Category: English

  • His Lab Rat Becomes Queen

    We had been together for six years. We were weeks away from the altar. And then, Carter told me to wait. He needed to give his childhood best friend and her son a home first, he said. Only then could he marry me. His reasoning? Her son, Toby, was terminally ill and wanted to know what it felt like to have a father before he died. Carter simply couldn’t bear the thought of the boy leaving this world with regrets. So, standing by the hospital bed, with tears welling in his eyes, he had promised the boy that he would be his daddy. Forever. But Carter forgot one thing. Our IVF embryos were already at the clinic, waiting for transfer. My body was still bruised from the hormone injections. I stared at him, the air suddenly too thin to breathe. “And what about our child?” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, looking at me like I was a difficult employee rather than his fiancée. “Can you have a little empathy, Maddie? You’ve waited six years. You can’t wait six more months? Even if the embryo takes, you’ll just have to get an abortion. It’s not a good time.” I told him my mother’s health was failing, that my parents were desperate to see me married and starting a family. In response, he pulled out his phone right in front of me and booked a courthouse appointment to marry Natalie. “Perfect timing, then,” he said without missing a beat. “I marry Natalie, you become Toby’s godmother. It’s basically the same as your mom getting a grandson. Tell her to get a nice gift ready.” I watched him turn his back on me and walk toward his office. The man I had loved, the man I had fought my family for, reduced to a stranger’s silhouette. My hands were shaking, but my mind was terrifyingly clear. I picked up my phone and dialed my brother’s number. “Harrison,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “The wedding is in ten days. I need you to find me a new groom.” 1 When Harrison heard I wanted to swap out the groom, his shock quickly curdled into a protective rage. “Did that son of a bitch do something to you? Is Carter backing out? Don’t tell Mom and Dad yet, their hearts can’t take this kind of shock.” That was exactly why I went to Harrison first. By some cruel stroke of luck, Carter had managed to avoid meeting my parents for the entirety of our six-year relationship, claiming he was intimidated by our family’s wealth. Aside from Harrison, no one in our social circle actually knew who the groom was supposed to be. “He’s not backing out, Harry,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I am. I don’t want to marry him anymore.” I braced myself for a lecture about treating marriage like a game. Instead, the line went quiet for a long second before Harrison exhaled a breath of profound relief. “Good,” he said fiercely. “I asked him to look out for you years ago, and he ended up taking you to bed and keeping you a secret from our parents. It was a coward’s move. If you’ve finally woken up and seen him for who he is, I couldn’t be happier for you.” He paused, lowering his voice. “Honestly, Mom and Dad were just talking yesterday about how they wished you’d agreed to marry into the Kensington family. Rumor has it Sebastian Kensington is prepping for a wedding, though nobody knows who the bride is…” A second later, Harrison let out a loud curse. “Holy shit. That quiet bastard. He actually did it. Sebastian texted me yesterday asking if your fiancé was a deadbeat, and if you’d mind if he crashed the wedding to steal you away.” Harrison’s shout didn’t startle me. Oddly, it made my shoulders drop. It felt like a release valve. Years ago, when my parents first tried to set me up with Sebastian Kensington to merge our families’ companies, I had already been secretly dating Carter for two years. My entire world revolved around Carter. I had flat-out refused the arrangement. When Carter found out about Sebastian, he had thrown a massive fit of jealousy. He dragged me to his apartment, making me swear on everything I loved. “Maddie, you’re mine. You will never marry another man.” He had gone down on his knees, holding my hands, swearing we would be together forever. He even finally faced Harrison, taking the punches and the yelling, promising he would cherish me more than my own family ever could. Forever. What a remarkably short amount of time that turned out to be. With the ceremony only ten days away, time was a luxury I didn’t have. “Tell Sebastian to be the groom, then,” I said into the receiver. “Walking down the aisle with me is a lot more dignified than crashing the ceremony, don’t you think?” “Crashing the ceremony?” I froze. Carter had walked back into the living room, his posture stiffening as he caught the tail end of my conversation. He stared at me like I was a threat to national security. “Let me warn you, Maddie,” Carter sneered, his tone dropping an octave. “Even if you pull some crazy stunt and try to ruin my wedding to Natalie, I won’t leave with you. Stop playing these pathetic games. If you do anything to ruin my image as a father to Toby, don’t blame me for turning ugly.” I hadn’t even said a word to him, yet in his mind, I had already morphed into the vindictive, hysterical ex-girlfriend. Turning ugly? Hadn’t he already done that the moment he decided to marry Natalie to play daddy? For six years, during every holiday and family gathering, he had promised me we would get married “next year.” But next year became the year after, and he always had an excuse. Every excuse was masterfully spun as being “for my own good.” He bought me expensive jewelry to placate me, and because I loved him, I blindly believed he was building our future. I spent hours talking Harrison down from beating him to a pulp. It took him six years—and relentless mocking from his own tech bros about his commitment issues—to finally propose. And now, days before the wedding, he still refused to fly to New York to meet my parents, claiming he wanted to give them a “massive surprise” at the ceremony. Oh, it was a massive surprise, alright. Natalie returned from Europe with a sick child, and in the blink of an eye, I was discarded. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I reached into my purse, pulled out his ID, and tossed it onto the coffee table. “You’re overthinking it, Carter. I have zero interest in being the other woman.” The phrase seemed to physically sting him. His brow furrowed deeply. “Are you deaf? I told you, I have to swap the bride for Toby’s sake. I already promised I’ll marry you afterward. Why are you being so passive-aggressive?” 2 “I’m not being passive-aggressive,” I said, my voice shockingly steady. “Go. Get your marriage license. Be the loving father. Your son is waiting for you.” The absolute sincerity on my face made Carter’s hand twitch as he reached for his ID. A flicker of guilt crossed his eyes. “I’ll divorce her and marry you right after,” he rushed to explain, sounding defensive. “Just be patient, Maddie. I promise—” Promises. The currency he’d been paying me in for six years, completely bankrupt. “Okay,” I said. My sudden compliance seemed to choke him. The rest of his words died in his throat. He took a step forward, reaching out to pull me into a hug. “Carter!” Natalie’s frantic voice shattered the quiet. “The nurse just called. Toby isn’t feeling well. Can you take me to the hospital, right now?” She came sprinting over the threshold, but her foot supposedly caught on the rug. She stumbled, falling directly toward me. Instinctively, I reached out to grab Carter for balance. But he forcefully swatted my hand away, diving to catch Natalie securely in his arms. Already off-balance, the force of his shove sent me crashing hard onto the hardwood floor. A sharp, white-hot pain shot up my tailbone, bringing instant tears to my eyes. Natalie curled into Carter’s chest, her cheeks flushed. In a voice dripping with coy vulnerability—just loud enough for me to hear—she whispered, “Your reflexes are still so good, Carter…” Carter glanced down at Natalie’s slipped camisole strap, coughing awkwardly to mask his flushed face. Gently, intimately, he pulled the strap back up her shoulder, then scooped her up bridal-style, carrying her to the sofa to inspect her ankle. “Oh, Maddie, I’m so sorry,” Natalie gasped, looking at me with wide, doe-like eyes. “I was just in such a panic, I didn’t mean to make you fall.” The sight of them, so deeply entwined in their little domestic drama, turned my stomach. I planted my hands on the cold floor, forcing myself to stand, ignoring the throbbing in my spine. “I’ll give you two some space,” I said, grabbing my coat. “Please, don’t rush on my account.” Carter’s face darkened, a mix of misplaced embarrassment and sudden rage. “Maddie! Why does your mind always go to the gutter?” My mind? She practically purred against his chest, but I was the one in the gutter? I didn’t answer. I just walked out and quietly pulled the door shut behind me. While I was waiting for the elevator, the door down the hall clicked open. Natalie hurried out, her cheeks still flushed, blocking my path. “Maddie, please, I’m so sorry. There is absolutely nothing going on between Carter and me. If Toby wasn’t so obsessed with him, if he didn’t insist on calling him Daddy, I would never impose like this. Please, have a heart. Can’t you just let my baby have his dream?” She grabbed my sleeve, her eyes brimming with calculated tears. “I swear to you, in six months, I will divorce Carter and give him right back to you!” She actually made a move to sink to her knees. Right on cue, Carter burst out of the apartment, looking perfectly composed again. He sprinted over, wrapping his arms around Natalie and glaring at me like I was a monster. “Maddie, you’re going to be a mother yourself soon,” he snapped. “Can’t you build up some good karma for your own child?” Without waiting for my answer, he pulled out his phone and called Davis, his executive assistant, barking at him to come over and “keep an eye” on me so I wouldn’t cause a scene. Then, checking his Rolex, he practically carried Natalie into the elevator to go see Toby. As the steel doors slid shut, I didn’t miss the triumphant, mocking smirk that ghosted across Natalie’s lips. Nor did I miss Carter’s gentle reassurance to her. “Don’t worry, Nat. The clinical trials for the new biologic are finishing up. Once Toby is cured, I’ll be his dad for the rest of his life.” Davis arrived quickly. Finding me calmly putting on my shoes to head out, he couldn’t hide his sneer. “Miss Maddie, you couldn’t keep your man, so what’s the point of going to pick up the wedding bands?” I ignored him. I had spent months working with a boutique jeweler in San Francisco to custom-design those rings. They meant something to me. But when I arrived at the jeweler, the manager looked at me in utter confusion. “Your fiancé came and picked them up a few days ago,” he said. “Weren’t you two together? The woman with him was trying them on, and he proposed right here in the store…” Seeing the blood drain from my face, the manager hurriedly pulled up the security footage. 3 On the tablet screen, the grainy video played out my worst nightmare in high definition. Natalie and Carter stood by the display case. She was wearing the ring I had designed. They were staring deeply into each other’s eyes. Carter’s face held a look of profound, tender devotion—a look he had never, not once, given me. “I regret it, Carter,” Natalie whispered in the video, tears slipping down her cheeks. “If only I had married you back then… how different things could be.” Carter’s face twisted in anguish. He leaned in, gently kissing the tears off her cheeks. Then, he turned to the manager, bought the most expensive diamond necklace in the case on the spot, and dropped to one knee. “Nat. Will you marry me?” Off to the side, little Toby clapped his hands, jumping up and down, yelling for “Mommy and Daddy” to kiss. The manager watched the screen, his face burning red with secondary embarrassment. He looked at me, horrified. “Miss Maddie… I am so, so sorry. We assumed she was… I’ll call him right now and demand the rings back!” The manager had clearly never seen a cheating fiancé act with such brazen audacity. He dialed Carter’s number immediately. Carter, likely already tipped off by Davis, answered with a roar. “Maddie! It’s just a pair of rings! Do you have to be this petty?” I wouldn’t let those two keep my rings even if I threw them into the San Francisco Bay. Before I could speak, my phone buzzed. A wire transfer notification from Carter. “That’s enough to buy rings for all ten of your fingers,” his text read. “Take the money and stop throwing tantrums.” The sheer shamelessness of it took my breath away. He knew exactly what those rings symbolized, the hours I put into them, yet he used them to propose to Natalie just to humiliate me. Six years together, and I realized I was looking at a complete stranger. I scrolled through my feed and saw his latest post—a picture of his and Natalie’s marriage certificates, posted out of sheer spite. I thought my chest would cave in, but… nothing. I just felt numb. Mutual friends flooded my DMs, offering awkward condolences or telling me to “hang in there.” I didn’t bother replying. I went to my office, finalized my resignation and project handovers, and went back to the apartment. When I unlocked the door, the sound of bright, happy laughter echoed through the hallway. Natalie was sitting on the couch, drinking tea with the distinct air of the lady of the manor. I didn’t have the energy for her. I walked straight to my bedroom to pack my things. When I opened the closet, my bags were already packed. Neatly zipped up and waiting for me. Carter, a man who had never so much as boiled water in the six years we lived together, was currently in the kitchen wearing an apron, making a heart-shaped omelet for Toby. “Maddie,” Carter said, stepping out with a spatula. “The doctor said Toby can come home today. Do you mind staying somewhere else for a bit?” I grabbed the handle of my suitcase and started rolling it toward the door without a backward glance. As I reached the entryway, a sudden panic seemed to hit Carter. He rushed over, grabbing my wrist, his face a mask of awkward placation. “Hey, why don’t you stay for dinner before you go?” I glanced at the dining table. It was perfectly set. Two adult plates, one child’s plate. I let out a dry, hollow laugh. “No thanks. Enjoy your family dinner.” He couldn’t wait to erase me from this apartment. Why would I stay and beg for scraps? Seeing Carter hesitate, Natalie immediately scooped Toby into her arms and started toward the door. “Carter, I’ll take Toby to a hotel. This is supposed to be your home with Maddie. It’s not right for us to intrude…” Carter glared at me, then immediately turned to coddle Natalie. “Don’t be silly, Nat. I make the rules in this house. You can stay as long as you want. A family shouldn’t be separated.” Toby ran up and pushed my leg. “You’re a bad lady! This is my house with my mommy and daddy! Get out!” Natalie raised a hand, pretending she was going to scold him, but Carter caught her wrist. “Toby is right. This is our home.” Natalie shot me a triumphant smirk over Carter’s shoulder. I felt absolutely nothing. I opened the door and walked out. I checked into a hotel, slept for twelve hours straight, and went to the fertility clinic the next morning to sign the paperwork to destroy the embryos. As fate would have it, I walked out of the elevator and saw Carter. He was holding Toby in his left arm and holding Natalie’s hand with his right. To anyone watching, they were the picture-perfect American family. The doctor had asked me if I was absolutely sure about my decision. Looking at them, I knew I had made the right choice. Not long after I left the clinic, my phone rang. It was a coordinator. My bone marrow had matched with a critically ill pediatric patient. The doctor asked if I would be willing to donate. Before I could even process the question, a heavy hand clamped over my mouth and nose. A foul-smelling rag pressed into my skin. I was dragged backward into a van. Just before the darkness took me, I caught a glimpse of the man’s face. He looked terrifyingly like an older version of Toby. “I don’t care if you’re willing,” the man hissed. “You’re going to save my son.” 4 When I woke up, the pain in my lower spine was agonizing, a deep, throbbing ache that radiated down my legs. Remembering the man’s final words, a sickening realization hit me. I had been forcefully harvested for my bone marrow. I turned my heavy head. Across the dim, concrete-walled room, little Toby was tied to a chair, his face pale and tear-stained. The anesthesia was still thick in my blood. I forced myself to crawl toward Toby, my fingers scraping against the floor. Before I could reach him, the heavy metal door was kicked open. Carter stormed in, flanked by two security guards. Natalie shrieked when she saw Toby. “Toby! Oh my god, baby, are you okay? Don’t scare Mommy…” She frantically untied the ropes binding her son, then whipped her head toward me, her face contorted in rage. “Maddie, why would you kidnap my baby?! What did you do to him? People said you took him, but I couldn’t believe it…” Carter didn’t ask a single question. He marched over and delivered a brutal kick squarely to my ribs. I gasped, all the air leaving my lungs. “How can you be this evil, Maddie?” he roared. “I didn’t,” I choked out, clutching my chest. “His father… his father dragged me here…” Carter’s eyes blazed with a manic fury. He dropped to his knees and slapped me hard across the face, twice. “Toby’s father has been dead for two years! You’re still lying? Save it for the cops!” As Carter pulled out his phone to call the police, Natalie threw herself at him, sobbing hysterically. “Carter, no, wait! It’s my fault. I never should have asked you to help Toby. I just want my baby to be safe…” Carter’s eyes softened instantly. He stroked her hair. “Nat, I’m here. Toby is going to be fine.” Under Carter’s gentle coaxing, Toby finally seemed to snap out of his shock. He pointed a trembling finger at me and wailed. “Mommy! Daddy! I’m scared! She said if I die, no one will steal her husband anymore…” I tasted copper in my mouth. I spat a wad of blood onto the floor and glared at the boy. “Learning to lie at such a young age. No wonder karma caught up with you.” Natalie wailed as if I had stabbed her. She hugged Toby tighter. “What did we do to deserve this? Oh, Toby, you might not even make it to the clinical trials now…” Carter wrapped his arms around the trembling mother and son, shielding them from me. “You did nothing wrong, Nat. Maddie is just a sick, vindictive bitch. But I’ll make sure she atones for what she’s done to you.” He pulled out his phone again, dialing Davis. “Bring the prototype compound,” he ordered coldly. “I’ve found our human trial subject.” Davis arrived within twenty minutes. Carter took the small, unmarked vial and walked slowly toward me. “Maddie. This is the new biologic my company developed. It hasn’t passed FDA safety trials yet. So, you’re going to test it for Toby.” It was phrased as a statement, not a request. His eyes were completely devoid of emotion as he looked down at me. A violent shiver ripped through my body. Every instinct screamed at me to run, but the lingering anesthesia and the brutal pain in my spine made it impossible to stand. “Carter, I didn’t kidnap Toby. His father is alive. He kidnapped me. He took my bone marrow! If you don’t believe me, test my blood—” My pleas meant nothing. He pinned me to the floor, prying my jaw open with ruthless force. “It’s just a clinical trial, Maddie. Consider it your punishment.” The pill hit the back of my throat. Carter clamped his hand tightly over my mouth and pinched my nose, forcing me to swallow. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked like a demon straight out of hell. Yet, a minute later, his voice wavered as he asked, “Are… are you feeling any side effects?” He had just forced an experimental, unapproved drug down my throat. His only concern wasn’t my safety—it was whether the drug was viable for Natalie’s son. Whether I, his lab rat, lived or died was entirely secondary. The line between love and indifference is devastatingly sharp. Years ago, when I accidentally took a double dose of cold medicine, this same man had rushed me to the ER in a blind panic, terrified I would suffer liver failure. Now, he was literally poisoning me to save another woman’s child. If I hadn’t seen Toby’s father with my own eyes, I would have sworn Toby was Carter’s biological son. Under my dead, hollow stare, Carter finally pulled his hand away from my mouth. “Don’t look at me like that, Maddie,” he muttered, defensive. “You brought this on yourself when you went after Toby. If we hadn’t shown up, you could have killed him. I’m doing you a favor, saving you from a murder charge…” Without a shred of proof, he had condemned me. The sound of sirens wailed in the distance. Someone had called an ambulance. Natalie, playing the benevolent saint, weakly suggested Carter go with me to the hospital. Carter’s cold voice echoed in the concrete room. “Leave her. If the trial works, she redeems herself. If it doesn’t, she won’t die from one pill.” Toby clung to Carter’s neck, crying for him not to leave with the “bad lady.” “As long as you’re a good boy and take your medicine, Daddy will never leave you,” Carter murmured, kissing the boy’s forehead. The three of them walked out, a picture of unity. Alone on the floor, the searing chemical pain in my stomach finally overwhelmed me, and I passed out. … The paramedics found me. When I woke up in the ER, with an IV in my arm and a raw throat from getting my stomach pumped, my first request was for a police officer. Carter, who hadn’t shown his face for hours, finally barged into my hospital room. “Are you insane, Maddie?” he hissed, standing at the foot of my bed. “The trial was a success. You got your stomach pumped, you’re fine. Why are you calling the cops? If Natalie wasn’t so forgiving, you’d be in a cell right now. Cancel the police report. I won’t marry a woman with a criminal record.” I didn’t even open my eyes. “Okay.” Satisfied with my submission, he turned on his heel and left without a single word of comfort. The day I was discharged was the day of my wedding. I went straight to the hotel, grabbed my luggage, and headed for the airport.

