Category: English

After marrying Silas West, the world’s most idolized rock star, I became the most envied “civilian” wife on the internet. Silas was the ultimate anomaly in the industry. He avoided scandals, never chased clout, and lived entirely for his music. His chart-topping single, January Embers, was a hauntingly beautiful ballad he wrote for me. It played in every coffee shop and car radio from coast to coast. In a recent Rolling Stone interview, he said: “My heart has only ever beat for one person: Rose.” But there was a secret I kept buried deep, one I would never dare tell him. Rose… was actually my sister’s name. 1 Backstage at the Staples Center. I was staring, lost in thought, at the new lead guitarist. “See something you like?” Silas appeared behind me out of nowhere, his voice a low, melodic vibration. He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me back against his chest. “Is he better looking than me?” “Impossible,” I said, tilting my head back to smile at him. “He doesn’t even have a tenth of your charm.” Silas’s expression remained mock-stern. “Only a tenth?” I softened my voice, leaning into him. “He’s not even a shadow of a single hair on my husband’s head. Satisfied?” That finally coaxed a smirk from him. He picked up a strawberry from a nearby fruit platter and held it to my lips. “Since you’re being so sweet… I’ll have to give you your real reward tonight. All night.” I felt the heat rush to my cheeks instantly. Just then, his assistant rolled in a small cart with a cake. The topper read: TO ROSE. I froze. He had been in rehearsals for ten hours straight, yet he still remembered. “Happy birthday, baby.” Silas’s eyes held a galaxy of tenderness. I stared at the flickering candles, at the man who loved a woman who didn’t technically exist, and closed my eyes to make a wish. When the lights came up, Silas reached out and wiped a smudge of frosting from the corner of my mouth with his thumb, then naturally licked it off. “Oh, come on!” the bassist groaned from across the room. “West, the cake is for everyone, but I guess the frosting on Rose’s face is your private reserve?” Silas just arched an eyebrow and pulled me closer into his side. The room erupted in laughter. Outside, the muffled roar of forty thousand fans chanting his name vibrated through the floorboards. As Silas turned to head toward the stage, he ruffled my hair, leaving it a mess. My manager, sitting across from me, couldn’t help but chime in. “To think, the man who’s notoriously impossible to handle—the Silas West—is actually just a golden retriever for you. Honestly, Rose, I don’t think anyone else on this planet could have tamed him.” I forced a smile, my heart heavy. When no one was looking, I quietly took the TO ROSE topper and dropped it into the trash can. They didn’t understand. Rose was my sister. And I was just a ghost inhabiting her life. 2 My sister, Bianca, was the legitimate heiress of the Sterling corporate empire. I, Tess, was the family’s dirty secret—the illegitimate daughter kept in a drafty apartment on the outskirts of the city. We weren’t from the same mother, but we looked enough alike to be twins. My father had forced me to spend years mimicking Bianca’s cadence, her posture, her every move. At first, it was just to fill in for her at boring charity events or press junkets she didn’t want to attend. But then, they pushed me in front of Silas West. The reason was as absurd as it was cruel. Years ago, when Silas was first asked about his “dream girl” in an interview, he had mentioned how much he admired Bianca’s poise. At the time, my sister was having a public spat with her billionaire boyfriend, Preston Whitlock. To spite Preston, she flirted with Silas through the media, causing a firestorm of speculation. But a week later, she and Preston made up. The Sterling Group’s stock had skyrocketed during that brief “romance.” My father wasn’t about to let that profit margin slip away. He ordered me to keep the flame alive, sending me on dates with Silas in her place. And that was how, by a series of tragic accidents, I ended up married to the man. Silas was a god among men. He was devastatingly handsome, with a sharp, arrogant edge that softened only for me. In an industry full of players, he was a ghost; he had never been in a serious relationship before us. I felt like I had won the lottery, but the ticket was stolen. During the first few months of the marriage, I lived in a state of constant terror, waiting for the moment he’d realize I wasn’t the girl he thought I was. But slowly, I let my guard down. He was too good to me. He loved me with a ferocity that made me feel that, even if the truth came out tomorrow and he ended up hating me, it would have been worth it just to have known this version of him. My only wish was for Bianca and Preston to stay locked in their toxic, high-society bubble forever. If they stayed together, I could stay with Silas. I could keep being “Rose.” The concert reached the encore. The jumbotron cut to the VIP section. The camera was supposed to land on me, but for a split second, it lingered on a couple a few rows back. In the midst of the deafening music, my sister’s boyfriend, Preston, was passionately kissing a woman I didn’t recognize. 3 The giant screen magnified every detail. The way Preston’s hand gripped the back of the woman’s neck. The unmistakable shimmer of a massive pink diamond on her ring finger. I remembered that diamond. It was the rare stone Bianca had been obsessed with for months. She’d seen it in a Christie’s catalog and talked about nothing else. My world went black. Knowing Bianca’s temper, if she found out Preston was keeping a woman on the side—and giving her that diamond—she would burn the whole world down. The camera finally found me, and I quickly looked down, pretending to reach for a tissue. But in that last second, I caught Preston’s reflection in the screen. He looked stunned, realizing he’d been caught. I spent the rest of the night in a haze of anxiety. On the ride home in the darkened SUV, I clung to Silas, burying my face in his neck and refusing to let go. I was terrified that if I loosened my grip, this stolen dream would finally shatter. 4 The night was intense. I was more desperate, more active than I had ever been, and it pushed Silas to a point of near-losing control. “I have to be in the studio all day tomorrow,” he murmured against my skin, his voice thick with sleep and satisfaction. “I’m going to miss you.” “I’ll miss you too,” I whispered. “You say it like you’re already gone,” Silas said, his eyes searching mine in the dark. “Say you’ll be here when I get back.” “I’ll be here.” He reached out and tucked a stray hair behind my ear, then handed me a black card from the nightstand. “If you get bored, go buy something pretty. Anything you want.” I didn’t care about shopping. I planned to stay home and learn how to cook his favorite meal—honey-balsamic glazed ribs—the way my mother used to make them. I wanted to give him something that was truly mine. But the next day, it wasn’t a text from Silas that arrived. It was a call from my sister. 5 Preston’s affair hadn’t stayed a secret for long. Bianca demanded I meet her at the family estate immediately. I hadn’t seen her since the wedding. She looked haggard, her usual polish cracked. “He’s cheating,” she spat the moment I walked in. “Who?” I played dumb. “Preston. He’s been sleeping with some new assistant for three months.” I didn’t understand how she found out. I had made sure the concert footage was scrubbed from the internet, and Preston wasn’t stupid enough to tell her. Seeing my confusion, she laughed bitterly. “You remember that pink diamond? The one from the magazine? I finally decided to buy it for myself as a birthday gift. The jeweler told me it had already been sold… to Preston.” She took a shaky breath. “I tracked the delivery address. It wasn’t our house. It wasn’t the office. It was some condo I’d never heard of. I went there. I saw them.” Her eyes suddenly snapped to mine, sharp and predatory. “I’ve changed my mind, Tess. I want it back.” My breath hitched. “What?” “I thought I had it all figured out,” she said, her words like a chisel hitting stone. “Silas was a star, sure, but he’s an orphan. No family connections, no old money, too much risk. Preston was stable. He was one of us. We grew up together.” She sighed, pacing the room. “I always liked the bad boys, the ones I thought I could tame. I thought fifteen years of history meant something.” She stopped and looked me dead in the eye. “I was wrong. Preston is a pig. Silas, on the other hand… he’s become the biggest name in the world, and he treats you like a queen. I want my place back.” My heart sank into the pit of my stomach. “Tess, that life belongs to me. It’s time to switch.” 6 I stood there, trembling. “But we’ve been married for a year. He… he knows me.” Bianca laughed, a cold, hollow sound. “Does he? He fell for me. You’re just the stand-in. A body double.” Her words tore open the box of memories I’d tried so hard to bury. I thought of the glass case in Silas’s study. Inside was an old, cheap hair clip that Bianca had thrown away years ago. I thought of his new album title, The B-Sides. I had tried to convince myself it was just a musical term, but I knew Bianca’s middle name started with B. And then there were the lyrics to January Embers: The way you looked in the falling snow, a grace I’ll never let go. Silas and I had never seen the snow together. I’d also found an old book of poetry in his nightstand with a letter tucked inside. The opening line was: To my golden girl. I hadn’t had the heart to read the rest. He had always been in love with the radiant, untouchable Bianca. Every ounce of tenderness he showed me, every soft touch, was meant for the girl he thought I was. Bianca watched the color drain from my face and softened her tone, though her eyes remained like ice. “You feel guilty, don’t you? Living a lie? Be a good girl and give it back. You can go deal with Preston for a while—keep him distracted while I settle back in with Silas. I’ll make sure you’re compensated.” “No,” I whispered. “I won’t do it.” “No?” Bianca’s voice rose. “Tess, let’s be real. Your mother’s medical bills? The dialysis, the imported meds? My father paid for all of it. Your mother was a homewrecker, and we still kept you both fed. You owe us. You know your place. Don’t make me remind you of it.” Every bit of defiance I had was crushed under the weight of the truth. Silas didn’t love me. He loved a phantom. I lowered my head, my voice cracking. “Fine. We’ll switch.” 7 I brought Bianca back to the villa late that night. Before I left, I tried to give her the details. “He can’t have dairy for two hours before a recording session. It messes with his vocal cords.” “The water in his thermos should never be over 120 degrees.” “His stomach is sensitive; don’t let him drink black coffee on an empty stomach.” “And he hates sleeping in total darkness. Always leave the dim light in the hallway on…” “Ugh, shut up!” Bianca snapped. “Are you his wife or his nanny? Does he not have people for this?” She checked her reflection in the hallway mirror. “He needs a woman, Tess, not a maid. Trust me, I won’t need to do any of that to keep him obsessed with me.” She was so confident. As we reached the front door, I saw Silas coming out of the house. I instinctively ducked behind a stone pillar, watching from the shadows. He ran toward her, a bright, genuine smile on his face. He took her hand and pulled her into his arms. Bianca buried her face in his chest, hugging him tight. Silas froze for a second, a look of mild surprise on his face. But then he softened, resting his chin on her head. “Back so soon? And empty-handed?” I had told Bianca about the shopping trip he’d suggested. She played it cool. “I’ll go tomorrow, babe. I just wanted to come home to you. Why don’t you hold onto the card for now?” Silas looked at her, his expression unreadable for a moment. “That’s the first time you’ve called me ‘babe.’” Bianca lowered her gaze, acting shy. “Is it? Sorry. I won’t do it again if you don’t like it.” Silas immediately tightened his grip. “No, I like it. Keep doing it. I love hearing it from you.” Bianca said something else, her voice a flirtatious purr, and Silas’s laugh drifted through the night air. They walked into the house together, arm in arm. My heart hit rock bottom. The fake could never compare to the original. Bianca was clearly better at being the woman he wanted than I ever was. I had been greedy, wanting every bit of sweetness he offered, but I was never the intended recipient. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. That night, back at my father’s house, I didn’t sleep. My mind was a loop of every moment I’d spent with Silas over the past year. I cried until my pillow was soaked, finally drifting into a fitful sleep at dawn. The next morning, a loud, aggressive knocking at the door woke me. I opened it to find Preston Whitlock, looking like he’d been on a three-day bender. 8 “What do you want?” I stood in the doorway, blocking him. “I fired the assistant,” he said, his voice raspy. I expected him to beg for forgiveness, to plead for Bianca to take him back. But his next words caught me off guard. “Bianca… let’s just call it. We’re done.” Done? He was breaking up with her? He wasn’t here to crawl back to his “golden girl”? I didn’t know whether to feel sorry for Bianca or just exhausted by the whole mess. I stayed silent. He looked at me, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. “What, no screaming? No throwing things?” When I still didn’t speak, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a check. “Here. This should cover… whatever. Let’s just make this a clean break.” If I took the check, it meant the breakup was official. If I didn’t, Bianca would lose her mind when she found out. I couldn’t make this choice. “Keep it,” I said. Preston went rigid. In his mind, Bianca was a woman defined by her appetite for luxury. She had never turned down a check in her life. This was new. Suddenly, he grabbed my arm. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk. We need to talk about this.” I didn’t have the energy to fight him, so I followed him out. We hadn’t gone a block when a teenager on a bike came flying down a steep driveway, straight toward Preston. “Watch out!” I yelled. I grabbed his arm and pulled him back, but he still tripped, his knee slamming into the concrete steps. His dress slacks tore, and blood began to bloom through the fabric. The kid on the bike didn’t even look back; he just sped off. I knelt down immediately, my brow furrowed. “Are you okay? Can you move it?” I couldn’t just ignore him, even if he was Preston. Preston looked down at me, his expression shifting from pain to something else. Something intense. “I’m fine. Thanks.” The way he looked at me in that moment was… strange. Like he was seeing me for the first time. 9 A few days later, I saw on the news that Silas had gone to San Diego for a three-night residency. Strangely, he hadn’t taken Bianca with him. In the past, Silas hated being away from home for more than twenty-four hours. If he had to travel, he always insisted I come along. My thoughts were interrupted by a call from Bianca. She sounded agitated. “Tess, what the hell is wrong with him?” “What are you talking about?” “Silas! He… he hasn’t touched me!” she hissed. “I’ve tried everything. Hints, lingerie, everything. He just looks at me like I’m a stranger and says he’s tired.” A tiny, wicked spark of joy lit up in my chest. But I kept my voice flat. “Maybe he’s just stressed.” “He was never too stressed for you,” she snapped. “Tell me. What did you do? How do you… you know, get him going?” I didn’t do anything. I just existed, and he couldn’t keep his hands off me. If I told her that, she’d think I was rubbing it in. “He likes it when things are simple,” I lied. “Simple? I tried simple! Before he left for San Diego, I even bought some of those ridiculous outfits you used to wear—the soft sweaters and the no-makeup look. You know what he said?” “What?” “He said I looked like I was wearing a costume. Then he went to sleep on the sofa!” I had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing out loud. “He’s probably just focused on the shows,” I managed to say. There was a long silence on the other end. “Fine,” she grumbled. “Anyway, what’s happening with Preston?” I told her Preston wanted to break up. She let out a string of curses. “Don’t you dare agree to it. String him along. And make sure you keep that check he tried to give you. I’m not losing both of them.” “Sure,” I said, dismissively. I didn’t care what happened to Preston. And I had a feeling Preston wasn’t going to be as easy to manipulate as she thought. 10 Two weeks later. Preston asked to meet me at the Grove. He said he had something important to discuss. I arrived early. The mall was packed, the central plaza buzzing with people. Huge digital screens were flashing an ad for a luxury watch brand. I suddenly realized why the brand sounded familiar. Silas was their global ambassador. And he was here. Today. For a promotional event. Panic flared in my chest. I pulled my hat down low and adjusted my face mask. I should leave. I should turn around and run. But I missed him. The longing was like a physical ache in my bones. Just one look, I told myself. From a distance. He took the stage. He looked thinner, his jawline sharper, but under the stage lights, he was still the most captivating thing I’d ever seen. I meant to leave after a minute, but I was rooted to the spot. Then came the “fan interaction” segment. The host announced they would pick a few random people from the crowd to play a “compatibility game” with Silas. The crowd went wild, everyone screaming and waving. I turned to push my way out of the throng, but at that exact moment, a spotlight swung across the plaza and stopped dead on me. I froze. Every eye in the vicinity turned toward me.

