Category: English

When they found her, her body was covered in scars, and a camera mounted across from her had recorded ten solid hours of torture. Yet, the three trust-fund kids who destroyed her were walking free, arrogant as ever. I watched the news with a completely blank expression. That night, I scaled the wall and broke out of the state psychiatric hospital. 01 Nurse #18 didn’t come to deliver a sunflower today. No one to bother me. Logically, I should be happy. But for some inexplicable reason, the irritation grew stronger and stronger, so loud it drove me to the edge of losing control. My eyes went bloodshot. I violently smashed a glass against the wall. In an aggressive stance, I scrutinized every living thing in the room. Finally, with steady, ruthless precision, I caught a rat. The little nurse had said that human life isn’t something to be trampled on. Not just other people’s lives, but my own life, too. Both are equally precious, she claimed. She was always saying these baffling things, trying to “redeem” me. She even said she wanted to be my friend, calling me Chloe the very first time we met. What a ridiculous, stupid girl. My hands didn’t stop moving. I easily disposed of the rat. The crimson staining my palms was warm, seemingly trying to soothe my nerves. But the suffocating irritation didn’t lessen; it multiplied. Whispers from the hallway suddenly drifted in: “She just graduated… how could something like this happen?” “Ugh, I don’t even have the stomach to open that video. After those three animals ruined her, they actually recorded it.” “The worst part is, I heard those scumbags got released without a scratch.” I walked toward them, cutting off their conversation. “Is #18 on vacation today?” In the three years I’ve been locked up here, this was the first time I willingly initiated a conversation with anyone. I tried to soften my features, even forcing out what could loosely be considered a smile. But they still scattered in terror, dropping a phone on the linoleum floor. I twitched my lips. Figures. They claim they don’t discriminate against patients, but once they heard I had blood on my hands, the entire staff treated me like a plague. I didn’t have to deal with their hypocritical faces, which usually gave me some peace and quiet. But this year, that fresh-out-of-college Nurse #18 showed up. Every single day, she shoved a sunflower into my hands, smiling brightly as she declared we were going to be friends. She was so annoying. I threw away all those ugly flowers. I hated her. I hated the carefree dimples on her cheeks when she smiled. But where did she go now? It’s not that I cared about her. I just needed to confirm she’d never come back to bother me again. My gaze fell on the dropped phone. The footage playing on the screen made my pupils violently contract. The victim on the screen was #18. The camera was zoomed in perfectly on her face. Her eyes were trembling, her pupils dilated to the extreme. I was all too familiar with that look. It meant the person was in a state of absolute, paralyzing terror. The young girl was dragged into an obscenely expensive black SUV. The sunflower in her hand was swatted away impatiently by a man, its yellow petals scattering across the concrete. The camera locked onto her face, documenting the most agonizing, vile things a human could endure in this world. At first, she was screaming and crying her heart out. Later, the three men got annoyed that she was too loud. With a swift slice of a knife, they made sure she’d never speak again. At the very end, a man’s frustrated voice cursed from off-camera: “Damn it! How is she this fragile? She’s dead already?” She was tossed out of the car like a broken, blood-soaked ragdoll. “According to our investigation, the victim, Sunny Davis, walked this route every day to visit a local flower shop…” “The suspects mapped out her daily routine, ambushed her on this road, and subjected the victim to ten hours of torture…” So #18’s name was Sunny. Such a stupid name. It fit her perfectly. If she hadn’t gone out of her way to buy me those stupid flowers, wouldn’t she be fine? I watched the entire video with a deadpan expression, my hands continuing to dissect the rat. But the paring knife suddenly felt incredibly heavy. No matter what I did, I couldn’t make a clean cut. I even accidentally nicked my own fingers. Hurting myself while using a blade was something I never tolerated, something that never happened to me before. But now, it happened just like that. Why? Was it because of Sunny? It felt like a blunt knife had been violently shoved into my chest. It wasn’t a sharp pain, just impossibly heavy, crushing the breath out of my lungs. Even more uncontrollably, this heavy grief started from my heart and spread out through my limbs. It hurt so much. I didn’t understand why I was feeling this. I threw the mangled meat onto the floor, grabbed my head, and screamed. The birds in the trees outside scattered in a panic. Panting heavily, I slowly raised my head. In a row of identical, sterile cubicle-like rooms, my room stood out like a sore thumb. In this dreary, gray-and-white asylum, only my room was bursting with massive splashes of bright yellow. I had told a tiny lie. Those sunflowers I supposedly threw away? I actually sneaked out and picked them all back up. Like a thief who had stolen her whole life, I finally had a treasure to call my own. After the initial disbelief came the cowardly fear; I wanted to hide them all away so no one could take them. But now, someone had plundered and destroyed even this tiny sliver of bright yellow. How dare they? 02 “Police alert: A patient has escaped from the state psychiatric facility.” “According to records, it is Chloe Miller, the violent offender who strangled her biological father to death three years ago…” Listening to the radio in the cab, the corners of my mouth curled into a mocking smile beneath my mask. My eyes dropped back to the files in my hand. Out of the three animals, Hunter Vance was the first to strike. He was the one who dragged Sunny into the car. A silver-spoon brat who had grown bored of his endlessly smooth, privileged life. He would pay any price chasing cheap thrills and morbid curiosities. My smile deepened. This kind of brainless brute was the lowest tier of trash in our circle of psychos. Dragging a massive suitcase, I walked right into the VIP club where Hunter was partying. I found his private booth and heard the noise inside. “I want a thrill! A real thrill, do you get it?! Not cheap trash like you who just shake it for a few bucks!” I kicked the door open and walked in under the stares of the entire room. Hunter froze for a second, then grabbed a glass bottle and hurled it at my head. “Who the hell are you? You dare crash my booth?” I sidestepped it easily and spoke with a half-smile. “Mr. Vance doesn’t need to know who I am.” “You just need to know I have a thrilling game. Guaranteed to satisfy you.” Flushed with alcohol, Hunter pushed the bottle girl off his lap, eyeing me with sudden interest. “Oh? What kind of fun do you have?” I opened the suitcase, pulled out a packet of powder, and dumped it right into his glass of liquor. “Drink this, and you’ll fall into a deep sleep for one hour.” “I’ll pack you into this suitcase and take you to a one-hour trip to paradise.” “I just wonder if Mr. Vance has the guts to take a gamble?” Hunter stared at the spiked drink, narrowing his eyes, seeming to hesitate. I took a step forward, locking eyes with him. “Don’t tell me you’re scared?” “The Vance family owns half this city, and with a dozen witnesses right here, do you really think I could kidnap and sell you?” “I wouldn’t be scared even if the Grim Reaper himself showed up!” Hunter sneered, grabbed the glass, and downed it in one gulp. I laughed along with him. Laughing at his stupidity. Laughing at his ego. I thought I would have to waste a lot of breath, or even physically force it down his throat. I never expected that, in his pursuit of a “thrill,” he would hand his life over to me so easily. Right in front of his wealthy frat-boy friends, I folded Hunter into the suitcase. I easily lost his bodyguards in the alleyways. Now, he couldn’t fly away even if he grew wings. 03 When Hunter woke up, I was boiling down pork rinds and animal bones. He realized his clothes had been stripped off, leaving him in nothing but his boxers, strapped tightly to a metal chair. He immediately flew into a panicked rage: “Where the f*ck did you take me, you crazy bitch?!” “Hey! Are you deaf? I’m talking to you!” “How many lives do you think you have to dare tie me up?!” I paused my stirring, turning around in annoyance. “You’re so loud.” I grabbed a meat cleaver, casually sharpened it twice against a stone, and walked toward him. Hunter glared at me mockingly and spat on the floor. “Who are you trying to scare? Come on! Let’s see if you actually have the guts to do it…” Before he could finish, the blade flashed. “Mmph… mmmph!” He stared at me in absolute horror, realizing he could no longer make a sound. I spat back at him, turning around with a deadpan face. If I hadn’t promised Sunny, I would have just ended him right here. Hunter let out muffled, agonizing wails from his throat. True terror finally broke across his face, and the sharp stench of urine pooled beneath his chair. “Not enough.” I shook my head, playing with the cleaver in my hand. I severed the tendons in his arms and legs, ensuring he would never walk or fight back again. The timer on the stove chimed perfectly. I smiled. The collagen was finally ready. Using massive amounts of boiled gelatin and silicone polymers, I crafted a meticulously detailed, hyper-realistic silicone mask exclusively for Hunter. Even his closest friends wouldn’t be able to recognize him. I knocked out the newly-faced Hunter and dressed him in fresh clothes. Then, I took him to find the second animal: Silas Montgomery. 04 In the video, Silas was the elegant psychopath. He used the most brutal, calculated methods to leave those horrific wounds all over Sunny’s body. He had a very handsome face. Even though he was a disgusting monster on the inside, that good-looking exterior made him incredibly popular. According to the files, Silas played the field, but the truth was, he was completely impotent. He could only find release through torture. He would bring his dates back to a secluded mansion, where he would subject them to an array of medieval torture devices. He seemed like he had a brain, but not much of one. Which played right into my hands. I dumped Hunter right on Silas’s doorstep. When Silas opened the door and saw the incapacitated stranger, he froze for a long time. He looked around, hesitated, but ultimately couldn’t resist the temptation and dragged Hunter inside. I smiled from the shadows. Such a beautiful, unconscious, physically helpless plaything. It was a fatal temptation for Silas. It was criminal psychology; it was baked into his DNA. Not to mention the Montgomery family spoiled him rotten. Even if he caused a disaster, his family would always wipe his ass for him. He couldn’t turn this down. Checking the time, Hunter would be waking up very soon. When he opened his eyes, he would find his role completely reversed—from the abuser to the meat on the chopping block. And his partner in crime, his twisted best friend, would be standing over him with tools, just like they did to Sunny. He would try to scream and explain, only to realize the organ for speech was missing. He would try to fight back or run, only to find his limbs were dead weight. In that moment, his helplessness and terror would be magnified to the absolute limit. The violence he inflicted on Sunny would be returned a thousandfold upon his own flesh and mind. Wasn’t this the ultimate thrill he was chasing? Thinking about this, I only felt he was getting exactly what he deserved. I had promised Sunny I wouldn’t get innocent blood on my hands again. But I never promised I wouldn’t borrow someone else’s knife to do the killing. Underneath the silicone mask, I had embedded a micro-camera. Right now, it was live-streaming the interior of the mansion to the entire internet. Just as I imagined, Silas was meticulously picking out his tools. Exactly like they did to Sunny. Silas used them, one by one, on Hunter. He had absolutely no idea the lamb on his slaughtering table was his best friend. Hunter’s body was rapidly covered in brutal wounds, but he had nowhere to run. Backed into a corner with no escape, Hunter let out terrified, whimpering sobs from his throat. He watched helplessly as everything he had done to others was visited upon him. Comments flew across the live stream. [I can’t even watch, is this legal to broadcast?] [Wait, isn’t that Silas Montgomery? The rich kid from the nurse torture case on the news?] [Am I seeing things? Is Silas pressing a branding iron to that guy’s face?] Under the intense heat, the adhesive on the silicone mask melted, and the fake face sloughed off. The entire internet was stunned. Silas’s hand froze in mid-air. He stood there, completely paralyzed, as if struck by lightning. By the time the Vance family arrived, Hunter was already dead. The wounds on his body were unimaginably cruel. Hunter was the sole male heir of the Vance family, destined to inherit their empire. The look the Vance patriarch gave Silas was like looking at a dead man. But just when everyone thought the Vance family would tear Silas to pieces in court, Silas was once again released without charge. Rumor had it the Vance family proactively signed a letter of forgiveness. The internet was completely baffled. Until three days later, when Silas’s remains were found in the wilderness. He had been eaten alive by wild dogs, stripped clean down to the skeleton. Watching the news broadcast of the Vance family offering their “condolences” to the Montgomery family, I scoffed. The Vance family was sloppy. If anyone bothered to dig a little deeper… They’d find out that those “wild dogs”… Came directly from the Vance family’s private breeding kennels. 05 The only one left who hurt Sunny was the last man: Adrian Pierce. His file was completely blank. In Sunny’s video, Adrian never lifted a finger. He just sat in the center seat, high and mighty, coldly watching those two rabid dogs tear Sunny apart. Clearly, he wasn’t interested in Sunny, nor did he care if she lived or died. So why did he instigate those two to attack her? What was his ultimate goal? I stared at the photo of those cold, detached eyes. He looked as if he cared about nothing, yet simultaneously obsessed over something. He was infinitely more terrifying than trash like Hunter and Silas. But I wasn’t in a rush to make my move. Someone as smart as Adrian—with Hunter and Silas dying back-to-back, he would easily guess someone was pulling the strings from the shadows. With the instinct of a fellow predator, I simply waited in my apartment for him to come to me. One day, two days. On the third day— The doorbell rang. I opened the door to find a face even more vividly melancholic and handsome than the photo. Adrian’s eyes were brimming with a smile. Like an old friend he hadn’t seen in years, he casually strolled into my home. He said, “Chloe, long time no see.” I smiled back and poured him a glass of water. “Long time no see.” 06 Adrian and I were old acquaintances. The first time we met was in his father’s basement. Back then, a tiny version of me was pinned against a wooden table, enduring the absolute worst malice a grown man could offer. I didn’t know what I had done wrong. All I knew was that my biological father had wagged his tail like a dog, begging the Pierce family for favors. He packaged me like a gift and delivered me straight to the Pierce family’s basement. Adrian hid by the doorway, watching his father abuse me. The look in his eyes shifted from initial curiosity. To utter fascination. Finally, one day, he stood behind his father, raising a heavy blade high in the air. Without hesitation, he drove it straight through his father’s back, piercing his heart perfectly. He didn’t do it to save me, of course. He did it because he wanted to possess me exclusively. He traced my face, obsessively whispering that I looked exactly like his late older sister. He wanted to lock me up and keep me forever. I docilely leaned my cheek into his palm and whispered my poison. “Little master, true control doesn’t come from ropes. It comes from taming.” “If you let me go, and I willingly come back to find you, only then will I truly belong to you.” He agreed. I will forever remember what my biological father said when I walked through the front door. “Why are you back? It’s a massive blessing that we could latch onto the Pierce family, stop throwing tantrums.” I smiled and told him not to worry. I said I just came back to celebrate his birthday. I gifted him a ridiculously expensive leather belt. Then I cooked dinner myself and served him a bowl of soup. “Happy birthday.” My dearest father. While the paralytic in the soup kept him from moving a single muscle, I used the belt I gifted him to take his life in the most agonizing way possible. I demanded the cops perform an autopsy. I wanted to see if his heart was black, or made of ice. Ironically, for a man who took pride in selling his own daughter, his heart was still warm and red. Adrian never got to see me return. Because I was diagnosed with severe schizophrenia and the cops locked me away in the asylum.

