Category: English

When I opened my eyes, I was holding a checkbook. I looked up at the girl standing across from me—the quintessential “innocent victim” type, eyes brimming with tears and righteous indignation. “Please, Mrs. Sterling! Just let us be together! I love Chase with all my heart!” It hit me like a physical blow. I had transmigrated. I was trapped in one of those classic, trashy billionaire soap operas, and I had landed right in the shoes of the “Evil Mother-in-Law.” According to the script, this was the part where I was supposed to sneer and toss a million dollars at her, telling her to stay away from my son. But a sudden, frantic thought stopped me: Wait, do I even have that kind of money? I hesitated, my pen hovering over the paper. I scribbled a number and slid the check across the polished marble table. “Um… is five thousand dollars enough?” 1. “Mrs. Sterling! I will never leave Chase! Our love isn’t for sale!” Maya—that was her name—stared at me with unwavering resolve. “Mom! Maya and I are a package deal! You can’t put a price tag on what we have!” A handsome, sharp-jawed man stepped into view, shielding the girl behind him like a human fortress. This, I presumed, was my CEO son, Chase. Suddenly, a cascade of glowing text—like a live-stream chat—scrolled across my vision. [The classic ‘break-up-the-happy-couple’ trope. You love to see it.] [I’m trash for this drama. Feed me more.] [Come on, Evelyn! Slap her with the five million! Do it!] Five million? That sounded like a lot. Did my bank account actually have that many zeros? Better to play it safe while I figured out my net worth. I had to maintain the villain persona, but I was on a budget. “I’m not budging,” I said, trying to sound cold. “I’ll give you… twenty thousand. Final offer.” Chase looked at me, his jaw dropping. “Mom? Is your only son really worth that little to you?” [LMAO! Twenty thousand?!] [Chase’s face is priceless. He’s offended by the low-ball offer!] [Is this a parody? Since when is the evil matriarch this stingy?] A heavy silence filled the room. I cleared my throat, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. “Fine. Whatever. You want to be together? Fine. But you won’t get my blessing that easily. I’m going to put you to the test!” “I’ll do it!” Maya stepped forward, her eyes blazing. “Whatever it takes to prove my love, I’ll do it!” [Here we go. The ‘test’—which is really just an excuse for a massive public humiliation.] [Poor Maya. She’s going to suffer so much for him, and he won’t even know the half of it.] [The wicked mother-in-law is burning every bridge she has. Just wait until Chase disowns you, Evelyn. Then you’ll be sorry!] Disown me? No, thank you. I hadn’t even had a chance to enjoy the mansion yet. I shifted my focus and pointed my finger—not at her, but at Chase. “I’m not testing her. I’m testing you.” Chase blinked, confused. “Me?” “Question one: What’s the first thing you do when you get your paycheck?” “Um… deposit it into our joint account?” Chase answered tentatively. “Who’s the first to apologize after an argument?” “Me! Always me!” “And who handles the chores when the housekeeper is off?” “I do! I’ll do all of it!” I took a slow, satisfied sip of my Earl Grey. “Excellent. You passed. You have my blessing.” “Wait, really? Oh, Maya! We did it!” Chase pulled her into a crushing hug. Maya looked stunned, her head spinning. “I… I feel like I didn’t actually do anything…” [??? That’s it?] [Did the villain just glitch?] [She skipped the entire second act! Where’s the suffering?!] Why bother with suffering? Life is short, and I’m rich. Let’s just be a happy family and move on to the brunch portion of the day. “Just don’t go breaking each other’s hearts,” I started to say, but I was interrupted by the doorbell. “Who’s that? My DoorDash?” I walked to the foyer and pulled open the heavy oak door. A man stood there, draped in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, radiating power and a faint scent of sandalwood. “And you are…?” I asked. The man’s brow furrowed into a deep V. “Your husband.” 2. The man didn’t wait for an invitation. He brushed past me and stepped into the foyer with the air of someone who owned the atoms in the room. [Enter the Patriarch. The real final boss.] [He’s definitely going to shut this down. Poor Maya, she survived the mom only to hit a brick wall with the dad.] So, this was Dominic Sterling. The father. In the original story, the parents were a classic “marriage of convenience”—zero love, a son born purely for the sake of the dynasty, and a husband who was always “on business.” I’d almost forgotten he existed. “I’ve only been away for eleven months, Evelyn,” he said, his voice like velvet over gravel. “Have you really forgotten what I look like?” “Of course not!” I let out a nervous, high-pitched laugh. “You just… changed your suit. I barely recognized you in that color.” [Rule number one: If you don’t know the answer, don’t keep talking. You’re making it worse.] [Lol, they are such strangers.] [Eleven months on a business trip? Someone call HR. Oh wait, he is HR.] “Father, you’re back,” Chase said, appearing from the kitchen, oddly enough, holding a bowl of soup. Dominic’s eyes traveled from Chase’s pink floral apron to the girl standing awkwardly by the sofa. “Why are you dressed like a domestic worker? And who is this?” “This is Chase’s girlfriend, Maya,” I said cheerfully, stepping in. “You’re just in time. We were about to have dinner.” “From which family?” Dominic asked, his tone icy. “I’m not… from a ‘family,’ sir,” Maya whispered, her knuckles white. “I’m just… me.” “Evelyn,” Dominic turned to me, his gaze stern. “This is your son’s choice? Since when do you allow ‘ordinary’ into this house?” “Oh, stop being such a buzzkill, Dom,” I said, waving him off. “They’re in love. It’s sweet. Maya, honey, come try this soup. Chase actually made it himself!” I completely ignored the radiating heat of Dominic’s disapproval. [Dominic: ‘Hello? Is anyone listening to me?’] [Evelyn: ‘Interrupting your monologue to talk about soup.’] [I’m uncomfortably attracted to the dad’s confused silence.] “It looks and smells great! Let’s eat!” I chirped. I ushered the kids to the table. Dominic stood frozen for a moment, then, with a resigned sigh, followed us and sat at the head of the table. I caught myself stealing glances at him. I thought the ‘CEO Dad’ trope usually involved a beer belly and a receding hairline, I thought. This guy is actually… a total smokeshow. I’ve got a billionaire husband who’s never home, a handsome son, and a bank account that refills itself. This transmigration thing might actually be a win. “Why are you staring at me, Evelyn?” Dominic asked, pausing with his spoon halfway to his mouth. “I was just thinking you’re very handsome,” I blurted out. [BAM! Just like that?] [I thought they hated each other? What is this energy?] My brain caught up with my mouth a second too late. Dominic started coughing violently, nearly choking on his soup. “Are you okay?” I jumped up and reached over to pat his back, but he recoiled as if I’d tried to brand him. His neck was a deep, embarrassed red. It took him a long moment to find his voice. “I… I’m full. I have work to attend to.” He practically bolted up the stairs. [Is he… blushing? Is the cold CEO actually a shy boy?] [Okay, I’m shipping the parents. I don’t care about the leads anymore.] [Everyone gets a romantic subplot. Even the ‘villain.’] I stood there, my hand still hanging in mid-air, blinking at the empty chair. “Wow, Mom,” Chase said, looking impressed. “You and Dad seem… really close lately.” “It’s a grown-up thing, Chase. You wouldn’t understand.” Did I break him? Should I go check on him? [He’s not shy, he’s probably just furious.] [Taking notes on ‘How to make your rival flee the room in ten seconds or less.’] I finished my dinner in a daze. 3. Whatever, I thought, stepping out of the shower. It’s not like he can actually fire me from being his wife. Then I saw him. Dominic was lying on the bed, propped up against the headboard with a tablet in his hand. I clutched my towel tighter, my heart doing a frantic tap-dance. “What are you doing here?” I demanded. “We’re married, Evelyn,” he said, flicking his eyes toward me before quickly looking back at the screen. “Where else would I be?” “Right. Of course.” I climbed into bed, keeping as much distance as possible. The air was thick enough to carve with a knife. [Look at those abs peeking through the robe. That’s not an accident.] [Dominic Sterling still has it.] [Things are getting spicy.] I couldn’t help it. My eyes drifted. The black silk of his robe didn’t leave much to the imagination. The original book didn’t detail their marriage much, only that they loathed each other. Evelyn thought he was a bore; he thought she was a shallow, irresponsible socialite. In the original timeline, Evelyn eventually cheats on him and leaks corporate secrets, leading to a brutal divorce and her dying penniless on the street. I shuddered. Not on my watch. I needed to stay on his good side. “How much longer are you going to stare at me?” Dominic asked, his voice strained. “Oh! Sorry. My bad.” I looked away, staring intensely at the floral wallpaper. “We need to talk about Chase’s little ‘girlfriend,’” he said, setting the tablet aside. “They love each other, Dom. Let them be.” “You can play your games with the household staff, but this is the family legacy,” he said firmly. “Tomorrow, I’m arranging a dinner with the Harrington heiress for him.” I sat bolt upright. “You can’t do that! You can’t just go around breaking people’s hearts because of some business merger! Chase won’t be happy with someone he doesn’t love.” Dominic went quiet. He just stared at me, his expression unreadable. [Ouch. Right in the trauma.] [She’s basically describing their own marriage.] [Countdown to her getting kicked out…] Crap. I didn’t mean to make it personal. “I didn’t mean… us,” I stammered, waving my hands. “I just want him to have what we… don’t. I mean, I want him to be happy! You’re great, really. You’re handsome, you’re smart, you’ve got great… chest muscles…” Before I could finish the sentence, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me down toward him. [Keep talking, Evelyn. Your dignity is leaving the building.] [Why is the middle-aged romance more interesting than the main couple?] [Can I see the rest of this for free?] My heart was thudding against my ribs like a trapped bird. His face was inches from mine. “Wait!” I squeezed my eyes shut, turning my head away. He froze. The heat of his breath lingered on my skin for a second before he pulled away entirely. His face was darker than before. “If you don’t mean those things, Evelyn, don’t say them. It’s exhausting.” He stood up, tightening the belt of his robe. “I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight.” I touched my burning cheek, watching the door click shut behind him. 4. The next morning, my phone shrieked on the nightstand. “Hey, beautiful… Why haven’t you called me lately?” A wave of literal nausea rolled over me. I remembered now—the original Evelyn had a boy toy on the side. A guy named Casper. “I’ll be there soon. Same place?” I hung up immediately. If Dominic found out about this, I wouldn’t just be sleeping in separate rooms—I’d be living under a bridge. [Is the villain finally getting caught?] [Why did she hang up? She’s panicking.] [Of course she has a side-piece. The ‘Hot Dad’ was too good to be true.] Suddenly, the doorbell rang. I hurried downstairs, thinking Dominic had forgotten his briefcase. “Did you forget your—” I stopped. Standing there was a man who looked like a literal peacock. Loud prints, too much cologne, and a smirk that made me want to reach for a can of Mace. “You hung up on me, babe,” Casper said, sliding through the door before I could block him. “Are you mad at me? Have I been neglecting you?” “Something like that,” I said, trying to keep a neutral face. [I thought she’d changed! She’s still the same!] [Trading a billionaire for a budget model? Evelyn, honey, no.] [Dominic is going to walk in and it’s game over.] “Babe,” Casper said, reaching for my waist. “You said you were going to leave him. When is the divorce happening?” I ducked his touch. “Did I? I must have been drunk.” “And what about the files? The ones from his safe?” He lowered his voice, looking around. “I’ve been waiting a long time for those. You give me those, and we can run away together. You’ll never have to deal with his coldness again.” He lunged for a hug. I leaped behind the sofa. “No!” I shouted. “Absolutely not.” I smoothed my hair, trying to regain some semblance of dignity. “Listen. I’m done. I have a husband, I have a son, and I’m actually quite fond of my life. Here’s a check for twenty thousand dollars. Consider us even. Don’t call me again.” Casper didn’t take the check. His face twisted. “Twenty thousand? You think you can buy me off? You’re clearly just playing hard to get. I’ll give you some time to cool off, and then I’ll be back.” He smirked and strolled out the door. “That… could have gone better,” I whispered. [What is she up to?] [She’s probably just bored of him and looking for a new one.] I looked at the hateful comments scrolling past and sighed. I just want to be a rich, retired lady. Why is that so hard? 5. Casper hadn’t even made it to the end of the driveway before two large men in suits stepped out from between the hedges and hauled him into a black SUV.

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Brad Brown, my wife Seraphina’s childhood friend, and I were on our way to a shooting competition when we got into a car accident. I woke up with my eyes bandaged. My wife, Dr. Seraphina Thorne, who was my attending physician, told me that my left eye was severely damaged and I was permanently blind. Meanwhile, Brad had won the gold medal in the shooting competition. At the celebration banquet, he slurred drunkenly: “If Seraphina hadn’t transplanted William Hayes’s cornea to me, I would have gone blind, and I would never have stood on that podium.” Seraphina hugged him tightly: “William lost one eye; I can make it up to him for the rest of my life. I just want you to be well, standing in the spotlight, where everyone can see you.” That’s when I realized my blindness wasn’t an act of fate; it was a human doing. 1 My left eye still throbbed faintly, the wound not yet healed. The conversation in the room continued. Brad raised his glass to Seraphina: “I’ve known since I was a child that I was an orphan. Seraphina and I grew up together; she’s always been so caring, giving me the very best of everything.” “I never imagined that at a crucial point in the competition, when my eye was injured, she would be so generous as to transplant William Hayes’s cornea to me.” “Seraphina, without you, my life would have no future.” Seraphina, with tears in her eyes, drank the wine in Brad’s glass and said, “Silly, who else would I help if not you?” “I was William’s attending physician. I assessed the situation at the time. If your eye hadn’t received a cornea transplant then, you wouldn’t have been able to compete.” “You trained so hard; how could I let your future be ruined?” The relatives inside all exclaimed, “You two really have such a strong bond; Seraphina is incredible to Brad.” “Exactly. But William was also on his way to a competition, wasn’t he? I can’t believe he’d be willing to donate his cornea to Brad.” “He literally gave Brad his future.” Seraphina said disdainfully, “William’s performance is far inferior to Brad’s. It’s better to fulfill Brad’s potential. See? It proves my choice was right at the time.” Outside the door, I clenched my fists, my heart feeling empty and cold, like the dead of winter. I remembered the pre-competition training camp. Brad, who had just gotten his driver’s license, insisted on driving. I disagreed. Seraphina said, “Don’t you trust Brad? I trust him; he can do anything perfectly. If you’re afraid to die, take a cab yourself. Brad, let’s go.” My wife pulled Brad into the car. I had no choice but to follow and get in. To show off in front of Seraphina, Brad sped and drifted occasionally. Finally, at a bend, he collided with a container truck. I was knocked unconscious. When I woke up, it was several days later. Seraphina, in a white lab coat, sat by my bedside. My left eye was heavily bandaged. Before I could speak, Seraphina said tenderly, “Honey, don’t rush. We were in a car accident. Both you and Brad were injured. Your left eye… you’re blind.” Seraphina hugged me, comforting me: “Honey, don’t be scared. No matter what you become, I’ll always be by your side.” At that time, although I was despondent because of my blindness, I was also comforted to have such a wonderful wife. I never imagined my blindness wasn’t caused by the car accident but by human intervention. My father-in-law’s voice in the room was booming: “William is so foolish and clumsy. His shooting scores are nowhere near Brad’s talent. I never approved when he pursued Seraphina. If Brad hadn’t been abroad back then, I would have preferred to marry my daughter to Brad.” Seraphina said shyly, “Dad, stop it.” Brad interjected, “Uncle, if you’re willing to give me a chance, I’ll treat Seraphina well. Now I have the ability to make her happy. William has lost an eye; how can he take care of Seraphina?” Seraphina cooed, “What are you saying? William and I aren’t divorced yet.” 2 Brad declared loudly in front of the guests, “I’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes. I will marry you and make you happy.” Amidst the cheers of the crowd, they actually embraced. Brad was an orphan, two years younger than Seraphina. When they met, Seraphina’s family treated him very well, practically raising him as a son. My father-in-law always said I was inferior to Brad, and his daughter marrying me was bad luck. But Seraphina always stopped him from expressing dissatisfaction with me, then she’d try to persuade me, “My dad treats Brad like a son. Don’t take it to heart. You’re the one I love. I only see Brad as a little brother.” However, every time something involved Brad, Seraphina always prioritized him. When we first got married, I also thought their bond was like siblings. But over time, I discovered their feelings had long surpassed that of mere siblings. Still, because I loved Seraphina, I kept hoping for one last chance to salvage our marriage. But I never imagined that in a life-or-death situation, Seraphina would abandon me, actually donating my cornea to Brad. Such a marriage was better off without. I stepped back, quietly leaving the celebration banquet at the hotel. I went to the hospital. As Seraphina’s husband, the doctors there had seen me before. I easily found the ophthalmologist who had performed our surgeries. The doctor looked at me with a sigh: “I never imagined that you two, as a couple, would go this far for Brad.” “You’re also a marksman; your eye wasn’t injured at all. Donating a cornea to Brad was completely unnecessary. Actually, his eye could have recovered in a year or two.” “But Dr. Thorne said Brad needed to participate in the competition and couldn’t wait that long. And since you were in a coma, as your wife, she had the right to sign the donation papers on your behalf.” My hand trembled, my heart sinking to rock bottom. I gritted my teeth and asked, “So, Seraphina signed the donation papers for me while I was in a coma, and donated my cornea?” The doctor nodded: “Yes. This normally requires your personal consent, but Dr. Thorne said you had woken up once, and she asked you. She claimed you strongly insisted on it yourself.” “You supposedly said your performance wasn’t as good as Brad’s and you were willing to donate your cornea to him so he could win good scores for the team.” “She was your wife; with her strong insistence, we couldn’t do anything.” “What, are you regretting it now?” I couldn’t utter another word. Ha, I strongly insisted? She took advantage of my coma, spun a web of lies to deceive everyone, and transplanted my cornea to Brad. I sat by the roadside near the hospital, my left eye throbbing faintly. My phone rang. This special ringtone was exclusively for Seraphina’s calls. “Honey, where are you? Brad’s celebration banquet is almost over, and you’re not here yet.” “Remember that watch I mentioned Brad liked? Make sure to buy it as a gift for him. You know, he’s famous now, he needs some nice accessories.” “That watch really suits his style. Remember to buy it before you come, and while you’re at it, settle the bill for our room.” Ha. I didn’t attend the celebration, and she didn’t ask if I was okay. She just demanded I buy a gift and pay the bill. That watch cost over half a million. Seraphina had seen it and declared it for Brad. In the past, I would have just bought it, following Seraphina’s words. But now, I wouldn’t pay another penny for them. I said coldly, “I can’t make it; something came up. You two pay for it yourselves.” Seraphina paused, then immediately erupted, “You’re not coming? Who’s going to pay if you don’t? Today’s celebration, the best wines were used, and all the seafood was flown in fresh. You absolutely have to pay this hundred-thousand-dollar bill.” 3 “If you can’t come, transfer the money to me.” I chuckled, “Seraphina, my eye hurts, I’m not feeling well. Besides, it’s Brad’s celebration, doesn’t he have a million-dollar prize? How can he not afford the bill, especially for such expensive dishes?” Seraphina sounded exasperated on the other end of the phone: “Brad’s prize money has other uses. He needs to buy a house! As his brother-in-law, what’s wrong with buying a watch and treating him to dinner?” “William, how did you become so petty?” Brad chimed in from the background: “Seraphina, don’t pressure William. He might be upset because I won the medal.” “If it’s really a problem, I won’t buy a house yet. I’ll pay the bill first, and forget about the watch.” “I originally thought the prize money could be a down payment for that house you liked. I was going to buy it for you, I wanted to be able to give you a home from the elements.” Seraphina was moved, her voice choked: “Silly, how can I let you pay? I said I wanted to host the celebration. I’ll pay. If William won’t, I will.” After she finished, she spoke coldly to me on the phone: “William, you hold onto your money. Don’t think everyone is like you, only caring about money.” “What do you have now besides money? Don’t forget, you lost an eye, and only I’m here by your side, not disliking you.” “I thought my sincerity would be rewarded, but I never expected you to be such a narrow-minded person.” With that, she violently hung up the phone. I immediately called the bank and froze all my supplementary cards. The reason Seraphina could consistently support Brad was that she used my supplementary cards to buy him various luxury items, shaping Brad into the image of a promising young socialite. Only outsiders didn’t know that everything he wore and used, every penny, was mine. Keep in mind that the shooting team only provided athletes with a basic monthly living allowance, which wasn’t even enough for Brad to throw a lavish dinner for his teammates. Under Seraphina’s indulgence, they squandered lavishly. They had long forgotten that everything they possessed was given by me. Not even ten minutes passed before Seraphina called again: “William, what do you mean? Why did you stop my card?” I said coldly, “I didn’t stop your card. I only stopped mine. Seraphina, the supplementary card is also my card, have you forgotten?” “Isn’t your card with you? If you want to help Brad pay, use your salary card. In the few years we’ve been married, hasn’t your salary card been untouched? Paying this hundred thousand should be easy, right?” Seraphina shrieked: “Use my salary card? I don’t have any money left! William, how did you become like this? Quibbling over a bit of money! You were injured, hospitalized for surgery, you lost an eye—who was it who stayed by your side, never abandoning you? How can you be so heartless?” I interrupted her: “Seraphina, did my eye really go blind because of the car accident?” Seraphina was silent on the phone, then said: “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Your eye was severely injured in the car accident. I tried my best to get you treatment. This current state is the best option.” “You don’t be unreasonable. Unblock my card right now.” “Seraphina, there’s nothing left between us. My lawyer will contact you. Let’s get a divorce. I’ll make way for you and Brad.” With that, I hung up the phone directly. No matter how many times she called afterward, I didn’t answer. I went home, packed my bags, and moved to a hotel. Seraphina couldn’t reach me by phone, and she kept sending various messages to my cell, but I ignored them all. However, I didn’t expect her to track down my follow-up appointment time from the hospital and intercept me there. 