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After getting accepted into an Ivy League university, I immediately cut all ties with my destitute father. A year later, he made a massive comeback in the business world and adopted a daughter who was sweeter and more obedient than I ever was. During a live New Year’s Eve broadcast, I called in to send him my blessings: “Happy New Year, Dad. I wish you health, peace, and happiness.” My dad scoffed coldly. “Don’t call me Dad. I don’t have a daughter like you!” I lowered my eyes, choking back a sob, but kept a smile on my face. “I’m sorry. This is the last time I’ll ever call you Dad.” He sneered. “The last time? I hope you mean it’s the last time before you drop dead.” Hearing this, the host looked absolutely shocked and asked: “Mr. Sterling… you didn’t know? This was pre-recorded by your daughter.” “And she really is… just as you said… dead.” 1 “Dead?” My dad’s sneer froze on his lips, a flash of unease crossing his eyes. But he quickly regained his composure. “Is this some kind of stunt for the broadcast?” The host tried to explain, but my pre-recorded message continued: “Next, I’d like to sing a song for my dad.” Clearing my throat, I fought down the urge to cry and began to sing: “I wish I could be like before~ holding your warm hand~ But you aren’t by my side~ so I ask the wind to bring you peace… Thank you for everything you did~ holding up our home with your two hands~ Always giving your all~ giving the best to me…” I choked on the final notes, barely finishing the song. The moment the tears fell, I scrambled out of the camera’s view. Only my tearful, shaking voice could be heard on the recording: “Dad, being your daughter in this life was my greatest luck.” The broadcast call ended there. My dad’s face remained impassive. “Hmph. What a fake, hypocritical act.” The live chat, however, was filled with a barrage of mockery: “LMAO, why is Chloe Sterling trying to stay relevant right now?” “A good education filters out bad students, not bad people!” “Did her Ivy League school find out she’s a terrible person and kick her out? Is that why she’s coming back to play the victim now that Mr. Sterling is rich again?” “I know, right? It feels like reading a satisfying revenge novel. The evil daughter abandons her poor dad for glory, does every terrible thing imaginable, and ends up with a miserable ending.” My ending was indeed miserable. I died in excruciating pain. But I clearly never did any terrible things. I used to give my dad massages when he was tired. I did the laundry and cooked for him. In my short nineteen years of life, the only “terrible” thing I ever did… Was cutting ties with him the year he was at his absolute lowest. But I didn’t want to do it. I was sick. If I didn’t do it, I would have dragged my dad down with me… The host finally spoke up to explain: “Mr. Sterling, this is not a stunt for the broadcast. Please, look at the main screen…” 2 Quickly, my figure appeared on the large screen in the studio. The background was outside an oncology ward. But the very next second, I held up a medical file to block the camera lens, my tone incredibly impatient: “I said I’m not filming! Can you stop following me?!” From off-camera, a mature and very sincere woman’s voice replied: “Little girl, my name is Sarah. I’m not a scammer. I’m from the production crew of the documentary series Screw Cancer. I can help you.” I pulled the medical file away, revealing my gaunt, bloodless face to the camera. But quickly, I shoved the file right back in front of the lens, pointing to the diagnosis: “Do you know what wild-type colorectal cancer is? “Do you know what a fetal-differentiated adenocarcinoma is? “This is a cancer I was born with. It’s an ultra-rare disease. There are only 5 cases in the entire country. “There is no targeted chemotherapy protocol for it. “The doctor said I have a year to live, at most.” A heavy silence fell over the video. I just offered a weak, bitter smile: “Helping me is useless. It’s a dead end. You should find someone else.” With that, I turned to walk away. “Our production offers a very high appearance fee. If you agree to film, you’ll have the money for treatment.” The woman grabbed my arm. I shook my head, smiling bitterly. “Proton therapy. It’s currently the only chemo that has a slight effect on me. Do you know how much one session costs?” I held up five fingers. “Fifty thousand dollars.” I pulled her hand off my arm, turned, and walked away. But the very next second, I suddenly collapsed to my knees, falling hard onto the floor. The camera shook violently, and from off-screen came a panicked scream: “Little girl!” 3 [Goodbye to the Rest of My Life, Part 2 – September 10, 2023 – Everyone Goes Bald] “You’re this year’s top liberal arts student in the state, the Chloe Sterling who got accepted into an Ivy League, right?” I had just sat down in the salon chair and looked visibly annoyed: “What are you doing here again?” Sarah’s voice was as gentle as an older sister’s: “You’re trending online. Everyone is calling you an ungrateful brat. They’re saying your dad worked himself to the bone to put you through school, but you abandoned him because he’s broke and ‘beneath you’ now. “But they don’t know you have cancer. If we film a documentary about you, you can clear your name.” I looked at my reflection in the mirror and offered a very ugly smile: “I want them to think I’m an ungrateful brat. Especially… my dad.” After saying that, I ignored her. I just touched the ends of my hair, lowered my eyes, and smiled bitterly. My voice was so quiet it was barely a whisper: “I’m sorry, Dad. I couldn’t protect your favorite hair.” When I looked up again, my eyes were red. “Tony, please shave it all off.” Hearing this, the stylist looked at me in absolute disbelief: “Are you sure? Your hair is so long and beautiful, and it looks like you take really good care of it.” I did take good care of it. Just a few days ago, my dad was the one helping me condition it. He loved washing my hair the most. I nodded firmly, speaking as if it were the most normal thing in the world: “I have cancer. Even if I don’t cut it now, it’s all going to fall out once I start chemo.” The stylist didn’t say another word. With shaking hands, he began to shave my head. Two minutes later, I was completely bald. I stood up, thanked him, and prepared to pay, but the stylist stopped me: “It’s on the house. You don’t have to pay.” I moved his hand away anyway and scanned the QR code to pay. “I don’t need anyone’s pity.” But the very next second, the stylist took the clippers and started shaving his own head. “Then I’ll keep you company. I think a shaved head actually looks pretty cool.” I stood frozen in place. Before I could even process what was happening, Sarah spoke up too: “Shave mine too. I’ve always wanted to try the bald look.” Before I could stop her, her beautiful, shiny hair fell to the floor. Two streams of tears rolled down my cheeks. “You guys really didn’t have to do this… I’m honestly… okay…” But neither of them spoke. They just looked at me and smiled—a goofy, earnest smile. Stepping out of the salon, I turned and faced the camera: “I agree to film. I don’t want to owe anyone anything.” 4 [Goodbye to the Rest of My Life, Part 3 – September 11, 2023 – Silent Fatherly Love] “Why did you cut ties with your dad? Wouldn’t it be better to face this together?” Sarah’s voice came from off-camera. I smiled bitterly. “No!” “Why?” Sarah looked confused. I didn’t answer. I just took out my phone and pulled up a news video I had saved in my photo album from three years ago. Soon, my dad’s face appeared on the phone screen. It was 2:00 AM. He was wearing a food delivery uniform, squatting on the curb, eating a bowl of plain noodles. He was only in his early forties then, but his temples were already graying. The reporter asked him: “Sir, why are you just eating a plain bowl of noodles?” My dad was eating like it was a feast. He just replied: “It’s enough.” The reporter asked again: “You’re holding a bag of meat, why aren’t you eating that?” My dad looked at the bag of meat, a massive smile on his face: “Saving it for my daughter’s breakfast tomorrow, hehe.” The reporter asked a third time: “Why work so hard? Delivering food in the middle of the night?” My dad seemed to think of something. The exhaustion vanished from his face instantly, replaced by overwhelming pride: “My daughter got into a really good high school. It’s the best high school in the state, so it costs money, hehe.” A moment of silence in the video. My dad kept his head down, quickly finishing his noodles, and hopped back onto his electric scooter. The reporter encouraged him: “Keep going, sir!” My dad waved his hand. “Just gotta get the job done!” The video ended there. Even though I had watched it countless times, my tears still flowed uncontrollably. I sniffled and smiled: “When I got home from school during the day, ‘Comrade’ Sterling would always have a hot meal waiting for me. But one day, school let out early, and he wasn’t home. I asked him where he was, and he lied, saying he was out at a fancy dinner with friends. But he was actually out delivering food.” “At night, while I was asleep, he would sneak out to do deliveries. He thought I didn’t know, but I knew everything…” “That was when I secretly swore to myself that I would study as hard as I could, get into the best university in the country, and repay him.” “Later on… I did get in, but now I don’t have the chance to repay him anymore…” I finished my sentence with a smile, but why? Why do people cry when they smile? I tilted my head back to wipe the tears away, my voice cracking as I asked Sarah: “Sarah, guess what Comrade Sterling would do if he knew I had cancer?” Sarah looked at me, speechless. “He would sell his blood. He would sell his kidneys.” My heart trembled as I said it: “Actually, to save up for my senior year tuition and living expenses, he tried to secretly sell his blood and his kidney. Thank god I found out and threatened to kill myself to stop him…” I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye: “Before I left, his startup project finally caught the eye of an angel investor. “They say when one person gets cancer, the whole family suffers. “If an angel investor found out a family had a sickly burden like me, do you think they’d still be willing to invest?” Sarah’s voice trembled: “Chloe…” I shook my head, signaling that I was okay. “The cancer will take my life, but a $50,000 chemo session… that would take my dad’s life.” Sarah pressed her lips together, her eyes starting to turn red. I sniffled, smiling: “The day I left, I used the most vicious words possible to absolutely destroy Comrade Sterling. “He got on his knees and begged me. He said he was going to make a lot of money soon, and asked me to just wait one more year. In one year, he would make me the happiest princess in the world. “Do you know? I wanted so badly to stay. To wait for him year after year, to grow old with him. “But… I don’t have the time to wait…” The tears fell like broken beads, splashing down one by one. I frantically wiped the tears from my face and pleaded: “Sarah, can you promise not to release these videos until after I’m dead?” The camera started to shake. Sarah choked on a sob: “Chloe, you’re not going to die. You can be cured…” In the video, I swallowed hard, tears shimmering in my eyes. “If you don’t promise me, then I won’t film anymore.” Her crying became more audible: “Okay. I promise…” 5 [Goodbye to the Rest of My Life, Part 4 – November 3, 2023 – A Little Chemo? Handled!] In this video, I was visibly much thinner than in the previous ones. The slight baby fat I used to have was gone, my cheeks completely hollow. The cancer cells were spreading rapidly. The pain was so agonizing I could only lie flat on the hospital bed like a dead fish. “Can you give me a painkiller injection?” My voice was incredibly weak. I pulled $1,340 out from under my pillow and handed it to Sarah. It was my entire life savings. Sarah sniffled and took the money. But the very next second, she shoved the money right back under my pillow. “What painkiller injection? You need to start chemo immediately. “I asked the doctor. If you don’t start chemo, at the rate the cancer is spreading, you won’t even make it past the end of the year…” I offered a weak smile. “That’s fine too. Better to get it over with quickly than to suffer for a long time…” But Sarah wasn’t having it. “I already paid for your first chemo session. The doctor will be here to take you in shortly.” “Where did you get the money?” I forced myself to sit up despite the excruciating pain. She gently pushed me back down, her eyes darting away. “Our production crew applied for a grant for you. It’s your appearance fee. Just use it, don’t worry about it.” I wanted to ask more questions, but the doctor arrived to wheel me into the chemo room. Very quickly, I was hooked up to countless tubes, and an oxygen mask was placed over my mouth. The doctor didn’t allow filming for the actual treatment. Sarah pointed the camera at the closed door of the chemo room. A few moments later, my agonizing, blood-curdling screams echoed through the camera. It was horrifying. The doctor lied to me! Didn’t he say the soundproofing was great and I could scream as loud as I wanted?! Zero stars! Half an hour later, the chemo was finally over. I was wheeled out of the room. Seeing Sarah’s camera, I immediately turned my face away. But the camera still captured my pathetic state—my face completely covered in snot, tears, and drool. I quickly wiped my face clean, met Sarah’s deeply worried gaze, and flashed a massive smile. “A little chemo? Handled!” I made a pinch gesture with my hand. Sarah covered my hand with hers, her voice hoarse: “You did so great!” “I made lunch for you. I cooked it myself. I don’t know if you’ll like it.” On the hospital table, there were three dishes and a soup. It looked and smelled amazing. My eyes sparkled. “Wow! These are all my favorites! Thank you so much, Sarah.” I looked at the camera and started imitating those Mukbang streamers. “Let me show everyone what a colorectal cancer patient eats after a chemo session.” I held up each dish to the camera to show them off. Then I ate with immense relish, actually eating half a bowl more rice than usual. From off-camera, Sarah kept praising me, telling me I was doing great. I exaggerated my expressions to respond: “It’s all because your cooking is so good, Sarah! It tastes just like my dad’s cooking. I want to lick the plate clean.” I picked up the plate, pretending I was about to lick it. Sarah stopped me sternly. “No licking the plate.” She set the camera down on the table and packed up the thermos containers. The moment Sarah walked out of the room, my expression instantly turned to pure agony. I scrambled out of bed, hugging the trash can, vomiting uncontrollably. When my face appeared on camera again, it was covered in tears from vomiting so violently. “Please don’t misunderstand… “Sarah’s food really is incredibly delicious. “It’s just that the side effects of the chemo are getting worse, that’s why I’m throwing up…” 6 [Goodbye to the Rest of My Life, Part 5 – December 31, 2023 – The Last Day of the Year, The Last Day of My Life.] “Chloe, what do you want to do on the very last day of 2023? I’ll make it happen.” The scene cut. I was busy picking out a pretty hat for myself. Hearing her, I raised an eyebrow and smiled. “You said it, not me.” I mysteriously dragged her into a car. In the car, she couldn’t help but ask me again: “Chloe, where exactly are we going?” I grinned. “To pick out a grave.” Sarah almost dropped the camera, her eyes instantly turning red. “Chloe…” But I acted like it was no big deal. “Sarah, I did my research. Picking a grave with good Feng Shui is super important. “They say if you’re buried in a good spot, it guarantees a healthy, disease-free next life. It’ll guarantee I get to be Comrade Sterling’s daughter again…” When it was time to get out of the car, the smile on my face became stiff. Because by this point, I could no longer walk. Sarah helped me into a wheelchair. After looking around and being picky, I chose the cheapest plot and said very seriously: “I did the calculations. This plot is the best. If I’m buried here, I’ll definitely be reincarnated into a great life next time.” Sarah pressed her lips together and nodded, looking up at the sky, avoiding my eyes. By the time we got back to the hospital, I was hooked up to an oxygen tank again. At this moment, there were only five minutes left in 2023. Fireworks were going off non-stop outside. A huge crowd had gathered in front of the massive screen on the mall across from the hospital, waiting for the countdown. The TV on the wall was playing the New Year’s Eve gala. Sarah sat by my bed, keeping me company. I spoke first: “Sarah, after I die, will you remember me forever?” Sarah choked back a sob. “Absolutely.” I shook my head. “No. After one year, you have to forget me.” Sarah didn’t answer. She just asked: “Then can you promise me that you’ll keep living well in the new year?” I smiled. “How about we play Rock-Paper-Scissors? If I win, we do it my way. If you win, we do it your way.” In the end, I lost. At that moment, the New Year’s countdown started playing on the TV. On the big screen outside the window, the numbers flashed: 10, 9, 8, 7… Feeling a premonition, the exact second the clock struck midnight, I looked steadily at Sarah and said: “Happy New Year, Sarah.” “Happy New Year to you too, Chloe. You have to honor our bet.” My lips curved into a massive, wide smile. “Okay… “Sarah, I have a secret to tell you. I miss my dad so, so much…” The next second, the heart monitor let out a piercing, continuous alarm. My heartbeat flatlined.