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After moving into my new place, I was added to a strange group chat. The people in the chat loved to roleplay as animals to communicate. Every day, I lurked in the chat, reading their conversations with intense amusement, but I never spoke. Until one day, a mouse got into my apartment. I posted in the group: “Does anyone know a reliable exterminator or pest control service nearby?” A few moments later, someone named AAA_Orange_Cat_Exterminator tagged me. [Two cans of wet food. Non-negotiable.] [The cat is at your door. Open up.] Outside my door, there actually stood an orange tabby cat. 01 On the very first day I moved into my new apartment, I was dragged into a bizarre group chat. The group was named Maplewood HOA Community Chat. Every member’s profile picture was a cute, random animal. At first, I didn’t think much of it. I just assumed the property manager added me to make sending community announcements easier. Until one day, I accidentally glanced at the chat log. Evil_Fleece_Monster: [Damn it! I got caught sneaking snacks, and my mom smacked my butt. I’m going to chew up her slippers tonight.] British_Gentleman: [Useless! How can you let the pooper-scooper assert dominance over you?] [Image: “I am the Emperor” Meme] Golden_Chubby: [I have a question. When you guys drink water, does the water ever feel… spicy?] British_Gentleman: [Idiot! Your water fountain probably has a short circuit! Kick it over immediately.] Sweet_Little_Cheese: [My mom wants to clip my nails! 911! Someone call 911 for cats!] I watched the chat with intense fascination for a long time. I figured this was just a bunch of the neighborhood kids being highly active online. Roleplaying as their pets to chat. Honestly, watching their adorable, dramatic conversations was pretty therapeutic. Suddenly, a new message popped up. [I think a stranger got into my house.] [Image: Dog secretly observing from a corner] The profile picture was a husky puppy. Judging by his previous messages, I always assumed he was a four- or five-year-old kid. My heart tightened. I was just about to ask if he was home alone. When the other group members started questioning his intelligence. [Are you SURE it’s a stranger?] [Another stranger? The last ‘stranger’ that broke into your house was just your dad wearing a different jacket.] [911! I’ll call 911 for you!] I hesitated and decided not to tag the property manager just yet. A second later, the little husky replied: [Hehe, never mind! It was just my dad wearing a medical mask. As a reward, I’m going to pee in his room tonight.] False alarm. I thought it was hilarious, but at the same time, a faint, lingering feeling told me something was… slightly off. 02 One evening, I got home late from a job interview. The moment I flicked on the living room lights, a black shadow darted across the floorboards. My heart skipped a beat. I was just about to crouch down and check under the coffee table. When a massive rat charged directly at my foot. I screamed and jumped onto the coffee table. Terrified, I immediately typed a frantic message in the group chat. [A rat got into my apartment! Does anyone know a reliable exterminator nearby who can come immediately?! Online waiting! Urgent! Urgent!] [Meow? Rat? What’s a rat?] [A rat is a fast little toy that squeaks when you bite it. My dad doesn’t let me play with them.] [Are you new here? I haven’t seen you before. Why is your profile picture a human? What species is your family?] Can’t a profile picture be a human? What do you mean, ‘what species is your family’? I didn’t have time to overthink it. The squeaking sounds were making every hair on my body stand up. I quickly opened Yelp to search for an emergency pest control service. Right then, someone tagged me in the group chat. AAA_Orange_Cat_Exterminator: [Two cans of wet food. Non-negotiable. Arriving immediately.] [The cat is at your door. Open up. Meow.] That fast?! I opened the front door. The hallway was completely empty. Just as I was about to close it, a sharp meow caught my attention. An incredibly polite orange tabby was sitting on my welcome mat, its front paws neatly tucked together. As we made eye contact, a completely unbelievable thought surfaced in my mind. “Are you… AAA_Orange_Cat_Exterminator?” The orange cat meowed twice. A message popped up in the group chat. [It is the cat.] [Two cans. Starting work immediately.] I found it so absurdly funny that I reached out to pat its head. The orange cat tilted its head, dodging my hand. [Meow meow meow. That costs extra. Head pats are half a sausage.] 03 I didn’t own any pets, so naturally, I didn’t have any cat food. I negotiated with Mr. Orange to use four sausages as payment. He licked his paws and agreed. But he demanded an installment payment plan. Deal struck. The incredibly agile Mr. Orange tracked the target from the living room straight into the kitchen. Aside from accidentally knocking over a glass of water I had left on the counter… The extermination service was successfully completed. Worried I’d be scared, Mr. Orange placed the dead rat out in the hallway. [Human. The cat accidentally broke your cup. The cat will deduct one sausage from the fee.] I shook my head. [A deal is a deal. Four sausages, not one less. But… can I get one free head pat?] Mr. Orange let out a soft, sweet meow. He lowered his head and rubbed it affectionately against the palm of my hand. Before leaving, he told me that if I ever needed him again, I could just call him in the group chat. It wasn’t until the apartment was completely quiet that I finally snapped back to reality. It felt like I was dreaming. The animals in the Maplewood HOA Community Chat were actually real animals. Those profile pictures… were their actual faces. 04 No matter how magical and surreal last night’s experience was… When the sun rose the next day, I still had to hustle across this unfamiliar city for job interviews. I lived on the 12th floor. When the elevator stopped on the 10th floor, a guy walked in holding a husky on a leash. He looked familiar. To clarify, I mean the husky looked familiar. I stared at the dog unblinking. Sensing my gaze, the dog stared right back at me unblinking. The guy noticed us having a staring contest. “Do you two… know each other?” I frantically waved my hands. How was I supposed to explain that I thought his husky was the one from the group chat? I couldn’t exactly ask him, Hey, did he pee in your room last night? Just then, a notification popped up from the Maplewood HOA Community Chat. My_Dad_Calls_Me_Einstein: [I just saw a lady in the elevator. She looks familiar, like I’ve seen her somewhere before. Hehe, she smells so good. I want to be petted.] Evil_Fleece_Monster: [Stupid dog!] British_Gentleman: [Stupid dog!] I tentatively reached my hand out, and sure enough, the husky eagerly nudged his head into my palm. The guy gave me a look that clearly said, And you claim you don’t know each other? While petting the dog, I asked gently, “What’s his name?” “Max.” I crouched down and gently squeezed his paw. “Hi there, Max.” The guy: “…” “My name is Max!” I looked up, mortified. “I am so sorry! I wasn’t thinking.” Max’s face turned slightly red. “It’s my fault for not realizing. His name is… Meatball.” My_Dad_Calls_Me_Einstein: [Einstein! Lady, my name is Einstein! My stupid dad forgot my name again! Hit him! Hit him! Hit him!] Einstein immediately stood up on his hind legs and started throwing paws at Max right there in the elevator. Max cursed at the “stupid dog” while trying to block the hits. I stood to the side, laughing while trying to break up the fight. 05 After running around all morning, I interviewed at three different companies. The results weren’t looking great. I decided to head home first to grab a bite to eat. While walking back along the street, I noticed a pet supply store with a “For Lease” sign in the window. Thinking about the Maplewood HOA Community Chat, a bold idea flashed through my mind. Wasn’t this the ultimate, direct line to consumer demand? If I could be my own boss, why would I want to be a corporate wage slave? I quickly calculated my savings, contacted the current owner on the spot, and took over the lease. Then, I started dropping promotional messages in the group chat. [Does anyone like this new little toy?] [We just restocked new biscuits, freeze-dried snacks, and treats! Tell your pooper-scoopers to bring you to the store for free samples!] The moment those promos dropped, the group chat exploded. No dog or cat had ever posted video advertisements in the chat before. They instantly realized I was different. British_Gentleman: [It’s a human! It’s a human! It’s a real human! A human infiltrated the chat!] [Image: “The Emperor Has Fallen” Meme] AAA_Orange_Cat_Exterminator: [The cat already told you guys last time…] Sweet_Little_Cheese: [Human, can you tell my mom that I don’t like getting my nails clipped?] At first, the pets in the group were stunned by my human identity. But once they realized I meant no harm, they quickly got used to it. They even started frequently asking me to pass messages along to their owners. So, I launched a special promotion. Any customer who spent over $100 in a single transaction would receive one free “Pet Consultation” session. 06 My very first customer was Max. He bought a 20-pound bag of dog food and a few chew toys for Einstein. “Can you actually communicate with them?” I gave a non-committal smile. He raised an eyebrow, smirking playfully. “Alright, then ask him this: He eats way too much, and his dad can’t afford him anymore. Ask him if he can go out and get a job to support himself.” I waved Einstein over, taking the opportunity to grab my phone. A moment later, I suppressed a laugh and said, “Ein… Meatball says that if you’re out of money, it’s okay. He can go out and eat poop. And he can take you with him. He said he’ll eat the base of the poop, and you can eat the pointy top.” Max looked down with an utterly indescribable expression. Einstein stared back up at him with eyes full of absolute, earnest devotion. “You stupid dog! After all the blood, sweat, and tears I sacrificed to raise you, this is how you repay your old man?!” Max violently ruffled the dog’s head. My_Dad_Calls_Me_Einstein: [???] [I gave Dad the best pointy part of the poop, and he’s STILL not happy! He’s bullying a poor dog! Hit him! Hit him! Hit him!] Einstein stood up on his hind legs, wildly swinging his front paws, and started brawling with Max right in the middle of my store. I have no idea how a dog learned to throw hands like a boxer.

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I glared at the five-year-old munchkin at my feet and viciously swapped his glass of milk for a cup of pure, unsweetened kale juice. From then on, he wasn’t allowed to be a picky eater. If he wanted a pet, he was on litter box duty. Later, when he applied for college, I even secretly altered his applications. Years later, the villain achieved massive success. I thought my doom had finally arrived. Instead, he stood before the media and said, “The person I want to thank the most is my mom. Her love accompanied me as I grew up, and she guided the direction of my life.” Wait a minute, did something go wrong here? 01 After I died of an illness, the System let me transmigrate as a villain’s wicked stepmother so I could continue living. But the catch was: I couldn’t break character. This was a gritty urban thriller novel. The five-year-old standing before me, Oliver Vance, was destined to become the ultimate villain who would one day ruin the male lead’s family. And the primary cause of his twisted psychology was me. His wicked stepmother. I thought about it for a moment. I really didn’t have any experience being evil. I simply interpreted it as: Don’t let him have it too easy. So, I looked at the little guy sitting properly in his chair, quietly drinking his milk. I snatched the cup away from him and handed it to the nanny. “Swap this for pure kale and wheatgrass juice. The more bitter, the better.” The little guy was stunned for a second, a white milk mustache still clinging to his upper lip. He glared at me furiously, but didn’t dare speak. When I transmigrated, this body had already been married into the Vance family for over half a year. According to the original plot, after I realized that Arthur Vance—the villain’s father—rarely came home, I gradually tore off my gentle mask. I started tormenting and framing little Oliver in every way possible. At first, he fought back, but how could a kid win against an adult? Every time he complained, I’d double down, falsely accusing him and twisting his words. After long-term emotional abuse, he had learned to swallow his anger and stay silent. Now, all I had to do was carry on this legacy. With a little bit of my own flair added in. Oliver had probably never tasted pure kale juice in his life. His little face scrunched up into a tight ball, and he instinctively stuck his tongue out in disgust. My heart melted at how cute he was, but I forced a cold tone. “Drink it all!” Making a kid drink gross health juice is basically cruel and unusual punishment. How is this not a form of abuse? I was doing a phenomenal job as an evil stepmother. Thinking of this, I couldn’t help but let out a sinister laugh. 02 After breakfast, the nanny was getting ready to take Oliver to preschool. I frowned when I saw him dressed in cheap, worn-out clothes. “Why are you dressing him like that on purpose?” “Didn’t you say before that we shouldn’t feed a child’s vanity, and that it’s better to keep him low-profile?” Tsk, tsk. The original owner of this body was truly wicked and manipulative. She actually wanted to use this method to crush Oliver’s self-esteem. But she completely miscalculated. What do kids in preschool know about being rich or poor? At this age, a kid’s biggest fear is being isolated and left out. Thinking of this, I immediately ordered the nanny to change Oliver into a tailored baby Armani suit. I even added an adorable little bow tie. Then, I had the driver pull out the most expensive, flashy Rolls-Royce from the garage. I had to make absolutely sure he became the most extra, stand-out kid in the entire preschool. Hate the rich! Let them all hate the rich! I suppose my behavior was a bit too different from my usual self. Right before leaving, little Oliver anxiously pursed his lips and asked softly, “Why are you doing this?” I crouched down and let out a villainous cackle. “Because I’m evil!” Oliver was so scared he took a step back. I lunged forward and planted a massive kiss right on his chubby little cheek. He covered his face in horror. I took the opportunity to threaten him. “Hurry up and say goodbye to Mommy, or else when you get out of school this afternoon, I’ll personally come block the preschool gates.” After living with the original owner for half a year, he probably hated my guts. Kissing him and forcing him to call me Mom was basically tap-dancing on his last nerve. But he had no choice but to submit. Watching Oliver clamp his mouth shut and run out the door, I felt I was being villainous beyond measure. 03 After Oliver went to school, I started wandering aimlessly around the massive mansion. The novel stated that Arthur Vance was always busy with business, often disappearing for weeks at a time. I was purely a wife he married just to have someone look after Oliver. He deposited a $500,000 allowance into my account every single month. He probably thought a massive allowance would make a stepmother treat his kid well. He didn’t realize it only fueled her greed instead. Thinking of this, I sighed and asked the System, How long do I have to keep up this evil persona? The System replied: The wicked stepmother has a crucial scene where she secretly alters Oliver’s college applications, forcing him to go abroad where he experiences even darker things. So, your persona must be maintained at least until Oliver takes his SATs and applies for college. A rough calculation meant I had at least thirteen years left. Although living as a billionaire’s wife meant every day was a blessing, having to maintain an evil persona every single day was exhausting. So, I decided to go on a crazy shopping spree to comfort myself. 04 As the sky began to dim, the driver pulled up right on time at the gates of the private preschool. Oliver hadn’t said goodbye to me when he left this morning. If I said I was going to pick him up, I had to follow through. I needed to establish my absolute authority. Let him know the true terror of his wicked stepmother. I have to say, this elite private preschool looked like a literal castle. Not long after, a teacher led a group of munchkins out the doors. They waddled around, finding their respective parents. I decided to sit quietly in the car for a moment. I planned to pop out and give Oliver a jump-scare right when he started panicking that his parents forgot to pick him up. But to my surprise, the moment the teacher walked away, several kids surrounded Oliver. I could vaguely hear them teasing him about “Mommy… picking you up.” Oliver kept his head down in silence. Those kids started jumping around him, clapping their hands and laughing. Me: ??? Hold on, are we bullying now? As a certified evil stepmother, I immediately swooped in to ruin their fun. “Hey, why aren’t you brats going home? Did your parents abandon you? Is that it? Are you unwanted?” I pulled the surrounded Oliver behind me and glared viciously at the group of kids. Yes, exactly like this. I’m going to alienate all of his little friends. “Who are you? Are you the liar’s big sister?” Being called a big sister made my heart flutter a little. But I immediately snapped back, “Who’s a liar? Didn’t your teacher teach you manners? I am Oliver’s mother! Our Oliver doesn’t like you, and you’re not allowed to play with him anymore.” “Oliver’s mom? His mom is the nanny, I’ve seen her! She doesn’t look like you. He lied and said she wasn’t his mom. He’s just a vain liar, we don’t want to play with him anyway!” What kind of messy preschool drama was this? “I am Oliver’s mother!” I angrily raised my fist, and the group of bratty kids immediately scattered, giggling as they ran off. At that moment, Oliver, who had been standing behind me, tugged at the hem of my shirt. He looked up at me, his big eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Thank you for coming to pick me up today.” Wait, is something wrong here? Why is he thanking me? 05 I guess my tactic of establishing authority actually worked. Once we got home, Oliver was unusually obedient. Not only did he trot behind me like a little duckling, but during dinner, he actively helped me peel my shrimp. He carefully placed the peeled shrimp into my bowl. Seeing I hadn’t moved to eat it, he made sure to emphasize, “I washed my hands.” I picked up my fork. Delicious. “Good peeling. Your reward is to peel a few more for me.” Little Oliver pursed his lips to hide a small smile, lowered his head, and earnestly went back to peeling shrimp. Eventually, I was too full to eat anymore, and the rest of the shrimp ended up in his tummy. Having eaten too much for dinner, it was time for some physical activity. Considering my evil persona, what better exercise than tormenting a child? I dragged my eighteen shopping bags into his room. I waved at Oliver, who was currently playing with a Rubik’s Cube. “Come here. Try on some clothes.” Oliver’s clothes were usually custom-tailored and delivered directly. He had probably never done a fitting session before, so at first, he was super excited. He even smiled, showing his cute little canine teeth. Until later. He choked back a sob, “Please… I can’t try on any more…” “But we haven’t even tried the bumblebee, the penguin, the little duckling, or the monster onesies yet.” Oliver went silent. Wearing a green dinosaur onesie, he just stood there, looking at me with teary eyes. Me: … Fine. Evil plan continued, switching to the next project. 06 When it was time for bed, I decided to inflict my final torment of the day on Oliver. I forced him to stay in my room to sleep with me. After he changed into his pajamas, I handed him a storybook. “Read a story to Mommy. Coax Mommy to sleep.” Oliver stared blankly, as if unable to comprehend how an adult could be this shameless. But he still took the book. “Once upon a time… a queen sat at an… o-pen win-dow, doing needlework for her daugh-ter.” Me: … I forgot the kid was only five and didn’t know many words yet. But this gave me an inspiration. Most kids love playing and absolutely despise studying. A lightbulb went off in my head. A truly sinister plan began to form. Beside me, Oliver was still stumbling through the book. He obviously knew he was struggling with the words, and seeing me staring at him, his little face flushed bright red, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I… I… I can read it to you tomorrow, okay?” I let out my villainous cackle and snatched the book away. “Lie down. Now it’s Mommy’s turn to read you a story. Tonight’s story is called Snow White and Her Seven Stepmothers.” An absolutely terrifying horror story. In the end, I have no idea if Oliver fell asleep, but I managed to put myself to sleep telling it. In my hazy state, I felt something soft press gently against my cheek. A tiny voice whispered, “Mommy.” 07 The next morning, while Oliver was at school, I put my “Tiger Mom” plan into motion. Advanced phonics, Kumon math, French, piano—I scheduled it all. I hired the strictest tutors and bought the thickest workbooks. I fully expected that when Oliver got home and found out, he would feel like the sky was falling. To my surprise, he adapted perfectly. He put extra, intense effort into learning to read. A few days later, as I was walking past the study, he poked his little head out and read aloud, loudly and fluently: “Once upon a time, a queen sat at an open window, doing needlework for her daughter.” After reading it, he looked at me with a face full of expectation. To encourage him, I decided to reward him by letting him read me bedtime stories every night to put me to sleep.