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  • Kidnapping The Wrong Billionaire

    I am, admittedly, a little obsessed with my older sister. To help her secure the man she’d been secretly pining over for years, I did something monumentally stupid. I kidnapped the city’s most untouchable bachelor, dragged him to a secluded suite, and force-fed him a cocktail spiked with a very expensive, very illegal “compliance serum.” The plan was simple: present him to my sister, Paige, gift-wrapped and pliable. Just as I was congratulating myself on a job well done, my brain—fried by adrenaline—decided to dissociate. I could practically see the Twitter thread of my life scrolling before my eyes. [@User1: LMAO, is this girl for real? Her sister likes Ronan, the Tech Bro, not Roman, the Venture Capital Shark!] [@User2: I mean, to be fair, they sound exactly the same in a loud club. Rookie mistake.] [@User3: RIP Harper. She kidnapped the wrong billionaire. Once those meds kick in, she’s not gonna be the captor anymore; she’s gonna be the prey.] A split second later, a hand like a branding iron clamped around my waist. The man’s voice was gravel and smoke, low and terrifyingly dangerous. “You light the fuse and then try to run? Get back here.” … I had bought the serum from a shady contact in the darkest corner of the internet to ensure Paige’s success. It was marketed as “The Closer”—guaranteed to lower inhibitions and heighten desire. It was potent enough to make a monk blush. And because I’m an idiot who worries too much, I’d panicked and given Roman a double dose. I had imagined Paige praising my initiative. Instead, I was staring at my phone, sweat trickling down my spine. Thirty seconds ago, when I hallucinated those comments, I thought it was just my anxiety manifesting. [@GossipGirl: Checkmate. Harper just delivered herself on a silver platter.] [@DramaQueen: Who spikes the drink pays the price. I love this trope.] [@SisStan: Lay off her! She did it for Paige! It was just a one-letter difference!] A one-letter difference? My head was spinning. I refused to believe it. How could I mess this up? Wasn’t the guy Paige wouldn’t shut up about Theguy? With trembling fingers, I texted Paige: [Sis, quick question. What is your crush’s full name again?] Her reply came instantly: [Ronan. Ronan O’Connor. Why?] Ronan. Ronan?! My world imploded. The man currently burning a hole through the mattress behind me wasn’t Ronan. He was Roman. Roman Scott. [@Observer: See? Told you she grabbed the wrong one.] [@ChaosLover: This is gonna be good. The drug is hitting. Harper can’t run now.] My heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. If I had the wrong guy, the only logical solution was to cut him loose and pretend this never happened. Gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss my way out of a felony. Did I have an antidote in my bag? I was rummaging through my thoughts when a wall of heat pressed against my back. Before I could scream, I was yanked backward, landing hard on a pair of thighs that felt like solid granite. I froze, terrified. He, however, was not frozen. Roman’s hands were scorching hot. One slid under the hem of my shirt, his rough fingertips tracing patterns on my skin that sent a violent shiver through my entire nervous system. “W-what are you doing?” My voice was a squeak. “Don’t move!” Roman tilted his head. His eyes were bloodshot, dark pools of intent. “I’m not moving without purpose. And right now, my purpose is you.” The audacity! I scrambled, pushing off his chest and leaping for the door. I made it two steps before he caught me. The jerk grabbed the oversized silk bow at the back of my dress. I tugged forward. “Let go! Seriously, let go!” Instead of releasing me, Roman pulled harder. Desperate times called for desperate measures. I yanked the release knot on the sash. The silk ribbon came undone, and the decorative back panel of the dress tore away. Freed, I threw the fabric at his face. “Keep it!” I bolted. But I had severely underestimated Roman Scott’s athleticism. I didn’t make it to the hallway. Suddenly, the floor wasn’t under my feet anymore. The world tilted, and I was scooped up, thrown over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I kicked and thrashed, but against his grip, I might as well have been fighting a statue. In seconds, I was tossed back onto the massive, plush mattress. Roman loomed over me, bracing his arms on either side of my head. His breath was hot on my face. “Where do you think you’re going?” My brain scrambled for an excuse. He looked lucid enough to talk, which was terrifying. Maybe the drugs were duds? “I… I left my straightener on!” I blurted out. “I have to go home before I burn my apartment down.” Roman let out a dark, humorless chuckle. He crowded into my space, cutting off my escape. “The apartment can wait. I have a situation here, and I need your assistance.” I shrank back into the pillows. “What situation?” His gaze dropped to my lips, dark and hungry. Slowly, deliberately, he began to undo the top button of his dress shirt. Panic sirens blared in my head. I tried to scramble away again, but he pinned me with effortless strength. The drugs weren’t duds. This man just had an iron will. He looked composed on the surface, but underneath, the double dose was incinerating him. “I have the antidote!” I wailed, tears pricking my eyes. “It’s in my purse. Let me get it. Just hold on…” Roman didn’t stop. His long fingers worked the buttons with maddening precision. He pressed a finger to his lips. “Shh.” The look in his eyes—calm, controlled, yet utterly unhinged—terrified me more than if he had been screaming. I went silent, paralyzed. He seemed pleased by my obedience. He leaned down, brushing a kiss against my forehead, patronizingly sweet. “Good girl.” “I…” “Sit still,” he interrupted, his voice rasping, stripped of all polish. “Sit still, then you can plead your case.” He let go of my arms. I slumped, sliding inevitably into his embrace. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, letting out a ragged sigh that vibrated through my chest. “It hurts,” he murmured against my skin. “Since you caused this, you’re going to help me manage it.” Manage it? I’m a kidnapper, not a crisis counselor! I didn’t agree to this. But Roman Scott was a man used to command, and he didn’t leave room for negotiation. His arm was a steel band around my waist, locking me against him. A strange, electric tension crackled down my spine. I was scared, overwhelmed, and suddenly crying. Roman pulled back slightly, kissing away a tear. “Don’t cry. It’ll be over soon.” Liar. Men are all liars. It wasn’t going to be okay. I regretted everything. I should have double-checked the name. I should have asked Paige for a photo. How could I be this incompetent? The tears flowed faster, snot and misery soaking into his custom Italian shirt. [@SavageCommentary: Harper is crying, but why is this kinda funny?] [@TropeHunter: Classic ‘Himbo’ move, but make it female. She dug the grave, now she has to lie in it.] [@Justice4Roman: Girl dosed him with enough aphrodisiac to kill a horse. She IS the antidote now.] My imaginary Twitter feed was ruthless. I had the antidote pill! Why wouldn’t he just take the pill? Why did I have to be the solution? “Please,” I sobbed, my voice hitching. “Just take the pill. If you don’t, I’m going to die of embarrassment.” Roman paused. He looked down at me, his gaze searching my face for a long moment. He didn’t move away. Instead, he tangled his hand in my hair, laughing softly. “Relax. I know my limits. I won’t break you.” He didn’t break me. But he certainly shattered my reality. I lost track of time in that room. The light outside the heavy curtains shifted from gray to black to gray again. Time became a blur of sensation and exhaustion. I was a small boat in a hurricane, tossing and turning at his mercy. He was a machine, relentless and insatiable. At some point, food was delivered. I was so angry I knocked the tray over. Roman’s expression darkened to a thundercloud. He ordered another tray. He looked so terrifying that I lost my nerve and ate. The food was my favorite takeout—Thai—but it tasted like cardboard and regret. Finally, mercifully, he let me sleep. It was the deepest sleep of my life, though my dreams were haunted by Roman’s burning, crimson eyes. When I finally woke up, fully lucid, the room was silent. Roman was gone. My phone sat on the nightstand, fully charged. I checked it frantically. Texts from my friends had been replied to—in my style. No suspicion raised. Pinned to the top of my messages was a new contact. Roman Scott. He had sent several unread messages. [I’m in the study next door handling a merger. Text me when you wake up. Be good.] I scrolled up. He had been updating me on his location for hours. My thumb slipped, scrolling back to the pre-kidnapping texts. The contrast between my naive confidence then and my current ruin made my nose sting. I tried to get out of bed to gather my clothes scattered across the carpet. My legs gave out the moment my feet hit the floor. I collapsed, banging my knees hard. Fresh tears sprang to my eyes. I wiped them away furiously, but the humiliation was a rising tide. Sniffling, I used the bedframe to haul myself up. I dressed quickly, wincing with every movement. On the other nightstand, I found a Post-it note. The handwriting was sharp, aggressive. [Don’t run. Phone is on the right. Call me.] I ignored the note. I grabbed my phone and peeked into the hallway like a fugitive. Coast clear. I didn’t breathe until I was in the back of a taxi, watching the skyline retreat. I pulled out my phone. Opened the pinned chat. Block. Delete. Goodbye, Roman Scott. I hope I never see your face again.

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  • My Mother Sold Me For Poker