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In our past life, Chloe and I were adopted on the exact same day. Chloe, the bubbly little sunshine, was taken into a cold, strict, and unforgiving family, eventually driven to depression and suicide. And I, the gloomy, cynical one, was taken by a warm, loving family… only to be returned. After being sent back to the orphanage, I was severely isolated and eventually met the same tragic end as Chloe. Reborn into a new life, Chloe asked, “Should we…” Without hesitation, I said, “Switch.” 1 When the two couples came to choose, I noticed Chloe’s hands were trembling non-stop. It was entirely different from the eager anticipation she showed in our past life. I knew immediately: Chloe had been reborn too. As for me, I maintained my usual gloomy, apathetic expression. To my surprise, Chloe actively came over to comfort me. “Don’t worry, they’ll definitely pick you.” I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. They’ll just send me back anyway.” Hearing my words, Chloe’s eyes went wide. In that momentary eye contact, we rapidly communicated our shared memories. In our past life, Chloe was adopted by the wealthy and powerful Sterling family. However, when she enthusiastically threw herself into her new home, the freezing reality of the Sterlings left her bruised and broken. The Sterlings adopting a daughter from an orphanage seemed like nothing more than fulfilling a quota. They had no love for Chloe. They only offered programmatic, perfunctory care, along with a mountain of strict rules to control her. Chloe tried. She tried using her lively, obedient nature to earn some warmth, but all she got was severe self-doubt. Under that suffocating atmosphere, Chloe sank deeper into depression every single day. Finally, she took a leap from a high building, finding her only release. As for me, I was adopted by the Miller family. Mr. Miller was a middle school principal, and Mrs. Miller ran a kindergarten. Both of them possessed an endless, overflowing enthusiasm for children. They desperately wanted me to respond with that same level of enthusiasm. But no matter how hard I tried to fake it, I couldn’t. In the end, the Millers were disappointed and returned me to the orphanage. After returning, I became the ‘ungrateful brat’ in everyone’s eyes. Many of the other kids resented me for wasting a precious adoption opportunity, leading to severe isolation. Coupled with the news of Chloe’s death, I lost all will to live. I never expected we would both be reborn. 2 Just like in our previous life, both the Sterlings and the Millers wanted Chloe. Just standing there, she radiated the vibrant energy of a sunflower. Who wouldn’t like her? Being chosen by both meant one family had to give her up. In our past life, the orphanage director stepped in to smooth things over. She pushed Chloe toward the Sterlings and suggested the Millers take me instead. The Millers, noting that I looked somewhat similar to Chloe, agreed. In this life, the exact same stalemate occurred. But this time, without waiting for the director to step in, I proactively walked toward the Sterlings and said, “Choose me. I can become exactly what you want.” Mr. and Mrs. Sterling were stunned. Meanwhile, Chloe sprinted to the Millers’ side, smiling sweetly. “Thank you so much for wanting to take me home.” The Millers joyfully accepted her. And just like that, the Sterlings had no choice but to agree to my request. So, in this life, Chloe went to the Millers. And I, Ava, went to the Sterlings. 3 The Sterling family currently consisted of three people. With me, there were four. Arthur Sterling was the father, Victoria was the mother, and Julian was the older brother. All three were entirely consumed by their work, so the house was usually cold and empty. We only saw each other during dinner. Honestly, I loved the quietness of the day. I could read my manga in perfect peace. When the maids asked, “Miss Ava, would you like [insert food] for lunch today?”, a simple nod was all it took. As for their muttered complaints of “Why doesn’t she speak all day?”, I just pretended I didn’t hear them. Dinner time, however, wasn’t nearly as relaxing. Even when Arthur put food on my plate, it sounded like an order. “Eat this piece of fish.” I immediately held up my bowl to receive it, replying with equal seriousness, “Understood. Thank you, sir.” An eerie, awkward silence instantly fell over the dining table. Even Julian, who had treated me like thin air since I walked through the door, shot me a glance. Victoria finally spoke up. “You don’t need to be so formal at home.” Except, her expression was freezing cold when she said it. I nodded. “Understood. I see.” Victoria sighed. She looked at Julian and said, “Starting today, remember to teach your sister some proper etiquette and rules.” Julian rolled up his sleeves and gave a low, dark “Okay.” 4 The next day, Chloe rushed over to meet me. After jumping out of the car, she enthusiastically waved at the driver’s seat. “Bye, Mom! Bye, Dad!” “Bye, sweetie!” A warm laugh echoed from the car. I knew Chloe going to the Millers was exactly the right choice. The first thing Chloe asked when she saw me was, “How are things at the Sterlings’?” Before I could answer, she sighed. “Actually, asking is pointless.” However, Chloe told me a lot more about the Sterling family. It turned out the reason the Sterlings went to the orphanage in the first place was because their biological daughter had died in an accident. They wanted to adopt a girl of a similar age to fill the void. This was entirely Arthur and Victoria’s idea. Julian was vehemently opposed to it. He believed that his sister was gone, and she shouldn’t be replaced by a new one. That’s why, in our past life, Julian’s attitude toward Chloe was always abysmal. Chloe warned me repeatedly, “No matter how Julian treats you, absolutely ignore him.” 5 But it was impossible for me not to interact with Julian. Per Victoria’s orders, he had to teach me the rules of high-society living. Julian called me into his study. The moment I stepped inside, his handsome face instantly radiated pure ice. He frowned and snapped, “Don’t you know how to knock?” I replied rigidly, “I apologize. I will try again.” I stepped out, knocked several times, and only went back in after. Julian continued to scrutinize me. “In a few days, it will be your Aunt Victoria’s birthday. Many people will be here. What will you say when you meet them?” I said expressionlessly, “Hello, I am Ava. It is a pleasure to meet you.” Julian looked at me. “Do you not know how to smile?” “I am not naturally inclined to smile.” Julian: “…” Finally, he said to me, “Being like this will make it very hard for people to like you.” That’s fine. I don’t really care about that. However, Julian seemed slightly shocked to see a faint, disdainful smirk ghost across my lips. “A dead pig doesn’t fear boiling water,” he scoffed coldly. Keep insulting me. What if I actually start enjoying it? 6 Since Julian declared I was too difficult to teach, Victoria decided to take over personally. Aside from when I was at school, Victoria would make time to supervise me during my other activities, like piano and tennis lessons. While I was playing the piano, Victoria sighed repeatedly. “Why do your hands look like chicken claws?” “In the past, every time it was my birthday,” Victoria continued, “Lily would come out and play the piano. Making you do it right now is like trying to teach a pig to sing.” Lily was the Sterlings’ deceased daughter. I looked at Victoria and said, “I can do it next year.” “Next year?” Victoria said casually. “That depends entirely on your performance.” Even though I was impervious to most things, when Victoria said that, my sharp instincts picked up on the key information. So I said, “I will perform well. Please don’t send me back.” “So you are afraid of that.” A slight ripple appeared in Victoria’s usually cold expression. “Ava, I recall you saying you were willing to become whatever we wanted you to be, correct?” I nodded. “Yes.” “What if I want you to become just like Lily?” I remembered the family portrait hanging in the villa. The Lily in the photo looked gentle and elegant. I had learned a little bit of drawing in the past, so I imagined myself as a model mimicking Lily, and successfully produced a soft smile. Victoria was instantly captivated. She looked at me critically. “Not bad.” That day, I practiced in the soundproof piano room until the early hours of the morning, eventually falling asleep on the bench. The nanny found me there the next morning. When Julian found out, he was disgusted by how desperately I was trying to flatter them. But Victoria was very satisfied. 7 Victoria’s birthday arrived. As the banquet approached, the Sterling family dressed impeccably. As for me, I was wearing a snow-white cocktail dress that Victoria had prepared, with a beautiful ribbon clip fastened in my styled hair. But after I put it on, a fully suited Julian walked in, ripped the ribbon clip from my hair, and demanded of Victoria: “What right does she have to wear the same clothes as Lily?!” Victoria: “Because she is your sister now.” Julian pointed at me and said, “How is she my sister?! My sister is dead!” Victoria’s face darkened. “You are not the master of this house yet. Not unless I’m dead too.” “Fine. Perfect.” Julian sneered. He turned to me. “Ava, listen to me. You do not deserve this.” I didn’t say a word. Julian locked onto me with a piercing glare. “Ava, do you have absolutely no self-respect?” Hearing that, I froze for a moment. I sort of understood why Chloe had found the Sterling household so suffocating. I could imagine that if she were here, she would be drowning in a tidal wave of grievance and injustice right now. But I seemed to have been born missing a crucial sensitivity chip. No matter how harsh the words were, when they hit my ears, it was like dropping a coin onto a pile of cotton—it didn’t even make a muffled thud. “I apologize. I will be more mindful next time.” Julian turned to Victoria. “Mom, look at her. Look at how pathetic she is.” Victoria said in dissatisfaction, “Ava, have you forgotten what I told you?” Oh, right. Be like Lily. I held my hand out and said gently, “Brother, please give the hair clip back to me.” I just needed to follow orders. Julian shuddered violently. He immediately threw the butterfly clip back at me and ordered, “Do not ever call me that again.” Sorry, but Victoria makes the rules in this house. 8 Chloe also attended the banquet because the Millers and the Sterlings were acquaintances. Chloe stealthily pulled me aside and pulled out a wallet. She said, “Ava, I get so much allowance now! Did you buy Aunt Victoria a birthday present? You absolutely cannot skip the present. If you don’t have enough money, I’ll give you some.” “No need, I have money. Just save yours. What if in the future…” I paused. I originally wanted to say, what if the Millers don’t want you in the future? But then I remembered Chloe wasn’t me. The Millers would adore her. I continued, “I already gave Aunt Victoria her present.” “What was it?” “Aunt Victoria likes watercolors, so I painted her a picture.” Chloe: “Then she must love it.” Before giving it to her, I wasn’t sure if Victoria would like it. But this morning, when I saw that watercolor painting sitting in the trash can, I knew she didn’t really like it. Oh, she disliked it very much. While Chloe and I were talking, Victoria came over and pulled me away, telling me to go greet the guests.

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1 Amy had lost her memory, every trace of me erased. Her mind was stuck in the year she loved her ex-husband most. No matter how much everyone around her pleaded, she remained convinced that I was the one who had come between them. The doctors offered a glimmer of hope for her memory, and I clung to it, refusing to let go. Three years. We divorced, then remarried. It became a well-known joke throughout the whole of New York society, people even placing bets. They wagered on when I’d finally give up, and when Amy would finally remember. Until the news of our eighth divorce hit the tabloids again. Reporters, cameras poised, stormed into my law firm. They shoved microphones in my face, their voices laced with provocation. “Mr. Covington, as a divorce attorney, you’ve been divorced eight times yourself. Any thoughts on that?” My firm’s nameplate had been vandalized, and the commendation plaques I’d earned were trampled underfoot. Before I could even respond, my boss fired me, citing damage to the firm’s reputation. “Larry, take some advice. Have some self-respect. Stop hounding Ms. Amy Vance.” My hand trembled as I clenched it, and a sudden wave of exhaustion washed over me. They were right. This time, I really should give up. … It was pouring rain when I left the firm. Clutching a box from my desk, I walked home in a daze. The front door hadn’t been fully shut, and I could hear Amy and Julian’s laughter drifting out occasionally. I glanced around. The living room was a mess, clothes scattered everywhere, the rug stained… The TV news still played the day’s firm drama on a loop. Amy’s smile faded a little when she saw me. “Still have the nerve to come back?” Her sarcastic words cut through the air, clear and sharp. Julian chuckled, kissing the corner of Amy’s lips. “Alright, you two were together for seven years. Let’s keep some decorum.” He then looked up, raising an eyebrow at me, his smile suggestive. “It’s Amy’s ovulation day today. She really wanted me. You don’t mind, do you?” Rainwater dripped from my hair, landing on the floor, one drop at a time. A surge of weariness washed over me. I didn’t look at the two undressed figures on the couch, turning instead towards the bedroom. But when I pushed the door open, I froze. “Oh, right, I forgot to tell you.” Amy’s voice was casual. “This house is also registered under my mother’s name. It has nothing to do with you. I threw all your stuff out.” She paused, then added, “Probably still in the trash can by the street.” Amy’s lips curved upwards, a jacket loosely draped over her. She leaned against the wall, watching me. It was as if seeing me in such a state brought her immense joy. A sharp pain shot through my chest. My soaked shirt made me shiver with cold. “You bought today’s trending topic too, didn’t you?” I demanded, my voice raw. “We’re already divorced. Why did you have to make me lose my job?” In response to my question, Amy simply raised her hand and swiped, knocking the box out of my hands. Documents and papers scattered across the floor. They were the fruits of nearly seven years of my work. “Three years of pestering me isn’t enough? Even if I really did have something with you before, I have amnesia now.” Her voice was cold, dismissive. “I’ve forgotten you, which means you mean absolutely nothing to me!” Those words, undoubtedly, ripped open old wounds. Three years ago, her sudden amnesia had erased everything about me. Just the day before she lost her memory, she’d told me she was pregnant. She’d dragged me excitedly to decorate the nursery, dreaming of whether it would be a boy or a girl. But then she forgot. She only remembered Julian. She’d terminated our child, and even undergone a hymen repair for Julian. “You just forgot! You have no idea what Julian did back then…” Anguish and fury threatened to consume me. Amy’s face turned ashen. She grabbed my arm fiercely and shoved me out the door. The heavy rain instantly drenched me again. “I don’t care what Julian did,” she declared, her voice ringing with finality. “I only remember that I love him, and that’s all that matters.” I opened my mouth, but all my questions and grievances suddenly felt meaningless. Amy irritably avoided my gaze, then reached up and tugged off her wedding ring. The edge of the diamond scratched her finger. She threw the ring at my feet, slamming the door shut as she yelled, “Don’t be so pathetic, begging me to remarry you!” I stood there for a long time, then finally crouched down and picked up the wedding ring. Amy had designed it herself before we got married. She’d worn it for seven years, never taking it off. By the roadside trash can, I saw our shattered wedding photos, the scarf she had knitted for me with her own hands, and all the photo albums filled with our memories. My phone suddenly rang. I looked at the caller ID and answered. Amy’s mother’s excited voice came through. “Larry, I just got Amy’s medical report! The doctor said her memory is starting to loosen up. If she continues treatment, there’s an eighty percent chance she’ll recover!” My knuckles turned white as I gripped the phone. The “good” I wanted to say died in my throat. Finally, I whispered, “Mom, no more treatment. Let her forget. It’s better that way.” The next day, I went to the Vance family estate. I laid the eight divorce certificates before Amy’s mother. “Mom, Amy and I are divorced again.” Amy’s mother looked at me with pity, then sighed deeply. “Amy has truly wronged you. You two were so happy back then.” She pushed a business card towards me, her eyes filled with hope. “But this time it’s really different. I’ve contacted several doctors, and they all say the chances of recovery are high.” She pleaded, “I’m getting old, Mom just wants you two to have a good life together. She’s also been remembering a lot of things from before…” Her persuasion was cut short by my interruption. “But she’s never remembered anything about me.” I lowered my head, avoiding her pitying gaze. The atmosphere grew silent until she spoke again. “If you leave, and Amy remembers you but can’t find you, she’ll go mad.” For three years, every time we divorced, Amy’s mother would say those exact words. And every time, because of those words, I would soften, remarrying again and again. Before I could reply, there was a commotion at the entrance. Amy strode in, high heels clacking, carrying several shopping bags. Her brows immediately furrowed when she saw me. “Larry, are you here to complain to my mother again?” she sneered. “I already kicked you out. Why are you still haunting me? Can’t you really live without me?” Amy’s mother’s chest heaved with anger. She abruptly stood up, raised her hand, and slapped Amy hard across the face. “Have you caused enough trouble? How much more do you intend to push Larry? If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t be alive right now!” I sat on the sofa, my hands clenched into fists. My mind drifted back seven years. Her marriage to Julian had been a nightmare. Julian had reveled in all her love, but secretly, he had other women. His infidelity had turned her into a laughingstock among the socialites overnight. When she’d gone to confront him, Julian had sold her private photos at an auction, absconded with ten million dollars, and vanished. After that, Amy fell into a deep depression. I was the one who saved her when she tried to jump into the river. “So what? All he wanted was money.” Amy stubbornly looked at her mother. “I don’t care what Julian did back then. I just love him, and I can’t love anyone else.” She added with defiant conviction, “And I won’t regret it.” Amy’s mother instantly looked as if all the strength had been drained from her. She turned back to me, her eyes filled with apology. Amy rubbed her temples, then finally looked up, as if in reluctant compromise. “Okay, Arthur. If you want to remarry, fine. We’ll just divorce again later, and you’ll be the one who looks foolish, not me.” Her voice dripped with disdain. “If you can’t live without me, let’s go to the registry office now.” She added, a cruel smile playing on her lips, “This would be your eighth divorce, wouldn’t it?” I forced a faint smile. I couldn’t reconcile the woman before me with the Amy I remembered. “I came here to clarify things with Mom, that’s all.” I looked directly at Amy. “You’re free, Amy.” Amy froze, her hand, hanging at her side, trembled imperceptibly. She stared at me, astonished, then quickly regained her composure. “Playing hard to get, huh? Too bad it won’t work on me.” She scoffed, “Fine. You said it. Just don’t come crawling back to me again.” Amy bit out the words, almost snarling. Ignoring her mother’s protests, she threw her bags to the floor and stormed out. Amy’s mother’s eyes went dark with fury. She yelled after Amy’s retreating figure, “You’ll regret this, I promise you!”

