Category: English

After being blacklisted online due to a plagiarism scandal, I publicly announced my retirement from writing. My boyfriend, who had just been indignantly condemning me, froze. “What are you doing? Didn’t you say you still have a lot of debt to pay off?” His childhood sweetheart, the “victim” of the plagiarism incident, also panicked. “Vivian, you don’t need to punish yourself like this. I’m willing to give you a chance to start over.” Looking at the frantically flashing camera flashes below the stage, my expression didn’t waver. In my previous life, these two humiliated me while secretly working together to steal my creative work. In the end, the words I painstakingly wrote built Chloe’s reputation as a genius writer. Given a second chance, I directly deleted the pen name I had used for six years. I’ve had enough of squeezing into a tiny apartment. It’s time to go home and inherit the family fortune. As for Chloe, let’s see how you finish the remaining half of the book. 01 “Ms. Vance, you keep claiming you’ll produce evidence to prove you didn’t plagiarize, so where is it?” “As a former reader of yours, I really don’t want to believe you’d do something like this. Did you actually write your previous works yourself?” Faced with countless microphones thrust towards me, I was stunned for a moment, and then my heart started beating violently. I was reborn. Reborn on the day I held a press conference to prove my innocence. In my previous life, my boyfriend’s childhood sweetheart plagiarized a novel based on my own unrequited love story. On the day of its initial release, it shot to the top of the website’s charts, creating a best-selling myth in the young adult romance genre. After being shared by major influencers, countless netizens cried out that it was a tearjerker. I originally wanted to show my original drafts as proof. But unexpectedly, my files were wiped clean on the day of the press conference, leaving no trace. I experienced unprecedented cyberbullying, receiving funeral wreaths, black-and-white photos of myself, and terrifying packages from all over the country every day. I gritted my teeth and continued writing, but was ultimately tracked down by a rabid anti-fan and stabbed to death. Right now, I merely hesitated for a moment, and my good boyfriend of three years, Sean, couldn’t help but launch a passionate attack. “Vivian, if you claim Chloe is slandering you, then show the evidence! Don’t just make empty accusations and throw dirty water on people!” He glared at me angrily, but a flash of smugness crossed his eyes. Of course, how could he not know what was in my folders? What he wanted was to ruin my reputation and make Chloe the new generation’s most popular author. I lowered my eyes, picked up my laptop, and walked to the projection stand. Boot up, screen cast. The next second, under everyone’s shocked gaze, I deleted the pen name I had used for six years. Sean and Chloe immediately stood up. I spoke coldly: “Everyone, I have been wronged today, and my evidence has been destroyed by someone with ulterior motives, making it difficult for me to defend myself. “This pen name is void from today. I am sealing my pen and will never set foot in the web novel circle again!” 02 After speaking, I grabbed my laptop and was about to leave when Sean rushed in front of me like a speeding bullet to block my way. “What are you doing? Didn’t you say you still have a lot of debt to pay off? “You think you can just stop writing because you say so? Didn’t you say every day that writing is your biggest dream?” Chloe also panicked. She walked over, tears welling up in her eyes. “Vivian, you don’t need to punish yourself like this. I’m willing to give you a chance to start over.” I sneered as I watched the two of them perform. The next second, Chloe suddenly bit her lip and knelt down to me right there! “Vivian, I beg you, please don’t leave the industry over this little thing. Your readers will definitely not let me off! “I can delete all the information and pretend none of this happened. If you leave the industry, my sin will be too great. I won’t write anymore either…” The sound of camera shutters instantly focused on her. My former top-tier editor couldn’t help but walk over to pull her up. “Chloe, what are you saying? Why are you kneeling to a plagiarist? “She brought this upon herself. You just signed a top-tier contract with the company. Don’t forget, there’s still work to be done.” I was too lazy to stay here and be attacked, so I simply left the scene. To avoid being mobbed by reporters, I specifically took a detour and took a taxi back to my apartment from the back door. On the way back, my Twitter notifications kept popping up. I clicked open and found that four of the top ten trending topics were about me. #VivianVancePlagiarism# #VivianVanceChloe# #ChloeForcedToKneel# #ChloeGhostwriter# Crazed marketing accounts denied all the works I had ever created. They claimed I stole Chloe’s ideas and threatened her to be my ghostwriter. The comments under my Twitter were a chorus of curses. [Damn, this is so disgusting. I actually became a fan of a plagiarizing dog.] [I watched the live broadcast of the press conference. Vivian Vance was speechless when confronted, and she even forced Chloe to kneel at the end!] [Good thing you know your place and decided to retire, otherwise I’d ruin you!] [Even her own boyfriend stood up to point the finger at her. Vivian Vance, what exactly have you done?] [I bet she just grabbed enough cash and ran. I support Chloe suing her until the end!] My private messages were completely filled with foul language. In contrast, Chloe’s Twitter follower count was skyrocketing, and the comments below were all heartwarming encouragement. I left a comment. [Then I wish you can continue updating daily and finish the second half, don’t disappoint the readers.] I knew I didn’t have many unpublished drafts left. Chloe was too anxious, worried that I would publish the story before she finished hoarding drafts, so she decided to strike first. But she couldn’t possibly complete the foreshadowing and easter eggs I had buried earlier. Exposing her was only a matter of time. 03 I returned to my rented apartment. A 900-square-foot place, neither big nor small, warmly and comfortably decorated by me. On the old walls were photos arranged in the shape of a heart. Photos of Sean and me. Except every single one was secretly taken by me and developed. He never agreed to take a photo with me. He also refused to post about me on his social media, and on anniversaries, he would purposely give me the silent treatment and disappear. Over the years, I paid the rent and utilities, and I basically covered the costs of eating out and shopping. I immediately contacted the landlord to terminate the lease, bearing the pressure of paying the penalty fee. I threw away what needed to be thrown away and packed up as quickly as possible. Just as I was busy working, there was a knock on the door. I opened the door and found Sean and Chloe. “Vivian, are you moving?” As soon as Chloe entered, she hypocritically held my hand. I pulled my hand out with a cold face. Sean looked at me coldly, the disdain between his brows obvious. “Moving? As far as I know, her dad died of an illness a long time ago. All the money she worked so hard to earn from writing over the years went to pay off her dad’s medical debts. “She probably aches over the $2,000 monthly rent for this place. If she moves, she can only afford those shabby, single-room dorms.” I looked at him expressionlessly: “What do you want?” Sean spoke with disgust: “Apologize to Chloe and publicly admit that you plagiarized.” 04 My eyebrow twitched. Are those the words of a human being? I angrily questioned him: “Sean, don’t you know the truth? You’ve lived off me all these years. Where do you get the nerve to say such things now?” Sean’s expression didn’t soften in the slightest. He spoke righteously. “Because you are an unemployed vagrant with no parents, while Chloe has been the princess surrounded by stars since she was in school. I will help her get whatever she wants. “You probably don’t know, but Chloe’s parents are middle school teachers. She is a thousand times better than you in every way.” The boyfriend I had been in love with since college was now attacking me with the most vicious words. He only knew that I came from a single-parent family and moved out because of disagreements with my mother. But he didn’t know that my mother was the head of the Asia-Pacific region for a multinational conglomerate. My father left us an inheritance worth nine figures when he passed away. It’s fair to say that if I hadn’t chosen to stay here to escape inheriting the family business. I would be someone Sean could never reach in his entire life. Seeing my silence, Sean thought his attack had worked and continued with a sneer. “Some people are born princesses, while others, no matter how hard they try, are just maids who can’t see the light of day. “If I were you, I would leave with my tail between my legs right now and leave everything here for Chloe. “What are you standing there for? Log onto Twitter immediately and publicly apologize to Chloe, otherwise don’t blame me for not holding back—” However, the next second, I raised my hand and gave Sean a solid slap across the face. I slapped him so hard that Sean’s face turned to the side. His eyes widened, and the whites of his eyes immediately filled with bloodshot veins. “Vivian, you dare hit me?” Chloe screamed and immediately took two steps back to pull out her phone to record. However, I knocked her phone away first, grabbed a suitcase, and smashed it into both of them, pushing them aside. I frantically vented my resentment, smashing whatever was at hand. Anyway, I didn’t plan on taking anything with me. “Since you like my things so much, I’ll reward them all to you!” The surroundings were a mess, everything in sight shattered by me. I pulled open the door and strode out of the place I had called home for three years. 05 I called my mom. We hadn’t contacted each other for years, but when I dialed her number, she picked up immediately. In that instant, my tears flowed uncontrollably. In my previous life, from the time I graduated from college and left in a fit of pique until the moment I was murdered, I never got to speak a single word to my mother. I couldn’t imagine how heartbroken she must have been hearing the news of my death. This time, I just want to willingly be my mother’s little dependent. “…Just come home, just come home.” My mother’s voice trembled continuously, until in the end, she could only repeat those three words. Soon, I boarded a flight back to New York. Before boarding, I glanced at Twitter and saw that Chloe had hypocritically posted another tweet. [Sorry everyone, I’m taking a break from writing for a while. The recent events have left me feeling a bit overwhelmed, and Vivian is also a senior I’ve always respected. I want to take some time off to adjust myself.] And my former editor, Fiona, who used to show me the utmost care, quickly retweeted this post. [Fans, please give Chloe some time to produce even better work. Next month we will host a fan meet-and-greet event in New York, everyone is welcome to attend!] It was obvious they were trying to build Chloe into a highly marketable author. I sighed, turned off my phone, and fell into a deep sleep. When I got off the plane, my mom had already brought a driver and bodyguards in a Rolls-Royce to pick me up. She said she had heard about my situation and was preparing to have her friends handle the PR while contacting lawyers to file a lawsuit. “We will pursue this matter to the end. I will absolutely not let my precious daughter suffer any grievances.” I lay in my mother’s arms. Her hand continuously stroked my back, her chin gently resting on my forehead. In the car were various exquisite dishes and my favorite drinks from the past. My mom was afraid I would be hungry and started preparing the moment she received my call. I hugged my mom tightly. “Don’t worry, Mom, there’s no need to go to so much trouble.” I smiled and said, “Very soon, the real plagiarist will reap what she sows.”

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It all started because the landscaper told her I’d ruined his prize-winning roses. That was the day Mom planted Dad in the dirt. I watched the muddy slush swallow his head, and I ran to her bedroom door, pounding until my small fists ached. “Mommy, Toby can’t pull Daddy out! I promise I won’t play in the garden anymore! Please, just pull him out!” From behind the heavy oak door, I didn’t hear my mother. I heard the landscaper’s low, rhythmic voice. Then, Mom’s voice cut through, sharp and jagged with a sob-like rage. “You useless little mistake! You’re just like your father!” she screamed through the wood. “Let him stay in the dirt and think about what he’s done!” A few days later, a storm tore through the valley. The torrential rain washed away the topsoil, and Daddy’s head emerged from the earth. He was “hosting” the landscaper for a viewing of the blooms. “Go on,” Mom said, nudging me toward the muddy pit. “Tell your father you’re sorry. He’s in a good mood today; he might actually forgive you for being such a brat.” I stared into the hole. “Daddy drank too much water,” I whispered. “He’s starting to sprout.” 1 Mrs. Benson from next door was passing by our collapsed fence when she saw me. I was sitting in the mud, gnawing on a tiny, pale mushroom that had pushed its way up near the rosebushes. She froze, then lunged forward, hooking her finger into my mouth to fish out the half-chewed fungus. “What are you doing? You can’t eat that, honey. Where are your parents?” I was so hungry the world felt like it was spinning on a tilted axis. “Mommy is the gardener’s assistant now. And Daddy… Daddy’s in the garden drinking water.” “Drinking water?” Mrs. Benson started to say, but then she recoiled, gagging. “Oh god… how long has it been since anyone took out the trash here? The smell…” The rain had carved a deep vein into the soil. A flash of lightning ripped across the sky, illuminating the pit. It lit up the back of a head. Hair tangled with wet grass roots, the face pressed deep into the muck. Daddy was sleeping. I’d told him I was hungry, but for the first time in my life, he hadn’t gotten up to make me grilled cheese. Mrs. Benson took one step closer to the edge, peered down, and let out a shriek that sounded like a dying bird. she collapsed onto the muddy grass. “Lord have mercy!” she wailed, clutching her chest. “Arthur! That’s Arthur!” “They buried him alive? My god, poor Toby… he thinks his father is just drinking…” She began to sob, her eyes filled with a terrifying kind of pity as she looked at me. With trembling hands, she pulled out her phone and called the men in uniform. When they arrived, they dug Daddy out. They started to put him into a long, heavy black bag. “Don’t take him! I’ll be good!” I screamed, lunging for the bag. “I won’t go in the garden anymore! I’ll go inside right now, I promise!” The backyard filled with the sound of grown-ups crying. Someone—a woman in a uniform—held me so tight I could barely breathe. Mrs. Benson knelt beside me. She told me Daddy was tired of being a person. She said that from now on, the worms in the earth, the trees in the wind, the flowers in the garden—that would be Daddy. He would watch over me quietly. But I didn’t want a ghost. I wanted the man who tucked me in. “Daddy! I want this Daddy!” I kicked and thrashed against Mrs. Benson’s embrace. As the sirens faded into the distance, she and I sat on the ground, covered in filth. I knew then that Daddy wasn’t coming back to wash my grass-stained clothes ever again. She carried me into her house. Behind us, the night sky erupted in a brilliant display of fireworks, lighting up half the city in neon pinks and golds. I could hear the neighbors gossiping over the fence, their voices carried by the wind. “Talk about a change in fortune. Some people have all the luck—spend a few months growing flowers and suddenly you’re royalty.” “Tell me about it! I heard that landscaper is the new ‘Golden Boy’ of the floral world. His patron is throwing money around the city like it’s confetti to celebrate. That pretty-faced boy really hit the jackpot…” I knew who they were talking about. My mother. Mrs. Benson took me back to our mansion to gather my things, but the house felt hollow and terrifying. She told me to call my mother. To tell her they had taken Dad away. One call. Two calls. No answer. Finally, Mrs. Benson snapped and called from her own number. When Mom finally picked up and heard the news, she didn’t scream. She laughed. “Look, Mrs. Benson, I appreciate the neighborly concern, but you can tell Arthur that faking his own death is a bit much, even for him.” “I’m busy. Tell Arthur to grow up. We’ll be home soon.” Mrs. Benson started screaming into the phone, her voice shaking with rage. “Fine!” Mom shouted back. “Yes, I put him in the dirt. It was a lesson! The soil was loose; Dominic went back to check on him before we left, and he said Arthur was already out and brooding in the tool shed. Tell Arthur I still love him, but he needs to stop testing me. I’ll be back for Valentine’s Day to make it up to him. When you marry into a family like mine, you learn to follow the rules.” I wanted to tell her that the landscaper had used a shovel to pack the dirt down hard. I wanted to show her my fingernails, torn and bleeding from trying to dig him out. But before Mrs. Benson could find the words to scream back, the line went dead. “Grammy, she hung up,” I whispered, tugging on Mrs. Benson’s sleeve. “This is murder,” she breathed, her eyes wet. “This is… god, it’s a nightmare.” She pulled me into her lap. “We’re getting you out of here, honey. This house is poisoned.” She helped me call my real grandmother—my dad’s mother. She was out in the countryside caring for my great-grandmother, but she promised she’d be there in two days. 2 When the police came back to the house, Mom was still gone. They handed me a small, heavy box. “This is your father,” they said. Daddy had sprouted, but he hadn’t grown into a tree. He had shrunk until he fit inside a box. Mrs. Benson stayed with me in the big, empty mansion. “Your mother… she’s lost to us. I’ll help you, Toby. We’ll give your father a dignified goodbye.” She and a few of Dad’s old friends set up a small memorial in the foyer. They began sorting through his things. “That belongs to the landscaper,” I said, pointing to a designer coat. “That one too.” Every time I corrected them, they sighed—that heavy, wet sigh that adults use when they can’t handle the truth. “Daddy says sighing makes you old,” I told them. “I know, honey,” one woman whispered, her back to me. I knew she was crying. I pretended not to notice. Just like Daddy used to pretend he wasn’t crying when he thought I was asleep, back when the landscaper first moved in. The night before we were supposed to lay the box to rest, Mom came home. Her belly was slightly rounded now. Dominic, the landscaper, held her as if she were made of glass. They were pressed together, their lips moving against each other in a messy, wet way that sounded loud in the quiet house. I stood in front of Dad’s memorial box. I didn’t want him to see this. “Ah!” “You little creep! You nearly gave me a heart attack!” Dominic hissed. He lunged forward and backhanded me across the face. I hit the floor hard. Mom just watched him with an approving smile. Clink. One of my baby teeth hit the hardwood, slick with blood. Dominic flipped on the lights. “Madeline, look at this! He’s got funeral kitsch all over the foyer. He’s trying to curse the baby!” Mom’s face contorted with fury. She grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and began dragging me toward the stairs. “Arthur, enough with the lies!” she screamed, thinking my father was hiding somewhere. “No wonder Toby won’t admit he ruined Dominic’s roses. He’s exactly like you! Liars, both of you!” I struggled, my knees scraping against the carpet, then the sharp edge of the wooden stairs. My pajamas tore. I felt the warm sting of blood trailing behind us, making the drag smoother, easier. She threw me against my bedroom door. “I’m not lying! Daddy sprouted!” I sobbed. “He’s downstairs!” Mom let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Sprouted? Dominic saw him walk out of that garden with his own eyes! You’re still lying!” “I am going to beat the honesty back into you if it’s the last thing I do!” She grabbed a hanger from the closet—a bright blue, limited-edition hanger Dad had bought for me. I reached for it, wanting to save the gift, but the plastic whistled through the air and snapped against my back. “It hurts! Please, stop, Miss Gardener! Don’t hit me!” “I don’t want a mommy anymore! You can have him! Give the landscaper everything! Just give me back my hanger!” She hit me harder. “Calling me ‘Miss’? Is that what Arthur taught you? Fine. If that’s how he wants to play it!” My back felt wet, just like my knees. I lost count of the strikes. Eventually, the plastic snapped, the jagged edge digging into my skin. “You like phones so much?” she panted, shoving my kid-sized smartwatch into my face. “Call him! Call your father and tell him to stop this ghost act!” “I’m not lying,” I choked out. “Dominic planted him. I couldn’t pull him out. He was too deep.” Mom paused, then gripped the broken hanger again. “Dominic said he was just scaring him. He went back to check! You’re both trying to ruin him because you’re jealous!” “I told Arthur I’d be home for Valentine’s Day! To have this little patience, to pull a stunt like this… it’s disgusting.” She swung one last time, the broken end of the hanger catching me right in the forehead. “Like father, like son,” she spat. “Tell your dad to come down and apologize to Dominic, or you stay in this room forever.” Blood blurred my vision. “Daddy is right there,” I whispered to the empty room. “He’s in the box. He’s never going to speak again.” 