    My father is the wealthiest man in the city, a titan of industry whose name is plastered on skyscrapers and hospital wings. I, on the other hand, survive on an allowance that barely covers the cost of a few cups of coffee. My mother always told me the same story: my father left because he despised having a daughter. She said he vanished when I was six, leaving behind nothing but divorce papers and a cloud of dust. I never saw him again. Not until I saw his face on the news, beaming as he cut the ribbon on a hundred-million-dollar high-rise he’d bought for his new son. For years, a cold, hard knot of hatred sat in my chest. I was his child, too. Why was I discarded like trash while this new boy was treated like a prince? That hatred fueled me, right up until the day I accidentally met my father’s new son. The first thing the boy said to me wasn’t an insult. It was a question that shattered my entire world. “Where have you been all these years? Dad has been looking everywhere for you.” … “Honey, card’s declined.” The cafeteria worker, a kind woman named Mrs. Higgins, leaned over the counter as the card reader let out a harsh, rejecting buzz. The sound seemed to echo through the entire lunchroom. I froze, the realization hitting me like a physical blow. This month had thirty-one days. My budget, meticulously calculated from my part-time wages, only covered thirty. I forced a smile, though I could feel the heat creeping up my neck. “Sorry, Mrs. Higgins. I’m actually… I’m cutting back. On a diet. I’ll just take the plain rice today.” Mrs. Higgins didn’t buy it. She looked at my wrists, bony and fragile, and her expression softened into pity. “Child, you’re fading away as it is. You don’t need a diet.” Before I could protest, she ladled a heavy scoop of meat sauce over the white rice. “Next time you’re short, you tell me quietly, okay? I’ll slip you a drumstick.” Her kindness was a double-edged sword. It warmed me, but it also twisted the knife in my heart. Why did a stranger in a hairnet show me more compassion than my own flesh and blood? My best friend, Sarah, returned to the table with her tray. When she saw my bowl—just rice and sauce—she slammed her fist onto the Formica table. “This is insane, Norah! You should go down to Callaway Tower and scream until he hears you! He’s playing the philanthropist on TV while his daughter is starving!” “I want people to know what kind of deadbeat scumbag hides behind those charitable donations,” she hissed. I took a bite of the rice, the taste of humiliation heavy on my tongue. “It’s fine, Sarah.” But it wasn’t. If the university didn’t provide free plain rice, I wouldn’t be eating at all. Since the divorce, my mother, Diane, had collapsed into a black hole of alcoholism and self-pity. Any savings we had were funneled into cheap vodka and white wine. I remembered when our neighbor, Mrs. Gable, tried to intervene years ago. “Diane, you can’t go on like this,” she’d said gently. “Norah is just a little girl. She needs you to be strong. Look at her; the wind could blow her away.” Mom had been lying in bed, a wet rag over her eyes. She sat up and screamed, her voice jagged with venom. “If it wasn’t for that useless burden, I wouldn’t have been dumped! She’s a curse! You want her fed? You feed her!” I was too young then to understand the complexity of adult rage, but I understood the subtext perfectly: Mom’s life is ruined, and it is my fault. If I hadn’t been born, or perhaps if I had been born a boy, her life would have been a fairytale. In her rare moments of sobriety, she would pull out old photo albums, her fingers tracing the glossy images of a handsome man. “Look how much he loved me,” she’d whisper, eyes glassy. “He took me to Italy, to France. He wouldn’t let me lift a finger. He’d come home late from the office and still cook me dinner.” Looking at those photos—my parents, young and beautiful—I planted a seed of guilt in my heart. I watered it every day. I had broken this. It was my job to fix it. From the time I was seven, I did odd jobs for the neighbors—weeding gardens, walking dogs—just to bring home pocket change. They gave me food out of pity. I survived on the charity of strangers. Now, in college, I worked three jobs. But almost every cent went to keeping the lights on at home and keeping Mom’s glass full. I kept fifty dollars a month for myself. I survived on financial aid and grit. I was used to it. Until I saw the headline. [Robert Callaway, CEO of Callaway Group, Donates $100 Million Wing to Children’s Hospital in Honor of Son, Max.] It was the first time the disparity truly broke me. I went home that night, eyes red-rimmed. “Mom, why?” I asked, my voice trembling. “He has so much. Why has he never visited? Does he feel nothing for me?” Mom didn’t look up from her glass. She let out a cold, sharp laugh. “You know the answer, Norah. He hates you. You’re the mistake he wants to forget.” I shoved the last of the rice into my mouth, checking the time. I had to run. I had landed a lucrative gig tutoring a rich kid in English literature. The pay was triple what I made washing dishes at the diner. I couldn’t be late. “Norah,” Sarah said, her brow furrowed. “You look like you’re about to pass out. Take a shift off. Please.” I choked down the food, coughing until my face flushed. I pounded my chest to force it down. “I can’t. If I rest, who takes care of Mom?” Sarah looked ready to scream. “She is the parent! It is not your job to carry her! Has she ever thought about you?” I gave her a sad, weary smile. “I owe her, Sarah.” If I didn’t exist, she wouldn’t be this broken woman. I had no right to complain. It took three bus transfers and a twenty-minute hike up a winding private drive to reach the address. It was a mansion in the hills, the kind of place that had a name, not just a number. A butler in a crisp suit met me at the gate. “You must be the tutor for the young master,” he said, smiling kindly. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and nodded. The interior was breathtaking. Marble floors, vaulted ceilings. Even the dog in the yard had a kennel that looked nicer than my apartment. “Wait here in the library,” the butler said, handing me a glass of ice water. “I’ll fetch him.” I hadn’t even set up my books when a small boy burst into the room. He was a ball of energy, missing a front tooth, with a smile that lit up the room. “Hi! Are you the teacher?” “Hello,” I said, relieved. Rich kids could be nightmares, but this one seemed sweet. “You can call me Norah.” The boy’s eyes went wide. “Norah? That’s a pretty name! I’m Max! Max Callaway!” The smile froze on my face. The glass in my hand felt suddenly heavy. Callaway. Max. The boy from the news. The boy worth a hundred-million-dollar building. This was his house. My father’s house. Panic seized my throat. My hands began to tremble. Decades of resentment bubbled up—the hunger, the cold nights, the abuse. I wanted to scream. I wanted to storm into the office and demand to know why I wasn’t enough. But survival instinct kicked in. If I made a scene, I’d be thrown out. I’d lose the job. I needed this money to eat. I took a deep breath, forcing the bile down. I would be professional. The lesson went smoothly. Max was bright and eager to please. We actually clicked. He was a lonely kid, starved for attention. As I was packing up, Max grabbed the hem of my sweater. “Miss Norah? I don’t have many friends. You’re my only friend.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Can I tell you a secret?” My heart ached for him, despite everything. “Of course.” He leaned in close. “I have a big sister. My dad has been looking for her forever.” I went rigid. “What?” “Yeah! I’ve never met her. Dad says she was the best baby, but his ex-wife took her and ran away a long time ago. He tries to find her every day, but he can’t.” My mind reeled. Ran away? Mom said he left us. She said he abandoned us with a piece of paper. Who was lying? “Come look!” Max dragged me down the hallway to a closed door. “This is her room. Dad keeps it ready for when she comes home.” He pushed the door open. “Dad says her favorite color is orange, so he made it all orange!” I stepped inside. It was a shrine to a childhood I never had. The walls were a warm apricot, the bedspread a soft tangerine. It was beautiful. On the dresser sat a framed photograph. It was old and yellowed. A man—younger, happier—holding a baby girl on a lawn. It was me. “That’s my husband’s daughter,” a gentle voice said from the doorway. I spun around. A woman stood there—elegant, kind-eyed. My father’s current wife. “It’s a tragedy, really,” she sighed, looking at the photo. “Rob sends money every month. Millions, over the years. He just sent another two hundred grand last month as a graduation gift. But the ex-wife… she won’t let him see the girl. We don’t even know if the child gets the money.” The room spun. He sends money? Millions? I thought of the nights I went to bed hungry. I thought of the time I had pneumonia and Mom screamed at me for needing antibiotics because we “couldn’t afford it.” I excused myself, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I had to get out of there. I needed to know the truth. I took a week off school and went straight to the apartment. The smell hit me the moment I opened the door—stale air, unwashed laundry, and the overwhelming stench of cheap alcohol. Mom was slumped on the sofa, surrounded by empty bottles. She saw me and immediately grabbed an empty bottle, hurling it in my direction. It shattered against the wall. “You’re supposed to be working!” she screeched. “If you get fired, don’t come crying to me when we starve! Everything bad in my life is because of you!” Usually, I would clean up the glass. I would apologize. I would shrink. Not today. I walked over to her, staring into her bloodshot eyes. “Mom,” I said, my voice dead calm. “I couldn’t afford lunch today. I need ten extra dollars next month for food.” She exploded. “Money? You think we have money? You ungrateful little leech! If you weren’t a girl, your father wouldn’t have left, and I’d be living in a palace! Ten dollars? That’s a bottle of wine! You want to eat? Eat rice! Get out of my face!” Something inside me finally snapped. The tether that had bound me to her guilt for eighteen years disintegrated. She kicked me out, slamming the door. “Go make money! I don’t want to see you!” It was late. The buses had stopped running. I sat in the stairwell, shivering. Around 2:00 AM, the door creaked open. I held my breath. Mom slipped out, dressed not in her usual rags, but in decent clothes. She looked around, paranoid, then hurried down the corridor. I followed her. She didn’t leave the building. She went to the basement level, down a service hallway that led to a dead end. I watched from the shadows as she pressed a brick in the wall. A hidden door clicked open. The noise poured out instantly—shouting, smoke, the clatter of chips. An underground casino. I slipped in behind a group of men. The room was thick with smoke. And there she was. My mother, who “couldn’t afford” my antibiotics, was sitting at a high-stakes table. “Diane! You’re on fire tonight!” a man shouted. She laughed—a sound I hadn’t heard in years. She tossed a chip worth two thousand dollars to the dealer like it was a penny. “That’s for you, sweetie. My ex sent another wire. Two hundred grand. The man is an ATM!” I watched, horrified, as she burned through the money. In twenty minutes, she lost the two hundred thousand. Then she lost more. “You owe the house fifty grand, Diane,” a heavy-set man said, stepping out of the shadows. “Relax,” she waved him off, eyes manic. “I’ll make a call. I’ll tell him the brat has cancer. He’ll send a million for chemo. He always pays.” I was shaking so hard my teeth chattered. She pulled out her phone. “Watch this. Ten minutes, money in the bank.” I turned and ran. I burst out into the cool night air and fumbled for my phone. I dialed the number Max had given me—the “emergency” number for the house. “Callaway residence,” the butler answered. “Tell Robert Callaway,” I gasped, tears streaming down my face. “Tell him it’s Norah. Tell him I know everything.” Ten seconds later, a voice I hadn’t heard in twelve years roared through the line. “Norah? Where are you? Stay there. I’m coming.”

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  • The Billionaire Exs Viral Wish

    Six years after we broke up, Cole and I ended up on the university’s “Confessions” page. Some freshman had dug up an old wish note from the archives—a relic Cole had written years ago. “I’m going to marry Renna! Travel the world with Renna!!! Grow old with Renna! Love Renna for a lifetime!!!!” The comment section was in a frenzy, everyone “shipping” us like it was a K-drama. Even my college roommate, Harper, texted me: “Renna, he really loved you. Like, really loved you.” I received the message while I was on my knees in my boutique, pinning the hem of a man’s trousers. I was crouched at Cole’s feet. After a moment, I plastered on a professional smile and stood up. “How does that feel? Do you think this suit works for you, Mr. Scott?” His eyes were cold, his expression dripping with mockery. “No. It doesn’t work at all.” 1 Cole had come in at nine o’clock, just as we were about to flip the sign to closed. The glass door was shoved open with force, bringing in the chill of the autumn night. My hand, busy organizing receipts, froze. I felt a sudden, disorienting vertigo. I hadn’t seen Cole in six years. He glanced at me, then immediately looked away, his gaze sweeping dismissively over the racks of clothing. Becca, my shop assistant, walked over first, her customer-service voice bright and chirpy. “Good evening, sir. Looking for anything specific? I’d be happy to walk you through our collection.” Cole moved slowly, owning the space. He didn’t look at her. “Get your manager.” Becca blinked, confused, and turned to look at me. I took a breath, composed myself, and nodded at her to go tidy the counter. Then I walked over to Cole, slipping into my armor—the polite, impenetrable smile of a business owner. “How can I help you, Mr. Scott?” His long fingers trailed along a row of suit jackets before hooking one off the rack. “I’ll try this one.” “You have an excellent eye. This is an Italian cut, very—” I was launching into my standard spiel when he cut me off, his voice sharp. “You help me change.” I stunned for a second, then let out a dry, awkward laugh, gesturing toward the fitting rooms. “The changing rooms are right over there.” Cole smirked, a dark, cynical sound. “Hah.” I didn’t reply. I just watched his broad back disappear behind the curtain. Sensing the suffocating tension, Becca mumbled an excuse and bolted, leaving the shop. So when Cole stepped out, we were the only two people left in the building. He stood before the tri-fold mirror, catching my reflection. His gaze was heavy, sharp enough to cut glass. “Isn’t the manager going to do her job?” I swallowed the lump in my throat and walked over to adjust the fit. I smoothed the shoulders, then crouched down to check the break of the trousers. After a moment, I plastered on a professional smile and stood up. “How does that feel? Do you think this suit works for you, Mr. Scott?” His eyes were cold, his expression dripping with mockery. “No. It doesn’t work at all.” 2 The smile on my face stiffened, threatening to crack. A second later, I recovered, keeping my voice even. “If you’re not satisfied, we have other styles available.” Cole shrugged the jacket off and tossed it into my arms. “I’m done trying off-the-rack. I want custom.” He turned and went back into the fitting room. My shop does offer bespoke tailoring. But custom work requires detailed measurements, intimate proximity, and a long production cycle. I had zero desire to prolong my contact with Cole, so I hadn’t offered it. The jacket in my arms still held his body heat. I hung it back up and grabbed my measuring tape. Passing the counter, my phone screen lit up, flooded with notifications. I glanced at it. First, a message from Mrs. Higgins, the nanny. “When will you be back?” “Luna is sleepy, but she says she won’t go to bed until Mommy comes home.” I tapped out a quick reply: “Might be a little late tonight. Please try to get her down, Mrs. Higgins.” I was about to open the message from Harper, my college roommate, when Cole walked out. He stood there, arms half-open, looking at me with a mix of arrogance and amusement. “Designer Renna. Come measure me.” I forced a smile, shoved my phone into my pocket, and approached him. He was wearing a white dress shirt with a black vest. The shirt was unbuttoned to the third button. He wore sleeve garters on his upper arms, accentuating the muscular lines of his biceps. He looked mature, expensive, and dangerous. The boyish, reckless energy of the past was gone, replaced by something harder. Wait. When he walked in, wasn’t his shirt only unbuttoned to the second button? Forget it. I centered myself, trying to empty my mind. Just work. Neck. Shoulder width. Arm length. Wrist. Chest… We were close. Too close. I could feel his breath dusting the top of my head. I moved gingerly, trying desperately not to brush against him. But when I circled him to measure his chest, he suddenly grabbed my wrist. His breath was hot against my ear. His tone was playful, teasing, but laced with something darker. “What are you afraid of?” I froze, about to speak, when my ringtone shattered the atmosphere. The grip on my wrist vanished. Cole straightened up, looking annoyed. I bowed my head. “I’m sorry. I have to take this.” It was Mrs. Higgins. As soon as I answered, Luna’s voice came through—milky, sweet, and trembling with grievance. “Why isn’t Mommy home yet? You promised a story tonight.” 3 I lowered my voice, coaxing her gently. “Mommy’s sorry, sweetie. Can Mrs. Higgins read to you tonight? I promise I’ll read to you tomorrow.” It took a while to calm her down. Finally, reluctantly, she agreed and hung up. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. When I looked up, I met Cole’s gaze. It was dark, almost predatory. He raised an eyebrow, a sneer curling his lip. “That was your four-year-old?” “Crying for mommy for everything… is the dad dead or something?” I paused. I didn’t expect him to be so blunt. Then again, effectively, the father might as well be dead. I didn’t know him well, and he didn’t know the child existed. So I answered, “Something like that.” I went back to measuring. Chest done. Waist next. I bent down, my arms circling his waist. Cole suddenly spoke. “Congratulations, then.” Before I could process that, he added, “No, I mean—my condolences.” “…” I didn’t respond. I crouched down and handed him one end of the tape. “Please hold this, Mr. Scott. Right at the waistline.” My right hand took the tape, reaching around his inseam to press against his lower back. From above, Cole’s voice came down, simmering with suppressed anger. “Renna, do you touch other men this casually when you measure them?” My hand faltered. I replied with practiced politeness, “Mr. Scott, this is my job.” The tape went slack. Cole pulled me to my feet, dropped a final sentence, and turned to leave. “It’s too late tonight. We’ll finish another time.” At the door, he paused, turning sideways to look at me, his eyes unreadable in the dim light. “Remember that tie you owe me? Bring it next time.” 4 I did owe Cole a tie. That wasn’t a lie. Back in college, I switched from Finance to Fashion Design. Once, I co-hosted the New Year’s Gala with Cole. I was helping him with his tie backstage. We were face-to-face, inches apart. Suddenly, Cole dipped his head and kissed the corner of my mouth—a quick, feather-light touch. My face instantly flamed. I whispered, “There are people around. Behave yourself.” He looked thoughtful. “So, if no one was around, I could kiss you as much as I want?” My face got hotter. “Cole!” The tie, which was nearly done, ended up being tied and untied in my fumbling hands. Cole chuckled softly. “Renna, you’re strangling me. That’s a double knot.” I stubbornly retorted, “It’s the tie’s fault. It’s too slippery.” He played along. “Makes sense. How about you design one for me? A custom one. That won’t slip.” His birthday had just passed. I quietly planned to make it for his next one. But I never got the chance. A month before his next birthday, we broke up. There was no next year for us. Suddenly, a barrage of frantic notification chimes yanked me out of my memory. I unlocked my phone. My personal WeChat was usually a graveyard, but now several chats were flagged with red dots. I opened the chat with Harper first. A screenshot of a social media post. Followed by a string of screaming texts. Harper: Renna, guess what I found!!! Harper: The sticky note Cole put on the Wish Wall back in college! Harper: omg you guys were so cute I can’t. Harper: Renna, he seriously loved you so much. I stared at the screen, a thousand ripples spreading through my heart. After a moment, I clicked the screenshot. It was from the university’s unofficial “Confessions & Throwbacks” page. Caption: Submission from a junior—found some expired sugar from the former Art School Queen and the Basketball Captain. The photo showed a yellow sticky note, surrounded by old Polaroids of Cole and me. The handwriting on the note was unmistakably Cole’s. “I’m going to marry Renna! Travel the world with Renna!!! Grow old with Renna! Love Renna for a lifetime!!!!” 5 The comment section was blowing up. User1: [Damn, five years later and I’m choking on this sugar. They were the IT couple.] User2: [Look at their eyes in the photos, omg. Even the exclamation marks are screaming ‘forever’. HE LOVED HER.] User3: [I know this couple! I saw them kissing backstage at the New Year’s Gala. The dog food was tasty back then, but now it’s probably laced with arsenic.] User4: [If they were so in love, why’d they break up?] User5: [Handsome guy, pretty girl. Wait, the guy looks familiar…] User6: [That’s Cole Scott, CEO of Zenith Entertainment. He was rumored to be with that actress, Felicity, recently. And the girl in the photo is married with a kid now. So stop shipping them, let them rest in peace.] User7: [Sad ending.] User8: [Sad ending.] User9: [Sad ending.] … Behind the university cafeteria, there was a Wish Wall covered in thousands of colorful sticky notes. Cole must have written this one during our sophomore year. Back then, neither of us showed the other what we wrote. I never imagined this was what he wished for. I took a shallow breath and typed a reply to Harper. Renna: It’s all in the past. Renna: I just saw Cole. Renna: He seems to hate me now. She replied instantly. Harper: ????????? Harper: WTF??? You met? Who found who? Harper: DETAILS! NOW! Harper: Wait, he hates you? I was about to call her to explain, but Mrs. Higgins messaged at the same time. Mrs. Higgins: Luna is still awake, waiting for you like an angel. I replied [Coming soon] and then texted Harper. Renna: Talk later. I have to go home and put the kid to sleep. Again, instant reply. Harper: Ugh, you’re killing me. Harper: Fine, go. Slave to the daughter. Harper: Wait, does Cole know about Luna? What was his reaction? I didn’t reply immediately. I locked up the shop and walked to the parking lot. As soon as I got in the car, I received a friend request notification. [Cole. To schedule the fitting.] 6 The reason was logical and professional. I accepted. A message popped up instantly. Cole: Doesn’t even add clients proactively. Is this the service standard of your shop? Cole: Or can Designer Renna not balance work and family? Cole: Is the father that useless? Cole: You said he was basically dead. Are you sure? Cole: I need to know so I can prepare a gift. Cole: Sorry, I meant a wreath. I was speechless. The brutal, sudden breakup six years ago had evidently made him despise me to the core. My fingers tapped the screen, keeping it strictly professional: Renna: Apologies, Mr. Scott. That was an oversight on my part. I’ll offer a discount on your next visit. Renna: As for my family matters, I prefer not to discuss them. Renna: I love my child very much. Thank you for your concern. At the top of the chat, the [typing…] indicator bubbled for a long time. Finally, Cole sent: Cole: I have a child too. Cole: I’ll bring him to the fitting next time. I blinked, confused. Cole has a child? He got married? But I never heard anything from Harper. She occasionally fed me tidbits about Cole—mostly gossip about him and the actress Felicity—but never anything about a marriage or a kid. And Felicity had been a child star working non-stop; she definitely didn’t have time to secretly birth a child. Was it with someone else? My head spun. After a long pause, I suppressed my shock and replied politely. Renna: Of course, Mr. Scott. You are welcome to bring him. We will prepare toys and snacks. If you have any other requirements, please let me know. Silence stretched. Then, a notification. Cole: Renna, you are truly boring. My fingers trembled. I remembered what his friend had said about me back in college. “Cole, your girlfriend is as plain as water. Always in t-shirts and jeans, so quiet. Isn’t she boring?” Back then, Cole had played with a cigarette in his hand and laughed. “You don’t get it. It’s because she doesn’t know anything that she’s interesting to date.” Later, I used that sentence as the reason to break up with him. All our friends thought I was overreacting. Cole knelt before me, begging, explaining over and over. He said he was wrong. He said he didn’t mean it like that. He swore he’d cut off that friend and never speak like that again. I ignored him. I ruthlessly blocked him on everything and refused to see him. Deep down, I knew he wasn’t really at fault. I knew the reason was flimsy. But at that time, the real reason was something I couldn’t bring myself to say. 7 On Saturday, Cole actually showed up with a child. A boy, maybe five or six years old. He was cute, confident, and immediately introduced himself to Luna. “Hi! I’m Qi… uh, Leo! I’m six. What’s your name?” Luna was shy, clutching the hem of my shirt, her voice tiny. “Hi big brother. I’m Luna. I’m four.” Every weekend when preschool was closed, I brought Luna to the shop. It was our time together, and it gave Mrs. Higgins a break. But Cole had scheduled for Sunday. He came a day early, on purpose. The boy named Leo bent down, staring intently at Luna. “Whoa, you’re so cute!” “Hehe, I’m gonna tell my mom to make me a little sister too!” Cole suddenly coughed loudly. Leo seemed to snap back to reality and grabbed Luna’s hand. “Let’s go! Let’s play in the back room. I brought toys!” Luna looked up at me. I patted her soft hair. “Go ahead. If you need anything, call Mommy or Auntie Becca.” She nodded and followed him. Cole coughed again. “Let’s measure.” I asked with genuine concern, “Do you have a cold, Mr. Scott? We have medicine in the back if you need it.” Cole’s face stiffened. A moment later, he sat on the velvet sofa, crossing his long legs and folding his arms. “Forget it. Show me the tie first.” The tie. I had actually finished it before the breakup. I just never gave it to him. The night we reunited, I dug it out of a box gathering dust in my closet. I suppose it was time to return it to its rightful owner. I grabbed the gift box from the counter and handed it to Cole. A shadow passed through his eyes. He reached out to take it. Suddenly, the bell chimed, and someone walked in. A deep, commanding male voice filled the room. “Renna, is my child here?” I turned around. The man was impeccable in a suit, his face handsome but stern. It was Luna’s biological father, Vaughn. In front of me, Cole’s hand retracted. His voice dropped to sub-zero. “Is that your dead husband?”