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My husband was known as the untouchable, ascetic billionaire of New York’s old-money elite. For three years of our secret marriage, he was cold, distant, and never spared me a second thought. Until a video of him passionately kissing his “first love” inside his car was leaked. That was when I realized he also had a side that couldn’t control his passions. It just wasn’t for me. Later, that first love came to my door to provoke me. During the scuffle, I fell down the stairs, resulting in a premature birth and severe hemorrhage. That night, rumors spread through elite circles that the untouchable heir had stepped down from his pedestal, standing in an endless blizzard, bowing with every step to a secluded monastery to beg for my safety. But I only handed him a divorce decree. Dark red blood seeped from his forehead, his voice trembling: “Don’t divorce me, the child needs a father.” I slowly pulled my hand from his grip: “There’s no need. I can raise this child perfectly fine without a father.” 01 Ten minutes before the video of Arthur Vance and Bianca Sterling passionately kissing in his car was exposed, I was holding a press conference. Announcing my temporary hiatus from acting. I had just won Best Actress last month. To suddenly step away at the peak of my career sent the room into an uproar. Countless microphones were shoved in my face. “Olivia, could you tell us why you’re stepping away from the industry?” “Paparazzi caught you at an OB-GYN clinic recently. Are the pregnancy rumors true?” “Who is the father of the child?” I tilted my head, smiling for the cameras. Resting a hand on my slightly rounded stomach, I was just about to answer them one by one. Suddenly, someone gasped. “Look at the trending topics! Bianca Sterling’s new romance is exposed!” My eyelid twitched. The room erupted into chaos. The interview was abruptly cut short as my manager, Jessica, pulled me backstage and shoved her phone into my hands. The trending topic was a video, only a few seconds long. A rainy night. The window of a Maybach rolled halfway down. Bianca, wearing a vintage silk slip dress, was nestled softly in a man’s embrace, eagerly offering up her red lips. A hand, wrapped with a string of wooden prayer beads, was possessively resting on her slender waist. The atmosphere was intimate and deeply romantic. #SilkFairyAndAsceticBillionaireCarKiss# #BiancaAndArthurSoSweet# #HeIsUntouchableButBreaksHisVowsForHer# These hashtags completely crushed the news of my hiatus, rocketing to the top three spots on the entertainment charts. Jessica’s face was livid. “This Bianca bitch. It wasn’t enough for her to steal your endorsements and roles, now she has to steal your spotlight too.” She lit a cigarette, speaking without thinking in her sheer rage. “Olivia, your husband is an elite billionaire too, right? Tell him to step up and warn Bianca. I highly doubt she’d dare to be this arrogant if he put her in her place.” I kept my head down, remaining silent. It wasn’t until the phone screen automatically went dark, reflecting my own pale, ghost-like face. Only then did I manage to force a sentence out of my dry throat. “My husband… is Arthur Vance.” Drop. The cigarette slipped from Jessica’s trembling fingers and hit the floor. 02 Very few people in the industry knew I was Arthur’s wife. The Vance family firmly believed I was a shameless gold digger who had actively seduced Arthur, so they strictly locked down the news of our marriage. But that wasn’t the truth. Three years ago, I attended a gala event. Afterward, an investor came over for a toast. Completely off guard, I drank a glass of champagne laced with a powerful aphrodisiac. As I was being dragged to a hotel room, I dug my nails into my palms, using every ounce of my strength to break free from the investor’s grip. Stumbling and dizzy, I pushed open the ajar door of the room next door. “Help… help me.” I curled up in the corner, soft whimpers escaping my lips. A man walked out of the bathroom, heavily intoxicated. He looked me up and down. Then, he suddenly pulled me into a fierce embrace. “Finally willing to come back to me?” His burning breath brushed against my ear. Before I could even speak, his lips crashed down on mine. … The next morning, the room was bathed in bright daylight. I finally saw the man’s face clearly—Arthur Vance. The heir to the Vance Empire, hailed as New York’s ascetic billionaire. He was inherently cold, famously disciplined, and untouchable. Yet last night, he was practically feral. I grabbed my scattered clothes and fled as if my life depended on it. I thought it was just a one-night stand, a mistake that would never cross my path again. But that very afternoon, Arthur appeared at my front door. “Miss Olivia Hayes. I apologize, I had too much to drink last night.” He asked for my bank account number and transferred five million dollars into it. “I can take responsibility for you. Consider this your dowry.” On the day we signed the marriage papers, I asked him why he decided to marry me. He said the Vance family had strict morals. He took a girl’s innocence, so it was only right that he took responsibility. I smiled slightly, thinking Arthur must be a decent man. Marrying him seemed like a good choice. Sadly, it wasn’t until this very moment that I finally understood. Arthur married me because of guilt. Bianca and I looked strikingly similar. Drunk and heartbroken, he had mistaken me for her. That was the only reason that absurd night ever happened. 03 Pulling myself out of my memories, I blinked my stinging eyes. I picked up Jessica’s dropped cigarette and threw it into the trash can, along with the pregnancy ultrasound report in my pocket. Jessica hastily tried to stop me. “What are you doing? Aren’t you going to tell Arthur you’re pregnant?” I didn’t answer. My gaze shifted to the phone screen that had lit up again. Bianca was giving a live media interview. Still wearing that vintage silk dress, there was now a string of sandalwood prayer beads wrapped around her pale wrist. I recognized them. They were Arthur’s. I had heard they were a relic left behind by his late mother, meant to be given to the woman he would spend the rest of his life with. I had half-jokingly asked him for them once, only to be ruthlessly rejected. Now, they were resting on Bianca’s wrist. I curled my lips in a self-deprecating smirk. Bianca smiled sweetly at the cameras, intentionally playing with the wooden beads. A reporter asked the obvious question: “Miss Sterling, were those gifted by Mr. Vance?” “Yes, it was him.” Bianca bit her lip, putting on the shy demeanor of a schoolgirl in love. “But Arthur and I are just friends right now.” “Friends who kiss?” She nodded, her eyes welling with tears. “It’s my fault for being young and impulsive back then. After an argument, I left to study acting in Europe without even saying goodbye. Please, media friends, help me persuade Arthur. Tell him not to be mad at me anymore… I mean, we already kissed…” Bianca’s voice grew softer, her eyes turning red like a wronged little rabbit. Incredibly endearing. Naturally, fans and media alike began pleading on her behalf: “Mr. Vance, please forgive Bianca! You two are perfect for each other.” Jessica was so furious she was cursing up a storm right next to my ear. “Damn it, she is shameless!” “Does she not know Arthur is already married?” Of course Bianca knew. The very first movie she shot after returning to the States was a co-starring role with me. One night after filming, she stopped me in the hotel hallway. “Mrs. Vance, are you enjoying married life?” I didn’t understand and was about to ask her what she meant. She just gave me a meaningful smile and walked away. That was also the night Arthur—who was always cold, distant, and never cared about me—unexpectedly showed up at the set to see me. The soundproofing in the hotel was terrible, so I bit my lip tightly. Arthur ran his fingers through my hair, his voice hoarse and coaxing: “Wife, be good… open your mouth…” In our three years of secret marriage, it was the first time he had ever called me “wife.” I was so dizzy with joy, thinking he was finally starting to accept me. But I didn’t realize that Bianca was staying in the room right next to ours. He only came to me to make her jealous. Arthur never loved me. By the time I realized this, I was already three months pregnant. I had originally planned to tell Arthur he was going to be a father right after the press conference ended. But that video beat me to the punch, completely ripping the veil off this sham of a marriage. I used to think Arthur was just naturally cold. When he faced me, it seemed like he was utterly incapable of having emotions. Today I learned he too had moments of uncontrollable passion. Just not for me. Suddenly, these past three years felt like a massive joke. Tears forced their way out, ruining my pristine makeup. Through my blurred vision, a pair of polished leather shoes appeared. Arthur stood there, hands in his pockets, looking down at me from above. His voice didn’t carry a single ripple of emotion: “Olivia, you know everything now.” I knew the real reason he married me. And I knew the real reason he was so cold to me. I wiped my tears, stood up, and slapped him hard across the face. “Arthur Vance, you are a complete bastard.” 04 I booked an abortion for a week later. Aside from Jessica, I didn’t tell a single soul. Not even Arthur. Yet, on the day of the surgery, I was blocked by him in the hallway of the clinic. Arthur stared at me intently for a few seconds. His gaze slowly shifted down to my stomach. “Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?” he asked coldly. I found it hilarious. “Why should I tell you?” “I am the child’s father.” Still that same indifferent tone. No emotion, just stating a fact. A sudden surge of anger hit me, and I snapped back: “Does a cheating husband even deserve to be a father?” That sentence successfully infuriated Arthur. He warned darkly: “Olivia, stop throwing a tantrum.” How was I throwing a tantrum? The private hospital had intense security, so there were no bystanders, but our argument still drew the attention of the nurses. Not wanting to cause a scene, I pulled my mask up higher. The next second, my name was called. It was my turn. I pushed past Arthur and walked into the consultation room. I had barely taken two steps when my body suddenly felt light. I was scooped up into his arms. “Have you made enough of a scene?” Arthur looked down at me. “If you’re mad at me, take it out on me. The child is innocent.” He was holding me with immense strength. I couldn’t break free. Frustrated and desperate, I pounded on his chest. “Arthur, are you sick in the head?! If you want a child, divorce me and go have one with Bianca! What right do you have to interfere with my decision… Ah!” Arthur suddenly let go, tossing me into the back seat of the Maybach. Remembering that in that video, he and Bianca had kissed in this exact spot, my stomach violently churned with nausea. Ignoring my pale, disgusted expression, he gripped my chin and crashed his lips onto mine. A faint metallic taste of blood filled the air. Arthur had bitten my lip. For the first time, he lost control of his emotions because of me. He sneered, “Divorce? Olivia, don’t even dream about it.” I frowned, looking up at him. I completely failed to understand his thought process. He clearly didn’t love me. Why was he still trying to trap me? 05 We sat in a tense, silent standoff. Neither of us spoke. It was early autumn. A cold rain began to fall unexpectedly. Arthur glanced out the window, a flicker of worry passing through his eyes. I followed his gaze and, sure enough, saw a figure in a vintage silk dress standing under a tree not far away. It was Bianca. She had come too. A bitter smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. It seemed Arthur truly, deeply loved Bianca. Loved her so much that even when coming to the hospital to confront me, he couldn’t bear to be apart from her. Through the misty rain, Bianca stared at me stubbornly, her eyes practically dripping with poison. But when she looked at Arthur, she instantly reverted to a pitiful, helpless look, even perfectly timing a delicate sneeze. And Arthur’s heart immediately ached for her. Just as he was about to step out of the car, I deliberately called out to him. “It’s me or Bianca. You can only choose one.” “If you truly don’t want a divorce, then make her hold a press conference right now. Have her publicly apologize to me and admit to intruding on our marriage.” The air went dead silent. Arthur delayed his response, and Bianca stared at him nervously. After three years apart, she knew Arthur still harbored feelings for her, but she wasn’t entirely sure of my place in his heart. She was terrified. Terrified he would agree to my demands. Terrified he wouldn’t want her anymore. I rushed Arthur. “Have you decided?” Bianca panicked. Like a rabbit baring its fangs, she glared at me with pure hatred. “Why should I apologize to you? Haven’t you heard the saying: The one who isn’t loved is the real third wheel.” “So what if you married Arthur? In the last three years, he hasn’t forgotten me for a single day.” As if to prove her point, she raised her hand and waved it in front of me, showing off that string of prayer beads. “You’ve never even worn his family heirloom once. You are truly a failure of a Mrs. Vance.” Her mockery was piercing. In the past, I probably would have fainted from anger. But now, I just looked at her calmly, my fingers quietly tightening inside my pocket. I wanted her to keep talking. The more she said, the better. Bianca noticed my subtle movement and pointed at me, screaming: “Arthur, she’s recording! She’s recording us!” Arthur looked up at me, and I met his gaze. We stared at each other, leaving only silence between us. He hesitated for a long time. Finally, he held his hand out to me. “The phone. Give it to me.”