3 Suddenly, the door flew open. “An urn?” Dominic’s voice was high and panicked. He suddenly hit the floor with a thud. “Madeline, I feel sick! I can’t breathe! Call the doctor!” Mom’s rage vanished, replaced by frantic concern. She immediately called the family’s private physician. As she stepped over me to carry Dominic downstairs, her foot caught my chest, knocking me back against the glass railing of the landing. “I’m scared,” I whimpered. No one answered. But a few minutes later, Mom came back up. She didn’t hug me. She scooped me up like a sack of flour and carried me to the basement clinic where the doctor was waiting. “Harvest his marrow stem cells,” she commanded. “Dominic is perfectly healthy, but he’s suddenly anemic. It has to be the stress these two put him through. A ‘spiritual’ clash. We need to boost Dominic’s system.” The doctor, a man named Dr. Miller, hesitated. He looked at my pale, bruised face. “The boy is malnourished, Madeline. He hasn’t slept. Stem cells aren’t for ‘boosting’ a healthy adult, and taking them from a child this small is…” Mom’s eyebrows drew together into a terrifying line. “Can you do it or not?” Dr. Miller looked at me with an apology in his eyes. They strapped me to the table with leather belts. When the needle went in, a scream tore out of me that I didn’t recognize as my own. “Daddy! Daddy, save me!” “Mommy! Please! It hurts! It hurts so much!” Mom just paced the hallway. “Hurry up,” she snapped. “He’s too loud.” The world went quiet then. Daddy, you said Mommy worked late just for us. You said she was so happy when I was born. Was that a lie too? “There, see? If you don’t scream, it goes faster,” the doctor whispered. My body was slick with sweat. My head felt like it was going to explode. But as the needle withdrew, Dominic’s voice drifted in from the next room. “Madeline, I’m still so scared. What if Arthur tries to hurt me again?” Mom didn’t hesitate. “Take more. Create a reserve for Dominic.” Dr. Miller’s hand froze. “Madeline, he can’t take any more. His vitals are dropping. If we continue, he might not make it.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Arthur is out there playing God, scaring my partner. Let Toby pay the debt his father owes.” The needle went back in. “Toby! Toby, wake up!” I opened my eyes to see Dr. Miller’s panicked face. “She’s gone, kid. We have to stop. If I hadn’t given you that shot of epinephrine, you… you were gone.” Mom’s face appeared in the doorway, but before she could speak, Dominic let out a soft moan from the recovery bed. She turned back to him instantly. “Madeline, can we leave? I’m so cold. I’m scared of what’s waiting out there… those funeral things…” She pulled him into her arms, cooing like she was talking to a toddler. “Don’t worry, my love. I’m here.” “I’ll go clear out all that dead-man trash. Just wait for me.” She started to leave, but Dominic grabbed her hand. “No, don’t! If Toby sees you, he’ll think… he’ll get the wrong idea.” Mom glared at me over her shoulder. “Let him. I’ve indulged him enough.” She picked up a heavy metal stool from the lab and walked toward the stairs. 4 Panic gave me a sudden, sharp strength. I rolled off the table, hitting the floor with a groan. Every inch of my back screamed in protest, but I began to crawl. “Please don’t!” I croaked. “Mrs. Benson said that’s Daddy’s new house! Don’t touch him!” “You’ve got a lot of nerve,” Mom said, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous hiss. She kicked me squarely in the chest. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth as I was thrown backward. “Enough, Toby. The lie is over.” She turned and marched upstairs, leaving me gasping for air. “Toby, don’t move, let me help you,” Dr. Miller whispered. I pushed his hand away. “Daddy! Daddy!” By the time I crawled into the foyer, the memorial cloth was shredded. The incense burner was shattered on the floor. Mom was holding the box. I threw myself at her, clinging to her leg. “That’s Daddy! He’s inside!” “Give him back! Please, just give him back to me!” “I’ll admit it! I lied! I’m a bad boy! Just give me the box!” I saw her hesitate. For a second, her grip loosened. But then Dominic appeared behind her. “Such a cheap little box,” he mused. “Arthur couldn’t even pick out something decent for his own prank.” He reached out and flipped the lid open. “What is this? Gray dust? This is what made me so sick? This… dirt?” He tilted the box. Daddy’s ashes began to spill, drifting through the air like gray snow. I let out a guttural scream. “Give it back!” “You’re a monster! You buried him! Give him back!” “Oh!” Dominic cried out, stumbling backward though I hadn’t even touched him. The box fell. It hit the floor with a hollow thump, and a cloud of gray dust covered me. “Daddy…” I scrambled on the floor, my small hands trying to sweep the powder back together. But the dust was so fine, slipping into the cracks of the hardwood. The more I tried to gather him, the less there was. Tears began to fall, hot and fast. I choked back a sob, trying to stop the water. “No… I’ll get him wet. I have to keep him dry.” Mom didn’t even look at the floor. She was too busy fussing over Dominic. “Look at you! Acting! Still acting!” “You’re five years old, Toby. You’re too old for this. If you hurt Dominic or the baby again, I’ll drain every drop of marrow you have left.” Dominic’s oily voice cut in. “Be gentle, Madeline. He’s at the age where he remembers things. You don’t want him hating his new little brother.” Mom scoffed. “You’re right. He’s spent too much time with his father. He needs discipline.” “Let him spend some time with Titan. Titan will teach him how to be a good boy.” Dominic led Titan into the room. The Doberman was nearly as tall as I was, all corded muscle and bared teeth. He looked at me with cold, hungry eyes. Dominic leashed me to the same post as the dog and set a bowl of food down—next to the dog’s bowl. Titan lunged for his food, his saliva splashing into my small plastic bowl. “Eat,” Mom said. “And stop looking like a victim. No one is hurting you.” “Your father can call me and apologize for this ‘death’ stunt whenever he’s ready. Until then, you stay here. Dominic is far more forgiving than I am.” The house went silent. My stomach twisted. I hadn’t eaten since the day Daddy ‘sprouted.’ I was so hungry I couldn’t see straight. But every time I reached for the bowl, Titan curled his lip and let out a low, vibrating growl that shook my bones. “Eat!” Mom yelled from the other room. “Titan is perfectly trained. Stop being a coward.” She and Dominic walked out the front door, leaving me alone in the dark with the beast. I waited until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I reached for a piece of kibble. Titan didn’t growl this time. He lunged. His teeth sank into my shoulder, and he tore backward, taking a piece of me with him. I was going to be Titan’s dinner. The pain was so bright I couldn’t even scream. But then, the front door burst open. “Sarah!” I gasped. My grandmother was there. She didn’t hesitate. She began beating the dog with her heavy handbag, screaming with a primal rage until Titan backed away. She gathered me into her arms, shaking so hard I thought we’d both break. “God forgive them! Those monsters!” “My baby… my poor baby!” She carried me to a waiting car and sped to the emergency room. The nurses cried when they saw me. The doctor pulled my grandmother aside and asked if they should call the police. “I already called them,” she spat. “And I’m not stopping until they’re in cages.” Once I was stable, Sarah moved me to a private hospital near her home in the country. “It’s better there, Toby. We’re going to get you healthy again.” I clutched the small box—the one with just a dusting of gray powder left at the bottom—and nodded. It was Valentine’s Day. Dominic was twirling in front of a mirror, holding up a blood-red silk dress for Madeline. “Madeline, what do you think of this for tonight?” Madeline barely looked at him. “Who said I was spending tonight with you?” “But… you’ve been doing your makeup all morning. The flowers, the reservations… I thought we were having a candlelight dinner. Do you have a meeting?” She straightened her blazer, her eyes cold in the mirror. “I told you. It’s time. I’m going home.” “Don’t worry. You and the baby will be taken care of.” She drove back to the mansion, but the silence that met her was deafening. “Arthur! Enough!” she shouted into the foyer. “I’m home. If you don’t come out right now, I’m leaving for good.” She sent her staff to search every room. Nothing. Furious, she turned to leave, but the butler stumbled into the room, breathless. “Catch your breath, man. What is it?” The butler didn’t speak. He dropped to his knees. “Ma’am… Toby is gone. His grandmother took him. I couldn’t stop her.” Madeline laughed. “Of course. He’s involving his mother now. Arthur, this is pathetic! Using a child to win an argument?” She shouted at the empty air, then looked down at the butler. “Fine. Tell him I’m here. Tell him if he apologizes, I’ll forget the whole thing. The baby will even call him ‘Dad.’ He’s at the old farmhouse, isn’t he? I’ll go get him.” The butler was shaking, sweat pouring down his face. It took him a long time to find his voice. “Ma’am… Mr. Arthur has been dead for weeks.”

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My little cousin was using my photos to online date, posting my selfies on his Instagram every single day. I couldn’t take it anymore and texted him privately: “Are you ever going to stop?” “Sis, just bear with me a little longer. I’m just one rank away from the top tier. Once I hit it, I’ll break up with him.” Later, my cousin did break up with his online boyfriend. And the professor from the physics department next door explicitly called me to his office. 1 Lately, my high-school-aged cousin hadn’t been acting right. He was constantly posting my selfies on his Instagram story, paired with the weirdest, cringiest captions. For example: “The weather is so nice today, perfect for some boba.” Then, not long after, he’d post another story: “Thank you! Got the boba.” My eye twitched as I read them. I DM’d him: “?” “…Crap, forgot to block you from seeing that.” I hit him with the real question: “Are you using my photos to catfish guys online?” “Sis, he’s incredibly good at gaming! I just want him to carry my rank.” I didn’t pry too much, just warned him: “Play less games, and absolutely do not scam people out of their money. Otherwise, I’m telling your dad.” He was quiet for over a week, but then his Instagram updated again. It was one of my selfies, bizarrely juxtaposed with a picture of a massive Lego set. The caption: “My birthday is coming up. I really want this Lego set.” …Good lord, he was actually scamming people for money now. I couldn’t hold back and DM’d him again: “Are you ever going to stop?” “Sis, just bear with me a little longer. I’m just one rank away from the top tier. Once I hit it, I’ll break up with him.” I wanted to march over to his house and punch him in the face. “I don’t care if you play games, but stop ruining my reputation! If you want the Lego set, I’ll buy it for you.” Half an hour later, he finally replied: “No need, sis. I already got it.” “?” I immediately Venmo’d him the money. “Send the money back to him, and break up immediately.” My cousin accepted the Venmo and reluctantly replied: “Fine.” Still worried, I called him and gave him a stern lecture. He apologized profusely and promised he would change. I was in my final year of grad school, and with the holidays approaching, I was swamped with errands and research. I simply didn’t have the time to keep an eye on him. He stayed quiet for a while, not posting any new updates. 2 The holidays arrived as scheduled. I was curled up on the sofa devouring mandarin oranges when my best friend, Chloe, sent me a screenshot: “Your cousin is really something else.” I clicked it open. My cousin’s Instagram story was still exclusively featuring my selfies. He had completely exhausted the small handful of photos I actually posted on my own feed. Refusing to give up, he had somehow dug up my high school graduation photo, posted it, and added a fake, sentimental caption: “I’ve changed so much.” He said he would change… did he mean changing his privacy settings so I couldn’t see his posts?! I shot up from the sofa with a whoosh, sprinted into the guest bedroom, grabbed my cousin by the ear, and hauled him up. “Still stealing my photos?! Do you have a death wish?!” “Hiss… ow, ow, ow!” He dramatically covered his ear while begging, “Sis, you’re here just in time! He wants to do a voice call with me. Can you please just answer it for me?! I’ll give you all my holiday money this year, please?!” “In your dreams. You are going to confess and apologize to him right now.” “Sis, it’s the holidays! Telling someone they’ve been catfished by a teenage boy… breaking someone’s heart like that during the holidays is so cruel!” I punched him hard in the arm. “Oh, so now you realize you’re being cruel?!” “Just let me get through these next few days! I’m so close to my rank! Once I get it, I’ll tell him I need to focus on my studies and break up with him.” He held up three fingers. “I swear, this is the last time. I promise.” Under his relentless pleading, I finally, reluctantly, took the phone. “Summer, Happy Holidays.” The voice on the other end was deep, magnetic, and incredibly resonant. It stunned me for a second. This voice, which sounded like it belonged in an audiobook, actually made my long-dormant heart flutter a little. “Hi…” The moment I spoke, I realized I was unconsciously pitching my voice higher to sound cuter. I quickly cleared my throat and tried to sound as emotionless as possible. “Hi. Happy Holidays.” “Summer, what do you want for a holiday gift?” Hearing this, my cousin immediately sat up, wildly swiped across his iPad, and pulled up a picture of a Nintendo Switch. He pointed frantically at the screen, winking and gesturing wildly at me. I nodded calmly, signaling that I understood. Then I turned back to the phone and said: “For the new year, I want a complete, comprehensive set of SAT prep books and practice exams.” My cousin’s eyes bugged out of his head. In his look of sheer disbelief, I saw his heart shatter into a million pieces. Heh. Little brat. That’ll teach you to catfish people. “Hmm? Why do you want that?” the voice on the phone asked. “Because I have to take my college entrance exams soon. I want to focus on my studies, so I won’t be able to play games with you anymore.” “I see. In that case, you really shouldn’t be gaming. If you ever have trouble with any of the practice questions, you can still ask me.” The voice remained gentle and supportive. “Okay. Thank you.” I exchanged a few more polite pleasantries, hung up the phone, and shoved it back into my cousin’s dumbfounded hands. “From now on, I will be checking your progress on those practice exams every single month. Also, calculate how much those books cost and Venmo the money back to him. Consider it a self-funded purchase. If you don’t send the money, I’m telling your dad. Happy Holidays, little bro.” I walked away like a boss, leaving my cousin standing there, looking like he wanted to cry but had no tears left. 3 Back in the living room, I had unread messages from Chloe. “What exactly is going on with your cousin?” I furiously typed away, bragging about my masterful handling of the situation. “How was that? Pretty awesome, right? I put him right in his place.” “I bet my cousin is done with online dating forever.” Unexpectedly, Chloe completely missed the point. She just replied with: “Wow.” “Your cousin can find a boyfriend, but you can’t.” “…” Fine. I’ll shut up. Chloe and I were polar opposites. If we did an annual review, it would definitely look like this: “Beginning of the year: Chloe is dating John. I’m single.” “Mid-year: Chloe is dating Mike. I’m single.” “End of the year: Chloe gets back together with John. I’m still single.” Chloe was a magnet for romance. I, on the other hand, was apparently coated in a heavy layer of male-repellent. At first, watching Chloe post sweet couple photos every day made me feel a little restless. I tried talking to a few guys, but none of them clicked. So, I remained single all the way through grad school. I genuinely felt like the metaphorical deer in my heart had died of old age. It was only today, when I heard that voice on the phone, that it showed slight signs of resuscitation. But honestly, anyone who could be fooled by my cousin’s terrible acting was probably just a naive, inexperienced kid himself. Just a minor with a bit of pocket money and a nice voice. Over the next few days, I forced my cousin to break up with him and made him uninstall the game. Once he uninstalled it, I secretly downloaded Honor of Kings. If my cousin could find a guy using my photos, why couldn’t the actual owner of the photos? However, for the next few days, I only ended up playing with Chloe. She was barely a mediocre player herself, yet she had to drag my dead weight through ranked matches every day. I had absolutely no idea how to play. She told me to pick Arthur and gave me two golden rules. “One: Click whatever button lights up.” “Two: If you see someone, charge.” So, there I was, a young woman in her prime, playing as the burly old knight Arthur, wandering aimlessly around the canyon. Whenever I saw an enemy, I charged at them and mashed all the buttons wildly. By the end of the holiday break, forget about an online boyfriend—I hadn’t even heard a guy’s voice in the game. I had even dragged Chloe all the way down to Gold rank with me. Chloe sent me a screenshot of her rank. “I can’t rank up anymore. Can I use your photos to catfish a guy too?” I silently sent back a sticker: “Warning: Will block immediately.” 