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  • His Pity Cost Our Child

    After a grueling recovery from a miscarriage that nearly took my life, our friends did everything they could to keep Sebastian away from that girl from the massage parlor. They acted like a human shield, blocking her calls and even cornering her in private. One of them—Mark, I think—had gone as far as to threaten her. “Sebastian gave you eighty thousand dollars to disappear. Isn’t that enough? If you try to crawl back into his life and mess with my friend’s marriage again, I’ll make sure you regret it.” I don’t know how that reached Sebastian’s ears, but when it did, he snapped. He found Mark and beat him so badly the police had to be called. It only stopped when I walked into the precinct with the divorce papers in my hand. That was the wake-up call, or so I thought. That night, Sebastian purged her. He deleted her number, scrubbed every trace of her from our house, and even took our wedding photo—the one she’d cracked in a fit of pique—to a professional restorer. He hung it back over our bed like a trophy of our “renewed” love. He became the “Perfect Husband” again. He was home by six every night, cooking three-course meals, doting on me with an intensity that felt like he was trying to grow me back into the woman I used to be—the one who hadn’t been broken by him. We lived in that fragile, beautiful lie for three years. Right up until the morning my prenatal check-up notification arrived in the same mail as an invitation to that girl’s wedding. Sebastian called it “trash” and threw it in the bin with a sneer. But on the day he was supposed to drive me to the clinic to see our baby’s first ultrasound, he never showed up. Instead, he drove two towns over and crashed a wedding. In front of a hundred staring guests, he grabbed the bride, pulled her behind his back, and slapped a check onto the groom’s chest. “Here’s two million dollars. Ten times whatever you spent on this circus. Now get the hell out of here and never look at her again.” Someone caught it on video. Within hours, it was viral. The internet was calling her the “Runaway Bride” and romanticizing their “star-crossed” love. It turned out that during these years when I thought Sebastian had finally found his way back to me, he hadn’t spent a single second letting go of Jade. That night, I called the clinic and scheduled a different kind of appointment. 1 I was simmering a pot of chicken corn soup for Sebastian when the video hit my phone. My best friend, Sarah, was the first to send it. Is this him? What the hell is going on? Did he seriously go back to that parlor girl? The notifications poured in like a dam breaking. Some were voyeuristic, some were pitying, some were dripping with “I told you so.” The world tilted on its axis, sending me back to that night three years ago. The night Sebastian threw a man off a second-story balcony at a bar because he’d made a crude comment to Jade. It was the same madness, the same “me against the world” fever. I scrolled through the comments, my heart hammering a jagged rhythm against my ribs. “God, the intensity! He’s been obsessed with her for years!” “If you won’t marry me, I’ll just steal you. This is some real-life Dark Romance shit.” “I want someone to love me enough to ruin their entire reputation for me.” I kept scrolling, my eyes blurring, forgetting the stove was still on. The ceramic pot hissed, then cracked under the uneven heat. Boiling broth erupted, splashing over my hands and legs. I stared at the red, blistering skin, but I couldn’t feel the sting. I just stood there in the wreckage of my kitchen and dialed Sebastian’s number. It went straight to voicemail. That familiar, clipped greeting played in my ear, followed by the silence of his absence. I started to laugh. It was a cold, hollow sound that died in my throat. He’d promised me this morning. He’d kissed my stomach and told me he’d be home by two. He’d knelt by my hospital bed three years ago and sworn on his life he’d be a better man. Was I heartbroken? I don’t think so. You have to have hope for your heart to break, and I’d burned through the last of mine a long time ago. I calmly cleaned the floor, wiped the broth from my skin, and called the hospital back. “Cancel the ultrasound,” I said, my voice steady. “I need to schedule a termination. As soon as possible.” 2 Sebastian didn’t stumble through the door until 3:00 AM. I was sitting on the sofa, my eyes raw and stinging from the lack of sleep. When our eyes met, the silence in the room felt heavy, like it was made of lead. On the coffee table, my iPad was on a loop, playing the video of him at the altar. “Here’s two million dollars…” Over and over. Sebastian strode across the room, snatched the iPad, and killed the screen. Then, slowly, as if his bones had turned to glass, he sank to his knees. He was kneeling for her. Again. The irony was so sharp it was almost funny. “I know there’s nothing I can say,” he rasped, his voice sounding like he’d been screaming. “But I swear, this was the last time. I just had to help her.” “Help her?” I asked quietly. “Her dad has Stage 4 lung cancer. She’s drowning in medical debt. She came to me weeks ago, and I turned her away. I tried to be the man you wanted. But then she decided to sell herself to that… that pig, just for the dowry. I couldn’t let her do it, Maya. It was out of pity. Just pity.” Pity. He’d used that word so many times I doubted he even knew what it meant anymore. But I knew. I knew because every time he “pitied” her, I was the one who bled. Putting her through school? Pity. Getting her that apartment? Pity. Buying her a car? Pity. Assaulting a man for her? Pity. And now, ruining our life to stop her from marrying someone else? Still “pity.” “Your heart is just overflowing with charity, isn’t it?” I said, the sarcasm tasting like acid. He moved to pull me into his arms, but I shoved him back with a strength that surprised us both. “Maya, please. Don’t do this. Don’t leave me.” He looked up at me, his eyes bloodshot and brimming with tears. “Sebastian,” I said, looking down at the man I’d loved since I was seventeen. “The person who gives up first doesn’t get to ask the other to stay.” 3 I never thought Sebastian would be a cheater. The day I found out was exactly 5,200 days since we’d first met. We were high school sweethearts, the couple everyone pointed to as the gold standard. A decade of history, and it all collapsed because of a girl in a shady spa. He’d started “working late” every night. My friends would joke about it, asking if I was worried he had a mistress. I’d just laugh it off. “Why worry? If a man is dirty, you just throw him out.” But I had overestimated his loyalty and underestimated my own capacity for self-destruction. Love is a debt, and I was about to go bankrupt. Sebastian had “gifted” fifty thousand dollars to that massage parlor. One of his business partners let it slip at dinner, thinking I already knew. The table went dead silent. That was the worst day of my life. Not just because of the betrayal, but because that morning, I’d seen two pink lines on a plastic stick. I had planned to announce the pregnancy over dessert. Instead, I ended up acting like a woman I didn’t recognize—screaming, demanding names, demanding addresses. When I finally confronted Jade, the man who had never raised his voice to me stood in front of her like a shield. “Have you had enough?” he’d roared at me. “I’m so sorry,” Jade had whimpered, looking up at him with those wide, tear-filled eyes. “It’s my fault. I tempted him. Hit me if you want, just don’t blame Sebastian.” I lost it. I lunged for her, my hand connecting with her face in a sharp crack. Sebastian grabbed her, pulling her into his chest, and glared at me with pure loathing. “Maya, stop it! You’re being cruel!” “Cruel?” I choked out. “You’ve always been the strong one, the demanding one, pushing me to be more, to do more. I just wanted to do something for someone who actually needs me. What’s so wrong with that?” Those words were a death sentence. We entered a cold war that lasted months. Everyone thought he’d be the one to break. After all, he was the one who had strayed. But in the end, I was the one who used the baby to beg him to come home. 4 I didn’t realize how much I was addicted to him. From the moment we were teenagers, he was the one who chased me. He was my shadow. The thought of a world without Sebastian felt like a world without oxygen. I started gaslighting myself. Maybe I was too hard on him. Maybe I didn’t appreciate him enough. When I finally called him, I let my pride die. “Just come home. If you break it off with her, we can pretend none of this happened. Please.” I was pathetic. I was small. But he told me he couldn’t. Not yet. He said he had to “protect” her because her life had been so hard. I agreed to let him send her a monthly “stipend” just to get him back in our house. I thought that would be the end of it. But he was always out. A box of pastries from a famous bakery? She needs to try these. A ticket to a concert? She’s never seen anything beautiful; I have to show her. He even helped her open a small boutique bar called “The Jade Mist.” When a drunk customer got aggressive with her, Sebastian threw him off the balcony. We spent a fortune on lawyers and hush money to keep him out of prison. “Did you think about me?” I asked him, clutching my swollen belly. “Did you think about our daughter growing up with a father in a cage?” He just accused me of having no heart. He went on a rampage, smashing the furniture in our bedroom. When he hit the wall, our wedding photo fell. The glass shattered, a jagged crack running right between our faces. A broken mirror can’t be fixed. I was too young to understand that then. On our anniversary, I sat in a five-star restaurant until the staff started mopping the floors. He never showed. Instead, I saw Jade’s Instagram post. “Thank you for showing me that being ‘imperfect’ is the best reason to be loved.” In the photo, she was wearing a designer dress I’d seen in my own closet. She had the same bag I did. She was living a mirror version of my life, funded by my husband. I drove to the house he’d bought for her, my vision blurred by tears. When I pushed open the door, time stopped. Jade was wearing my wedding dress. Not one like it. Mine. And they were kissing. I think that was the moment I actually lost my mind. I screamed until my throat bled. I lunged at them, and in the chaos, Jade shoved me. I hit the floor hard. And then I felt the heat. The blood. 5 The baby was gone. And with her, the last of the woman I used to be. Jade threatened to jump off a roof to “pay back the life she took,” and Sebastian was the hero who talked her down. But after that, he finally seemed to wake up. He cut her off. He stayed home. He became a ghost in our house. When I handed him the divorce papers, he looked genuinely terrified. “Maya, please. Are you really throwing us away?” He knelt. He swore. He cried. He looked exactly like the eighteen-year-old boy who used to leave “Goodnight, Princess” notes in my locker. I looked at our old photos. I remembered how he’d take a two-hour bus ride every weekend just to see me for twenty minutes. I remembered how he worked three jobs in college to buy me a designer lipstick, only to pick the ugliest shade of purple because he didn’t know any better. Memories are a trap. Our love was woven into my DNA. I didn’t know how to exist without it. For a long time, I suffered from severe insomnia and anxiety. I could hear my own heart beating in the silence, waiting for it to stop. Sebastian was the one who took me to specialists, who brewed herbal teas every night, who soaked my feet in warm water until I fell asleep. He had caused all the trauma, yet he was the only one I wanted to comfort me. It was a sickness. I chose to believe him one last time. So, finding myself back here, being the punchline of the joke again… that’s on me. Sebastian, the boy you used to be earned you one last chance. And the man you are just threw it away. 6 Sebastian insisted on holding me that night. He clung to me like a shivering dog, whispering promises into my hair. “I’ll be there tomorrow for the check-up, I swear. I’m done being a fool. Our baby is going to be fine. We’re going to be fine.” But when I woke up, the bed was cold. There was a post-it note on the nightstand. Emergency at the office. I’m so sorry, baby. I’ll make it up to you tonight. Love you. What a coincidence. Seconds after I read it, Jade’s social media updated. “Thank you for saving me, again and again.” It was a photo of Sebastian’s bruised knuckles, the background clearly the site of the wedding he’d just destroyed. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just laughed. I went to the hospital alone. As the anesthesia entered my spine, I felt the life draining out of me. A single tear escaped, carrying a decade of love and a lifetime of hate. But mostly, I felt light. Walking back into the house late that night, the first thing I saw was Jade. She was sitting on my sofa, wearing my slippers, drinking from my favorite mug. The air in the room turned to ice. Sebastian stammered, his face pale. “Her ex went crazy, Maya. He was at her door with an axe. I saw it on my way home from the office… I couldn’t just leave her there. It’s just for one night.” Jade stood up, her voice a practiced whisper of humility. “I’m so sorry, Maya. I’m such a burden. Don’t be mad at Sebastian; it’s all my fault.” She looked down, but I saw the spark of triumph in her eyes. I didn’t even look at her. “Who Sebastian brings into his house is none of my business,” I said, my voice eerily calm. I walked to the coffee table and dropped the divorce papers right in front of them. “You don’t need to worry about the check-up, Sebastian. There is no baby. I had the procedure today.” “Now, sign the papers.”