4 She slapped a bill against my chest: “The celebration banquet bill, a total of one hundred and ten thousand. Pay me back immediately. Do you know how desperate I was to scrape together that money?” “You’re my husband; half your money is mine. How dare you deny me access?” “I never abandoned you, and this is how you treat me? Where’s your conscience?” I let the bill fall to the floor, looking at her: “I said I’m divorcing you. Did you not hear clearly? The divorce papers have already been sent to your house.” She looked at me with disdain: “Playing hard to get? Thinking that will scare me? William, don’t say things you don’t mean. You said no matter what I did, you’d never leave me.” “You’ll keep your word, won’t you?” I looked at her with extreme disappointment: “So, you do whatever you please? Seraphina, how did my eye go blind? Can you tell me?” Seraphina turned her head away: “Your eye was severely injured in the car accident and went blind.” I said softly: “Is that so? But why did I hear that my cornea was surgically removed and donated to Brad?” “And the person who signed the consent was you, Seraphina. It was you who forcibly gave my cornea to Brad. It was you who caused me to lose my sight.” “The doctor said his eye could recover. Why would you do this to me!” Seraphina suddenly became agitated: “What do you mean ‘could recover’? That would take two years! Brad couldn’t wait that long.” “He’s in his prime right now. You couldn’t win the competition anyway, so it was better to donate your cornea to him. See? The facts prove my decision was right; he won the competition.” “I promise you, you’re blind, I’ll still be by your side, I won’t leave you. I’ll make it up to you for the rest of my life.” I laughed mockingly: “Not leave me? Wouldn’t you not leave me because you need my money to support your family, to support Brad?” “Without me, where would you get the money to buy Brad all those luxury items?” Seraphina’s face turned red, and she shouted: “When did I ever use your money to buy Brad luxury items? I used my own salary!” “And, I treat Brad like my own brother. What’s wrong with buying my brother a few things?” “As his brother-in-law, shouldn’t you buy him something too?” I laughed in anger: “Seraphina, do you truly consider him a brother? You know the truth in your heart. No one would go to such lengths for a brother.” “No matter what you say, I won’t spend another dime on you and your ‘dear brother.’” With that, I turned to leave. Seraphina yelled after me, “William, who else will want you now except me? You’ll regret this.” I didn’t bother to respond to her. Before I left her, I had many things to do. The first thing I did was go to the shooting team to withdraw from training. As I left the shooting team, I ran into the media interviewing Brad. He was surrounded by reporters and various streamers chasing clicks. “What do you have to say about winning the gold medal this time?” Brad’s face was full of tenderness as he looked at Seraphina by his side: “This time, I particularly want to thank someone, my best sister, my best confidante, Seraphina.” “She’s also a doctor at Central Hospital. I was in a car accident before the competition, and she saved me. It was also her selflessness that restored my sight.” The reporters exclaimed in admiration, their microphones turned to Seraphina: “Dr. Thorne, we also heard that your husband went blind in the car accident. He’s also a marksman, isn’t he?” Seraphina’s face showed sorrow: “Yes, I’m very sad too. I’ve been by his side, accompanying him, taking care of him, hoping for his speedy recovery.” “Although his scores are much worse than Brad’s, he’s still very upset about losing the opportunity to compete. I hope everyone won’t disturb him.” A reporter asked: “Excuse me, your husband’s eye went blind in the car accident. Since Brad had the chance for a cornea transplant, Dr. Thorne, why didn’t you keep that opportunity for your husband?” Seraphina’s face turned grim. She mumbled, unsure how to answer. “Because, Brad’s cornea… is mine.”

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On my first day of kindergarten, my mother pulled out a small, green booklet. “Hazel, from now on, only Mommy will be picking you up after school.” I instantly understood what that meant. Crying, I ran forward and hugged my father, who was packing his bags. “Daddy! I don’t want you and Mommy to get a divorce!” “I want to ride on Daddy’s shoulders! I want to go to the amusement park with both of you!” But no matter how much I begged, the father who usually spoiled me rotten just yanked me away with a dark expression and walked straight out the door. My classmates constantly mocked me for being a fatherless child. They threw my backpack in the trash and stuffed my lunchbox full of disgusting bugs. Even the teachers repeatedly punished me, making me stand in the back of the classroom because my test papers were missing a father’s signature. Through all those hardships, I finally managed to get into my dream university. When I excitedly returned home holding my acceptance letter, I heard my mother talking on the phone: “Arthur, you can move back in over the next couple of days. That way, I won’t have to sneak around behind Hazel’s back to see you every day.” “Her grades are outstanding. Our test can finally come to an end.” “You used to spoil her so much, I was worried she’d turn out wrong. It seems that taking away one parent’s love really did make her much more self-reliant and well-behaved!” Watching my mother slip her marriage certificate back into her wallet, I finally understood. The so-called “divorce” was nothing but a fraudulent scheme they deliberately orchestrated to test if I could become independent. All those years of suffering through slander, abuse, and bullying—it was all a massive joke. Since they loved fake divorces so much, I decided to give them a real one. Let me help you finish what you started! 1 Seeing me walk in, my mother hurriedly hung up the phone. “Hazel, you’re back? Come here, Mom has some great news for you.” Looking at the fake smile plastered on her face, and recalling the conversation she just had with my father, a wave of intense nausea washed over me. “Hazel, Mom has decided to get back together with Dad.” “Haven’t you always wished for Dad to come back and be with you? He’s coming home in a couple of days, and our family will never be separated again.” Having my father come home had indeed been my deepest wish since childhood. On my first day of kindergarten, just because I refused to eat a single bite of vegetables during dinner, my father suddenly threw down his chopsticks, stood up, and started packing his bags. “Hazel Sterling! When are you going to fix this terrible habit of being a picky eater?!” “How many times have I told you, your father hates picky eaters! Are you only going to be satisfied when we separate?!” My mother, who was usually so gentle, immediately pulled back the hand that was about to serve me a piece of meat and roared at me. I was so terrified I didn’t dare move a muscle, staring blankly as my father packed his luggage with a furious scowl. My mother stood to the side with her arms crossed, looking thoroughly disappointed in me. That was the first time I had ever seen such terrifying expressions on my parents’ faces. It felt like I had committed a heinous crime to warrant such coldness. But I was just full; I wasn’t being picky. It wasn’t until my mother pulled out that small, green booklet—the official divorce certificate—that I finally understood. My parents were divorced. Actually, there had been warning signs before this. Before that day, if I did even the slightest thing that displeased them—maybe waking up a minute late, or not brushing my teeth long enough—they would throw their red marriage certificate on the floor, stomp on it repeatedly, and scream at the top of their lungs that they were going to turn the red booklet into a green one. They didn’t hit me or curse at me, but they would cry and threaten me, filling me with immense fear and guilt. “Hazel, the moment the booklet in Mom’s hand turns green, you’ll become an unwanted child!” “If you don’t want everyone to know that you destroyed this family, then you better behave and make things easy for us!” Yet, after every screaming fit, they would instantly revert to their usual calm, gentle selves. They would even hug me tightly and apologize, looking heartbroken. Over time, in order to make them completely worry-free, I learned to be incredibly harsh on myself from a very young age. I tried with all my might to mold myself into the perfect child they desired. Because only then would my mother take me to buy the cupcakes I liked. Only then would my father let me ride on his shoulders at the park. And only then would this family remain whole. But all my efforts were ultimately destroyed over a single bite of vegetables. I cried until I couldn’t breathe, clinging desperately to my father’s leg, apologizing over and over again. But he just yanked me away with a look of absolute disgust. My mother also looked impatient. She covered her ears and snapped: “What are you crying for?! It’s not like we’re dead! You still have Mom to live with.” But things were far from as simple as they made it sound. From the moment my father walked out that door with his luggage, I never had another day of peace. Overnight, everyone found out about my parents’ divorce. But instead of anyone showing me sympathy, they all came to scold and mock me. “You’re the one who drove your dad away, aren’t you? What a jinx!” “Hazel is an unwanted orphan! Let’s not play with her!” The ignorant malice of children is the most immeasurable and the most hurtful. They threw my backpack in the trash and deliberately filled my lunchbox with disgusting bugs to terrify me. Some classmates even pushed me down the stairs when I wasn’t looking. And it was all just because my family was broken. In their eyes, that made me a freak. If the children were that cruel, the disdainful looks from the adults left me even more helpless. The teachers automatically categorized me as an unruly, bad kid and constantly made things difficult for me. “Why doesn’t this test paper have signatures from both parents? Go stand in the back of the classroom!” “Your reading voice wasn’t loud enough this morning. You’re staying after school to read for an extra hour!” I tried to defend myself several times, but no one wanted to listen to me. I wanted to go home and pour out all these grievances to my mother, but looking at our desolate home and my mother’s constant sighing, I couldn’t bring myself to say a word. I just told myself to endure it, to work a little harder. Maybe if I did, my father’s heart would soften, and he would come home. I turned my grief and anger into motivation. Finally, on the day I got accepted into my dream university, my father decided to return. But the happiness I had anticipated didn’t arrive. Instead, I felt an overwhelming sense of disgust. I had been treated as a joke and mocked for so many years. And from the very beginning, it was all just a fraudulent scheme targeting me. 2 “Why aren’t you saying anything, Hazel? Are you too happy for words?” Seeing me standing frozen in the doorway, my mother called out again. “Your dad is very satisfied that you got into Yale. He’s decided to forgive you.” I let out a cold laugh. Suddenly, I didn’t want to play the role of the perfect, obedient child anymore. “It took him over a decade to forgive me. Dad sure holds a grudge.” “So his only standard for measuring whether a child is good or bad is based purely on their academic performance?” “If I hadn’t gotten into Yale, and only got into an ordinary state college instead, was he planning to continue abandoning this family?” “Hazel Sterling! Watch your tone!” Hearing this, my mother instantly exploded. She grabbed the water glass next to her and hurled it at me. “You think reading a few books makes you special? Now you’re talking back to adults, huh?” “Yes, you’re absolutely right! If you had scored even one point less, your father wouldn’t have forgiven you so easily!” The water splashed all over me, and the sharp shards of the shattered glass ricocheted off the floor, cutting my ankle. I flinched in pain, but my mother just breathed heavily, looking away and snapping: “Alright, hurry up and change your clothes. We’re going to a restaurant to have dinner with your dad.” “He specifically booked a private room to celebrate you getting into a top university. Don’t embarrass him.” I wiped the water off myself and applied ointment to the cut on my ankle. When I looked up again, I was back to being the obedient daughter they expected. I nodded meaningfully and turned to go into my room. When we arrived at the restaurant, the man was already waiting in the private room. This was the first time we had formally met since my father left home. The man in front of me hadn’t changed much. In fact, he looked even more vibrant, and his clothes were much more refined. It seemed that without me—his “burden”—he had indeed lived a very comfortable life all these years. “Hazel is here! Dad hasn’t seen you in years.” “Look how tall you’ve gotten. You’re a young woman now!” “Oh my, what happened to your ankle? Are you hurt?” My mother smoothed it over with a laugh. “When this silly girl heard she was coming to see you, she was so excited she couldn’t walk straight and tripped.” “What about you? You see your daughter and completely forget about your wife?” My father immediately smiled and wrapped his arm around my mother’s waist. Watching the two of them sitting across from me, acting so sickeningly sweet and inseparable. My stomach churned violently, and I nearly threw up. But my father completely failed to notice my discomfort. He eagerly pulled out a chair for me and kept piling food onto my plate. Seeing me sitting stiffly in the chair without touching anything, he finally asked in confusion: “Why the long face? Aren’t you happy to see Dad?” Seeing me remain silent, my mother rolled her eyes and slapped me hard on the back. “This girl has an incredibly withdrawn personality. She acts half-dead at home too, never smiles.” “She acts like she’s being abused. She doesn’t know how good she has it!” They kept nagging, shifting into lecture mode again. I slowly exhaled, slapped my chopsticks down on the table, and abruptly stood up. “I have a withdrawn personality? I don’t know how good I have it?” “Ask yourselves honestly, do you two even have the right to say that?” “All these years, have you ever genuinely cared about me?” Since I was little, whenever I was slandered for being fatherless, my mother would stand by and watch with cold indifference. Even after returning home, she would join the outsiders in verbally abusing me. “It’s all your fault! That’s why your father divorced me!” “Now that I’m dragging a burden like you around, no one even wants to look at me for remarriage!” “Still crying? You have no right to cry!” “If you want people to respect you, then study hard!” I was bullied outside and battered at home. And my father, after leaving home, never contacted me again. He ignored my text messages and wouldn’t answer my calls. Even if we accidentally crossed paths on the street, he would pretend not to know me and quickly walk away. The suppressed grievances had piled higher and higher, yet I never had the chance to release them. The moment I talked back, my mother immediately raised her hand and slapped me across the face. “You kept it together for all these years, but you finally couldn’t hide that rotten temper of yours, could you?” “We used a hands-off parenting style! It was to toughen you up, to make you truly independent! Why can’t you understand our good intentions?!” My father sat to the side and let out a helpless sigh. I rubbed my stinging cheek and gave up making pointless arguments. When I pulled a document out of my bag, my father’s expression instantly froze. He glared at me in sheer disbelief. 3 “Child Support Payment… Supplemental Agreement?” “Hazel, what are you doing?” I cleared my throat and said expressionlessly: “According to the law, if the non-custodial parent fails to make regular child support payments after a divorce, the child has the right to demand the arrears.” “Dad, all these years, I have never received a single transfer from you in my bank account.” My father immediately panicked. He stiffened his neck and roared: “I transferred that money to your mother’s account!” I turned to look at the woman beside me, who was slowly lowering her head. “Mom, did you ever receive Dad’s transfers?” All these years, my mother and I had lived frugally, scraping by in absolute squalor. She used to be a full-time housewife. After my father left, she worked odd jobs here and there, her income highly unstable. We moved into a smaller, run-down, subdivided apartment. When our clothes tore, we patched them and kept wearing them. We only bought groceries late at night when the wilted produce went on clearance. Our quality of life plummeted, and the child support we were supposed to receive every month was nowhere to be seen. Seeing my mother stay silent, I smiled. “Or is it that you actually snuck over to Dad’s place to eat and sleep every single day, keeping me completely in the dark?” “You guys lived in a big house while leaving me in a cramped, drafty, subdivided room.” “While you were eating delicacies, I was meticulously calculating how to save pennies just to barely fill my stomach.” I was going to continue, but my father suddenly slammed his hand on the table and barked: “What kind of nonsense are you spouting, girl?!” “Your mother and I divorced a long time ago. Why would she come looking for me?” “Furthermore, when we got divorced, we agreed that I wouldn’t need to pay your child support!” I nodded as if I understood, playing along with his words: “If that’s the case, then bring out that green divorce certificate and let me see it again.” “Let me confirm that you two actually did get divorced back then.” “Hazel!” My mother’s voice cracked. She was clearly panicking. Back then, they dared to flash that green booklet in front of me because I was too young to realize the certificate was a fake prop. If she brought it out now, she would immediately be exposed. My mother subtly covered her purse, trying to sound calm: “Your father and I have remarried now. The divorce certificate was taken back by the civil affairs bureau ages ago.” “Honestly, why do you have to bring this up on such a happy occasion?” I refused to back down: “Then bring out the remarriage certificate and let me see it.” “That shouldn’t be hard, right?” The two people across from me were instantly left speechless, their faces turning uglier by the second. “What’s wrong? Can’t produce it?” “Or is it that you never actually got divorced in the first place?” “And it was just a fraudulent scheme you orchestrated to ‘test’ me?” I let out a sigh. When I spoke again, my voice carried a hint of a sob. “You kept saying it was all for my own good, to make me more independent.” “But I was so young back then, and you couldn’t even guarantee I was fed and warm!” “When I was being bullied, you stood by and watched with total indifference as if it had nothing to do with you!” “Dad, Mom, you truly are monsters.” “Hazel! Shut the hell up!” My father was so furious the veins on his temples were throbbing. He kicked his chair back and glared at my mother in a frantic rage. “Carol! Look at the monstrosity you raised!” “Her grades might be up to standard, but she hasn’t learned a damn thing about how to be a decent human being!” “How dare she speak to her parents like this? All that education went straight to the dogs!” My mother’s face cycled between red and white. She opened her mouth several times but didn’t dare say anything. Finally, she probed cautiously: “Hazel, when you came home this morning, you heard me on the phone, didn’t you?” I was watching my father’s furious meltdown with great interest and didn’t bother acknowledging what she said. My father suddenly roared: “So what if she heard?!” “Hazel, your mother and I faked the divorce. So what?!” “We were forced to do it so you could grow up better!” Emboldened by my father, my mother joined in, trying to argue back. “Your dad is right!” “All the hardships you suffered when you were little were to forge your willpower!” “If we had pampered you from childhood, I guarantee you never would have gotten into Yale!” “Not being grateful is bad enough, but to actually slander your parents’ good intentions… it’s just a sin…” Listening to them desperately trying to assign some noble value to their ignorant, selfish actions, I couldn’t help but find it hilarious. Seeing that I wasn’t giving them any reaction, the man quickly reached his breaking point—exactly as I had anticipated—and finally said the words. “Carol, I can’t keep this ungrateful wretch anymore!” “We’re getting a divorce. You keep the kid. This time, it’s non-negotiable!”