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By the eighth year of being in love with Sebastian, he still refused to acknowledge me as his fiancée. He stripped me of my red carpet qualification just to please his little kept woman. And in front of the media, using the exact same mouth that had kissed me thousands of times, he claimed that we were “just ordinary friends.” Later, I looked at him and said with absolute seriousness: “Don’t pull away. If you do, we won’t look like ordinary friends.” The corners of his eyes turned red, his voice trembling violently: “An ordinary friend? Is that all I am to you?” 01 When I was notified that my red carpet walk had been canceled, I was in the middle of interacting with my fans online. My hands froze on the keyboard. I looked up at my manager, Sarah, in absolute disbelief. “Why?” She sighed heavily, gently rubbing my wrist to comfort me. “Because some people have powerful backers. I asked around. They said it was Sebastian’s little girlfriend.” My fingers instinctively curled into my palms. Sebastian… was my fiancé. I had been in love with him for exactly eight years. Even his notoriously difficult, aristocratic mother had officially accepted me. But to him, I was still a secret. A woman with no title, no public acknowledgment. Even Sarah didn’t know the truth. 02 When I saw Chloe walking into the venue, her arm securely linked through Sebastian’s, a suffocating, near-death sensation crushed my chest. I knew Sebastian had a childhood sweetheart. She grew up in his elite social circle and was basically treated as the pampered princess of their group. She had gone abroad for high school, but whenever I had dinner with Sebastian’s friends, someone would always bring her up. I opened a WeChat message to one of Sebastian’s friends and sent a photo of him and Chloe walking the carpet. [Is this the girl you guys were talking about?] The person on the other end was clearly panicking. The [Typing…] bubble appeared and disappeared for a full five minutes before a reply finally came through. [Yeah, haha. But I was just talking nonsense back then, don’t read into it! Sebastian probably just thought you’d be too tired to walk the carpet, so he didn’t ask you to come with him. Don’t overthink it, Sister-in-law. Do you want me to ask him for you?] I pressed my lips together and typed back. [Thank you, but there’s no need. I already asked him. It’s fine.] After ending the conversation, I looked toward the front row where the two of them were sitting. If Sebastian turned his head even once, he would see me. He would see his deeply humiliated fiancée. The fiancée he had stripped of a red carpet walk with a single sentence. But he didn’t look back. Not even once. On stage, the host smiled warmly and announced: “And the nominees for Best Supporting Actress of the Year are—” The massive screen behind them cycled through several clips, finally stopping on me, Chloe, and two other actresses. I nervously grabbed Sarah’s hand. Sarah glanced at me and leaned in to whisper: “Let it go. The award is rigged for Chloe. It’s completely meaningless now. It’s a total sham.” My heart gave a violent lurch. The exact second she finished her sentence, the name [CHLOE] exploded across the giant screen. Even the seasoned, professional hosts couldn’t completely hide the brief flash of shock on their faces. Chloe looked around in feigned surprise, until the man sitting next to her leaned in and said something to her. Reading his lips, his first sentence was: “Why aren’t you going up?” His second sentence was: “Didn’t you really want this award?” He used to ask me that exact same question, countless times. Didn’t you really want to win an award? I would always tell him I was going to work incredibly hard for it. And Sebastian would always smile and say: “Okay. I’ll wait for you.” “Keep working hard.” He didn’t wait. As Chloe stood up, the camera swept past the man beside her. Sebastian was clapping, his expression perfectly calm and composed. The hushed murmurs of confusion in the venue instantly died down. He was publicly protecting her. 03 I didn’t even know what expression to put on my face. A brief moment of my composure slipping was instantly captured and launched onto the trending page. #ChloeBestSupportingActress #MayaReaction I clicked on the live feed. It was an absolute warzone. [Her fans are hilarious. They were hyping her up like crazy before the announcement, and now that she lost, they call it rigged? What, does your queen just not want the award?] [Honestly, it’s so hard to watch. She lied to her fans saying she was walking the red carpet, but she wasn’t even invited to walk. Then she looks like she’s attending a funeral when someone else wins.] [She worked so hard for this, is she not allowed to be sad for a second? Leave Maya alone, she didn’t do anything wrong.] [We all know exactly how Chloe got that award. Everyone can see how good Maya’s acting is.] [Don’t make me laugh. Yeah, yeah, our Chloe is just a god. The great CEO Sebastian personally makes soup for our Chloe and stays on set with her all day. Unlike your irrelevant idol, who isn’t even fit to carry Chloe’s shoes.] [Chloe deserves it! She’s skyrocketing straight into high society! Maya will never reach her level in this lifetime.] I stared at the comments, my eyes burning. It felt like something foundational inside my heart was slowly, quietly collapsing. I searched for videos of Sebastian and Chloe together. September 23rd: Chloe on set filming. Sebastian by her side the entire day. On September 23rd, I sent him five messages. He didn’t reply to a single one. The next day, Sebastian replied: [I was busy yesterday.] August 17th: Sebastian photographed carrying a thermos, delivering homemade soup to Chloe. I had practiced making that soup for two months. I had burned my hands countless times. I tasted it over and over, carefully preparing a pot of soup for him, filled with nothing but love. My heart was pounding when I gave it to him. He said: [It’s delicious.] I was ecstatic for an entire day. It turns out… he just handed it straight to Chloe. He could have just told me. Why did he let me feel so incredibly happy for so many days? July 25th: The two of them photographed on a private vacation. That was the day Sebastian gave me a bracelet. I gripped my wrist, squeezing tightly. The freezing, metallic texture bit into my palm. The physical pain stopped my tears from falling. Sarah frowned, looking at me, and suddenly said: “Smile. Don’t look so miserable.” “If you lose this award, you lose it. Your career is still long. You’ll have other chances.” I forced a smile, my eyes blurred with unshed tears. The tears glinting in my eyes startled her. She quickly raised her hand to cover my eyes. She said gently: “It’s okay. You’re still so young. Today isn’t the end of your life.” 04 Sarah arranged for a driver to take me home. Sitting in the car, watching the city lights blur past the window, I couldn’t help but think about the past few years. I had been secretly in love with Sebastian for years, but he had absolutely no idea. He thought our very first meeting was in college. “Oh, you went to Lincoln High too? What a coincidence.” “Yeah, what a coincidence.” Just to manufacture those two short lines of dialogue, I had studied obsessively, burning the midnight oil for three grueling years, over a thousand days and nights. But to him, I was just a junior in his program. One of countless juniors. I manufactured dozens of “coincidences” just to barely earn the title of “friend.” After graduation, he took over his family’s corporate empire. I stubbornly insisted on entering the entertainment industry. The next time we met was at a networking dinner. He was the billionaire investor; I was the third-string supporting actress. “Long time no see. Why did you decide to become an actress?” I said: “Because I love it.” At the wrap party, I found Sebastian smoking alone on a balcony. Separated by a single glass door, the crowd inside was cheering and celebrating. Out here, it was just him. “Are you not having fun?” He was leaning lazily against the railing, resting one arm on the metal. When he turned his face to look at me, he casually crushed the glowing ember of his cigarette into the ashtray. He asked me: “Maya. Are you in love with me?” Love is like a cough. You can’t hide it. I instantly lost my voice. In the eerie, suffocating silence, his gaze burned, sweeping over my face and my body. He let out a scoffing laugh. “Seriously, Maya. You aren’t my type.” Hearing him use my old college nickname instantly dragged me back to that bitter, agonizing period of my youth. A desperate, echoing unrequited love that never received a response. The person I had chased for my entire youth was standing right in front of me. And in a tone that was both incredibly gentle and unbelievably cruel, he told me: “We are never going to happen.” I said: “Oh.” I blinked rapidly, fighting desperately to hold back my tears.

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I’ve always been the sensitive, suspicious type, so after finally getting together with the guy I grew up with, a knot of anxiety was always coiled in my stomach. One day, I happened to see his phone screen light up. A new message notification popped onto the screen: “I’m not trying to be the other woman. I just want to be your puppy.” Beneath the message was a photo. In it, a girl was wearing a very distinctive collar around her neck. Coincidentally, not long after, I found the exact same collar in the trash can of my rich, “it-girl” roommate. I immediately snapped a picture and found the contact info for her mega-wealthy fiancé. I sent him the photo with a simple message: “We’re both being played.” He replied almost instantly, with just one sentence: “Yeah, today’s definitely green.” He then sent a screenshot from a stock trading app. I looked closer and saw the total profit figure was followed by eight zeros. A comment scrolled across my vision, visible only to me: Look at this shady side character, thinking the main female lead wants to steal her boyfriend. Her fiancé is a freaking billionaire, okay? Another one popped up: The male lead is into that bad-girl vibe. The side character running to tattle is just embarrassing herself. Pathetic and poor, and it’ll never change! I completely lost it. I furiously typed back at him: “Are you blind?! I’m telling you your fiancée is cheating with my boyfriend! Why are you flexing your money at me?!” He was silent for a long moment before he replied: “…How about I offer myself as compensation?” The comments section in my head exploded with question marks. 1. My roommate, Julia, was a trust-fund princess. She once offered me a thousand dollars a month to be her personal gofer. I turned her down. But my childhood sweetheart, Liam, took the job. Julia sent me a text: [Hey babe, I’m going on a trip. Borrowing your bf to carry my bags for me.] [Don’t worry, I know your birthday is in three days. I’ll have him back before then, promise.] So disgusting. She called everyone “babe.” Including my boyfriend. On the first day of school, she asked me to carry her bags for fifty bucks. Then, under the pretense of paying me, she got Liam’s number instead. I turned to Liam and couldn’t stop myself from kicking his shin. “You’re my boyfriend now. Can you please stop being her errand boy?” I tried to keep my voice steady. “I’m making enough from my part-time jobs now.” Liam’s explanation was infuriatingly calm. “Julia has a fiancé. She’s not interested in me.” “Sienna, don’t be so selfish. The little money you make barely covers your mom’s medical bills each month. She can’t afford to wait.” He kissed my cheek, a placating gesture. “We’re going to get married and have kids one day. Julia will have her own life. Don’t make a scene.” A comment flickered to life: [Poor people are always so paranoid. Always imagining the rich girl wants to steal their boyfriend. So obsessed with romance.] [Poor Liam. He doesn’t even like the side character. He’s only with her out of a sense of obligation.] I stared coldly at the comments. Of course, I knew Liam didn’t love me. But I was born selfish, and just seeing his face made me happy. He was handsome, he’d always been good to me, and my mom had raised him like her own son. After his parents died young, our family was all he had. Therefore, he could only be with me. After our argument, I went back to my dorm. I opened up my social media and started stalking Julia’s account. She loved to show off. She’d just posted a new update: [So happy! Getting engaged to the love of my life soon! @AX] The comments were flooded with congratulations. At that moment, the darkness in my heart reached its peak. Why did she get to be so happy? She was such a fake. A comment appeared: [Ugh, stop lurking in the shadows, side character. No amount of stalking will make the male lead yours.] [The female lead has strong… appetites. She and the male lead are a perfect match. She doesn’t need to go looking for service from a side piece.] I latched onto two pieces of information. The female lead was cheating. And the male lead didn’t know yet. My eyes lit up. I casually followed the male lead’s account. Time to throw a wrench in the main characters’ perfect love story. [LMAO, did the dumb side character not realize his account is private? He has to approve follows.] [That’s why the female lead is so confident tagging her fiancé on social media. In this world, there are plenty of girls willing to be the other woman for money.] [Alexander Segel only follows the female lead. Give it up, side character.] 2. A private account? I stared at the screen. A wicked idea took root. I scrolled back to one of Julia’s earliest posts bragging about her relationship. Alexander Segel rarely replied to her. His one and only comment had been upvoted by their couple-shippers to the top spot. AX: [It’s a business arrangement.] He had posted a picture of the engagement rings. The comments said the woman’s ring cost over thirty thousand dollars. This male lead had never shown his face. Julia had never shown us a picture, either. For someone who loved to show off as much as she did, the lack of photos was suspicious. Maybe he looked like a toad! My dark speculation began. Julia had replied to a fan in the comments: [Guys, please don’t follow my fiancé. He made his account private because he’s afraid of girls trying to add him.] [He’s just so handsome, you know? A lot of girls in our circle were after him, but I was the one who won his heart.] [His grandfather even gave me an heirloom bracelet.] The comment section filled with envy: [That sounds like a serious family heirloom, probably worth enough to buy a house.] [She’s the officially approved daughter-in-law of the Segel family.] [A match made in heaven!] I scrolled to the bottom and gleefully started typing: [Hey cuckold, your fiancée’s running around on you, you know that?] [Get a leash on your girl. Stop her from calling other people’s boyfriends “babe”!] [A cuckold and a cheater. Perfect for each other!] [F***ing losers, both of you!] After my tirade, I immediately blocked Julia. That way, she wouldn’t see my replies to Alexander. My only regret was that my most creative insults were censored by the platform’s filter, so the male lead wouldn’t be able to see exactly what I’d called him. Alexander hadn’t paid much attention to the notification bubble that popped up. His account was usually dead quiet. Since he’d gone private, he might get a few follow requests a month, at most. So, when a rapid-fire series of notifications appeared, he was a little confused. After reading the messages, his face turned livid. In his entire life, he had never been insulted like this. 3. Alexander Segel approved my follow request. His upper-class upbringing prevented him from firing back with profanities. So, he simply asked: [I think you have the wrong person.] I replied instantly: [Nope. I’m talking to you, Alexander Segel. And about Julia.] The comments were merciless: [This side character has zero class! No manners at all!] [The male lead must have been furious to actually follow her back.] [The female lead has always maintained this prim and proper rich-girl image. Without proof, the male lead will never believe she’s a cheater.] [And even if he did know, so what? He’s rich and powerful. He likes a bad girl. He’ll just marry her and tame her.] Alexander sent me a message, demanding I send him proof of Julia’s cheating. He added that if I couldn’t produce it within a month, he’d sue me for slander. I shot back: [That’s not fair. What if I can prove you’re a cuckold? I can’t sue you.] Alexander: […] I scowled: [What’s with the ellipses? So pretentious.] Alexander stared at the ID: [CottonCandy]. A sweet name. Her profile was full of dance videos. She was a small-time streamer who never showed her face, but her replies to her fans were always polite. He clicked through the videos, one by one. From her clothes, he could tell her family wasn’t well-off. But she had a great figure and, based on one post, was a student at a good university, so she had a small but dedicated fanbase. Her pinned video was a screenshot of her university admission, followed by a long, profane rant against people who had doubted her. Alexander watched it, a strange expression on his face. In his world, he rarely encountered people with… such a split personality. The background of CottonCandy’s dance videos was a college dorm room. He paused the video. Julia had sent him pictures of her dorm before. This streamer’s bed curtains, and the cute cartoon cotton candy charm hanging from them, were identical to the ones in Julia’s photo. At the time, he’d assumed they were Julia’s and had casually complimented them. Julia had then launched into a long complaint about her roommate. She said one of her roommates was incredibly jealous of her. And that this roommate was always spreading rumors that Julia was trying to steal her boyfriend. It seemed Julia’s roommate was this “CottonCandy.” “CottonCandy” appeared to be desperate for money. Alexander didn’t want those insulting comments seen by anyone else, where they might spread and cause a PR problem. So he replied: [Delete the comments you just posted. If you can prove you’re right, I’ll give you fifteen thousand dollars.] I laughed out loud. [Nice try. Anyone can make empty promises.] [When school started, your fiancée asked me to carry her bags and said she’d pay me fifty bucks.] [And guess what? The money went straight to my boyfriend’s account!] [F***ing losers!] I immediately sent him a screenshot of the chat log. To make sure he didn’t think I’d faked it, I even took a screen recording and sent it again. Alexander watched in weary fascination as CottonCandy sent another string of furious, censored curses. A moment later, the text was replaced by a sixty-second voice memo. A comment drifted by, exasperated: [This girl is something else. When her curses get censored, she just sends a voice memo.] Alexander: [Send me your account number.] My tirade paused. My guard went up instantly. But when I saw the comments warning me not to give him my info… My rebellious streak took over. I sent him my bank account number. Ping! A transfer of $1,500. Whoa, he was a real-life money fountain! [Gold digger! You really lucked out!] Alexander: [Stop swearing. I’ll add another fifteen hundred.] Alexander stared at his phone. He just wanted the barrage of filth polluting his ears to stop. This was the easiest way to solve the problem. CottonCandy sent a new voice memo. He opened it. Unlike the sharp, grating insults from before, this time her voice was soft, with a hint of hesitation. [Really?] If he didn’t know her true nature, he might have thought “CottonCandy” was a shy, sweet girl. He replied with a single, concise word: [Yes.] CottonCandy: [Thank you.] This time, my thanks were genuine. The first-line treatment for my mother wasn’t working. The second-line treatment cost several thousand dollars a day. The three thousand from Alexander, combined with my savings, was just enough to cover the immediate need. I quickly transferred the money to my mom. [Mom, I’m coming home for the holiday weekend. Tell the doctors to start the second-line treatment. Don’t wait any longer.] [Money isn’t an issue!] If it weren’t for my and Liam’s tuition, our family’s finances wouldn’t be this tight. I ignored the hateful comments and Alexander’s messages. I had to get ready for my live stream to earn more money. [She’s just obsessed with money. She’d do anything for it.] [So high-and-mighty, yet so desperate for cash. Doing suggestive dances but too scared to show her face. No wonder people say she must be ugly.] Alexander saw that CottonCandy’s profile picture now indicated she was live. He clicked on it. And then, his brow furrowed. The chat was filled with vile comments. Most of them were from men. They would curse at her, then send a gift worth a few cents and demand she make a heart gesture with her hands. He expected “CottonCandy” to lash out. But he watched as the person on screen did exactly as they asked, even saying in a sweet voice, “Thank you for the gift, boss.” Was she really that desperate for money? She would debase herself for such a tiny amount? 