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My fiancé was incredibly busy; almost everything fell to his brother. From delivering contracts to proposing, from choosing our dream home to picking out a wedding dress, there was no sign of him, even three days before our engagement. His brother told me, “Ms. Harrington, my brother acts this way because he has a woman he loves but can’t have. The walls of his room are covered with her pictures, please don’t mind.” I minded very much. So, at the last minute, I swapped fiancés with his brother. He didn’t object, even happily saying he’d attend the engagement party. But on the day of the engagement, my fiancé was nowhere to be found. When I finally found him backstage, he was locked in a fierce brawl with a man who bore a striking resemblance to him. “You knew I’d been in love with her for years, why didn’t you tell me she was the one I was supposed to marry?” “Why should I tell you? I have just as many photos of her in my room as you do. Brother, you taught me: if you want something, you go after it yourself.” 1 “The contract… isn’t it with you?” I frowned at the young man in front of me. He was handsome, alright, but he didn’t seem very bright. “Uh… this is my own contract for later. Your marriage contract got… eaten by the driver on the way.” He stammered, and I looked at him suspiciously. A week ago, I’d added Liam Vaughn, my fiancé-to-be, on social media. It wasn’t until this morning that he sent his first message: [Been a bit swamped lately. My brother will be passing by your company this afternoon. I’ve asked him to drop off the contract. If it’s all good, just sign it and send it back with him.] I replied with a “Got it.” In the afternoon, sure enough, the front desk announced someone was here to deliver a contract. But the man who walked in had a rather nonchalant expression until our eyes met, and he suddenly sprang up from the sofa. Then, holding the contract, he claimed it was lost. “I’ll text your brother and ask him to send another copy.” I couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed. Was the Vaughn family trying to make a statement? We’d confirmed the arranged marriage a month ago, and I hadn’t even met the elder son. Now, the younger son couldn’t even deliver a contract without losing it. Were they trying to intimidate me? Frowning, I was about to text Liam Vaughn. I, Stella Harrington, wasn’t desperate for this marriage alliance. There was no need to make things so awkward. “No, wait!” The man hurriedly cut me off. “I’ll bring the contract tomorrow. Or, how about I treat you to dinner first, and I can tell you the contract details on my brother’s behalf?” I looked at his flushed ear tips, then at the watch on my wrist. I nodded, agreeing. While waiting for our food, he suddenly seemed to make a decision and began introducing himself. “My name is Ethan Vaughn, I’m 6’2”, weigh 162 lbs, I work out regularly, and I have abs…” I frowned, cutting him off. “Does this have anything to do with the contract?” His face flushed even redder, and he looked at me with a hint of grieVaughn. “It doesn’t seem to have anything to do with it, but you’ll be my sister-in-law soon, so I wanted to introduce myself…” I was speechless. Looking at his rather pitifully handsome face, that inexplicable annoyance suddenly vanished. “Alright, go on.” Ethan, however, fell silent. He just stared at me quietly, then suddenly spoke. “Ms. Harrington, did you… change your name?” I blinked. “No… Oh, yes.” If a stage name counted. He let out a long breath, then stopped chattering, and ate in silence. Though he wasn’t talking, his eyes remained fixed on me. I felt a little uncomfortable under his gaze, so I focused all my attention on the food. Surprisingly, everything he ordered was what I loved. After dinner, he took out his phone. Thinking I’d have to add him eventually anyway, I didn’t refuse. But after I got home, I still messaged Liam Vaughn. [Didn’t receive the contract. Please send another one tomorrow.] It took a while for him to reply. [My brother told me. Apologies, he’s always so clumsy. He’ll resend a copy tomorrow.] I sighed, remembering Ethan’s intense gaze, and then Liam’s cold, unwilling-to-say-more attitude. I didn’t reply. 2 The next morning, I saw Ethan downstairs. He was holding a folder, leaning against the car window, looking as if he’d been waiting for a long time. When he saw me, his eyes lit up. “Ms. Harrington.” He walked over quickly, his steps a little rushed. “I’ve brought the contract.” I reached out to take it, but he put it behind his back again. “No rush. How about you accompany me to pick out the wedding rings first today?” I paused. “Is that what your brother wants too?” I was about to lose my temper, but Ethan’s tone was sincere. “Can’t be helped, he’s busy.” Thankfully, Ethan was quite humorous and handsome. He chattered away with me on the drive, lifting my mood considerably. He took me to a high-end design store, which surprised me. I knew the place; my friend had her wedding ring custom-made there. But the lead time was very long, and for arranged marriages like ours, it was usually just a formality. “Ms. Harrington, how long the lead time is depends on how much money is put down.” Ethan was serious. “I can get you your desired ring within three days.” When it came to measuring the size, before I could figure out how to get Liam Vaughn’s size, Ethan had already extended his hand. I stared, dumbfounded. He grinned at me, showing his teeth. “Ms. Harrington, my brother and I have very similar builds. If it fits me, it’ll definitely fit him.” Suppressing a strange feeling in my heart, I twitched my lips. What a good brother, taking care of everything, and seemingly happy about it. The store assistant hadn’t quite heard what we said and looked at me enviously. “Your boyfriend is so good to you. He’s handsome and rich. Our boss usually doesn’t take urgent orders. How much did he pay to cut the line like this…?” Another assistant chimed in. “The lady is also beautiful, like that celebrity I used to watch on TV. A handsome man and a beautiful woman. Your boyfriend’s eyes are practically glued to you.” No one dislikes compliments. My face flushed, and I instinctively wanted to explain. “No, he…” Before I could speak, Ethan leaned in. “Thank you, we’ll pick up the rings in three days.” An unfamiliar scent enveloped me. Ethan stood behind me, one hand casually resting on the counter. Although he maintained a respectable distance, I could smell the faint scent of cedar mixed with soap on him. Behind the assistant in front of me was a mirror. At first glance, he seemed to be half-embracing me, truly like a couple deeply in love. Watching the intense gaze of the man in the mirror as he looked down at me, my heart suddenly skipped a beat. Before I could turn around, he sat up straight. “Let’s go.” After choosing the rings, I brought up signing the contract again. But the moment it was opened, my gaze froze. Ethan Vaughn… I frowned, looking up at him. “Why isn’t it Liam Vaughn’s name?” Ethan blinked, then leaned in to look, his cool, fragrant scent growing stronger. The distance was so close I could even see the tiny hairs on his face. “Oh dear, I messed up again.” I almost suspected he was doing it on purpose. He frowned, annoyedly rubbing his head. “I’m so clumsy, I messed this up too. Ms. Harrington, you’re not angry, are you?” A hint of manipulation. I looked at his tightly pressed lips and pitiful expression, and all my anger instantly vanished. “Never mind. I’ll just sort it out with your brother later.” But he shook his head. “My brother is too busy. You can sign the contract when you meet him later.” I nodded. “That’s the only way.” He added, “But my brother won’t have time recently. He even gets annoyed when I text him. Ms. Harrington, you should wait until he contacts you about it.” I choked, feeling that something wasn’t quite right. But looking at his sincere eyes, I couldn’t put my finger on it. “Alright, I understand.” Seeing me agree, Ethan’s lips curved slightly. “Then I’ll bring you to pick up the rings in three days. See if they fit?” What else could I say? I could only nod in agreement. Three days quickly passed. Apart from Ethan sharing a bunch of useless daily updates with me, Liam Vaughn’s social media was dead silent. 3 I was used to it. It was an arranged marriage, after all. In our circle, it was tacitly understood to be just a nominal connection, binding the interests of the two families. There really wasn’t much to talk about with a stranger. It was Ethan, on the other hand, who made me wonder if he was interested in me. Every day, it was “Good morning, Ms. Harrington,” “Good night, Ms. Harrington.” After breakfast, I stepped out, and sure enough, saw Ethan’s handsome face. “I’ve brought the rings.” He pulled me towards the car. A strange feeling settled in my heart, looking at his intimate, eager expression. The car door opened, revealing a flurry of flowers and balloons, and I froze completely. Ethan took the ring from the passenger seat, knelt on one knee, his eyes sparkling. “Ms. Stella Harrington, will you marry me?” My mind didn’t process it at first. “What?” A flicker of guilt crossed Ethan’s eyes. “Come on, Ms. Harrington, an arranged marriage needs some ceremony too, how can we not have a proposal?” Without another word, he took my hand and tried to put the ring on. I stared, dumbfounded, as he fumbled three times, his fingers trembling, unable to get it on. Sweat began to bead on Ethan’s forehead. “Did your brother ask you to do this too?” Seeing him so nervous, I actually felt like laughing. Ethan was silent for two seconds, then squeezed the ring as if deflating. “No, he didn’t say anything. I just wanted to make it up to you myself.” “How can a girl get married without even a proposal?” I hummed, then took the ring myself and slipped it on. Ethan’s eyes shone as he watched me. Then, he put the men’s ring on his own finger. Faced with my confused gaze, he said, “I’m just trying it on to see if it fits. I’ll give it back to my brother when we get home.” However, he dragged me around shopping all day, paying for everything, and that ring remained firmly on his finger. That night, after much thought, I still messaged Liam Vaughn. [Did you receive the ring?] Liam Vaughn replied quickly. [Yes, I got it.] I let out a sigh of relief. It seemed I was overthinking things. But over the next month, Ethan almost single-handedly managed everything. He appeared at my door every day. Picking out our future home, planning the engagement party details, he even found the officiant for the engagement ceremony. The officiant smiled, eyes crinkling. “I’ve never seen such a meticulous groom. You’re truly blessed.” I twitched my lips, watching Ethan bustle about, but said nothing. The date grew closer, but I still hadn’t met the legendary fiancé. Almost everyone assumed my fiancé was Ethan. Who would have thought that my actual fiancé and I still hadn’t met? Even our messages hadn’t gone beyond my last query about the ring. Until three days before the engagement party, I finally texted him, feeling a bit exasperated. “We at least need to take the engagement photo for the poster, right?” Even the wedding dress, Ethan had accompanied me to try on. When he paid, a crowd of sales associates surrounded me, praising me like a blooming flower. But I couldn’t feel happy. I knew that in an arranged marriage, neither party needed to feel genuine affection. But such a cold, dismissive attitude still irritated me. This time, Liam Vaughn replied quickly. [Apologies, I truly forgot due to being busy recently. See you tomorrow.] 4 I sighed, tossing my phone aside and rubbing my temples. Ethan’s messages kept popping up. [Sister, I found a stray cat at the villa entrance. Its eyes are round, and it reminds me so much of you.] [Typo, it looks so much like you.] The strangeness in my heart grew, and I didn’t reply. Recently, Ethan had become increasingly clingy. That peculiar feeling was as if we were the young couple about to get married. I decided to keep my distance from him. Even if it was an arranged marriage, with Liam’s attitude, it would likely be like most arranged marriages in our circle after the wedding—we’d each do our own thing. But I didn’t want to mess with his brother. The next day, I quickly got ready and went to the bridal shop. On the way, I thought about the envious looks of the sales associates when I tried on dresses, and their expressions when they looked at Ethan. A mischievous anticipation grew in me. I wondered what their faces would look like when they saw that the person coming for the engagement photoshoot wasn’t the same one who accompanied me to pick out the wedding dress. I sat in front of the bridal shop’s floor-to-ceiling window. Liam’s message still said he was on his way. [I’m here. Remember to bring the contract.] I texted him. He replied with “Got it.” But I waited and waited, and Liam Vaughn still didn’t appear. Just as I was growing extremely impatient, a Maybach slowly pulled up in the distance. Through the window, the man who had just gotten out of the car and I made eye contact. He got out of the car and walked towards me. 5 My phone chimed, but I didn’t open it. I just frowned, watching Ethan, who had already walked up to me. “Why are you here?” He chuckled. “I live nearby. Just came to see your engagement photos with my brother. How is it going, alright?” I didn’t speak. Ethan looked around, his surprise a little exaggerated. “How come he’s not here yet? Oh, perhaps my brother hasn’t been around this area for a long time and doesn’t know it’s rush hour now.” My mood soured even more. He sat down opposite me, unabashedly staring. “Ms. Harrington, my brother acts this way because he has a woman he loves but can’t have. The walls of his room are covered with her pictures, please don’t mind.” I froze. “What?” Ethan covered his mouth, looking a little apologetic. “Didn’t anyone tell you, Ms. Harrington?” I shot up from my seat. I could accept my fiancé having a sweetheart, but I couldn’t accept him being deeply in love with someone else, hiding everything, and still being with me. Moreover, I didn’t want my future marital home to be plastered with photos of another girl. I pulled out my phone. “Thank you for telling me this. I’ll make things clear with your brother. I do mind this. Let’s just call off this marriage.” My family wasn’t short of other potential alliances, and I had truly been at my wits’ end with Liam Vaughn’s attitude lately. Liam Vaughn’s message was still on my phone. [Apologies, Ms. Harrington, I left early but I’m still stuck in traffic. I’ll be there in about half an hour. Please wait a little longer.] I typed a reply. [No need. Don’t bother coming.] Someone gently pulled my wrist. Ethan’s dark eyes stared fixedly at me. “Ms. Harrington… no, Stella, the Vaughn family isn’t the only one who can marry into the Harrington family.” 6 I paused. Ethan’s voice seemed to possess a captivating charm. “Stella, I’m not inferior to Liam Vaughn in any aspect, and I’m also of marriageable age.” His words were almost an open declaration. I looked at him in silence. “You like me?” Although it was a question, I was certain. I wasn’t a fool, and I’d never lacked suitors since childhood. Ethan’s behavior these past few weeks had been unbelievably obvious. The man opposite me smiled. His smile was beautiful, his eyes crinkling, like a cunning little fox. “Yes, I do. If the marriage alliance were with me, the two families would still cooperate. Would that be alright?” My heart skipped a beat. After two seconds of silence, I nodded. “Let’s discuss it with both sets of parents.” Even if I didn’t marry into the Vaughn family, there would be the Davies or the Blackwood family. The next potential fiancé might be even worse than Liam Vaughn. In any case, a fiancé who was so handsome, liked me, and was so proactive… accepting him wouldn’t be a bad thing. Ethan’s breathing quickened slightly, and he took a sudden step closer. “Really?” I nodded, not missing the wild joy in his eyes. “I’ll tell my dad right away.” As he pulled out his phone to call, he reached into his pocket and pulled something out. Then, he put it on his own ring finger. I stared, dumbfounded. Wasn’t that the ring? Liam Vaughn had said Ethan had already given it to him? “Yes, my brother is truly insufferable. He still hasn’t taken Ms. Harrington seriously, and Ms. Harrington is too kind to complain.” “Dad, to appease the Harrington family’s anger, I’ve decided to sell myself to them.” “Don’t worry, Ms. Harrington has already agreed. I’ll behave myself.” My lips twitched. Looking at Ethan, who was seriously spouting nonsense, I felt like laughing. I also called my dad. The person for the arranged marriage wasn’t important to him; what mattered were the connections and benefits the Vaughn family could bring. He had no objections either. After hanging up, I saw a message from Liam Vaughn. [What does this mean? Apologies, Ms. Harrington, I apologize for being late, but marriage is not a child’s game. I hope you can understand, for the sake of our families’ cooperation.] [I will make it up to you later. I’ll be there in ten minutes.] Ethan took my phone, strutting like a proud rooster, and pressed the voice message button. “Brother, you don’t need to come. The family alliance hasn’t ended. Ms. Harrington decided to switch partners.” The phone rang, and for the first time, I heard Liam Vaughn’s voice. It carried a hint of anger. “Ethan, stop messing around. Give the phone back to Ms. Harrington.” Before I could speak, Ethan eagerly explained. “Seriously, we’ve already gone in for the wedding photoshoot. Don’t bother coming. That’s how it is.” He hung up. Then, he suddenly buried his head in the crook of my neck. I was startled. Ethan shivered, giggling. He was like a cat who’d stolen a fish, so happy he was practically bouncing. I stopped trying to push him away, letting him nuzzle me. Emotions can be contagious, and I started to feel a little happy too. After all, compared to the always distant Liam Vaughn, whom I’d never even met, I preferred this manipulative little puppy in front of me.