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At the IPO celebration banquet, the massive screen suddenly began playing photos of me working as a bottle girl at a nightclub years ago—a job I took solely to raise funds for his startup. In front of everyone, Julian announced my dismissal from the company. “You’ll do anything for money. Julian, you use me and throw me away. Have you no shame?!” I screamed. Raising his champagne glass, he mocked me in front of the entire press corps: “You’re asking if I have shame? You were sharing a bed with a man when you were seventeen. Who knows how dirty that money you gave me really was.” The flashing cameras blinded me. A surge of blood rushed to my head, and I collapsed on the stage. When I jolted awake, I was back in the past—on the very day a seventeen-year-old Julian knelt on the floor, begging me to lend him the money to start his business. 1. The burning sensation from thousands of camera flashes erupting simultaneously still danced across my retinas. My ears were ringing with the snickers of the so-called “elite” at the banquet. “Who knows how dirty that money you gave me really was.” Julian’s arrogant, condescending voice echoed in my head. I shot up, my back drenched in cold sweat. I gasped for air, my oxygen-deprived brain buzzing. There was no champagne tower, no red carpet, and no media waiting to watch me become a joke. Before me was only peeling, yellowed wallpaper, and the air smelled of cheap ramen and the distinct mustiness of a humid Southern summer. Where was I? I frantically felt my surroundings until my fingertips brushed against a round mirror with rusted edges. The face in the mirror had tight skin, full of youthful collagen. But beneath her eyes were the dark circles of chronic sleep deprivation, and her hair stuck messily to her cheeks. Seventeen. I stared dead into the mirror, my nails digging so hard into my palms they almost drew blood. This wasn’t the exhausted face of a thirty-year-old. It was the face of a seventeen-year-old—the stupid, naive girl who would fight the whole world for Julian. My stomach churned, a physical wave of nausea rising in my throat. Back then, to sell just one bottle of liquor, I let people force me to drink until my stomach bled. He held me, crying like a baby, swearing he would treat me right for the rest of his life. And what happened? At his IPO celebration, in front of the entire world, he casually dismissed that painful past as “dirty.” This cramped, 100-square-foot room was once our so-called “love nest.” We squeezed onto a twin-sized bed. To save money, we even used newspapers as curtains. Back then, I thought it was romantic struggling together. Looking at it now, it was just absurd. I stood up, my bare feet hitting the concrete floor. The chill seeped through my soles straight into my bones. This real, physical sensation forced me to admit the truth. I had been reborn. Right after being publicly humiliated by Julian, fainting from pure rage, I had returned to a decade ago. I didn’t know whether to be thankful that God gave me a second chance, or laugh at the cruel irony of being stuck in this damn time loop. The cicadas outside chirped incessantly, making the summer heat even more suffocating. The muggy, damp air inevitably dragged my thoughts back to the past. It was on a similarly stifling afternoon. During P.E. class in my junior year of high school, the sun was so brutal it felt like it was melting the track. Not wanting to roast, I hid in the shade behind the equipment shed. I had barely sat down when a figure stumbled and collapsed right in front of me. It was Julian. He was as thin as a rail back then. His uniform hung loosely on his frame. He was deathly pale, his forehead covered in cold sweat. The symptoms… looked like low blood sugar. I didn’t have any candy on me, so I half-dragged, half-carried him to the nurse’s office. The nurse wasn’t there. I ran back to my classroom, swallowed my pride, and begged a girl who always had snacks for a piece of chocolate. When I ran back, panting, and shoved the half-melted chocolate into his mouth, those eyes that usually avoided everyone stared straight at me. Like a drowning man clinging to his only piece of driftwood. In that moment, I thought I had saved a young man in distress. Looking back, it wasn’t a rescue; it was the prologue to the story of the farmer and the viper. Julian was an outcast at school. It wasn’t a secret. The rumors about his family background were more numerous than summer mosquitoes. His mother, despising poverty and craving wealth, had run off with another man when he was very young. Unable to cope, his father committed suicide by jumping into a river. He was raised single-handedly by his grandmother in a rural village. His uniform was always washed until the colors faded, with obvious patches on the elbows. The soles of his sneakers were peeling, sometimes making an embarrassing flapping sound when he walked. The boys in our class made a sport of bullying him. They would “accidentally” knock over his water bottle or scribble on his desk. The girls would dramatically cover their noses when he walked by, acting as if he carried some incurable disease. He always kept his head down, shrinking into corners like a frightened quail. Even the day he passed out—if I hadn’t happened to see him, he probably could have baked into a mummy under the sun, and no one would have given him a second glance. Back then, I had an overflowing sense of justice. I felt the whole world was bullying him, and it was my duty to protect this “poor soul.” I started seeking him out constantly. If someone purposely tripped him, I would charge forward and shove them back, even if they were a head taller than me. When no one in the cafeteria would sit with him, I would slam my tray down right across from him, ignoring the weird looks from everyone else. One thing led to another, and as our feelings grew, we started dating. He was very good at pleasing people. Every morning, he would carefully pull a still-warm hard-boiled egg from his patched pocket and press it into my hand. I only learned later that it was his entire breakfast. At the time, I thought it was the most precious gift in the world. On the way home from school, he would pedal his beat-up bicycle—where everything rattled except the bell—and carry me through the streets and alleys. The wind would catch the hem of my skirt. I would hold onto his thin waist, listening to him paint a picture of our future. “When I make money, I’m going to buy you a big house. I’ll make you the happiest princess.” “I’ll be good to you for the rest of my life. I’ll never let you suffer.” The vows still echoed in my ears, but reality had slapped me hard in the face. I looked around the cramped apartment. That single twin bed was glaringly obvious. This was where we lived after “eloping” for the sake of our so-called love. To save rent, we squeezed onto that bed, keeping each other warm, dreaming of the future. Back then, his eyes were full of gratitude and love. But ten years later, at the IPO banquet, the Julian in the tailored suit could effortlessly spin this as a stain on my character. “You’re asking if I have shame? You were sharing a bed with a man when you were seventeen.” The sound of a key turning in the lock interrupted my thoughts. The rusted cylinder made a harsh, grinding noise. Click. The door opened. Seventeen-year-old Julian stood in the doorway. He was wearing his faded uniform, the collar slightly askew. His hair was damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead. That face was incredibly deceptive, especially paired with that cautious, terrified-of-being-abandoned expression. In my past life, it was this exact face, crying so heartbrokenly after his grandmother passed away, that broke me. I thought he was the most pitiful person in the world, and that no one but me could save him. I ran home like a maniac, begging my parents to take in this “homeless” soul. The result was entirely predictable. My parents were already against high school romance, and given Julian’s terrible reputation at school, they refused outright. “You’ve lost your mind! What’s so great about a guy like that? He’s dirt poor, and he’s got no character!” my father roared, his face red with anger. My mother stood beside him, bent double crying, gripping my sleeve tightly: “Sweetie, don’t be stupid! This is about your entire future!” At the time, my head was full of the image of Julian standing alone at his grandmother’s funeral. I thought my parents were cold-blooded, materialistic, and full of adult prejudice. Like a self-righteous crusader, I yanked my arm away and screamed at them: “You’re just snobs! I despise you!” Then, in the dead of night, I stole my parents’ savings and stormed out, never looking back. I thought I was so cool. Fighting the whole world for love—it was a plot straight out of a romance novel. The night we eloped, Julian and I huddled in a train station waiting room. He held my hand and swore, “I promise I’ll treat you ten, a hundred times better in the future. I’ll make sure you never regret choosing me today.” I believed him. I really believed him. Even later, when we were living in a basement apartment and eating instant noodles, I thought it was just a necessary trial for true love. How was I supposed to know that what I gave up wasn’t just my education, but my bright, promising future? I hadn’t just abandoned my parents; I had abandoned the only people in the world who truly loved me. Life after eloping was a slow, agonizing execution. Julian’s so-called “startup” started out as just flipping electronic scrap. He didn’t have enough capital. So, he set his sights on the savings I had stolen from my parents. It was the last of our living expenses. “Just this once. If we make money, we can move into a big house. You won’t have to suffer with me anymore.” I refused. He dropped to his knees and begged me. Kneeling on the cold concrete, he slapped himself hard, over and over, calling himself useless, saying he had dragged me down. My heart softened. I gave him the money, and we couldn’t even afford food. To make ends meet, I was forced to wash dishes. My hands peeled from the harsh detergent. But that meager salary was just a drop in the bucket. It couldn’t fill the massive hole in our lives. Finally, unable to pay rent, I went to work at a nightclub. The first time I put on that revealing promotional uniform, I hid in the bathroom and cried for a long time. Greasy hands groped me, and the harsh liquor burning my throat felt like swallowing razor blades. Every time I came home, vomiting until I was dizzy, Julian would hold me with red-rimmed eyes. “Just wait a little longer. When I’m rich, I’ll give you my life.” How touching. In those moments, I felt all my suffering was worth it. Even when someone secretly took photos of me selling liquor at the club, I didn’t care. I only thought that selling one more bottle meant a little more startup capital for Julian. Later, Julian actually succeeded. His company went public; he was worth hundreds of millions. I thought our hard times were finally over. But what followed were his increasingly late nights and the lingering scent of foreign perfumes on his clothes. I found diamond stud earrings in his pockets. I saw texts from interns on his phone: “Mr. Vance, where are we going tonight?” I confronted him with the evidence. He didn’t even look up. “Do you have any idea how much pressure I’m under? Can you stop being unreasonable and suspicious all the time?” Unreasonable? I suffered with him for ten years, and my reward was being called unreasonable. On the day the company went public, a beautiful young woman stood beside him, holding his arm, smiling brightly. Julian listened to her. He decided that if he didn’t fire his “plain Jane” wife, he would look like he was “afraid of his wife,” which would undermine his authority with the shareholders. And so, that scene unfolded. The big screen lit up. It didn’t show the company’s brilliant achievements. It showed videos of me being forced to drink and being groped at the nightclub. The audience gasped. Julian stood under the spotlight, looking deeply pained. “I never imagined my wife had such a disgraceful past.” “For the sake of the company’s image, I have to make this decision…” He kicked me off the board, using the excuse that he wanted me to “return to the family.” With just a few words, he manipulated public opinion to nail me to the cross of public shame. I snapped completely out of my past memories. Looking at the slightly awkward teenager in the doorway, my stomach churned again. The visceral disgust overpowered the shock of rebirth. Julian moved his lips, as if trying to say something. This time, he didn’t drop to his knees and beg for the money like I remembered. He didn’t put on a tearful performance. He just stood there, his expression complicated. It was a strange look. Not the look of a poor kid desperate for cash, but more like he was scrutinizing me, even carrying a hint of… an unnameable hesitation. Could he also be…? The thought flashed through my mind for just a second. Whether he was or not, it had nothing to do with me anymore. I didn’t say a word. I simply walked around him toward the stairs. As we brushed past each other, I heard him call my name: “Elena…” His voice was very quiet, as if something was caught in his throat. I didn’t stop, and I didn’t look back. I walked out of that dilapidated apartment building, found a payphone, and with trembling hands, dialed the number I knew by heart. Half an hour later. A taxi slammed on its brakes by the curb. My father hadn’t even put his shoes on properly. My mother’s hair was a mess. They stumbled out, running toward me. Seeing them looking so worn out, my tears fell instantly. “You stupid girl! Do you have any idea how worried we were?” My father raised his hand as if to slap me, but when it landed, it was just a gentle pat on my back. My mother pulled me into a fierce hug, crying so hard her whole body shook. “You’re back. Thank God you’re back…” I hugged her back just as tightly. That warm embrace felt so real I wanted to bawl. This time, I would absolutely never let go.

