’t just walk away because of some boy! Think of your father!” I laughed, a low, dark sound. “Mrs. Bishop, let’s be clear. Outside this house, people call you ‘Mrs. Bishop.’ But they call me ‘Mr. Montgomery.’ I am the head of my house. I don’t answer to anyone.” “You chose to live in your husband’s shadow. I chose to own the sun. I don’t need to explain myself to you, or my father, or the shareholders. I will manage the risk.” I hung up. I took the papers and drove to the Bishop Tower.

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The year-end performance bonus had finally hit my account, so Gary and I went to celebrate at that high-end Omakase place downtown I’d been dying to try. I hadn’t even finished my first piece of toro when his mother called. She was hyperventilating on the other end, her voice a jagged edge of panic. “Gary… your father… he’s at the hospital.” Gary practically knocked his chair over as he scrambled to his feet. “What happened? What did the doctor say? Mom, breathe—stop crying and tell me what’s going on.” My mother-in-law began one of her trademark long-winded sagas. It started three days ago when his father bit down on a piece of hard sourdough and cracked a tooth, and meandered through a twenty-minute critique of how “cold and dismissive” the ER nurses were. Finally, she got to the point. “The specialist says his case is complicated. He needs a full set of dental implants.” Gary let out a breath he’d been holding. “Mom, you scared me. I thought it was a heart attack. If he needs implants, he needs them. Just get it done.” There was a pregnant pause. “It’s… it’s expensive, Gary.” “How expensive can it be?” “Twelve thousand dollars.” Gary went silent. I sat there, calmly savoring the delicate sweetness of the sea urchin. For weeks, I’d been living with a tight knot of anxiety in my chest, wondering when the other shoe would drop. Now, finally, the knot unraveled. I felt a strange, cold sense of peace. 1 “Gary? Gary, are you there?” His mother’s voice was so shrill I could hear it from across the table. Gary glanced at me, his voice dropping an octave. “I’m here. Look, I’m out at dinner. I’ll call you back in a bit.” I felt a ghost of a smirk pull at my lips. I’d bet my entire bonus she wouldn’t let him hang up. This was the routine. Every time Arthur and Evelyn needed a infusion of cash, they followed the same playbook. Evelyn would lead the charge with the tears. If Gary folded immediately, the call ended there. If he hesitated, Arthur would take the handoff. Evelyn did the crying; Arthur did the shaming. They’d start piling on the “guilt crowns”: You’re so ungrateful. We sacrificed everything for you. Why are we even alive if we’re just a burden? In the end, Gary always broke. Tonight was no different. I counted down in my head. Three, two, one. “Here, talk to your father,” Evelyn snapped. Gary sighed, his shoulders slumping. In that light, he looked exactly like his father—a man defeated by his own drama. On the other end, Arthur’s voice was a low, martyr-like groan. “Look, Gary, I know I’m putting you in a spot. It’s my fault. I’m the one who didn’t save enough when I was younger. I’m an old man; if my teeth rot out, I guess I’ve lived long enough anyway. Forget it. Go back to your fancy dinner with Nora. Don’t ruin your night over me.” Gary panicked. “Dad, don’t talk like that—” The line went dead. Arthur had hung up. Gary stared at me. I stared at the Omakase chef’s hands. They were precise, elegant, moving with a grace that Gary had lost long ago. I could have eaten thirty more pieces of that yellowtail. It was fresh, melting on my tongue like a dream. But I only got one. Because Gary suddenly slammed his hand on the table. “My father is literally suicidal over his health, and you’re just sitting there eating?” 