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My college roommates found out I was a certified yoga instructor and begged me to lead them in workouts. I charged them ten dollars a class, four times a week. Then, suddenly, one day, no one showed up. When I asked them about it, everyone ignored me. That’s when I discovered my best friend, Chloe, had stolen my business. She was charging them only eight dollars a class. But Chloe had only ever taken a few classes with me. She didn’t understand the fundamental principles of yoga at all. Sure enough, a few classes later, her overly aggressive physical adjustments resulted in a classmate’s leg being snapped in half. 1 Not a single person showed up to my class today. The dance studio, usually packed to the brim, was completely empty. A wave of disappointment washed over me. Was there some mandatory school event I didn’t know about? I packed up my mats and props and headed back to the dorm. But when I opened the door, I found they had all clearly just finished a yoga session. I stood frozen in the doorway. “You guys didn’t come to my class. Where did you practice?” Outside studios charge over a hundred dollars a session. Isn’t my ten-dollar class a massive bargain in comparison? But no one even acknowledged me. They threw me a few mocking glances and scattered with awkward chuckles. I suddenly felt like an absolute clown. I reached out and grabbed my roommate, Lily. “Lily, what happened? Did I do something wrong?” Lily turned her head, glaring at me angrily, and violently yanked her arm out of my grasp. “Get away from me! I can’t believe I actually treated you like a friend! How could you scam me like this?!” I was completely bewildered. “I didn’t.” Lily stepped into my personal space, her neck stiff with rage. “Don’t give me that bullshit! Tell me! How much do yoga instructors get paid per class outside?!” She was asking the right person. My family owns a chain of yoga studios. Both my mom and my aunt are certified Iyengar instructors. I started professional training with them when I was very young. By high school, I was already a fully qualified, advanced-level yoga instructor. So, I eagerly explained to Lily: “For a corporate class of 15 people at an outside studio, the instructor’s fee is easily 300 dollars!” “Bullshit!” Lily shoved me hard, furious. “We already investigated! Yoga instructors make 100 dollars a class, max!” How is that even possible?! Where did she get that information? My chest tightened with panic. “My family…” “Your family this, your family that! Stop lying! We looked it up. The Serenity Yoga Studio you’re always bragging about isn’t even owned by your family! The registered owner’s last name is Miller!” Lily didn’t give me a chance to explain before turning and storming off. But… the registered legal owner of Serenity Yoga Studio is my grandmother. Her maiden name is Miller. 2 Watching Lily’s retreating, furious back, a wave of intense grievance hit me. She wasn’t a malicious person. Lily was just blunt, outgoing, and honestly, a bit naive. She was easily manipulated by others; it wouldn’t be the first time. So, she definitely wasn’t the mastermind behind this. Then who was? My eyes swept over my best friend Chloe’s desk. Several brand-new, no-name yoga books were stacked on it. A terrible suspicion began to take root in my mind. Right at that moment, Chloe walked in holding her washbasin. The second she saw me, a complex mix of shame and naked greed flashed in her eyes. Instantly, she masked it with her usual sweet smile. “Oh, babe! When did you get back?” I stared at her dead in the eyes, refusing to say a word. She set down the basin, walked over, and grabbed my hand. “What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?” Tears suddenly started pouring down my face. She was my best friend. Seeing her act like this pushed my feelings of betrayal to the absolute limit. “Chloe… did you…” Before I could finish, seven or eight girls stormed into our dorm room. The ringleader, Mia, roared furiously, “Oh, look who’s back! You greedy, money-grubbing bitch! Scamming your own classmates!” “Exactly! Were you raised in a barn?! Do you need someone to teach you some manners?!” Terrified, I stumbled backward. Chloe smoothly dodged behind the group of angry girls. Mia got right in my face, aggressively demanding, “Harper! When you said you contacted the factory directly and got us the absolute cheapest price on those yoga mats, did you have any shame at all?!” I was trembling with rage. “The factory gave us the wholesale price of 68 dollars, and they threw in the yoga blocks and stretching straps for free.” Mia violently hurled the two yoga blocks right at my face. “Who the hell wants your defective, ‘free’ yoga blocks?! Take them back!” “Exactly! ‘Free’? You were just throwing us your scraps.” Blood instantly gushed from my nose. A flicker of panic crossed the faces of a few girls, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. I pulled out a few tissues and pinched my nose. Sobbing, I said, “I have the chat logs with the factory owner. You can look at them.” “Spit on it! Chat logs can be faked! You guys are all rats in the same nest! Who would believe you?!” Mia pointed her finger at me, screaming, “Let me tell you, stop playing the victim! Refund us the money for those yoga mats right now!” “Yeah! Refund us!” “And refund us the extra money you scammed us out of for the classes!” 3 My tears wouldn’t stop flowing. “Fine! I’ll refund you! I don’t need friends like you anyway!” “Who the hell wants to be friends with a scammer?!” “Haha, yeah! From now on, let’s just call her Harper the Scammer!” My nose was still bleeding, and I started to feel a little dizzy. “Give… give me back the… yoga blocks and straps I gave you. All of them.” Mia laughed. “You scammed us. Consider those things compensation for our emotional distress.” “You guys are going way too far. It’s not like you don’t know how much yoga mats cost retail.” I cried, swapping out the blood-soaked tissues for fresh ones. “Then how come Chloe was able to find us yoga mats for 38 dollars?” Hearing that sentence, my heart plummeted. My tears stopped instantly. I looked up, staring past the angry crowd at my “best friend.” Her eyes darted nervously. She stepped forward, gently pushing a few girls aside. “Alright, guys, let’s stop fighting. Even if what Harper did was wrong, she did lead our practice for a while. We should be grateful for that.” “Spit on it! Why should we be grateful?! She overcharged us massively!” “Exactly! We’re all broke college students, and she schemed against us. She has a truly ugly heart!” Chloe stood in front of me, acting as if she were rescuing me. “Hasn’t she been punished enough? Look, she’s bleeding.” “Serves her right!” “Fine. For your sake, Chloe, we won’t beat her to death today.” Mia tilted her head, glaring at me. “But I’m warning you, before you go to sleep tonight, you better refund every single cent!” The mob of girls swarmed out of the dorm room. Someone turned back and asked Chloe, “Chloe, what time are you teaching class tomorrow?” Chloe shot a nervous glance at me, then whispered, “I’ll send a notification in the group chat. Just wait for my message.” Then, she slipped out of the room as fast as she could. Lily, who had been standing silently on the sidelines the whole time, clenched her fists tightly. As if making a firm decision, she walked over to me. She handed me a hot towel. “Harper… regardless of whether what you did was right or wrong, I should have helped you just now. I had no idea they were going to get physical.” I pushed the hot towel away. Lily looked incredibly defeated. I forced a small smile and told her, “This is evidence. I can’t wipe it off.” “I’m so sorry, Harper. I’m keeping a close eye on them. If anyone tries to touch you again, I swear I’ll fight them myself.” Finally, a warm word on this terrible night. I shook my head at her. “I’m fine.” Then, I gathered all the blood-soaked tissues, didn’t even bother changing my clothes, and called my mom. “Mom, call the police. I got assaulted.” 4 Lily offered to walk me down, but I refused. She looked at me with anxious uncertainty. “Harper, maybe I misunderstood you. Just now, I didn’t see a single trace of guilt in your eyes. Only shock and betrayal.” “I didn’t do anything wrong. Why should I feel guilty?” She nodded vigorously. “Right, right! But Chloe… her eyes were darting everywhere, like she was hiding a massive secret.” I smiled helplessly. Lily was finally putting the pieces together. She grabbed my wrist. “Harper! She was lying, wasn’t she? I’m so sorry. But when I listened to her telling us all those things you supposedly did, I was just so incredibly angry.” I patted the back of her hand. “Just take care of yourself.” A tiny smile finally broke through on her face. “What do you mean?” “When you go to her yoga class, don’t follow her too deep into the advanced poses.” “Okay, okay! Don’t worry!” My phone started ringing. It was my mom. “Harper, come downstairs. We’re driving straight to the police station.” Grabbing all the evidence, I sprinted downstairs. As I ran past the neighboring dorm, Mia happened to see me. She yelled out, “Are you crazy?! Running out in the middle of the night!” Immediately following her, I heard Chloe’s roar from behind me. “Don’t let her get away! She’s trying to run so she doesn’t have to refund us! Everyone, after her!” So, as soon as I hit the second-floor landing, I heard the thunderous thump, thump, thump of footsteps chasing me. Like they were hunting down a thief. “Damn it, Harper! Give us our money back!” “Refund us! Don’t let her escape!” Hitting the first-floor exit, I sprinted down the path. My mom’s car was parked right at the East Gate. I dove inside instantly. Slamming the door shut, I saw those girls furiously screaming something at me through the glass. And Chloe, panting heavily, glared at me with absolute, undisguised malice. A sudden, bone-chilling cold washed over my back. Chloe was a student on a financial aid scholarship. She had once casually complained to me: “This world is so unfair. Some people have to walk miles just to get to school, while others are born sitting in luxury cars.” I wanted to comfort her so badly then. But her next sentence made me choke on my words. “Rich people all deserve to die!” 5 Chloe had hidden her true colors far too well. From the very beginning, she never had any genuine intention of exercising. She complained that classes were exhausting and everyone’s necks were breaking from looking down at their laptops. She heard yoga was relaxing. Since I knew how to teach it, she suggested I teach them. A bunch of college girls getting together, chatting and laughing while working out sounded like fun. So, I agreed. Originally, I thought I’d just be leading a few girls from our dorm. But to my surprise, Chloe went ahead and reserved an entire dance studio. She gathered over a dozen people to take the class together. She even told everyone that I shouldn’t be working for free, and they should give me a small fee for my time. She looked at me with those big, innocent eyes and asked, “Babe, how much do you think we should charge per person per class?” I looked at the group. It was exactly the size of my smallest corporate classes. So I cut my usual rate in half to $150 total. That broke down to $10 a person per class. When I taught corporate classes, a session was exactly one hour. When teaching my classmates, every single class lasted at least an hour and a half. I carefully observed everyone’s physical condition and tailored the poses to their specific needs. I absolutely refused to push them for quick, superficial results. I would never let them wreck their bodies just so they could hit some flashy, advanced pose to post on Instagram. I wanted my classmates to heal and strengthen their bodies step-by-step. Realigning the pelvis, resetting the lumbar spine, restoring the natural curve of the cervical spine. Chloe was the kind of person who appeared to have great flexibility. But true practitioners know: a stiff body is actually a treasure. Because it means the joints are stable and secure. The ligaments possess sufficient elasticity. All of this protects the body from injury far better. Even if, on the surface, they look a bit clumsy. Chloe was the exact opposite. In her very first class, she was able to force herself into the shape of several advanced poses. But upon closer inspection, I noticed she had severe anterior pelvic tilt, and her knee hyperextension was extremely dangerous. If she didn’t pay close attention, she could easily snap a bone. This is unfortunately very common in careless yoga practices. But looking back now, I realized she never took a single word of my warnings seriously. Instead, she thought I was just jealous of her. The girls practicing with us constantly praised her natural talent, telling her how amazing she was. I vaguely remember someone saying, “Chloe, you were literally born to be a yoga master.” “Yeah! Look at Harper, she’s been practicing for years and she still struggles with the splits, but you dropped right into it on your first try!” 6 It seems those irresponsible, empty praises were what drove Chloe to commit these terrible acts against me. And the girls practicing with her were all incredibly impatient, desperate for instant results. I gave it a few weeks, tops, before they started severely injuring themselves. “We’re here. Let’s head in.” My mom gently patted my shoulder, pulling me out of my thoughts. The police had taken my mom’s 911 call and instructed us to come straight to the precinct to file an official report. Taking photos of my injuries, gathering evidence, scheduling an official medical evaluation for the next day… It was 10:30 PM by the time they let me go. My mom then drove me straight to the emergency room for a preliminary checkup. The doctor said it wasn’t anything critical, just localized swelling and bruising on the bridge of my nose. My mom didn’t let the doctor do anything else. She just grabbed me and we left. “If it heals too fast, there won’t be anything left for the medical examiner to document tomorrow.” “Mom, it wouldn’t heal that fast.” My mom smiled and rolled her eyes at me. “I’m just joking. See? You smiled.” I hugged her, feeling like a little kid again. She asked for the full story of what happened. I recounted the entire ordeal, still feeling a burning anger in my chest. She put her arm around my shoulders and said, “People with massive disparities in wealth simply shouldn’t try to be close friends.” I stopped walking. “Mom, I disagree with that. History is full of people who…” She cut me off. “I’m not talking about financial wealth. I’m talking about this.” She tapped her temple. I understood. Chloe was short-sighted, completely blinded by petty, immediate gains. She lacked the vision to realize that if she simply practiced diligently, I could have easily secured her a highly-paid position at my mom’s company after graduation. My phone started pinging relentlessly again. A barrage of messages demanding money. I handed the phone to my mom. She smiled. “How do you want to handle this?” “I want to refund every single penny. That way, I cut all ties completely and they have absolutely nothing to hold over my head.” “Very smart. That way, even if they come crawling back to beg you for help one day, they won’t have a leg to stand on.” It was true. A 38-dollar yoga mat and 2-dollar yoga blocks? What kind of quality materials could possibly be used for that? The professional yoga industry had blacklisted those cheap materials years ago. Those things reeked of toxic chemicals. If you left them out in the sun and then breathed heavily while working out on them, they posed a direct threat to your health.