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The night before our wedding, my fiancée—a rising Colonel in the Army—was in bed with my sister’s boyfriend. She had been my sister’s best friend, the woman my parents treated like a second daughter, the “perfect” bride we all believed in. The scandal didn’t just break our hearts; it shattered our lives. My sister, Claire, was so devastated that she crashed her car that same night. She never woke up. My parents’ hair turned white overnight. I spent months drowning in a grief so heavy I looked for any way out. For a long time, the only sound in our house was the muffled, rhythmic sobbing behind closed doors. Eventually, it was my father who made the call. We moved cities, seeking a ghost-free zip code where we could breathe again. I found a good woman. We had a beautiful daughter, Maya. Five years passed, and I honestly thought I had cut the cord connecting me to Morgan West forever. Then came my birthday. I walked into my office to find a box of almond shortbread—my absolute favorite—sitting on my desk. Next to it was a note. Nate, it’s been too long. … 1 My knuckles turned white as I gripped the edges of the pastry box. My supervisor, Sarah—who knew enough of my history to see the blood drain from my face—hesitated. “Is it her?” I didn’t answer. I just went back to my tactical reports, my pen trembling. Sarah sighed. “I heard Morgan West requested a transfer back from the Western Command. Are you going to keep doing this, Nate? You’re going to be colleagues again. Besides, she was your sister’s—” “Sarah,” I snapped, the tip of my pen tearing through the paper. “My sister didn’t have a ‘best friend’ like that. Not in this life.” Sarah looked at me, her gaze softening. “It’s been five years. Do you still hate her?” “Yes.” I didn’t hesitate. The word felt like a shard of ice in my throat. She stared at me for a moment, then shook her head and walked out. On my way out, I ran into the Base Commander, who had been Claire and Morgan’s instructor back at West Point. After a brief debrief, his expression turned complicated. “The orders came through today. Morgan is officially joining the Eastern Command.” “Understood, sir,” I said, my voice flat. He remained silent for a few seconds. “Your sister was a soldier with a huge heart, Nate. If she were here, she wouldn’t want things to be like this.” Like what? Since when did the victim have to offer forgiveness just to prove they had a “big heart”? I didn’t understand why everyone was suddenly a spokesperson for letting go. Does time erase the physical reality of what happened? I was the one with the moral high ground, yet I was the one being held hostage by “the bigger picture” and “service camaraderie.” My peers, my superiors… why were they all suddenly on her side? I didn’t want to understand. I refused to. The early winter wind bit at my face on the walk home. I took a deep breath, smoothing the tension from my forehead before I opened the door. My parents and my wife, Elena, were in the kitchen making dumplings. My three-year-old, Maya, was perched on a stool, poking holes into a lump of dough with her tiny fingers. “Daddy!” Maya dropped the dough and lunged for me. I scooped her up, kissing her flour-dusted cheek. She held up her mangled creation. “I’m making these for Auntie Claire!” A lump formed in my throat. “You’re doing a great job, sweetie.” When dinner was served, I filled a bowl and placed it at the empty seat at the table. A neatly folded, older-style dress uniform sat there, undisturbed for five years. It was a ritual—as if Claire was just away on a long deployment and would walk through the door any minute. Maya tugged at my sleeve. “Daddy, why does Auntie Claire always stay in the picture frame?” “Why doesn’t she come out to eat with us?” “When is she going to play with me?” I looked at the photo on the wall. Claire was frozen at twenty-four, her shoulders straight, her smile radiant, her rank pins gleaming. The room went silent. My parents froze for a second before continuing to pleat the dumplings. Elena reached out and squeezed my hand under the table. I looked into my daughter’s clear, innocent eyes and stroked her hair. I didn’t have an answer. If Claire were here, she’d be a devoted daughter, a protective sister, and the best aunt in the world. But “if” is a cruel word. For five years, I thought I’d buried those memories deep enough that they couldn’t hurt me. I was wrong. All it took was a box of cookies to rip the scabs right off. 2 The next morning, I stepped onto the training grounds and walked straight into Morgan West. Five years hadn’t just changed her; they’d sharpened her. She’d lost the soft edges of her youth, replaced by the cold, lethal precision of a Tier 1 operator. She carried an aura of command that made the air feel heavy. Soldiers saluted as they passed. I was so stunned I forgot to return them. My eyes were locked on her face, and my chest felt like it was being crushed by an invisible hand. I couldn’t help but think: If only she had been the one buried in the national cemetery five years ago. If only it were my sister standing here today. “How have you been, Nate?” Morgan spoke first. Her voice was steady, unreadable. I turned to walk away, but she grabbed my wrist. Her grip was iron, her brow furrowed with a flicker of impatience she couldn’t quite hide. “Nate, look. I know what happened back then was wrong. But I’m not some ungrateful monster.” “My family did everything for you, and I’ve remembered that every day I was gone,” she continued. “Can’t we just let the past stay in the past?” I spun around, staring into her eyes. The heat of my rage was so intense it made my vision blur. “How dare you, Morgan? What gives you the right to decide when it’s ‘over’?” Her frown deepened. “Nate, I know you’re angry, but it’s been five years…” “Time doesn’t change what you did!” I shouted. Her expression shifted, a shadow of something—guilt, maybe, or just annoyance—crossing her face. She went quiet for a few beats. “What happened between me and Blake… I’m sorry. To you, and to Claire.” She looked at me with an agonizing sincerity. “I requested this transfer so I could apologize to your face.” That was the spark. The five years of repressed fury exploded. I shoved her hand off me so hard she stumbled back a half-step. “Don’t you dare say her name!” I roared, my voice echoing off the concrete. I didn’t wait for a response. I turned and stormed into the office. The door flew open a moment later. It was Riley, my best friend and Claire’s former teammate in the recon unit. She had just returned from a border rotation. She grabbed my arm, her eyes searching mine. “I heard she was back. I cut my leave short to get here.” She saw my bloodshot eyes. “You saw her?” I nodded. Riley started rolling up her sleeves, her face darkening. “That bitch actually showed her face? I’m going to go out there and break her arm.” I pulled her back, shaking my head. Riley stopped, looking at my pale face, her own eyes tearing up. “If it weren’t for your parents and Claire, she wouldn’t have even finished the Academy. They paid for her mother’s funeral. They treated her like blood.” “And she repays them by sleeping with Claire’s fiancé? She’s a goddamn parasite. She should have been court-martialed.” The pain in my chest was a dull, throbbing ache. Riley was right. People like Morgan West deserved a reckoning. Back then, Morgan was Claire’s world. They were inseparable at West Point. Morgan came from nothing—her father was killed in the line of duty, and her mother was chronically ill. When her mother passed away during their sophomore year, Morgan couldn’t even afford the burial. Claire went home and begged my parents for the money. My parents, being the people they are, didn’t just pay for the funeral; they became her benefactors. Later, Morgan worked herself to the bone to pay them back, every cent. She even spent two years tutoring me in military theory. We thought we had brought a grateful, loyal person into our inner circle. We never imagined that the person we called family would be the one to drive a knife into our hearts and push our entire world off a cliff. 3 The man who nearly became my brother-in-law—the man who became the wedge between me and Morgan—was Blake Montgomery. He was in the military band, a golden boy with a charming smile that my parents adored. Back then, Morgan and I were engaged. The invitations were already at the printers. But at every gathering, I started noticing the way Blake looked at her. It wasn’t right. It was a look of desperate, aching longing—a look he never gave my sister. I brought it up to Morgan a few times, gently. She’d always laugh it off. “Nate, stop being paranoid. He’s your future brother-in-law. Why would anything happen?” She’d even tease me: “If Claire heard you saying this, she’d think I was corrupting you.” Her innocence was so convincing that I buried my anxiety. But soon, the boundaries began to blur. They’d flirt and joke right in front of me. Once, Blake handed Morgan a half-empty water bottle he’d been drinking from. She didn’t hesitate. She took it and drank. My heart sank. That night, Morgan and I had a massive fight. “How could you do that? To me? To Claire?” Morgan was silent for a long time. Finally, she looked up and promised she’d keep her distance from Blake. For a while, she did. But I felt the temperature in our relationship drop to sub-zero. The fighting stopped, but the intimacy vanished. Three days before the wedding, I went to our new apartment with some decorations. I punched in the code and pushed the door open. The blood in my veins turned to ice. The bedroom door was wide open. On the custom red silk sheets we’d picked out together, two figures were tangled. Their uniforms were scattered across the floor like discarded skins. The decorations in my hand hit the floor with a deafening metallic clatter. The two on the bed jumped. Morgan bolted upright, her face draining of color when she saw me standing in the doorway. She didn’t apologize. She didn’t cry. She just snarled, “Get out!” I was shaking so hard I could barely stand. I turned and stumbled out into the hallway. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Blake: Sorry, man. Some people you just can’t keep. I collapsed in the stairwell, a grown man sobbing until I couldn’t breathe. How could they? To me? To Claire? Claire. She couldn’t stay in the dark. I fumbled for my phone to call her, but before I could dial, a notification popped up. Claire had been in an accident. My world didn’t just crack; it vanished. Claire was in a coma in the ICU for seven days. The military doctor stood beside me, his voice a low drone. “Her brain activity suggests she might be conscious, Nate. But the trauma is so severe her body can’t respond.” He adjusted his glasses. “Talk to her. If she has the will to live, there’s a chance.” I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. “The cause?” “The police report says excessive speed.” Excessive speed. The words looped in my head. Claire was the most disciplined driver I knew. She would never speed unless something had broken her. Three days later, the police returned her phone. It was cracked but functional. I hesitated, then typed in the passcode. It was Blake’s birthday. The last message was from Blake. It was sent the same day I found them. I pressed play on the voice memo, my hands shaking. The sounds that came out of the speaker—Morgan’s voice, Blake’s breath—were obscene. I ran to the trash can outside the ward and retched until I was dry-heaving. Tears mixed with stomach acid dripped onto the linoleum floor. The smell of bleach and antiseptic became a physical weight, pressing into my skull. So that was it. Claire had heard that recording. She was speeding back to confront them, to find me, to do something—and she crashed. They killed her. I wiped my face, deleted the recording, and cleared the trash. I told no one, not even my parents. They couldn’t take any more. I spent every day at her bedside, talking. I talked about our childhood, the Academy, everything. But I never mentioned Morgan or Blake. A week later, Claire’s finger twitched. Before I could even process the hope, Blake Montgomery walked in. Through the ICU glass, I saw him standing over her bed, whispering something. 4 When he saw me, Blake actually smiled. “Hey, Nate. I was just talking to Claire. We were talking about your wedding to Morgan.” “She needs to wake up soon,” he continued, his voice dripping with malice. “We all want to celebrate together.” The provocation was so blatant I felt a surge of pure, electric fury. I hadn’t made a scene yet, but that didn’t mean I’d forgotten his betrayal. It didn’t mean he got to stand by her deathbed and gloat. I didn’t even realize I was moving. I grabbed his arm and drove my knee into his gut. Blake wasn’t ready for it. He slammed into the wall with a dull thud. In that second, Morgan rushed in. “Nate, are you crazy?” she screamed, her voice echoing in the sterile hall. I tried to speak, but the words were stuck. Blake groaned, clutching his stomach. “Morgan, it hurts… God, it hurts.” Morgan glared at me, then leaned down to whisper to him. “It’s okay, honey. We’re going to get a doctor.” She helped him up and hurried him down the hall, their footsteps fading away. I was left standing there, alone. A few days later, after sending my exhausted parents home, I returned to the hospital. As I approached the ICU, I saw a scene through the glass that froze my soul. Morgan was in Blake’s arms. They were kissing—deeply, passionately—right in front of Claire’s bed. I was paralyzed. Then I heard Blake’s voice through the door. “When Claire wakes up, she’ll be happy for us. She’s always wanted us to be happy.” Morgan smiled. “As soon as she’s better, we’ll tell her.” As the words left her mouth, the heart monitor flatlined into a long, shrill, terrifying scream. Claire’s fingers curled once, sharply. The jagged peaks of the EKG vanished into a single, horizontal line. “Doctor! Doctor!” I screamed like a madman. The hallway exploded into chaos. Nurses and doctors swarmed the room, their white coats like the wings of panicked birds. The room was a blur of crashing equipment and tangled wires. The defibrillator hummed. “Clear! Two hundred joules! Everyone back!” “Again! Three hundred!” I charged into the room, shoving Morgan and Blake aside with a strength I didn’t know I had. “Get out!” I roared, my eyes wild. “Get the hell out of here!” Morgan’s face turned ashen. She saw the sheer madness in my eyes and backed away, dragging Blake with her. The door slammed shut. I collapsed in the corner, sobbing silently. The alarm kept ringing—a rhythmic stabbing in my heart. “Claire, please,” I whispered. “Don’t go. Please.” I knelt on the floor and prayed to a God I hadn’t spoken to in years. I begged Him not to take her. But He wasn’t listening. I watched as my big sister, the woman who had protected me since I was a boy, was wheeled into the crematorium. A short time later, all that was left of her was a handful of ash in a ceramic jar. … Being in the same Command as Morgan was proving to be impossible. I rubbed my eyes, preparing to put in for leave. The elevator dinked. Morgan ran out, nearly sprinting toward me. She grabbed my shoulders, her voice trembling. “Why is everyone saying… why are they saying your sister is gone?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391275”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

A prominent billionaire family in New York was hiring a high-paid “Sleep Consultant” with one single condition: You can coax the young master to sleep, but you absolutely cannot sleep with the young master. I got the job solely because I lacked ambition and loved money. After officially starting, the young master intentionally made things difficult for me. First, he got me drunk. Then, with his bathrobe half-undone, he tried to force me to violate my professional ethics and took pictures as blackmail. In a fit of rage, I used his bathrobe belt to tie his hands and feet, bullying him right back. “If I’m going down, I’m taking you with me!” If I was going to lose my job, he wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep tonight either. 1 Looking at the massive line of gorgeous women ahead of me, I was dumbfounded. The “easy $10,000-a-month gig” my friend told me about had a waiting room that looked like a Miss America pageant. Everyone was dressed to the nines, in all shapes and sizes. Aside from me, every single person was busy touching up their makeup. The Vance family, one of New York’s absolute top-tier billionaire families, was currently mass-recruiting Sleep Consultants. They were incredibly generous, hiring seven candidates at a time, each given a one-night trial. Even if you didn’t pass the trial, you still got paid for a full week’s work. The only catch: you had to pass the initial interview. I graduated with a degree in psychology, although I hadn’t worked a single job related to psychology since leaving school. But $10,000 could solve a lot of my problems. My younger sister could focus on her SAT prep instead of working three part-time jobs over the summer. My grandmother’s nursing care fees would be covered, meaning we wouldn’t have to rely on my aunt’s charity and endure her constant sneers. Even if I failed the trial period, I’d still walk away with a couple of thousand dollars. But looking at this fierce, competitive “spectacle” in front of me… “Hey girls, are you all here applying for the Sleep Consultant position too?” I asked a few of the beautiful women chatting nearby, just to make sure I wasn’t in the wrong place. They looked me up and down, their eyes filled with disdain upon seeing my completely out-of-place, casual outfit. “Obviously.” “Heh, ‘Sleep Consultant.’ Who knows what that actually means,” one scoffed. “I heard from people in their circle that the young master, Arthur Vance, used to throw wild parties all the time when he studied abroad.” “Yeah, I heard Arthur Vance plays rough. He won’t get sleepy until he tortures someone to the point of passing out…” “No wonder they need one girl per night. Who could handle that?” “If you actually think they’re paying $10,000 just to have someone read bedtime stories, you’re kidding yourself.” I shuddered. So it really isn’t a decent, legitimate job. Sigh. Looks like I made this trip for nothing. I decided I was going to eat every single gourmet pastry provided in the waiting area to make up for the Uber fare I spent getting to this Upper East Side mansion. Just as I was full and preparing to sneak out, someone called my name loudly. “Next, Chloe Davis.” 2 When I pushed the door open, I let out a soft burp. The beautiful assistant leading the way shot me a glare, then bowed slightly to the person inside: “Madam, the candidate you requested is here.” The grand hall was opulent, with massive Impressionist oil paintings hanging on the walls. Sitting in the center of a plush sofa was a highly elegant, graceful woman. Her snow-white skin, maintained with mountains of money, made it impossible to guess her real age. She flipped through my written assessment, looking increasingly satisfied. “Are these your honest thoughts?” she looked up, scrutinizing me. At the time I filled it out, I just wanted to leave, so I answered randomly and had completely forgotten what I wrote. I just nodded. “You’re hired.” Me: ? “People who love money are easy to communicate with. You’re exactly who I’m looking for.” Mrs. Vance made the decision on the spot. I became the only person hired that day. Simply because my love for money was brutally honest, and I was the least ambitious-looking person in the entire building. 3 The head butler told me I was starting tonight. “The young master hasn’t slept a wink in three days.” “Why can’t your young master sleep?” I asked cautiously. The butler suddenly stopped walking. “You don’t need to know that, and please do not ask the young master.” As he showed me the layout of the mansion, he went over the rules, ending with a stern warning. “Miss Davis, please strictly adhere to professional ethics. Know what you are allowed to do, and what you absolutely cannot do.” “You may coax the young master to sleep, but you may not sleep with the young master.” “The young master has already chased away several young women with ulterior motives.” “If you are thrown out, do not expect the Vance family to show any mercy.” “I wish you success.” … Arthur Vance’s bedroom was at the very end of the third floor. Not even moonlight reached it. It was incredibly gloomy. Rumors said that Arthur Vance, the meticulously groomed heir to the Vance empire, had been ruined by his stepmother. Years ago, in a horrific car accident, Arthur’s biological mother and their driver were killed instantly. Arthur, who was in the same car, barely survived and spent over six months bedridden recovering. But in those short six months, his father had already remarried, and the new stepmother had even moved into his deceased mother’s bedroom. The son who survived completely changed. The once gentle, brilliant golden boy became dark, isolated, and highly volatile. He also developed a bizarre condition where he was entirely unable to fall asleep after dark. The previous Sleep Consultants hired for him either had impure intentions or terrible skills. In short, every single one failed. After getting the job offer, I immediately pulled out my phone and crammed on all the Vance family gossip. Who knew how much of it was true and how much was fake? Whatever. I’m here now, might as well make the best of it. I took a deep breath and knocked on the massive wooden door. $10,000, here I come. 4 “Enter.” The voice was freezing and depressed. “Good evening, Mr. Vance.” A massive wall of floor-to-ceiling windows had only a sliver of the curtains open, revealing the unbeatable New York City skyline. The room only had a few dim sleep lights on, flickering faintly. A subtle, dark fragrance floated in the air. The room was huge. The bottomless darkness felt like it could swallow a person whole. A tall, lean young man stood by the window, holding a glass of ice water, looking distant and unapproachable. He had probably just showered; the water from the ends of his hair dampened his collar. A silk bathrobe traced his perfect physique. The dark, ornate patterns made the skin on the back of his neck, his wrists, and his ankles look even paler and colder. Those broad shoulders, that narrow waist, that perfect V-taper… If you don’t show some restraint and dress like this, practically begging for it… No wonder the girls before me got the wrong idea. I coughed lightly twice to make my presence known. “You’re the only one today?” The young man turned around and glanced at me. His face, with striking, sharp features, was exposed in the moonlight. His eye sockets were deep, his eye color incredibly cold. Wait, buddy, do you normally do group sleep-coaxing sessions? “Mr. Vance, would you like to rest now?” It was my first time doing this, and I honestly had no idea how to start. Arthur Vance reached out, yanked the curtains shut, blocking out the last ray of moonlight, and walked toward the massive bed. I looked around. I didn’t see a single chair I could pull up to the bed. Am I supposed to sit on the young master’s bed to coax him? That doesn’t seem appropriate. Stand next to the bed? Like I’m giving a corporate presentation? He’d never fall asleep like that. Thankfully, there was a plush, long-pile rug surrounding the bed. I plopped down onto it. I pulled the book I had prepared out of my bag: Peppa Pig. Arthur leaned against the headboard, his eyes lowered. Seeing what I was doing, veins visibly popped on his forehead. Hold on, don’t get mad, let me explain. “Hehe, my nephew listens to this every day and falls asleep in five minutes.” He let out a cold laugh. “How old is your nephew?” I stammered, “Three…” I started reading Peppa Pig. I read, and I read, and then I zoned out… Shit! It was morning. I wiped the drool off my face. The bed was completely empty, leaving only the imprint of me slumped against the side of it. On my very first day on the job, I fell asleep before my boss did. RIP my career. 