2 We’ve been married for three years, and I’ve heard variations of that accusation more times than I can count. The first time was three months after our wedding. His parents were walking home from a community gala when it started to pour. Instead of calling an Uber or waiting under an awning, they decided to “tough it out” and walk the two miles in the rain. Predictably, they both ended up with nasty chest colds and took to their beds like they were on their deathbeds. As Arthur put it: “Gary needs to know how we’re suffering.” When I heard, I sent a polite message to the family group chat, telling them to drink plenty of fluids and rest up. The chat stayed silent. No one acknowledged me. That evening, I was excitedly unboxing a new dress I’d ordered for a work event, checking myself out in the mirror. I asked Gary if he liked the color. He exploded. “My parents are bedridden, and you’re playing dress-up? How can you be so selfish? So cold?” The vitriol in his voice stunned me. He stormed out and didn’t come home that night. Back then, I was still deeply in love with him. Being called “cold” by the person I adored felt like a knife to the gut. I spent the night agonizing over it. Was I a bad person? Did I lack empathy? They had colds, for God’s sake. Was I supposed to drive three hours to hold a thermometer? I ended up sending them each a $500 “get well” check, telling them to treat themselves to some nice takeout and whatever they needed. Arthur cashed it instantly and called me “his favorite daughter.” Evelyn followed suit, praising my “good heart.” I didn’t say anything, but a hollow feeling started to grow in the pit of my stomach. The next morning, Gary was in the kitchen making me breakfast, wearing his “I’m sorry” face. “I’m sorry, babe,” he said, flipping a pancake. “My parents told me I overreacted. It’s just a cold. But—” his tone shifted, “we have to look at the big picture. Why did they get wet? Because they don’t have a reliable car. If they had a decent SUV, this wouldn’t have happened, right?” I stayed quiet. “I found a used RAV4,” he continued. “It’s only eight grand. It would give them so much independence.” Eight thousand. It wasn’t a sixty-thousand-dollar luxury car. It seemed… reasonable? I nodded. Gary hugged me, promising the money would come out of his personal savings and I wouldn’t have to worry. But for the next six months, he didn’t contribute a dime to the mortgage or our shared bills. I was annoyed, but every time I tried to bring it up, I felt like I was being “petty” about money. I told myself he was just a “good son.” Marriage is about support, right? He was broke; I had a good career. It was only natural for me to carry the load. Except the “emergencies” never stopped. 3 A year later, Gary closed a big deal at work. A $45,000 commission. I was ecstatic. I made a spreadsheet showing how we could pay down a huge chunk of our mortgage. Cutting that monthly interest would change our lives. Gary was all in. He kissed me, calling me his “brilliant, practical wife.” But the very next day, a neighbor from his hometown called. Apparently, Arthur had climbed onto the roof to fix a shingle and “fell,” breaking his leg. Evelyn, in her rush to help him, had “thrown out her back.” Now, they were both “incapacitated.” We rushed down to their house. Arthur was lying in bed with a pristine white cast, looking like he was auditioning for a Victorian tragedy. Evelyn was clutching her waist, sobbing rhythmically. The relatives were already there, circling like vultures. “It’s a disgrace,” one aunt hissed. “Leaving your parents in this old, drafty house while you two live it up in the city.” “If a neighbor hadn’t checked in, God knows how long they would have lied here,” a cousin added. “Gary, don’t let a woman turn you into a man who forgets his own flesh and blood.” “And Nora… I don’t know how you sleep at night, living so far away when they’re in this state. You’re part of this family now, aren’t you?” I felt the heat rising in my face, the shame heavy and suffocating. Gary kept his head down, his eyes red, promising over and over that it would never happen again. Arthur waved a weak hand, coughing for effect. “Now, now, don’t blame Gary. He’s busy. He can’t just take time off work for his old man…” Evelyn wiped her eyes. “He’s right. We’re fine. If something happens… well, I guess that’s just our fate.” They clung to each other, weeping silently. It was a masterclass in emotional blackmail. Gary dropped to his knees by the bed. “Mom, Dad, come live with us in the city. I’m not letting you stay here.” He looked at me, his jaw set. “It’s settled.” I opened my mouth to protest, but the words died in my throat. How do you say ‘no’ to a man kneeling in front of his “dying” parents? 