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At my mother’s funeral, my husband and my best friend vanished at the same time. I reached out to touch the mahogany casket, wanting one last look at my mother’s face before they closed it for good. The moment my fingertips brushed the polished wood, a sharp, needle-like jolt of static electricity shot through my arm, straight to my brain. Suddenly, I wasn’t just standing in a silent funeral parlor. I was hearing the frantic, muffled screams of my husband’s conscience. [Madeline! Why the hell is she back already?] [She can’t open this. If she opens this casket, Tess and I are dead. We’ll never show our faces in this town again!] My heart skipped a beat. A wave of nausea, cold and sharp, washed over me. It was absurd. It was grotesque. My husband was having an affair with my best friend. And they had chosen my mother’s casket as their cheap motel room? Fine. Since you picked this spot for your little tryst… Stay in there. Stay locked in and go down with her. 01 Fury erupted in my chest, hot and blinding. I lunged forward, my palms flat against the heavy lid, ready to shove it aside and drag those two animals out into the light. But the lid was dead weight. It didn’t budge an inch. I turned to the funeral director standing nearby. “Sir, I need a hand. I want to open the casket one last time. Just a moment more.” Before the man could move, a figure blurred in front of me, springing up like a coiled wire to block my path. It was Parker, Harrison’s personal assistant—a man who had been his shadow for eight years. Parker practically draped himself over the casket, his face a mask of frantic, sweating desperation. “Madeline! Maddie, please! What are you doing?” he stammered, his voice climbing an octave. “The service is timed perfectly. You already said your goodbyes. Opening it now… it’s bad luck, isn’t it? You’ll disturb your mother’s peace. Let her rest, Maddie. Please.” He shot a panicked look at the funeral staff, waving them off. [Good man, Parker! God, you’re a genius. This is why I pay you the big bucks. Just hold her off! Keep her away!] Hearing Harrison’s thoughts shift from sheer terror to smug relief made my blood run cold. The fire in my veins died out, replaced by a crystalline, predatory focus. So, he had a loyal dog guarding the door. Fine. I turned away from the casket and walked toward the grand, double oak doors of the chapel. Outside, dozens of relatives and business associates were mingling, their voices a low hum of performative grief. I raised my voice just enough to command the room. “Everyone. May I have your attention?” The room fell silent. Eyes turned to me—some pitying, some curious. “While going through my mother’s things this morning, I found a note she left behind. She always loved a full house. She said her biggest fear was being alone at the end. She wanted everyone who cared for her to come up, one by one, and say a final word to her. She wanted to feel the warmth of her friends before the lid is sealed.” A murmur of sympathy rippled through the crowd. People began to nod, touched by the sentiment. They started moving toward the chapel doors. Inside the casket, Harrison’s thoughts turned into a jagged, high-pitched scream. [You bitch… Madeline, you’re insane! Not now! Not with everyone here!] [Does she know? Does she know I’m in here? She wants the whole world to see me crawl out of her mother’s coffin buck-naked?!] I ignored the psychic noise. I stepped aside, playing the role of the grieving daughter perfectly, my face a portrait of somber grace. As the crowd filtered in, filling the once-quiet chapel, my mother-in-law, Lydia, rushed to my side. Her eyes were rimmed with red. “Maddie, dear,” she whispered, clutching my hand. “Where is Harrison? The final service is starting. He should be at your side.” I lowered my gaze, letting a hitch catch in my throat. “Oh, Lydia… he saw how much I was struggling. He went to the car to get my medication and some water. He told me he’d be right back. He’s just… taking a moment to compose himself.” Lydia nodded, her gaze drifting toward the dark casket. Her grief deepened. “We were friends for forty years, your mother and I. I should go first. I need to tell her one last thing.” She began to walk toward the casket. Just as her hand reached for the edge of the lid… [MOM!!! Stop! Don’t do it! I’m running out of air! Get away from here! DON’T OPEN IT!] 02 “Wait, Lydia. Go to the car and find my cufflinks first.” Arthur Miller’s voice—deep, authoritative, and cold—echoed through the chapel. My father-in-law stepped out from the crowd, his presence demanding order. Lydia’s hand dropped. She sighed and turned away, heading toward the exit. Arthur’s brow was furrowed, his eyes scanning the empty seat where the primary mourner should have been. Finally, his gaze landed on me. “Where is my son? Where is Harrison?” The guests began to whisper. It was a breach of etiquette that even a funeral couldn’t mask. “Where’s the son-in-law?” “A Miller missing his own mother-in-law’s service? It’s disgraceful.” I stepped forward, my expression a fragile blend of sorrow and concern. “Arthur… uncles, aunts, friends,” I said softly, my voice carrying to the back of the room. “Harrison has been a rock these last few days. He hasn’t slept a wink, and I think the grief finally caught up to him. He collapsed in the lounge just a few minutes ago.” I looked at them with wide, pleading eyes. “The paramedics are with him now. He’s stable, but he won’t be able to join us for the final seal.” [Dad! Dad, don’t listen to her! She’s lying! She’s trying to kill me!] Inside the casket, Harrison was like a trapped animal, his thoughts a frantic, muffled roar of desperation. Arthur’s face darkened. “Nonsense! He is the son-in-law. He is the future CEO of Miller-Sinclair. He stays until the end, no matter what. Letting his wife stand up there alone? Think of the optics. Think of the family name!” Several of the elder board members nodded in agreement, the air in the room turning brittle. I leaned in, whispering into Arthur’s ear, my voice a sharp blade: “Arthur… do you really want to go looking for your son right now? I think you know exactly where he is. And more importantly… who he’s with.” [Dad! Stop her! She’s going to open it! Don’t let her!] Harrison’s mental voice had dissolved into a terrified shriek. Arthur went pale. He looked at me, then at the casket, then back at me. I didn’t give him a second to think. I turned back to the guests, my spine straight, my voice ringing with a conviction that brooked no argument. “Everyone, my mother visited me in a dream last night.” The mention of a “dream” made the older, more traditional guests go still. “She told me that her life was a series of battles—highs, lows, and more than a few enemies made in the boardroom. She feared that she was carrying the weight of those old grudges with her. She was afraid that if we didn’t seal her away properly, the ‘shadows’ of her past would haunt our families. She feared for the Miller legacy and the Sinclair future.” I took a deep breath, looking directly at the most superstitious investors in the room. “Her final wish was for us to complete the Sealing Ceremony immediately. She wanted the ceremonial locks fastened now, to keep her peace and our prosperity intact. She wanted to leave this world clean, so she could protect us from the other side.” As the crowd hummed with the weight of “legacy” and “fortune,” I pressed on. “As many of you know, our foundation has always prioritized the future of the next generation. In honor of that responsibility, and on behalf of my husband who—as I mentioned—is currently under medical care, I will perform the Final Sealing myself.” My voice rose, echoing off the marble walls. “To ensure my mother’s peace and our family’s security, I ask for your understanding. We must lock this chapter for good.” [She’s insane! She’s using the company’s reputation to bury me! Dad! Mom! Help me!] The voice from within the casket was fading, becoming a pathetic, breathless whimper. The chapel was silent. Not a single person dared to object. Not when I had framed it as a matter of “family fortune.” I turned to the funeral director, my face like stone. “Seal the casket.” “And please… bring the guests forward for the final procession.” 03 “Seal it,” I repeated. Inside, Harrison’s thoughts were a distorted mess of agony: [Don’t! If you seal this, I’m finished! Dad, do something!] The funeral staff stepped forward, their gloved hands reaching for the lid. “Wait! Wait! Maddie!” Parker, the assistant, threw himself in front of the casket again, his arms spread wide like a human shield. He was hyperventilating, tears streaming down his face. “Everyone! Listen to me! Margaret… she didn’t look right when she passed. Maddie was adamant about a high-spec restoration, and the chemicals… the makeup… it’s incredibly delicate!” He was babbling now, his voice cracking. “Opening it, or even disturbing it too much… the air, the light… it will ruin the image. Let’s just let her go in peace. She knows we’re here! She can feel us!” [Yes! Yes, Parker! Keep it going! Delay them!] Harrison’s mental voice erupted in a burst of frantic joy. [If I get out of this, I’ll give you a VP slot! Stocks! Anything! Just get me out!] VP? Stocks? I looked at Parker’s sweating, desperate face. I had given them chances. Multiple chances. Every time, they chose the shadows. They chose the lie. They chose to hide like rats in a tomb. If you won’t choose dignity, then stay where you are. My mother always did call Tess her “second daughter.” I suppose it’s only fitting she takes her favorite people with her to the afterlife. Finally, I nodded slowly, as if Parker had convinced me. “You’re right, Parker. You’re absolutely right.” “We won’t open it. We’ll perform the Sealing as it stands. Everyone, please… say your final words through the wood. She can hear you.” [Phew…] A long, psychic sigh of relief echoed from the casket. Parker nearly collapsed, a look of pure, sickly triumph flickering across his face. The guests, though confused, accepted the “preservation” excuse. They began to file past, whispering their goodbyes to the polished mahogany. As the line ended, the officiant stepped up to the microphone. “The family would like to thank you. We will now proceed with the Ceremonial Locks.” But just as the words left his mouth, a young staff member carrying the tray of heavy brass locks stumbled. He went down hard, the tray flying from his hands. The locks and the ceremonial silk ribbons scattered across the floor, sliding under pews and rolling toward the altar. “Oh no!” Parker cried out, lunging forward—not to help the boy, but to “accidentally” kick a bundle of the ribbons even further away. He looked up at me, his voice shrill. “The locks are dropped! The ribbons are soiled! This is a terrible omen! It’s a sign!” He dropped to his knees, crawling toward me. “Maddie! Your mother is speaking to us! she doesn’t want to be sealed yet! She’s waiting for something! Please, we have to wait! At least until Harrison or Tess gets here!” He looked up, his face a mask of fake piety. “Tess was so distraught at the wake, she fainted! Her devotion to your mother was legendary. Surely, Margaret wants to see her one last time!” I looked down at him. The “loyalty” in his eyes was nothing more than a thin veil for his own cowardice. “Parker.” My voice was soft, but it cut through the room like a cold wind. “Harrison really did pick the right man for the job, didn’t he?” He flinched, his whole body trembling. “Since this service began, you have done nothing but disrupt the peace of my mother’s passing.” I turned to the two security guards at the back of the room. “Take him out.” “Take him to the private lounge next door. Lock the door. No visitors, no phones, no messages. He stays there until the burial is over.” Parker’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “Maddie! No! I’m doing this for you! For the family!” The guards didn’t hesitate. They hauled him up, one of them clamping a hand over his mouth as he began to scream. They dragged him out of the chapel, his muffled protests fading into the hallway. Silence returned to the room—thick, heavy, and suffocating. I slowly leaned over and picked up the largest brass lock from the floor. The metal was ice-cold against my skin. I gripped it tight and walked over to Arthur Miller. I held the lock out to him. “Arthur.” “As the patriarch of the Miller family, and as my mother’s oldest partner… I ask you to place the first lock.” “Seal her in. For her peace… and for ours.” Scritch. A sound like a fingernail dragging against wood echoed from deep within the casket. 04 That tiny, scratching sound vibrated through Arthur’s nervous system. He stared at the brass lock in my hand, then his eyes darted to the casket like he’d been burned. His lips trembled, his throat worked, but no words came out. The veins in his forehead looked like they were about to burst. “Arthur!” Mr. Sterling, a long-time family friend, broke the silence. His voice was hard. “What is your son’s deal? He ditches his mother-in-law’s funeral, and now you won’t even step up for the ceremony? Is this how the Millers do business now?” “It’s disrespectful,” another board member added, standing up. “If this gets out, what does it say about the family’s character? Where is the dignity?” One of the major shareholders sneered. “Arthur, if your son can’t handle a funeral, the board is going to have to seriously re-evaluate his position as successor.” Every word was a scalpel, cutting Arthur deep. I could see the gears turning—he was weighing his son’s life against the Miller empire, the stock price, and his own pride. [Dad! Don’t lock it! I’m in here! I’m alive! Listen to me!] Inside, Harrison’s mental voice had descended into pure madness. Between my hints, Parker’s freak-out, and that scratching sound… I knew Arthur finally understood. I saw the moment his eyes changed. The panic faded, replaced by a cold, murderous resolve. He took a breath, and his voice came out through clenched teeth. “…It seems I haven’t raised my son well. Harrison’s ‘collapse’ is no excuse for this absence.” He turned to the casket and bowed deeply, his back stiff with a tragic kind of finality. “Margaret, I apologize for that boy’s failures. I will make this right.” He snatched the lock from my hand, held it high above his head, and roared: “For the peace of our families—I will seal this myself!” [DAD! NO!!! I’M YOUR SON!!] The silent scream was cut short. Clack. The first heavy bolt slid into place. [It’s okay… Margaret’s antique letter opener is in here… the one with the horn handle… it’s sharp…] [I can dig a hole… a vent… I can breathe… I can make it…] [Parker will get Mom… Mom will find a way.] The letter opener? Yes. I had put it there myself—a “keepsake” for my mother. I watched silently as Arthur’s muscles bunched. He took the ceremonial sealing tape. Rip. He ran the tape along the seam of the lid, pressing it down with a violence that looked like he was punishing himself. Finally, he picked up the Master Lock—the heavy, industrial-grade seal that signaled the end. His hand shook, just for a fraction of a second. He slammed it home. The chapel held its breath. The shadows on the wall looked like ghosts. [No… Dad… Mom… I’m scared of the dark…] Harrison’s final thought was a pathetic, whimpering sob. “IT IS FINISHED!” the officiant’s voice boomed, shattering the silence. The pallbearers stepped forward, their black suits sharp. They used heavy silk straps to reinforce the casket, wrapping it tight. Eight men took their positions. “Proceed to the cemetery.” The funeral march began. The casket was lifted, steady and heavy. I walked behind it in my black silk dress, my hand resting lightly on the side of the wood. A long line of black limousines followed us out of the chapel, heading toward the hills. Outside the window, the city blurred by. To anyone watching, I was the picture of the grieving, dutiful daughter. But only I knew the truth. My palm was pressed firmly against the side of the casket. Right over the tiny, hair-thin crack Harrison had managed to gouge into the wood from the inside with that letter opener. A faint, nearly imperceptible wisp of air was leaking out. It blew against my palm. It was ice cold.

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I found the letter while I was packing away my wife’s life. The letter said: Be careful of your daughter! … 1 Madeline had been an author, writing popular historical non-fiction, and her study was her sanctuary. She had never been one for organization; her creative process was a sprawling, chaotic mess. Her publisher had called earlier that week. Before she died, Madeline had been working on a new manuscript. They were hoping I could gather her notes, piece the drafts together, and allow them to publish it posthumously as her final work. Even in an age ruled by screens and keyboards, Madeline had fiercely clung to the habit of writing by hand. I spent hours drowning in the quiet dust of her study, sifting through loose pages scattered across her desk, trying to compile the fragments of her mind. I was nearly finished when I found it. Tucked behind the massive wall of bookshelves was a small, false panel. A hidden compartment. And inside, resting in the dark, was a single envelope. The recipient’s name was scrawled across the front. It was Madeline’s name. But the handwriting was jarring. It was frantic, jagged, radiating a kind of feral, manic energy. The pen had been pressed so hard into the paper that the nib had sliced right through the fibers, sharp as a knife blade. It was the kind of handwriting that burned itself into your retinas after a single glance. And over the ten years of our marriage, I had accidentally seen it more than once. Because it was her handwriting. Or, more accurately, it was the other her. Shortly after we were married, Madeline was diagnosed with severe Dissociative Identity Disorder. Her mind was a pendulum swinging between extremes—sometimes she was the gentle, deeply intelligent woman I married; other times, she was a chaotic, violent storm. What baffled her psychiatrists was the power dynamic of her psyche. Unlike most DID patients, Madeline’s “secondary” personality occupied her body for the vast majority of her life. She was emotionally stable, grounded, and entirely functional. She was the one who fell in love with me. She was the one who lived. Conversely, her “primary” personality—the original owner of her mind—was an absolute madwoman whenever she managed to claw her way to the surface. She was paranoid, aggressively neurotic, and harbored a terrifyingly strong drive for self-destruction. When the doctors finally explained the architecture of her mind, a cold horror washed over me. I realized that the woman I loved with all my heart, the tender and brilliant writer, was, in a clinical sense, a symptom. She was the secondary construct. Essentially, I was deeply in love with a psychological anomaly that wasn’t supposed to exist. The revelation terrified me. For a long time, I could barely look at her without a shiver of existential dread. But eventually, love won out. My devotion to her smothered my darkest doubts. Besides, I almost never saw her primary personality. Madeline was sick, yes, but she was also the strongest woman I had ever known. Even during her pregnancy, when her body and mind were pushed to the absolute breaking point, she kept the madwoman firmly locked away in the basement of her psyche. Until last month. When, without any warning, she opened the window of this very study, twenty-four stories above the city streets, and jumped. 2 Holding that strange, violent letter in my hands, I hesitated. The twisted handwriting belonged to the primary personality—the madwoman. It felt like a venomous curse, radiating a darkness that told my instincts to throw it away unread. Right then, my phone alarm buzzed. Five o’clock. Time to pick up our daughter, Hazel, from school. Ever since Madeline’s sudden death, our usually vibrant, sun-soaked seven-year-old had retreated into a chilling, hollow silence. Sometimes she would just sit there, staring at me for agonizingly long stretches without blinking. There were moments when I looked at her and genuinely wondered if she had become entirely unstuck from time. She no longer looked at the world with a child’s sprawling curiosity. Instead, she wore an armor of profound apathy. It made her look terribly out of place among the loud, messy joy of the other second graders. I told myself it was grief. A child’s mind short-circuiting under the crushing weight of a mother’s sudden absence. But today, Hazel was even more alarming. Her teacher pulled me aside at pickup, her face pale. Hazel had gotten into a physical altercation with a little boy in her class. The trigger? He had opened her pencil case without permission. In the principal’s office, the boy’s mother was holding her sobbing son. I glanced over. The boy’s face was bandaged. A bite wound. The mother was furious, screaming threats of lawsuits. Ultimately, with the principal playing referee, I paid her a substantial sum to settle the matter quietly. Throughout the entire screaming match, Hazel sat in the corner of the office like a discarded marionette. She didn’t cry. She didn’t throw a tantrum. She didn’t even flinch when the other mother shrieked. It was as if her soul had simply left the room, leaving behind an empty, breathing shell. Her doctors had warned me. Psychiatric conditions carry a heavy genetic weight. But I stubbornly clung to the narrative of grief. She was just a little girl who missed her mom. I just needed to be there for her. I needed to try harder. Later that night, after Hazel finally fell asleep, I sat at Madeline’s desk and stared at the envelope. I am not a man who can easily live with mysteries. That chaotic, aggressive handwriting had a vice grip on my chest. Madeline’s death had been so violently abrupt. That morning, we had been casually arguing over whether to sign Hazel up for ballet or piano. By that afternoon, the police were handing me her wedding ring in a plastic evidence bag. Ever since she died, I carried this suffocating sense of unreality. A part of me still felt like she hadn’t truly left. I needed to know what had happened to her in those final, desperate days. I lit a cigarette in the study—a habit she used to hate—and, with trembling fingers, tore the letter open. The manic handwriting was incredibly difficult to decipher, but I forced myself to read every word. By the time I finished, the shock had paralyzed me so completely that I didn’t move until the burning ash of the cigarette fell directly onto my bare hand. 3 The letter read: I finally understand it all! You are a coward! You couldn’t face your own fate as a human being, so you locked me away in my own mind! But running is useless. Even if you refuse to admit it, destiny is going to deliver a fatal blow when the hour strikes! You cannot hide. You cannot fight it! The further you run now, the more agonizing it will be when the day of reckoning arrives! Do you still want to run? Fine. Let me jog your memory. Let me remind you exactly what kind of fate you are so terrified of! The year you hijacked my body, I was barely thirteen years old. My poor mother was already driven completely insane by you. Just to survive, without a single ounce of pity, you institutionalized her. You are terrified of anyone getting close to you. What are you so afraid of? You’re afraid your filthy secret will be exposed! You knew how many people in this world loved me, so you destroyed them all to isolate yourself. My family, my friends, the boy I had a crush on—you hurt them, one by one, until everyone who cared for me was gone. Only then were you satisfied. Only then could you sleep at night. I finally know what you are! You are a dog, sprinting blindly with your tail between your legs! You are a demon crawling out from the bowels of hell! With so much blood on your hands, so many corpses piled beneath your feet, how dare you dream of a peaceful night’s sleep?! Did you think I would break like my mother? Did you think that because you’ve driven so many others mad, everyone will eventually bow to your will? Never! Not with me. You will never get what you want. You stole my life, my world, everything I ever owned, and now you want to kill me? I won’t let you have it! I know what you are now. I know how you exist. Which means you are going to die by my hands. I will end your endless running. My hands are shaking. I can feel you fighting me. You are fighting my presence so hard—are you finally scared? After driving so many minds to the brink, you’ve finally met a madwoman willing to drag you to hell with her. I know the bloodline has already been passed down. So there is only one way to kill you permanently. You hid your little secret in your daughter’s pencil case. That candle… I can barely hold the pen. Or is it you who is shaking? Are you terrified? I found your greatest secret. I can end you at any second. I can’t grip the pen anymore. This is my body, but you, you monster, have occupied it for far too long. You coward! You goddamn coward! My limbs felt like lead. It wasn’t until the searing sting of the cigarette ash hit my skin that the blood trapped in my chest finally flushed back into my veins. The letter was undated, but looking at the fading ink and the wear on the paper, it was years old. The madwoman inside my wife’s head had written a death threat. To my wife. A suffocating unease began to slither through my gut, like a rusted nail driven deep into my flesh, stopping the circulation. Moved by an entirely irrational terror, I walked down the hall to Hazel’s room. The soft glow of her nightlight spilled over the foot of her bed. She was clutching her stuffed bear, the tracks of dried tears still visible on her cheeks. But she was breathing evenly. Deeply asleep. On the desk beside her bed was her backpack. Inside was the pencil case—the one the boy had tried to open today. The madwoman’s letter claimed my wife’s deepest secret was hidden inside. A candle… Madeline had bought that pencil case for Hazel’s first day of school. She had lovingly covered it in cartoon stickers of Hazel’s favorite characters. As I pulled it from the bag, confronting this terrifying unknown, my hands shook violently. I unzipped it. Lying there quietly, buried under a pile of glitter pens and erasers, was a single candle. At first glance, it looked ordinary, but a closer look revealed something unsettling. It was impossibly old. The wax was heavily carved with intricate, esoteric patterns, but the material was severely dehydrated and cracked, resembling the deeply lined, ancient skin of a mummified face. It was the color of decaying parchment. It seemed like just a piece of antique wax. Its only crime was looking entirely out of place in a child’s school box. Needing to understand, I pulled my lighter from my pocket, intending to light the wick to see what would happen. But the moment the metallic clack of the lighter echoed in the quiet room, Hazel’s eyes snapped open. She let out a blood-curdling shriek, launching herself across the bed and violently snatching the candle out of my hands. She scrambled backward, wrapping her blankets tightly around herself, pressing into the far corner of her bed. She cradled the candle against her chest like a lifeline. I stepped forward, holding my hands up, trying to soothe her. But she bared her teeth and pressed further into the wall. When I looked into her eyes, a cold sweat broke out across the back of my neck. Her eyes were entirely bloodshot. And she was glaring at me with the pure, unadulterated malice of a cornered predator, looking as though she was calculating the exact moment to lunge and tear my throat out. Is she really my daughter?