5 I thought I was definitely getting fired. I was thrilled. Working one day and getting paid for a whole week? I was ecstatic. But the butler told me the young master was quite satisfied with me and wanted me to keep up the good work tonight. Satisfied? With Peppa Pig?! Taking this money was starting to make my conscience feel a little guilty. On the second night, I changed my approach. I asked the butler for some lotus seeds, longan, and lily bulbs, and made a bowl of soothing sweet soup. Arthur took a reluctant sip and offered his critique: “Too sweet.” I only made one bowl. Thinking he didn’t want to drink it, I grabbed it back and tasted it. “It’s fine! I only put half a piece of rock sugar in it.” He stared at his empty hand, then glared at the bowl in my hand, looking a bit angry. And because he was angry, he refused to sleep. Sigh. On the third night, I warmed up some milk for him, lit some aromatherapy incense, and started telling him gossip about my old boss. Yes, “Sleep Consultant” was just a side gig. During the day, I was a regular corporate drone working a 9-to-5. Arthur didn’t drink his usual ice water. He held the warm milk I gave him, tilted his head, and listened quietly. His eyelashes were very long. When he focused on someone, he looked incredibly affectionate. If the gossip I was spilling wasn’t so utterly unhinged, you’d think he was listening to a symphony. “You said he gets handsy with you guys?” Arthur suddenly interrupted. “Just smacking our butts or patting our shoulders as he walks by.” It was disgusting, but the girls were too angry and scared to speak up. His brow furrowed slightly, a trace of emotion rolling through his eyes. That night, I got really hyped up telling the stories, and he was completely engrossed listening. Sleep? What sleep? On the fourth night, I found a very long, incredibly boring, sleep-inducing movie. I dragged him to the mansion’s home theater to watch it. I preemptively chugged three cups of black coffee (which tasted like herbal medicine) to ensure I wouldn’t doze off before my client did. But when I woke up, the sky had fallen. Not only did I fall asleep. I fell asleep leaning against Arthur. Not only did I lean against him. I also drooled all over his shoulder. “…I’ll wash the shirt! I’m so sorry!” I was so terrified I practically bounced up, apologizing profusely. He slowly stood up, rubbing the shoulder I had been crushing all night. His long, elegant fingers started unbuttoning his shirt. I immediately turned my back— Daytime indecency is highly inappropriate! A soft dress shirt was thrown over my head, blocking my vision, and a large hand patted my head. “Dry clean only.” On the fifth night, I dragged the long-limbed Arthur into doing hot yoga. But my technique was flawed, and I almost bent him in half backwards. If it had been a different kind of “bending,” he probably would have chased me out and beaten me up. On the sixth night, I had him take a medicinal petal bath, then told him to lie face down on the bed. As the essential oils dripped onto his beautifully sculpted back muscles, I clearly felt Arthur shudder. I rubbed my palms together to warm them up and, copying a YouTube video, gave him a sleep-inducing massage. But for some reason, the muscles under my hands grew stiffer the more I massaged them. Wherever I pressed, it turned rock hard. The thin layer of muscle under my hands grew hotter and hotter, breaking out in a fine sweat. His face was buried in the pillow, and the tips of his ears were absurdly red. I whispered, “Mr. Vance, do you have a fever?” Then I was grabbed by the collar and thrown out of the room. Immediately after, the sound of running water came from the bathroom. Tsk, this young master. Not only is he hard to coax to sleep, but he’s a germaphobe too. I washed my hands spotlessly clean before I started the massage! On the seventh night, before the sun even set, Mrs. Vance called me in for questioning. She was a bit surprised I had managed to last six days, but she didn’t call me in to encourage me; she gave me an ultimatum. “Arthur still hasn’t been able to fall asleep after dark these past few days.” “I heard you almost broke his legs?” I forced an apologetic smile. “Not broken, not broken. Tonight will definitely be the night.” “If you don’t succeed tonight, don’t bother coming back next week.” Tonight, it was do or die! 6 So that night, I brought a bottle of dry red wine to see Arthur. He was wearing the same silk bathrobe from the first time we met. The color was slightly different; this one was dark red. The fabric clung to him, highlighting the peaks and valleys of his muscles. The belt was tied loosely, his chest faintly visible through the deep V-neck. Dressing like this, what is he trying to do? I looked away, poured two glasses of wine, and handed one over. “Mr. Vance, thank you for putting up with my nonsense these past few days.” We had tried every sleep remedy in the book, even though they all failed. He took the wine glass but didn’t let go, his palm wrapping over my freezing cold hand. “Do you want me to drink this?” He stared at the dry red wine coating the inside of the glass, looking thoughtful. Getting drunk makes you sleepy. I refuse to believe I can’t drink you under the table. I nodded. He suddenly tightened his grip, yanking my hand toward him. Holding my hand, he downed the entire glass in one gulp. As I was staring in shock, his eyes locked onto my lips, and he suddenly leaned down— My lips were pried open by a soft, hot tongue. My jaw was pinched and tilted upward. The rich, intoxicating aroma of wine exploded between our lips as the sweet liquid was fed into my mouth. I choked in shock and shoved him away. The scarlet liquid spilled all over both of us. I struggled to stand up, but Arthur’s eyes darkened. He pinched my jaw again and fed me the other half of the glass. His lips were glistening, and the emotional tidal wave in his eyes was terrifyingly hot. My brain buzzed. An inexplicable, burning heat ignited in my chest, traveling from the points where he touched me all the way through my limbs. Arthur Vance had a volatile personality, but his body was truly a masterpiece crafted by the gods. From the strands of his hair down to his ankles, he hit every single one of my aesthetic preferences perfectly. By the time I fully processed what was happening, Arthur was already pinned back into the pillows by me. I took back the initiative. I only had one bold idea in my head: Make him cry. Arthur lay on his back, the corners of his eyes flushed red, his expression dark and unreadable, his breathing rapid. His bathrobe was half-undone, the collar wide open, his pale chest stained with a red hue. I grabbed his neck, my hand sliding down that collarbone I had been admiring for days. “Mr. Vance, are you feeling sleepy?” He let out a low, deep laugh, his voice incredibly raspy. “What do you think?” Saying that, he grabbed my knees and pulled me forward, positioning me exactly where he thought I should sit securely. I smiled faintly, leaning down intending to kiss his bobbing Adam’s apple— Click. A faint sound sliced through the quiet night. I paused, finally realizing something was wrong. The next second, the world spun upside down. I was thrown off the bed by Arthur. He rolled me up in the blanket, gathered all the clothes I had shed during our struggle, and threw the whole bundle into the bathroom. “Don’t bother coming back tomorrow.” Through the frosted glass door, Arthur’s voice was cold and hard. “With these photos, that woman will never let you step foot in the Vance estate again.” Photos? A shiver ran down my spine. I suddenly understood Arthur’s inexplicably proactive and ambiguous behavior. What a brilliant honey trap. The warning from Mrs. Vance right before I was hired flashed through my mind: Whoever dares to climb into Arthur’s bed won’t be allowed to take a single penny with them. If these photos were exposed, wouldn’t all my hard work over the past seven days be completely wasted? My brain instantly sobered up. I pressed myself against the door, begging desperately: “Mr. Vance, I was wrong. You can file a complaint against me, but can you please open the door first?” No response from outside. I kept begging, “What I did just now was wrong. I shouldn’t have gotten handsy with my boss.” The silhouette outside the door shifted, seeming to hesitate. “I just want to apologize to you face-to-face.” The door opened. Arthur had his back to me, his voice angry. “Are you dressed?” I took a deep breath and walked step by step until I was right behind him. “Dress for what? Since you’re going to—” Then I violently kicked my leg up! I aimed directly at the leg I had almost broken a few days ago and stomped down with all my might. Caught completely off guard, he dropped to his knees on the floor. Taking advantage of the moment, I yanked the belt off his bathrobe and swiftly tied his hands and feet together. Finally, I bit down hard on that trembling Adam’s apple. “If I’m going down, I’m taking you with me!” If I lost my job… He wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep tonight either. 7 “Get off!” “You got it.” I obediently shifted my weight downward. “Hiss… don’t move!” The young man’s voice was terrifyingly hoarse, sounding like he was grinding his teeth into dust. He told me to get off, I literally went down, and now he doesn’t want that either. Tsk. So hard to please. Arthur’s hands were tied behind his back, his ankles bound together, and the other end of the belt was secured to the bedpost. He was arched over, his dark red bathrobe pulled down to his elbows, his forehead damp with sweat, enduring immense pain. I checked the spot I had kicked earlier; there was no redness or swelling. Why was he acting like he was in so much agony? “Get out…” He tells me to get out and I just leave? Then all my tough talk was for nothing! We haven’t settled the score yet! But honestly, foot pain… can it really hurt this much? Arthur’s eyes were squeezed shut, his breathing heavy. His eyelids were flushed, his lips slightly bleeding. The Adam’s apple I had bitten rolled slightly beneath his thin skin. Broken, muffled groans escaped his lips, like he was desperately trying to suppress something. Watching him made my face burn and my mouth go dry. Could this be an advanced version of a honey trap? I jumped off the bed. Using some life hacks I learned from TikTok, I efficiently dug out every single hidden spy camera and recording device in the room. I pulled out all the memory cards and tossed them next to Arthur’s face. “No evidence for you now.” Just as I was feeling smug, I heard the man chuckling into the bedding. “Are you an idiot? Have you never heard of cloud storage?” Right now, he was clearly the meat on the chopping block and I was the butcher, yet I still felt an overwhelming sense of defeat, like he had me completely figured out. I decided to go all in. I rummaged through the nightstand, found the silk sleep mask Arthur wore during the day, and slipped it over his eyes while he was distracted. The dark green mask hugged his sharp facial contours perfectly. A high bridge of the nose, a strong brow bone. A tight jawline radiating dangerous sex appeal, his Adam’s apple bobbing with every breath. “Chloe Davis!” The sudden darkness made him instantly tense up, his voice trembling. “Oh, so Mr. Vance actually knows my name.” I provocatively scratched him under the chin. After being called “Hey, you, that girl, come here” for days, I was already pissed off. My fingertips trailed down from his burning cheek. “Do you know how to write my name?” The muscles under my hand instantly tensed. I poured the rest of the dry red wine into a glass and dipped my fingertips into the scarlet liquid. Then, on his sweat-sheened abs, I started writing, pressing down hard with every stroke! 8 A few days ago, for the sake of my sleep-coaxing career, I specifically went and learned massage techniques. But after only a few presses, the young master threw me out and ran off to shower, acting like I had contaminated him. “Didn’t you say my hands were dirty?” I muttered as I wrote. “Now I’m going to use my dirty hands to write on your body, stroke by stroke!” I’ve always had a naturally cold constitution; my hands and feet are freezing year-round. Wherever I “wrote,” the skin beneath my “pen” turned bright red. By the end, the writing was illegible. The sweat and wine blended together, making his skin look as red as if he were having a severe allergic reaction. Arthur completely lost his ability to speak. The only sound was his wet, heavy panting. His fists were clenched tightly behind his back, his knuckles completely white. Some deeply repressed emotion was on the verge of losing control. Looking at the young master I had bullied so thoroughly, my brain felt like it was short-circuiting. While I was zoning out, the wine glass tilted, and the remaining liquid poured all over Arthur. The red wine trailed down his chest, over the V-line, and pooled down. Soaking into the dark red bathrobe. The sweet, intoxicating scent of alcohol exploded in the air. My heart raced. Staring at the wine spilled all over him, a terrifying thought flashed through my mind: I want to lean down and clean it up for him… No, no, no! Chloe! Lust is a knife dangling over your head! Arthur looked like he was in absolute agony. After screaming my name, he hadn’t said a single word. If it weren’t for his increasingly rapid breathing, I would have thought he passed out. He curled his body up like a tightly drawn bow, every muscle tense to the extreme. I gently tried to roll him over, but he desperately twisted away, seemingly trying to hide something. I glanced down, noticing the massive, poorly concealed tent pitching in his robe, then looked at the dry red wine in my hand… “Arthur Vance! There was something in the wine?!” I let out a delayed, high-pitched screech. Arthur smirked coldly. “You didn’t know?” How the hell was I supposed to know?! So that’s why he asked, “Do you want me to drink this?” He thought I spiked it! “If I knew, do you think I would have let you kiss… kiss me for that long?!” Thinking back to how he pinched my jaw, kissing me while feeding me the wine… he was trying to drag me down with him! What a sinister motive! Truly an evil capitalist with no good intentions! “I didn’t know there was something in the wine.” Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Makes sense. Seeing as you didn’t even know where to sit.” Hey! You don’t have to insult me too! “Then do you know who spiked it?” Arthur seemed to see through everything, but he just wouldn’t say. I brought the dry red wine. It was a $99 bottle I bought from the supermarket when it wasn’t on sale, which hurt my wallet. But those kinds of drugs are supposedly very expensive. A single pill probably costs more than my entire bottle of wine. The empty wine glass rolled onto the floor… The glasses were provided by the butler. The butler had no reason to harm his own young master. So the target had to be me. But why use a kamikaze tactic just to mess with a lowly temp worker like me? Weren’t they afraid the drug would be too strong and I’d actually sleep with their young master? “I thought you were smart.” Arthur scoffed. “I overestimated your ambition.” Now I was angry. Insulting my intelligence was one thing, but saying I had no ambition?! I am greedy for money and I love good-looking men. How does that mean I have no ambition?! Saying that, I yanked him closer to me, completely ignoring the red marks the belt left on him. “Since the misunderstanding is cleared up and I wasn’t trying to murder you… can we just keep tonight a secret? And my paycheck…” “No. You’re not getting it.” “You!” Fine! Playing nice doesn’t work, huh? Then I’ll play hardball! “If you don’t pay me, I’ll go ask Mrs. Vance. If Mrs. Vance doesn’t pay me, I’ll go to the tabloids and expose your entire family!” I threatened. “Heh. Make sure you contact a few different outlets.” How could his 98.6-degree lips utter such freezing words?! I was just debating my next move to torture him when I suddenly heard a knock on the door. “Arthur, it’s me.” The voice was languid and seductive. “I heard noises coming from your room. Are you okay?” It was Mrs. Vance. Arthur’s stepmother, Susan. 9 A minute ago I was boldly threatening to go to Mrs. Vance, but now that she was actually here, I chickened out. If she saw this room, this bed, her stepson, and the state he was in… I probably wouldn’t just lose my paycheck; I’d end up as the defendant in a lawsuit. Arthur’s face changed drastically. In three quick moves, he broke free from the remaining restraints on his hands and feet and ripped off the sleep mask. Then, he used the bedsheets to wrap me and all my belongings into a massive bundle and stuffed me directly into his massive wardrobe. “Don’t make a sound,” he ordered with a cold face, shutting the wardrobe doors. He also grabbed an incredibly ugly winter coat on his way out. I have been a law-abiding citizen for over twenty years. This was my first time hiding in a closet as a voyeur. It was stressful, thrilling, and terrifying. I held my breath and peeked out through the crack in the doors. I saw Arthur quickly pull his bathrobe shut, tie the belt tightly, throw on the ugly winter coat, and zip it all the way up to his chin. He was completely, hermetically sealed. “Why are you wearing so many layers? Are you not feeling well?” the woman asked in a sweet voice. “No. What do you want?” Arthur only opened the door a crack, standing rigidly behind it, with no intention of letting anyone in. “Arthur, I’m very worried about you.” The voice was melodic and filled with deep concern. First she hires someone to coax him to sleep, then she visits him in the middle of the night. For a stepmother to go to these lengths, it’s truly commendable. I was just getting moved by this display of billionaire family bonding when I was suddenly blinded by a flash of white skin. Susan forced her way into the room. Arthur instantly sprang back, like he had touched something filthy. I quickly clamped a hand over my mouth. The scene unfolding in front of me was absolutely shocking. The Mrs. Vance who was so elegant and poised during the day was now knocking on her stepson’s door in the middle of the night wearing a sheer, lace slip dress. Her cleavage was half-exposed, her curled hair was loose, and her cheeks were flushed. Her immaculately maintained skin glowed softly in the moonlight, and the way she looked at Arthur was so deeply affectionate and ambiguous, she looked like a lovestruck teenager. She reached out, wanting to adjust Arthur’s collar, but he immediately dodged, completely unreceptive to her advances. “I’m fine. You should go back. My dad will be home soon.” “Your dad? Who knows where he’s off messing around. Where’s the girl?” Susan ignored her stepson’s clear signal to leave and walked straight into the bedroom. She glanced at the messy bed. “Wearing a sleep mask at night?” I broke out in a cold sweat. She paced around the room, and just as she was about to walk up to the wardrobe— “You don’t need to look for her. I kicked her out.” Arthur’s tone was hostile as he blocked Susan’s path. “I thought you liked her?” Arthur sneered. “Whether I liked her or not, couldn’t you see it on your security cameras?” I shivered. That little punk played me again. So the cameras were installed by Mrs. Vance, and she knew every single move we made over the past few days. My paycheck… is definitely completely gone now. “I was only worried about your safety, that’s why I…” Mrs. Vance took a step closer, her eyes glued to her stepson, practically pulling strings of affection. “Were you worried she was going to climb into my bed, or were you worried I was going to voluntarily sleep with—” SLAP! The crisp sound of a slap echoed through the room. A clear, red handprint quickly formed on the side of Arthur’s face. But the very next second, Susan acted like she had a split personality, her voice full of heartbreak: “I’m sorry, Arthur, I just got anxious.” She tried to touch her stepson’s face, but he turned his head away to avoid her. “None of those girls are genuine, they’re all just after your money. Only I…” “Then thank you so much for your concern, Mother.” Arthur sneered. “Don’t call me Mother! I am not your mother!” Susan suddenly snapped, backing Arthur up against the edge of the bed. “You used to call me Ms. Susan…” Arthur scoffed. “Oh, so you still remember that you used to be my tutor.” Listening to this conversation, I felt like the oxygen in the wardrobe was running out. My brain couldn’t process the sheer volume of information being thrown at me. I was a little dizzy. No wonder Mrs. Vance was so hyper-sensitive to the candidates’ outfits during the interview and picked me, the most unremarkable one. No wonder she repeatedly emphasized that I could coax him, but absolutely could not sleep with him, and forbade me from having any inappropriate thoughts about Arthur. No wonder Arthur said that if Mrs. Vance found those photos, I would never be allowed back. Mrs. Vance is in love with her own stepson?! If that’s the case, then why did she make Arthur drink the spiked red wine? The butler gave me the spiked glass. It was obvious who gave him the order. Staring at the security cameras, knocking on the door at the perfect moment… She wanted to use me to drug Arthur, and then step in to take my place so she could sleep with him… I violently shuddered. Holy shit! Can someone please Men in Black flash my memory right now?! After accidentally stumbling upon the biggest, dirtiest secret of a billionaire family, am I even going to make it out of here alive?