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  • Thumbs Up For Your Funeral

    Before the ocean swallowed me whole, I did everything in my power to stop my boyfriend and his precious childhood best friend from diving the Devil’s Snare. But Bella wouldn’t listen. She was determined to hit the bottom of the cavern, only to trigger a massive silt-out that sucked her right into the suffocating mud. To save her, my boyfriend shoved me into the blinding debris. He let Bella use my body as a stepping stone to kick her way to safety. “Harper, stop being so selfish,” he had said, his voice echoing in my earpiece. “Bella is terrified. Let her go first. You’re the professional. I know you can handle it.” He grabbed her hand, and they swam toward the light without ever looking back. And I died down there, my lungs packed with dark, freezing silt. Now, I blinked, the sting of saltwater in my eyes. I was staring at Bella’s gloved hand, making the aggressive downward gesture. She was demanding we descend to the hundred-meter drop-off. This time, I didn’t reach out to grab their harnesses. I didn’t shake my head. Instead, I lifted my right hand and slowly, deliberately, gave them a thumbs-up. My boyfriend’s doe-eyed sidekick smirked through her mask. She thought I was finally giving in. She thought I was calling her brave. But they clearly hadn’t paid attention in my class. In scuba diving, a thumbs-up doesn’t mean good job. It means danger. Terminate the dive. I am going up. … “Harper, are you seriously this much of a sore loser?” Bella’s taunting voice crackled through the bone-conduction earpiece strapped to my head. “I already told Carter that if we nail this deep dive, our livestream will hit the number one trending spot. Why are you always trying to ruin my moment?” The frigid currents of the Atlantic wrapped around me, but it was nothing compared to the ice in my veins. Hovering just a few feet away, Carter was impatiently adjusting his full-face mask. His eyes—eyes I had loved for four years—were narrowed in profound disgust. “Harper, drop the overbearing instructor act,” Carter’s voice buzzed in my ear. “Bella wants to see the bottom of the Snare, so I’m taking her. If you’re that terrified, go back up to the boat and wait.” I knew this exact moment. I had lived it. In my past life, hovering at this exact depth, at this notoriously lethal dive site, I had practically begged them to stop. I had explained, my voice cracking with panic, that the cavern floor was untouched, unstable silt. One wrong fin kick would cause a complete white-out. Visibility would drop to zero in seconds. And what had happened? Carter forced the descent. Bella, with her abysmal buoyancy control, crashed into the bottom. The mud swallowed her fins, and in her sheer panic, she kicked up a blinding storm of sediment. Blinded and terrified, she had lunged for me, wrapping her arms around my legs like a vice. And Carter—the man who kissed my forehead every morning—had violently kicked my primary regulator right out of my mouth to give Bella leverage. He shoved his hand into my shoulder, pushing me deeper into the mud so his fragile best friend could push off my chest and escape. I remembered the excruciating burn of my lungs expanding, the thick, metallic taste of the mud flooding my airway. I remembered the agonizing, desperate thrashing that slowly faded into a cold, paralyzing numbness. In the final seconds before my brain went dark, I saw them. Through the murky water, they were clinging to each other. Carter’s voice had drifted down to me, distorted but unmistakable: “That was too close. God, Bella, I realized it down here… you’re the only one who matters to me.” “Thank you, Harper,” he had added, an afterthought to a corpse. “We’ll tell our kids how you sacrificed yourself for her.” The phantom pain of drowning violently seized my throat. I was back. The universe had rewound the tape. I forced myself to exhale a long, steady stream of bubbles, bringing my heart rate down to avoid CO2 retention. I looked at Carter as he aggressively signaled ‘Descent’ again. I didn’t thrash. I didn’t scream into the comms. I didn’t fight like a madwoman to shut off their tank valves like I had wanted to the first time. I adjusted my BCD, finding perfect, weightless neutral buoyancy. Then, making sure the underwater drone’s camera was capturing my every move, I raised my right hand. I gave them a textbook, flawless thumbs-up. Dive over. Ascending. It was a tragic comedy, really. During the two-hour safety briefing they had completely ignored, I had drilled the hand signals into them. But Bella was too busy rolling her eyes, cutting me off with a huff. “God, Harper, we get it. We’ve dove in Cabo before. Stop acting like we’re idiots.” And Carter had just stroked her hair, indulging her bratty behavior while I stood there, humiliated. Now, seeing my thumb raised, Carter paused. A flicker of smug satisfaction crossed his eyes. He actually thought I was praising them. He thought he had finally broken my boundaries and taught me to be the submissive girlfriend. Bella actually blew me a kiss through the water. She linked her arm through Carter’s, and together, like two lovesick fools, they kicked their way down into the very darkness that had once been my grave. I watched their dive lights fade into faint, glowing halos. Then, I turned my back to the abyss. I checked my dive computer, vented a burst of air from my wing, and began my slow, mandatory safety ascent. You can’t save people who are hell-bent on destroying themselves. Since they were so desperate for a romantic adventure, I wished them well. I hoped they’d stay together in that mud. Forever. When I broke the surface, the glaring afternoon sun made me squint. The safety diver on the charter boat leaned over the railing, his face pale. “Harper? Where are Carter and Bella? Why are you alone?” I spit out my mouthpiece and methodically unclipped my heavy harness. I let a perfectly measured look of bitter exhaustion wash over my face. “They thought I was holding them back,” I said, my voice intentionally trembling. “They insisted on pushing past the recreational limits into the deep fissure. I couldn’t physically stop them. I came up so I wouldn’t cause a panic at depth.” The crew exchanged horrified looks. Behind them, a laptop screen showed Carter’s livestream chat absolutely exploding. [What kind of instructor abandons her students?] [Shut up, you idiot. Carter signed a death-wish waiver. Harper is a guide, not a babysitter.] [Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.] I ignored the noise. I found a quiet spot on the stern and sat down, my fingers tightly gripping my GoPro housing. Inside this little black box was the definitive proof of our parting ways. The minutes crawled by. Ten minutes past their scheduled surface time. The atmosphere on the deck grew suffocating. The boat captain was incessantly checking his watch, barking into the marine radio, receiving nothing but the crackle of dead static. Five more minutes. Suddenly, the water fifty yards off the port bow violently boiled. A massive cluster of expanding bubbles breached the surface, followed instantly by two bodies shooting out of the water like corks. It wasn’t a controlled ascent. It was a catastrophic, uncontrolled emergency blow-up. Carter broke the surface gasping, his mask gone, his face twisted in sheer agony. Blood was pouring from his nose and mouth—the undeniable, horrifying signs of pulmonary barotrauma and severe decompression sickness. He was dragging Bella by her buoyancy vest. She was completely limp. “Help! Help her!” Carter shrieked, his voice shredded and wet. The crew scrambled, throwing life rings and hauling the two of them onto the dive platform. Bella’s face was the color of ash. Her legs dragged behind her at a sickening, unnatural angle. The second Carter hit the deck, he didn’t even bother wiping the blood from his chin. His bloodshot eyes locked onto me, burning with a rabid, animalistic hatred. He lunged. “Harper! You sick bitch!” he screamed, his voice cracking. “You turned off our reserve valves! You tried to murder Bella!” The entire boat froze. The crew from neighboring dive boats turned their heads. The guy running Carter’s livestream practically shoved the camera into my face, sensing the viral drama. Carter swung a heavy, desperate fist at my head. I was ready. I simply took a half-step to the right. Severely disoriented by the nitrogen bubbles expanding in his brain, Carter’s equilibrium was shot. He missed entirely, his momentum carrying him forward until he face-planted onto the hard fiberglass deck with a sickening crunch. “Aargh!” He wailed, clutching his face, but immediately pointed a shaking, bloody finger at me. “You all saw her! She left us! She was jealous of Bella and sabotaged our gear in the cave!” he sobbed for the camera. “I’m sending you to prison, Harper! I’ll make you pay for this!” It was just the three of us down there. I was the one who came up early. In a culture that immediately sympathizes with the bleeding victim, a bloody man and a comatose woman painted a very damning picture of me. Whispers started breaking out among the onlookers. “Jesus, did she really try to drown them over a guy?” “She looks so calm. That’s psycho behavior.” I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry defensively. I just looked down at him. “Carter,” I said, my voice carrying over the sound of the idling engines. “If you’re going to accuse me of attempted murder, you need better material.” I reached down and hauled my scuba tank upright. The pressure gauge clearly showed it was nearly full. I turned the dial toward the crowd. “I initiated my ascent less than five minutes into the dive. My dive computer—” I tapped the heavy watch on my wrist “—has a to-the-second GPS and depth log. It shows I never came within thirty feet of either of you after the drop-off.” I tilted my head, staring dead into his panicked eyes. “Tell me, Carter. Am I telekinetic? Did I use mind control to shut off your air from thirty feet away?” He froze. The gears in his oxygen-deprived brain ground to a halt. He hadn’t expected the cold, hard data. But narcissists pivot quickly. “Then you left us to die!” he howled, changing his tune instantly. “You’re a certified instructor! It was your job to protect us! You knew that cave was a death trap and you didn’t force us back! You wanted us dead!” The absolute audacity of it almost made me laugh. In my past life, I tried to force them back, and they murdered me for it. In this life, I respected their autonomy, and now I was a negligent monster. “Are you a toddler, Carter?” I asked, my voice dropping to a low, lethal register. “I warned you three times during the briefing that the cavern was unstable. You laughed, signed the liability waivers, and demanded to go. Down there, you gave me the middle finger and told me to get lost.” I stepped closer, looming over him. “And now that you face the consequences of your own arrogance, you want to blame me? I’m a dive guide, Carter. I’m not your mother.” The rhythmic, deafening thwack of a Coast Guard medevac helicopter drowned out whatever excuse he was about to vomit. Paramedics rushed the deck with stretchers. As they strapped Bella in, I saw her eyelashes flutter. She wasn’t entirely unconscious. She was playing possum. Smart girl. Easier to play the tragic, helpless victim when you don’t have to answer questions. Before Carter was hoisted up, he grabbed the paramedic’s collar, screaming toward the livestream phone still recording him. “I’m suing her! I’m destroying her! Everyone watching, you are my witnesses! Harper did this to us!” The chat was a blur of absolute chaos. The hashtag #KillerDiveInstructor was already trending on Twitter. I watched the helicopter bank away toward the mainland, a cold smile pulling at the corner of my mouth. Scream louder, Carter. Go viral. Because the higher the pedestal of public pity you build for yourself, the harder the fall is going to shatter you. The hospital waiting room was a circus. Carter’s parents and Bella’s mother were practically staging a protest outside the ICU. The moment Bella’s mother saw me step off the elevator, she shrieked and lunged for my throat. “You murderer! You ruined my baby’s life!” A police officer stepped between us, shoving her back. “Ma’am, step back! This is a hospital, contain yourself!” I calmly smoothed the collar of my jacket, completely unfazed by the hysterics. “Officer,” I said smoothly. “I’m here to give my official statement. And to hand over my evidence.” Inside the hospital room, Carter was propped up in bed, holding his phone out, weeping for an audience of three million live viewers. Bella was awake in the bed next to his. The bends had severely damaged her spinal cord, leaving her paralyzed from the waist down. She was clinging to Carter’s arm, sobbing pitifully. When Carter saw me walk in, his face twisted into an ugly snarl. “You have a lot of nerve showing your face here, Harper!” he spat. “I’m going to make sure you rot in a cell! I’ll take everything you own!” The livestream chat was moving so fast it was unreadable, mostly a blur of death threats directed at me. The detective frowned, gesturing for Carter to put the phone away. “Mr. Starling, Ms. Harper claims to have video evidence of the dive. We are going to review it.” Carter scoffed, a sickeningly confident smirk on his face. “Video? Perfect. Show the world exactly how you swam away and left us to die in the dark.” He thought my GoPro only caught the moment I turned around. He thought the narrative was locked: I abandoned them, therefore I was morally bankrupt and legally liable for a massive payout. I didn’t say a word. I just walked over to the smart TV mounted on the wall and plugged my camera in. The screen flickered, and suddenly, the room was filled with the crystal-clear 4K footage of the deep, suffocating blue. The video showed Carter and Bella flipping me off. It showed them aggressively swimming deeper. It showed me giving the thumbs-up and turning away. “See?!” Carter yelled triumphantly at the phone in his hand. “Look at her! She just leaves! She didn’t even try!” But the video didn’t stop. And neither did the audio. My GoPro was top-of-the-line. It was linked to our shared bone-conduction comms frequency. Even though I was swimming away, the receiver was still picking up their private channel perfectly. From the TV speakers, Carter’s voice echoed through the dead-silent hospital room. “Forget the bitch, Bella,” his recorded voice panted, thick with adrenaline. “I took out a two-million-dollar accidental injury policy for this trip. All we have to do is get a little banged up down here. Make it look like an equipment failure…” “Once the payout hits, we leave her in the dust and move to the Maldives.” The silence in the hospital room was so absolute you could hear the hum of the fluorescent lights. Carter’s face drained of all color. The phone slipped from his sweaty hand and clattered to the linoleum floor. But the recording wasn’t done. The audio erupted into a horrifying cacophony of thrashing water and Bella’s muffled screams. “Carter! My leg! I’m stuck in the mud! Help me!” Then came Carter’s frantic, hyperventilating voice. “Damn it! The silt is everywhere! I can’t see!” “Stop grabbing me, Bella! Let go! I’m out of air!” The sound of their violent underwater struggle was nauseating. And then came the sentence that shattered the room. “I’m sorry, Bells. But it’s better one of us lives than both of us die.” “Your legs are crushed anyway. Give me the air!” Hisssssss. The unmistakable, violent sound of a regulator being ripped from a mouth. Followed by the wet, choking gurgle of Bella inhaling mud, and the greedy, desperate sound of Carter sucking down her remaining oxygen. I stood next to the TV, looking down at Carter’s paralyzed, ghost-white face. I slowly reached out and pressed pause. “Tell me, Carter,” I whispered into the deafening silence. “Is that what you call abandonment?” “Because the penal code calls that attempted murder.”