4. DragonSlayer_Bro: [Shake that ass a little more. Put on the tail from yesterday and do it. I’ll send you ten hearts.] I stared at the shared screen on my stream, suppressing the nausea rising in my throat. I was about to put on my usual high-pitched voice to reply when I saw Alexander’s username pop up in the viewer list. My face fell. Damn it! I forgot to block him before I went live! There was nothing worse than your enemy seeing you at your most pathetic. Alexander hadn’t planned on getting involved. But the vulgar “DragonSlayer” and his own name, Alexander, both contained a “dragon” sound in their original language. He felt a strange sense of injustice. Why was he the only one getting insulted today? [AX: Tell him off.] [DragonSlayer_Bro: Who the hell are you? A private account with a level-one badge acting tough? sends 10x Hearts] [Anonymous_User: Dragon Bro is the best!] [AX: sends 10x Rockets] I stared at the gift animation taking over my screen, a bizarre expression on my face. For the first time in my life, a jackpot had fallen from the sky. Five thousand dollars, just like that. The male lead was so rich. I was so jealous. A comment cursed: [Is she trying to play the victim? Don’t let her find out the male lead has a bit of a white knight complex. He loves saving damsels in distress.] [Otherwise, he wouldn’t still feel sorry for the female lead later, even after finding out she’s messing around with someone else.] [On the surface, she’s a pampered princess, but deep down, the female lead is starved for love.] I blinked, processing the new information. No wonder the male lead could tolerate being cheated on. The guy had issues. I rolled my eyes. The female lead was “starved for love”? What about me, starved for both money and love? Julia had two loving, wealthy parents. She was always bragging to me about how amazing they were. How was she starved for love? Being around people like her for too long… I felt like my whole body was sprouting dark, envious mushrooms. Alexander watched the stream, satisfied as he listened to a new string of curses erupt from my end. DragonSlayer_Bro, thoroughly humiliated, left the stream. Thanks to the huge gifts, my stream’s popularity had skyrocketed. Before I signed off, I saw that Alexander was still there. Remembering his “white knight complex,” an idea sparked. I spoke into the mic, my voice deliberately soft. “Thank you all for the gifts tonight. I have to go to work now, bye-bye!” The comments: [??? Side character, what’s with the sob story? You’ve never mentioned working at night before.] Alexander glanced at the time. It was ten p.m. Alexander: [You’re that short on cash?] His question hit a nerve. I glared at the screen, my fingers flying across the keyboard: [Super short, you evil capitalist pig!] [Next time you want me to curse someone out, just transfer me the money directly. Don’t send gifts on the stream. The platform takes a huge cut.] [Someone reported my stream. It’s banned for seven days.] I then sent him a meme I had just made: [I’m very pitiful. Give me money.] He sent another transfer for a thousand dollars. With the note: [Damages.] I replied: [I will find proof of your fiancée’s cheating ASAP and end your cuckold career!] Alexander chuckled and didn’t reply. It was just a cheating fiancée; he didn’t really care. After all, his own parents had separate lovers after they married. He was only concerned about the potential negative impact on his family’s reputation, which was why he’d paid “CottonCandy” to delete the comments. Now, he was simply finding it amusing to tease her. She had a bad temper, but she was easily placated with money. As for his arranged marriage, it didn’t matter who the person was. He just needed to perform the role of a dutiful husband. Alexander saw that Julia had sent him another flurry of video links. He found it incredibly boring but replied to each one. Then, he called his secretary. “Look into Julia’s recent activities. I want to know who she’s been with.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “443068”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When I walked out of that so-called home for the last time, I left the lab report on the table. The one with the leukemia diagnosis. It all started when my sister had a check-up at the hospital where I work. They found something, and as it turned out, my bone marrow was a perfect match. On a dark impulse, I twisted the truth. I told my family I was the one who was sick. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but their reaction was unanimous—and brutal. They were dead set against my sister donating her marrow to me. “Donating is risky. How could we let your sister take that chance?” they said. “This is your battle to fight,” another voice added. “Don’t drag your sister down with you. We all have our fate. You have to accept yours.” Even my sister, Cobie, refused without a second thought, saying she was trying to get pregnant. In that single, shattering moment, I saw it all with perfect clarity. The fragile bonds of our family, already stretched to their breaking point, were nothing but a sham. They had ripped away the last shred of decency with their own hands. And just like that, a strange sense of peace washed over me. There was nothing left to hold on to. 1 When I got the news about the perfect match, I had just found out I was pregnant. My supervising doctor, a mentor to me, pulled me aside, his face grim. If I wanted to donate bone marrow to my sister, Cobie Warren, I would almost certainly have to terminate the pregnancy. He urged me to think it through, to talk it over carefully with my husband. And I did hesitate. We had been trying for this baby for so long, enduring rounds of fertility treatments and endless holistic remedies. When I told my husband, Mark, he was so ecstatic he practically wanted to rent a billboard to announce to the world that he was going to be a dad. How could I possibly give that up? But Cobie was only twenty-nine. She wasn’t like me. She was the golden child, the apple of our parents’ eye, raised in the warmth of their constant affection. If anything happened to her, it would destroy them. So, after a long afternoon of wrestling with my conscience, I decided to go to their house after my shift. 2 When I arrived, they were all gathered around the dinner table, a perfect picture of family harmony. Cobie and her husband were there, along with my younger brother, Terrence, and his girlfriend. The wine was flowing, and laughter filled the room. They were clearly celebrating something. My arrival shattered the idyllic scene. The conversation died. Smiles faded from their faces, and they awkwardly lowered their glasses. Only my mother managed a brittle laugh, feigning warmth as she pulled me toward the table. “We thought you were busy, so we didn’t call. Look at you, just in time for a feast! Sit, sit.” But she couldn’t hide the stiff, distant way she touched my arm. The gesture was all politeness, no love. A sudden, wicked impulse sparked within me. I broke from my usual timid self and turned, gently taking the hand that was hovering over my arm. “Mom,” I said softly. “I’m sick.” Her hand went rigid in mine, but she forced a smile. “Oh. Well, then you should eat up. A good meal cures anything.” She was already pulling away, not even bothering to ask what was wrong. As she moved a chair for me, she deftly slipped her hand from my grasp. Terrence scowled from across the table. “Sophie, did you come here just to ruin the mood? Every time we have something to celebrate, you show up and cast a shadow over everything.” “Cobie just got selected for an international performance tour. Don’t tell me you didn’t know.” I ignored him, sinking into the chair my mother had pulled out. “…I have leukemia.” Terrence’s mouth snapped shut. My mother’s hand trembled as she passed me a pair of chopsticks, and they clattered to the floor. The silence in the dining room was so absolute you could hear a pin drop. Her eyes welled up, and she started dabbing at them with a napkin. From the head of the table, my father, Richard, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. “You need to let your in-laws know,” he said, his voice flat. “They can certainly afford the treatment.” He shot me a disapproving look. “You need to handle these things with a clear head, not storm in here like this. The last thing we need is you scaring your mother into a stroke after you’re cured.” My mother wiped her face and started piling food onto my plate. “Your father’s right. No matter how big the problem is, we can talk about it after you’ve had a good meal.” Cobie chimed in, adding a piece of chicken to my plate with a bright, girlish smile. “Exactly. You get sick because you worry too much. Just eat more, smile more, and everything will be fine.” I didn’t touch my food. My gaze swept over each of them, one by one. “I didn’t come here to borrow money.” “I just came to ask… if Cobie would be willing to donate her bone marrow to me.” The room fell silent again. After a long, tense moment, my father slammed his chopsticks down on the table. “Don’t be ridiculous!” His brow furrowed into a deep, angry line. “Do you have any idea how risky that procedure is?” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “A small risk to save my life… isn’t that worth it?” He stubbornly turned his face away. “We will not let your sister take that risk. Even a one percent chance is a hundred percent if it happens to Cobie.” His answer didn’t surprise me. As the second child, the one who was sent away to be raised by relatives, I knew he’d never truly welcomed my birth, nor my return to the family years later. But my mother and sister… they had always been kinder. Or so I thought. I turned my hopeful gaze to my mother. She was already crying. I looked at her, clinging to a desperate hope that this crisis might finally break through the wall of formality between us. That she might, for once, pull me into an embrace like the ones she so freely gave Cobie. But the words that came from her, spoken through tears, were colder than any I had ever heard. “My child,” she whispered, her voice choked with a sorrow that felt utterly false. “We all have our fate. You have to accept it, no matter how unfair it seems.” She clutched at her chest, her voice thick with tragedy. “How can you be so selfish? Just because you’re sick, you want to drag your sister down with you? If I lose both of my daughters, how am I supposed to go on?” And in that moment, I understood. She wasn’t afraid of losing two daughters. She was only afraid of losing one. Cobie. My last flicker of hope died. I turned to Cobie herself. Ever since I had been brought back to this house, she had treated me with a certain detached kindness. Her words were often patronizing, but I’d always chalked it up to her sheltered, privileged upbringing. At least she would tell Terrence to back off when he was bullying me. So I held on to one final, foolish thread of expectation. But the Cobie I saw now was a stranger. Her usual gentle demeanor was gone, replaced by a face contorted with rage. “Sophie, you’re doing this on purpose!” She shot to her feet, her body trembling as if she had been holding back this venom for years. “I’ve wanted to say this for so long! You’ve always held it against Mom and Dad for sending you away. That’s why you’ve been this… this dark cloud ever since you came back, always finding a way to make everyone miserable.” “You walk around with that timid, wounded act, like you suffered so much. We all know what you’re doing! You’re just trying to make them feel guilty!” Her chest heaved with emotion, as if she were the one who had been deeply wronged. She took a shaky breath, forcing down a sob before she continued. “But there’s a limit to everything! We put up with your little dramas, but this? Asking for bone marrow like it’s nothing? You just want to put Mom and Dad in an impossible position!” “If they say no, you’ll paint them as heartless monsters. If they say yes, they risk losing both of us. How can you be so vicious? Why can’t you stand to see us happy?” As she spoke, she wrapped her arms around our mother, who finally broke down, weeping into Cobie’s shoulder. “Cobie, stop,” my mother cried. “It’s all your father’s fault… he was so obsessed with having a son and a daughter, otherwise we never would have…” She didn’t finish the sentence, but everyone knew what she meant. Otherwise we never would have had you. Terrence stood up too, flanking our mother’s other side. The three of them stood united, their eyes burning with the same shared resentment for me. Cobie lifted her chin, striking a pose of noble self-sacrifice. “Sophie, I won’t let you hurt them. I’m telling you right now, I will not donate my bone marrow.” She held our mother tighter, a proud protector. “This has nothing to do with them. So when the story gets out, don’t you dare say they’re cruel. It’s me. I’m the selfish one. I’m the one who’s afraid Mom will be heartbroken if she loses both of us.” “This is my decision. I refuse to donate. I’ll take all the blame!” She looked as if she were a martyr marching to her execution. My fingers tightened around the lab report in my pocket. I couldn’t help but let out a soft, humorless laugh. After a moment, I locked my eyes on her and asked, each word deliberate and sharp. “Are you sure? You won’t donate, no matter what?” Cobie gently wiped a tear from our mother’s cheek, her expression hardening with resolve. “Never,” she said. “If you want to blame someone, blame me. Don’t take it out on our parents. I’m trying to get pregnant. I can’t be expected to risk my baby’s life to save yours.” Tears of bitter amusement streamed down my face. I gave her a look filled with a strange kind of pity. “You’re right,” I said quietly. “You said it perfectly. You can’t kill your own child just to save someone else.” Cobie, oblivious, turned back to comfort our mother, who was now sobbing uncontrollably, gasping for breath as if she were the one with the death sentence. “It’s all your fault, Richard!” she wailed, collapsing against her children. “You and your obsession with having the perfect family!” My father, having had enough of her accusations, slammed his hand on the table and shot to his feet. He stalked over to me and pulled a thick, ornate envelope from his jacket pocket. He threw it on the table in front of me as if I were a beggar. “Whether you’re really sick or just faking it, take this money and get out.” “If you give your mother a heart attack, don’t blame me for what happens next!” The envelope was beautifully made, clearly prepared with care. I picked it up. On the front, in elegant handwriting, it read: To our dearest daughter, may your tour be a stunning success. Have a wonderful time. I let out a dry, self-mocking laugh and looked up at him. “Giving me this money to save my life… won’t that get in the way of your precious daughter’s little trip?” My father glared at me, his voice devoid of any warmth. “Don’t play games with me. You’re the one who can’t accept her place, always demanding fairness where there is none. Fine. If you want to burn this bridge, I’ll light the match.” “I never wanted another child, but you were born. I still paid to have you raised. You never went hungry, you always had clothes on your back. You should be grateful, not constantly showing up here looking for trouble.” He turned his face away, as if sealing his decision. “I’ve been patient with you for your mother’s sake, but you crossed a line tonight. Don’t be surprised when I no longer consider you my daughter.” The eviction notice had finally been served. The room fell silent once more. They parted, creating a path for me to leave. Every single one of them watched me, waiting for the filth to take the handout and disappear. In that instant, everything became clear. No matter how much I humbled myself, I would never be a part of this family. And frankly, I didn’t want to be. When I looked up again, the cautious, timid girl was gone. I casually tossed the envelope in my hand and slowly rose to my feet. In my heels, I was just as tall as him. I was no longer the little girl who waited anxiously all month for his brief visits. I met his eyes directly and asked quietly, “Since you keep saying you never wanted me, why was I born?” “…Did you lose control? Or am I some other man’s child?” My father’s pupils contracted. He was so stunned he couldn’t speak. His lips trembled for a moment before he raised his hand to strike me. I sidestepped, and he stumbled forward, off balance. I jutted my chin toward my mother. “And you.” “Stop with the crocodile tears. It’s a little late for regrets, isn’t it? If you didn’t want me, why weren’t you more determined back then?” “What, did my father force himself on you? Are you telling me your 180-pound self couldn’t fight him off?” Her sobbing stopped abruptly. The mask of the guilty, long-suffering mother finally cracked. Her finger trembled as she pointed at me, her face flushed with rage. “…You wretched creature! How could two children from the same womb be so different?” Seeing her beloved mother insulted, Cobie burst into dramatic sobs and threw herself into her arms. Terrence lunged at me, trying to grab my wrist. Their partners jumped in, trying to break up the chaos. The dining room erupted. In the scuffle, my father’s hand connected with my cheek. A sharp, stinging slap. My head snapped to the side, and I felt a warm trickle of blood from my nose. “Get out!” my father roared. “From this day on, we are done! The Warren family does not have a disgraceful child like you!” My hand flew instinctively to my stomach. The baby was safe. It was only then that I fully realized the profound, miraculous connection I already had with the tiny life inside me. This was what I wanted, and I would protect it at all costs. I lifted my head, my eyes locking onto his. “Fine,” I said, my voice steady. “You said it. I am no longer a Warren.” He shot me a look of pure disgust, his face a cold mask. “That’s right. I, Richard Warren, said it. My word is my bond.” I wiped my face with the back of my hand. “Good. From now on, we each face our own fate. Whoever comes begging to the other is a pathetic, spineless worm.” My father’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. It was Cobie who screamed back, her voice laced with tears and hatred. “That’s right! Whoever comes begging is a goddamn son of a bitch, and I hope they rot in hell!” “Now get out! Are you trying to kill my mother?” A slow, satisfied smile spread across my face. I pulled the lab report from my pocket and tossed it onto the envelope on the table. “Excellent, Cobie. Remember what you said today.” “And I don’t need this money. You, on the other hand, might find it useful.” 