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In my past life, I spent eighteen years as an orphan before finally being reunited with my biological parents. I never expected that my mother, Eleanor, who was pathologically obsessed with being the only woman in my father’s life, would hate me with a burning passion. For eighteen years, she had quietly “dealt with” any woman who got too close to my father. And naturally, she hated me too. The moment I arrived home and simply called out “Dad,” she slapped me across the face. “You little bitch! Think you can just walk in here, call him ‘Dad,’ and steal his attention?!” When my dad went to my high school for a senior parent-teacher conference, she waited until he got home and shredded my entire college application portfolio. “You still think you’re going to college?! I won’t let you use school as an excuse to steal my husband!” When college was no longer an option, my dad tried to send me abroad to study. The night before I was supposed to get my visa, she stabbed me to death in my own bed and sold my corpse to the dark web for snuff films. “Dead bitch! Thought you could take my husband away?!” I died with my eyes wide open, my face mutilated. The King of the Underworld took pity on my unjust death and granted me one wish. I made my wish quietly: “I want to be born into the absolute pinnacle of wealth and power. And I want to be born from a different belly—” 1 The King of the Underworld was truly a man of his word. With a loud buzzing in my head, I was stuffed into a warm, fleshy womb. I was just trying to guess what kind of woman the King had picked to be my mother, when I heard someone scream in pure terror: “I’m a man! How the hell am I pregnant?!” The scream pierced the night sky. The doctors in the examination room looked like they wanted to cut their own ears off. How were they supposed to know how Dominic Vance, the richest billionaire in Seattle, managed to get pregnant?! The attending physician finally stood up straight. Bearing immense pressure, he stuttered, “Mr. Vance… you are, indeed… carrying a child.” I, however, instantly realized what was happening and was ecstatic. Holy shit! The heavens have blessed me! I was actually reincarnated into Dominic Vance’s stomach! The King of the Underworld really came through! In my past life, my dad’s business deals were constantly being hijacked by Dominic’s father. I used to hear my dad screaming and cursing in his study all the time. Now that Dominic had taken over his family’s empire, he was even more ruthless and unforgiving, completely crushing my dad’s company without breaking a sweat. But a few years ago, a massive scandal broke out regarding Dominic. Despite having countless lovers, not a single one ever got pregnant. The reason? He suffered from azoospermia—he had a zero sperm count! Due to a severe injury in his youth, having a child was supposed to be literally impossible for him. So, for this pregnancy, Dominic would have to grit his teeth, hold his nose, and give birth to me no matter what. This was absolutely fantastic. Having died once, I was much more open-minded. I knew exactly what being born into a family like this meant. I was going to grow safely and healthily inside his belly, carrying the exact face that Eleanor hated so much. Didn’t you hate me competing for your husband’s attention? Didn’t you want me dead? Didn’t you want me to rot? In this life, I am going to rewrite my destiny with my own two hands… and then I will stand above her, looking down. I will tell Eleanor that her entire life was a joke. She was a nobody. What gave her the right to treat me like that? I came back to this life for one reason: revenge. I curled up quietly, determined to stay secure in the womb for the next ten months. Suddenly, a voice that sounded like a living nightmare echoed from outside: “I will have the hospital director fire you, believe it! You clearly haven’t asked around to see who I am! How dare you tell me ‘it’s against protocol’?!” It was Eleanor! A crisp slap rang out, followed by the sound of someone falling heavily to the floor. “I am going to find out today! Whoever dares to help that little bitch steal my husband, I will chop them to pieces!” My dad, Richard, trembled. His voice was tight: “Eleanor, let’s just go to a different hospital.” I felt my new dad, Dominic, carefully hold onto the bedrail, stand up, and stroll out of the room with a casual, arrogant swagger. “What’s all this noise about?” Richard went dead silent. Eleanor was about to unleash a string of curses, but Richard slapped a hand over her mouth. Dominic looked at them with sheer contempt. “Well, well, if it isn’t Richard. Haven’t seen you try to fight me in the boardroom lately. I guess you’ve been too busy helping your wife throw a tantrum in someone else’s hospital?” That single sentence turned my former parents’ faces the color of bruised plums. Dominic was the majority shareholder of this hospital. I cheered internally from inside his belly. That’s how you use your words! In my past life, this absolute menace Dominic should have been my dad! Dominic’s highly trained bodyguards swarmed forward, dragged Eleanor away, and tossed both her and Richard onto the sidewalk outside the inpatient building. Once Dominic walked back inside to finish his examination, I comfortably flipped over in his belly, stretching my limbs out so the doctor could check my fetal heartbeat. The doctor praised, “The ultrasound is so clear… what a good baby…” But catching Dominic’s dark, brooding, suppressed anger, the doctor immediately shut up. Completely baffled by the situation, Dominic had no choice but to take his magically appearing pregnancy home and become a pregnant man. Thanks to Dominic’s immense wealth and his private nutritionist, I ate incredibly well and grew very strong. 2 After getting pregnant with me, even though Dominic cursed constantly, he still meticulously got all his checkups, quit smoking and drinking, and started going to bed early. He sighed, “Good kid, you better behave before I give birth to you. Don’t cause me any trouble. Once you’re born, Daddy will spoil you.” I wanted to die laughing. Watching Dominic admit defeat was incredibly entertaining. By the second trimester, even though it was winter and he wore loose, thick hoodies to hide it, his belly grew noticeably bigger every single day. He was extremely busy with his empire. When he first took over his father’s business, plenty of people were waiting for him to fail, and countless uncles and board members wanted to usurp his position. He had survived kidnappings and car crashes, neutralizing every threat and retaliating tenfold. Ever since his infertility scandal leaked, the sharks were probably circling again. As his belly became impossible to hide, Dominic moved into a high-end, private recovery clinic. He told the public he was suffering from an illness that required total bed rest. Perhaps it was the lingering blood connection from my past life, or perhaps our karmic debt wasn’t settled, but I sensed that Eleanor was staying on the floor right below us. She was forty years old this year, officially a high-risk geriatric pregnancy. Remembering the torture she put me through, I let out a cold sneer. I intentionally rolled around in Dominic’s belly every day, making him feel restless, so he would secretly wander downstairs to get some air. Because I was a good baby and didn’t cause him morning sickness or pain, his pregnancy was actually pretty easy. Before we even reached Eleanor’s floor, I heard her vicious voice echoing from the stairwell: “I’ll teach you to steal my husband—” For eighteen years, no woman had been allowed to stay near my dad, Richard. Eleanor was the main reason for that. Now that she was finally pregnant again, her last hospital visit was purely to find out the baby’s gender. If they couldn’t produce an heir, the family bloodline would end. I heard the sound of her aggressively jumping rope, her feet slamming heavily against the floor. Thud, thud, thud. I snorted coldly. You reap what you sow. Dominic clearly heard it too and stopped in his tracks. Eleanor’s older sister sounded incredibly worried as she tried to stop her. “Enough, Eleanor, stop it! You’re going too far—” Eleanor looked resentful and deranged. “What if it’s that little bitch’s ghost?! What if she reincarnated into my belly?! That cheap whore!” She picked up an iron pipe and started hitting her own stomach hard, acting as if she couldn’t feel the pain. I literally didn’t know what to say. After a long while, Eleanor dropped the pipe, her face pale as she cursed, “Dead brat! If you dare try to steal my husband, I’ll throw you in an orphanage! And then I’ll hire a bunch of men to gang-rape you! Letting that little bitch live to be eighteen was my biggest mistake!” Inside Dominic’s belly, it felt like I was struck by lightning. W-What?! Her sister kept trying to reason with her. “What if it’s a boy? Why are you torturing him? You’re forty years old. Just live a quiet life with Richard. Isn’t all his money yours anyway?” Eleanor’s face was dark. “My intuition tells me it’s a girl! It’s a worthless bitch! It’s definitely that slut trying to steal my husband again!” Seeing that she couldn’t be reasoned with, her sister sighed and stopped talking. Dominic let out an amused, mocking smirk. I felt his disbelief, but I uncomfortably rolled over in his belly. Even though I never expected anything from that family, hearing such a venomous curse still chilled me to the bone. Sensing my unease, Dominic turned around and took me back upstairs to our suite. Dominic’s room was on the top floor. We rarely ran into Eleanor, except during checkups. 3 During this ultrasound, I stretched my arms and legs out just like always and turned my face directly toward the wand. As fate would have it, Eleanor was right next door. She was begging the doctor to tell her the baby’s gender again, and the doctor was strictly refusing. “Ma’am, you are a high-risk pregnancy. If you abort this baby, it will severely damage your body, and you will likely never conceive again.” Eleanor started screaming, “But I don’t want a girl! What did I do wrong?! Check it right now! If you don’t check the gender, I’m not leaving!” Her sister finally seemed to snap. She marched up and slapped Eleanor across the face. “Shut the fuck up! You’re about to hit menopause, but your husband can still produce kids! If you keep acting crazy and he divorces you, you’ll be the one crying!” That single slap managed to silence Eleanor. She covered her face and started crying. Dominic closed his eyes in irritation, and I quickly moved around to soothe him. His mood gradually stabilized. I was never going to experience the slaps, the neglect, and the destruction of my dreams from my past life ever again. Sometimes, after a long day of reviewing documents, Dominic would awkwardly rub his belly. “Kid, you really make things easy for your dad. No pain, no insomnia, no puking. I’m pretty lucky.” I gently pressed against his hand through his stomach, pretending to be sweet. He sighed, “If you’re a boy, great. If you’re a girl… Dad will find you a husband who takes your last name. And you’re still going to learn how to inherit the company!” Me: …You’re an interesting guy, Dad. After multiple checkups, I figured out Eleanor’s routine. When her husband—my ex-dad—was around, she radiated maternal warmth, constantly murmuring about how giving him a child was her life’s only wish. But the moment Richard left, she went completely psychotic. She refused to eat nutritious food. She took massive doses of hormonal drugs. She drank alcohol like it was water. She even tried to steal neurological medication from the hospital pharmacy. “You little slut, trying to torture me with another pregnancy, huh? I’m going to starve you! Let’s see how much you can grow!” After two months in the clinic, while other pregnant women were glowing, she had tortured herself until she was nothing but skin and bones. Yet her eyes were filled with the manic, vindictive thrill of revenge. She even booked extreme sports tours—bungee jumping, skiing, high diving—she did it all. In contrast, Dominic was perfectly calm. He didn’t cause trouble, and he maintained a strict sleep schedule. I was growing strong and cooperative. Every time the doctors saw us, they were practically beaming with satisfaction, even if they were too scared of Dominic to praise him out loud. Years of high-stress corporate grinding had taken a toll on Dominic’s body, but this forced bed rest actually helped him recover. At the very least, he wouldn’t get knocked out by a simple flu anymore. One day, during a checkup, Dominic went into the private VIP room as usual. Eleanor was in the room next door. I heard her say, “Hey sister, looking at your pointy belly, I can tell it’s a boy! When’s your due date? Oh, I’m just curious.” I was baffled. When did this woman become so insane? After asking a whole string of pregnant women, she seemed to pick a target. While chatting with the woman, she let her true intentions slip and was brutally cursed out by the other mother. After that incident, Eleanor started looking at every pregnant belly and asking for due dates. She even intentionally threw herself down a flight of stairs once. The doctors and nurses were so terrified they didn’t dare hide it; they called Richard immediately. Richard stormed into the clinic and slapped Eleanor across the face. “What the hell are you trying to do?!” But I felt absolutely nothing. In my past life, when I was living in terror under Eleanor’s abuse, he just stood by and watched coldly. Did he care about his child? Not at all. All he cared about was his wife embarrassing him at the hospital. He had stood by and watched my suffering in my past life. He was one of my murderers too. 4 Dominic’s due date was originally supposed to be slightly after Eleanor’s, but because Eleanor had tortured her body so much during the pregnancy, she went into labor early but couldn’t deliver. When I finally left the warm placenta and saw the world for the first time… In the dead of night, a woman bleeding from her lower half dragged her paralyzed legs like a ghost, crawling into the neonatal nursery. First, she checked the ID bracelets on all the babies’ wrists. I felt a chill run down my spine, but then I relaxed. I was a girl. I didn’t have the parts she wanted. Eleanor would never swap me. I had nothing to worry about. Eleanor set her sights on a baby boy sleeping in the bassinet next to mine. She quietly slipped his wristband off, intending to go back to her own bed and swap the tags. Throughout this, I tried my hardest to pretend I was asleep. Don’t mess with crazy. But to my absolute shock, right as she was about to succeed, Eleanor used the faint beam of her flashlight and noticed me. The color drained from her face. In an instant, pure venom and terror crawled across her features. She screamed, “I knew it! I knew a little bitch like you wouldn’t give up! It was you eighteen years ago! How could I ever forget your face?!” Looking at her twisted expression, genuine fear gripped my heart. She snatched a cleaning rag from the nurse’s station and slammed it over my face. She grabbed a cup of scalding hot water and poured it directly onto me, while her other hand violently pounded against my chest. “I’ll teach you to haunt me! I’ll teach you to show your face in front of me! You subhuman piece of trash, you don’t deserve to be reincarnated into my belly!” Hearing my muffled cries, Eleanor grabbed a pair of umbilical cord scissors from a nearby cart and stabbed them viciously toward my mouth twice. Still not satisfied, she clamped her hand tightly over my mouth and started slapping my face. The oxygen in my lungs was slowly being sucked away. I kicked my legs in sheer terror. My head was spinning, and my skin was covered in bleeding scratches from her pinching me. Eleanor looked at me with a hatred that seeped into her very bones. She dug her fingernails into the bleeding cuts on my body, gouging them ruthlessly. I convulsed in agonizing pain. Watching my helpless, agonizing struggle, Eleanor took a deep breath. It was as if she had just absorbed some dark nourishment, and a long-lost smile of peaceful, blissful relief spread across her face. “In this life… just go ahead and die…” Hearing her words, tears of pure terror rolled down my cheeks. No. In my heart, I screamed Dominic’s name with everything I had. Hurry up and get here! Damn it, if I die, your bloodline is actually going to end! 5 A sharp gust of wind blew open the heavy doors. Dominic stood in the doorway, his face darker than a thundercloud, staring at the scene in the room. He gritted out, word by excruciating word: “How… dare… you… touch… her!” I was being choked so hard I was on the verge of passing out, yet I somehow still had the energy to be sarcastic in my head. See? Men are just built better for having kids. His physical recovery is insane. Only then did the bodyguards behind my freshly postpartum dad catch up, panting heavily. They stared at the scene in the room, absolutely horrified. It was only then that Eleanor reacted as if she had touched a live wire, immediately releasing her grip on my neck. She looked at the arrogant, cold-faced man in the doorway, and then looked back at me in pure disbelief. “What… what exactly are you?!” No one answered her. The doctors finally came rushing in from behind. As soon as they entered the nursery, one of them gasped, “Isn’t that the pregnant woman from bed number eight?” “Why is the patient from bed eight in here??!” A nurse stepped forward to tell her to go back and rest, but the bodyguards immediately blocked her path. Dominic, wearing his untouchable, icy expression, finally spoke: “You’re Eleanor, right? You are suspected of aggravated assault and attempted murder of an infant. I’m afraid I’m going to have to invite you to have a chat at the police station.” My biological mother, who had controlled my entire existence in my past life, was now so terrified her face was completely bloodless. She screamed in disbelief, “How could this little bastard have anything to do with you?! I don’t believe it! You’re lying to me!” “Who are you calling a bastard? That is my daughter.” Laying in the warm bassinet, I looked straight at her with eyes filled with pure hatred. Surprise, Mom. I’m back. I brought my memories from my past life, and this time, I am a debt collector. I’m here to collect what you owe me. Eleanor shuddered violently. She suddenly lunged forward and grabbed my neck again. “I don’t care! Even if I die here today, I’m going to kill you!” “You reincarnated just to seduce my husband again, didn’t you?!” “You’re still alive in this life, so you’re still planning to do it, aren’t you?!” “I’ll strangle you, you little slut!” I started feeling oxygen deprivation again. Just as I suspected, Dominic’s bodyguards were hesitant to use force on a postpartum woman for fear of liability. “Mr. Vance, what about the little miss?!” Dominic’s brow furrowed deeply, his eyes locked onto me in Eleanor’s grip. Suddenly, a mocking smirk appeared on his face. “Eleanor, if I call your husband right now and show him what you look like at this exact moment… do you think he’ll be so disgusted he won’t be able to eat for three days?” “Have you not looked in a mirror to see the monstrous, pathetic state you’ve tortured yourself into?” Eleanor’s face drained of all color at his words. Seeing him actually pull out his phone to call her husband, she dropped to her knees in an instant. “Please! I’m begging you, please don’t call my husband! If he sees me like this, he’ll definitely go out and find another woman!” “Please, just let me go this one time…” The police finally arrived. Amidst the flashing red and blue lights of the cruisers, Eleanor was shoved into the back of a squad car. Safe in a man’s broad, warm chest, I fell into a deep sleep. I was just too exhausted and in too much pain. The physical limitations of a newborn body made it impossible for me to stay awake for long; it was an irresistible force dragging me into the abyss of unconsciousness. Dominic forced his eyes open just long enough to see me fall asleep. He handed my soft swaddle to a nearby bodyguard and muttered weakly, “Get my daughter the absolute best private neonatal care team…” My domineering, arrogant father, after delivering that weak command, finally rolled his eyes back and passed out.