4 The holidays ended. It was the first day back at the university. My advisor suddenly called me: “Summer, Professor Sterling from the Physics department next door says he needs to see you urgently. Go to his office right now.” I hung up the phone, completely confused. Julian Sterling. The youngest and most ridiculously handsome professor in the Physics department. A candid photo of him teaching—wearing a crisp white shirt and gold-rimmed glasses—had effortlessly racked up hundreds of thousands of likes on TikTok. Logically speaking, a professor of his caliber wouldn’t need me to run errands for him, even if he was busy. Feeling slightly nervous, I knocked on Professor Sterling’s office door. I barely tapped it before it swung open. The first thing I saw was his perfectly tailored white dress shirt, faintly revealing the outline of an athletic, muscular physique beneath. My gaze moved up. A few buttons at the collar were casually undone, exposing elegant collarbones and a prominent Adam’s apple. I looked up further and crashed straight into his deep, dark eyes. “Professor Sterling, you asked for me.” I nodded politely, keeping my voice steady. No one could possibly know that internally, a million prairie dogs were screaming their heads off. “Mm. Come in.” He stepped aside. I obediently walked into the office. As I passed him, a faint, elusive scent of sandalwood drifted over me, almost stealing my soul away. Before I even stopped walking, Professor Sterling spoke. “Why did you break up with me?” I froze. I turned around and looked everywhere. No one else was there. I looked at his ears. He wasn’t wearing earbuds. “Huh?” I looked at him, completely bewildered. He lowered his eyes, his gaze locked intensely on me. “Didn’t you say that if I bought you the gaming console, you wouldn’t break up with me?” …I turned to stone. “G-gaming console?” “Mm.” He nodded slightly. “If you wanted something else, I could have gotten it for you. As long as we didn’t break up.” “Professor Sterling, do you… have the wrong person?” I asked carefully. Even though the “gaming console” clue was glaringly obvious, I still refused to believe that the brilliant, sophisticated Professor Sterling I admired would actually engage in online dating. Julian stared at me for two seconds, then looked down and woke his phone screen, showing it to me. “I don’t have the wrong person.” The lock screen on his phone was glaringly obvious. It was my photo. I was holding a strawberry macchiato, curled up on the sofa, looking incredibly happy. …That was the boba my cousin brought over when he visited my apartment. I remembered that he hadn’t started posting my photos on Instagram yet, so when he asked to take a picture of me, I didn’t refuse. Thinking back on it now, that boba was highly likely paid for by Professor Sterling. Seeing me standing there dumbfounded, Julian took a step closer. “Are you still going to deny it?” As he stepped closer, that faint scent of sandalwood returned. I struggled to find the words. “Professor, you might not believe this, but I think… you were catfished by my 16-year-old cousin.” “?” He frowned slightly. “I mean… the person you were chatting and gaming with was actually my cousin.” “You forgot, we spoke on the phone. I recognize your voice.” “It really was my cousin.” I quickly pulled out my own phone. “Look, this is my actual WeChat account.” He glanced at my phone screen. “Regardless of which account you use, add me back first.” “Professor…” I tried to explain further, but my phone rang. “Sis, I brought you the documents you asked for. Where are you?” Talk about perfect timing. Excitedly, I told him where I was and ordered him to get here immediately. Julian’s expression remained entirely neutral. He pulled out a book and started reading it. I couldn’t help but sneak glances at him. He sat in a leather office chair, his long legs crossed, his clean, elegant fingers turning the pages of the book. Sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting shadows across his face. He looked incredibly aloof and aristocratic. I couldn’t figure it out. How could someone this ethereal and refined fall for an online romance? More accurately, how could he fall for my 16-year-old cousin, and even get scammed into buying so many toys and snacks? Was his scam-prevention awareness really that terrible? The ringing of my phone broke my deep thoughts. “Sis, which building was it again? I can’t find it.” Exasperated, I ran downstairs to get him. It took forever before I finally saw him waving a folder in the air. “Sis, I’m over here!” “Mm, great.” I grabbed his sleeve and dragged him toward the stairwell. “What are you doing, Sis? Are you taking me out to eat?” he asked cluelessly as we walked. I offered a sweet smile. “No. I’m taking you to meet your online boyfriend.” “?” He stopped dead in his tracks and absolutely refused to take another step. “Sis, stop joking around.” I opened the office door. My cousin was still glued to the wall, refusing to move. I kicked him squarely in the butt, shoving him inside. “Professor Sterling, my cousin is here. You can hit him or scold him however you want. Don’t hold back.” The room fell dead silent. Awkwardness rapidly expanded in the air. My pathetic cousin, wearing his high school uniform and backpack, stared silently at Julian, who was wearing a crisp white shirt, black dress pants, and an incredibly cold expression. My cousin took one look at Julian, guiltily averted his eyes, and meekly stared at the floor, picking at his fingernails. “You loved lying so much, didn’t you?” I whispered harshly. “Hurry up. Introduce yourself.” Unable to withstand my glare, he spoke, his voice trembling on the verge of tears: “Hello, older brother. I am your online girlfriend, ‘Sweet Strawberry’.” Julian sat in his office chair, his fingers tapping lightly on the desk. His eyes were unreadable, radiating the intense, oppressive aura of an angry teacher. My cousin absolutely did not dare to look up. Standing behind him, I could see his shoulders shaking. He was definitely crying. I felt a little bad for him, but he totally deserved it. After a moment of silence, Julian turned his head to look at me. “Summer, your cousin played with my feelings. As an adult, shouldn’t you take responsibility for your cousin’s actions?” “Yes.” I kept my head down too, honestly admitting fault. “I’m so sorry, Professor Sterling. I will reimburse you for all your financial losses.” “I don’t need financial reimbursement.” He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s just that… now I don’t have anyone to play games with me.” “Huh?” I was confused. “My heart was broken by your brother. Shouldn’t you take responsibility for that?” I looked at my cousin, who was still standing there wearing his backpack, acting like an ostrich burying its head in the sand. My eye twitched. “My cousin… broke your heart?” Julian said very seriously, “Yes. I bought him boba, sent him gifts, and played games with him. Even though it was online, I took it very seriously.” Me: “…” Really? I don’t believe it. But I didn’t dare say it out loud. He raised an eyebrow. “Being scammed by your cousin hurt me deeply. I need companionship. Since your cousin has to prepare for his exams, I guess you’ll just have to fill in for him.” I was stunned. A faint smirk appeared on his lips as he added meaningfully, “I’ll be relying on you from now on, Summer.” 5 Walking out of the office, I was still in a daze. Professor Sterling, who had once been an unattainable dream for me, had somehow, inexplicably, become my online boyfriend. A massive stroke of luck had just dropped right onto my head. During my first year of grad school, I had a massive crush on Julian. I don’t know if I should call it a crush or just pure infatuation based on his looks. The first time I saw him, it was raining. I had just woken up from a nap. The dorm room was completely silent, save for the faint, steady sound of rain outside the window. Rubbing my sleepy eyes, I opened the window to let in some fresh air. Julian happened to be walking by. Through the curtain of rain, he held a black umbrella. His pristine white shirt was completely dry, the sleeves rolled up slightly. His ethereal aura made him look like he didn’t belong in this world. Suddenly, he stopped by a willow tree and bent down. When he stood back up, he was holding a filthy, muddy white kitten in his arms. It was skin and bones. As he moved, it let out a timid, raspy cry that sounded bizarrely like a duck quacking. Because stray cats often can’t find food, when they’re desperate enough, they’ll eat anything—even rocks and pebbles. That’s why their voices get ruined like that. A cat that quacks like a duck is undeniably a bit comical. But Julian didn’t laugh. He simply pulled out a tissue, carefully wiped the rainwater off the kitten, and tucked it securely into his coat. His pristine white shirt was instantly stained with water and mud. In that exact moment, my heart started pounding frantically. After that, whenever I walked around campus, my eyes would involuntarily search for him. I started purposely showing up on his usual routes every single day. After doing it enough times, even Chloe noticed that my barren, dead heart was finally blooming. She encouraged me to make a move. But before I could even work up the courage, Julian went viral. A few candid photos of him spread like wildfire across the university, and the number of girls crushing on him skyrocketed. Only then did I realize he was a professor at the university, not a student. The massive gap in status between us made me immediately back down. And just like that, my crush died before it even started. As a memento, I found a way to adopt that little white kitten and named him “Ducky.” Ducky slowly grew chubby and fluffy, and Julian slowly faded from my life. I thought our paths would never cross again. I never imagined he would actually start online dating my cousin. And then, through a bizarre twist of fate, become my online boyfriend. “Sis, where are you going?” I snapped out of it and looked at my cousin, who was tugging on my jacket from behind. “I mean, I technically helped you find a boyfriend by accident, right? You’re not still mad at me, are you?” Oh, right. Almost forgot. I dialed a number on my phone and put it on speaker. “Hey, Uncle. My cousin used my photos to catfish a guy online and scammed him out of a bunch of gifts. Now the guy has tracked me down and is demanding compensation.” The next second, my uncle’s furious screaming echoed through the air. The brutal lecture lasted for a solid half hour before finally wrapping up. “Get your ass home right now! Immediately! This second!” My cousin trudged away, crying softly. I stood there, watching him leave. “You really are ruthless, aren’t you?” A familiar voice sounded right next to my ear. I instinctively turned my head, and my lips accidentally brushed against something soft. Taking a startled step back, I saw Julian’s face mere inches from mine. My brain completely short-circuited, going entirely blank. He must have been standing right behind me, leaning down to whisper in my ear. And then, completely by accident… I had kissed him on the cheek. Julian turned his head. His deep, dark eyes looked at me with an amused glint. He reached out and lightly tapped me on the head. “We agreed you’re just my online girlfriend. No taking advantage of me in real life.” My face burned bright red. “…I didn’t mean to.” Even though his cheek was soft and smelled amazing. Even though I really wanted to do it again just to memorize the feeling. It truly was an accident. Seeing my flustered state, he let out a low chuckle. “Alright, I know it was an accident. Don’t do it again.” “Let’s go. I’ll walk you home.” I followed silently behind him. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the tips of his ears were slightly red, too.

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After relentlessly chasing a poor, brilliant scholarship student, I finally got bored. I threw together a flimsy excuse and dumped him: “My family is loaded, and you’re broke. We’re from different worlds. It’s not going to work.” I blocked him immediately after sending the text, booked a flight, and spent three months traveling the world, having the time of my life. When I returned three months later, I discovered my “poor” scholar had miraculously transformed into the golden boy of the ultra-wealthy Sterling family. I was absolutely stunned. The entire socialite circle was dying of laughter, eagerly waiting to watch me crash and burn. —— At a high-society gala, the Sterling heir approached me, a champagne glass in hand and a freezing glare on his face. Terrified and weak in the knees, I backed up against a wall, grabbed his jacket, and screamed: “I’m pregnant! The baby is yours!” “You can’t hit me… and you can’t yell at me either!” “Waaah, I’m pregnant and you’re still giving me the silent treatment! You’re the worst!” 1 I yelled it at the top of my lungs. The moment the word “worst” left my mouth, the deafening chatter of the ballroom instantly died. Everyone exchanged bewildered glances. Arthur Sterling was so furious the veins in his forehead were practically throbbing. “We broke up three months ago. The last time we slept together was six months ago. At six months, you’d be showing. What exactly are you pregnant with? A ghost?” The room went from silent to absolutely dead. A muffled cough echoed from the head table. Old Mr. Sterling cleared his throat, took a sip of water, and awkwardly tried to smooth things over: “It’s nothing, just kids playing around.” “Mia, sweetie, come over to Grandpa.” Treating him like a literal lifesaver, I scrambled to my feet, ready to sprint toward the head table. But Arthur grabbed the back of my dress. He said, his voice dripping with menace: “Grandpa, this is between her and me. Stay out of it.” “I need to have a word with her. I’m taking her home. Everyone, enjoy the party.” With that, he scooped me up into his arms and marched toward the exit. In the ballroom, my dad, my brother, and even my lifelong nemesis—who usually couldn’t stand me—all shot me looks of deep pity mixed with intense amusement. 2 Actually, back at the airport, when my brother picked me up, he had given me a highly suggestive look and told me I was “incredibly brave.” When we arrived at the gala, my nemesis had practically sprinted over to me, her face glowing with excitement, to break the news. The “poor scholar” I had dumped three months ago because he was broke was actually the notoriously low-profile heir to the Sterling empire. “You are so dead,” my nemesis cackled gleefully. “He was just trying to keep a low profile, and you literally dumped him because you thought he was actually poor.” “He’s supposedly furious. He swore that the next time he saw you, he was going to slaughter you.” I shivered violently. My terror reached its absolute peak when Arthur unceremoniously dumped me into his car. I huddled against the car door, watching in horror as he started shrugging off his suit jacket and loosening his tie— “What are you doing?!” I tried to act tough. “It was just a breakup! Adults break up and get back together all the time! Why are you being so dramatic?” “A breakup?” He let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “Is that how you break up with someone?!” “You send a text, block me on everything, and immediately fly out of the country? If your dad and your brother hadn’t sworn on their lives you’d come back, I would have thought you skipped town forever.” He stopped taking his clothes off. He slid into the car, yanked me across the seat, and locked me in his arms. His voice was dangerously low: “Explain.” “Explain what?” “Why did you randomly break up with me?” 3 Why else? Because I didn’t like him anymore. From our freshman year of college until graduation, I chased him relentlessly for three years. It wasn’t until our senior year that he finally took pity on me and agreed to date me. Dating him turned out to be an absolute nightmare. I’m pretty, my family is loaded, and my parents spoiled me rotten. I’ve always lived exactly how I wanted. But he insisted on forcing me to live by his rules. Eating snacks in bed? Absolutely not. Skipping breakfast? Not allowed. Staying up all night gaming? Definitely forbidden. His endless, suffocating rules gave me constant headaches. When I got mad and tried to fight with him, he’d just hit me with the silent treatment. I would cry hysterically, and he would just sit there quietly reading his documents. When I finally cried myself hoarse, he would look up and ask: “Are you done throwing your tantrum?” “If you’re done, go eat. I have to go to work this afternoon.” It felt like punching a brick wall. It was the absolute worst feeling in the world. However much I liked him while I was chasing him, that’s exactly how much I despised his condescending, “dad-like” discipline now. I had truly had enough! —— My dad always said that a spoiled, high-maintenance rich girl like me needed to find a soft, submissive man who would coddle me for the rest of my life. I never believed him before. But now, I realized my dad was absolutely right. I was spoiled, high-maintenance, dramatic, and prone to throwing massive temper tantrums. Since Arthur couldn’t coddle me, I needed to find a boyfriend who could. —— But I never, in my wildest dreams, could have imagined that Arthur was the mysterious heir to the Sterling empire. 4 If I had known Arthur was the golden boy of the Sterling family, I never would have dumped him. Even though I have no interest in the family business, I know perfectly well that marrying into the Sterling family comes with massive benefits. But he didn’t tell me. He lied to me for four years. Thinking about that made me angry all over again. I scrambled off Arthur’s lap, frowned at him, and demanded: “Didn’t you lie to me for four years? What right do you have to be mad at me for breaking up with you?” He seemed to realize he was in the wrong too. After a moment of silence, he said: “Fine, then we’re even. Let’s just pretend none of this happened.” He reached out to pull me back, his voice softening: “Mia, let’s go home. I made your favorite lotus seed soup…” Smack! I swatted his hand away. “Get one thing straight. I’m not throwing a tantrum. I genuinely want to break up with you.” “You lying to me was your mistake. Me forgiving you doesn’t mean I still want to be with you.” I took a deep breath, ignoring his increasingly terrifying expression, and finally blurted it out: “Arthur, I don’t like you anymore.” “Let’s just end this peacefully and walk away with our dignity intact, okay?” 5 The underground parking garage was dimly lit. Arthur stared at me coldly, his brow furrowing in deep annoyance. He warned: “Mia, you’re taking this too far.” “Apologize to me right now, and I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. Otherwise, you aren’t getting out of bed tomorrow.” I shook my head without a second of hesitation: “I’m serious about breaking up. I’m not being dramatic, and I’m not throwing a fit.” “Arthur, I don’t like you anymore. I really don’t like you. I don’t like you at all. I hate looking at you. Do you understand?” I repeated “don’t like” several times. Arthur’s face grew darker and darker. He suddenly threw his arm around me, hauled me fully against his chest, leaned down, grabbed my jaw, and kissed me forcefully. “Arthur—” “Do you remember what I told you when we first started dating?” His voice was incredibly low. My brain was foggy from the kiss, but I dug through my memories and finally found the quote he was talking about: “My family is historically devoted. When we choose someone, it’s forever.” “Mia, if you choose to be with me, it’s for the rest of your life. Are you absolutely sure about this?” Back then, I had confidently answered, “Of course.” …But weren’t those just cheesy, romantic things couples say to each other?! If he wanted to hear them, I could promise him the moon and the stars! But how could anyone apply that to real life?! “I never say things I don’t mean.” Arthur gently nudged his nose against my cheek: “To me, dating and marriage are the exact same thing. Both mean I have committed to one person.” “In my world, divorce does not exist, and breaking up is not an option. The only reason I will ever separate from my partner is death.” “Mia, do you really want to test me again?” 6 Tyrant! I glared at him furiously and reached out to pinch his arm. He just let me pinch him, using his other hand to stroke my hair. Suddenly, he said: “Your dad has been trying to secure a partnership with the Sterling Group recently. Did you know that?” I shook my head. He continued: “Your family doesn’t have a competitive edge against the other bidders. Getting that project won’t be easy.” “I can help you, but you have to be good.” “You are never allowed to mention breaking up again. If there is a next time, I won’t be this forgiving. Understand?” “…You!” I stared at him in disbelief. “You’re actually using my family’s company to blackmail me?!” “Are you even human, Arthur?! You’re a heartless, cold-blooded, psychopathic monster—” “If you don’t know how to use big words properly, don’t use them. No one is forcing you to pretend you’re smart.” Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Mia, I just want you to be good.” “When you aren’t good, I can’t focus on work.” “I said I want to break—” “Alright, if you keep pushing this, I’m genuinely going to get angry.” He reached down, took my hand, and gently stroked my fingertips. His voice dropped to a chilling whisper: “Mia, you really don’t want to see what happens when I get angry.” I snapped my mouth shut instantly. 7 When Arthur got angry, it was terrifying. Literally terrifying. The last time he got angry, I had stayed up all night gaming while running a high fever, which developed into pneumonia. Arthur took care of me in the hospital with a face like thunder. The day I was finally healthy, he dragged me to the track and forced me to run a 5K. He ran the entire thing with me. By the end, I collapsed on the track, sobbing hysterically and screaming that he was a psychopath. He stood over me and asked, “Are you ever going to stay up all night gaming again?” “Who gave you the right to control me?! You’re out of your fucking mind! Waaaah, my legs hurt so bad…” “Excellent. You’re swearing now.” Arthur nodded. “Another 5K. When you finish, you can go home and sleep.” Seeing him dust off his track pants and reach down to haul me back up to run, my vision went completely black. I threw my arms around his legs and started wailing. “Hubby, I’m sorry! I won’t do it again! No staying up late, no gaming!” “I’m sorry! Waaah, my legs actually hurt so much…” He sighed. He leaned down and patted my sweaty head: “See? If you had just been this good in the first place, we wouldn’t have had a problem.” That day, he carried me home, bathed me, and carried me to bed. I was as limp as a dead fish the entire time, and I couldn’t get out of bed for days. … Ever since that day, I never dared to stay up late gaming again. Even when we weren’t sleeping in the same bed, if I heard a notification sound from my game in the middle of the night, my legs would instinctively start trembling. When my dad and my brother found out, they both thought Arthur was incredible. They invited him over for dinner and actively encouraged him to discipline me and break me of all my bad habits.