3 Leaving the Warren house, I should have felt elated. The dilemma that had tormented me all afternoon was resolved. I could finally keep my baby without a shred of guilt. The family I had spent years trying to please was finally out of my life. But as I started to laugh, tears streamed down my face. I sat alone at a deserted bus stop. All around me, people were heading home. Only I had no home to return to. My phone buzzed with notifications from the family group chat, a group of over sixty relatives. I opened it to see a new announcement from my father. [Our disgraceful daughter, Sophie Warren, has verbally abused her parents and demonstrated a complete lack of moral character. We have officially severed all ties with her. From this day forward, any debts she incurs or donations she solicits in our family’s name are not our responsibility. Consider this a public notice!] Reading the message, I felt the blood turn to ice in my veins. I couldn’t imagine the sheer, soul-crushing despair I would feel if I were actually the one who was sick. Richard Warren was a ruthless man. But the person he was truly damning to a dead end was himself. The announcement ignited the usually quiet family chat. Everyone wanted to know the gossip. My aunt from my dad’s side probed, [A child not raised by your side is always hard to manage, huh? But the father is still responsible for the child’s failings. You can’t just wash your hands of it.] My other uncle tried to mediate, [Don’t be so rash, Richard. Blood is thicker than water. You’re family. This will all blow over once tempers cool.] Seeing that his announcement wasn’t being taken seriously, Terrence jumped in. [Sophie is sick, and she’s trying to drag Cobie down with her. She’s demanding that Cobie risk her life to donate bone marrow.] [She’s miserable, so she wants my sister to be miserable too. She’s trying to guilt-trip my parents into losing both of their children.] Terrence’s message threw the chat into an uproar. [I heard donating bone marrow isn’t that risky these days?] [If the risk is small, maybe she just wants to live? Maybe she’s not trying to hurt your sister or pressure your parents.] [The poor girl. If the risk really is minimal, maybe Cobie should just do it.] Seeing the tide of opinion turning, Cobie herself made an appearance. [To all my dear relatives, I know we shouldn’t air our dirty laundry in public, but my father posted that announcement because he’s worried you might be taken advantage of.] [Whether the risk of marrow donation is big or small is an unknown. But what is certain is that Sophie will be asking all of you to get tested.] [My father is just afraid that if one of you donates and something goes wrong, it will create a terrible situation. He’s just trying to give everyone a heads-up.] Terrence immediately added to her narrative. [If she comes to any of you, and something happens, our family takes absolutely no responsibility.] That did it. The few relatives who had spoken up for me went silent. No one wanted that kind of trouble at their doorstep. Cobie then added a few more lines, dripping with feigned wisdom and grace. [It’s only human to be afraid of risk. There’s no shame in not wanting to donate. We all have families to think of, parents and children to care for. Honestly, if it were me who was sick, I would never, ever ask this of my family.] To avoid being dragged into the mess, several people quickly chimed in to agree with Cobie. And just like that, my excommunication from the Warren family was sealed. I leaned back on the cold bench, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. Laughing and crying, I took screenshots of the entire conversation and then called Mark. “Honey,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “I’m keeping the baby. Please, come take me home.” 4 I’m sure no one ever looked at the lab report I left on the envelope. Cobie’s social media continued to be a curated stream of perfection. On Mother’s Day, she posted a photo of her and our mother at a spiritual retreat. The caption read: [Our bodies are a gift from our parents. Mom says the best gift I can give her is to take care of myself.] A few days later, I received a good-luck charm, sent by my mother through a third party. That was it. Just a small, impersonal token. Three days before her international tour, she posted a photo of the entire family seeing her off. [A true family only wants to lift each other up. They would never choose to drag you down.] Terrence liked it immediately and commented: [Exactly.] Two days before her tour, she posted a bold declaration. [Goodbye to all the drama and toxic people. This girl is taking flight tomorrow!] The comments were filled with a chorus of support and loving goodbyes from the family. The day before her tour, Cobie’s social media went silent. I wasn’t surprised. That would have been the day she received her own medical report. 5 Cobie’s dance troupe had come to our hospital for their pre-tour physicals. Thanks to my mentor, I knew her results ahead of time. And since he was a leading specialist in leukemia, and several of us in the department had recently joined the bone marrow registry, it was a very neat, very tidy coincidence that I was the first to know about the perfect match… Cobie found me just before the end of my shift. She and Terrence were waiting outside my mentor’s office. “Doctor, there must be a mistake with these results,” Cobie said, her voice tight with anxiety but still trying to sound reasonable and calm. “You see, my sister, Sophie, works in your department. We’ve had a bit of a falling out recently.” “She’s angry that I wouldn’t donate bone marrow to her, so I’m sure she tampered with my results.” At her words, everyone in the office turned to stare. This seemed to bolster her confidence. “So, Doctor, could you please just correct the report for me? My dance troupe needs the health certificate, and my flight leaves tonight.” My mentor pushed his glasses up his nose. “Well…” He chose his words carefully. “A hospital would never make a mistake on a test result this critical…” Before he could finish, Terrence exploded. “You’d never make a mistake? Then why did you let Sophie forge the results? You’d better give me a straight answer, or I’ll sue your entire department into the ground!” I walked in just in time to witness this scene. Terrence lunged at me, shoving me hard. My mentor shot up from his chair, his face like thunder. He grabbed Terrence by the arm and flung him aside. “Call security!” he roared. Cobie quickly plastered on a placating smile. “Doctor, please, my brother is just upset. If you could just change the results… we won’t even press charges against Sophie. I’m just in a hurry. My flight is at 11 p.m.” My mentor looked from her to me, his brow furrowed. “You didn’t tell her the results beforehand?” I crossed my arms. “I left the lab report for them. Apparently, they didn’t bother to look at it.” The smile on Cobie’s face froze. My colleagues quickly formed a protective circle around me, one of them gently touching my belly as they whispered. “I can’t believe you were even considering donating to them after how they treated you.” “You must be a saint. Why would you ever sacrifice your own baby for that ungrateful monster?” Cobie heard their words. She staggered back, collapsing into a nearby chair. Only Terrence was left, still raging blindly. “So, you’re all in on it together! Fine! You just wait, Sophie. Your department is finished! I’ll make sure every single one of you loses your job!” No one in the office paid him any attention. All eyes were on Cobie. A single drop of blood welled in her nostril. Then another. They fell, dark and stark, onto the pristine white fabric of her dress. Cobie’s composure shattered. Her eyes, wide with panic, filled with tears. She frantically pinched her nose shut and tried to cover the growing crimson stains on her dress. She looked up at me, her face a mask of terror and fury. “It was you! You did this!” No one responded. The faces around her were filled with a dawning, terrible pity. And then she broke completely, sobbing uncontrollably as security guards gently but firmly escorted her and her still-blustering brother out of the office. Cobie did not go on her international tour. The whole family scrambled, pulling strings to get her emergency appointments and second opinions all over the city. The results, of course, were all the same. And eventually, they found the lab report I had left behind. Only then did they begin to realize what they had done.

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I stumbled out of the Finance office, my head spinning, my face as white as a sheet. The woman in Finance said the year-end bonus for “Ava Ross” had already been claimed. The paperwork was signed half an hour ago. I tried to tell her that I was Ava Ross, but the look she gave me made it clear she thought I was a liar. I burst out of the office in a daze and ran straight into Mr. Henderson, the head of HR. He asked me what team I was on, then flatly stated that it was impossible for the company to have two employees named Ava Ross. I quickly explained that I was on Team 5, that I’d been with the company for six months, and that all of the team’s performance data was my work. But Henderson cut me off. He said the Ava Ross on Team 5 was the niece of Vice President Croft—a returning graduate with a master’s degree and a complete, verified file. He then warned me not to try and pull a fast one on the company, telling me to think carefully about the consequences. A fast one? I stood there, frozen, my mind a complete blank. Who was it? Who had stolen my name, my achievements, and my hundred-thousand-dollar bonus, and was now brazenly impersonating me? 1 The door to the Finance department clicked shut behind me. I stood in the hallway, clutching my employee ID badge. The plastic card was printed with my name—Ava Ross, Team 5, Operations Specialist. I took two steps back and pushed the door open again. “Brenda, could you please check one more time? Maybe there’s a system error?” Brenda didn’t even look up from her monitor. “Ava Ross, employee ID 20231017. Year-end bonus, one hundred and three thousand dollars, signed for at 10:12 AM this morning. It’s all here in black and white, the wire transfer is complete. What do you want me to check?” “But I was in the weekly meeting at 10:12! How could I have signed for it?” Brenda finally looked up, her eyes scanning me from head to toe. “Then go talk to your team lead. Talk to HR. Talk to anyone you want, just not me. The process on my end is finished. I can’t issue a duplicate payment.” I backed out of the room, my head buzzing. One hundred and three thousand dollars. I had spent six months building our account matrix from scratch, generating over one point two million in GMV. That bonus was mine. I had earned it. I pulled out my phone and checked my bank account. The balance was three hundred and forty dollars. No incoming transactions. So whose pocket did that money go into? I practically ran to the Human Resources department. Mr. Henderson was sipping tea. He set his cup down when he saw me. “Mr. Henderson, my bonus was picked up by someone else. Finance said someone forged my signature—” “Hold on.” Henderson held up a hand. “What’s your name?” “Ava Ross. From Team 5.” He swiveled his monitor around and clicked his mouse a few times. “Ava Ross, Operations Specialist, Team 5, ID 20231017, correct?” “Yes!” “That individual was already here this morning. She signed the bonus confirmation form and collected her payment.” Henderson stared at me. “You say you’re Ava Ross. Then who was she?” “How should I know who she is? I’m Ava Ross! My driver’s license, my bank cards, my—” Henderson pulled a folder from his drawer, opened it, and pushed it across the desk toward me. “See for yourself.” Inside was a complete employee file. The photo wasn’t me. It was a woman with glamorous waves in her hair, flawless makeup, and a designer suit. Name: Ava Ross. Education: University of Manchester, Master’s Degree. Emergency Contact: Jonathan Croft (Relationship: Uncle). Jonathan Croft. The company’s Vice President. “Mr. Henderson, this isn’t me. I was an internal referral from Mark. You guys simplified the onboarding process for me—” “A referral?” Henderson frowned. “There’s no record of a referral in our system. If you’re claiming to be Ava Ross, where are your hiring documents? Where’s your contract?” “I signed a contract! Two copies. One for me, one for the company—” “The only copy the company has is this one.” Henderson closed the folder. “It belongs to Mr. Croft’s niece.” My mouth fell open, but no sound came out. “Young lady, I don’t know what your situation is, but the company’s records are crystal clear. There is only one Ava Ross in Team 5. She has the degree, the connections, and Mr. Croft as her guarantor. If you have an issue with your identity, you can file a formal complaint. But if you’re planning to cause a scene here—” “I’m not causing a scene! I—” Henderson’s phone rang. He answered it. “Mr. Croft. Yes, someone just came in to complain… says her name is also Ava Ross… Yes, of course. I understand.” When he hung up, his face was a grim mask. “Mr. Croft says the company is cracking down on employment eligibility. If you can’t produce valid hiring documents, you should leave on your own. Don’t disrupt company operations.” My nails dug into my palms. “The presentation slides from this morning’s meeting are still on my computer. All the performance data, the dashboard screenshots—” “That’s enough. Go back to your desk for now. HR will investigate this.” Henderson looked down at his papers, dismissing me. I turned and almost walked into the doorframe. Two colleagues from the admin department walked by, shot me a look, whispered something to each other, and laughed. I hurried back to the Team 5 workspace and sat down at my desk, turning on my computer. A pop-up window appeared. “Your account permissions have been changed. Please contact the system administrator if you have any questions.” I tried to open the backend dashboard. My operator account, my data panels, my admin access—all of it was grayed out. I was locked out. I logged into the company’s internal messaging platform. My name was still on the Team 5 member list, but when I clicked on it, the profile picture had been changed. It was now a picture of the woman with the wavy hair. I stared at the screen, my fingers numb with cold. Three days ago, there had been a system-wide maintenance update. IT said they were reassigning backend permissions. It wasn’t an update. Someone had transferred my account, my achievements, all traces of my work, to another “Ava Ross.” My ID, my education, my employment file, my system access. On every possible level within this company, I had been replaced. And the person who replaced me was using my name to walk away with my money. 2 I sat motionless at my desk, replaying the events of the last three months in my head. Three months ago, the IT department sent out a company-wide email about a system data migration. I didn’t think much of it at the time, just reset my password and moved on. But now I remembered—after that “migration,” I’d had trouble logging into the dashboard a few times. Once, a notification popped up: “This account is already logged in on another device.” I reported it to IT. They said it was a system bug and told me to just log in again. I believed them. Even back then, someone was already using my employee ID to access my account. I opened the company directory and searched for “Ava Ross.” One result. The profile picture was the woman with the wavy hair. Department: Operations Team 5. Position: Operations Specialist. Direct Supervisor: David Chen. Start Date: Six months ago. Exactly the same as mine. I searched for my own name again. Nothing. There was only one Ava Ross in the directory. Her. I took a deep breath, stood up, and walked toward my team lead’s office. David was on the phone. He saw me and waved for me to wait. When he hung up, I spoke. “David, my backend access has been revoked, and my name is gone from the directory. Is there some kind of mistake?” David looked puzzled. “Revoked? When did this happen?” “I just found out. The system says my account permissions were changed, and all my data was transferred to someone else’s name.” “Someone else? Who?” “Someone who is also named Ava Ross. David, do you know this person?” He pushed his glasses up his nose and typed on his computer. “Oh… Mr. Croft assigned her here last month. Said she was on loan from the parent company and just needed a temporary placement on my team roster. I thought it was weird that her name was also Ava Ross, but it came from Croft, so I didn’t ask questions.” “A temporary placement? David, she’s using my placement. She’s using my employee ID.” The expression on his face changed. “What did you say?” “Check the system logs. The permission changes from three days ago. All of my performance data, my accounts, my backend access—it was all transferred to this person. She used my name and my work to claim the year-end bonus. One hundred and three thousand dollars.” David was silent for a full ten seconds. “Ava, this… have you spoken to Henderson in HR?” “I did. He said the system only has one Ava Ross, and she’s Mr. Croft’s niece. He told me to show him my employment contract.” “What about your contract?” “I was referred by Mark, so the process was simplified. The company should have my file—” “Let me check.” David picked up his phone and dialed HR. “Hey, Cindy? Can you look up the employee file for Ava Ross on Team 5 for me? Right, ID 20231017… yeah… what? There’s only one file? Okay, got it.” He hung up, his expression grim. “HR says there’s only one file for Ava Ross on Team 5. The one belonging to Mr. Croft’s niece. Yours… is gone.” “How is that possible? I signed a contract! Two copies, the day I started. The company stamped them—” “Ava, I believe you,” David said, lowering his voice. “But this involves Mr. Croft. I’m just a team lead… you understand, right?” I stood in front of his desk, speechless. “Don’t panic,” he added. “I’ll ask around quietly. But whatever you do, don’t confront Croft. He’s been here for years, he’s got deep roots. You won’t win.” I nodded and backed out of his office. When I got back to my desk, Greg—the resident old-timer from the team next to us—moseyed over with his mug. “Hey, Ava. Heard there was some trouble down in Finance? Didn’t get your bonus?” News traveled fast. “Yeah, there’s an issue.” A smirk played on his lips. “I knew it. A kid fresh out of college for less than two years pulling in over a million in sales? Sounded too good to be true. It’s good the company caught on.” “Greg, I did that work.” “Sure, sure. Whatever you say.” He took a sip of his tea and walked away. My hand tightened on my mouse, my knuckles turning white. At two o’clock, I received a message from Henderson’s assistant: “Mr. Croft wants to see you in the third-floor conference room at 3:00 PM sharp.” What did this mean? A confrontation? Or a resolution? I gathered what little proof I had: screenshots of conversations with clients, check-in posts on social media from the office, and a few screenshots from our team’s group chat. It wasn’t much, but it was something. It proved I had worked here. At 2:55, I arrived at the conference room. The door was open. Three people were sitting inside. Vice President Croft was at the head of the table, his hair perfectly combed. Henderson from HR sat beside him. The third person sat across from them. Wavy hair, a three-thousand-dollar coat, perfect makeup, and nails glittering with rhinestones. She turned her head and looked at me. This was the first time I had ever seen the “other Ava.”