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  • Roommate Scandals And Moldy Oranges

    My roommate sold me five thousand pounds of moldy oranges and had the audacity to swear they were fresh. I told her, “If they’re so good, why don’t you eat one?” That night, she was rushed to the ER with acute hemorrhagic gastroenteritis. By the next morning, a rumor caught fire across campus: the “rich girl” had forced her poor, starving classmate to eat rot. Overnight, I went from the dean’s list sweetheart to the campus pariah—a literal “cockroach socialite.” My boyfriend, the man I thought would be my rock, stood firmly by her side, publicly listing a hundred and eight “sins” I had supposedly committed against her. They sold my private life to bottom-feeding tabloids, raking in blood money while my father’s company stock plummeted. I ended up on the streets, beaten to death by debt collectors in a rain-slicked alley. Then, I opened my eyes. I was back in my freshman dorm. My roommate was mid-performance, tears streaming down her face like a tragic indie movie lead. She was wailing that if she didn’t sell her family’s crop, they’d be out on the street. Worse, she claimed her father would sell her off to some “backwoods idiot” in their village just to pay for her brother’s tuition. I just said, “Oh,” and put on my noise-canceling headphones. Inside, I was silently praying for her to get sold off as soon as humanly possible. … “Get your ass back here and sell these oranges! We can’t even put bread on the table, and you’re out there living it up? I’m giving you one day. If you aren’t back, I’m coming to that school to break your legs! Click—” I was jolted awake by the tinny, aggressive roar of a middle-aged man coming from a cheap smartphone. The realization hit me like a physical blow: I was back. Freshman year. As soon as the call cut, my roommate, Cassie, let out a gut-wrenching sob. “Oh god, what am I going to do?!” she wailed, her voice reaching a pitch that set my teeth on edge. “My dad’s going to pull me out of school. I might as well just end it now! I have nothing!” I watched her through the corner of my eye. Even in her “uncontrollable” grief, she was checking my reflection in the mirror, gauging my reaction. In my last life, that performance had cost me everything. My sympathy had been her weapon, and I had been the ultimate mark. This time, I didn’t rush to her side. I didn’t offer a tissue or a checkbook. I simply slid my headphones on, blocking out the noise, and pulled up my messages with Nate. I typed two words. [We’re done.] In that previous life, I’d been a fool. I’d listened to Cassie’s sob story about her father’s failing orchard and didn’t hesitate. I ordered five thousand pounds of oranges, intending to give them out as a “farm-to-table” wellness perk to my father’s employees. Cassie had acted like I was her guardian angel. But the day the shipment arrived, reality set in. I’d arranged a temperature-controlled warehouse for them, but the foreman called me before the first pallet was even offloaded. “Miss Thorne,” he’d said, his voice thick with disgust. “These aren’t oranges. They’re biohazards.” Not a single crate was salvageable. The mold had eaten through the cardboard, and in the sweltering August heat, the stench was enough to make a grown man gag. I confronted Cassie in the middle of the quad. She turned pale, then immediately shifted gears into a “persecuted victim” role. She wept in front of half the student body, screaming about how “the 1%” was out to destroy her family. “I thought you were a good person!” she’d shrieked, her voice cracking perfectly for the crowd. “My dad could have sold these for two dollars a pound at the market, but he gave them to you for a discount because we’re ‘friends.’ That’s five thousand dollars of our livelihood! And now you’re lying about the quality just so you don’t have to pay? You’re trying to kill us!” She was so convincing that the crowd turned on me instantly. Even Nate—the boy I’d grown up with—stepped in. He told me to “stop being a brat,” pay her the money, and apologize for “humiliating” her. I refused. I knew my foreman wasn’t a liar. I dragged Cassie to the warehouse to see the “gold” her father had sent. The air was thick with flies. The buzzing was deafening. “This?” I’d asked, fighting the urge to vomit. “This is what you’re defending?” Cassie squared her shoulders, her eyes hard. “Yeah! It’s hot out, Phoebe. Of course they’re a little soft. You rich girls are so delicate. I don’t care—they’re delivered. You can’t send them back. Pay up.” Her sheer entitlement snapped something in me. I pointed at a particularly fuzzy, green-blue orange. “Fine. If they’re so great, eat it. Eat one, right now, and I’ll write the check.” She hesitated, her bravado flickering. But her father, Rick, had followed us there. The moment he heard there was money on the line, he grabbed the moldy fruit and shoved it into her mouth, his hand clamped over her lips until she swallowed. He didn’t care that she was retching and red-eyed. He just held out his hand for the money. I paid, thinking I was buying my way out of a nightmare. I was actually buying a front-row seat to my own execution. That night, Cassie went into the hospital. She started a livestream from her bed, claiming I’d “forced” her to eat rot as a power move. She called me a “bully,” a “sociopath.” My father’s corporate rivals saw the opening. They poured money into boosting her stream, making it the #1 trending topic in the country. The internet tore me apart. And then Nate twisted the knife. My own boyfriend went on camera to confirm that I was “vile” behind closed doors. He listed every private insecurity I’d ever shared with him as proof of my “dark nature.” I didn’t know then that the rival company had already bought him. My father, desperate to clear my name, fell into a legal trap they’d set. He lost the company. He lost everything. I ended up dead in the dirt. And Nate and Cassie? They became the “it-couple” of the media cycle—the humble girl and the hero who saved her, building their empire on the ashes of my family. “Phoebe! I’m literally falling apart here! Why aren’t you saying anything?!” Cassie’s voice broke my reverie. She marched over and snatched the phone out of my hand before I could hit ‘send’ on the breakup text. “My dad says if I don’t sell these, I’m done. I’m out! Don’t you care?” I pointed to my ears and gave her a look of pure, unadulterated boredom. “I heard you. You’ve said it four times. Now, give me my phone back.” Cassie’s brow furrowed. She looked like a teacher disappointed in a student. “You heard me? And? What’s the plan?” I reached out and plucked my phone from her grip. I met her eyes—the sharp, calculating eyes hidden behind the puffy lids. “The plan? I don’t know, Cassie. Maybe talk to the guy who told you to quit? I’m not your father. Why are you telling me your problems?” Cassie stood there, her face flushing a deep, angry crimson. She was speechless. I didn’t give her a second to recover. I started throwing my things into a suitcase. I was moving out of this dorm immediately. Seeing me leave, she panicked. She threw herself in front of the door, dropping to her knees with a dramatic thud. “Phoebe… Izzy… please. I know you’re loaded. I saw your bag—it’s a Hermès, isn’t it? It’s worth more than my house. Just that one bag could save my family. Please, help me!” I tilted my head. “What exactly do you want me to do?” A flash of greed crossed her face before she tucked her head down. “My dad’s oranges… they’re two dollars a pound, but I’ll give them to you for one-fifty. There’s five thousand pounds. It’s nothing to you, but it’s life or death for us!” Without waiting for me to answer, she scrambled up, her face lighting up with a fake, watery smile. “Oh, thank you! Thank you, Phoebe! I knew you’d help!” She whipped out her phone and dialed her dad before I could even draw breath. “Dad! We’re saved! My roommate is taking them all! Yeah, the whole shipment!” “Cassie,” I said, my voice cold and level. “I never said yes.” She froze, hung up the phone, and grabbed my hand, shaking it playfully. “Oh, stop it. I know you. You’re the best person I know. You wouldn’t let us starve. My dad’s already loading the truck. They’re going to be so sweet, I promise!” I wrenched my hand away and walked out. If she wanted to play this game, fine. But I wasn’t the one paying for the tickets this time. I went back to my parents’ townhouse. The memories of my previous death were still clawing at my brain, and I ended up coming down with a stress-induced fever. When I finally checked my phone two days later, the campus group chat was a war zone. Cassie had been busy. She’d uploaded a series of sobbing voice notes. “Phoebe Thorne told me she’d buy the crop. My dad spent two days in the sun picking every single one. He almost broke his back loading that truck!” “Now the shipment is here at the campus gates, and she’s ghosted me. What am I supposed to do? These oranges are our only income!” “The heat is killing the fruit. They’re starting to turn. Phoebe, where are you?! Please, just pay for what you promised! I’m begging you!” The comments below were a landslide of vitriol. [Phoebe Thorne is a literal monster. How do you live with yourself?] [Rich girl games. She probably thinks it’s funny to watch them suffer.] [Cassie, honey, call the police. This is fraud.] My skin went cold. I’d learned one thing from my first life: silence is a confession in the eyes of the public. I drove to the campus gates. Even from twenty yards away, the smell hit me. It was that same, sickly-sweet rot. A massive flatbed truck was parked by the entrance. Cassie and her father, Rick, were sitting on the curb, surrounded by a small crowd of “outraged” students. They were giving a masterclass in performative poverty. I saw the angry faces of my classmates and realized I was walking into a lynch mob. I didn’t walk up to them empty-handed. I went to the security booth first and borrowed a megaphone. Then, I pulled up the recording of our last conversation in the dorm. I hit play and walked toward them, the audio booming across the quad. The crowd went silent. They heard Cassie’s voice, clear as day, trying to guilt-trip me. They heard my explicit, repeated refusal. They heard her “interpreting” my silence as a yes and calling her dad before I could even speak. The color drained from the faces of the students. One guy, who had been screaming for my head a minute ago, looked at Cassie. “Wait… so she actually told you no? You just brought the truck anyway?” “I—I thought she was just being modest!” Cassie stammered, her fists clenching. “Modest?” I said into the megaphone. “Or were you just trying to trap me into a bill I never agreed to?” “Everyone relax,” a girl from our psych class sighed. “Cassie, look, being broke is hard, but you can’t just force people to buy your stuff. Phoebe doesn’t owe you a living.” “Yeah, but…” another student chimed in, looking at me with that annoying ‘neutral’ pity. “Phoebe, you do have the money. Look at them. Maybe just buy them anyway to keep the peace? It’s just some fruit.” “Oh, ‘just some fruit’?” I laughed. I walked to the back of the truck, grabbed a box, and ripped it open. A cloud of fruit flies erupted. The oranges inside were a fuzzy, greyish-green mess of slime. “You want me to pay for this? The smell is already making people gag. Cassie tried to sell me toxic waste at a premium. Does that sound like a ‘favor’ to you?” Cassie jumped up and shoved me. “You liar! They only look like that because you made us wait two days in the sun! This is your fault! You owe us for the damage!” I almost doubled over laughing. “Cassie, use your brain. Oranges don’t turn into compost in forty-eight hours unless they were already rotting on the branch. You brought your trash here hoping I’d be too ‘nice’ to check the boxes.” Suddenly, the crowd parted. Nate, my “boyfriend,” pushed through. He looked at me with a disgust so deep it felt like a physical slap. “Enough, Phoebe! I am ordering you to apologize to Cassie right now. Pay her, and let’s get this over with.” I stared at him. Truly looked at him. Nate was the son of our family’s long-time driver. He’d grown up in our guest house. My parents had treated him like a second son, paying for his elite private schools, his clothes, his vacations. And yet, here he was, looking at me like I was the dirt under his shoe. In my last life, I thought his “strong moral compass” was why he sided with her. Now, I saw it for what it was: a deep-seated inferiority complex. He hated that he owed us everything. He wanted to be the hero, and he couldn’t be a hero if he was dating the “princess.” He needed a “victim” like Cassie to make him feel like a man. “On what grounds, Nate?” I asked quietly. My lack of affection clearly rattled him. He stepped back, his voice rising. “Apologize, Phoebe. Or we’re over. I won’t be seen with someone so cruel.” “Good,” I said, a sharp smile touching my lips. “We’re over. And I’m not buying your girlfriend’s trash.” “You… you’re unbelievable!” Nate spat. He turned to Cassie with a gaze so tender it made my skin crawl. “Don’t worry, Cassie. I’ll buy them. I can’t stand by while a hard-working family suffers because of a spoiled brat.” Cassie looked at him with stars in her eyes. “Oh, Nate… but you don’t have to…” She shot me a look of pure malice. “The person who caused this mess should be the one to pay.” Nate puffed out his chest. “My dad’s company has thousands of employees. We’ll just give these out as a bonus. It’s fine.” I actually snorted. “Your dad’s company? Nate, what company would that be?”

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  • The Password I Never Knew

    My parents gave me a bank card and transferred twenty thousand dollars into it every month for my living expenses. But they never told me the PIN, so I couldn’t access a single penny. When I couldn’t afford to eat and applied for financial aid, my mom tore into me. “We already gave you the bank card, and twenty thousand a month—you’re still not satisfied? You ungrateful little jerk!” Then my dad suddenly fell into a coma and needed money to save his life. My mom got on her knees and begged me to take out all the living expenses they’d transferred to me over the years. I threw the bank card on the ground. “Mom, you forgot—you never told me the PIN. The money can’t be withdrawn.” My mom’s face instantly turned deathly pale. Late at night, my phone buzzed twice. My mom sent me a screenshot. Cross-bank transfer -$20,000. Note: Living expenses. [Iris, this month’s twenty thousand has been transferred to you. Don’t let yourself go without at school.] The phone screen’s light reflected on my face. I stared at that string of numbers, my fingertips going cold. [Mom, I need to talk to you about something.] My mom seemed to be in a good mood: [Sure, go ahead.] I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice from sounding too tense. [Could you… tell me the bank card PIN?] I waited an hour before my mom replied: [Why are you suddenly asking for the PIN? Are you getting into trouble out there? Twenty thousand a month and you’re still not satisfied?] I gripped my phone tightly, my heart pounding. No, Mom, you transfer living expenses to the card but never told me the PIN. I can’t withdraw a single penny. Lately I’ve been eating nothing but bread rolls. I really can’t take it anymore. I don’t need that much money a month. Five hundred would be fine. Just transfer it directly to my SnapChat instead of the bank card. I can’t access it. The next moment, my mom’s name flashed on the screen. I quickly put in my earbuds. “Iris, have I been bad to you? Twenty thousand a month! I even gave you the bank cardwhat more do you want? Always making demands. You ungrateful little jerk!” “Mom, the card is useless to me if I don’t know the PIN…” My mom’s voice turned shrill. “Why should I tell you the PIN? That’s your father’s and my money! We’re not dead yet, and you’re already eyeing our assets. Have you no shame? I gave you the card, I transferred the money and now you want the PIN too? Why don’t you just fly to the moon? So greedy!” I instantly understood what my mom was implying: the money was transferred for show, not for me to actually spend. The call ended. I climbed down from my bed, pulled out a bread roll from a plastic bag, and slowly took a bite. The roll was cold and hard. I nearly choked and had to gulp down several mouthfuls of cold water. My roommate looked at me sympathetically. “Iris, eating bread rolls again? Don’t your parents send you any living expenses?” I nodded. It was laughable, really. My other roommates got two thousand a month and lived comfortably. I supposedly got twenty thousand a month but couldn’t access a dime of it, surviving only on part-time jobs. I’d lived like this for three whole years.

    The next morning, I tried to open my eyes, but my eyelids felt gritty and wouldn’t lift. My throat felt like it was filled with charcoal painful and parched. I forced myself to sit up and took my temperature: 101.7°F. Messages popped up on my phone: [Iris, it’s already nine o’clock. Why aren’t you here yet? We pay our part-timers daily! In my condition, there was no way I could work today. I opened SnapChat. Balance: $3.52. That wasn’t even enough to buy cold medicine. Left with no choice, I called my mom. “Mom, I have a fever—over 101 degrees. Could you transfer me some money so I can get medicine from the clinic…” I was met with a tirade. “Didn’t I just transfer you twenty thousand yesterday? And you’re asking for more money! You’re like a vampire, trying to bleed us dry until you’re satisfied!” My face burned, but my palms were ice cold. I sank into my chair, my voice hoarse and angry. “Yes, you transfer me twenty thousand every month, you gave me a bank card but you won’t tell me the PIN. That card is worthless to me! Three years. Do you know how I’ve survived each month? I hand out flyers, tutor students, wash dishes. I’ve earned every penny of my living expenses myself. I haven’t spent a cent of your money! You transfer money to the card but won’t let me use it—who exactly are you putting on this show for?” There was silence on the other end, then my mom’s shrill voice. “What, your parents are good to you and you don’t appreciate it? Now you’re blaming us? I gave you the card whether you can withdraw the money is your problem! Serves you right!” My dad tried to smooth things over. “Iris, you’re still young. When you get married, Dad will definitely tell you the PIN…” “You dare tell her the PIN and see what happens! What does a girl need all that money for? If she gets involved in something indecent, I won’t be able to show my face!” I wiped away my tears and swallowed the bitterness in my mouth. After borrowing money from my roommate, on my way back I saw Lily’s social media post: [Thanks to my employer for the treats!] Lily was the daughter of our housekeeper, Mrs. Parker. My mom doted on her treated her better than her own daughter. The image showed a SnapChat transfer from my mom for five thousand dollars. Note: Buy yourself some snacks. The plastic bag in my hand crashed to the ground. Lily—a complete stranger with no blood relation to my mom—casually received five thousand dollars. And I, her biological daughter, running a high fever, had to borrow money from others just to buy a pack of cold medicine.