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I was blinded saving Victoria’s life. She swore she would be my eyes forever, that she’d never leave my side. I threw myself into treatment, and on the day my vision was finally restored, I raced home, my heart pounding with joy, ready to share the incredible news. Instead, I found Victoria in my bed with her male secretary, tangled in a passionate embrace, their bodies moving in rhythm. In the throes of passion, Victoria moaned her secretary’s name. “Tori,” he whispered, “why don’t you just divorce the blind man? I’m the one who truly understands you, the one who loves you.” “Just a little longer,” she panted. “I need more time.” That night, a blizzard raged outside. I walked out of my own home in a thin shirt, my heart a frozen wasteland. I booked a flight. I was going back to the Enclave, a place where Victoria would never find me. 1 After booking the flight, I thought the two of them might have finished their sordid affair. When I steeled myself and walked back into the house, I found they had moved from the bedroom to the living room. They were still locked in a feverish kiss, the air thick with the scent of sex. Victoria’s lust-filled eyes met mine, and she bit her lower lip, stifling a moan. But Asher, her secretary, was deliberately cruel. He thrust against her, hard. “Relax, Tori,” he murmured against her ear, his voice a low taunt. “David is blind. He can’t see us.” He shot me a look of pure contempt. Victoria pinched his side. “Don’t be wicked. We can’t let him hear anything.” “Oh, but I think this is so much more exciting,” he chuckled. “Damn, I think we’re out. We need a new one.” He whispered something in her ear, and she stilled her movements, her gaze falling on me, sitting on the opposite sofa. “Should I get it, or should we make him?” Asher asked, his eyes glinting with malice. After a moment’s hesitation, Victoria gave in to his game. “David,” she called out, her voice husky. “My throat’s a little sore. Could you grab that box of cold medicine from the coffee table for me?” My face was ashen. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes hazy with desire, her hands still clinging to Asher’s body. I forced myself to control the tremor in my hands, clenching them into fists. I glanced at the so-called “cold medicine” on the coffee table. It was a box of condoms. Victoria was asking me to bring them a condom. My world turned to grey. Playing the part of the blind man, I fumbled my way to the table and picked up the box. “How did you catch a cold? Is it serious?” I asked, my voice shaking with a betrayal she couldn’t hear. “No, it’s nothing. I’ll just take the medicine and get some sleep.” Asher’s hands roamed her body, and she shot him a playful glare, silently telling him to stop. She took the box from my hand. “You should get some rest too. I’ll sleep in the guest room. I don’t want to infect you.” Then, Asher swept her into his arms, and they disappeared into the guest room. After they were gone, a bitter sting filled my nose, and my eyes burned. Even though I had already decided to leave her, the pain was a physical blow. Victoria had sworn she would never lie to me, never betray me. She had broken her vow. I picked up my phone and called my mentor, the Elder of my people. “Elder, it’s David. I am ready to come home and take my place as your successor.” “Are you certain? Once you return, you can never leave again. You know the valley is sealed, hidden from the outside world. Can you truly bear to leave Victoria?” “I can,” I answered without hesitation. The Elder was silent for a long moment. “Very well. Come back in seven days.” I had once hesitated to return, unable to leave her. Now, she had made the choice for me. I glanced at the closed door of the guest room, from which the sounds of their panting had already begun to emerge. “I have neglected my skills for too long,” I told the Elder. “I have a gift for medicine, yet I let it gather dust. Now, I am ready to take up the burden, to ease your worries.” “Good. You are a true son of the valley. You do not disappoint me. In eight days, we will all be waiting at the entrance to welcome you home.” “I will be there on time.” After we finished speaking, just as I hung up, the door opened. Victoria walked in, wearing nothing but Asher’s white dress shirt. Her neck and thighs were covered in love bites. She didn’t bother to hide them. After all, I was blind. 2 A wave of nausea, more intense than anything I had ever felt, washed over me. I retched. Seeing my reaction, Victoria rushed towards me, her face etched with concern. As she drew near, the cloying scent of Asher’s signature cologne enveloped me—a custom blend the perfume company had made just for him, a gift from her. The revulsion was overwhelming. I shoved her away, stumbling blindly towards the bathroom, my body itself rejecting her presence. I knelt before the toilet, dry heaving. When the spasms subsided, my eyes fell on the trash can. A pregnancy test. Two red lines. I stared at it for a long time, the two lines mocking my failure, my impotence. I couldn’t find the right emotion. I couldn’t cry. There was nothing left but an endless, hollow ache. Since I had lost my sight six months ago, Victoria and I hadn’t been intimate. There was no need to guess whose child it was. Victoria followed me, her voice laced with panic. She wrapped her arms around me from behind. “David, what’s wrong? Are you sick?” Her hands trembled against my waist. “You pushed me away just now… my heart just sank.” She held me tighter, as if I might vanish at any moment. One second, she was with another man. The next, she was whispering words of love to me. Victoria was a truly gifted actress. I pried her hands off me, creating distance between us. “It’s probably just my stomach. I’ve been having trouble keeping food down lately.” I didn’t know when I had learned to lie so easily. I had always despised dishonest people, and now I had become one of them. Hearing this, Victoria seemed to panic. The woman who was famously obsessed with cleanliness didn’t seem to care that I might be covered in filth. She clung to me again, her grip desperate. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been so busy with work, I haven’t had time for you. You’ve been eating alone, not taking care of yourself. It’s all my fault.” She cupped my face, her brow furrowed with what looked like genuine pain. She led me back to the bedroom and pulled out fresh clothes for me. I stopped her, dressing myself. Victoria froze, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. It was the first time since we married that I hadn’t needed her help. Her heart seemed to skip a beat. I lay down on the bed, and she gently pulled the covers over me. “David, are you angry with me? For not spending enough time with you?” she whispered. “Tomorrow is your birthday. I’ll take the whole day off. We’ll spend it all together, just us. How does that sound?” The fearsome queen of the business world, a woman who made titans of industry tremble, was speaking to me with such humility. Was I fortunate or cursed? I was too tired to decide. As I drifted off to sleep, she must have thought I was already gone, because her phone vibrated. She quickly silenced it, then called my name twice. When I didn’t stir, she answered. “You little vixen,” Asher’s voice purred through the phone. “You ripped my underwear. Now, get me a new pair. Immediately.” “I’ll be right there.” Victoria glanced at me one last time, her hand gently stroking my cheek, then she left. I gripped the bedsheets, and the tears I had been holding back finally broke free. Asher hadn’t left. She was keeping him here, in our home, taking advantage of my blindness. It’s alright, I told myself. Just seven more days. Then, we will be finished forever. 3 The next morning, Victoria was up early, cooking a lavish breakfast in the kitchen. She had prepared all my favorite pastries and side dishes. She even held a piece up to my lips. “Open up, darling. Let me feed you.” Asher, sitting across from me, pouted. Victoria, right in front of me, texted him under the table: I’ll make it up to you later. Don’t cause a scene in front of David. I’ll give you whatever you want. A smug look crossed Asher’s face. He shot me a disdainful glance, then stood up. As he passed Victoria, his fingers brushed provocatively under the hem of her skirt before he walked out. I didn’t take the food she offered. I picked up my chopsticks and pretended to blindly find something else on the table. She thought I was still sulking. After breakfast, she insisted on taking me out. She had chartered a yacht and invited dozens of our friends for what she called a grand birthday celebration for me. All the way there, she held my hand tightly, as if afraid I might fall, chattering on about our sweet memories. I remained silent, the irony and pain a bitter cocktail in my gut. I once believed we would grow old together, inseparable. It had all become a joke. Victoria craved excitement, craved the thrill of a younger man. She had forgotten the vows we made. The path from the dock to the yacht was strewn with vibrant, fresh rose petals. I’ve always hated roses. Victoria knew this. Asher, however, loved them. So the rose petals were for him. Another lie in a celebration that was never meant for me. “David, this is where we had our wedding. It was broadcast live across the globe, so the whole world would know how much I, Victoria Thorne, adored you.” Her voice trembled with emotion, and a single tear traced a path down her cheek. She lifted my hand and pressed my fingertips to the teardrop. How much love does it take to make a woman cry with such sincerity? If it weren’t for her betrayal, I might have been moved enough to cry with her. She had loved me once. But that time was gone. Her love was now divided. I pulled my hand away, my expression as calm as still water. Victoria, lost in her own memories, looked hurt by my lack of reaction. But her sorrow lasted only a few seconds. Her eyes lit up, a smile playing on her lips as she looked towards the deck. Asher was standing there, dressed in a bespoke suit Victoria had made for him. He looked refined, elegant. Compared to my simple attire, I was utterly eclipsed. “Mr. Hayes, happy birthday,” Asher said with a smug smile. He walked to Victoria’s side and, ignoring everyone else, took her hand in his. “Ms. Thorne, everything is ready. I’ll count down from three.” “One!” “Two!” “Three!” Suddenly, the night sky erupted in a cascade of fireworks, painting the darkness with brilliant colors. The three of us stood there, Victoria and Asher’s hands tightly clasped. They looked like the married couple. I watched the explosions, and a sharp pain pierced my eyes. As the fireworks bloomed, they spelled out a name in glittering light: ASHER. Not David. The party, the fireworks—it was all for him. Suddenly, Victoria excused herself, asking a maid to look after me. “David, be a good boy and wait for me. I’ll be right back.” She placed a soft kiss on my forehead and then, taking Asher’s hand, eagerly hurried away.