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391307”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When they performed the caesarean section, my husband was buying a gift for his ‘first love.’ When he hung up my desperate call, he said, “What new game are you playing? Get lost! Don’t even look for me if you die!” Seven days later, he was embroiled in the horrific case of a dismembered pregnant woman. To identify the victim and find the killer, he worked tirelessly, barely sleeping. But eventually, the clues began to point, step by step, to me. His most hated wife. 1 After the killer dismembered me, they audaciously dumped my remains into the police station’s sewer system. Officers, clad in thick hazmat suits, spent a full day and night sifting through the foul-smelling sewage before recovering all the pieces. It took several forensic pathologists three days and nights to painstakingly piece my body back together, just barely forming a recognizable human shape. But… my left ear was missing. The police suspected this was a deliberate act of revenge by a criminal. My husband, Detective Captain Asher Rodriguez, was the youngest captain on the homicide squad, with countless complex cases solved under his belt. When his team first saw my remains, several officers were overcome with nausea, retching uncontrollably. Asher’s brows were deeply furrowed, his face ashen, battling the intense disgust. The forensic team handed them the reports and began detailing my condition. “Based on the autopsy results, the victim is female, between 22 and 25 years old. Cause of death was exsanguination.” “The victim had restraint marks on her wrists and ankles, multiple contusions across her body, and her head was repeatedly struck with a blunt object, resulting in a shattered and severely deformed skull.” “Additionally, the victim was pregnant and endured inhumane torture before her death.” Officer Rodriguez slammed his hand on the table with a loud smack. “They’re worse than animals!” The other officers echoed his outrage. “Such a brutal method of killing, it’s most likely a revenge killing!” “What kind of hatred could drive someone to be so vicious to a pregnant woman!” “The killer is too arrogant! Dumping the body in the sewer beneath the police station is a clear provocation to law enforcement!” “…” My husband, Asher, stared intently at the report. “It’s them.” The officers’ faces instantly grew grim. They—a massive international crime syndicate, a huge shadow looming over the minds of every officer. Countless colleagues had fallen each year because of them. But thanks to a decade of relentless effort by law enforcement, this transnational crime group had been entirely dismantled three months prior. Therefore, this case was highly likely the work of a few remaining members, committed for revenge and as a deliberate challenge to the police. 2 Just then, an officer walked in, carrying a shoebox-sized container. “Captain Rodriguez, it’s another one from… your wife.” Hearing my name, my husband’s face contorted with annoyance. “From now on, anything she sends, don’t give it to me. Just throw it out.” Officer Rodriguez sighed, patting his shoulder. “Still can’t let it go after all this time? Your father’s death… it wasn’t Emma’s fault… she was a victim too…” As he spoke, he took the box, opened it for Asher, revealing a transparent jar inside. Upon seeing its contents, everyone gasped in horror. Asher’s hand loosened, and the jar clattered to the floor. It was… a miniature doll. Even after hitting the ground, its pose remained unchanged; it even bounced slightly. The forensic pathologist carefully placed the doll into an evidence bag. With just a glance, he concluded, “It’s fake.” “Another one of her tricks to get my attention. She’s completely insane!” My husband’s single sentence condemned me. But this wasn’t something I had sent. Perhaps the officers also felt that sending such a doll was too much, as they all fell silent. Officer Rodriguez sighed, “Emma doesn’t seem like the type to play such a joke. Could there be some misunderstanding? You haven’t been home in a while; why don’t you go check on her?” “Hmph! What’s there to misunderstand? Sending something like this is just her way of threatening me, trying to make me lose the baby!” My husband sneered. “That kind of woman, full of lies, will even invent a child to get off the hook!” “Even if she really was pregnant, there’s no way I’d let her keep it. A woman like her doesn’t deserve it!” “The sight of her disgusts me! I’d rather focus on the victim, find more clues, identify her, and solve this case quickly.” I floated in the air, transparent tears streaming down my face. So… in his heart, I wasn’t worthy of bearing his child. Who was, then? His ‘first love’ ex-girlfriend? Perhaps thinking of when I had told him I was pregnant, Asher disgustedly tossed the doll into a nearby trash can. Then he pulled out his phone, unblocked me, and spoke in a chillingly cold voice. “Threatening me with a child will only make me think you’re lower than dirt!” “Give up. Even if you die, I wouldn’t spare you a glance!” But… I am dead… And I wasn’t lying… That dismembered body, it’s me… 3 My husband and the detectives gathered around a whiteboard covered with photos of my body, alongside their analyses and theories. Key points were circled. “The victim’s DNA hasn’t matched anyone, indicating she has no criminal record.” “There are no missing pregnant women in recent reports who match the victim’s age and height.” An officer remarked, bewildered, “How could a pregnant woman go missing for so long without any family looking for her? Does she not have family?” Asher twirled his pen, circling the word “child” on the whiteboard. “If we can’t identify the victim, finding the missing child for a DNA comparison might lead us to the father, which could then identify the victim.” I crouched by the trash can, desperately trying to pick up that fake doll, but my translucent hand passed right through it, unable to touch it. The clue you’re looking for right now is inside this fake doll… But you’ve thrown it in the trash… Then, he wrote “Dismemberment Scene” and circled it prominently. There was very little blood in the sewer, clearly just a dumping ground. Killers typically dismember bodies in places they are familiar with or consider safe and private. Most even return to the crime scene. If the dismemberment site could be found, the case would have a major breakthrough. Next, he circled “left ear” and added a question mark beside it. “We searched the entire sewer system, but couldn’t find the victim’s left ear or any remaining body parts.” “This means the killer didn’t dump those parts here.” “But why dispose of them separately? This particular part likely has a distinguishing mark that could identify the victim.” Asher paused in his analysis, his brows slightly furrowed, staring at the words “left ear.” I unconsciously touched my own left ear. On my left earlobe, there was a burn scar. It was from the first time I cooked for Asher; scalding oil had splattered onto my ear, forming a blister and leaving a scar. Asher was very apologetic and applied ointment for me every day. So, he knew perfectly well about the mark on my left ear. “The killer tortured the victim for several days before cruelly murdering her. There must be a grudge with the victim, or her family.” “Revenge…” An officer suddenly looked at Asher. “Captain Rodriguez, could the killer be a criminal we arrested, holding a grudge against us, and that’s why they tortured the victim and dumped her in our sewer, to provoke us…” “No, that doesn’t quite fit. None of our officers’ family members are pregnant… and how could someone go missing without it being reported?” Asher’s eyebrow twitched, as if something had occurred to him. But then he shook his head, as if dismissing his own thought. Asher, in that moment, did you remember? I once told you I was pregnant. But you only thought I was jealous of your ‘first love,’ lying about pregnancy just to manipulate you… Alas, you missed that clue again… If you asked which police officer those criminals hated most, Asher Rodriguez would definitely be number one. If he hadn’t been so cold to me, if he’d just gone home, he would surely have found the clues I left for him. He paused, then immediately plunged back into work, dividing the officers into several teams, each with assigned tasks. One team would conduct interviews, checking for any missing pregnant women. Another team would search for the primary crime scene and any remaining body parts. A third team would visit hospitals, as a pregnant woman like the victim would most likely have prenatal records. In addition, an expert was specifically brought in to reconstruct my skull. The expert could, based on principles of human anatomy and the characteristics of my facial bones, age, and soft tissue data from my body, sculpt my skin and hair onto a plastic model. Once my skull was reconstructed, it could be matched with ID records through the public security system, directly confirming my identity. However, this skull reconstruction would take some time. Asher rubbed his temples, his face etched with fatigue. Buzz, buzz, buzz. He pulled out his phone. Seeing the caller ID, a gentle smile appeared on his face. “Elara, I’m so scared…” “Where are you now? Okay, don’t move. Lock your windows. If you’re scared, turn on all the lights and wait for me to get back!” He hung up, checked the time. It was almost 10 PM. “Everyone, head home and get some rest. We’ll discuss anything else tomorrow.” My heart instantly shattered. Asher was a workaholic; he often disappeared for days on a case, and I never dared to disturb him. But now, a single call from her was enough to make him drop everything and rush back to her… In your heart, I could never compare to her… 4 I floated along, following Asher to a house. It was a residence he owned before we married. It’s ironic, I only learned after I died that the house he said he had rented out was actually occupied by her. Elara Rodriguez, Asher’s ‘first love’ ex-girlfriend. She was the hostage he rescued from criminals three months ago. And in those three months he spent away from home, he must have been living with her here, right? My heart started to ache again at the thought. Elara suffered from post-traumatic stress. He was afraid the criminals would seek revenge and find this hostage rescued by the police. He was even more afraid his beloved Elara would be harmed. So, he, usually so calm and collected, sped home, pushed open the door, his voice trembling. “Elara?” Elara was curled up in the corner of the sofa. Hearing Asher’s voice, she darted into his arms like a startled rabbit, clinging to him tightly. Asher’s body stiffened slightly, then he wrapped his arms around her, gently stroking her soft hair, comforting her in a low, tender voice. “It’s alright, don’t be scared, I’m here…” Elara cried, tears streaming down her face, “Where were you? I was so scared without you…” Asher gently explained, “The dismemberment case, the autopsy results came out today. It’s been a bit hectic.” Elara’s eyes flickered, and she pulled away from his embrace. “Oh? Did you find any clues?” “Yes, the victim was a pregnant woman. It seems to be a revenge killing. Her identity hasn’t been confirmed yet; there are no leads.” “A pregnant woman… how truly pathetic…” She spoke with feigned sorrow, but her eyes glinted with hidden triumph. Her hypocritical demeanor made me want to vomit! She was clearly trying to glean details about the case! Asher, who had always been tight-lipped about cases when dealing with me, was completely unguarded with Elara. Was this the difference between love and not loving? Because he loved her, she was the ‘first love’ he once yearned for but couldn’t have, so in front of her, all his principles vanished. He seemed eager to share with Elara. “The killer brutally dismembered the victim, so we suspect it’s a remaining member from three months ago, deliberately provoking the police.” Elara gasped, seemingly terrified. “That’s… too horrifying… Did you find out who it was?” “Not yet,” Asher said, looking very worried. “It’s highly likely to be remnants of the crime syndicate. I’m afraid the killer knows you’re still alive and might target you.” “Don’t go out recently. If anything unusual happens, call me anytime.” Elara nodded obediently. She softly changed the subject. “Asher, you come here to be with me every day. Won’t she… be unhappy? After all, she’s your wife. Didn’t she say she was pregnant…” At the mention of me, Asher’s face instantly chilled. His expression softened again when he looked at Elara, as if afraid of frightening her. “Why bring her up? If it weren’t for her, my father wouldn’t have…” He frowned. “You should rest now, it’s getting late.” Elara said, “But I’m scared…” “Don’t be. I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep, then I’ll leave.” I floated in mid-air, watching my husband guard Elara’s bedside, gently coaxing her to sleep, with a tenderness I had never seen directed at me. They looked so perfect together. I had always been an outsider… But Asher, the person you’re now cherishing is a demon…

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Everyone in the circles I ran in knew the drill: I was a gold-digger, pure and simple. Marrying Burrell Vance was all about the money. He saw me as a placeholder, a stand-in for someone else. I saw him as a human ATM. Then, his beloved stepsister, the original “white moonlight” he’d been pining for, returned home. I, the one who was supposed to gracefully step aside, suddenly found myself a little… reluctant. I mean, a handsome, generous sugar daddy like Burrell wasn’t exactly easy to come by. Just as I was racking my brain, trying to figure out how to cling on for dear life, I stumbled upon Burrell prying a gem from my mother’s ring – her only memento – just to make Amelia happy. Burrell caught my stunned expression and, with an impatient sigh, pulled out his checkbook. “Name your price,” he said, “I’ll double it.” His cold, indifferent gaze snapped me back to reality. My heart, a fleeting moment ago, had fluttered with something soft and useless. Now, it hardened. Forget sentiment, Maya. Go for the gold, the real, tangible kind. I immediately looked up, a sweet, innocent smile plastered on my face. “Triple?” I asked, “Would triple work?” 1 Burrell froze. Then, as if he’d expected this all along, he scoffed and shook his head. His pen moved decisively across the checkbook, scribbling a longer number, before tearing off the slip with a sharp rip. He held it out to me. “Five million.” “That old ring of yours was barely worth fifty thousand. I’m giving you ten times that. Enough?” The check was covered in a dizzying array of zeroes, more than I’d ever seen outside of a bank statement. My eyes crinkled into crescent moons as I took it. “Enough! More than enough!” Seeing my delighted expression, Amelia, who was still clutching the freshly pried gem, felt a surge of indignation. This whole show had been orchestrated to torment me. She’d deliberately praised the stone in my dressing table ring, confident Burrell would remove it for her. She’d envisioned me walking in, collapsing like a hysterical shrew, giving her the perfect opportunity to play the fragile victim, making Burrell despise me even more, maybe even kick me out. But Amelia hadn’t anticipated I’d be so easily placated. She couldn’t help but raise her voice, accusing me. “Maya Brooks, are you really that materialistic?” “Cook said that ring was your mother’s only keepsake. You’re so heartless towards your own parents, how much sincerity could you possibly have for Burrell? As for this worthless rock… here! Take it back!” “I wouldn’t touch something from someone like you. It’s soiled!” The gem bounced off my foot, rolling a few times on the floor, picking up tiny scratches. Burrell glanced at Amelia’s aggressive outburst, a faint, almost imperceptible frown creasing his brow. Instead of getting angry, I simply bent down and picked it up, blowing off the dust. Then, I spoke calmly. “Miss Burrell, there’s something Cook might not have told you.” “My mother was a human trafficker. The first child she ever sold was me. Later, when she saw I’d made something of myself, she wanted to ‘reclaim’ me. So she eagerly spent a fortune on this ring, saying it was a gift to win me back.” “I refused. And then I reported her to the police. She was sentenced and died years ago.” I slipped the gem into my pocket, flashing Amelia a dazzling smile. “So, exchanging this trinket for five million? Absolute steal! But since you don’t like it, Miss Burrell, I guess I’m just getting a freebie, huh?” “Thank you, Miss Burrell!” Amelia gasped, a lump of frustration stuck in her throat. I, on the other hand, was thrilled to see her squirm. Adopting the air of the lady of the house, I continued to needle her. “Miss Burrell, you’ve just returned from a long journey. The maid has prepared the guest room. You should get some rest.” Then, I turned my gaze to Burrell, a suggestive glint in my eyes, my voice dripping with honey. “Well… darling, I’ll head back to my room then.” “I’ll be waiting for you in the master suite.” As I turned, I could almost hear Amelia grinding her teeth behind me. Sigh. I’m a professional gold-digger. Don’t challenge my livelihood with your little games. Back in the master suite, the mangled ring setting Burrell had damaged lay on the dresser. I casually pulled the gem from my pocket and set it beside it. With a soft sigh, I found a tube of superglue and tried to reattach it. My birth mother had sold me to a couple who couldn’t have children. Forty thousand, but because I was a girl, she haggled down to thirty thousand and sold me cheap. I was six, old enough to remember, old enough to work. Ironically, that couple had a son a few years later. My adoptive parents, in turn, sold me again. Twenty-three thousand six hundred, to an old drunk, who said he’d raise me to be his wife. Less than two years later, the drunk drowned after a binge. Finally, I was no longer being trafficked around like cheap goods. I struggled to grow up. My birth mother sold me for money, my adoptive parents sold me for money. So, don’t call me materialistic. Maybe I never knew what “love” felt like growing up. I’ve lived this long, never having time to fret over love. Money, though, was a constant worry. All that “love” nonsense? Two days of work, and you’ll be over it. Luckily, I loved money, and money loved me. My mind was wandering through these chaotic memories when Burrell’s voice suddenly broke through. “I’m sorry.” “I didn’t know… that was your mother’s keepsake.” I turned, shaking my head, a professional smile on my face. “It’s fine. You compensated me, didn’t you?” “Such a huge sum, I don’t even know how many rings I could buy with it.” Burrell glanced at me holding the glue, clearly not comforted. He simply thought I was putting on a brave face. He lowered his eyes, his expression complex for a moment. Seeing his silence, I paused, then picked up my phone. “Oh, right. There was something I needed to tell you…” Before I could finish, Amelia’s panicked shriek suddenly echoed from the guest room down the hallway. “Ah! Burrell, quickly—” Burrell’s face tightened instantly. Without a moment’s hesitation, he turned and dashed out. My hand, holding out the phone, froze mid-air. The screen glowed with an electronic prenatal check-up form: [Early Pregnancy, 6 weeks +]. I watched Burrell’s hasty retreat, the screen dimming, my smile fading with it. That night, Burrell didn’t return to the master suite. See? Money really is the most reliable thing. 