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At twenty-eight, I walked into the gala with a partner from a prestigious law firm on my arm. My childhood friend, Alex, sauntered over with a glass of champagne, a smirk on his face. “Who would’ve thought,” he mused, “the two people who once argued until they were red in the face at the debate championships would be here now, fingers intertwined.” Later that night, long after I’d returned home, my phone screen lit up. The name displayed was Alexander Fryman. It had been months since our divorce. His voice, low and rough, came through the line. “That riverside penthouse you insisted on when we divorced,” he asked, “was it because you could see his law firm from the window?” The question threw me back ten years. I was eighteen, and I’d stumbled upon a scene: a teenage Alexander, fumbling to fasten a girl’s bra clasp. She was a scholarship student, and he was helping her. His expression was as serious as if he were performing a sacred rite, but his fingers were clumsy, awkward. Eight years later, I married Alexander, just as our families had always planned. Everyone in our city’s elite circles knew about the portrait he kept hidden in his study. It wasn’t of me. It was of her, the girl from all those years ago. In the third year of our marriage, I asked for a divorce. He was silent for a long time before finally signing the papers. His only words were a quiet promise that if I ever needed anything, he would be there to help. 1 A cold wind rattled the windows, but inside, the apartment was warm. The man sitting on the sofa across from me was dressed in an impeccable suit, his posture long and lean. His face was the same as it had been at eighteen—sharply defined, with deep-set eyes. The only difference was the fresh cut on his temple, a stark, angry line against his skin. An hour ago, I’d gotten a call from the police station. Alexander had been in a fight. When I arrived, a woman was cupping his face, gently dabbing at the wound. I recognized her. Emily, a classmate from high school. The moment she saw me, she recoiled like a startled deer. Alexander immediately moved to shield her, his voice sharp with annoyance as he spoke to me. “She’s easily frightened. Don’t scare her.” I said nothing, simply followed an officer to take care of the paperwork. By the time I returned, Emily was gone. The drive home was silent, at least between us. Alexander was on his phone the entire time, and even now, he was still cooing softly to the woman on the other end. I had never seen this side of him before. The tenderness in his eyes, the indulgent focus, all of it—all his patience was reserved for Emily. It was in that moment that the thought of divorce took root, firm and unshakeable. 2 If Alexander and I were childhood friends destined for an arranged marriage, then Emily was his great, unrequited love—the one that got away. We all met in high school. Unlike us, who came from wealth and privilege, Emily was the scholarship student. She was beautiful, smart, and had a relentlessly optimistic and driven personality. From the moment she transferred into our class, she had Alexander’s undivided attention. I used to think it was a passing infatuation, a novelty. That changed the day Emily was framed for stealing class funds. A few of the other girls cornered her in the girls’ restroom. By the time I got there, they were gone, leaving Emily alone, her shirt torn off. I took off my jacket, ready to go in and help, but then I saw Alexander step out from one of the stalls. He was holding her clothes. Emily’s back was to him, her voice thick with tears. “You should go. If someone sees us, we’ll never be able to explain this.” “Then we won’t explain,” Alexander said, his voice steady. “Just put your clothes on.” After a tense moment, Emily relented. But for some reason, she couldn’t manage the clasp of her bra. Without hesitation, Alexander stepped forward. “Here, let me.” His expression was solemn, his movements clumsy and uncertain. When the clasp finally clicked into place, I saw the tips of his ears burning a furious red. He turned his head, and his eyes met mine. A flash of panic crossed his face before he composed himself and walked toward me. “You’re just in time. Can you help her?” He started to leave, but then turned back. “And please,” he added, his voice low, “keep this between us.” I promised I would. But by that afternoon, a photo of Alexander helping Emily with her clothes had spread like wildfire across the entire campus. He was convinced I had betrayed him. That day, for the first time ever, he unleashed his anger on me. “Victoria, don’t think for a second that just because my parents have your back, I won’t do anything to you,” he seethed. “You might be the daughter-in-law they want, but you’re not my wife! No one gets to decide who I marry.” I bit my lip. “Believe it or not, I had nothing to do with this.” He laughed, a cold, bitter sound. “You were the only other person there. Who else could it have been?” “It wasn’t me!” I lifted my chin, my voice stubborn. “Besides, why would I spread a rumor like that about her?” “Because you’re jealous that she and I are together.” The world seemed to tilt. I stared at him, my mind reeling. “When… when did that happen?” He looked at me, his eyes filled with scorn. “I saw her. It’s my responsibility to take care of her now.” “But, we…” He cut me off, his patience gone. “Victoria, you didn’t actually think I liked you just because I looked out for you all these years, did you?” I felt like I’d been plunged into ice water, frozen to the spot. That night, the Fryman family found out about Alexander and Emily. His father dragged him to my house to apologize. Alexander stood there, defiant. “You love Victoria so much,” he sneered at his father, “why don’t you marry her yourself?” The words earned him a beating from both sets of parents. Back then, Alexander hadn’t yet grasped the full picture. He didn’t see that I had been raised from childhood to be the Fryman family’s daughter-in-law. As the sole heir, he had no say in the matter. So, in the end, he married me. Shortly after the photo scandal, Emily transferred to another school. After graduation, Alexander was sent to study abroad. He was gone for eight years. When he returned, he was a different person—the boyish arrogance replaced by a quiet, commanding presence. He came to me and proposed. “We’re both still single,” he said. “Let’s just get it over with.” I knew an arranged marriage was my fate. Marrying someone I had known my whole life seemed like a small mercy. It was only later that I learned the first thing he did upon returning to the country was seek out Emily. But she, with her unyielding pride, had turned him down. Marrying me was just his way of lashing out at her. 3 “I have to go out. You should get some sleep.” Alexander’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. He stood up, already heading for the door, his tone softening as he spoke into his phone. “Don’t be scared, I’m on my way. They won’t touch you… Yes, lock the door. Just wait for me.” I stood up too. “You’re going out this late?” He paused for a fraction of a second before continuing toward the door. “Something came up. I’ll be back very late.” Just as he reached the entryway, I called his name again. He turned, a flicker of annoyance on his face. “What is it now?” “Alexander,” I said, my voice even. “Let’s get a divorce.” Anger instantly flared in his eyes. He fought to control his temper. “What are you on about now? Emily was scared today. She doesn’t have anyone else here, so she called me for help.” I stared at him. “Is ‘helping’ her showing up at the club where she works every single night to run interference for her?” I shot back. “The great Alexander Fryman getting into a brawl over a cocktail waitress and ending up at a police station—is that what you call ‘helping’?” His lips thinned into a hard line, his dark eyes flashing with a dangerous warning. “I will get to the bottom of what happened tonight,” he said, his voice dangerously low. He paused, then added, “And it had better have nothing to do with you.” The words hit me like a bucket of ice water, sending a chill through my entire body. In the two years we’d been married, he had never lost his temper with me. For a while, I’d allowed myself to believe he had finally let go of Emily, that he was ready to build a life with me. Now I saw how foolish I’d been. I suddenly remembered something. A portrait of Emily used to hang in his study, one he had painted himself. He hadn’t hidden it from anyone, not even his family. His grandfather had thrown a monumental fit, and the incident ended with our wedding portrait being hung in its place. The painting of Emily was locked away in a cabinet. In that moment, I understood. He hadn’t compromised at all. He had just found a quieter way to defy his family. The wind howled outside. A gust swept through the open balcony door in the dining room, and I shivered. Just then, a piercing scream erupted from Alexander’s phone. In an instant, the cold fury in his eyes shattered, replaced by raw, undiluted fear. He bolted for the door. “Emily, don’t be afraid! I’ll be there in ten minutes! Don’t you dare open the door for anyone—” He was gone before he finished the sentence. The door clicked shut, sealing away all his tenderness, leaving me in the cold. He didn’t come back that night. I sat on the sofa alone until dawn. As the sun rose, two messages appeared on my phone. The first was a photo of Alexander and Emily walking into a hotel together. The second was a single line: 【Divorce him. Choose me.】 I scrolled up. There were three unread messages from the same number. 【Victoria, I’m back.】 【I’m here whenever you need me.】 【Do you really love him that much? Can’t you love me instead?】 I blinked, my eyes sore and dry, and quickly typed a reply. 【Okay.】 4 Alexander came home the next afternoon. He was wearing a brand-new suit from a designer he normally wouldn’t glance at twice. He was clean, with no trace of perfume on him. But the angry red mark on his throat was impossible to miss. It was clear he’d been with Emily in that hotel room until just a few hours ago. Perhaps out of guilt, he’d brought me a gift. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice clipped. “What I said last night was out of line.” He placed the box on the coffee table. I pulled the divorce papers I’d already prepared from a drawer and slid them across to him. “Take a look. If there are no issues, sign it.” His brow furrowed. “This is about my helping an old classmate? Are you serious? Victoria, when did you become so petty?” I ignored his questions. “Our prenuptial assets were notarized and remain separate. We’ll split the postnuptial cash fifty-fifty. As for property, I only want the riverside penthouse.” Alexander finally looked at me, truly looked at me, his deep-set eyes searching my face. After a moment, a cold smile touched his lips. “Is this your new strategy?” He didn’t believe me. He thought this was some new, manipulative ploy to win him back. And why would he? The Fryman family was a dynasty. Countless other families were desperate to marry their daughters into it. In his mind, I had no reason to ever give up the title of Mrs. Fryman. But the thought had crossed my mind long ago. It was on an ordinary day. Alexander had come home drunk from a business dinner, as he often did. As I moved to help him, he pointed a finger at me, his words slurring. “Victoria, your love… it disgusts me.” I froze, a sharp, acidic pain filling my chest. I could have sworn he used to love me, too. In our first year of high school, we weren’t in the same class. Our classrooms were directly across the hall from each other. One day, an earthquake in the next province sent strong tremors through our city. The first person out of his classroom wasn’t running for the exit. He burst into mine, threw his school jacket over my head, and half-dragged, half-carried me down the stairs. The earthquake caused no damage. The only injury I had was a dark bruise on my wrist from where his fingers had dug into my skin. His friends teased him mercilessly, calling me his “precious cargo” and telling us to just get married already. I expected him to get angry, but instead, he just said, “We will.” “Whoa, don’t be so sure,” one of them joked. “You’ve got a few years until you’re even legal.” Alexander didn’t miss a beat. “If I ever get married and it’s not to her, none of you are invited.” When we did get married, all his friends were there. But what good did it do? 5 Alexander was convinced I was playing a game of push-and-pull, using divorce as a threat. He sat across from me, his expression cold and detached. Every time we fought, I was always the first one to back down. He was waiting for me to crumble, to apologize, just like all the other times. But he didn’t know. This time, I was done. I pulled the agreement toward me and picked up the pen. Under his cool, watchful gaze, I flipped to the last page and signed my name with a steady hand. Then, I offered the pen to him. “If there are no issues, just sign.” In that instant, I saw the realization dawn in his eyes. This wasn’t a game. His expression hardened, and his voice was dangerously low. “You’re sure about this?” I glanced at the clock. “If we leave now, we can still make the last appointment at City Hall.” He said nothing, just stared at me, his dark eyes searching for a crack in my composure. After what felt like an eternity, he looked away. “Fine. Let’s do it.” He signed his name. The tip of his pen paused. “My grandfather’s birthday is next month. I’d like to wait until after the party to tell the family about this.” I had no objection. I stood and pulled a packed suitcase from the corner of the room. “Victoria,” he said, his voice losing some of its edge, “you can stay here.” “There’s no need.” Now that it was over, there was no reason to prolong the inevitable. “If you need anything in the future, just ask,” he added. I didn’t stop. As I reached the front door, he was suddenly behind me. “I’ll drive you.” “You don’t have to. Someone’s coming to get me.” Downstairs, a tall figure stood waiting under a streetlight. The moment he saw me, he strode forward and took the suitcase from my hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Once we were in the car, I looked at the handsome, confident man in the driver’s seat. “Nathaniel,” I said, “give me one month.” A soft laugh escaped him. He leaned over, his warmth enveloping me as he clicked my seatbelt into place. “A month is nothing,” he murmured. “I can wait.” 6 Nathaniel and I were classmates in law school. We were always at the top of our class—colleagues, but also rivals. We first properly met at a major debate tournament. The topic was: If you had the superpower to make the person you love fall in love with you, would you use it? We were on opposing sides. The debate was fierce. In the end, my team won. Afterward, he stopped me in the hallway. “If I had that power,” he said, his eyes intense, “I would use it without a second’s hesitation.” I was young and arrogant then, and I went for the kill. “That just means you’re not worthy of being loved.” He just looked at me, a deep, unreadable expression on his face. “I love her, but I also respect her. As long as I don’t give up, I know she’ll see me one day.” I smiled, a little smugly. “So, even the great Nathaniel has someone he can’t have.” He didn’t reply, just watched me in silence. We ended up spending more and more time together because of student government, our interactions a constant battle of wits. Over four years, we somehow became friends. On the day of our graduation, Nathaniel asked me out for a drink. I went. He asked me what my plans were for the future. “What else?” I joked. “For people from families like ours, it’s marry, have kids, and secure long-term partnerships for the family business.” He looked at me, his expression suddenly serious. “Could you wait for me, then? Five years, max. Can you just wait for me?” The bar was loud, and I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right. I drained my glass, and the moment I set it down, he kissed me. I fled. Not because he had crossed a line, but because I realized, with a terrifying jolt, that I was drawn to him. That I had kissed him back. I hated the feeling of losing control. I turned off my phone, cutting off all contact. A week later, when I finally reconnected with my classmates, I found out that Nathaniel had already left the country to study abroad. He was gone for four years. By the time he came back, I was already married.