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I had supported Lara for seven years, and loved her for just as long. She finally agreed to be with me. But later, I discovered her heart belonged to the childhood friend she grew up with. She had always hated me, believing I used my money to humiliate and demean her. For ten years of our marriage, she remained utterly cold, eventually moving out to live with her childhood friend. I, alone in an empty house, wasted away and died of sorrow. Then, I was reborn back to the day I first decided to help her. Lara’s childhood friend stood defiantly in front of her, exclaiming to me: “Do you think being rich makes you so special? We don’t want your money!” I simply smiled. “You’re overthinking it.” “I’d rather burn this money than use it to help you.” 1 “Ian, you just flash your cash around, don’t you? You think money makes you important? Well, we don’t want it!” Luke, standing defiantly in front of Lara, brought me back to reality. My gaze met hers. Twenty-year-old Lara still had a hint of youthful innocence on her face, dressed in a faded linen dress. Yet, she was incredibly beautiful; tall and slender, with porcelain skin and eyes that shone like stars in the sky. She somehow made the humble dress look elegant. I instinctively took a step back, leaning against a nearby table to steady myself. How long had it been since I last saw Lara like this? Ten years? Or twenty? It had been too long, I couldn’t even remember. After all, that was a lifetime ago. Lara seemed surprised by my retreat. Luke continued his endless rant, but his words faded into a muffled hum. Everything unfolding before me was an exact replay of my past life. Back then, she refused my help, yet I insisted on giving it. I had liked Lara for seven years, and I knew her family was struggling. Her father was a gambling addict who’d always come home drunk after losing all their money, verbally and physically abusing her and her mother. Her mother, unable to bear the torment, eventually took her own life. Lara had spent her childhood scavenging, working odd jobs, and relying on scholarships to stay in school. From a privileged background, our paths should never have crossed. But her excellent grades earned her a scholarship to our private high school, which valued its academic reputation. Our circle at school was filled with young heirs and heiresses, rich kids who barely bothered with their studies, just drifting through each day, waiting to inherit their family businesses after getting some superficial degree overseas. Lara was different. She was focused, diligently studying in class and heading straight to work after school. Despite her poverty, she never acted ashamed, always carrying herself with an unyielding dignity. She was utterly unique. Like a beautiful, resilient wild orchid blooming in a greenhouse, standing apart from the pampered, cloying fragrances around her. That’s when I fell for her. I loved her, and I couldn’t stand to see her suffer. Back then, young and foolish, I’d often push what I thought was best onto her, with an arrogant sense of entitlement. She worked nights and couldn’t make breakfast, so I’d bring her packed lunches from home. “Lara, our chef makes the best Wagyu beef! You have to try it!” “And foie gras, my dad had it specially flown in, it’s amazing.” As an only child, I had always lived a life of ease, waited on hand and foot. Everyone around me spoiled me rotten, leaving my mind empty of real understanding. All I wanted was to give her the best. I completely overlooked whether she actually wanted any of it. Other students would jeer, “Ian, what does she know about foie gras, ha-ha-ha! She probably can’t even afford chicken liver!” I’d snap back, “What the hell is it to you all?!” I didn’t see Lara’s fingers clench tightly around the lunchbox, her knuckles white. After a pause, she handed the box back to me, her voice flat. “Thanks for the thought, but no thanks.” “Oh, don’t be like that, Lara,” a girl nudged her, winking. “If you get together with Ian, you’ll never have to work again. Go on, snag him!” “Yeah, then your dad can gamble as much as he wants, and won’t be after your tuition money anymore, ha-ha-ha.” Everyone burst into laughter. I slammed my hand on the table and shot to my feet. “Everyone, shut up!” The laughter died down. But Lara suddenly stood up and walked out. I chased after her, trying to shove the lunchbox back into her hands. “Lara, don’t listen to their crap. Eat your food, or you won’t have the energy to work tonight.” She stopped, turning sharply. I froze. Her eyes were filled with unadulterated hatred and disgust. 2 Memories fade quickly for teenagers. I soon forgot that incident and continued to pursue Lara. For her, I even started studying hard, getting into the same university as her. My father was ecstatic, doubling my allowance. At university, Lara became even busier. Her scholarship application fell through, and the poverty aid slot was snatched by a classmate with connections. At her worst, she could only afford a single bun from the cafeteria each day, filling up on free soup. I couldn’t bear it, so I offered to help her financially, but she refused. She worked three jobs a day, eventually collapsing from exhaustion on the street. That’s when I lost my patience, dragging her and insisting she take the money. “Lara, why won’t you take my money? What are you trying to achieve by working yourself to death?!” I went to her dean and forcibly paid her tuition. By then, I had matured a little, understanding the need to respect her pride. So, I’d always pull her to eat with me, claiming I couldn’t finish my food and asking her to share. When we went out, I’d pretend to have scored free tickets, bringing her along. Slowly, my relationship with Lara seemed to grow closer. I continued to support her until she graduated, and to make her happy, I even helped her childhood friend, Luke. After graduation, Lara started her own business. Her academic record was stellar; she and a friend had developed a stock-trading software model while in college, but they hit dead ends everywhere, unable to secure any investment. Seeing her so down, I simply asked my father to invest in her. I remember Lara was very quiet that night. As I held her, almost drifting off to sleep, she suddenly spoke. “Ian, why are you doing this?” At the time, I thought she was going to say, why are you being so good to me, so I complacently replied: “Because I love you.” “Lara, do you love me?” I held her hand. “I’ve been so good to you, if you still don’t want to be with me, you’re completely heartless!” Back then, I was only joking. But Lara didn’t say anything, and I assumed she was agreeing. That’s how we got together. Two years later, Lara and I got married. The wedding was a quick affair. Lara said she didn’t like too many people, so we only invited a few close relatives and friends. All of them were mine. From her side, there was only her. After the wedding, Lara remained distant. I was so incredibly foolish then; I thought it was just her nature. I’d pursued her for so many years, surely if I kept being good to her, even a heart of stone would eventually warm. But I never imagined her heart was truly unyielding. Because her heart, from beginning to end, belonged to someone else. In the third year of our marriage, our conflicts became irreconcilable. I couldn’t tolerate her day-in, day-out coldness anymore. I accused her of being in love with her childhood friend. She just looked at me with cold eyes, saying nothing. When I pushed her too far, she would simply storm out. Her silent treatment drove me to become increasingly obsessive and frantic. When she returned, I’d interrogate her, curse at her. During our most intense arguments, I’d blurt out hurtful things: “I wish I’d known you were such an ungrateful wretch! I might as well have adopted a dog; at least it would wag its tail at me!” For a fleeting moment, anger flashed across her face, then she quickly regained her composure. After that day, she stopped coming home altogether. Later, I discovered she had already been with her childhood friend. They had built a new life together outside our home, and even… She was pregnant with his child. All those years, she lived a complete and happy life with him. While I guarded an empty house alone, my heart full of love curdling into a poisonous, hateful brew. Lara’s business flourished, and she became wealthier than my own father. There was nothing I could use to get back at her. The only thing I had left was our marriage. I gambled my own life to spite her. I refused to divorce her, no matter how much money she offered. She had ruined me, and I wouldn’t let her off easy. The man she loved would forever be a clandestine affair. Her child with him would always be a bastard, born in the shadows. Lara didn’t dare sue me for divorce. She feared that a public marital dispute would impact her company’s stock value, and her board of directors would never allow it. And so, she and I dragged out this charade for ten years. For ten years, no matter how hysterical, how frantic I became, eventually even resorting to pleading… she never softened. She never once came back to see me. In this daily despair, I grew thinner and thinner, falling gravely ill. Finally, I withered away. 3 “Ian?” I snapped back to reality, looking at Lara beside me. A profound hatred surged through every fiber of my being. My heart felt as if it would burst, and for a moment, I almost couldn’t stand. After I died, she finally got what she wanted, didn’t she? Perhaps, the way she treated me was always meant to torment me to death faster. I remembered my medication being suddenly swapped before I died. When I asked the butler, he merely said it was a milder kind. I didn’t suspect a thing. Yet, shortly after taking this new medicine, my health rapidly deteriorated until I couldn’t even sit up. Not long after, I died. It was her, wasn’t it? Who else could it be? Hating me so much, wanting me dead so quickly. She wanted to marry Luke. How utterly venomous. I looked at Lara, forcefully suppressing the urge to rush forward and kill her. I hated her so much! I believed that aside from being a naive idiot when I was younger and not sensitive enough to her pride, I had done nothing to wrong Lara. I hadn’t even forced her into marriage. I’d even asked if she was willing, and if not, I could wait. Yet, she hated me so profoundly. Luke, just like in the past, was yelling at me, “Ian, do you think money makes you important? How dare you insult people like this!” “Take your filthy money and get lost!” I looked at him. Luke was actually quite handsome, though his worn-out tracksuit made him look a bit shabby. He was staring at me, his expression agitated. This was the man Lara loved, the one she would kill for. It was the same in my past life. Lara and I were talking calmly; I was telling her that if she felt uncomfortable, she could pay me back for her tuition later, treating it as a loan. But then Luke suddenly accused me of throwing money around, saying I was insulting Lara. It was only through later arguments with Lara that I slowly understood. She had always felt I was using money to demean and humiliate her. Suddenly, I found it all so laughable. Seeing Luke’s protective stance, I curled my lips into a smile. “You’re overthinking it.” “I’d rather burn this money than use it to help you.” Lara’s face blanched. 4 Luke’s expression went blank for a moment. “…What did you say?” I smiled. “Don’t you think me helping you is insulting? As classmates, how could I insult you like that? In that case, forget it. You two can just keep working odd jobs.” Luke’s family situation was similar to Lara’s; his father owed debts and ran off with money, and his mother worked herself sick to put him through school, now confined to bed. Perhaps because of their similar circumstances, he and Lara had always been close, always hovering around her. He always liked to tag along whenever Lara and I went out. Sometimes I’d object, and he’d question me in front of Lara. “Ian, are you looking down on me because I’m poor? Don’t you want to be friends with me?” Before I could reply, Lara would link her arm through his and say in a flat voice, “If you think we’re not good enough, then don’t go.” I’d have no choice but to bring him along. At dinner, he’d stare at the lobster on the plate and say, “Do you eat such fancy food every day?” “We really aren’t from the same world.” There were several times when Lara and I were having a good conversation, and he’d suddenly interject with a remark like that. Lara’s smile would vanish, and she’d stop talking to me. At first, I thought he was just thoughtless. It wasn’t until one time when Lara and I were walking together, and I turned around to say something to him, that I caught his gaze. Luke’s face was expressionless, his eyes filled with a murky malevolence and resentment. When he saw me turn, he was startled, quickly forcing a smile. But all I felt was a chill down my spine. That’s when it dawned on me. He hated me. Or rather, he resented me. Actually, when Lara and I first got married, there was a brief period of harmony. Her company was on track then, having secured its first big contract. After the celebration dinner, she drunkenly hugged me, laughing and saying, “Honey, what do you like? Your wife will buy it for you.” I felt for her, knowing how hard she worked for her money, and held her, utterly content. “No need, your company is just starting, it’s where the money should go. Your thoughtfulness is enough for me.” But she wouldn’t let go, clinging to my neck, whining playfully, “A wife’s money is for her husband! I’ll buy you a car, what kind do you want?!” Even as she fell asleep, she was still mumbling. “Ian, I have money now.” “You don’t have to compromise for me or suffer with me anymore.” Sure enough, the next day she bought me a car. But before I could even say anything, Luke showed up. He looked at the car keys in my hand, and his expression suddenly turned odd. Then, he snatched the keys from me, smiling at Lara. “Oh, I remember Ian already had this car when he was in college. One of his friends gave it to him, right?” “He even complained it was too cheap to drive.” Honestly, I’d long forgotten if that was true. But Lara’s expression immediately soured. Then she took the car keys and left, her face unreadable. After that, she grew cold towards me again. And the next time I saw that car, Luke was driving it. He curved his lips into a smile, feigning indifference. “Ian, Lara gave me this car. You’re not angry, are you?” Of course, I refused, demanding he give the car back to me. A flicker of resentment crossed his face, and he loudly asked, “You have so many cars already, why do you have to fight me for this one?!” “You have so many, and I only have this one!” Lara, her face dark, pulled me away. “Let go! If you don’t care about it, why fight him for it? Or is it that you just like to fight for things?!” I was young and proud back then, and I couldn’t stand that kind of humiliation. We had a huge fight and parted ways angrily. Only later did I understand. Luke wasn’t talking about the car at all. He was clearly talking about Lara. He felt I had stolen her, which was why he hated me so much. 5 “Ian,” Lara, regaining her composure, frantically grabbed my arm. “Wait!” I turned back, but seeing her expression, I froze for a moment. Her eyes were a swirling vortex of emotions, as if something was about to break free and erupt! Even her voice trembled slightly. “No, this isn’t right!” “Ian, why aren’t you helping me anymore? Don’t you like me very much?!” Her frantic outburst startled me. What was wrong with Lara? Had she gone crazy? Or was she upset about my tone with Luke? But in my past life, at this point, I hadn’t even won her over yet, and she was always utterly cold and unsmiling towards me. Was she having some kind of episode? I tried to shake her off. “Let go!” She clung on even tighter, her eyes starting to redden. “Ian, don’t you like me anymore?” “Don’t you want me anymore?!” Now I was truly unnerved. When had Lara ever said something like that to me? I stared, wide-eyed. “Lara, what the hell is wrong with you? Did you take the wrong meds or are you possessed?!” But she said nothing, just stared at me unblinkingly, her expression fanatically obsessive. My temper flared. How dare she stare at me like that after everything she did to me in my past life?! “Didn’t you think me helping you was humiliating? Lara, or are you just shamelessly waiting for me to beg you, taking advantage of my kindness?!” Luke’s mouth hung open, as if he hadn’t expected me to speak to Lara like that. Indeed, in my past life, at this very moment, I was at my most infatuated with her. Every word I spoke was carefully chosen, fearing I might wound her pride. But now, I didn’t care anymore! “Lara, what kind of person are you?!” I sneered. Heartless, ungrateful. I truly wondered how I could have fallen for someone like that. Lara, however, wasn’t angry. The color simply drained from her face, leaving it pale. I roughly pushed her hand away and walked off without looking back.

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Because I went to the hospital a few times, I was jointly reported by the parents of my students. “Senior year is so crucial. As the homeroom teacher, you need to be on call 24/7. Will you die if you don’t go to the hospital?” “Even if it’s the weekend, what if something happens and we can’t find you? If you don’t even have that basic level of commitment, why are you even a homeroom teacher?” “At the end of the day, it’s just selfishness. Someone like this doesn’t even deserve to be a teacher!” I was both furious and shocked. For the past two years, I had poured my heart and soul into this class, taking them from the bottom of the grade to ranking first. I worked myself into the ground, getting sick in the process, yet I didn’t even dare ask for a sick day for fear of impacting my students. And after all that, I was being accused of being selfish? When my students found out I was reported, every single one of them had a cold, indifferent expression, acting as if it had nothing to do with them. My heart turned to ice. Whoever wants this homeroom teacher job can have it. A few months later, that same group of parents was standing outside my front door. “Mr. Vance, we’re begging you, please come back.” 01 I was reported. All the parents in my class jointly filed a complaint against me for being “irresponsible,” demanding the school immediately strip me of my homeroom teacher duties and my position as the math teacher. When the principal told me this, I felt like I had been struck by lightning. Ever since I took over this class, I had worked tirelessly, exhausting myself. I always put the students first, practically handing my heart over to them on a silver platter. And the parents actually had the nerve to call me irresponsible?! “The parents in your class are being extremely aggressive. They even said that if the school doesn’t meet their demands, they’ll escalate the report to the Board of Education.” My face looked terrible. The principal said sternly, “Mr. Vance, what you need to do right now is reflect on yourself. If you truly had absolutely zero issues, why would the parents collectively report you?” This was utterly baffling! How did this suddenly become my fault? I was just about to argue back, but the principal waved me off impatiently. “Alright, that’s enough. Go back and wait for the school’s decision.” Walking out of the principal’s office, the more I thought about it, the more depressed I felt. Finally, unable to hold it in, I sent a message in the parent-teacher group chat. “Parents, since I took on the role of homeroom teacher, I have always put the class first. I wouldn’t dare say I’ve given my absolute all, but I have certainly been dedicated and diligent. If you feel there are areas where I’ve fallen short in my work, you are more than welcome to communicate with me directly. Baseless misunderstandings and accusations truly chill the hearts of educators.” A few minutes later, a message popped up. Matthew’s Mom: “Misunderstandings? Are you saying we’re falsely accusing you? A homeroom teacher running off to the hospital every few days—do you think that’s appropriate? Who gave you that right? Who gave you that freedom? How are you supposed to focus your energy on the students like this? The final semester of senior year is so critical. Will you die if you don’t go to the hospital?” That barrage of blunt, unapologetic questioning left me stunned on the spot. 02 Two years of high-intensity work had severely damaged my cervical and lumbar spine. Every night, the pain was so bad I couldn’t sleep. My doctor strongly advised me to take a long leave of absence to rest. But given that it was already their senior year, I was worried the students wouldn’t adapt well to a new homeroom teacher. So, I could only squeeze out time on the weekends to go to the hospital for conservative, non-invasive treatments. As for resting, I figured I would at least wait until the students graduated. Even if you beat me to death, I never would have imagined that the parents would report me over this. I forced myself to be patient and replied: “Matthew’s Mom, homeroom teachers are human too; getting sick is unavoidable. Moreover, I only go to the hospital during my private time on the weekends. It hasn’t impacted my work with the class at all.” I didn’t expect her next words to be even more speechless. “Oh, please! Private time? What private time do you have? You are a teacher, a homeroom teacher. You should be on standby 24 hours a day!” At that point, other parents started chiming in one after another to agree. Chloe’s Dad: “I agree with Matthew’s Mom. If you’re going to be a homeroom teacher, you need to have that level of commitment. If you can’t do it, why are you even a homeroom teacher?” Ethan’s Dad: “Last semester, you took three consecutive days off to get married. I thought that was completely inappropriate at the time.” Noah’s Mom: “We only agreed to let you be the homeroom teacher because of your seniority and experience. If we knew you were going to be this high-maintenance, we would have rather had a young teacher from the start!” I couldn’t help but argue back. “Parents, I have developed some health issues, but I have never let that interfere with the class. These past two years, no matter how exhausting or grueling it got, I persevered for the sake of this class. If I really just wanted an easy life, I could have proactively resigned from my position as homeroom teacher.” But Matthew’s Mom retorted: “Give it a rest! You make it sound so noble, but isn’t it just for the money? Everyone knows homeroom teachers get paid more than regular teachers.” 