2 Sleep wouldn’t come. I spent the entire night gluing the ring back together with that cheap tube of adhesive. It wasn’t until the morning sun slanted across my dressing table that I finally stopped. It had a rough outline again, but the cracks crisscrossed, like an ugly face streaked with tears. I picked it up, held it to the light. It really was time to throw it away. With a sigh, I dropped it into the wastebasket by the table. I stood up, ready to leave, but then turned back, gave a self-deprecating smile, and reached into the trash to retrieve the valuable gem. Never mind. I can argue with anyone, but not with money. A quick glance at the time told me Burrell was likely at the office. I decided to get ready and head out to cash the check. With Amelia back, I needed to be prepared for being shown the door at any moment. Passing the dining room on the first floor, my footsteps drew Amelia’s attention. She immediately set down her cutlery. “Morning, Maya,” she drawled, a mocking edge in her voice. “You look terrible. Didn’t sleep well without Burrell around?” She stretched out the last words, deliberately adjusting the collar of her silk robe, revealing a few fresh, tell-tale hickeys on her collarbone. Once she saw I’d definitely noticed, she continued, smugly. “I’m sorry. Whenever I used to fly long-haul, and my jet lag was terrible, Burrell always… stayed with me, helped me adjust. You… don’t mind, do you?” “After all, Burrell and I have a bond that goes back to childhood. You can’t compare.” I took a deep breath. A sharp, stinging pain pricked my heart. But it was okay. I’d always been good at enduring pain, ever since I was a child. I tilted my head, calmly reminding Amelia, “Oh.” “But Burrell and I are getting married at the end of the month. We’re officially tying the knot early next month.” That sentence instantly hit a nerve. Amelia shot up from her chair, yelling at me. “What are you so smug about?” “If his mother hadn’t opposed it so vehemently back then, we would have been together already! I wouldn’t have been forced to go abroad! Now that I’m back, do you honestly think you can stay by Burrell’s side?” Watching her frantic outburst, I merely raised an eyebrow, mechanically repeating, “Oh.” “But Burrell and I are getting married at the end of the month. We’re officially tying the knot early next month.” Amelia was trembling with rage, screaming hysterically. “Bitch! Still dreaming about a wedding? I’m telling you, you’ll never marry Burrell! I’ll make sure you’re out of the Vance mansion for good!” Amelia was on the verge of losing it, but I remained perfectly calm. I even meticulously smoothed my cuff, responding airily, “Oh.” “But Burrell and I are getting married at the end of the month. We’re officially tying the knot early next month.” “Enjoy your breakfast. I’m off to look at wedding dresses.” With that, I walked towards the front door without looking back. Behind me, Amelia shrieked and began a classic “table-clearing maneuver,” sweeping all the dishes off the dining table. The sound of shattering porcelain echoed through the house. See? Even enemies can’t stand the silent treatment. After leaving, I immediately cashed the check, watching the reassuring string of numbers appear in my bank account. A genuine, relaxed smile finally spread across my face. Then, I drove to a modest apartment complex on the west side of the city. Here, I owned a small apartment. It was mine, a home I could never be kicked out of. Money, it was truly wonderful. After resting for most of the day, I returned to the mansion, immediately sensing a strange atmosphere. The living room lights were on. Burrell, who should have been at the office, was sitting on the central sofa, cradling a sobbing Amelia, murmuring soft words of comfort. The sound of me opening the door startled them. Burrell’s gaze fell on me, his lips parting as if words were caught in his throat. It wasn’t until Amelia tugged his sleeve, her sobs growing louder, that Burrell finally seemed to make a decision. “Maya, our wedding… it’s off.” 3 I stood rooted to the spot, processing his words for a couple of seconds. There was no dramatic outburst from me, just a familiar ache that intensified in my chest, making my nose sting. A cold, chilling sensation washed over me, like that time when I was twelve, and the old drunk, fueled by liquor, had beaten me half to death before holding my head under the icy well water. It’s okay. Maya, you’ve always been good at enduring pain. I sniffed twice, then nodded. “Alright.” Amelia, seeing my calm reaction, lifted her head from Burrell’s embrace, her tear-reddened eyes sparkling with triumph. I knew exactly what she was flaunting. A few tears, and Burrell canceled our wedding. Her status as his “white moonlight” truly carried weight. I wasn’t stupid enough to try and compete. She was the moon in the sky; I was the mud on the ground. I looked at Burrell, thinking that perhaps, reaching this point was already quite good. To love him any further would be disrespectful. Then, without another word, I turned and headed up the stairs. “Wait!” My footsteps faltered, but I didn’t turn back. “Vance Jewels just received a new shipment of gold. I’ll have my assistant send two gold bars to you later.” Instant elation. My earlier internal monologue felt incredibly melodramatic now. Love? Who needed it? Just give me the money. I immediately spun around, flashing Burrell my most familiar, sweet smile. “Thank you, Burrell!” “I’ll go to my room then. You should get some rest too.” Sure enough, my footsteps hadn’t even faded before Amelia, predictably, started to complain about my “gold bar compensation.” She buried her face back in Burrell’s chest, her mournful sobs resuming. Burrell, clearly exasperated by her reaction, leaned down to soothe her. I vaguely heard muffled syllables – something like “don’t cry,” “not worth it,” “just wait.” Then, without looking up, he said to me, “You don’t need to wait for me tonight.” “Amelia’s not doing well. I need to stay with her.” I simply acknowledged him, my steps unwavering as I disappeared around the corner. No time for sadness. My mind was consumed with those two gold bars. How long would they be? How heavy? How many ounces? How much money could I get for them? After showering, I immediately grabbed my phone, eager to search for the real-time gold price per ounce. But just as I tapped the screen, a series of messages from an unknown number popped up. It was Amelia. [Maya Brooks, have you no shame? Burrell canceled the wedding, and you still have the nerve to linger here instead of leaving?] [Bitch! A complete and utter bitch! You should just take those two gold bars and scram. Everything in the Vance family belongs to me in the future. You pathetic whore, you’re stealing my money!] [I won’t tolerate you anymore. You just wait, I’ll make sure you’re out of the Vance household for good!] I read them expressionlessly, then scrolled up. The first time I didn’t leave, I got five million. The second time I didn’t leave, I got two gold bars. Shameless or not, what’s a little dignity worth, anyway? But then, a sharp shriek and hurried footsteps echoed through the house. The maid screamed in terror. “Oh no, something terrible has happened!” “Miss Burrell… she… she cut her wrists!”

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I broke up with my boyfriend during the year he was at his absolute rock bottom. A year later, he hit the big time. He became the nation’s biggest star and married a girl far prettier and more vibrant than I could ever be. On a popular talk show, the host asked him if he had any regrets now that he had swept every major award at such a young age. He tightened his arm around his new wife, Chloe’s, waist and looked directly into the camera: “I just want to know… after dumping me, how is she doing now?” The host paused, a look of hesitation crossing her face. “She’s doing… not well at all.” A smirk finally spread across Silas’s face. “Good. Then I can rest easy.” “But,” the host continued, “Ms. Quinn left behind a box of videotapes before she died.” The smile on Silas’s face froze. Inside those tapes were the records of every single day and night I spent from the moment I left him until my final breath. 1 “Before she died?” Silas’s hand, resting on Chloe’s waist, twitched. Then, he forced a dismissive laugh. “Is this for the ratings? A bit dark for a talk show, don’t you think?” The host didn’t smile. She simply shook her head. The massive screen behind them flickered to life. My face appeared, filling the studio. “Hey everyone! I’m Quinn. And today… I’m officially single! “Huh? You’re asking if it hurts to kick a handsome, talented, pure-hearted boy to the curb?” In the frame, a girl with a completely shaved head was busy picking out a wig from a stand. She looked at the lens and laughed. “It doesn’t hurt. What would hurt is letting him see me looking like this. Haha! “Hey! Why is the camera shaking? You’re ruining the shot!” I reached out to steady the trembling hand of my best friend, Daisy. Daisy’s voice came from behind the camera, thick with sobs. “I don’t want to film this… Quinn, I can’t. I’m going to cry myself to death. Let’s stop.” “No way. You promised me, remember? You’re going to document every single day I have left.” “Can’t I take it back?” Daisy whimpered. “Nope!” I pouted at the camera. “This is my grand finale. I can’t trust anyone else with the cinematography.” Seeing her still crying, I grabbed the corner of her shirt and gave it a little tug. “Come on, Daisy. You’re the only person I have left in this world.” The sobbing grew louder. “Fine, fine… I’ll film it. Just stop talking like that…” 2 [Goodbye World: April 17, 2023, 9:34 AM — Take Everything You Want] After years away, I finally returned to my family’s old house in the countryside. Daisy held the phone behind me as I led my old golden retriever, Goldie, down a narrow dirt path through the fields. A soft laugh came from behind the lens. “No wonder Silas just updated his status with a breakup song. It’s because you took Goldie with you!” I turned around. “What song? I blocked him the second I left.” “It’s a classic. Take Everything You Want.” Daisy and I locked eyes for a moment and burst into a fit of bittersweet laughter. “Take everything you want, I’ll handle what’s left. Just leave our dog, Whether he’s useful or not…” Daisy laughed until tears came out. “He wanted nothing but the dog, and you took nothing but the dog! Hahaha!” Our laughter echoed under the vast sky. Slowly, it dissolved into weeping. 3 [Goodbye World: April 17, 2023, 10:08 AM — Does a Dog Know When You’re Leaving?] The old wooden door creaked open. I brushed away a thick cobweb. “I’m telling you, ever since Silas and I moved to the city for college, I’ve barely been back. After my parents passed, we took Goldie to the city. This is his first time home.” The camera flipped. Now I was holding it. “Hello, hello! Quinn here, taking you on an immersive tour of cleaning the old homestead!” Daisy appeared in the frame wearing an apron, holding a broom with a scowl. “I’m the one doing the cleaning! You’re just standing there, my lady!” “I’m the patient! Give me a break!” After a lot of laughter, I emerged from the kitchen covered in dust and soot. Daisy’s face went black as she snatched the spatula from me. “I told you! No cooking! Do you have no self-awareness about your skills? Go sit down!” I sat down, laughing and coughing at the same time. As soon as Daisy vanished into the kitchen, the smile vanished from my face. I propped the phone against a bowl and began to gasp for air. With trembling hands, I took a few puffs from a portable oxygen tank. Only then did I look back at the camera and smile. “Sorry about that. My breathing has been acting up more often lately… “Cough! Honestly, I’m a great cook. Really. Watch me brave the kitchen again!” As I reached for the phone, I felt something furry against my leg. I tilted the camera down. Goldie was lying at my feet, his eyelids drooping. “Hungry?” I offered him a piece of jerky. He sniffed it, then just rested his head back on my foot, motionless. “Good boy, Goldie. I need to go help Daisy. Get up.” He didn’t move. “What’s wrong? Why are you so clingy today?” I stroked his thinning, dry fur. “I get it. You’re getting old too, aren’t you? Just don’t feel like moving? Fine. I’ll stay here with you for a bit.” I leaned back into the worn sofa. “I won’t have many chances to sit with you later anyway.” Goldie let out a soft, low whimper. 4 [Goodbye World: April 17, 2023, 11:21 AM — Is a House Still a Home If No One Is In It?] When I woke up on the sofa, Daisy was kneeling by my feet. She heard me move and looked up, her face drenched in tears. “Quinn… people say dogs can sense when their owners are about to leave. They say they go to the next world early to wait for them. Is that true?” I almost dropped the camera. I reached out to touch Goldie. Cold. No breath. He was curled up by my feet. While I was drifting off from exhaustion, he had quietly left me. My smile looked worse than a sob. “What are you talking about? Goldie was ten. He just died of old age.” When the camera turned on again, I was in the backyard, mounding dirt over a small grave. My breath was shallow, my face deathly pale. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and pointed toward the house. “Just walk straight that way and you’re home, Goldie. Don’t go the wrong way. If you wander off toward Silas…” I stopped abruptly. I smiled and pulled my hand back. “Don’t go back there. There won’t be anyone there soon anyway. Wait for me. When I get there, we’ll find Mom and Dad and start a home together.” The camera shook as Daisy sobbed behind it. I looked up and pointed at the lens. “What are you doing? You can’t even hold the shot steady.” Daisy wailed, “You’re the one! Listen to yourself!” I laughed, waving her over. “Look at you. Let’s go home and eat your cooking. I’m starving.” “Quinn! If you keep acting like this, I’m going to stop talking to you!” I walked up and threw an arm around her shoulder. “Don’t worry. Your girl Quinn is invincible. “A little cancer? Please. I’ve got this. “Hahahahahahaha!” 5 [Goodbye World: April 18, 2023, 8:27 AM — Sometimes I Forget I’m Sick] “Quinn! Quinn, open the door!” Daisy was pounding on the wood. The camera was propped up on a nearby crate, capturing only the lower half of her body. Inside the room, I was screaming. “Go away! I told you to go! Get away from me!” Then came the sound of violent retching. Daisy was crying now. “Quinn, if you don’t open up, I’m breaking this door down! What happened? Let me see you!” “Leave me alone!” The heart-wrenching scream cut through the speaker. Daisy threw her weight against the door. The old wood gave way with a crash. Inside, I was on my knees by a trash can, vomit matting my hair to my face. I looked pathetic. There was no trace of the girl who was singing and laughing yesterday. I looked up in despair, my eyes bloodshot. “Daisy…” “Quinn.” She dropped to her knees and pulled me into her arms, ignoring the mess. I clung to her with trembling hands, burying my face in her shoulder, my tears soaking her shirt. “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have yelled… “But every time I wake up, I have this split second where I think I’m normal again… “Then I stare at the ceiling for a long time and remember… I’m sick. “I’m dying, Daisy… I’m actually dying…” I was hyperventilating. Daisy held me tighter. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Quinn. You can fight this. You can… “Because you’re… “You’re Quinn. You’re the strongest person I know.” 6 [Goodbye World: April 21, 2024, 4:34 PM — Sometimes Forgetting is a Mercy for the Dead] I was leaning on Daisy’s shoulder. My sleeves were rolled up, revealing arms covered in purple and blue bruises from the IVs. My voice was a raspy whisper. “What am I going to do, Daisy? There’s nowhere left to stick the needles. It hurts so much.” “Oh, now it hurts? You weren’t complaining when you stayed up all night to snag those concert tickets.” I pouted. “I had to see my ex-boyfriend’s first sold-out stadium tour. I haven’t seen him in forever. I wanted to see if his vocals actually improved.” Daisy went silent. After a long time, she nudged me. “You said you dumped him because you didn’t want to drag him down. If he still has feelings for you, would you ask him for help?” “Never!” I was firm. “But he makes millions per song now. He could afford the best treatment in the world for you.” “No! And don’t you dare tell him!” “But Quinn, look at you…” I put my hands on my hips, the medical tape on my skin crinkling. “I’m doing great! Besides, I dumped him when he was a nobody. If I crawl back now that he’s famous and tell him I’m sick, what does that make me? “Don’t worry. I’m Quinn! “Cancer? Pfft. Easy work.” I pinched my thumb and forefinger together in a “tiny” gesture. Daisy stared at me for a long time, then sighed. I waved her forward. “Let’s go. This illness probably won’t get better no matter how much money I spend. I’d rather spend my last bits of cash on having fun. Come on, we have the pier tonight! But before that, I found this BBQ place…” “Oof!” I walked straight into someone’s chest. I started apologizing frantically, but when I looked up and saw his face, I froze. I stumbled back several steps. Daisy gasped. “Silas?” Even with a mask and a hoodie pulled low, lovers recognize each other by the eyes alone. “Quinn?” His beautiful eyes were wide with shock. Then, they turned to anger and resentment. I didn’t think. I just turned and bolted. The camera shook violently as Daisy chased after me. A cancer patient managed to run faster than a healthy person. Behind me, over the sound of my ragged breathing, I heard a voice screaming my name: “Quinn! Do you really hate me that much?!”

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