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After the miscarriage, I systematically erased every habit that Giles used to find irritating. I stopped asking where he was going. When he stayed out all night, I no longer paced the floor; I simply turned off the bedside lamp and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. Even when I was injured during a training maneuver and the medic told me to call my family, I just looked at the sterile white ceiling and said, “I don’t have any next of kin.” The nurse recognized me. “You’re Mrs. Marshall, aren’t you? General Marshall is just in the next sector over. Should I send word to him?” I shook my head slowly. “No. There’s no need.” But thirty minutes later, Giles Marshall appeared anyway. He stood in the doorway, his uniform sharp, his presence commanding and cold. “You’re hurt. Why wasn’t I the first person you called?” I kept my eyes down. “It’s a scratch, Giles. Not worth bothering the Commanding General over.” That dismissive tone—the sheer lack of weight in my voice—made him visibly bristle. Before he could snap back, voices drifted in from the hallway. Two guards were gossiping, unaware of who was listening. “The General really has a soft spot for that girl, Maya, from the USO troupe. She twisted her ankle during the performance, and he practically commandeered a Black Hawk just to get her back. Carried her onto the bird himself. Didn’t let her feet touch the tarmac once.” I saw Giles’s chest tighten. His eyes flickered toward me, searching for the explosion, the accusations, the familiar fire of my jealousy. But my lashes didn’t even quiver. I just leaned back against the thin hospital mattress and closed my eyes, letting the silence settle between us. … It wasn’t until we were in his military Jeep that he finally spoke, his voice a low growl of defense. “Don’t listen to the gossip. It was professional. Maya was invited here to perform for the troops. She got hurt on my watch; it was my responsibility to handle it.” “Okay,” I said softly. I didn’t add anything else. Giles’s temper flared suddenly. “You don’t believe me? Is this still about that? God, Cassie… I’ve come back to you. I’m here. What more do you want?” I stared out the window at the passing barracks, my profile a blank slate. “I believe you,” I said. “I just didn’t think I was an emergency. I didn’t want to interrupt your work. Let’s just go back to the quarters.” The same scripted response. Autopilot. Giles slammed his fist against the steering wheel. The horn blared, a sharp, ugly sound that cut through the winter air, startling a group of performers who were just finishing their set across the road. One girl looked up. As the moonlight hit her face, the air inside the Jeep turned to ice. “Maya… what is she still doing out here?” Giles muttered. He glanced at me instinctively. In the past, every time I saw her, I’d lose my mind. I’d scream, I’d cry, I’d demand to know why she was wearing a coat that looked like mine. But now, I just gave her a fleeting glance and looked away. Nothing. Giles gripped the wheel, but his eyes were glued to the rearview mirror. It was a brutal December night. The girl was shivering in a thin stage costume, her arms wrapped tight around herself, her nose red from the cold. His hand was already on the door handle. The concern was practically leaking out of him. I understood the script perfectly. I opened my door and stepped out, giving him the exit he was dying for. “If you need to do a final sweep of the camp, I can walk back. It’s not far.” I didn’t wait for an answer. I turned toward the intersection. Giles jumped out and caught my wrist. “It’s over between us, Cassie. I didn’t know she was here. Why won’t you trust me?” I nodded. “I do trust you, Giles. She’s a young girl in a tough spot. Even if it’s over, it’s normal to care. I get it.” He stared at my face. There was no bitterness there. No hidden edge. That was what terrified him. I used to have an insatiable hunger for his attention. If I found a single long hair on his uniform, I’d interrogate him until dawn. Now, I was exactly what he’d always begged me to be: reasonable, quiet, undemanding. But it felt like he was breathing through wet cotton. I pulled my hand back and walked away. At the corner, I stopped and looked back. Beside the Jeep, Giles had already draped his heavy coat over Maya’s shoulders. He was cupping her face in his hands, leaning down to kiss her with a desperation that looked like pain. I wasn’t surprised. I should have seen it coming. I certainly wasn’t going to be the woman I was the first time I caught him—the “crazy wife” screaming, “Giles! Have you no shame? I’ve been with you since I was eighteen! We had nothing, and now you tell me you love someone else?” Back then, he had looked at the blood on his lip where I’d struck him and sneered, “Shame? You want to talk about shame? You were sleeping with me at eighteen. Your own parents didn’t even want you. I’m the one who took you out of that state home. I’ve raised you for a decade. You should be thanking me.” That sentence had been a poisoned blade, shredding twelve years of shared struggles, of shivering together in foxholes and building a life from dust. My phone vibrated, pulling me out of the graveyard of my memories. “Colonel Miller, the personal effects and pension documents for your biological parents have been verified. When can you come to the West Coast Command to finalize the claim?” I pulled my sleeve down to cover the faint white scar on my wrist. “Ten days. My divorce papers finish processing in ten days.” The voice on the line hesitated. “You and General Marshall… it’s been a long time. You can inherit the estate and the honors without transferring units.” I watched the lights of the base fade in the distance. “I don’t love him anymore,” I said. “I just want to go home to a place I’ve never been.” Back at the officer’s quarters, the first thing I saw was our wedding photo on the wall. We looked so young. Giles was laughing, his nose pressed affectionately against my temple. We grew up together in the state foster system. When I was eighteen, the director tried to marry me off to a bitter, middle-aged sergeant just to get me off the books. Giles was the one who grabbed my hand and helped me scale the back wall. The director had screamed after us, “Giles Marshall! You think you can protect her forever?” He had looked back, his eyes blazing with a reckless, beautiful light. “Watch me!” He used his enlistment bonus to rent the cheapest basement apartment in the city. “Once I’m through basic training and get my stripes, you can come with me as a registered dependent,” he promised. “No one will ever take you away again.” For the first three years, he crawled through the mud in Ranger school. Before every jump, every dangerous op, he’d tuck my photo into his breast pocket, right over his heart. I worked a desk job in logistics, saving every penny. During the leanest winters, we’d share a single bowl of instant noodles on New Year’s Eve and feel like royalty. Then he made Special Forces. I moved into Intelligence. We traded the basement for a dorm, the dorm for a house, and finally, for this villa. The stars on Giles’s shoulders got brighter, and the “colleagues” around him started looking different. Until the day I found a smudge of lipstick on the inside of his collar. “A girl tripped backstage at the gala, I helped her up, it was an accident!” he’d snapped, ripping his tie off. “Cassie, you’re a soldier too. Stop acting like a paranoid housewife.” “Do soldiers not betray people, Giles? We said forever. Not ‘forever until it gets boring.’” The screaming matches became our new language. I tracked his missions, his call logs, even snuck to the edge of the training grounds when he claimed he was pulling an all-nighter. Giles, out of spite, leaned into it. He cycled through women, sometimes coming home with scratches on his back just to see me break. “Satisfied?” he’d sneer. “You wanted to find something. Now you have.” I felt like a ghost, knowing I should leave but unable to find the door. Twelve years meant we were grafted together. Tearing apart meant losing skin. But a year ago, he “changed.” He cleared out the flings. He kept only one. When I saw Maya’s photo, I collapsed. That face. She looked exactly like I did at eighteen—innocent, wide-eyed, untouched by the world. Giles would rather love a ghost of me than the woman I had become to survive him. That night, I sat in a bathtub and opened my veins. Giles broke the door down, his hands shaking so hard he could barely apply the tourniquets. He carried me into the ER, his eyes bloodshot and terrifying. “Cassie! Are you insane? We’ll fix it! I promise, just you and me, no one else, ever again!” I lay in that hospital bed feeling nothing but a profound, hollow exhaustion. That was the day the JAG officer found me. He handed me a yellowed file. “Colonel Miller, the department re-investigated the casualty lists from the ’94 border conflict… These two officers? They were your biological parents.” I held the file, my fingers icy. After I hung up, I walked to the window of my private room. In the garden below, Giles was holding Maya. “I’m sorry, Maya. She’s unstable. Post-traumatic stress… I can’t leave her like this. Not now. But trust me, once she’s settled, I’ll make it right for us.” They kissed like star-crossed lovers. In that moment, the graft finally failed. The skin tore away. The hole in my chest was so large I couldn’t even make a sound. On my seventh day in the hospital, I realized the truth. I had to kill the woman who loved Giles Marshall to let the daughter of heroes live. For a week, Giles didn’t come home. I didn’t ask. I filed the divorce papers and the transfer request through official channels and started packing. I decided to return the keys to our first apartment—the small “temporary” housing we’d kept for years as a storage unit—to the base housing office. When I arrived at the unit with the housing clerk, the door was slightly ajar. I heard a woman’s soft laugh and a man’s rhythmic, heavy breathing. Through the crack in the door, I saw a discarded USO uniform on the floor. Giles had Maya pinned against the wall, his tactical pants around his knees. He was wearing his wedding ring. I squeezed my eyes shut, took a slow breath, and pulled the door closed. I turned to the clerk. “I’m sorry. Today isn’t a good day for the inspection. Let’s do it another time.” The clerk was a young officer. She’d heard the noises. She looked at me with a mix of pity and horror. “Colonel Miller… do you want me to report this?” I shook my head. “No. It’s a private matter. Let’s not bother the command.” What was the point of bursting in? To scream like a banshee? To beg him to remember our years in the trenches? A man whose heart has moved on is just an empty shell. You don’t fight over a shell. I hurried down the stairs, but Giles came charging out after me, his shirt untucked, his breath ragged. “Cassie? What are you doing here? What did you… what did you hear?” I pulled my wrist away, my face a mask of calm. “I was dropping off the keys. The door was closed, so I left.” He let out a visible breath of relief, thinking I was just being sentimental about our old place. “I was on maneuvers all week, just got back. Maya needed a place to rehearse, so I let her use the key… Don’t overthink it.” I didn’t bother pointing out the lie. I turned to leave. Suddenly, the sound of glass shattering erupted from inside the apartment, followed by the roar of a flash-fire! Giles’s face transformed. He grabbed my jaw, his eyes burning with a terrifying rage. “Did you do this? Cassie, I thought you were finally being rational, but this? This petty, dangerous bullshit?” “If Maya is hurt in there, I will personally see you court-martialed!” He shoved me aside and ran into the smoke. I started to walk away, but then I remembered—my parents’ original documents and the divorce filing were locked in the old safe in that bedroom. I grabbed a fire extinguisher from the hallway, smashed the window, and dived into the heat. The room was thick with black smoke. Giles was already carrying Maya out. When he saw me, his eyes went cold. “What are you doing? Get out!” I ignored him and ran for the bedroom. The curtains were melting. The safe was right next to the burning closet. “Cassie! You’re going to die for a safe? Get out!” Giles roared from the doorway. I knelt by the safe, spinning the dial. As the door clicked open, the overhead light fixture, heavy and wreathed in flames, buckled. Giles instinctively shielded Maya and jumped back toward the exit. The blast of heat threw me backward. Glass shards sliced into my arms, blood soaking through my shirt instantly. I clawed the envelope out of the safe and tucked it against my chest. The smoke filled my lungs. The world blurred. The last thing I heard was the sound of Giles’s boots running away from me, and the distant, lonely wail of a siren. When I woke up, I was back in the military hospital. Giles was sitting by the bed, holding the scorched envelope. Inside were two red booklets. “Marriage licenses? You almost died for our marriage licenses?” His voice was tight. “Cassie, you have a hairline fracture in your leg, smoke inhalation, and second-degree burns. You almost didn’t make it.” I reached out and took the envelope back. There were no marriage licenses in there. Just the documents I needed to leave him and the proof of who I actually was. Giles watched me clutch the envelope, his brow furrowed. “We all could have gotten out fine, but you had to make it a choice. You had to make me choose between you two just to see who was more important, didn’t you?” “Arson is a serious crime, Cassie. I saved Maya first because she had no gear, no training. You’re a soldier.” I stared at the white ceiling. “Okay,” I whispered. “Cassie.” His voice softened. “I told you, I’m committed to us. Maya… her family is in trouble. I was just helping her as a commanding officer. The apartment was temporary.” He helped her right into our bed. He talked about “family” while his body was still buzzing from someone younger. I finally looked at him. My eyes were like stagnant water. “I know. I understand.” The calm seemed to drive him crazy. He stood up abruptly, then caught sight of the massive bandage on my arm. “One scar wasn’t enough? You need more to keep me tethered to you?” “No more,” I said. “I’m done being stupid.” His comms unit buzzed. He stepped to the window to answer. I couldn’t hear the words, only the high, sobbing pitch of Maya’s voice. Giles whispered a few reassurances, then turned back to me. “There’s an emergency with the debrief. I have to go to HQ. Rest up.” He left without looking back. I stayed in the hospital for a few more days. Giles sent flowers and supplements, and he called every day. I had the nurses answer. “She’s stable. No visitors.” On the day of my discharge, I was limping toward the billing desk on crutches when an older woman shoved past me. “My son-in-law is a General here. Move aside.” I frowned. “Wait your turn, ma’am.” She sneered at me. “Do you know who you’re talking to? My son-in-law is Giles Marshall. If I don’t get my heart medication on time, he’ll have your badge.” Before I could respond, Giles and Maya appeared at the end of the hall. He pulled me aside, his voice a frantic whisper. “Maya’s mother has a weak heart. She can’t handle stress. You’re a soldier, Cassie. Set an example. Let the civilian go first.” Maya held her mother’s arm, her eyes welling up. “Cassie, I’m so sorry… my mom’s heart is acting up. I told her Giles was my fiancé so she’d agree to take the expensive meds… please don’t be mad at him. He’s just a good man who can’t stand to see an old woman suffer.” I looked at the three of them. So, because Maya’s mother had a cough, he left his wife—the woman with a broken leg and charred skin—alone in a hospital bed? Fine. It didn’t matter anymore. I nodded and turned to leave. I’d only taken two steps when I heard Maya’s shaky whisper: “Giles, is she mad? Is she going to do what she did last time? I’m so scared for your career…” Giles’s voice was soft, but it carried perfectly through the sterile air. “Don’t worry about her. She grew up without parents. she doesn’t understand what family means. She doesn’t have the capacity for that kind of empathy.” My fingers tightened on the crutches until my knuckles went white. I walked, one agonizing step at a time, down the long corridor. Giles’s boots echoed behind me. “Cassie, wait. I’ll give you a ride back to the quarters.” I didn’t stop. I tried to go faster. The tip of my crutch hit a wet patch on the linoleum. I went down hard. My burned arm hit the floor, and I felt the wound tear open. The pain was so sharp it broke something deep inside my chest. I grit my teeth, my nails digging into my palms, but the tears leaked out anyway. All my life, I had hated the holidays. I’d watch the warm lights in people’s windows, listen to the laughter, and feel a dull ache like a knife in my ribs. Giles knew that. He was the only person in the world who knew how much that scar hurt. And he had just used it to comfort his mistress. He ran over to pick me up, his voice laced with annoyance. “Cassie! Why do you have to be so stubborn?” Suddenly, a heavy thermos flew through the air and struck me in the face. Hot soup scalded my skin. My forehead began to swell instantly. Maya’s mother stood there, shaking with rage. “You hussy! Trying to steal my son-in-law? I’ll show you!” She lunged forward and slapped me. I fell back again, my head spinning. Then, she swung her own cane and caught me square in the shoulder. I heard a dull thud against my bone. Giles finally stepped in, catching the woman’s cane. “Ma’am! Please! Calm down! It’s not what you think!” “Then what is it?” she shrieked. “This tramp was throwing herself into your arms! I have eyes!” I forced myself up. “Control your daughter! Ask her who the tramp is!” Giles whipped around, his voice a desperate, low hiss: “She has severe coronary disease, Cassie! She can’t take the shock! I’m begging you, don’t make a scene now!” He turned back to the mother, his voice soothing. “You’ve misunderstood. This is Colonel Miller. She’s a fellow officer. She’s had some… mental instability since the war. She gets confused…” He actually pulled my medical file out of his pocket to show her. The old woman spat on the floor. “A crazy soldier? No wonder her parents died early. No one was around to teach her any manners.” Giles practically carried her away. He never once looked back at me. I sat on the floor and watched them go. I couldn’t even cry anymore. A kind nurse helped me back into a treatment room and re-dressed my wounds. “Colonel,” she whispered, “do you want me to call security?” I shook my head. “No. Just process my discharge.” I went back to the quarters and finished packing my single duffel bag. My phone buzzed. Maya had posted an update. A photo of her wearing Giles’s uniform jacket, leaning against his chest. The caption: Through the smoke and the fire, I found you. Worth every bit of pain. I scrolled past it and hit “Unfollow.” Downstairs, the transport I’d ordered was waiting. I climbed into the back. “To the military airfield,” I said. As we pulled out of the gates, a black SUV passed us in the opposite direction. Giles was in the back, talking animatedly to someone. Maya was leaning on his shoulder, laughing. We drove in opposite directions, faster and faster. In the rearview mirror, the base shrunk into a tiny dot and then vanished. I thought about being eighteen and climbing that wall. Twenty and standing at his commissioning ceremony. Twenty-two and exchanging rings in the chapel. Twenty-eight and watching the women cycle through his life. The images flashed by, then fell away. It was over. Now, I was going to finish the flight my parents never got to. I was going to the sky they died protecting.