03 My blood pressure instantly skyrocketed. In that moment, I wanted to curse them all out. It’s true that homeroom teachers get paid slightly more than regular subject teachers. An extra hundred dollars a semester. Can you believe it? Waking up earlier than the roosters, going to sleep later than the dogs. Spending seventeen or eighteen hours a day at the school. Endless homeroom teacher meetings, endless class administrative tasks, endless performance evaluations to write, endless parent feedback to reply to. Even on weekends and holidays, the progress reports and summaries never stopped. My phone was on 24/7, ready to handle any sudden emergencies at a moment’s notice. All in all, the workload of a homeroom teacher was more than ten times that of a regular subject teacher. Did they really think I was working myself to death just for that extra hundred bucks? Am I really that pathetic? The attacks against me in the group chat continued. “Not only do homeroom teachers get paid more, but they also get priority for ‘Teacher of the Year’ awards and promotions. There are plenty of perks!” “No wonder he couldn’t bear to give up the homeroom teacher position even when he was sick… Heh, I’m speechless.” “Damn it, if you want to make money, don’t drag our kids down! Do we owe you something?!” “Hurry up and get out!” I was so angry I couldn’t even speak. If I just wanted to make money, I would have left a long time ago. The private high school next door had previously offered to double my salary to poach me, but I politely declined. What was I doing it for? Wasn’t it for the students?! For their precious little darlings?! Ms. Roberts, the English teacher, couldn’t stand it anymore. “Mr. Vance has pushed through his illness for the sake of the students. Not only are you completely un-understanding, but how can you say such awful things to him? Are the students’ grades not enough to prove his dedication?” In the two years I had led this class, they had gone from being ranked at the bottom of the grade to being number one. That was an undeniable fact. There was a brief silence in the group chat. Then, one parent suddenly said, “That’s because the kids worked hard themselves. It would have been the same no matter which teacher led them; it has absolutely nothing to do with you.” Immediately after, a wave of agreement flooded the chat. “Exactly! My son studies until midnight every day. With that kind of effort, how could his grades not be good?” “The practice workbooks my daughter has completed could stack up as tall as a person!” “He really knows how to take credit for other people’s hard work.” 04 I was so angry my neck hurt. The students did work hard, but that study habit was only formed because I constantly pushed them. To put it bluntly, the students in Class 6 had a poor foundation, weak basics, and lacked any initiative to study. If they had been given a teacher with even slightly less sense of responsibility or slightly weaker skills, they would have been absolutely impossible to lead. Over the past two years, I had stayed up late countless times designing personalized teaching plans suited for the students in our class. I gave up my daily rest periods to offer one-on-one tutoring to the students, often just grabbing a piece of bread and a bottle of water for dinner. I gave free tutoring to the students at my home on weekends and holidays. I bought various study materials and prizes for the students out of my own pocket. I dare say I put more heart and effort into this than any other teacher in the school. But now, this group of parents was saying the students’ grades had absolutely nothing to do with me. Absolutely nothing! Furious, I typed: “Since everyone feels the students’ grades rely entirely on themselves, then how does me doing my own things during my off-hours affect them at all?” The parents all started arguing back at once. “What, do students only care about grades? Let me ask you, what if my kid doesn’t get enough to eat at school? What if they forget to drink water? What if they didn’t wear enough clothes and catch a cold? What if they feel sick?” “The kids are already tired enough from studying. The homeroom teacher should be responsible for chores like cleaning the classroom.” “Evening study hall ends too late every day. If you ask me, the homeroom teacher should be responsible for taking the students home.” Ms. Roberts sent me a private message. “Are these parents insane? Do they think a homeroom teacher is a babysitter?” Watching the messages constantly popping up in the group chat, my temples throbbed. I took a deep breath. Using my very last shred of patience, I said sincerely: “Parents, there is less than half a year left until the college entrance exams. I implore you all to trust me and give me one more chance. I promise I will do my absolute best to fulfill my duties as homeroom teacher.” But a single sentence from Matthew’s Mom instantly broke my composure. “You really are shameless. Are you just planning to seek revenge afterward and make things difficult for our kids?!” That single sentence completely broke my composure. Fine. Fine. Fine. I quit! 05 I had spent months developing comprehensive second and third-round review plans for everyone in the class. Forty-five plans in total, each one different. Even though I couldn’t continue leading this class, I still hoped to fulfill my final responsibility and show my care before I left. When I walked into the classroom during the afternoon study hall, a wave of complaints instantly erupted. “Damn, what kind of packets are those? Why are they so thick?” “Every day I open my eyes, it’s just study, study, study. I’m so tired, I seriously want to throw up.” “He’s taking up our study hall again…” These little brats. So what if they’re a little tired? What high school senior isn’t tired? Just as I was about to speak, Matthew suddenly asked loudly, “Mr. Vance, if we all get into Tier-1 universities, are you going to get a huge bonus of hundreds of thousands of dollars?” I didn’t process what he was asking for a second. “What?” “Otherwise, why would you treat us like pack mules every day? It must be because there’s a massive benefit in it for you. But since you aren’t going to teach us anymore, I think you should stop wasting your energy.” My face instantly fell. Matthew was a loudmouth. If he knew about this, then the whole class definitely knew too. I looked down at the class. The expressions on everyone’s faces were either impatient or completely apathetic. Which meant that knowing their parents had reported me, knowing that I—the homeroom teacher who had led them for two years—was leaving, not a single one of them showed even a hint of reluctance or sadness. What was even more unacceptable was that my students actually thought I was pushing them to study hard purely for my own benefit! In that moment, I didn’t know how to describe what I was feeling. I said coldly, “Oh. Then continue your study hall.” The moment I walked out, cheers erupted in the classroom. “Woohoo! The King of Hell is finally gone!” “Does this mean we’re liberated from now on?” “Finally, we don’t have to be forced by him to do those packets every day! Damn, do you guys know I literally have nightmares about him?!” 06 My heart was utterly frozen. I felt so awful I barely slept that night. The school moved fast. By the next day, a new homeroom teacher had been selected. Chosen exactly according to the demands of that group of parents. Single and unmarried. A docile personality. And she lived right there in the faculty dorms, truly present at the school 24 hours a day. The class group chat got lively again. Matthew’s Mom said, “Parents, even though this Ms. Carter is a bit younger, I have already spoken with her privately. She promised she will take excellent care of our kids.” “Thank you so much for your hard work, Matthew’s Mom! You really ran yourself ragged sorting out this top priority for our class.” “Oh, there’s no need to thank me. It’s all for the kids!” “Exactly, exactly!” I didn’t want to stay in that group chat for another second. After handing over my duties to the new homeroom teacher, the very first thing I did was leave the group. Then, I submitted my resignation to the school. The administration was quite displeased. “Mr. Vance, you aren’t some naive, immature young teacher. Even if you weren’t in the wrong here, is it really necessary to threaten the school with resignation? What teacher doesn’t suffer a little injustice? To put it bluntly, even if a parent hit you today, you’d still just have to endure it!” There was no point in arguing with someone who couldn’t understand. I didn’t bother explaining further and firmly processed my resignation. When I left, not a single person from the class came to see me off. I just considered the past two years of my genuine devotion to have been fed to the dogs. During my time off, I underwent a minimally invasive surgery. I woke up naturally every day, ate three meals on time, and spent my free time reading and watching TV shows. Not only did all my minor ailments disappear, but I also gained over ten pounds in less than a month. A few days after I resigned, it happened to be the first major mock exam for the seniors. Class 6 remained ranked number one in the grade. A few parents I had forgotten to unfriend posted on their timelines. “Facts prove that our children’s excellence relies entirely on themselves! It has nothing to do with anyone else!” “To certain arrogant, self-important people: No one in this world is indispensable.” They were just short of tagging me directly. 07 I felt absolutely nothing. No one understood that group of students better than I did. They had no internal drive; they only knew how to study passively. Without me—the homeroom teacher exhausting myself to drag them forward—let’s just wait and see what happens. After resting for half a month, Mingde Academy—the school that had previously tried to poach me—called me again. “Mr. Vance, as long as you’re willing to come, we welcome you anytime!” They reiterated their promise: they were still willing to pay me double my previous salary. Before going, I had one condition: I absolutely would not be a homeroom teacher. Being just a regular subject teacher meant I wouldn’t have to worry about endless class management tasks, wouldn’t have to exhaust myself maintaining parent-teacher relationships, wouldn’t have to deal with all sorts of bizarre people and drama, and wouldn’t have to worry about having zero personal space. By focusing solely on my teaching, I wouldn’t be heartbroken over investing my emotions and getting absolutely nothing in return. “Mr. Vance, you coming here really is a huge help to us. The previous math teacher went on maternity leave, and we were getting really worried,” the homeroom teacher of my new class told me happily. I was still teaching seniors. After Mr. Lee, the homeroom teacher, added me to the Class 2 parent-teacher group chat, I gave a standard, professional greeting. I didn’t expect the parents to get so excited. “Are you the Mr. Vance who used to be at First High?” “Mr. Vance, I’ve watched your public math lectures! They take complex concepts and make them easy to understand, and they’re so engaging and humorous! You teach brilliantly!” “I was getting really anxious, but finding out that Mr. Vance is taking over our class’s math… I’m suddenly not worried at all anymore!” I replied politely: “Thank you all for your kind words. I will do my absolute best to teach our class well. If anyone has any opinions or suggestions regarding my teaching, please feel free to communicate with me anytime.” I thought people would start adding me privately. With my old class, the parents insisted on adding every single subject teacher just so they could contact us at any time, completely disregarding any concept of boundaries. But to my surprise, not a single parent from this group sent me a private friend request. 08 “You’re too modest, Mr. Vance. You’re the professional. All we need to do is trust you!” Another parent chimed in: “Mr. Vance just arrived, so he definitely has a lot on his plate. Let’s not bother him right now.” “Right, right, right! I was just too excited and got a little carried away.” “Mr. Vance, please go ahead and get back to your work.” Perhaps because private schools are naturally more competitive and demanding, the students were incredibly proactive and driven. I quickly adapted to my new work environment. Over at First High, however, the new homeroom teacher for Class 6 didn’t seem to be having a smooth time. Less than a month into the job, she, just like me, was reported by the parents. The reason for the report was ridiculous: the teacher didn’t answer a parent’s phone call. When Ms. Roberts relayed the story to me, she was so furious she could barely speak clearly. “Just because she didn’t answer the phone, the parent actually marched right into the school and slapped Ms. Carter across the face!” I was shocked. They actually got physical? “Ms. Carter was literally teaching a class! How was she supposed to answer the phone? And do you know why the parent called? Just to have the teacher top up her son’s meal card! My god, how old is her son?! Does he not have hands?!” I remained silent. That was exactly the kind of thing those parents would do. When I was there, I had to be available on WeChat 24/7. Even if they called in the middle of the night, I couldn’t ignore it. If a student didn’t get enough to eat at school, didn’t drink enough water, or even got dirt on their collar, they would come to me. Parents with boarding students even asked me if I could help wash their kids’ clothes, claiming their children had never washed clothes at home before. Thinking back on it now, it was probably because I had refused so many of their unreasonable demands that those parents had long harbored a grudge against me. The parent who slapped her wasn’t just anyone. It was Matthew’s Mom. Being slapped by a parent in front of the entire class… and instead of apologizing, the parent played the victim and reported her. No human being could tolerate that. Ms. Carter immediately declared she was quitting. I quickly asked, “And what was the school’s stance?”

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My brother is gay, and I’m a lesbian. I have my eye on his arranged marriage partner. My future sister-in-law has fair skin, a beautiful face, and long legs. But her hands are what really get me—long, slender fingers with pronounced knuckles. In the middle of the night, I stole my brother’s phone and texted her to meet me at a hotel. The next morning, right outside the hotel entrance. My brother was leaning shyly against my fiancé’s chest, while my sister-in-law had her arm wrapped securely around my waist. The four of us stared at each other in absolute, stunned silence. 1 My dad’s business went under, leaving him buried in debt. He tried to start a new project but couldn’t find a single investor. Just when we hit a dead end, the Sterling family—the number one old-money family in New York—extended an olive branch. The eldest daughter of the Sterling family said she wanted my brother to marry into her family, and that I should come along as part of the “package deal.” In exchange, she would invest twenty million dollars in my dad’s project. The eldest daughter’s brother said he wanted to marry me, and that my brother should come along as my “dowry.” In exchange, he would also invest twenty million dollars. My dad sat on the sofa and slapped his thigh. “Yes, yes, yes! Both of you will marry into the Sterling family!” My mom wiped her tears, loudly scolding my dad for selling his children. “The Sterling family is famously complicated! Sending them there is like throwing sheep into a wolf’s den!” My parents argued fiercely. My brother and I just looked at each other, keeping our heads down, neither of us daring to speak. My brother couldn’t marry the Sterling family’s eldest daughter, and I couldn’t marry her brother. They just didn’t know it yet. My brother and I… he’s gay, and I’m a lesbian. The Vance family had both a son and a daughter, but unfortunately, no heirs to carry on the traditional bloodline. 2 It wasn’t until the Sterling family’s eldest daughter, Serena, and her brother, Arthur, showed up at our door with their hands full of expensive gifts that my mom finally shut up. My brother and I exchanged a glance, reading the exact same thought in each other’s eyes. Right off the bat, Serena shoved a bank card into my mom’s hand. It held a neat two million dollars. She turned to look at my brother, flashing a perfect set of white teeth, and then smiled at me—a smile that could literally steal a soul: “Mrs. Vance, this is a little welcome gift for Liam.” Not to be outdone, Arthur shoved a card into my dad’s hand: “Mr. Vance, this is a welcome gift for Chloe.” Immediately after, Serena dumped a pile of gift boxes into my arms. She looked apologetically at my brother and my parents: “I’m so sorry, I really didn’t know what boys like, so I just bought some things that girls like for little Chloe. Liam, you don’t mind, do you?” Serena was very tall and wearing stiletto heels. When she leaned in close to me, I had a perfect view of her beautiful, pale collarbones. Her chest rose and fell slightly with her breathing, and the fresh scent of jasmine radiating from her was incredibly intoxicating. I stared so hard my eyes practically crossed. My heart was pounding frantically against my ribs. Unable to hold back, I blurted out: “Sister-in-law, you smell so good.” The moment the words left my mouth, my brother jolted in terror. He jumped up and clamped his hand over my mouth. He glared at me viciously, terrified our parents would realize something was wrong. My parents were cringing so hard their toes could have curled through the floorboards. But Serena suddenly burst into laughter. She leaned her face right in front of mine. Her voice was as melodic as a clear spring, yet even though it was a perfectly normal sentence, I heard it through a dizzy haze. It was like I was being tempted by a demon from the depths of hell, and I couldn’t stop my legs from tensing up. “If little Chloe likes it, next time you come to my house, I’ll give you some.” I lowered my head shyly, not daring to look her in the eye. Serena’s long hair brushed gently against my cheek, feeling like thousands of tiny ants biting at my heart—an agonizing, unbearable itch. Right before they left, Serena’s fingers lightly trailed across the back of my hand. Those beautiful, captivating peach-blossom eyes stared straight at me: “Don’t forget to come to my house, little Chloe.” 3 After the Sterling siblings left, the four of us sat in a neat row on the sofa. Nobody said a word. My mom twisted her fingers, looking hesitantly at me and my brother. She opened her mouth, then closed it, unable to force out a single syllable. My brother secretly elbowed me, his eyes sending frantic signals. Normally, our family shared one brain cell, but right now, everyone was playing 4D chess in their heads. After a light cough, my dad couldn’t hold it in anymore and spoke first. “So, um, the Sterling family officially proposed today. You’ve met them now. What do you think?” My mom, after hesitating for half the day, finally spoke up: “Chloe, Liam… after meeting them today, Mom thinks the Sterling family is solid. With them around, you two will definitely have a good life after you marry in.” My brother couldn’t hold back: “Mom, you were just blinded by that massive red envelope.” My mom’s face instantly flushed with extreme embarrassment. I quickly tried to smooth things over: “That’s not true, my brother is just talking nonsense.” I elbowed him hard, signaling him to behave. But my brother just got up angrily and stomped upstairs, leaving the three of us staring at each other. I tried to salvage the situation: “Maybe Liam just doesn’t want to marry into their family.” My dad slammed his hand on the coffee table in frustration: “Marrying into the number one old-money family in New York? How is that beneath him?!” Seeing the situation escalating, I quickly stepped in to calm him down. “Dad, don’t be mad. Liam just needs a minute to process it. I’ll go talk to him.” Knowing my brother’s lack of filter, if a real fight broke out, I was terrified he’d blurt out that I was a lesbian and he was gay. If that happened, we were truly finished. After calming my dad down, I quickly scrambled upstairs. When I opened his bedroom door, my brother was furiously punching a stuffed animal I had given him. Seeing me, he shot me an annoyed glare, then turned his back to me and ignored me. I poked his back. He spun around in a circle but still refused to look at me. “Are you really mad?” He frustratingly grabbed the little bear’s ears and said fiercely to it: “You knew I already had a boyfriend, but you still teamed up with Mom and Dad to break us up! You’re evil!” Mom always said my brother was born the wrong gender and should have been a girl. She wasn’t entirely wrong. In a certain sense, my brother really was a girl. I let out a fake, helpless sigh, keeping my peripheral vision glued to him. “Sigh, what are we going to do then? You’ll just have to go tell Mom and Dad that I’m a lesbian and you’re gay…” Before I could finish, my brother bounced off the rug and clamped his hand over my mouth. He looked around nervously like a thief, ran over, and deadbolted the door. Only then did he frown, point at me, and demand: “Are you crazy?! Saying that in this house? Do you have a death wish?!” I shrugged carelessly: “Do you have a better plan?” Remembering the way my brother looked at Arthur earlier, a wicked idea sprouted in my mind. I leaned close to his ear and whispered my demonic plan. He was so shocked by my scandalous idea that his eyes went wide with disbelief. “Y-y-y-y-y-you… how could you suggest that?!” “Besides, I already have a boyfriend!” I rolled my eyes. I hit him with the brutal truth: “Oh, you mean that guy you’ve been dating online for three months? The one whose name, voice, and face you don’t even know? You don’t even know if he’s a human or a ghost!” My brother’s face turned bright red. “Don’t talk about him like that! We are truly in love!” I rolled my eyes again, let out a mocking “Tsk,” and then added fuel to the fire. “Plus, the way you were looking at Arthur today… I refuse to believe you don’t like him.” My brother’s face turned even redder, this time from embarrassment. He mumbled a weak defense, his voice as quiet as a mosquito, completely lacking any conviction. “Don’t talk nonsense.” I knew the time was ripe, so I whispered my demonic plan again. This time, he didn’t argue. He just bit his lip and looked at me. When my dad found out my brother agreed, he was overjoyed and praised me relentlessly. It made me feel guilty. If my dad knew our actual intentions, I was terrified he’d jump out of bed in the middle of the night to beat us. 4 Once everything was finalized, both the Vance and Sterling families were thrilled. My brother and I smoothly added Serena and Arthur on WeChat. But after more than half a month, my chat history with Arthur hadn’t progressed past the initial, formal greeting from the day we added each other. On the other hand, Serena—my future sister-in-law—was incredibly enthusiastic toward me. Every single day, rain or shine, she reliably sent me “Good morning,” “Good afternoon,” and “Goodnight.” One day, Serena sent me a photo. It was a picture of a fair, beautiful hand. The fingers were long and slender, the knuckles distinct, and the nails were filed into neat, rounded shapes. Looking at the photo of Serena’s hand, I thought about her face and the faint scent she always carried, and I swallowed hard. If that hand were… Realizing my thoughts were drifting into very inappropriate territory, I quickly shook my head, trying to dump the dirty trash out of my brain. My focus returned, and I finally noticed that Serena had also sent a message. [Little Chloe, what do you think of this wedding ring?] Following Serena’s text, I noticed she was actually wearing a ring in the photo. It was a silver band with an intricate, interwoven design, set with a beautiful diamond shaped like a rose. It was understated yet luxurious. Thinking about our conversations over the past few days, I felt a wave of profound defeat. Even though my fiancé, Arthur, hadn’t spoken a single word to me, the woman of my dreams spent every day talking to me… about my brother. Damn it, is my sister-in-law actually straight? The thought that she would be marrying my brother in a few months made me so miserable I couldn’t even speak. I threw a little inner tantrum and deliberately replied: [It’s ugly.] I didn’t expect Serena to reply instantly. [What’s wrong? Do you not like it?] I froze, suddenly realizing that this was her and my brother’s wedding ring. I shouldn’t be so petty. Just as I was trying to figure out how to backtrack, Serena sent another message. [Since little Chloe doesn’t like it, next time you can come with me to pick one out.] My brain short-circuited. I couldn’t figure out what was going on. When I looked up, I saw my brother looking equally depressed. We looked like two neglected concubines in a royal palace, staring at each other with mutual disgust, sighing deeply. I asked him: “How are things going on your end?” My brother shook his head and sighed: “Don’t even ask. When I chat with him, eight out of ten sentences are about you.” Then he asked me: “What about you?” I let out a long sigh, my face full of bitterness: “Same.” We hugged each other, buried our heads in each other’s shoulders, and cried. 5 As the wedding date drew closer, the anxiety on my brother’s and my faces grew visibly. My dad even joked: “You’re just getting married, look how nervous you two are.” My brother and I exchanged a look, reading the shared agony of our mutual suffering in each other’s eyes. After tossing and turning until midnight, I suddenly sat bolt upright in bed. No, I had to talk to Serena and clear the air! So, using the cover of darkness, I snuck into my brother’s room and stole his phone. I opened WeChat, and staring at the completely empty chat history between him and Serena, I froze in place. What is wrong with the Sterling family?! Why do they have this bizarre habit of not talking to the person they actually like, and instead running to someone else to talk about how much they like them?! After agonizing over it, I opened the chat box anyway. I squeezed my eyes shut and furiously typed a message. I didn’t expect Serena to be awake in the middle of the night too. Serena: [?] I looked closely at the message I sent and instantly felt like the sky was falling. [Sister-in-law, this is my brother. Are you free tonight? Room 8088 at the Imperial Grand Hotel. Be there or be square.] I frantically tried to unsend it, only to realize the two-minute window had already passed. I had no choice but to awkwardly try to fix it. [Um, about that… my cat was acting up and typed that.] The chat box showed “typing…” for what felt like forever. I waited for almost ten minutes, and nothing happened. Finally, she replied. [Mm.] Since things had already reached this point, I decided to just fully embrace the chaos. I sent one more message. [So, are we meeting up or what?] I closed my eyes, waiting for destiny to judge me. To my surprise, Serena replied instantly this time. Hearing the WeChat notification ping, I didn’t dare open my eyes for a long time. After a lengthy internal battle, I finally peeked. Seeing the word [Okay] on the screen, my heart became a tangled mess of emotions—sour and sweet all at once. I didn’t know if she agreed because she thought I was my brother, or because of something else entirely. 6 After debating with myself in bed for a long time, I finally got dressed and snuck out into the night. When I saw Serena at the hotel entrance, I didn’t know how to describe my feelings. She had clearly dressed up carefully. Under the lights, every single strand of her hair seemed to glow. From a distance, she looked as pure and beautiful as an angel. The thought that she dressed up this meticulously for my brother filled me with an unbearable ache. I hung my head, dragging my feet like a snail until I was standing in front of her. Keeping my head down, my voice thick with congestion, I said: “I’m sorry, sister-in-law. I lied to you. I’m not my brother.” Compared to Serena’s flawless styling, I looked like a stray kid who had wandered out in her pajamas. Suddenly, a hand rested on the top of my head. Serena bent down, bringing her face incredibly close to mine. We were so close our lips were almost touching. Her warm breath gently brushed my cheek, landing like a feather on my heart. Meeting my red, teary eyes, Serena’s eyes curved into a smile. Those full, glossy red lips parted, and she spoke the most beautiful words in the world. “Little Chloe, I know it’s you. It was always you.” I froze. The tears welling in my eyes refused to fall. Serena pulled me into a hug. Because my head was lowered, my face was buried perfectly against her soft, sweet-smelling chest. Unable to control myself, I took several deep, greedy breaths. So good. So soft. Serena’s voice, carrying a hint of a smile, sounded in my ear. Her arms wrapped around my waist, her soft lips pressed against my ear. Her voice was incredibly seductive, making my heart tremble: “Little Chloe, do you want to get a room with your sister-in-law?” My brain turned into absolute mush. I had no idea how to even form a thought. By the time I regained my senses, I was already tumbling around on the hotel bed with Serena. As Serena bit my collarbone, I stared blankly at the ceiling. Dissatisfied with my spacing out, she reached down and pinched the soft flesh of my waist: “Baby, focus.” A strong wave of moral guilt suddenly surged within me. I half-heartedly tried to push her away, my words sounding hypocritically pure: “Sister-in-law, this isn’t right. If my brother finds out…” Serena pinned down my wandering hands, her other hand lightly gripping my neck. “My dress is already off, and now you want to talk about this?”