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1 I was a corporate drone, completely burned out by the toxic culture of Big Tech, when I was unexpectedly dropped into what felt like a workplace power fantasy. The new director, a man named Cross, slammed a folder onto my desk. It was for a project that had been dead for three years. “You have 24 hours,” he sneered. “Bring it back to life. Or get the hell out.” My coworkers shot me pitying glances. The last person who’d handled this project had been driven to quit. I quietly opened the folder, my eyes scanning the tangled mess of legacy code and the completely blank requirements document. But inside, a fire ignited. No more arguing with moronic product managers. No more waiting on laid-back back-end developers to build an API. I, alone, held the power to decide a project’s fate. What would you alpha-grinders from the Big Tech trenches know about this kind of pure, unadulterated joy? A month later, the company’s reigning “King of the Grind,” Pierce, saw me single-handedly juggling five projects, still optimizing code at three in the morning. He lost it. “This is toxic productivity! You’re breaking the rules! I’m reporting you to the chairman!” I looked up from the report I had just finished typing—A Proposal for Triple Overtime Pay During Holidays in Exchange for Voluntary On-Site Server Maintenance—and blinked in confusion. I only had to work sixteen hours a day, and I even got to go home to sleep in a real bed. Compared to my old life at the tech giant, sleeping on a cot, going 72 hours without rest, and being perpetually ready to die for the servers, this wasn’t just good. This was damn paradise. … It only took me twenty hours to resurrect that three-year-old project. When I placed the polished project proposal and a working demo in front of Director Cross, he looked like he’d swallowed a fly. He must have assumed I’d turn in a pile of garbage, because he tossed the folder aside without a second glance. “Looks like you’ve got too much time on your hands.” A humorless smile stretched across his face as he stood and paced toward me, his eyes sizing me up like I was a piece of trash. “The server room in the basement hasn’t been touched in a decade. It’s a dump. Your new job is to clean it. You can come back to your desk when every last scrap is gone.” The office air thickened with sympathy. That server room was a forbidden zone. Rumor had it the place was a graveyard of obsolete machines, with cables so old and tangled they looked like monstrous spiderwebs. It was sweltering in the summer, freezing in the winter, and home to a thriving family of rats. The last person sent there as punishment ended up in the hospital with a severe skin rash after just half a day. This wasn’t a penalty; it was exile. “Understood, Director,” I said with a calm nod. “Get out!” I turned and walked out of his office, his suppressed snicker and the hushed whispers of my colleagues following me. “It’s over. June really screwed up this time.” “Cross is trying to break her.” I ignored them and headed straight for the basement. The heavy iron door groaned open, releasing a cloud of stale, musty air. I took a deep breath. Wait a second. Aside from dust, there was no formaldehyde, no secondhand smoke, no smog warnings. The air was as crisp and clean as a mountaintop in the Alps. I flipped on the lights. Before me was a mountain of discarded equipment and cables coiled like sleeping pythons. My eyes lit up. This wasn’t a junkyard. This was a treasure trove. That server rack gathering dust in the corner? It was a top-of-the-line beast from a decade ago. A little old, sure, but with a few new capacitors and an SSD upgrade, it would blow the ancient desktops we were using upstairs out of the water. And those dust-caked switches? Classic Cisco models, reliable enough to be family heirlooms. Like a starved mouse thrown into a cheese factory, I rubbed my hands together in glee. Cleaning up trash? No, this was a bonus package. I rolled up my sleeves and got to work, sorting, dismantling, testing, and reassembling. Two days later, the server room was pristine. Every cable was neatly tied, and the floor was clean enough to reflect my face. I had also used the “junk” to build myself a supercharged workstation and had taken the liberty of completely overhauling the company’s entire network architecture. When I handed the spotless key and a thirty-page report titled Recommendations for Corporate Network Architecture Optimization and Hardware Upgrades to Director Cross, he was in the middle of tearing Pierce a new one. “You can’t even handle one simple task! You can kiss this month’s bonus goodbye!” He paused when he saw me, taking the key and the report with a look of pure disbelief. “You’re done?” “Yes, Director. I also found some reusable equipment that could save the company a significant amount of money. The details are in the report.” I gestured to the document in his hand, my tone sincere. “And thank you for this opportunity. I’m glad I could contribute.” Cross’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. He looked like he wanted to scream at me, but the impossibly professional report in his hands left him speechless. Finally, he managed to force out a single word through gritted teeth. “Out.” 2 Cross clearly didn’t believe me about the server room, so he went to see it for himself. When he came back, he stared at me like I was an alien life form. The next morning, he called me into his office and threw a document on his desk. It was an Employee Daily Work Schedule. “From now on, you will follow this schedule to the letter. No more, and no less.” I picked it up and almost burst into tears of gratitude. 9:00 AM: Arrive at work. 9:30 AM: Morning meeting. 10:00 AM – 12:00 PM: Fix one (1) bug. 12:00 PM – 2:00 PM: Lunch break. 2:00 PM – 5:00 PM: Write fifty (50) lines of code. 5:00 PM: Clock out. Was this a schedule for a human being? No, this was the schedule of a god living in paradise. At my old company, our schedules were broken down by the minute. A lunch break? Getting ten minutes to shut your eyes was a gift from on high. Writing only five hundred lines of code in a day was considered slacking off. “Director,” I said, looking up with genuine tears welling in my eyes, “thank you. You are truly the most humane boss I have ever had.” My sudden display of emotion seemed to baffle him. He frowned and pointed to a corner of the ceiling above my desk. “Don’t try any funny business. I had a new camera installed there. It’s on you 24/7. If I catch you slacking, you’re fired.” I followed his finger and saw a brand-new dome camera pointed directly at my workstation, its little red light blinking patiently. My heart swelled with even more gratitude. This wasn’t surveillance. This was protection! At my old company, they installed cameras to catch you slacking off so they could dock your pay. But here, Director Cross was just trying to make sure I only wrote fifty lines of code, fixed a single bug, and then went home to enjoy my life. He was so worried I wouldn’t be able to control my urge to overwork that he installed a camera just to remind me to take it easy. The man was a saint. I could have wept. “You can count on me, Director!” I snapped to attention, giving him a clumsy salute. “I will complete my mission! I won’t let you down!” Cross just stared at me like I was a lunatic and waved his hand, dismissing me. I returned to my desk and followed the schedule with military precision. Ten minutes to fix the so-called bug. Twenty minutes to write the fifty lines of code. And then… I stared at my screen, lost in thought. What was I supposed to do for the next seven hours? I couldn’t betray Director Cross’s noble intentions. I couldn’t write another line of code or fix another bug. Ah, I knew. I could study. I could learn the company’s internal business logic and familiarize myself with the history of its legacy code. That wasn’t breaking the rules, was it? It was self-improvement, all in the name of becoming a better asset to the company. And so, under the watchful eye of the camera, I opened the company’s long-forgotten internal code repositories and began to absorb knowledge like a dry sponge in a rainstorm. 3 When the clock-out bell rang, I was still hungry for more. I stepped out of the office building, and the warm five o’clock sunlight hit my face. It was almost blinding. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d left work while the sun was still up. I took a deep breath of “freedom,” and instead of heading back to my cramped apartment, I went for a slow, three-lap jog around the park near the office. It felt like an impossible luxury. The next day, I finished my entire “workload” in under half an hour and continued my studies. By the third day, I had read through the source code of every project the company had ever launched. I even mapped out a detailed diagram of the system’s architectural evolution. By the fourth day, I was starting to feel empty. This life, working only thirty minutes a day, filled me with a crushing sense of guilt. I felt like a parasite, wasting the company’s resources and betraying Director Cross’s trust. No. I couldn’t let myself slide into this decadent lifestyle. I opened a blank document and typed out a title with grave seriousness: A Formal Request for the Voluntary Extension of Work Hours and Assumption of Increased Project Responsibilities. In the proposal, I detailed my current state of severe underutilization and listed at least ten new project initiatives that could be launched immediately to generate value. I pleaded with the company to allow me to work a minimum of twelve hours a day and to be assigned three to five projects simultaneously. After finishing the letter, I felt a sense of sublime purpose wash over me. This was the fire of youth. This was the meaning of life. Just as I was about to print it, a sharp voice pierced the air behind me. “June! You’ve gone too far! How could you bully Director Cross like this!” I spun around to see Pierce, his face contorted with rage. A few curious coworkers trailed behind him, eager for a show. Pierce was a company veteran and the former “King of the Grind.” Before I arrived, he was famous for being the last one to leave the office every night. Now that I’d stolen his crown, he seemed to have a personal vendetta against me. “Bully Director Cross?” I asked, completely lost. “Don’t play dumb!” Pierce jabbed a finger at my monitor. I hadn’t had time to close the window, and the title of my proposal was in plain sight. “Look at this garbage you’ve written! This is a mutiny! You’re mocking him for giving you such a light workload! You’re just trying to humiliate him!” He was practically vibrating with self-righteous anger, as if I were some kind of heinous criminal. I was more confused than ever. I just wanted to do more work. How did that translate to a mutiny and public humiliation? I still didn’t quite understand the logic of this place. 4 “Come on! We’re going to see the Director! I’m going to show him your true colors today!” Pierce grabbed my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong, and half-dragged me toward Director Cross’s office. The whispers started up again, my colleagues watching me with a mixture of pity and schadenfreude. “This is it. June is toast.” “Pierce finally has her cornered. The Director hates having his authority challenged.” He pulled so hard I stumbled, and the proposal fluttered from my hand to the floor. A pang of anxiety hit me. I wasn’t afraid of Cross, but I was terrified he might reject my request. A blessing like this was impossible to find anywhere else. “Director!” Pierce kicked the office door open like a husband who’d just caught his wife cheating and shoved me in front of the desk. Cross was on the phone. The sudden intrusion made him jump, and his face instantly turned to stone. “Pierce! What the hell do you think you’re doing!” “Director, look at her!” Pierce pointed a trembling finger at me. “You’ve been so good to her, giving her the easiest job in the company, and this is how she repays you? By mocking you behind your back!” The Director’s gaze, sharp as a razor, fell on me. “Is what he’s saying true?” I felt my chance slipping away. In a panic, I threw caution to the wind. I bent down, picked up the proposal, and presented it to him with both hands, my expression one of utmost sincerity. “Director, this is just a small token of my dedication. Please, have a look.” Pierce sneered from the side. “Keep up the act. Let’s see how long you can fake it.” Cross took the papers, his eyes narrowed with suspicion, and began to read. The office was dead silent. All I could hear was the frantic pounding of my own heart. Please, Director, you have to approve it! I can’t go back to being a slacker! One second passed, then two. Cross’s expression shifted from confusion to shock, then to utter disbelief. He looked up, adjusted his glasses, and read the entire thing again, as if it were written in some ancient, forgotten language. Finally, he slammed his hand on the desk with a thunderous crack. A triumphant grin spread across Pierce’s face. My heart sank. It was over. “BRILLIANT!” Cross’s voice boomed, filled with an ecstatic energy. “Absolutely brilliant!” He stood up, clutching my proposal, and walked around the desk to stand before me, his eyes shining with a newfound admiration. “June, oh, June, I have truly underestimated you! Look at this drive! This ambition! Voluntarily requesting more hours, begging for more responsibility! This is the kind of employee we need!” He whirled on the dumbfounded Pierce, his tone turning to ice. “And then there’s you! All you do is watch to see if your coworkers leave on time! You never think about creating value for the company! What is wrong with you?” Pierce was completely stunned. He pointed at me, incredulous. “Director, she… she’s making fun of you!” “Making fun of me?” Cross slapped the proposal against Pierce’s chest. “Open your eyes and read this! It’s ‘A Formal Request for the Voluntary Extension of Work Hours and Assumption of Increased Project Responsibilities’! June here has achieved a higher state of consciousness! What the hell would you know about that?” With a trembling hand, Pierce took the proposal. As he read the contents, his face went pale, as if he’d been struck by lightning. He just stood there, frozen.

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