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On Valentine’s Day, right in front of all his colleagues, my husband generously shared the story of our first time together. “Don’t let my wife’s quiet, demure look fool you. Back when she was chasing me, she went totally commando! “She was the one who got me drunk and dragged me into a hotel room with a king-size bed. Bet you guys didn’t expect that, huh? “A lot of my business deals are thanks to her bottomless tolerance for alcohol. You guys don’t believe me? Then try to outdrink her!” Arthur chuckled, pushing me forward to toast the clients, constantly praising how “supportive” and “virtuous” I was. After seeing the guests off, I accidentally overheard him bragging to his friend: “While we were dating, I trained my wife to be exactly what I wanted. This way, I don’t have to lift a finger in the future; she’ll just habitually serve me. “In psychology, they call this the ‘Dog Whistle’ effect.” It was only then that I realized: My love for Arthur Vance was nothing more than the dog whistle in his hand. 1 By the time Arthur returned from entertaining clients at a karaoke bar, it was already 2:00 AM. The living room lights were off. The dining table hadn’t been cleared, and a thick layer of grease had congealed over the pork rib soup. Arthur frowned: “How can you be so lazy that you didn’t even clear the table? What if someone comes over tomorrow morning? Aren’t you embarrassed?” He kicked off his leather shoes and instinctively held out his jacket. But no one rushed forward to take his jacket, which reeked of alcohol and cheap perfume. He looked toward the kitchen. On the kitchen counter, there wasn’t the usual bowl of perfectly warmed, stomach-soothing porridge waiting for him. Arthur froze for only a second before quickly walking toward the bedroom. Seeing the bedside lamp on and me sitting up in bed looking at my phone, Arthur frowned for the second time. He strode over to me and plopped down heavily. He spread his arms, waiting for me to untie his tie: “Wife, what is wrong with you today? You had a sour look on your face the whole time at the dinner table, and now you didn’t even make me a late-night snack. You scared the clients away. “But thankfully, your husband is capable. After hustling all day, I finally closed the deal. I’m exhausted. “Go make me a bowl of noodles, add an egg. I’ll eat it after I shower.” I continued scrolling on my phone, motionless. It seemed that ever since we got married, Arthur had grown accustomed to me taking care of his every need. From helping him dress and putting on his slippers, to grocery shopping and cooking. To situations like today, where I played the role of the smiling, accommodating wife at his business dinners. I was his nanny, his maid, and his scene partner in the corporate theater. I was the wife he could push forward to take the literal and metaphorical bullets for him. But what Arthur said today made me freeze. Seeing me ignoring him and staring at my phone, Arthur’s face darkened: “Chloe, what is the meaning of this? “If you’re angry because I didn’t get you a Valentine’s Day gift, then you’re just being completely unreasonable. The money from this deal I just closed will ultimately be used for our family, won’t it? Isn’t that the best gift? “Forget it, there’s no talking to someone as selfish as you. I’m going to shower. Harmony is the most important thing in a marriage. Why do you always have to ruin the mood? “You’re always the one starting arguments. If I ever cheat on you in the future, it’ll probably be because you drove me to it!” Arthur sighed heavily, acting as if I had committed some unforgivable sin. He walked away angrily, yet closed the door gently behind him. As if he were afraid of waking me. And as if to prove that he was enduring my bad temper, that he was always the accommodating, forgiving one. With just a few sentences from him. I had suddenly become the sinner, the one who ruined the atmosphere. My eyes fell on the wrinkled tie he had thrown on the floor. My thoughts raced wildly. 2 Yesterday, I got up at 5:00 AM to iron his clothes, then went to the farmer’s market to buy the freshest fish. I worked all day just to prepare the exact kind of dinner he wanted—one that felt warm and homey, yet sophisticated enough to impress. But he brought his guests home early. I rushed to open the door, still wearing my apron, only to be met with a barrage of his disgust: “Why don’t you have any makeup on? I can tolerate you being a slob normally, but you look like this when guests are here? “It’s so embarrassing! Go change your clothes right now!” I was just about to explain. I hadn’t put on makeup because I had been cooking all day. I hadn’t changed because the kitchen was full of smoke and grease, and I hadn’t had time to clean up yet. But Arthur pulled the door wide open, letting a whole group of people see my bare-faced, flustered state. My face was sallow from the cooking fumes, and my red plaid apron looked completely out of place next to the glamorous, jewel-draped wives of his clients. The piercing, judging stares made me instantly lower my head in deep shame. I bolted upstairs to change. And heard Arthur downstairs, delivering his familiar opening monologue: “My wife is just a bit unkempt normally, but I love her simple, rustic nature. She’s from the country and doesn’t know how to dress up, so please don’t mind her, haha. “Sigh, I’m used to looking at her by now. I married her, what else can I do? “Usually, I’m the one doing all the laundry and cooking around here. Being married is no different from being single. Ugh, don’t get me started, it’s a tragic tale. “But a man has to be accommodating. No matter how successful I become, I could never do something like abandoning the wife who stuck with me through the hard times. Otherwise, what’s the difference between me and some ungrateful scumbag? “Alright, alright, just keep this between us. Don’t mention it when my wife comes down later. I don’t want her feeling bad, because then I’ll just have to coax her later. “Let’s eat, let’s eat! Come taste my plain wife’s cooking. “Hahaha.” Downstairs erupted into a chorus of laughter. Arthur always used putting me down as a quick icebreaker. When I came down in my nice clothes and took my seat, I could always feel the evaluating stares coming from all directions. Those stares were like nails, making me incredibly uncomfortable. I didn’t even have to guess; Arthur had definitely shared our romantic history again. “Don’t let my wife’s quiet, demure look fool you. Back when she was chasing me, she went totally commando!” Arthur held up his wine glass, nudging me with his elbow: “Wife, tell them, isn’t it true? “Back then, her skirt was so short it barely covered her butt. When we got to the hotel, she whipped out her ID and booked a king-size room—with a waterbed, no less! “When my wife threw me down on the bed, I realized she was actually commando! “It scared me half to death. I ran out of there in the middle of the night, hahaha…” This wasn’t the first time Arthur had said these things in public. It was always with different clients, and always featuring different embarrassing stories from various periods of my life. Arthur always consoled me by saying it was just a business tactic, telling me to prioritize his career. The goal was to quickly close the distance with his clients by sharing intimate details. At first, I strongly resisted. 3 Back then, we had just gotten married, and I didn’t know I was already pregnant. One night, I accidentally wet the bed. I was mortified and tried to hide it, but Arthur found out. He laughed as he got up to wash the sheets, comforting me the whole time: “Wife, it’s no big deal. We’re going to spend the rest of our lives together. Why are you being so formal with me? “Washing your sheets now is nothing. When you’re old, I wouldn’t even mind cleaning up your shit and piss. We’re married, we’re family.” I was so incredibly moved at the time. But the very next day, at his company’s celebration banquet. I heard him enthusiastically sharing the story with all his bosses and colleagues: “Who would have thought that Chloe, pushing thirty, would still wet the bed at night? You guys have no idea, when I was washing those sheets, the smell was so bad it burned my eyes. I was dying trying to hold in my laughter. “Sigh, but she’s my woman. What else can I do but spoil her?” In that moment, the blood rushed to my head, and I suffered a complete emotional breakdown right there on the spot. I was so angry I couldn’t even form coherent sentences, crying as I asked him how he could humiliate me like that. But Arthur just blinked, looking completely innocent: “Wife, stop being angry. It’s not like I said I was disgusted by you. You’re just being too sensitive.” His colleagues and bosses also chimed in: “Yeah, Manager Vance is such a good man. What man nowadays is willing to wash sheets for a woman, especially… those kinds of sheets. “Director Vance, you can’t take your blessings for granted. This is a celebration banquet. It’s not right for you to make a scene over nothing. “Yeah, Chloe, don’t be ungrateful.” Those light, careless words instantly made my stomach churn, and my head started spinning. I was so furious I flipped the table over, then my vision went black and I passed out. When I woke up, I found out I was pregnant. The urinary incontinence was also due to the pregnancy. But because of my extreme emotional agitation, I had suffered a miscarriage. The crushing grief of losing my child, combined with the terrible impression my outburst at the banquet left on management, and the mocking looks from my colleagues… Led me to voluntarily resign at the age of twenty-six, right at the peak of my career. Arthur was also very regretful. He knelt and apologized to me, then took time off work to care for me. “Wife, this isn’t your fault. I should blame myself for not noticing you were pregnant. I wasn’t attentive enough. “Sigh. If only you could have restrained yourself a bit and not been so emotional, things would be fine. “Once the baby was born, you would have become the regional manager. Now, your job is gone, and the baby is…” Arthur sighed deeply. I don’t know why, but starting from that moment. Whenever he sighed, I would think of the child I miscarried. My heart would clench painfully, and I would become inexplicably irritable and angry. And whenever that happened, Arthur would hold me and comfort me. Aside from constantly belittling me, Arthur was impeccable in every other aspect. Everyone said he was the model of a perfect husband. Just then, the sound of the shower running in the bathroom started, and I could hear Arthur humming a light tune. Three years of marriage had left my heart riddled with holes and utterly exhausted. I was afraid to go outside, and I dreaded returning to work. I slowly became numb. The only person I interacted with every day was Arthur. It felt like my vitality and spirit had been completely drained. But Arthur was doing better and better. His career was booming, and his reputation as a devoted husband was widely known. But was that really the truth? If he loved me, why was I so exhausted? I stared blankly at the search results for “Dog Whistle” on my phone: [The Dog Whistle effect refers to using subtle language, actions, or signals to trigger a victim, causing them to lose emotional control in a public setting. [The abuser masquerades as an innocent victim, leveraging the public’s misunderstanding of the victim to seize the moral high ground. [The victim often loses their sense of judgment through repeated cycles of self-doubt. [In a marriage, any manipulation disguised as ‘love’ should be approached with extreme caution.] I read it all night, and my heart turned from hot to freezing cold. Had my unreserved, unconditional love become the dog whistle in his mouth? Thinking about how all my sacrifices over the years had been calculated by him, how my youth had become a massive joke, a deep, seething hatred began to spread in my heart. Suddenly, a bold plan formed in my mind. Looking at Arthur’s silhouette in the bathroom, a bizarre, chilling smile spread across my face. 4 The next morning, I woke up at my usual time. But I found that the leftover mess on the dining table had been cleaned up, a fresh bouquet of lilies had been set out, and the floor was spotless. And Arthur was in the kitchen, wearing an apron, bustling around. He expertly blended a fruit and vegetable smoothie and put it in the fridge, then turned around to fry some eggs. Seeing me come out, he looked a bit surprised. He wiped his hands and walked out. “Wife, why are you up so early? Did I wake you? “You drank quite a bit yesterday. Go back to sleep for a while. You don’t need to cook today; I’ll go buy groceries later. “What do you want hubby to make? Sweet and sour ribs? Or your favorite little yellow croaker?” Seeing Arthur’s genuine expression, I felt a momentary lapse in reality. His tone was intimate, as if absolutely nothing had happened yesterday. “Wife? Happy Valentine’s Day!” A diamond necklace was draped around my neck. The cold touch snapped me back to reality. I looked down at the expensive necklace, while Arthur’s sigh echoed in my ear: “Sigh, yesterday was my fault, okay? “But I didn’t forget your gift. Stop throwing little tantrums, alright?” Hearing his nonchalant tone and that deep, deliberate sigh, I was no longer angry. Instead, I analyzed it rationally. He knew perfectly well that I hated when he sighed, that it triggered me. Yet he intentionally used this subtle signal to stimulate me. I could already picture exactly what Arthur would say if I exploded on the spot. “I already apologized, what more do you want? “Chloe, go out and ask around. How many men do a better job than I do? I think you should learn to be content.” Then he would storm out of the house in anger, leaving me to feel guilty for a long time, only to end up serving him even more attentively to make up for it. This wasn’t a diamond necklace. This was the dog leash Arthur used to tie me down. I masked the absolute disgust in my eyes, turning my head to give Arthur a bright smile. “Hubby, thank you for the gift. I was just being unreasonable yesterday. “You go focus on your work. I’ll clean up around the house.” Arthur, instead, looked stunned, but quickly recovered: “Chloe, I’m so glad you can see it that way. “Remember, everything I do is for the good of this family. It’s all for you.”

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