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I am the protagonist of a torture-porn tragedy. The rules are simple: once my Misery Index hits 100, I get to wake up. I get to go back to the real world. My wife, Elena, had me strapped to a sterile surgical table in a private clinic. The scalpel in her hand was steady, cold against my skin. “Jonah was burned, Gavin. He needs a skin graft.” Her voice was devoid of emotion, clinical and detached. “He has a low tolerance for pain. He can’t handle the harvest. It has to be yours.” Without waiting for a response, she pushed the plunger, sending the anesthetic burning through my veins. When I woke up, the room was empty. My phone, resting on the bedside table, buzzed incessantly. It was a text from Jonah. Elena is incredible. You really fed her well before I got here. I stared at the taunt. A bitter, self-deprecating laugh bubbled up in my throat, pulling painfully at the fresh stitches across my chest. The pain bloomed like a dark flower. [Current Misery Index: 90/100] 1 Elena didn’t show up until the dead of night. By then, the anesthesia had worn off, leaving me thrashing in a sweat-soaked haze of raw nerve endings. “Still awake?” She placed a hand on my forehead. Cool, soft. A lie. As she leaned over to check my temperature, the neckline of her silk blouse shifted. I saw it—the fresh, bruising mark of a hickey on her collarbone. “Good. No fever,” she murmured, pulling up a chair. “I’ll stay with you tonight.” She sat down, eyes cast downward. I searched her face for a flicker of guilt, a trace of the infidelity I knew was there. There was nothing. Just a smooth, marble mask. The silence in the VIP suite was suffocating. Eventually, Elena couldn’t handle the quiet. “Jonah has a coagulation disorder,” she said, her voice tight. “Taking skin from his own body wasn’t an option.” She stared at me, waiting. Waiting for the explosion. The jealousy. The screaming match. I just stared at the ceiling. “Mm.” My indifference seemed to irritate her more than my anger ever did. “Gavin, don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” she snapped. “I know you hate him. I know you’re jealous. But you owe him this.” Her eyes narrowed. “Heal up. And don’t even think about retaliation.” I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat and gave a small nod. I owe him? I was the one bleeding. I was always the one bleeding. Jonah was a scholarship student Elena’s family foundation supported. For years, I couldn’t understand why the entire world seemed to bend to his will, why logic dissolved whenever he was in the room. Then I realized the truth. I was a character in a book. A “sacrificial husband” archetype in a dark romance novel. The plot demanded I suffer. Only through my destruction could Elena and her true love, Jonah, achieve their twisted happy ending. Halfway through the night, a single phone call from Jonah summoned Elena away. She didn’t hesitate. The next day, I discharged myself. I pulled into the driveway of our estate, stitches pulling tight, only to find Jonah standing on the front porch. He was holding a bouquet of white chrysanthemums—flowers for the dead. “Gavin,” he smiled, a sickly sweet expression. “Thanks for the skin. It fits perfectly.” He waved his right arm. I walked past him, too exhausted to engage. Suddenly, a shriek tore through the air. Elena rushed out of the house, my parents close behind her. They found Jonah sprawled on the pavement, clutching his arm. Blood was seeping through his bandages. He bit his lip, offering Elena a brave, teary smile. “I… I tripped. It’s my fault. The wound opened up. It has nothing to do with Gavin.” “Gavin!” Elena screamed, turning on me like a viper. “How can you be so vindictive?” “Don’t blame him,” Jonah whimpered, shrinking back as if terrified of me. “You don’t need to protect him,” Elena cooed, cradling his injured arm. My mother stepped forward, her face a mask of disappointment. “Gavin. When are you going to learn?” I looked at them. I offered no defense. I knew the script. Anything I said would be twisted into an admission of guilt. My father grabbed me by the collar. He dragged me to the “Quiet Room”—a soundproofed space in the basement they claimed was for my rehabilitation. It was built to “correct” my jealousy. When the electricity hit me, I heard my teeth chatter. It was a mechanical sound, like dice rattling in a cup. My jaw clamped shut so hard I thought the bone would snap. The cattle prod dug into my side. Muscles seized. Heat flooded my lap. I had lost control of my bladder. The humiliating warmth soaked my trousers, the scent of urine mixing with the damp, moldy air of the basement. Jonah stood in the doorway, hand covering his nose, eyes dancing with amusement. “Gavin peed himself,” he said, his voice dripping with faux concern. “Maybe stop? He needs a change of clothes.” Elena lowered the prod, looking at the puddle with sheer disgust. “Apologize to Jonah. Now. Have you no dignity?” “Still playing dead?” My father sneered. “Look at Jonah! You frame him, you hurt him, and he still defends you. Do you have any remorse inside that sick head of yours?” He kicked me in the ribs. I didn’t flinch. I felt something crack—a rib, maybe puncturing the spleen. “Mom, Dad, Elena… please,” Jonah said softly. “Stop. Gavin is just… he cares about Elena too much. That’s why he hates me. I’ll move out tomorrow. I don’t want to break up this family.” It was always the same routine. When I was half-dead, he would call for mercy. When I was locked in the freezer, he would “sneak” me food. When Elena ignored me, he would “accidentally” remind her of my past failures. And every time, I was beaten harder for being ungrateful. My mother stormed over, her manicured finger jabbing the air inches from my face. “He’s still defending you! Gavin, is your heart made of stone?” “We’ve told you a thousand times,” she whispered, her voice trembling with fatigue. “Jonah is a guest. A charity case. Why can’t you just get along?” I looked at her. Before today, I loved her. I loved them all. I used to tell myself they were just puppets controlled by a sadistic author. When Jonah claimed I pushed him into the pool and Elena locked me in the industrial freezer, resulting in severe frostbite and surgery to remove part of my intestine, I didn’t blame her. But the cycle never ended. Jonah escalated. I defended myself. They ignored the truth. I watched Elena dial up the voltage on the stun baton, her eyes colder with every shock. Jonah reached for Elena’s hand, then pulled back as if remembering his place. His eyes welled up. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have accepted the scholarship. I’ll leave…” 2 “No!” My mother screamed. “Jonah, you aren’t going anywhere! The only one leaving is this monster!” I slowly pushed myself up from the concrete floor. My legs were shaking uncontrollably, urine dripping down my pant leg. Elena looked away. Jonah couldn’t hide the smirk in his eyes. I looked at the corner of the room. There was an old, exposed fuse box from when the house was rewired. The casing was off, copper wires naked and lethal, connected to the old industrial grid. “Okay,” I said. My voice sounded like sandpaper dragged over stone. “My fault.” The room went still. For the first time in a year, I had admitted guilt. Relief washed over my parents. Jonah narrowed his eyes. Elena frowned, sensing a shift in the atmosphere. “I know I was wrong,” I continued, swaying as I stood. “I shouldn’t have been jealous. I shouldn’t have framed him. I shouldn’t be alive.” I summoned every ounce of adrenaline left in my broken body and lunged for the fuse box. “Gavin!” Elena realized it first, panic finally cracking her voice. Too late. My hand closed around the rusted lever. I looked back at them one last time. Elena’s eyes were wide. For the first time, she wasn’t looking through me; she was looking at me—at the filth, the blood, the ruin she had made. I yanked the lever down. ZZZT—! The short circuit was immediate. Sparks showered onto a pile of old drop cloths nearby. The fire moved like a living thing, a hungry snake coiling up my arm, consuming me. The smell of burning meat overpowered the smell of urine. “Ah—!” My mother’s scream pierced the air. “Help him! Do something!” My father roared, but his feet were nailed to the floor. My skin was melting. Fat was rendering. But I held onto the lever. I didn’t let go. As the flames licked my face, I saw Elena. She stood frozen, trembling, her face as white as paper. I woke up in a hospital room. Again. The door opened. Elena walked in first, the click of her heels sharp against the tile. Jonah and my father trailed behind her. “You’re awake? The doctor said you can speak.” Elena looked at me—swathed in bandages like a mummy—with pure annoyance. I didn’t answer. I just watched the ceiling. My father walked to the bedside, his tone softer than usual, but still carrying that lecture-hall cadence. “We’ve decided not to punish you for this stunt. Just recover.” “Don’t be stupid again.” Elena chimed in. “As long as you behave and get along with Jonah, we can go back to how things were.” I forced air through my ravaged throat. “Okay.” Elena looked startled. She searched my eyes for the usual defiance. She glanced at Jonah. Taking the cue, Jonah leaned in and placed a hand on Elena’s chest—intimate, possessive, yet disguised as comfort. Elena didn’t flinch. She let him touch her, her eyes locked on mine, daring me to react. In the past, I would have broken his nose. This time, I turned my head away. “Gavin,” Jonah said, his voice dripping with faux sincerity. “Let’s start over. No more fighting.” He wanted me to snap. I gave him nothing. Elena’s patience evaporated. “What is this attitude? Jonah is talking to you. Are you mute now?” I turned my head back stiffly. The movement tore at the scabs on my neck. Blood seeped through the gauze. I bit down on my tongue. Hard. I clamped my jaw until I felt the muscle sever. I spat the piece of flesh onto the pristine white sheet in front of Elena. Elena screamed, stumbling back in horror. I closed my eyes. 3 “The patient is unstable. No more agitation.” I was wheeled out of surgery. They had reattached my tongue. My parents rushed in. My mother grabbed Elena’s shoulders. “Why is he in the ICU? What happened?” Elena looked at me, the words caught in her throat. “It’s my fault,” Jonah sobbed, wiping tears from his cheeks. “I said something wrong. I upset Gavin, and he… he hurt himself to punish me.” “I should just leave.” He turned to go. Elena grabbed his wrist. “He’s just petty. It has nothing to do with you.” “Gavin,” she hissed at my unconscious form. “I thought you changed. But you just learned new tricks. The pity card? Really?” I stared at her, awake now, unable to smile. “Elena, he almost died,” my mother whispered, teary-eyed. “He wouldn’t go that far just to frame Jonah.” “Mom, this isn’t the first time!” Elena shouted. “Remember the glass in his water? He hates Jonah!” My mother hesitated. Jonah seized the moment, rolling up his sleeve to reveal the bandages from the skin graft. “Don’t yell at Elena, Mrs. Landers. I’ll apologize to Gavin.” Jonah dropped to his knees by my bed. My mother and Elena immediately rushed to pull him up. “Gavin,” my father sighed, heavy with disappointment. “Why do you hate him so much? Why destroy yourself just to hurt him?” I lay there, numb. I just wanted to die. I didn’t want to spend another second in this wretched world. “I had the kitchen make some soup. Your favorite.” Elena walked in with a thermos. She had been coming every day, playing the role of the dutiful wife. Her eyes were calm, her voice soft. For a second, it felt like the old days, before Jonah. She cranked the bed up and sat beside me. “Jonah made this stock for you. Look how much he cares.” “Why can’t you just let go of the prejudice?” The spoon pressed against my lips. Steam hit my face. I smelled the ocean. Clams. Elena kept talking about Jonah’s kindness, preaching forgiveness. She seemed to have forgotten that I was deathly allergic to shellfish. I didn’t refuse. I opened my mouth. Elena smiled, relieved. She fed me, spoonful by spoonful. I felt my throat tighten, my blood vessels dilate. By the time Elena realized I was turning blue, I could no longer breathe. 4 I woke up to blinding white light. Voices argued in the distance. “Elena, I’m so sorry! I forgot Gavin was allergic to seafood!” “I just wanted to make him something rich, to help him heal… I didn’t mean to…” “It was an accident, Jonah. Don’t blame yourself. I should have reminded you.” “Stop crying, Jonah.” A few minutes later, Jonah pushed the door open. Elena and my parents followed. “Gavin, I’m so sorry.” His eyes were red, his voice thick with tears. He cried so hard you’d think I had beaten him. I didn’t react. “Gavin,” Elena sighed, impatient. “It was a mistake. He apologized. Just forgive him.” I opened my eyes heavily. It was comical. Jonah almost killed me, and a simple “oops” was enough. Yet when I once swore at Jonah, they forced me to drink acid because I “needed discipline.” My throat burned. I was curled in agony. But they couldn’t see it. They swarmed around Jonah, comforting him. I rolled my eyes toward him. Every bone in my body ached. Jonah leaned in close, whispering so only I could hear. “Gavin, you’re like a cockroach. You just won’t die.” Looking at his smug face, I summoned the last of my strength and slapped him. It was weak, but it connected. Jonah clutched his face. “If hitting me makes you feel better, Gavin… go ahead.” He leaned his face forward. The next second, my father rushed forward and yanked me off the bed. My healing skin tore open. “You have the energy to hit people? You’re definitely faking it.” I didn’t fight. He dragged me across the floor, leaving a streak of blood. He dragged me to the janitor’s sink in the hallway. He turned on the faucet, grabbed the hose, and aimed it at my face. Ice-cold water blasted into my nose and mouth. I gagged, choking as water filled my lungs. “Still acting? Still framing Jonah?” “I raised a monster!” I coughed, unable to speak. Elena stood there, watching. A flicker of hesitation crossed her face, but she didn’t move. Finally, he pulled me out of the sink. “Did you learn your lesson?” I looked at him. And I smiled. Bloody water dripped from the corners of my mouth. His eyes went cold. “Unrepentant.” He shoved my head back into the bloody water. I didn’t struggle. The cold liquid filled me. My body temperature plummeted. This vessel was done. Ding— [Misery Index: 100/100] [Host is cleared for extraction. Initiating Protocol: Hundredfold Reflection.]