    A few days later, the school began accepting applications for financial aid. I filled out the materials and submitted them, but before long, they were rejected. When I heard the news, I couldn’t help rushing to the office. “Professor, I’m in financial difficulty. I’ve been working part-time jobs and meet the poverty criteria. Why was my application rejected?” The professor didn’t look at me. She lifted her teacup, took a sip, then set it back down. The office was silent. No one answered me just the sound of fingers tapping on keyboards. This dismissal gave me an ominous feeling. I stepped forward and repeated myself clearly and loudly: “Professor, why wasn’t my financial aid application approved? What’s the reason?” The professor finally looked up. She adjusted her glasses, a contemptuous smile on her face. “Miss Iris, at this school you need to learn how to be a decent person first. If someone’s morals are rotten, good grades won’t help!” Her voice wasn’t loud, but it reached everyone in the room. I felt a chill run through me. “What do you mean by that?” “Iris, your mother just called personally. She transfers you twenty thousand dollars every month. Do you know what twenty thousand means? How many people work half a year to earn that much! How dare you claim to be poor!” I opened my mouth to defend myself. “My parents transfer twenty thousand a month, that’s true, but the money stays in the bank card. They won’t tell me the PIN, so I…” “Miss Iris, please stop making excuses. Wrong is wrong. You’re an adult don’t you have the courage to admit it?” Sweat dripped from my forehead onto my faded shirt. I clenched my fists. “You can check my spending records, my bank statements. I really…” “Enough! You’re a student with higher education how can you be so shameless! Now please leave and stop taking up spots meant for students who actually need help.” “Also, I’m informing you that the financial aid will be given to Lily instead.” A wave of cold swept up my spine. “Why? Lily travels, shops, and watches movies all the time—she lives better than most students. What qualifies her for financial aid?” The professor slammed her desk. “Because Lily’s mother works as a housekeeper in your home! Her family has it hard. That alone qualifies her for the aid—not someone like you!” In the office, everyone’s eyes fixed on me—disdainful, mocking, gleeful. Several phones quietly pointed in my direction. I don’t remember how long I stood in that office. Finally, another professor took pity on me and said quietly, “Student, just go. If you keep arguing, you’ll only hurt yourself.” Back in the dorm, when I greeted my roommates, the one I was closest to turned away, her tone cold: “Iris, I never thought you’d be this kind of person. You’re clearly rich but kept crying poverty in front of us. Pay back the money I lent you as soon as possible.”

    After transferring the money to my roommate, my dad called. “Iris, I heard about the financial aid. Don’t be angry. Your mom means well…” “Dad, Mom transferred five thousand to Lily the other day. You knew about that, right?” Silence on the other end. I bit my teeth, my nails digging deep into my palm. “She transfers five thousand to a housekeeper’s daughter but ignores her own daughter—won’t even give me five hundred. Is that appropriate?” “That’s different. Mrs. Parker has it hard. Your mom is kind-hearted…” I laughed. “Kind-hearted? So kind-hearted I can’t even afford to eat? What does Lily’s mom have to do with you? Are you people crazy?” My dad sounded annoyed. “Iris, how can you talk like that!” “I’m going to talk like this. During summer break before senior year, you took Lily on an overseas trip and made me work a summer job. When college started, I took a nine-hour hard-seat train ride by myself while you personally drove Lily to her school. Now I don’t have a penny for living expenses while she’s eating and drinking well on your money! You’re sick. Insane!” My dad gasped on the other end. He was angry but couldn’t refute me because I was telling the truth. “Dad, you’re the one who opened this bank card. Tell me—what’s the PIN?” Before my dad could answer, my mom’s voice rang out: “If you dare tell her the PIN, I’ll divorce you today! I’m done!” My dad became hesitant again. “Iris, when you’re more mature, I’ll definitely give you the PIN…” I pulled at the corner of my mouth. “No need.” I’d been hearing this line since the day I got the bank card—for three whole years. I was tired of it. I pulled out the bank card—the one that always showed “incorrect PIN” no matter how many times I tried. I stared at it for a few seconds, then violently threw it on the ground. Late that night, I was jolted awake by urgent ringing. My mom was crying so hard she could barely breathe: “Iris, come back right away—something happened to your dad!” I bought the earliest train ticket back. The house was already packed with relatives. At the sound of my arrival, everyone turned to look at me. I stood in the doorway. My mom lunged at me, nearly knocking me over. “Iris, your dad suddenly collapsed. He’s unconscious in the hospital. The doctor says he needs immediate surgery—the medical bills will be about three hundred thousand…” My hand tightened on my suitcase handle. My mom looked at me and finally revealed her true purpose. “We transfer you twenty thousand every month, don’t we? After three years, that should be at least three or four hundred thousand. Take it all out and save your father…” I rubbed my sore arm where she’d hit me and said nothing. “Iris!” My mom’s voice was sharp and shrill. “That’s your father! You have so much money in your card it’s all from us and now you’re going to watch him die? Your conscience has been eaten by dogs! Oh, my life is so miserable! I might as well die!” My mom wailed, but her eyes kept glancing my way. Relatives rushed to comfort her, their looks at me tinged with condemnation: “Iris, how can you be so thoughtless? That’s your parents’ money. Hurry up and hand over the bank card!” I let out a cold laugh, unlocked my phone, opened a recording, and turned the volume to maximum. Instantly, my mom’s malicious, contemptuous cursing echoed through the entire house. “Why should I tell you the PIN? That’s your father’s and my money! We’re not dead yet, and you’re already eyeing our assets. Have you no shame?” “You dare tell her the PIN and see what happens! What does a girl need all that money for? If she gets involved in something indecent, I won’t be able to show my face!” When the recording ended, the room fell deathly silent. I put away my phone and threw the bank card on the ground with a crisp sound. “Mom, you forgot—you never told me the PIN. The money can’t be withdrawn.” Under the shocked stares of the relatives, my mom’s face instantly turned deathly pale.

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  • My Boyfriend Proposed to a Dead Woman

    Everyone knew my boyfriend worked twenty-hour shooting days just to marry me. Even when he had no time to eat and coughed up blood on set, he’d just rinse his mouth and get back on the wire rigging. The day he won Best Actor, he finally felt he could give me the happiness I deserved. I stood there in my wedding dress, eyes red under the spotlight, reaching my hand toward him. He paused. Then turned and slipped the diamond ring onto the hand of his girlfriend from five years ago. The same ex-girlfriend he’d sworn five years ago he’d never contact again. “Sorry. All these years, I wasn’t actually doing this for you. I let you misunderstand. My apologies.” He shielded her as they left the venue. His friend laughed mockingly: “Sorry, Lydia. Actually, they’ve been together this whole five years. You seemed pretty into Holden, so we didn’t want to embarrass you by mentioning it.” I stood frozen in place. My best friend screamed over the phone: “What are you standing there for! Chase him down! Slap him!” I didn’t dare chase after them. Because his ex-girlfriend had died five years ago.

    Everyone knew Holden Pierce was going to propose to me. Even I could see it coming. So I’d put on my wedding dress early. But now my wedding dress looked utterly ridiculous, captured in full by the entertainment reporters’ cameras. I didn’t move. I just stared in shock as Holden shielded Hannah in his arms, protecting her eyes from the camera flashes. My mouth opened, but no words came out. Though the girl wore a mask, her figure, her silhouette, the way she walked—all of it was identical to Hannah, who had died long ago! Holden didn’t know about Hannah’s death. Back then, he’d just sworn an oath never to see Hannah again. He’d even deleted all her contact information right in front of me. At first I’d been wary. But soon I let my guard down. Hannah’s body had been found in a storm drain. She’d cut ties with her parents long ago. No family to claim her. In the end, I was the one who paid for the young woman’s burial. I never told Holden. After all, she was his first love, and he was at a critical point in his career. I was afraid it would affect his state of mind. I’d watched them lower her into the ground with my own eyes. So who was this girl?! “Oh my, she still hasn’t reacted? Did the shock make her brain-dead?” “Serves her right! That’s what you get for clinging to Holden! Bet you didn’t see this coming—our man never even liked you!” “Love it!” My manager Sharon rushed out and dragged my dazed self into the car. “Are you stupid? Just standing there letting everyone watch you humiliate yourself!” “No, Sharon…” “Don’t talk. Look at the trending topics—we’re being destroyed!” I quickly opened the list. The top item read: [Holden Pierce: Never dated her, she’s been obsessively pursuing me] “Her” meant me. After Holden left the venue, he released a statement. Though Holden and I were boyfriend and girlfriend, the company never allowed us to acknowledge it publicly for the sake of our careers. All these years, countless people had accused me of being shameless, of endlessly chasing after their idol. Back then, Holden had held me close: “When your man wins Best Actor, I’ll propose to you right there in public. Let’s see who dares stop us then!” But now his statement clearly declared: [I have no private relationship with Miss Lydia. Throughout my career, I’ve only ever worked to marry my first love, Miss Hannah.] The attached photo showed him kneeling on one knee, slipping the ring onto Hannah’s finger.

    To keep Hannah from being affected, he’d deliberately blurred out her face. A message popped up from his friend: [Sorry, Lydia. They actually never broke up. We knew you really liked Holden, so we kept giving you face and didn’t say anything.] [They’re already engaged. You should stop pursuing him.] Sharon snorted coldly: “Now they’re telling you to stop pursuing him? Wasn’t it him who fell for you at first sight and pursued you relentlessly? You didn’t even want to date him at first! These men—they ruin you, then blame you for it!” I said nothing. My mind kept repeating: “They actually never broke up.” For five years, had Holden been in contact with a dead woman? “With things like this between you two, I’ll cancel that variety show you were both supposed to do.” “Don’t cancel it!” I stopped Sharon. Sharon looked at me in surprise. “Don’t tell me… you still have feelings for him?” “Didn’t he say I’ve been the one pursuing him all along? Then let the whole country see who’s been pursuing who!” And while I was at it, I wanted to ask about Hannah—what exactly was going on? I still chose to participate in the variety show. Holden was somewhat surprised. He smiled coldly: “What, still can’t let go?” I didn’t answer. The host stirred up drama: “I heard that for the past five years, Miss Lydia has been the one hyping up your relationship with Mr. Pierce. May I ask, did you not know Mr. Pierce had someone he liked?” “I knew.” The comments section exploded: [I knew it! Lydia’s cheap to the bone! Knowing he had someone, still throwing herself at him! Taking advantage of the fact that his civilian girlfriend has no voice in this! What a bitch!] [Though I don’t like Holden’s civilian girlfriend either, I hate Lydia even more! I support the civilian girlfriend!] “Who said I was the one throwing myself at him?” I looked up. The next second, the big screen suddenly displayed screenshot after screenshot of chat records. The comments froze for a moment. Because everyone could see that in the beginning, it was Holden who pursued me. Holden’s breathing hitched. The comments gradually started flowing again: [Wait… why is Holden being so clingy with her? Isn’t Holden supposed to be our aloof male god?] [Oh my god, Holden called her baby! Holden, you stoic person using such sweet talk! Do you know how devastating that is!] [Is that the point! The point is your Holden was two-timing!] “Why are you showing this stuff!” Holden gritted his teeth. I laughed coldly: “Someone can spread rumors that I’ve been obsessively pursuing you all these years, but I can’t make our chat records public?” I pointed to the message he’d sent recently: “‘If I win Best Actor this time, will you marry me?’ Look, Holden, those are your words. You were the one who proposed to me!” Holden’s face went pale. The comments went wild: [This isn’t what I expected. From this perspective, it’s clearly Holden who deceived Lydia!] [Though I’m a Lydia hater, wasn’t this basically a proposal from Holden!] [Then what does it mean to publicly give the ring to someone else? Either way, deceiving someone’s feelings isn’t right, is it?] “Excuse me.” A familiar voice rang out. My back went cold. A girl slowly walked out from backstage. “Please don’t believe these chat records.” This voice… it was Hannah’s… exactly the same!

    A slender silhouette stood at the front of the stage. Hannah removed her mask. In that moment, the entire venue gasped. She was stunning. Completely beyond civilian-level beauty. I too stood frozen. Not from being dazzled. I’d seen Hannah’s beauty before. But I was shocked that she looked exactly the same as before—the same beauty. Hannah wasn’t dead? Then who was the person I’d watched being buried five years ago… “Sorry, Lydia.” The friend who joined Holden on the variety show laughed: “Actually, those chat records of yours—I was the one chatting, pretending to be Holden.” “What?!” Holden’s friend Ethan scratched his head: “You kept pursuing Holden before, and Holden was afraid that if he rejected you, you’d drag everyone down together, which would be bad for everyone’s careers. So he opened an alternate account and had me chat with you instead.” [It was like this all along hahaha! Lydia must be dumbfounded haha!] So… all these years, Holden had been enjoying our physical intimacy offline, then having someone else handle me online? Ethan leaned down, speaking in a voice only we could hear: “It was just for fun. Don’t take it seriously. You can’t break them up. I deliberately sent that proposal message hoping you’d finally know your place.” Break them up? Ha. When had I ever tried to break them up? When I found out Holden had a white moonlight, I wanted to break up. He was the one who swore he’d never see her again. After that, his behavior was good. That’s why I stayed until today. I looked at Holden with red eyes: “Are you lying to me?” “Lydia, he’s not lying to you.” It was Hannah who spoke. “Because I have Pierce’s real chat records right here.” As she spoke, the big screen displayed a messaging interface. The chat background was a photo of Holden and Hannah together. My chat records with Holden spanned five years. Theirs spanned fifteen years. The comments scrolled frantically: [This feels right! When chatting with Hannah, Holden is aloof yet doting.] [Not even aloof! Look at that conversation on the 15th—Holden was acting cute with her~] [It took me zero seconds to ship this CP] [Look at Lydia! Staring at the screen like she’s brain-dead hahaha!] [Serves her right! Always chasing after our Holden, even trying to claim our Holden was simping for her. Can we start requiring psychological evaluations before entering entertainment?] [Exactly! We don’t need these delusional fangirls!] I truly did freeze in place. Staring hard at the big screen. April 11th of that year. The day Hannah died. At midnight that day, Hannah had sent her a message right on time: [You there?] My gaze slowly shifted from the screen to Hannah’s face. Too beautiful. Beautiful to an unreasonable degree. To a disturbing level… “Lydia.” She had already approached: “Thank you.” “For what?” She leaned closer, speaking in a voice only we could hear: “Thank you for collecting my body…” “Ah!” I cried out and stepped back. Hannah also showed a panicked expression. She stumbled several steps, nearly falling. Fortunately, Holden caught her steadily in his arms. Her eyes reddened: “Lydia, we were talking fine, why did you suddenly fall backward?”

    “Holden, I didn’t do anything, I really…” She clutched Holden’s sleeve, her eyes glistening. Holden’s voice softened: “I know. Of course I know.” He shielded her behind him. Glaring coldly at me: “Lydia, don’t use your dirty tricks on Hannah! Bullying a civilian—is this your professional standard?” The comments chimed in: [I recorded it! I’m a witness! Hannah didn’t push her at all!] [That’s right! Lydia fell backward on her own!] [You think you’re acting? Nobody here tolerates manipulative behavior!] [Hilarious. She’s at least a B-list actress, yet she uses these tactics on a civilian. No wonder Holden doesn’t like her.] Hannah hid behind Holden. A mocking smile crossed her lips. Gone in an instant. My phone buzzed. I swallowed hard. It was my best friend Morgan. “Excuse me, I need to take this call.” [Tsk tsk tsk! Is this the manipulator running away after being exposed?] [Hahaha if it were me I’d find a hole to crawl into] [Everyone check trending topic #1! Lydia’s fake fall getting roasted, go laugh at her!] I answered the call: “Morgan?” “Run.” Those two short words from Morgan sent a chill down my spine. “What did you say?” I asked again, not wanting to believe it. “Look at the message I sent you.” Morgan’s message popped up. One glance was all it took. I immediately covered my screen. The host patted my shoulder: “Miss Lydia, are you unable to continue filming?” I swallowed: “Of course not…” “We understand.” The host smiled: “After all, the real purpose of our variety show is for Mr. Pierce and Miss Hannah to make their relationship official. They’re already promoting their wedding. We completely understand if you can’t bear to watch.” “This is too much!” Sharon slammed the table: “You deliberately called Lydia here to be a prop for those two! I wondered why all today’s guests were people Lydia and Holden knew! So you brought Lydia here specifically to humiliate her!” The host’s lips curled in a cold smile: “Even so, didn’t Miss Lydia come anyway? Doesn’t that mean Miss Lydia chose to pursue him?” “You—” I quickly stopped Sharon. Holden had already walked over with Hannah. He looked at me: “It’s fine. I won’t mock your embarrassment. After all, I didn’t come here to fight with you. I hope Hannah and I can receive your blessing. In three days, would you be willing to attend our wedding?” [Hahaha dying! Holden with the killing blow!] [Telling your simp ‘will you attend my wedding’? Lydia’s gonna cry herself to sleep tonight!] I bit my lip. He smirked: “If you don’t want to, that’s fine, I—” “I do!” I held down Sharon, who wanted to curse them out. Both Holden and Hannah froze. I smiled: “Don’t worry. I’ll definitely give you both a valuable gift.” Holden frowned. “Then it’s settled. See you in three days!” With that, I didn’t give them time to react—I pulled Sharon and left. Never looked back at him once. As I walked, I couldn’t help but smirk— Holden, in three days, when you actually marry her, I hope you don’t regret it.