4 Our three-bedroom house suddenly felt like a cage. Arthur and Evelyn insisted on having their own rooms. Arthur took the master bedroom because the “natural light” was better for his recovery. Evelyn took the second bedroom because of the “airflow.” As for Gary and me? Arthur had a suggestion. “If you knock down the wall between the living room and the office, you could make a very nice, large sleeping area.” It was absurd. I fought with Gary that night, our voices echoing through the thin walls. I didn’t care if they heard. I wanted them to live with us, sure—but I didn’t want to be a guest in my own home. By morning, the guest rooms were empty. They’d left a note saying they were heading back to the “village” because they didn’t want to be a “burden.” But of course, they got “lost” on the way to the bus station. The police called Gary at 2 AM. The three of them had a tearful reunion at the precinct. Gary begged them to stay. He tried to pull me down to my knees with him. I just stared at him like he’d lost his mind. As I turned to walk away, Arthur spoke up. “Look, Gary, we really do want to go home. Your place… it’s just too small. We can’t breathe. But… if you had a little extra cash, maybe we could just renovate the old house? Make it safe?” Gary agreed on the spot. He wired them forty thousand dollars that night. When I confronted him, he turned on me with a cold, sharp edge. “Nora, I know you have thoughts, but shut up. Just this once. Was that your money? No. It was my commission. Stop being so possessive over things that aren’t yours. It’s my money, and I’m taking care of my parents. What is wrong with that?” I was speechless. He softened his tone then, sensing he’d gone too far. “The house is a death trap, Nora. You saw it. Once it’s fixed, I can finally focus on us. Just forgive me this once. I’ll find another way to cover the mortgage.” He was usually so good to me. He did the laundry. He cooked. When my own mother was in the hospital, he was there every night, bringing her favorite soup without me even asking. He was a perfect husband—unless his parents were in the room. I forgave him. Again. 5 They didn’t renovate the house. They took that forty thousand dollars and used it as a down payment on a three-bedroom condo in the suburbs, with a fifteen-hundred-dollar monthly mortgage. “The medical facilities are better here,” they explained. Gary was blindsided. “Who’s paying the mortgage?” he asked. Evelyn looked at him like he was thick. “You are, honey. We’re old. How much longer do we have? Eventually, the condo goes to you anyway. You’re just investing in your own future.” So, we bit the bullet. Again. After that, things were quiet for a while. But it was the silence of a predator waiting in the tall grass. Soon, the “micro-transactions” started. They needed a part-time housekeeper because Evelyn’s back was acting up (500 a month). They found a “miracle” supplement that promised to add ten years to their lives (800 a bottle). They needed a specialized orthopedic mattress ($3,000). Every time, Gary hit ‘send’ on Venmo. “They worked hard their whole lives,” he’d say. “They deserve a little comfort. Since I can’t be there to take care of them, the least I can do is provide.” I wanted to point out that they were only fifty-five. I wanted to point out they’d never saved a dime in their lives. I wanted to tell him to stop subsidizing a lifestyle we couldn’t afford. I said nothing. Gary was like a programmed machine. Mention his parents, and he’d glitch into this unrecognizable, irrational version of himself. He makes $120k. I make $100k. We eat at the office cafeteria. We buy clothes on clearance. We spend our vacations at my mom’s house to save money. We should be thriving. But after three years of marriage, our joint savings account had less than five thousand dollars in it. Arthur and Evelyn were like leeches attached to our jugular. Every time we gained a little ground, they’d suck us dry. And Gary wasn’t just letting them do it—he was holding the straw. I was working sixty-hour weeks, enduring a toxic boss, all to build a life that he was dismantling behind my back. He was an anchor, dragging me into the depths of his family’s dysfunction. The clarity hit me in a single, sharp moment. One second I was texting Gary to complain about his mom’s latest request, and the next, the exhaustion just… evaporated. It was replaced by a cold, hard realization. This marriage was over.

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