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Ever since I was old enough to understand, my billionaire parents and my brother hammered one truth into my head: I was a stray, a placeholder, a counterfeit. If I so much as smiled at my brother, he’d sneer and call me a social climber. When I won a prestigious gold medal for piano, my parents didn’t celebrate; they had the Steinway smashed to pieces. They told me I was “drinking the blood” of their real daughter. The entire family lived in a state of constant vigilance. They were terrified of being kind to me, afraid that an ounce of warmth would whet my appetite and lead me to challenge the “rightful” heiress one day. So, when the real daughter finally returned, I was the one who asked to leave. I told them I wanted to find my biological parents. But they blocked me at every turn. They said that as long as I stayed in my place and kept my head down, I could remain their “daughter” and “sister.” I was stupid enough to believe them. Then came a mock exam. The real daughter failed. She cried, saying she could never be as good as me no matter how hard she tried, and then she staged a dramatic suicide attempt by nicking her wrist. In retaliation, they reported me for “cheating” during the SATs and orchestrated a sequence of events that landed me in a correctional facility. They called it the price for “occupying a throne that wasn’t mine.” To atone, I endured every slander and every cold shoulder in silence. The day I was finally released, they presented me with a “surprise.” It turns out, I was their biological daughter all along. They had kept it a secret because they were afraid their long-lost adopted daughter would feel heartbroken if she realized they had replaced her with a biological child while she was gone. Now that the “older sister” has finally “accepted” me, they’ve come to collect me, smiling and ready for a happy family reunion. 1. The day I walked out, the sky was a bruised gray, and the wind was a serrated blade that cut straight to the bone. The guard handed me a thin, worn-out coat. “Michelle Vance, you’re free. From now on… don’t be stupid.” He looked at my tightly clenched sleeves, his voice dropping an octave. “And tell your family… tell them to get you a therapist.” My eyes were hollow. I nodded, pulling my sleeves down even further to hide what lay beneath. Yes. I had served my time. I had paid my debt. Now, I could go find my real family. I hadn’t walked ten yards when a black Rolls-Royce, hazard lights blinking, pulled up to the curb. The window slid down, revealing a face as familiar as it was striking. Dominic. Sophie’s “loving” older brother. His gaze was exactly as I remembered: cold, clinical, devoid of any warmth. “Michelle. Get in. We’re going home.” I didn’t look at him. I kept walking toward the bus stop. Just as I reached the steps of the bus, a hand clamped onto my shoulder with bruising force. I was yanked back, my spine colliding with the icy metal of the car. Dominic loomed over me, his eyes filled with that familiar, reflexive disdain. “What are you doing? Throwing a tantrum like Sophie used to? Trying to make us feel guilty?” “Did two years in a cell teach you nothing but theatrics?” Ever since I went inside, my brain had felt like rusted clockwork—slow, heavy, grinding. I stared at him blankly, taking a long time to process his words. Finally, I shook my head. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, softened and frayed from being folded and unfolded a thousand times. I smoothed it out for him to see. “No,” I said, my voice sounding like dry leaves skittering on pavement. “Sophie came to see me last time. She told me she found my real parents. Look. The address is right here. I’m going to my actual home.” He froze for a split second. Then, his face darkened into a mask of fury. He snatched the paper from my hands and ripped it into a dozen pieces, tossing them into the roaring traffic of the wet highway. “Stop this madness,” he growled, grabbing my arm. “Mom and Dad are waiting. You’re coming with—” I let out a sharp, strangled scream. I wrenched myself free with a strength I didn’t know I possessed and bolted into the middle of the road. “Home… I have to go home…” I dropped to my knees on the freezing asphalt, frantically clawing at the scraps of white paper as they swirled in the wind. Tires screeched. Horns blared like dying animals. “Jesus! Are you trying to get killed?!” someone yelled from a car window. Dominic’s face was ashen. He lunged forward, shielding me with his body as he shouted apologies to the angry drivers. He practically dragged me back to the shoulder of the road. “Michelle!” His chest was heaving, a flicker of genuine fear in his eyes, but it was quickly eclipsed by his habitual irritation. “If you want to die, do it somewhere I don’t have to watch! Using these cheap tricks for attention… the family really wasted years raising you.” I stared up at him, my mind lagging behind. I tilted my head, looking at him with genuine, quiet confusion. “Then… when Sophie cut her wrists… was she just doing it for attention too?” Dominic went rigid. Every muscle in his jaw locked. For the first time in my life, I saw him flinch. He couldn’t meet my eyes. There it was. Even he knew. “Sophie.” That name had been a crown of thorns around my head for as long as I could remember. I was the fake. I was the parasite. I was the intruder. That was why my mother fired the nanny who served me dessert first. That was why my father smashed my piano. That was why Dominic drowned the stray puppy I had rescued from the rain. They used every choice, every moment, to prove a point: they would never let the “shining pearl” suffer a single slight just because I had been the one physically present in their lives. The scale of their hearts was always tipped in her favor, by design. But I still didn’t get it. If she had all the love, if the world was served to her on a silver platter… Why did she have to bleed just because I beat her on a practice test? Sophie. What on earth were you so afraid of? 2. Dominic rubbed his temples, his frustration radiating off him in waves. “You know Sophie isn’t like you! She grew up out there, suffering. She didn’t even get to finish school properly. You? You were brought into this house and given every resource, every elite tutor!” “You had to be number one every single time? You just had to crush her? You knew it would trigger her!” I didn’t really hear him. I was shivering, trying to piece together the sodden scraps of paper in my hand. Three pieces were missing. “It’s gone…” my voice trembled. “The address… My home is gone!” I started to move toward the road again, desperate. Slap! The blow was so sudden and so sharp that my head snapped to the side. My ear rang with a high-pitched whine. Before I could recover, Dominic dragged me toward a stagnant, icy puddle by the side of the road. “You want to die, Michelle?” He let go, pointing at the dark, freezing water. “Then jump! Go on! Stop the performance!” With a violent sweep of his hand, he knocked the remaining scraps of paper from my grip. They fluttered like dying moths into the filthy, slushy water. I looked at him. His eyes were full of that familiar, towering condescension. I remembered Sophie’s first birthday back with us. She cried, saying the pearl necklace Dominic gave her was missing and that she’d seen me in her room. At first, I fought back. “I didn’t take it! Check the security cameras—” Before I could finish, Dominic took a baseball bat and smashed the camera right in front of me. I shut up instantly. He was teaching me a lesson: my truth meant nothing compared to Sophie’s tears. The necklace wasn’t in my room. It was eventually found at the bottom of the backyard pool, the string cut, pearls scattered across the tiles. Everyone in the family knew I had a near-death drowning experience as a child. I had severe aquaphobia. Even a full bathtub made me feel like I was suffocating. But that winter, Dominic had me thrown into the icy pool. “Get them,” he had said. “Every single one. Don’t come out until you find them all.” My parents watched Sophie sob into their shoulders and said nothing. They let it happen. I passed out in that freezing water multiple times. Each time, they’d wake me up with more cold water until my blue, numb fingers had found every last pearl. Since then, even the reflection of light on a water surface made me shake. Dominic knew this. He was certain I was too afraid of water—and too afraid of death—to actually jump. He didn’t know that in prison, when I used a sharpened piece of plastic to open my veins, all I felt was… peace. The ER doctor had told the guards: She has a profound desire for self-destruction. Without a support system, she won’t last. Dominic looked at my empty, hollow eyes and smirked. “Coward. You don’t even have the guts to look at the water. Think about how much Sophie must have suffered to—” He didn’t finish the sentence. I lunged forward and dove headfirst into the stinking, freezing puddle. The water closed over my head, burning my nose and throat. Getting back to my real family was my last hope for living. If I couldn’t have that, I didn’t want anything else. A second later, I was yanked out by the waist and slammed onto the muddy grass. I coughed violently, retching up dirty water. Through the blur, I saw Dominic. He was soaked, kneeling in the mud, his hands still trembling from the force of pulling me out. He was staring at me, his pupils blown wide. The look in his eyes wasn’t disdain anymore. It was disbelief. And… something else. A flicker of raw, unadulterated terror. I didn’t understand. What was he afraid of? If the “fake” died, wasn’t that what he—and everyone else—wanted? 3. I looked at the pulp in my hand—the wet, gray remains of the paper where the ink had bled into illegible clouds. A wave of exhaustion, a soul-deep weariness, washed over me. I was so tired. If I had a knife right now, could I finally just sleep? Dominic watched me, his voice finally losing its edge, turning soft, almost tentative. “Michelle… why? You weren’t like this before. Since when did you start taking my words so literally?” He was right. Since I was a toddler, he’d told me: “Michelle, you’re just a placeholder. Know your place. Sophie is my only sister.” Back then, I’d just smile and ask him for a hug. Later, I’d study until my fingers cramped to make him his favorite snacks, only for him to sneer, “You’re so pathetic, Michelle. Sophie would never beg for affection like this.” I’d still smile and hold the plate out to him. No matter how cruel he was, the little girl I used to be followed him around like a shadow. I was convinced he just had a temper, that he didn’t actually hate me. Until Sophie came back. Then I realized what he looked like when he actually loved someone. When Sophie and I were cornered by some older bullies in high school, he rushed in and pulled her behind him. He didn’t even look at me. Not once. He just walked away with her. His friend had pointed at me, stuck in the mud. “Hey, Dominic… what about the other one?” “She’s not my sister.” I watched them leave. I stayed behind to face the insults and the shoves alone. I struggled to sit up, my brain trying to conjure the ghost of the address on that paper, but the memory was fading. “Michelle, come home. Stop this,” Dominic said. It was that nauseating, self-righteous tone of “comfort” again. “The whole family is waiting. We’re having Christmas dinner.” “Dominic! You aren’t my brother! You have no right to tell me what to do!” I screamed, my voice raw and screeching. “I just want to go to my real home! To my real parents!” I swung my hand and slapped him. Hard. Dominic’s head snapped back. He froze, but his gaze dropped to my wrists. They were covered in a lattice of scars—some old and white, some jagged and fresh. He turned pale. His eyes turned red in an instant. “Michelle… your hands…” his voice shook with a sudden, sharp grief. “Did… did someone hurt you in there? I thought… I thought I paid the guards to look after you…” He looked sad. He looked… hurt. It was absurd. I had finally stopped chasing him, finally stopped calling him brother. What did he have to be sad about? I felt a surge of pure, physical nausea. “Dominic,” I said, my voice like dry ice. “Why are you acting like a martyr now?” He didn’t answer. He grabbed my arm and shoved me into the car, clicking the seatbelt shut with a snap. “We’re going to the hospital first,” he said, his voice tight as he started the engine. “I’m not going to a hospital! I’m going home! Let me out!” I thrashed against the belt, clawing at his collar, my nails leaving long, bloody furrows across his cheek. He didn’t move. He didn’t fight back. He just gripped the steering wheel, jaw set, blood dripping down his face. That silence—that suffocating, unresponsive wall—triggered a memory of the solitary confinement cell. My head began to throb. The last trace of the address vanished from my mind. I went limp. My hands fell to my sides. He glanced at me, misinterpreting my silence. He actually managed a small, pathetic smile. “Michelle… you… you still care about me, don’t you? You stopped.” I smiled back. Then, I lunged across the center console and grabbed the steering wheel, jerking it with everything I had. If I can’t go home, let’s just go to hell. SCREECH—!! The tires howled against the pavement. The car lost control, spinning and slamming into the guardrail with a bone-jarring thud. The airbags deployed with a bang. Dominic gasped for air, blood trickling from his forehead, his eyes wide with the terror of a survivor. He turned to see the look on my face. I wasn’t scared. I was disappointed. “Michelle… do you… do you want to die that badly?” I didn’t answer. I just stared at him with dead eyes. He swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a whisper, a desperate plea. “Fine. Okay. No hospital. We’ll go home, okay? Just… just stay with me.” I lowered my eyes and gave a tiny, almost imperceptible “okay.” Dominic’s shoulders slumped in relief. He thought I was being “good” again. He didn’t know. I just remembered: Sophie knows where my real home is. I was going back to find her. 4. The Blackwood estate was glowing with warmth and festive lights. When we pushed through the front doors, the scent of pine and expensive candles hit me. Sophie was sitting on the sofa in a designer dress, her cheeks flushed with health, leaning into our mother’s side. “Mom, I’m only back for a few days. You didn’t have to make such a fuss,” Sophie chirped. Our father was sitting nearby, patiently peeling shrimp for her, his eyes full of adoration. “The Dean called. He said you won another award. Our Sophie is so talented; of course we have to celebrate.” It was a picture-perfect scene of domestic bliss. Dominic cleared his throat, his jaw tight. “Mom, Dad. I brought Michelle back.” The laughter died instantly. Three pairs of eyes swung toward us. First to me, then to Dominic’s soaked clothes and the bloody scratches on his face. My parents’ brows furrowed in unison. Sophie was the first to stand. She walked toward me, her voice dripping with that “concerned older sister” act she’d perfected. “Michelle, Dominic went out in the snow to get you personally. How could you do this to him?” She sighed, playing the part of the mature one. “You’re college-aged now. Can’t you be a little more sensible? Must you always make the family worry?” My mother’s face hardened. “Michelle, this is unacceptable. Your brother just got over a cold.” My father let out a cold snort. “She was always a troublemaker. Fighting in high school, coming home bruised… I suppose two years with criminals only made it worse—” “Enough.” Dominic’s voice was sharp, cutting through my father’s sentence. He looked at Sophie, his expression unusually stern. “I did this to myself. It wasn’t Michelle.” He paused, then added, “And Sophie? Michelle never went to college. Maybe think before you speak next time.” The room went tomb-silent. They stared at him, shocked. Dominic—the golden son—had never once defended the “fake” sister, let alone snapped at his precious Sophie. Sophie’s eyes filled with tears instantly. Her lip wobbled. “Fine! She’s the sister you grew up with, and I’m just the outsider! I don’t have the right to speak to her! I’m sorry I even came back!” Dominic looked conflicted, his gaze flickering away. My mother rushed to Sophie, pulling her into a protective embrace. “Dominic! How could you speak to her like that?!” Then she turned her venomous gaze on me. “And you, Michelle! You just get back and you’re already upsetting your sister. Why are you so selfish?” I looked at this woman—dripping in diamonds, her face twisted with habitual annoyance toward me—and the word “Mom” died in my throat. She wasn’t my mother. It made sense that she hated me. “Let’s just eat,” my father sighed, trying to break the tension. “Your brother made us wait for hours just for you. Sophie is starving.” I looked up. “Did I ask her to wait?” I didn’t wait for a reply. “Dominic made that choice. It has nothing to do with me.” Sophie’s eyes went wide. “Michelle! Have you lost your mind? How dare you talk to him like that!” “He’s not my brother,” I said, my voice steady and clear. “He’s your brother.” I looked at them all. “I didn’t come here to eat.” I turned to Sophie. “I came to ask for the address. My parents’ address.” “Once I have it, I’m gone. I won’t ruin your family reunion anymore.” The color drained from Sophie’s face. My mother frowned. “What are you talking about? This is your home.” “I mean my real home. My biological parents,” I said, staring Sophie down. “You told me in prison that you found them. You gave me a note. I lost it. Give it to me again. Now.” The air in the living room turned to ice. My parents looked at Sophie, their expressions turning unreadable. Sophie stammered, “Isn’t… isn’t this family good enough? Why do you have to look for—” “I have to!” I was shaking now, my voice rising to a scream. “I want to go home! I want my own parents! Let me go!!” Dominic couldn’t take it anymore. He turned to our parents, his voice exploding with repressed rage. “Just tell her! Tell her the truth! We agreed, didn’t we? We were going to give her the ‘surprise’ when she got out!” I looked at him, confused. He wouldn’t look back. As the eldest son, Dominic held weight in this house. My parents exchanged a look. Finally, my mother sighed. She looked at me, her voice suddenly forced, sweet, like she was talking to a frightened animal. “Michelle… sweetheart. The truth is… you are our biological daughter.”

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