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  • The Heir They Never Saw Coming

    I landed a huge deal overseas, and before boarding my flight home, I bought souvenirs for everyone in the department. When my assistant was counting heads, she accidentally left out Bowman. I told her it was fine and gave him mine instead. He took it, then hurled the souvenir right at my face. Everyone froze. “Left out by accident? More like deliberately humiliating me, right? So you signed one deal—what’s there to be so proud of? With one word from me, I could have you transferred to security tomorrow.” My assistant couldn’t hold back and shot back: “What gives you the right?” Bowman sneered: “Because I’m the chairman’s son!” I was stunned too. You’re Anderson’s son? Then who am I? My colleagues erupted into chatter. “The chairman’s son? Really? I’ve never heard of this…” “Look at how he carries himself—I always thought there was something different about him.” “Now that I think about it, he posted a photo on Twitter of him having dinner with the chairman at that revolving restaurant. I thought it was Photoshopped…” “No wonder Susan treats him so well. Last time he was half an hour late and she didn’t even mark it down.” “Alex is screwed now. Sales champion or not, what good ending can come from offending the chairman’s son?” Bowman’s chin lifted even higher as he listened to the gossip, contempt practically overflowing from his eyes. He pointed his finger right at my nose. “Alex, you hear that? Scared now?” He scoffed. “But you know what? I’m a generous guy.” “Right here, right now, get on your knees and kowtow to me three times.” “If I’m in a good mood, maybe I’ll let you stay in the office with the AC.” The chatter stopped instantly. My female assistant Betty lurched forward, her face flushed red with anger. “Bowman, don’t go too far! Alex has been the company’s sales champion three years running!” “How many deals has he closed for this company? How many clients has he brought in?” “Even if you really are the chairman’s son, you have no right to make him kneel!” Confronted publicly, the fake composure on Bowman’s face crumbled immediately. Humiliated and furious, his eyes flashed with malice as he raised his hand to slap Betty across the face. In that critical moment, I caught his wrist, gripping it hard enough that he couldn’t move. “You dare lay a hand on my people?” I stared him down. Bowman struggled but couldn’t break free, his expression turning ugly. “Alex! Let me go, damn it!” Just then, a cold but authoritative female voice rang out from the department entrance: “What’s going on? Why is everyone gathered here?” It was CEO Susan. She wore a crisp white suit, her gaze sweeping over the chaos before settling on my hand gripping Bowman’s wrist. Her brow furrowed immediately, her tone carrying an undeniable command: “Alex, let him go.” I released my grip. Bowman shook out his wrist, his face now wearing an expression of being terribly wronged. Betty hurried to speak: “Susan! Bowman was the one who—” “Susan!” Bowman’s voice was louder, cutting Betty off directly. He pointed at his wrist, then at me. “Alex attacked me first! I just said a few words to him and he tried to hit me! Everyone saw it!” Susan’s gaze sliced across my face like a knife, not giving Betty a chance to finish. “Alex!” “Do you think signing one big deal means you can do whatever you want? Attacking a colleague in the office? What do you think you’re doing?!” “Susan, it’s not what—” I tried to explain. “I don’t want to hear your explanations!” Susan cut me off sharply. “I only believe what I see with my own eyes! Bowman is an intern, and you’re a senior employee and our top salesperson—you should be setting an example!” “Look at yourself right now!” “Arguing with an intern, and getting physical?” “Where’s your professionalism?!” She berated me relentlessly, every word dripping with favoritism. The colleagues around us held their breath. No one dared interrupt at this moment. But their exchanged glances spoke volumes. “See? Susan’s clearly siding with him…” “This favoritism is way too obvious.” “He really is the chairman’s son.” “Alex is done for, with Susan’s attitude…” “Sales champion or not, he’s nothing compared to the chairman’s son.”

    Bowman stood behind Susan, tilting his head slightly to flash me a smile full of provocation. Susan took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing her anger. She looked at me, her tone icy: “Alex, I’m giving you one day to write a thorough self-criticism and submit it to my office first thing tomorrow morning.” “Then publicly apologize to Bowman.” “If you don’t handle this properly, your quarterly bonus and year-end evaluation—well, you can figure that out yourself.” She finished, then turned to Bowman. Her tone immediately softened, even carrying a note of comfort: “Bowman, are you okay? Come with me to my office.” Bowman smugly adjusted his collar, and as he passed me, he let out a contemptuous snort that only the two of us could hear. Susan led him away under everyone’s watchful eyes. The department fell silent as death. Betty looked at me with reddened eyes, her face full of guilt and indignation. “Alex, I’m sorry. This is all my fault…” I told her it was fine. Betty was still worried. “Alex, what if he really does transfer you to security?” “You’re the backbone of our department…” I patted her shoulder with a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, that’s impossible.” It really was impossible. Because the chairman Bowman claimed could decide my fate with one sentence was my father. On my college graduation day, my father called me into his study. “Alex, come straight to headquarters after graduation. Start as my assistant.” “Working by my side, you’ll learn a lot and see operations at every level. It’ll be good for when you eventually take over the company.” Back then, young and spirited, I had something to prove, so I refused. “I want to make it on my own,” I said, looking him in the eye, my tone firm. “I want to hide my identity and start from the bottom as a salesperson at a branch office.” “I want to know how far I can go, what I can achieve, without the ‘chairman’s son’ label.” My father paused, then slowly broke into a gratified smile. He stood up, walked around the desk, and clapped me hard on the shoulder. “Good! That’s the spirit! That’s my son!” “Go ahead. I support you.” “But don’t expect any special treatment from me.” So I joined the company as a fresh graduate, becoming the most ordinary salesperson in the sales department. No one knew about my relationship with the chairman, including Susan, whom my father valued highly. Those four years weren’t easy. In the first two months, I couldn’t close a single decent deal. I made hundreds of calls a day, all rejected. I knocked on countless doors that slammed in my face. I visited clients under the scorching sun, had my proposals torn apart—it was routine. I remember once, to win over a potential client, I showed up outside their office building an hour early for a whole week, hoping for a “chance encounter.” I got five minutes of their time. Though that attempt failed, I remembered the industry pain points they mentioned in passing and pulled all-nighters revising my proposal. In the third month, I closed my first deal. The amount wasn’t huge—just over a hundred thousand. But it was earned through my own trial and error, constant setbacks and lessons learned. The sense of accomplishment was far greater than I’d imagined. I finally found the right approach. Instead of blindly cold-calling and door-knocking, I studied our products in depth, analyzed the market, and precisely targeted client demographics. I spent my free time devouring industry reports and market data. Soon I landed an annual contract worth eight million. That deal made me famous in the sales department. In just four years, I went from a green graduate to business manager at the branch. Starting from zero to three consecutive years as sales champion. One step at a time, without the “chairman’s son” label anywhere on me. Every achievement was earned through sweat, brainpower, and persistence after countless failures. I knew every detail of the business, understood every market trend, and recognized every client need. I won honestly, and I won with integrity. Never did I expect to be humiliated by an intern today. More ironic still, he was impersonating my identity. And I, the real “chairman’s son,” was being ordered by the CEO to write a self-criticism and publicly apologize for “offending” this impostor. It was a complete joke. Back in my office, I sat in my chair, staring at my dark phone screen. After hesitating, I pulled up my father’s number and dialed. But all I got was the cold system message: “Sorry, the number you have dialed is currently turned off…”

    I paused, then remembered. My father was overseas these few days attending an important industry conference. He was probably still on the plane or in a meeting. So I had to let it go. The next morning, Susan called a company-wide meeting. The agenda was to summarize the year’s performance and announce this year’s sales champion. The conference room was packed. The atmosphere grew subtly tense after Susan took the stage. She went through the usual opening pleasantries, then got straight to the point. “After rigorous calculations by the finance and operations departments, this year’s sales champion is…” She paused, her gaze sweeping across the room. Many eyes instinctively focused on me. Three consecutive years as sales champion, plus the hundred-million-dollar deal I’d just closed—the result should have been obvious. But the next second, Susan clearly announced: “Bowman.” For an instant, you could hear a pin drop in the conference room. Then it exploded. “Who? Bowman? That intern?” “Are you kidding? He hasn’t even closed a single independent deal, has he?” “What about Alex’s hundred-million-dollar contract? How is this possible!” Voices of protest rose and fell. Scott, the sales department’s deputy manager, was the first to stand. His face flushed red, his voice trembling with emotion. “Susan! Is there a mistake with this result?” “Bowman’s performance in the system is practically zero. How could he possibly be sales champion?” “Alex’s performance is clear for everyone to see!” Lester, the marketing director, also frowned and spoke up. “Susan, we need a reasonable explanation, because this concerns the fairness and integrity of the company’s evaluation system.” Even the logistics department supervisor, who usually stayed out of such matters, couldn’t help commenting. “Yeah, Susan, this… this really doesn’t make sense.” Facing the tide of questions, Susan’s expression remained unchanged. She raised her hand to quiet the discussion, her tone calm but unquestionable. “There are no errors in the calculations.” “Although Bowman hasn’t completed many deals independently, he assisted the team in following up on multiple important projects.” “Including the overseas deal Alex recently closed—he did a tremendous amount of coordination and support work behind the scenes. His contribution was significant.” “The company evaluates comprehensive contribution value, not just contract amounts.” Scott immediately retorted. “Susan! That overseas deal was negotiated and closed entirely by Alex independently. Bowman just did some basic data compilation work as assigned.” “How can that count?” “Scott!” Susan cut him off sharply, her voice rising, her eyes sharp. “Are you questioning the company’s calculation abilities, or questioning my judgment?” Without waiting for Scott to answer, her gaze swept across the room. “The company has decided to reward Bowman with three million dollars in cash to recognize his perhaps less visible but absolutely critical contributions!” “I know everyone has questions, but please trust that the company’s decision is based on comprehensive consideration!” “I don’t want to hear any more baseless speculation and criticism!” As she finished, she slammed her hand down on the podium with a loud “bang.” The entire conference room went silent instantly, leaving only her slightly labored breathing. I frowned. Everyone was shocked into silence by this rare outburst. Though faces still showed defiance and confusion, no one dared speak up again. In this eerie silence, Bowman walked up to the stage with a spring in his step. His face couldn’t hide his smugness, the corners of his mouth slightly upturned. As he took the ceremonial check from Susan, he even made a show of bowing slightly with false modesty. Facing everyone, he cleared his throat and began his speech. “Thank you for the company’s recognition, and thank you for Susan’s trust.” “Actually, I haven’t done nearly enough—just fulfilled an intern’s basic duties.” “Getting this award is truly an unexpected surprise.” “Here, I’d especially like to thank Manager Alex. Although…” “Some unpleasantness occurred before, he is indeed my senior, and I’ve learned quite a bit from him.” His words seemed humble, but his darting eyes and slightly raised chin revealed nothing but hypocrisy and provocation. Watching this absurd farce, listening to Bowman’s fake speech, the fury in my chest finally broke through its limits. Sitting here any longer would be an insult to all the effort and sweat I’d put in over the past four years. I stood up, ready to leave this nauseating place. “Alex!” Susan called out to me.

    I stopped but didn’t turn around, my back to the podium. She walked to the front of the stage, her voice carrying through the microphone to fill the conference room. “Don’t leave yet!” “Yesterday you attacked a colleague in the department. You didn’t write a self-criticism, and you didn’t publicly apologize.” “And now what’s your attitude? Leaving before the meeting’s even over?” Without waiting for my response, she continued in front of everyone. “Given your recent terrible behavior—not only arrogant after your success, bullying a new intern, but even getting physical in a public company space.” “You’ve seriously violated company regulations and destroyed team harmony!” “After management discussion, starting tomorrow, you’ll be removed from your sales manager position and report to the logistics department, responsible for security at the main entrance of headquarters!” “I hope in this new position, you can properly reflect on your words, actions, and attitude!” “When you recognize your mistakes, then I’ll consider transferring you back to your original position!” I laughed bitterly. “Susan, no need to make it so complicated with all these transfers.” “I quit.” “If the sales department has any problems in the future, please ask Bowman to solve them.” “Don’t bother me.” I turned to leave the conference room. Behind me came Susan’s icy voice. “Alex, you think the company can’t function without you? You think way too highly of yourself!” I didn’t stop. She continued her mockery. “Without the company’s platform, you’re nothing! You won’t even be able to find a decent job!” Bowman hypocritically chased after me. “Manager Alex, don’t be impulsive!” “Jobs are hard to find these days. Being able to stay with our company as a security guard is already pretty good—at least it’s stable.” I shook him off forcefully and slammed the door in everyone’s sight. That evening, I got a call from my childhood friend Phillips, who’d just returned to the country this month. “Alex, it’s my birthday tomorrow. I’m throwing a party at the estate—you absolutely have to come.” Thinking of how long it had been since we’d seen each other, I agreed. Then I sent my father a message. The next day, the Phillips estate was lively and bustling. As the only son of Seattle’s wealthiest family, Phillips’s birthday party was naturally grand and spectacular. Celebrities from all sectors gathered, and every major company sent representatives to offer congratulations. Susan and Bowman were there too. I’d just walked into the venue in simple casual clothes when I immediately caught their attention. “Well, if it isn’t our fired sales champion.” Bowman walked over with a wine glass, chin high, his voice loud enough for the entire venue to hear. “What’s this? Fired but still can’t let go, so you came here to beg for scraps?” Susan immediately chimed in, her tone cutting. “Everyone, look—this is our company’s former employee, Alex.” “Just fired yesterday for stealing company property, and today he dares to sneak into the Phillips family party!” The surrounding guests turned to look, their pointing and whispering rising and falling. “Security!” Bowman shouted loudly. “There’s a thief who snuck in here! Throw this social scum out!” Susan escalated her slander even further. “Everyone might not know—this person didn’t just steal, he also sexually harassed female colleagues at the company.” “After being fired, he held a grudge. He’s definitely here today to cause trouble!” Several guests began loudly jeering. “Get out!” “Trash like this doesn’t deserve to be here!” “How did the Phillips family let someone like this in?” “Look at how shabby he looks—he’s definitely here to steal!” “Security, hurry up and kick this social reject out!” “People like this should be in prison!” Just as the security guards started walking toward me, a voice came from the staircase. “What’s going on?” Phillips, wearing a custom suit, descended the stairs with composure. Under everyone’s gaze, he walked straight to me and gave me a forceful hug. “Alex, I’ve been waiting forever for you. Why are you only just getting here?” The entire venue instantly fell silent. Phillips looked around, his gaze finally settling on Susan and Bowman. “Who just said they wanted to throw out my best friend?”

    🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “370470”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic #浪漫Romance #惊悚Thriller #重生Reborn